proofreading team. speech of mr. cushing, of massachusetts, on the right of petition, as connected with petitions for the abolition of slavery and the slave trade in the district of columbia: in the house of representatives, january , . washington: printed by gales and beaton, . speech. mr. cushing said: i hold in my hand several petitions on the subject of the slave interest in the district of columbia. one of them, i now present to the house. upon it, i make the preliminary motion, understood to be necessary in such cases, that it be received; and, in reference to this question, i have some few remarks to submit to the consideration of the house. this petition prays for the abolition of slavery, and the slave trade, in this district. it is respectful in its terms, being free from the offensive expressions and reflections contained in some of the petitions on the same subject, heretofore presented; it is signed by inhabitants of haverhill, in the state of massachusetts; and among the subscribers are the names of citizens of that state whom i personally know, whom i avouch to be highly respectable, and who, whether mistaken or not in their views, are assuredly actuated by conscientious motives of civil and religious principle. they are constituents of mine; they have transmitted to me the petition, desiring me, as their representative, to present it; and, under these circumstances, much as i have deprecated such a commission, and reluctant as i am to be instrumental in the introduction of any matter of excitement upon this floor, i cannot permit myself to hesitate in the discharge of this painful duty, believing, as i do, that it is the constitutional right of every american, be he high or be he low; be he fanatic or be he philosopher, to come here with his grievances, and to be heard upon his petition by this house. these petitioners look to me to obtain them a hearing in this place; they have a right to require this office of me; they have, in my judgment a right to be heard; and so long as i have the honor to hold a seat in this house, no constituent of mine, however humble his condition or unwelcome his prayer, shall see his petition thrust back in his face unheard while the gift of reason or speech remains to me; for if it cannot be received and considered in the usual forms of legislation, it shall be heard through the lips of his representative. nor will i undertake to scan over-captiously, either the object of his petition, or the language in which it is couched; nor will i stop to inquire how far the petitioners and i myself entertain the same opinions of the general subject-matter. and there are particular inducements, which impel me to make a stand at the present moment upon this petition. i declare and protest in advance, that i do not intend, at this time at least; to be drawn or driven into the question of slavery, in either of its subdivisions or forms. at home, i am known to be of those, who long ago foresaw and early withstood the coming of this anti-slavery agitation. of the many occasions when i have actively interposed in this behalf, i hope to be pardoned for distinctly citing one, as vesting in me some title to be candidly heard by the house. i allude to a published address upon the slave question, in which i deliberately asserted the constitutional rights of the south in this matter. it shall be my aim, on this occasion to do and say nothing inconsistent with myself, with the letter of the constitution, or with the spirit of the various compromises of interest and opinion incorporated into the union of these states. the members of this house have been frequently called, during the present session, to vote upon divisions connected with petitions of this nature. on those occasions i have been content to pronounce my vote simply, and without explanation, leaving my reasons and motives to be construed or misconstrued by others, as chance might order. to have continued so to do, until the subject of present controversy were finally disposed of, is the part i should altogether have chosen, had circumstances permitted to me such a course. but, if i have been a silent, i have not been an incurious, nor, i trust, an uninstructed, spectator of events. it is rendered apparent that those great matters, which occupy the public mind abroad, do now occupy also this house. if other gentlemen, differing with me in part or in whole, had voted without discussion, according to the dictates of their individual judgment, each of us could fairly have stood upon his personal convictions, and his personal estimation elsewhere, for his justification in the eyes of his countrymen. but that, much as it were in my view to be desired, is no longer possible. what has happened here is enrolled already in the unchangeable records of time and of eternity. it is become history. it cannot be recalled; it cannot be blotted from the memory; it cannot be expunged from the annals of the country. the winged words uttered in this house have gone forth to the world, on their mission of good or of evil. debate we have; debate we must have; we are goaded into debate; it is forced upon us; and from a quarter of the union whence, i am frank to say, i did not look for it to come; and forced upon us in terms of dictation, which i cannot brook; since they leave to me no alternative of escape from debate, but in the passive surrender of some of the dearest of our birthrights, those of free petition, free speech, and free conscience. i say, of free speech and free conscience, both which are involved in the resolutions moved some time since by a gentleman from maine, (mr. jarvis.) when these resolutions shall be distinctly before the house, it will become its members to reflect whether they have the constitutional right to attempt, or attempting, have the power to enforce, what those resolutions seem to contemplate, a perpetual prohibition of debate, and even of motions, upon a large and comprehensive class of subjects. these rights, neither my constituents nor myself feel disposed to surrender; and upon one of these great liberties of the land, and for the sake of incidentally vindicating the others, i shall, in due time, address the house at length. my only object at this time, is to come to a fair understanding with the house as to the cause to be pursued in the debate, and the disposition it will make of these petitions. at a very early period of the session, a gentleman from south carolina (mr. hammond) met such petitions with the motion that they be not received. all the debates, which ensued thereon, terminated in evasive and unsatisfactory votes for laying on the table, which left every question of principle unsettled. afterwards, on a similar objection to reception being made by a gentleman from georgia, (mr. glascock,) my colleague (mr. adams) appealed from a ruling of the speaker on an incidental point of order; which appeal, and the matters connected with it, have been put off, day after day, and week after week, and still remain suspended for some future time of consideration. then came a set of resolutions applicable to a part of the prayer of these petitions, moved by a gentleman from maine, (mr. jarvis,) under which there is a debate in progress, on an amendment moved by a gentleman from virginia, (mr. wise,) to the effect that congress have no power granted by the constitution to legislate on the subject of slavery in this district. finally, on the last occasion when petitions of this kind were presented, the question of reception being raised, that question was, by vote of the house, laid on the table; as happened this morning in the case of those petitions presented by my colleague (mr. adams;) the operation of which is, practically, to refuse to receive the petitions. now, i am wholly dissatisfied with this course of proceeding, and i cannot submit to it in regard to the petitions, which i am charged to present. i hold that the question of reception, as it is in fact and of necessity the first in order of time, so is it the first in order of principle. it must not be pushed aside to make place for the discussion of speculative resolutions, or for debate, on the merits of the question raised by the prayer of these petitions. i maintain that the house is bound by the constitution to receive the petitions; after which, it will take such method of deciding upon them as reason and principle shall dictate. it should first lend an attentive and respectful ear to the prayer of the people. whether it can or will grant that prayer, is an after consideration. i have already kept back for several weeks the petitions committed to me, in order to shape my course according to the deliberate decision of the house; but that decision does not come; it is continually procrastinated for the sake of considering questions, which, in my view, are secondary in time and in principle to the question of reception; and i can no longer consent that these my constituents shall be held waiting, as it were, at the doors of the capitol for admission, when, as i read the constitution, they have a right to demand immediate entrance, and to be respectfully received by their assembled representatives. i tender to the house, therefore, an alternative. i place this petition at their disposal. if they choose to fix absolutely on a time certain for considering and deciding the question of reception, so that this shall take precedence of the other debate, they will then have this day, as usual, for its appropriate business of the general presentation of petitions. but if they decide, as heretofore, to lay the question of reception on the table, then i shall feel myself constrained to take the floor upon another of these petitions, and to keep it, as under the late decision of the house i have a right to do, until i have fully debated the whole subject-matter. if the effect of this shall be to exclude all other petitions for the day, i cannot help it. be the responsibility on their heads who raise this novel and extraordinary question of reception, going to the unconstitutional abridgment, as i conceive, of the great right of petition inherent in the people of the united states. [the question, shall this petition be received? was then, at the motion of a gentleman from south carolina, (mr. hammond) laid on the table; when mr. cushing resumed the floor and said:] i now present to the house a petition signed by inhabitants of amesbury, in the state of massachusetts, among the subscribers to which are persons whom i know and avouch to be citizens of the united states. they pray for the abolition of slavery and the slave trade in the district of columbia, and in the territories under the jurisdiction of the united states. i make the preliminary motion that it be received; and, upon that motion, i proceed to express my views to the house. steering clear of all the inflammable matter intruded into these debates, gauging myself to the standard of the most absolute moderation, and resolutely tying down my thoughts to the real point in issue, what i propose to examine is the single naked question of the constitutional right of petition, as involved in the disposition of these petitions. looking into the constitution i find, among the amendments proposed by the congress of , and the very first of the number, the following article: "congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof, or abridging the freedom of speech or of the press; or _the right of the people_ peaceably to assemble and _to petition the government for a redress of grievances_." long before i had imagined that such a right would ever be called in question, i remember to have read the remark of a distinguished jurist and magistrate of the state of virginia, (tucker's notes on blackstone,) complaining that the concluding words of the clause i have cited from the constitution did not so strongly guard the great right of petition, as the liberties of the people demanded. on the other hand, a still more distinguished jurist and magistrate, of my own state, (story's commentaries,) in remarking upon the same article, expresses the opinion that it is ample in terms; because, he adds, "it (the right of petition) results from the very nature of the structure and institutions of a republican government; it is impossible that it should be practically denied until the spirit of liberty had wholly disappeared, and the people had become so servile and debased as to be unfit to exercise any of the privileges of freemen." these eminent constitutional lawyers agreed in opinion of the importance of the provision; they differed only in thinking, the one, that the right of petition could not be too clearly defined; the other, that whether defectively defined or not in the letter, the people would take care that it should in spirit be faithfully observed. while the first entertained a wise jealousy of the encroachments of the people's representatives, the other looked for the protection of the public rights to the people themselves, the masters of the people's representatives. and as the fears of the former have been verified too speedily, i trust that the hopes of the latter will be not less truly realized. there are some things in the context and phraseology of this article of the constitution, which may deserve attention. it speaks of "_grievances_" in the general; not "_their_ grievances," the _personal_ grievances of the individuals petitioning, but anything, public or personal, which they deem to be a grievance. it is the same article, which allows to us the free exercise of our religion, and the liberty of speech and of the press. with these primary and fundamental rights of a free people, it associates the right of petition. but there is this peculiarity in the language of this clause of the constitution. the words applicable to our subject are, "congress shall make no law abridging the right of the people to petition the government for a redress of grievances." the right of petition, therefore, is not a privilege conferred by the constitution. it is recognised as a pre-existing right, already possessed by the people, which they still reserve to themselves, and which congress shall not so much as touch with the weight of a finger. the people, in their constitution, say to congress,--we place in your hands our right and power of collecting a revenue to provide for the common defence and general welfare of the union; our right and power to regulate commerce, to coin money, to declare war, and to raise and support armies and navies for its prosecution. upon these and other subjects you may exercise the discretion, which we repose in you by virtue of our constitution. but this you shall not do:--you shall not, until after the expiration of twenty years, prohibit the migration or importation of such persons as we think proper to admit; you shall not pass any bill of attainder; you shall not lay any tax or duty on exports; and you shall make no law prohibiting the free exercise of religion, or abridging the freedom of speech or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble and petition the government for a redress of grievances. these our great natural rights we keep to ourselves; we will not have them tampered with; respecting them we give to you no commission whatsoever. and rights which congress itself, the entire legislature, consisting of the president, the senate, and the house, acting in their combined functions in the enactment of a law, is forbidden to abridge,--can this house alone undertake, by a mere resolution or vote, practically to deny, abolish, and destroy? sir, if we can successfully do it, i have greatly misconceived the democratic ancestry, the democratic principles, and the democratic energy of the people, whom we are appointed to serve in this house. the right of petition, i have said, was not conferred on the people by the constitution, but was a pre-existing right, reserved by the people out of the grants of power made to congress. to understand its nature and extent we must, therefore, look beyond and behind the constitution, into the anterior political history of the country. and, in the first place, i beg of the house, and especially of the gentlemen who so ably represent virginia on this floor, to remember how this article found its way into the constitution. you well know, sir, that when the constitution was submitted to the people of the respective states for their adoption or rejection, it awakened the warmest debates of the several state conventions. some of them, in accepting the proposed plan of government, coupled their acceptance with a recommendation of various additions to the constitution, which they deemed essential to the preservation of the rights of the states, or of the people. the commonwealth of massachusetts insisted, among other things, on the adoption of that memorable amendment, to the effect, "that it be explicitly declared that all powers not expressly delegated by the aforesaid constitution, are reserved to the several states to be by them exercised." having attained this object, and thus clearly ascertained what powers it was that she parted with to the federal government, she felt less anxious in regard to some things which in other states, were deemed important. especially, she did not, for herself demand the insertion of those general clauses of political doctrine popularly called, at that time, after the celebrated english bill of rights, and known in some modern european constitutions by the name of _guaranties_. she was less tenacious on this point, inasmuch as her own constitution was very full in this respect. it contained two clauses material to the present question, in the following words: "all power residing originally in the people, and being derived from them, the several magistrates and officers of government, vested with authority, whether legislative, executive, or judicial, are their substitutes and agents." "the people have a right, in an orderly and peaceable manner, to assemble to consult upon the common good; give instructions to their representatives; and to request of the legislative body, by the way of address, petition, or remonstrance, redress of the wrongs done them, and of the grievances they suffer." these clauses being in her own constitution, i say, and it being understood by her that all powers not granted to the united states were reserved to the states, she felt that she was safe in agreeing to the fundamental compact of the union. the people and the commonwealth, of virginia reasoned differently from this; and i will not stop to argue whether they did or did not reason more wisely than massachusetts. they said, we choose to leave nothing doubtful which language can render certain, in a matter of so much moment. we are laying the foundations of a government, which we hope may outlast the pyramids. we know, from old experience, that the depositaries of the popular power are ingenious in the finding of glosses and interpretations to abstract from the popular rights. let us see to it that this constitution contain such express recognitions of the rights of the people as it shall be impossible to misunderstand. we will write, upon its very front the great doctrines of liberty in characters of light, which, like the burning letters in the banqueting-hall of belshazzar, may blast the eye-balls of whomever shall meditate treason to the democratic rights we have conquered with our blood and our fortunes. accordingly, the convention of virginia proposed, to amend the constitution by inserting therein the following, among other clauses: "that all power is naturally vested in, and consequently derived from, the people; that magistrates, therefore, are their trustees and agents, and at all times amenable to them." "that the people have a right peaceably to assemble together to consult for the common good, or to instruct their representatives; and that every freeman has a right to petition the legislature for redress of grievances." new york, north carolina, and rhode island proposed, either literally or in substance, the same provision; and the consequence was, the addition to the constitution of the article, which i am now discussing, on the right of conscience, speech, and petition. and, such being the history of this clause, i look to the gentlemen from virginia especially, constant and honorable as they are in their attachment to constitutional principles at whatever hazard, to go with me in maintaining inviolate this great original right of the people. but we shall not fully appreciate the force and value of this provision, if we stop at this point of the investigation. the right of petition is an old undoubted household right of the blood of england, which runs in our veins. when we fled from the oppressions of kings and parliaments in europe, to found this great republic in america, we brought with us the laws and the liberties, which formed a part of our heritage as britons. we brought with us the idea and the form of our legislative assemblies, composed of elected representatives of the people; we brought with us the right of petition, as the necessary incident of such institutions. for when, in the whole history of our father-land, has the right of petition ever undergone debate and question? go back to the old parliamentary rolls, coeval with magna charta; peruse the black-letter volumes in which the early laws and practices of the english monarchy are seen to be recorded; and so far as you find a government to exist, you find the right to petition that government existing also as an undeniable franchise and birthright of the humblest in the land. the normans came over, lance in hand, burning and trampling down every thing before them, and cutting off the saxon dynasty and the saxon nobles at the edge of the sword; but the right of petition remained untouched. in all succeeding times, from the day when the barons at runnymede pledged themselves to deny to no man redress of his grievances, through every vicissitude of revolution and of war, down to the day when our forefathers abandoned their native country, the same right of petition continued without challenge. in the next reign, it is true, that of the misguided charles i, the king invaded the public liberties; and he expiated the wrong, as he merited, by a felon's death. after the commonwealth had passed away, came the petition of right, and with it the statute of the charles ii, distinctly recognising the old right of petition, and regulating the mode of its exercise; and again, after the dethronement and exile of james ii, the bill of rights and the statute of i william and mary, again recognising and regulating the right of petition as it has been exercised at all times throughout great britain. now, i ask gentlemen to point me, in all or any of the periods under review, to the precedents of a refusal by parliament to receive petitions. i invite them to turn over the histories of parliamentary proceeding, and cite me the examples of petitions being thrust out of the house of commons or of lords, at the instant of presentation, on the ground that the prayer of the petition ought not to be granted. will they do it? can they do it? is it not perfectly notorious, on the contrary, that every subject is freely admitted to be heard in his petition, provided it be respectful in terms, even although he pray expressly for a downright revolution in the government, as did the thousands of petitioners who thus carried through, in our own time, the great measure of parliamentary reform? and shall the people in republican america, with its written constitution for the protection of the public rights, and by a body of strictly limited powers,--shall the people here be forbidden to do that which they may freely do in the monarchy of england, having no guaranties for the public liberty except laws and prescriptive usages, all of them confessedly at the will of an omnipotent parliament? forbid it, reason! forbid it, justice! forbid it, liberty! forbid it the beatified spirits of the revolutionary sages, who watch in heaven over the destinies of the republic! aye, but, say gentlemen, if such things are not done by the representatives of the people in monarchical england, they have been done by their representatives in democratic america. we are told of precedents at home. what are those precedents? to begin, i throw aside, as wholly inapplicable to the question, or at least as evasive of it, the case of petitions refused on account of disrespectful language towards the persons or the body petitioned. those constitute a standing exception, independent of the merits of the subject. the proceedings of this house in , in reference to petitions on the matter of the slave trade, and of slavery in the states, have been cited. it has been said that those petitions were not received. that is a mistake, as any gentleman may satisfy himself by recurrence to the journals of the house. the petitions were received, committed, and debated on report, as i shall have occasion hereafter to state at length. one other case is cited, that of the petition of vicente pazos, agent of new granada, which, in the year , the house refused to receive. but the printed debates of that day show clearly the ground of rejection. mr. forsyth moved that it be not received. "he stated that, as the petitioner was the agent of a foreign power, and applied to congress as an appellate power over the executive, he thought it improper that he should be thus heard." and the question was decided upon this single point. i heartily approve the remarks then made by a distinguished statesman, now no more, who at that time represented massachusetts on this floor. mr. mills, of massachusetts, said that "the right of petition was a sacred one, and belonged equally to the meanest and the greatest citizen in the nation; and if such a petition as this, implicating the conduct of the executive, had been presented from the meanest citizen, he would receive it; and if it complained of grievances without pointing out redress, it would be the duty of the house to give the proper redness; but it was to our own citizens only he would turn this listening ear. what right had a foreign subject to petition this house?" sir, i have incidentally touched upon the argument of precedents, and shown how untenable it is; but i care not if there were a thousand precedents of refusal to receive petitions. such a fact, if it existed, would not abate my zeal on this point, or shift, in the minutest degree, my position. upon the constitution, upon the pre-existing legal rights of the people, as understood in this country and in england, i have argued that this house is bound to revive the petition under debate. it is impossible, in my mind, to distinguish between the refusal to receive a petition, or its summary rejection by some general order, and the denial of the right of petition. i have no such microscopic eye as to enable me to discern the point of difference between the two things. this procedure may be keeping the word to the ear, but it is breaking it to the sense: and i go upon general, abstract, original, fundamental principle, the great principle of democratic liberty, which is the foundation stone of this republic. it is for the sacred and inalienable rights of the people that i here contend. i should regard the exclusion of petitions from the consideration of the house as a highhanded invasion of the imprescriptible rights of the constituency of the country, of whom we are the representatives, not the dictators; and it is for that reason i take my stand against it on the very threshold. sir, i am a republican; and i desire to see this house observe the principles of that democracy which is ever on the lips of its members, and which, i hope, is in their hearts, as i know and feel it is in mine, and mean it shall be in my conduct. this republic was called into being, organized, and is upheld, by a great political doctrine. that doctrine is, that the people alone are supreme; that they are the fountains of power; that all magistrates are the delegated agents of the people, for the purposes limited and prescribed in their letters of appointment, and the general laws of the land; that the constituents of a member of this house have the right to give instructions to him individually; and that every individual one of the people has a right to be heard by petition on the floor of this house. these are among the things which i understand to constitute the principles of democracy: those general principles, which i learned in my boyhood with my catechism, in the bill of rights prefixed to the constitution of my own state; which, on maturer study, i have seen to be avowed more or less distinctly, in all the constitutions of this republic, and of each of its constituent republics; which i perceive to be defended and applauded in the writings of the great text authors of political science in modern times; and which after being for the first time practically exemplified in our own institutions, have gone forth over the universe, toppling down thrones, and raising up freemen, through all the nations of christendom. and whilst i feel impelled by such convictions to resist the summary rejection of this petition upon principle, i am irresistibly led to the same conclusion by considerations of policy and expediency. i deny that such considerations should decide the question; but seeing they have been urged into it, i shall concede to them all due respect. we have been told that the prayer of the petition is for a thing which the constitution does not permit to congress, and so the petition itself should not be received. i ask of the house how it appears that we have no right by the constitution to legislate upon the subject matter of the petition? it may be so; and it may not. one member of the house has earnestly averred that it is; another that it is not. which of them is right? i confess, for myself, that i cannot think it becomes the house to decide either way, upon the mere _ipse dixit_ of individual members. besides, the petition calls in question not only slavery, but also the _commerce in slaves_. and will any gentleman affirm that the slave trade of the district is among those holy things which congress may not constitutionally handle? is this district set apart by the constitution, under whatever changes of opinion or fact the progress of civilization may introduce, to be unchangeably and forever a general slave market for the rest of the union? i confess that i, again, am disappointed in that, among all the confident things said in denial of the constitutional powers of congress in this matter, there has not been, so far as i remember, any systematic argument on the perfectly distinct branches of the double constitutional question involved in it, namely, the slave property, and the slave traffic, of this district. and what shall be said of our constitutional power in the purchased territories, under the jurisdiction of the united states, to which some of these petitions apply? and what clause of the constitution restricts the right of petition to constitutional things? this house cannot grant beyond its powers; these are limited by the constitution; but the people may petition for any thing; for the right of petition is, by the constitution, secured forever against any and every limitation or restriction. but then it is said that the subject-matter of the petition does not admit of debate; that the deliberate consideration of it, and the decision of it in the ordinary course of business, would be fraught with disastrous consequences to the peace of the south, and the general tranquillity of the union. deeming this argument of more weight than the other, i will give to it more careful attention; especially as, on this point, gentlemen have appealed with great force of language to the patriotic consideration of the north. in the first place, i aver that i, and those with whom i have acted or voted, did not seek debate on this subject. we felt anxious, almost universally, to avoid it. the members from massachusetts, at least, have not invited, and, until it had been under discussion among other gentlemen for a whole month, they scarcely participated in, the agitation of the subject in this house. we sat here week after week, submitting, for the sake of public peace, to hear in silence the harshest reflections upon our constituents; and listening, with surprised curiosity, to the strangest legal and political heresies, uttered as confidently as if they were gospel truths communicated by divine inspiration. one of my colleagues (mr. adams) did, indeed, beseech gentlemen not to provoke him to a discussion of the subject; and thus it went on, untouched by us, until another of my colleagues (mr. hoar) could no longer abstain from the temperate defence of the constitution and of his fellow-citizens. in the second place, i do devoutly believe that gentlemen misjudge, if they suppose that agitation out of doors is to be arrested by the quashing of these petitions on their very introduction to this house. with my whole heart i accord in the view of the subject taken some time since by an honorable gentleman from new york, (mr. hunt,) and which i know is taken by one of the wisest and most trusted of the statesmen of virginia, now a member of the other branch of congress. if there be any plausible reason for supposing that we have the right to legislate on the slave interests of the district, you cannot put down the investigation of the subject out of doors, by refusing to receive petitions. on the contrary, you give the petitioners new force and efficiency, by giving them a new cause of complaint and of excitement. nor do you attain any thing, so far as this house is concerned; for, by shutting out petitions, you do not shut out debate; any member of the house can bring on debate any day, by moving some general resolution applicable to the subject. on the other hand, if it be so certain that congress have no power in this matter, or having power, ought not to exercise it, then let the house establish those points in the usual way, by a deliberate report, elaborated in the closet, by a committee of the ablest men upon this floor, and considerately adopted by the house. the argument by which this course is withstood, goes upon a false assumption. it assumes for granted, that the people of the united states are not to be reasoned with; that their opinions can be put down by bold and broad assertions at this or the other end of the capitol; and that they are not to be trusted with the facts and law of the case. here, again, as i conceive, gentlemen forget that this government is a republican one, resting exclusively in the intelligence and virtue of the people. i, for one, am willing they should look into any of the clauses of the constitution, and be fully informed of the merits of every question arising under it, never doubting that, in the end, their decision upon it will be just, true, and patriotic. or is it that gentlemen are afraid to meet a proper scrutiny of the subject? do they shrink from a fair and full examination of its merits or demerits? sir, allusion has been made, in an early stage of this debate, to the history of the excitement which once pervaded a considerable part of the country, in reference to the transportation of the mails on the lord's day. it is undoubtedly a pregnant case, directly in point. but i have another case, yet more cogent and pertinent. within less than one year after the adoption of the constitution, there came to congress petitions, chiefly from new york, pennsylvania, maryland, and virginia, and especially from the society of friends, praying congress to suppress the slave trade, and to interpose, in various ways, within the limits of the several states, in the melioration of the condition of the colored population of the south. i have examined the journals giving the record of the proceedings in this house; i have looked into the history of the times, to understand the grounds of the disposition then made of those petitions. in the outset, i will observe, that the debates on the subject present a remarkable parallel with what has taken place under my own eyes in this house. messrs. jackson, baldwin, tucker, smith, and some other gentlemen from the south, insisted, as we now hear it insisted, that the petitions should be summarily rejected, without commitment. they alleged the same reasons; such as unconstitutional object, and pernicious effects of the discussion upon the interests of the slaveholding states. one gentleman did, i believe, what i suppose would hardly be done at this day, entering into an elaborate vindication of the trans-atlantic slave trade. but there was one most eminent and most patriotic member of that house, a man as calm in judging as he was deliberate in acting; who had himself been instrumental among the first in laying the foundation of this union; who since then has successively filled the highest stations which the laws of his country acknowledge; and who yet lives, in a venerable old age, to receive the admiration of his countrymen, and to enjoy the rare felicity of surviving, as it were, a witness of the honors bestowed upon him by posterity. _sero redeat in coelum._ long may it be ere he depart from among us, to take his place among the great and glorious of other times. sir, the house well anticipate that i have in my eye james madison the younger, who stood forth to pour upon the troubled waves of that day the oil of peace and gladness. god grant there may yet be found among his patriotic countryman, some good and great man--a better and a greater there cannot be--now to perform the self-same office for the republic. at that crisis, in the very greenness of the immature youth of the constitution, when it was least able to bear the shock of sectional collision, mr. madison, southerner as he was, steadily opposed his friends from the south and successfully advocated the commitment of the petitions. i submit to the house his speech, as i find it very briefly reported in the newspapers of that day. "mr. madison observed, that it was his opinion yesterday that the best way to proceed in this business was to commit the memorial without any debate on the subject. from what has taken place, he was more convinced of the propriety of the idea. but, as the business has engaged the attention of many members, he would offer a few observations for the consideration of the house. he then entered into a critical review of the circumstances respecting the adoption of the constitution, the ideas upon the limitation of the power of congress to interfere in the regulation of the commerce in slaves, and showing that they undoubted were not precluded from interposing in their importation, and generally to regulate the mode in which every species of business shall be transacted. he adverted to the western country, and the cession of georgia, in which congress have certainly the power to regulate the subject of slavery, which shows that gentlemen are mistaken in supposing that congress cannot constitutionally interfere in the business in any degree whatever. he was in favor of committing the petitions, and justified the measure by repeated precedents in the proceedings of the house." i produce this speech, not for the purpose of adopting all its views, for some of them i confess are new to me, and such as i have not had time or means to investigate, but in order to show conclusively what mr. madison deemed wise and proper to be done in a contingency so precisely like the present. accordingly, all the petitions were committed to a select committee; that committee made a report; the report was referred to a committee of the whole house, and discussed on four successive days; it was then reported to the house with amendments, and by the house ordered to be inscribed in its journals, and then laid on the table. that report, as amended in committee, is in the following words: "the committee to whom were referred sundry memorials from the people called quakers; and also a memorial from the pennsylvania society for promoting the abolition of slavery, submit the following report, (as amended in committee of the whole.) "first, that the migration or importation of such persons as any of the states now existing shall think proper to admit, cannot be prohibited by congress prior to the year ." "secondly, that congress have no power to interfere in the emancipation of slaves, or in the treatment of them, within any of the states: it remaining with the several states alone to provide any regulation therein which humanity and true policy may require." "thirdly, that congress have authority to restrain the citizens of the united states from carrying on the african slave trade, for the purpose of supplying foreigners with slaves, and of providing, by proper regulations for the humane treatment, during their passage, of slaves imported by the said citizens into the states admitting such importations." "fourthly, that congress have also authority to prohibit foreigners from fitting out vessels in any part of the united states for transporting persons from africa to any foreign port." now, i entreat the house to call to mind the effect of these proceedings. there was no insurrection, no servile war, no agitation in the south. congress calmly and considerately examined the whole broad question, not of the slave trade only, but also of the slave interest. it decided how far it could go, and how far it would go. its decision went forth to the world, and settled the questions involved in it, as it were, forever. nearly fifty years have since elapsed, and i am not aware that the points then adjudged have at any time since been drawn into debate or controversy. and i do declare my solemn conviction, that if the house would now pursue the same course, and dispassionately determine what it can or cannot do, and make that determination known to the country in a respectful way, the result would be precisely the same in this vexed question of the district of columbia. entertaining these opinions of the course to be pursued, i beg of gentlemen to look at the question, as i have done, in a calm review of facts and of principles. they deprecate all agitation unfriendly to the peace and reciprocal good-will of the different sections of the country. so do i, most heartily; and in my own humble sphere i have earnestly exerted myself to this end. and i do, unwillingly but decidedly, avow my conviction, derived from abundant personal observation, that it is not by the summary suppression of petitions, it is not by _lynching_ this or any other petition, that tranquillity is to be restored, and harmony assured, either in the south or the north. and whilst i entreat of individual members of the house to regard this question in calmness, and conclude it in judgment, as they would any lesser question, i warn and adjure the house itself, as a constituent branch of this government, to beware lest, in deciding this general question of the right of petition, it overleap the bounds prescribed to it by the constitution. men of virginia, countrymen of washington, of patrick henry, of jefferson, and of madison, will ye be true to your constitutional faith? men of new york, will ye ride over the principles of the democracy ye profess? men of the west, can ye prove recreant to the spirit of sturdy independence, which carried you beyond the mountains? men of new england, i hold you to the doctrines of liberty which ye inherit from your puritan forefathers. and if this house is to be scared, by whatever influences, from its duty, to receive and hear the petitions of the people, then i shall send my voice beyond the walls of this capitol for redress. to the people i say, your liberties are in danger; they, whom you have chosen to be your representatives, are untrue to their trust; come ye to the rescue; for the vindication of your right of petition, to you i appeal; to you, the people who sent us here, whose agents we are, to whom we shall return to render a reckoning of our stewardship, and who are the true and only sovereigns in this republic. +------------------------------------------------------------+ | transcriber's note | | | | obvious typographical errors have been corrected in | | this text. for a complete list, please see the bottom of | | this document. | | text printed using the greek alphabet in the original book | | is shown as follows: [greek: logos] | | superscript letters are shown as follows: jan^y | | a letter with a breve is shown as follows: [)a] | +------------------------------------------------------------+ as i remember [illustration: mrs. gouverneur.] as i remember _recollections of american society during the nineteenth century_ by marian gouverneur illustrated new york and london d. appleton and company copyright, , by d. appleton and company printed in the united states of america to the memory of my father judge james campbell whose benign influence i still feel and to my husband samuel l. gouverneur, jr. the companion and pillar of strength of my later years this book is inscribed preface the rambling personal notes threaded together in these pages were written at the urgent request of my family, and have provided a pleasant diversion during otherwise lonely hours. the idea of their publication was highly distasteful to me until the often repeated importunities of many of those whose judgment commands my respect persuaded me that some of the facts and incidents i have recalled would prove of interest to a large circle of readers. the narrative is concerned with persons and events that have interested me during the busy hours of a lengthy life. i have been deeply impressed by the changes wrought by time in the modes of education, which are now so much at variance with those of my childhood, and in the manners and customs of those with whom i have mingled. i should be guilty of an act of grave injustice if i failed to express my grateful acknowledgments for the aid so unselfishly rendered, in a score of ways, by my daughter, mrs. roswell randall hoes, without which these pages would not, and could not, have been written. m. gouverneur. contents chapter page i.--early long island days ii.--new york and some new yorkers iii.--school-days and early friends iv.--life and experiences in the metropolis v.--long branch, newport and elsewhere vi.--some distinguished acquaintances vii.--fashion and letters viii.--washington in the forties ix.--social leaders in washington life x.--diplomatic corps and other celebrities xi.--marriage and continued life in washington xii.--sojourn in china and return xiii.--the civil war and life in maryland xiv.--visit to the far south and return to washington xv.--to the present day illustrations page mrs. gouverneur _frontispiece_ samuel l. gouverneur, junior mrs. john still winthrop, _née_ armistead, by sully mrs. charles eames, _née_ campbell, by gambadella brigadier general winfield scott, u.s.a., by ingham mrs. james munroe, _née_ kortright, by benjamin west miniature of james monroe, painted in paris in by semé mrs. gouverneur's three daughters, miss gouverneur, mrs. roswell randall hoes, mrs. william crawford johnson as i remember chapter i early long island days i do not know of a spot where, had i been accorded the selection, i should have preferred first to see the light of day, nor one more in keeping with the promptings of sentiment, than the southern shore of long island, n.y., where i was born. my home was in queens county, on the old rockaway road, and often in childhood during storms at sea i have heard the waves dash upon the rockaway beach. two miles the other side of us was the village of jamaica, and from our windows we caught glimpses of the bay that bore its name. my first home was a large old-fashioned house on a farm of many acres, ornamented by lombardy poplars which stood on each side of the driveway, a fashion introduced into this country by lafayette. my maternal grandfather, captain john hazard, who had commanded a privateersman during the revolution, purchased the place from "citizen" edmond charles genet, the first minister of france to the united states, and i have the old parchment deed of transfer still in my possession. during the war of the revolution my grandfather hazard's ship was captured by admiral george b. rodney, and i have often heard my mother tell the story she received from his lips, to the effect that after he was "comfortably housed in irons" on rodney's ship he overheard a conversation in which his name was frequently mentioned. the subject under discussion was the form of punishment he deserved, and the cheerful remark reached his ear: "hang the damned rebel." this incident made an indelible impression upon my mother's memory, which was emphasized by the fact that her father bore the scars of those irons to the day of his death. i have no recollection of my grandfather hazard, as he died soon after my birth. jonathan hazard, his brother, espoused the english cause during the revolution. this was possibly due to the influences of an english mother, whose maiden name was sarah owen, of shropshire. i have heard my mother say that her grandmother was a descendant of dr. john owen, chaplain of oliver cromwell. a piece of silver bearing the owen coat of arms is still in the possession of a member of my family. he entered the british navy, changed his name to carr, and soon rose to the rank of post-captain. he eventually drifted back to america and died unmarried at my grandfather's home on long island many years after the war. the trite saying that history repeats itself is here forcibly illustrated by brother fighting against brother. it brings to mind our own fraternal troubles during the civil war, which can never be effaced from memory. much of the furniture of my first home was purchased from citizen genet when my grandfather took possession of the house and farm. we understood that the french minister brought it with him from france, and many of the pieces, some of which are mahogany, are still in my possession. a bedstead which i still occupy has been said to be the first of its design brought from france to this country. hanging in my bedroom is a set of engravings entitled "diligence and dissipation," after hogarth, and also a handsome old print of the savior in the pharisee's house, all of which were purchased at the same time. two alabaster ornaments are memories of my earliest childhood, one of which was a column casting a shadow that formed a likeness of louis xvi. my grandfather hazard had many slaves, and i remember hearing of one of them who ran away and took with him a carriage and pair of horses, and, who, when called to account for the act, threatened my grandfather's life. my mother, although suffering from a severe indisposition, ran out of the house for succor. the slave was taken into custody, and was eventually sent south and sold. some of the other slaves i well remember. among them was a very old couple with numerous progeny who lived not far from us in a hut in the woods on the hazard estate. in subsequent years i heard my mother remark, upon the occasion of a marriage in the family connection, that when "cuff" and "sary" were married her father gave the clergyman five dollars for his services. cuff was an old-fashioned, festive negro born in this country, and with the firm belief that existence was bestowed upon him solely for his own enjoyment. he possessed a genius for discovering holidays, and added many to the calendar that were new to most of us. for example, sometimes when he was given a task to accomplish, he would announce that he could not work upon that day as it was "paas monday," or "paas tuesday," and so on, continuing as the case required, through the week. he had supreme contempt for what he called "guinea niggers," a term he applied to those of his race who came directly from africa, in contradistinction to those who had been born in this country. one of cuff's predecessors in the hazard family was named ben, and i have the original deed of his purchase from hendrick suydam, dated april th, . the price paid was two hundred dollars. in the village of jamaica was a well known academy where my mother received the early part of her education. one of her preceptors there was the hon. luther bradish, who some years later became lieutenant governor of the state of new york, and who at the time of his death was president of the new york historical society. her education was continued at miss sarah pierce's school in litchfield, connecticut, one of the most fashionable educational institutions of that period. i have heard my mother say that, accompanied by her father, she made the journey to litchfield in a chariot, the name applied to carriages in those days, this, of course, being before there was any rail communication with that place. in close proximity to miss pierce's establishment was the law school of judge james gould, whose pupils were a great social resource to miss pierce's scholars. this institution was patronized by many pupils from the south, and during my mother's time john c. calhoun was one of its students. a few years ago a history of the school was published, and a copy of the book was loaned me by the late mrs. lucius tuckerman of washington, whose mother was educated there and whose grandfather was the celebrated oliver wolcott of connecticut. after my mother's marriage, she and my father visited miss pierce in litchfield. this was during the jackson campaign, while political excitement ran so very high that a prominent physician of the place remarked to my father, in perfectly good faith, that jackson could not possibly be elected president as he would receive no support from litchfield. in jamaica was the last residence of the honorable rufus king, our minister to england under washington and twenty years later a candidate for the presidency. his son, charles king, was the beloved president of columbia college in new york, and his few surviving students hold his memory in reverence. the house in which the king family resided was a stately structure with an _entourage_ of fine old trees. it eventually passed into other hands, and a few years ago the entire property was generously donated by the daughters of the american revolution to the town of jamaica, and is now called "king's manor." my grandfather, captain john hazard, was about fifty years old at the time of his marriage to my grandmother, miss leupp, of new jersey, who died soon after, leaving an only child, my mother. a few years later he married lydia blackwell at her home on blackwell's island, which her father, jacob blackwell, had inherited from his father, jacob blackwell, the son of robert blackwell, who was the progenitor of the family in this country and gave his name to the island upon which he resided. several years later captain hazard was heard to remark that matrimony was a lottery, and that he had drawn two prizes. i have in my possession an old letter written by miss blackwell to my grandfather previous to their marriage, which is so quaint and formal that i am tempted to give it in full: miss blackwell's compliments to captain hazard and desires to know how he does--and if well enough will be glad to see him the first leisure day--as she has something of consequence to communicate and is sorry to hear that he has been so much indisposed as to deprive his friends of the pleasure of his company for this last fortnight--may you enjoy every happiness this imperfect estate affords is the sincere wish of your friend, l. b. let me see you on sunday. burn this. captain hazard brought his new bride to the old home on the rockaway road where i was subsequently born, and she immediately took under her protecting wing my mother, who was then but little more than an infant. the babe grew and thrived, and never knew until she was a good-sized girl that the woman who had so lovingly nurtured her was only a step-mother. she learned the fact from a schoolmate who told her out of revenge for some fancied wrong; and i shall always remember my mother telling me how she hurried home feeling all the time that the cruel story was untrue, only to have it confirmed by the lips of the woman who had been as affectionate and unselfish as any mother could possibly have been to her own child. in subsequent years, when my mother gathered her own children around her, she held her step-mother up to us as the embodiment of all female virtue and excellence, all of which is confirmed by my own recollection of her remarkable character and exemplary life. on the farm adjoining us lived a crusty old bachelor by the name of martin, who in his earlier life had been professionally associated with aaron burr. no human being was allowed to cross his threshold, but i recall that years after his death i saw a large quantity of silver which he had inherited, and which bore a martin for a crest. he was a terror to all the children in our vicinity, and it was his habit to walk on the neighboring roads clad in a dressing gown. more than once as i passed him he accosted me with the interrogative, "are you nancy hazard's brat?"--a query that invariably prompted me to quicken my pace. mr. martin kept a fine herd of cattle, among which was an obstreperous bull whose stentorian tones were familiar to all the residents of the adjoining places. when the children of our household were turbulent my mother would often exclaim, "listen to martin's bull roaring!" this invariably had a soothing effect upon the children, and strange to say this trivial incident has descended among my kindred to the fourth generation, for my mother's great-grandchildren are as familiar with "martin's bull" as my sisters and brothers and i were in our own childhood. malcolm campbell, my paternal grandfather, left scotland subsequently to our revolution, accompanied by his wife and son james (my father), and after a passage of several weeks landed in new york. his wife was miss lucy mcclellan. his father, alexander campbell, fought in the battle of culloden, and i have heard my father say that his grandfather's regiment marched to the song of: "who wadna fight for charlie? who wadna draw the sword? who wadna up and rally, at their royal prince's word? think on scotia's ancient heroes, think on foreign foes repell'd, think on glorious bruce and wallace, who the proud usurpers quell'd." it is said he had previously been sent to italy to collect arms and ammunition for the "young pretender," the grandson of james ii. the battle of culloden, which was fought on the th of april, , and which has often been called the "culloden massacre," caused the whole civilized world to stand aghast. the order of the duke of cumberland to grant no quarter to prisoners placed him foremost in the ranks of "british beasts" that have disgraced the pages of history, and earned for him the unenviable title of "the butcher of culloden." it has been suggested in extenuation of his fiendish conduct that his grace was "deep in his cups" the night before the battle, and that the general to whom the order was given, realizing the condition of the duke, insisted that his instructions should be reduced to writing. his grace thereupon angrily seized a playing card from the table where he was engaged in gambling, and complied with the request. this card happened to be the nine of diamonds, and to this day is known as "the curse of scotland." a long period elapsed before those who had sympathized with the young pretender's cause were restored to the good graces of the english throne, and it was scotland that was compelled to bear the brunt of the royal displeasure. the sins of the fathers were visited upon their children, and it is not at all unlikely that the sympathies of alexander campbell's son, malcolm (my grandfather), for the last of the house of stuart developed a chain of circumstances that resulted, with other causes, in his embarkation for america. during the early period of my childhood i became familiar with the jacobite songs which my father used to sing, and which had been handed down in the campbell family. i was so deeply imbued during my early life with the jacobite spirit of my forefathers that when i read the account in my english history of george i, carrying with him his little dissolute hanoverian court and crossing the water to england to become king of great britain, i felt even at that late day that the act was a personal grievance. through the passage of many years a fragment of one of these jacobite songs still rings in my ears: "there's nae luck aboot the hoose, there's nae luck ava [at all]; there's little pleasure in the hoose when our gude man's awa." even now some of those songs appeal to me possibly in the same manner as the "marseillaise" to the french, or the "ranz de vaches" to the swiss who have wandered from their mountain homes, or as the strains of our national hymn affect my own fellow countrymen in foreign lands, whose hearts are made to throb when with uncovered heads they listen, and are carried back in memory to the days of "auld lang syne." my grandfather, malcolm campbell, received the degree of master of arts from the university of st. andrews, the great school of scottish latinity, and his diploma conferring upon him that honor is still in the possession of his descendants. before leaving scotland he had formed an intimacy with andrew picken, and during the voyage to america enjoyed the pleasing companionship of that gentleman together with his wife and their two children. mrs. picken was the only daughter of sir charles burdette of london, whose wife was the daughter of the earl of wyndham. she and andrew picken, who was a native of stewarton, in ayrshire, a younger branch of a noble family, four years previously had made a clandestine marriage and, after vainly attempting to effect a reconciliation with her father, resolved upon emigrating to america. their daughter, mrs. sara jane picken cohen, widow of the rev. dr. abraham h. cohen of richmond, virginia, wrote the memoirs of her life, and in describing her parents' voyage to this country says: "it was one of those old-time voyages, of nine weeks and three days, from land to land, and a very boisterous one it was. there had been a terrific storm, which had raged violently for several days." this friendship formed in the mother country was naturally much strengthened during the long voyage, and when the two families finally reached new york, mrs. cohen writes: "here we settled down our two families, strangers in a strange land. but the lamp of friendship burned brightly and lit us on the way; our children grew up together in early childhood, and as brothers and sisters were born in each family they were named in succession after each other." it is pleasant to state that this friendship formed so many generations ago is still continued in my family, as my daughters and i frequently enjoy in our washington home the pleasing society of mr. and mrs. roberdeau buchanan, the latter of whom is the great granddaughter of mr. and mrs. andrew picken. soon after his arrival in new york malcolm campbell established a classical school at broadway nearly opposite trinity church. he edited the first american edition of cicero's orations and of cæsar's commentaries, and also revised and corrected and published in l'abbé tardy's french dictionary. his first edition of cicero is dedicated to the "right reverend benjamin moore, d.d., bishop of the protestant episcopal church in the state of new york, and president of columbia college," and another edition with the same text and imprint is dedicated, in several pages of latin, to the learned samuel l. mitchell, m.d. he and his wife were buried in the graveyard of the wall street presbyterian church. it may not be inappropriate in this connection to refer to another instructor of an even earlier period which has come within my notice, who taught reading, writing and arithmetic "with becoming accuracy." in _the new york journal or the general advertiser_ of the th of april, , appears the following advertisement: the respectable public is hereby informed that, agreeable to a former advertisement, a seminary of learning was opened at new brunswick, last november, by the name of _queen's college_,[ ] and also a grammar school, in order to prepare youth for the same. any parents or guardians who may be inclined to send their children to this institution, may depend upon having them instructed with the greatest care and diligence in all the arts and sciences usually taught in public schools; the strictest regard will be paid to their moral conduct, (and in a word) to every thing which may tend to render them a pleasure to their friends, and an ornament to their species. also to obviate the objection of some to sending their children on account of their small proficiency in english, a proper person has been provided, who attends at the grammar school an hour a day, and teaches reading, writing and arithmetic with becoming accuracy--it is hoped that the above considerations, together with the healthy and convenient situation of the place, on a pleasant and navigable river, in the midst of a plentiful country; the reasonableness of the inhabitants in the price of board, and the easy access from all places, either by land or water will be esteemed by the considerate public, as a sufficient recommendation of this infant college, which (as it is erected upon so catholic a plan) will undoubtedly prove _advantageous_ to our new american world, by assisting its sister semminaries to cultivate piety, learning, and liberty. _per order of the trustees_, frederick frelinghuysen, tutor. n.b. the vacation of the college will be expired on wednesday the th of may, any students then offering themselves shall be admitted into such class, as (upon examination) they shall be found capable of entering. the signer of this interesting advertisement was graduated from princeton college in , and subsequently became a lawyer. his distinguished son, theodore, was widely known as a philanthropist and christian statesman, and at various periods was united states senator, chancellor of the new york university, president of rutgers college, a candidate for the vice presidency of the united states, and president of the american bible society. a grandson of the signer was the hon. frederick theodore frelinghuysen, the well remembered united states senator and secretary of state under president arthur. speaking of the frelinghuysen family, i recall an amusing story told at the expense of newark, new jersey. when the late secretary frelinghuysen presented himself at the gates of heaven he was surprised not to be recognized by st. peter, who asked him who he was. "i am the hon. frederick t. frelinghuysen," was the response. "from where?" "newark, new jersey." "newark?" quoth st. peter, "i never heard of that place, but i will look on my list. no, it isn't there. i can not admit you, mr. frelinghuysen." so the old gentleman proceeded and knocked at another gate in the boundless immensity. the devil opened it and looked out. the same conversation occurred as with st. peter. newark wasn't "on the list." "my heavens, mr. satan, am i then doomed to return to newark?" exclaimed the new jersey statesman, and went back to the newark graveyard. my father, james campbell, was born in callander, scotland, and, as i have before stated, came to this country with his parents as a very young child. both he and his father were clad in their highland dress upon their arrival in new york. his childhood was spent in the great metropolis, and he subsequently studied law in albany, with the hon. samuel miles hopkins, the grandfather of mrs. arent schuyler crowninshield. he was admitted to the bar, and almost immediately became a master in chancery. in he was appointed surrogate of new york, a position which he retained for twenty years. he was always a pronounced democrat, but notwithstanding this fact he was reappointed ten successive times. in , however, the whig party was in the ascendency in the new york legislature, and through the instrumentality of william h. seward, who introduced a system called "pipe laying," the whole political atmosphere was changed. "pipe laying" was an organized scheme for controlling votes, and derived its name from certain political manipulations connected with the introduction of croton water in new york city. i have learned in later years that more approved methods are frequently used for controlling votes. modern ethics has discovered a more satisfactory method through means of powerful corporations with coffers wide open in the holy cause of electing candidates. this unfortunate state of affairs resulted in the removal of my father from office, and he immediately resumed the practice of law. some of his decisions as surrogate are regarded as precedents to this day. two of the most prominent of these are "watts and leroy vs. public administrator" (a decision resulting in the establishment of the leake and watts orphan house) and "in the matter of the last will and testament of alice lispenard, deceased." he is said to have owned about this time the largest private library in new york city, composed largely of foreign imprints, as he seemed to have but little regard for american editions. the classical portion of his library, especially the volumes published in paris, was regarded as unusually choice and well selected. he had also a large collection of greek testaments which he read in preference to the translations. he owned a copy of didot's virgil and i have always understood that, with the exception of one owned in the brevoort family of new york, it was at that time the only copy in america. he retained his scholarly tastes throughout his whole life, and in looking back i delight to picture him as seated in his library surrounded by his beloved books. in , about two years after his death, his library was sold at auction, the catalogue of which covers closely printed pages. among the purchasers were william e. burton, the actor, chief justice charles p. daly and henry w. longfellow. professor charles anthon of columbia college dedicated his horace to my father in the following choice words: to my old & valued friend james campbell, esq., who, amid the graver duties of a judicial station, can still find leisure to gratify a pure and cultivated taste, by reviving the studies of earlier years. the following letter from professor anthon, the original of which is still retained by the family, was addressed to my mother shortly after my father's death. col[umbia] coll[ege], sep. d . dear madam, i dedicated the accompanying work to your lamented husband in happier years, while he was still in the full career of honourable usefulness; and, now that death has taken him from us, i deem it but right that the volume which bore his name while living, should still continue to be a memento of him. may i request you to accept this humble but sincere tribute to the memory of a most valued friend? i remain, very respectfully and truly, chas. anthon. mrs. campbell, houston street. when professor anthon was about forty-eight years of age edgar allan poe described him as "about five feet, eight inches in height; rather stout; fair complexion; hair light and inclined to curl; forehead remarkably broad and high; eye gray, clear, and penetrating; mouth well-formed, with excellent teeth--the lips having great flexibility, and consequent power of expression; the smile particularly pleasing. his address in general is bold, frank, cordial, full of _bonhomie_. his whole air is _distingué_ in the best understanding of the term--that is to say, he would impress anyone at first sight with the idea of his being no ordinary man. he has qualities, indeed, which would have assured him eminent success in almost any pursuit; and there are times in which his friends are half disposed to regret his exclusive devotion to classical literature." my father was a trustee of the venerable new york society library and one of the directors of the old united states bank in philadelphia; and i have in my possession a number of interesting letters from nicholas biddle, its president, addressed to him and asking his advice and counsel. for eighteen years he was a trustee of columbia college in new york, and enjoyed the close friendship of president william a. duer, reverend and professor john mcvickar, james renwick, professor of chemistry, whose mother, jennie jeffery, was burns's "blue-e'ed lassie," and professor charles anthon, all of whom filled chairs in that institution with unquestioned ability. my father was also a member of the st. andrews society of new york. after his death, president duer in an impressive address alluded to him in the following manner: "two of our associates with whom i have been similarly connected and have known from boyhood have also departed, leaving sweet memories behind them, james campbell and david s. jones, the former a scholar and a ripe and good one, once honoring the choice of his fellow citizens and winning golden opinions as surrogate of this city and county." president duer had a most interesting family of children. his eldest married daughter, frances maria, was the wife of henry shaeffe hoyt of park place, and died recently in newport at a very advanced age. eleanor jones duer, another daughter, married george t. wilson, an englishman. she was a great beauty, bearing a striking resemblance to fanny kemble, and was remarkable for her strong intellect. her marriage was clandestine, and the cause, as far as i know, was never explained. still another daughter, elizabeth, married archibald gracie king of weehawken, and was a colonial dame of much prominence in her later years. she was the mother of the authoress, mrs. john king van rensselaer. president duer's wife was hannah maria denning of fishkill, new york. i knew her only as an elderly woman possessing a fine presence and social tastes. in my early life the students of columbia college enjoyed playing practical jokes upon its dignified professors. as an illustration, i remember once seeing the death of professor renwick fictitiously published in one of the daily journals, much to the sorrow and subsequently the indignation of a large circle of friends. professor anthon, too, although a confirmed bachelor, had to face his turn, and his marriage to some unknown bride bearing an assumed name was an occasional announcement. but the most amusing feature of the joke would appear in the morning, when an emphatic denial would be seen in the columns of the same newspaper, accompanied by a quotation in spurious latin. professor anthon lived with his two spinster sisters in one of the college buildings, and their home was a rendezvous for an appreciative younger generation. in connection with his duties at the college, he was the head of the columbia college grammar school, and i have always understood that he strictly followed the scriptural injunction not "to spare the rod." his victims were repeatedly heard to remark that these flagellations partially counterbalanced the lack of exercise which he felt very keenly in his sedentary life. but with all his austerity his pupils would occasionally be astonished over the amount of humor that he was capable of displaying. his handwriting was exquisitely minute in character, and i have in my possession two valentines composed by him and sent to me which are quaintly beautiful in language and, although sixty years old, are still in a perfect state of preservation. _to miss marian campbell._ the campbell is coming! ye gentles beware, for don cupid lies hid in her dark flowing hair, and her eyes, bright as stars that in mid-heaven roll, pierce through frock-coat and dickey right into the soul! and ye lips which the coral might envy, i ween, and ye pearl rows that peep from the red lips between, and that soft-dimpled cheek, with the hue of the rose, and that smile which bears conquest wherever it goes, oh, could i but think that you soon would be mine, i'd send marian each morning a sweet valentine. feb'y , . (written a few years later.) sweet girl! within whose laughing eye a thousand little cupids lie, while every curl, that floats above thy noble brow, seems fraught with love. oh, list to me, my loved one, list! thy tellkampf's suit no more resist, but give to him, to call his own, a heart where kings might make their throne. john louis tellkampf, to whom anthon so facetiously alludes in the second valentine, was a young german who frequently came to our house, and who, through my father's aid and influence, in subsequent years became professor of german in columbia college. when we first knew him he spoke english with much difficulty, and it was a standing joke in our household that once when he desired to say that a certain person had been born he expressed the fact as "getting alive." malcolm campbell, a younger brother of mine, was graduated in from columbia college near the head of his class. among his classmates were charles seymour, subsequently bishop of the protestant episcopal church of illinois, and the distinguished lawyer frederick r. coudert, whose father kept a boys' french school in bleecker street. my brother subsequently studied law in the office of judge henry hilton, and for many years practiced at the new york bar. upon a certain occasion he and samuel f. kneeland were opposing counsel in an important suit during which mr. kneeland kept quoting from his own work upon "mechanics' liens." my brother endured this as long as his patience permitted and then, slowly rising to his feet, said: "i have cited decisions on the point in controversy, but my learned opponent cites nothing except his own opinions printed in his own book. with such persistency has he done this that i have been tempted to write these lines: "oh, kneeland! dear kneeland, pray what do you mean by such a fat book on the subject of lien? was it for glory or was it for pelf, or just for the pleasure of quoting yourself?" it seems almost needless to add that this doggerel was followed by a round of applause, and that chief justice charles p. daly and judge joseph f. daly, as well as judge george m. van hoesen, who were on the bench at this time, joined in the merriment. the commencement exercises of columbia college, as i remember them, took place every summer in st. john's church opposite st. john's park, and i often attended them in my early days. columbia college at this period was in the lower part of the city between college and park places, and was the original king's college of colonial days. all of the professors lived in the college buildings in a most unostentatious manner, and i readily recall frequent instances during my early childhood when, in company with my father, i walked to the college and took a simple six o'clock supper with professor anthon and his sisters. my mother met my father while visiting in new york, and the acquaintance eventually resulted in a runaway marriage. they were married on the th of june, , and nine days later the following notice appeared in _the national advocate_: _married._ at flushing, l.i., by the rev. mr. [barzilla] buckley, james campbell esq. of this city, to miss mary ann hazard, daughter of john hazard, esq. of jamaica, long island. the objection of my grandfather hazard to my mother's marriage was not unnatural, as she was his only child, and being at this time well advanced in years he dreaded the separation. but the happy bride immediately brought her husband to live in the old home where she had been born, where the young couple began their married life under pleasing auspices, and my father continued his practice of law in new york. i had the misfortune of being a second daughter. traditionally, i know that my grandfather most earnestly desired a grandson at that time, and when the nurse announced my birth, she was not sufficiently courageous to tell the truth, and said: "a boy, sir!" her faltering manner possibly betrayed her, as the sarcastic retort was: "i dare say, an irish boy." my ambitious parents sent me with my oldest sister, fanny, at the early age of four, to a school in the village of jamaica conducted by miss delia bacon. my recollection of events occurring at this early period is not very vivid, but i still recall the vision of three beautiful women, delia, alice and julia bacon, who presided over our school. this interesting trio were nieces of the distinguished author and divine, the rev. dr. leonard bacon, who for fifty-seven years was pastor of the first congregational church of new haven. many years subsequent to my school days, delia bacon became, as is well known, an enthusiastic advocate of the baconian authorship of shakespeare's plays. i have understood that she made a pilgrimage to stratford-on-avon hoping to secure the proper authority to reopen shakespeare's grave, a desire, however, that remained ungratified. she was a woman of remarkable ability, and i have in my possession the book, written by her nephew, which tells the story of her life. i was miss bacon's youngest pupil, and attended school regularly in company with my sister, whither we were driven each morning in the family carriage. my studies were not difficult, and my principal recollection is my playing out of doors with a dog named sancho, while the older children were busy inside with their studies. during my long island life, as a very young child, i was visiting my aunts in jay street, new york, when i was taken to grant thorburn's seed shop in maiden lane, which i think was called "the arcade." there was much there to delight the childish fancy--canaries, parrots, and other birds of varied plumage. thorburn's career was decidedly unusual. he was born in scotland, where he worked in his father's shop as a nailmaker. he came to new york in and for a time continued at his old trade. he then kept a seed store and, after making quite a fortune, launched into a literary career and wrote under the _nom de plume_ of "laurie todd." footnotes: [ ] now rutgers college. chapter ii new york and some new yorkers about my parents moved to new york, and immediately occupied the house, no. hubert street, purchased by my father, and pleasantly located a short distance from st. john's park, then the fashionable section of the city. this park was always kept locked, but it was the common play-ground of the children of the neighborhood, whose families were furnished with keys, as is the case with gramercy park to-day. st. john's church overlooked this park, and the houses on the other three sides of the square were among the finest residences in the city. many of them were occupied by families of prominence, among which were those of watts, gibbes, kemble, hamilton and smedberg. next door to us on hubert street lived commander, subsequently rear admiral, charles wilkes, u.s.n., and his young family. his first wife was miss jane jeffrey renwick, who was a sister of professor james renwick of columbia college, and after her death he married mary lynch, a daughter of henry lynch of new york and the widow of captain william compton bolton of the navy. this, of course, was previous to his naval achievements, which are such well known events in american history. in after life admiral and mrs. wilkes moved to washington, d.c., where i renewed my friendship of early days and where members of his family still reside, beloved and respected by the whole community. mr. thomas s. gibbes of south carolina, whose wife was miss susan annette vanden heuvel, daughter of john c. vanden heuvel, a wealthy land owner, lived on hudson street, facing st. john's park. their elder daughter charlotte augusta, who married john jacob astor, son of william b. astor, was an early playmate of mine, and many pleasant memories of her as a little girl cluster around st. john's park, where we romped together. when i first knew the gibbes family it had recently returned from a long residence in paris, an unusual experience in these days, and both charlotte augusta and her younger sister, annette gibbes, sang in a very pleasing manner french songs, which were a decided novelty to our juvenile ears. mrs. gibbes's sisters were mrs. gouverneur s. bibby and mrs. john c. hamilton. directly opposite st. john's park, on the corner of varick and beach streets, was miss maria forbes's school for young girls, which was the fashionable school of the day. i attended it in company with my sister fanny and my brother james who was my junior. miss forbes occasionally admitted boys to her school when accompanied by older sisters. our life there was regulated in accordance with the strictest principles of learning and etiquette, and a child would have been deficient indeed who failed to acquire knowledge under the tuition of such an able teacher. school commenced promptly at eight o'clock and continued without intermission until three. the principal of the school was the daughter of john forbes, who for thirty years was the librarian of the new york society library. he was a native of aberdeen in scotland, and was brought to this country in extreme youth by a widowed mother of marked determination and piety, with the intention of launching him successfully in life. he early displayed a fondness for books, and must have shown an uncommon maturity of mind and much executive ability, as he was only nineteen when he was appointed to the position just named. it is an interesting fact that he accepted the librarianship in with a salary of two hundred and fifty dollars a year in addition to the fines and two and a half per cent. upon all moneys collected, besides the use or rental of the lower front room of the library building. after many years of labor his salary was raised to five hundred dollars. upon his death in october, , the trustees, out of respect to his memory, voted to attend his funeral in a body and ordered the library closed for the remaining four days of the week. he married miss martha skidmore, daughter of lemuel skidmore, a prominent iron and steel merchant of new york, and i have no doubt that maria forbes, their daughter and my early teacher, inherited her scholarly tastes from her father, of whom dr. john w. francis in his "old new york" justly speaks as a "learned man." miss forbes was a pronounced disciplinarian, and administered one form of punishment which left a lasting impression upon my memory. for certain trivial offenses a child was placed in a darkened room and clothed in a tow apron. one day i was subjected to this punishment for many hours, an incident which naturally i have never yet been able to forget. on the occasion referred to miss forbes was obliged to leave the schoolroom for a few minutes and, unfortunately for my happiness, appointed my young brother james to act as monitor during her absence. his first experience in the exercise of a little authority evidently turned his head, for upon the return of our teacher i was reported for misbehavior. the charge against me was that i had smiled. it is too long ago to remember whether or not it was a smile of derision, but upon mature reflection i think it must have been. i knew, however, in my childish heart that i had committed no serious offense and, as can readily be imagined, my indignation was boundless. it was the first act of injustice i had ever experienced. feeling that the punishment was undeserved, and smarting under it, with abundance of leisure upon my hands, i bit the tough tow apron into many pieces. when miss forbes after a few hours, which seemed to me an eternity, came to relieve me from my irksome position and noticed the condition of the apron, she regaled me with a homily upon the evils of bad temper, and gave as practical illustrations the lives of some of our most noted criminals, all of whom had expiated their crimes upon the gallows. in recalling these early school days it seems to me that the rudiments of education received far more attention then than now. spelling was regarded as of chief importance and due consideration was given to grammar. there were no "frills" then, such as physical culture, manual training and the like, and vacation lasted but thirty days, usually during the month of august. some of my earliest friendships were formed at miss forbes's school, many of which i have retained through a long life. among my companions and classmates were the tillotsons, lynches, astors, kembles, hamiltons, duers, and livingstons. but in spite of the severe discipline of miss forbes's school, her pupils occasionally engaged in current gossip. it was in her schoolroom i first made the discovery that this earth boasted of such valuable adjuncts to the human family as title-bearing gentlemen, and in this particular case it was a live count that was brought to my notice. count louis fitzgerald tasistro had recently arrived in new york, and his engagement to adelaide lynch, a daughter of judge james lynch, of an old new york family, was soon announced. on the voyage to america he had made the acquaintance of a son of lord henry gage of england, whose principal object in visiting this country was to make the acquaintance of his kinsman, mr. gouverneur kemble. through his instrumentality tasistro was introduced into new york's most exclusive set, and soon became the lion of the hour. we girls discussed the engagement and subsequent marriage of the distinguished foreigner (_sub rosa_, of course), and to our childish vision pictured a wonderful career for this new york girl. the marriage, however, soon terminated unfortunately, and to the day of his death tasistro's origin remained a mystery. he was an intellectual man of fine presence and skilled in a number of foreign languages. he claimed he was a graduate of dublin college. many years later, after i had become more familiar with title-bearing foreigners, tasistro again crossed my path in washington, where he was acting as a translator in the state department; but after a few years, owing to an affection of the eyes, he was obliged to give up this position, and his condition was one of destitution. through the instrumentality of my husband he obtained an annuity from his son, whom, by the way, he never knew; and for some years, in a spirit of gratitude, taught my children french. his last literary effort was the translation of the first two volumes of the comte de paris's "history of the civil war in america." his devotion to my husband was pathetic, and i have frequently heard the count say during the last years of his life that he never met him without some good fortune immediately following. after mr. gouverneur's death i received the following letter from tasistro, which is so beautiful in diction that i take pleasure in inserting it: washington, april , . my dear mrs. gouverneur, had i obeyed implicitly the impulses of my heart, or been less deeply affected by the great loss which will ever render the th of april a day of sad & bitter memories to me, i should perhaps have been more expeditious in rendering to you the poor tribute of my condolence for the terrible bereavement which it has pleased the supreme ruler of all things to afflict you with. my own particular grief in thus losing the best & most valued friend i ever had on earth, receives additional poignancy from the fact that, although duly impressed with an abiding sense of the imperishable obligation, conferred upon me by my lamented friend, i have been debarred, by my own physical infirmities, from proffering those services which it would have afforded me so much consolation to perform. i should be loath, however, to start on my own journey for that shadowy land whose dim outlines are becoming daily more & more visible to my mental eye, without leaving some kind of record attesting to the depth of my appreciation of all the noble attributes which clustered around your husband's character--of my intense & lasting gratitude for his generous exertions in my behalf, & my profound sympathy for you personally in this hour of sorrow & affliction. hoping that you may find strength adequate to the emergency, i remain, with great respect, your devoted servant, l. f. tasistro. a valued friend of my father's was dr. john w. francis, the "doctor sangrado" of this period, who, with other practitioners of the day, believed in curing all maladies by copious bleeding and a dose of calomel. he was the fashionable physician of that time and especially prided himself upon his physical resemblance to benjamin franklin. he had much dramatic ability of a comic sort, and i have often heard the opinion expressed that if he had adopted the stage as a profession he would have rivalled the comedian william e. burton, who at this time was delighting his audiences at burton's theater on chambers street. in my early life when dr. francis was called to our house professionally the favorite dose he invariably prescribed for nearly every ailment was "calomel and jalap." one day during school hours at miss forbes's i was suddenly summoned to return to my home. i soon discovered after my arrival that i was in the presence of a tribunal composed of my parents and dr. francis. i was completely at a loss to understand why i was recalled with, what seemed to me, such undue haste, as i was entirely unconscious of any misdemeanor. i soon discovered, however, that i was in great trouble. it seems that a young girl from santa cruz, a boarding pupil at our school, had died of a malady known at this period as "iliac passion," but now as appendicitis. her attending physician was dr. ralph i. bush, a former surgeon in the british navy, and i soon learned to my dismay that i was accused of having made an indiscreet remark in regard to his management of my schoolmate's case, although to this day i have never known exactly how dr. francis, as our family physician, was involved in the affair. i stood up as bravely as i could under a rigid cross-examination, but, alas! i had no remembrance whatever of making any remark that could possibly offend. at any rate, dr. bush had given dr. francis to understand that he was ready to settle the affair according to the approved method of the day; but dr. francis was a man of peace, and had no relish for the code. possibly, with the reputed activity of sir lucius o'trigger, dr. bush had already selected his seconds, as i have seldom seen a man more unnerved than dr. francis by what proved after all to be only a trifling episode. soon after my trying interview, however, explanations followed, and the two physicians amicably adjusted the affair. it seems that this unfortunate entanglement arose from a misunderstanding. there were two cases of illness at miss forbes's school at the same time, the patient of dr. bush already mentioned and another child suffering from a broken arm whom dr. francis attended. he set the limb but, as he was not proficient as a surgeon, the act was criticized by the schoolgirls within my hearing. my sense of loyalty to my family doctor caused me to utter some childish remark in his defense which was possibly to the effect that he was a great deal better doctor than dr. bush, who had failed to save the life of our late schoolmate. in recalling this childish episode which caused me so much anxiety i am surprised that such unnecessary attention was paid to the passing remark of a mere child. dr. francis was as proficient in quoting wise maxims as benjamin franklin, whom he was said to resemble. one of them which i recall is the epitome of wisdom: "if thy hand be in a lion's mouth, get it out as fast as thou canst." i may here state, by the way, that in close proximity to dr. francis's residence on bond street lived dr. eleazer parmly, the fashionable dentist of new york. he stood high in public esteem and a few still living may remember his pleasing address. he accumulated a large fortune and i believe left many descendants. the girls at miss forbes's school were taught needle work and embroidery, for in my early days no young woman's education was regarded as complete without these accomplishments. i quote from memory an elaborate sampler which bore the following poetical effusion: what is the blooming tincture of the skin, to peace of mind and harmony within? what the bright sparkling of the finest eye to the soft soothing of a kind reply? can comeliness of form or face so fair with kindliness of word or deed compare? no. those at first the unwary heart may gain, but these, these only, can the heart retain. it seems remarkable that after spending months in working such effusive lines, or others similar to them, miss forbes's pupils did not become luminaries of virtue and propriety. if they did not their failure certainly could not be laid at the door of their preceptress. miss forbes personally taught the rudiments but mr. luther jackson, the writing master, visited the school each day and instructed his scholars in the italian style of chirography. mr. michael a. gauvain taught french so successfully that in a short time many of us were able to place on the amateur boards a number of french plays. our audiences were composed chiefly of admiring parents, who naturally viewed the performances with paternal partiality and no doubt regarded us as incipient rachels. i remember as if it were only yesterday a play in which i took one of the principal parts--"athalie," one of jean racine's plays. this mode of education was adopted in paris by madame campan, the instructor of the french nobility as well as of royalty during the first empire. in her manuscript memoirs, addressed to the children of her brother, "citizen" edmond charles genet, who was then living in america, and of which i have an exact copy, she dwells upon the histrionic performances by her pupils, among whom were queen hortense and my husband's aunt, eliza monroe, daughter of president james monroe and subsequently the wife of judge george hay of virginia. she gives a graphic account of the emperor attending one of these plays, when "esther," one of racine's masterpieces, was performed. the dancing master, who, of course, was an essential adjunct of every well regulated school, was john j. charraud. he was a refugee from hayti after the revolution in that island, and opened his dancing-school in new york on murray street, but afterwards gave his "publics" in the city hall. he taught only the cotillion and the three-step waltz and came to our school three times a week for this purpose. much attention was given to poetry, and i still recall the first piece i committed to memory, "pity the sorrows of a poor old man." my father thoroughly believed in memorizing verse, and he always liberally rewarded me for every piece i was able to recite. i may state, by the way, that blair's rhetoric was a textbook of our school and the one which i most enjoyed. miss forbes had a number of medals which the girls were allowed to wear at stated periods for proficiency in their studies as well as for exemplary deportment. there was one of these which was known as the "excellence medal," and the exultant pupil upon whom it was bestowed was allowed the privilege of wearing it for two weeks. upon it was inscribed the well known proverb of solomon, "many daughters have done virtuously, but thou excellest them all." among the pleasant memories of my early life are the dinners given by my father, when the distinguished men of the day gathered around his hospitable board. in new york at this time all the professional cooks and waiters in their employ were colored men. butlers were then unknown. it was also before the days of _à la russe_ service, and i remember seeing upon some of these occasions a saddle of venison, while at the opposite end of the table there was always a westphalia ham. fresh salmon was considered a _pièce de résistance_. many different wines were always served, and long years later in a conversation with gov. william l. marcy, who was a warm friend of my father, he told me he was present on one of these occasions when seven different varieties of wine were served. i especially remember a dinner given by him in honor of martin van buren. he was vice-president of the united states at the time and was accompanied to new york by john forsyth of georgia, a member of jackson's cabinet. some of the guests invited to meet him were gulian c. verplanck, thomas morris, john c. hamilton, philip hone and walter bowne. the day previous to this dinner my father received the following note from mr. van buren: my dear sir, our friend mr. forsyth, is with me and you must send him an invitation to dine with you to-morrow if, as i suppose is the case, i am to have that honor. yours truly, m. van buren. sunday, june , ' . j. campbell, esq. martin van buren was a political friend of my father's from almost his earliest manhood. two years after he was appointed surrogate he received the following confidential letter from mr. van buren. as will be seen, it was before the days when he wrote in full the prefix "van" to his name: _private._ my dear sir, mr. hoyt wishes me to quiet your apprehensions on the subject of the elector.[ ] i will state to you truly how the matter stands. my sincere belief is that we shall succeed; at the same time i am bound to admit that the subject is full of difficulties. if the members were now, and without extraneous influence, to settle the matter, the result would be certain. but i know that uncommon exertions have been, and are making, by the outdoor friends of adams & clay to effect a co-operation of their forces in favor of a divided ticket. look at the "national journal" of the d, and you will find an article, prepared with care, to make influence there. a few months ago mr. adams would have revolted at such a publication. it is the desperate situation of his affairs that has brought him to it. the friends of clay (allowing adams more strength than he may have), have no hopes of getting him (clay) into the house, unless they get a part of this state. the certain decline of adams in other parts & the uncertainty of his strength in the east alarm his friends on the same point. thus both parties are led to the adoption of desperate measures. out of n. england adams has now no reason to expect more than his three or four votes in maryland. a partial discomfiture in the east may therefore bring him below mr. clay's western votes, & if it should appear that he (adams) cannot get into the house, the western votes would go to crawford. if nothing takes place materially to change the present state of things, we hope to defeat their plans here. but if you lose your assembly ticket, there is no telling the effect it may produce, & my chief object in being thus particular with you is to conjure your utmost attention to that subject. about the governor's election there is no sort of doubt. i am not apt to be confident, & _i aver that the matter is so._ but it is to the assembly that interested men look, and the difference of ten members will (with the information the members can have when they come to act) be decisive in the opinion of the present members as to the complexion of the next house. there are _other points of view_ which i cannot now state to you, in which the result i speak of may seriously affect the main question. let me therefore entreat your serious attention to this matter. _be careful of this._ your city is a gossiping place, & what you tell to one man in confidence is soon in the mouths of hundreds. you can impress our friends on this subject without connecting me with it. do so. your sincere friend, m. v. buren. albany, octob. , . james campbell, esq. the mr. hoyt referred to in the opening sentence of this letter was jesse hoyt, another political friend of my father's who, under van buren's administration, was collector of the port of new york. during my child life on long island he made my father occasional visits, and in subsequent years lived opposite us on hubert street. he was the first one to furnish me with a practical illustration of man's perfidy. as a very young child i consented to have my ears pierced, when mr. hoyt volunteered to send me a pair of coral ear-rings, but he failed to carry out his promise. i remember reading some years ago several letters addressed to hoyt by "prince" john van buren which he begins with "dear jessica." table appointments at this time were most simple and unostentatious. wine coolers were found in every well regulated house, but floral decorations were seldom seen. at my father's dinners, given upon special occasions, the handsome old silver was always used, much of which formerly belonged to my mother's family. the forks and spoons were of heavy beaten silver, and the knives were made of steel and had ivory handles. ice cream was always the dessert, served in tall pyramids, and the universal flavor was vanilla taken directly from the bean, as prepared extracts were then unknown. i have no recollection of seeing ice water served upon any well-appointed table, as modern facilities for keeping it had yet to appear, and cold water could always be procured from pumps on the premises. the castors, now almost obsolete, containing the usual condiments, were _de rigueur_; while the linen used in our home was imported from ireland, and in some cases bore the coat of arms of the united states with its motto, "_e pluribus unum_." my father's table accommodated twenty persons and the dinner hour was three o'clock. these social functions frequently lasted a number of hours, and when it became necessary the table was lighted by lamps containing sperm oil and candles in candelabra. these were the days when men wore ruffled shirt fronts and high boots. i still have in my possession an acceptance from william b. astor, son of john jacob astor, to a dinner given by my father, written upon very small note paper and folded in the usual style of the day: mr. w. astor will do himself the honor to dine with mr. campbell to-day agreeable to his polite invitation. may th. james campbell esq. hubert street. i well remember a stag dinner given by my father when i was a child at which one of the guests was philip hone, one of the most efficient and energetic mayors the city of new york has ever had. he is best known to-day by his remarkable diary, edited by bayard tuckerman, which is a veritable storehouse of events relating to the contemporary history of the city. mr. hone had a fine presence with much elegance of manner, and was truly one of nature's noblemen. many years ago arent schuyler de peyster, to whom i am indebted for many traditions of early new york society, told me that upon one occasion a conversation occurred between philip hone and his brother john, a successful auctioneer, in which the latter advocated their adoption of a coat of arms. philip's response was characteristic of the man: "i will have no arms except those almighty god has given me." in this connection, and _àpropos_ of heraldic designs and their accompaniments, i have been informed that the hon. daniel manning, cleveland's secretary of the treasury, used upon certain of his cards of invitation a crest with the motto, "aquila non capit muscas" ("the eagle does not catch flies"). this brings to my mind the following anecdote from a dictionary of quotations translated into english in by d. n. mcdonnel: "casti, an italian poet who fled from russia on account of having written a scurrilous poem in which he made severe animadversions on the czarina and some of her favorites, took refuge in austria. joseph ii. upon coming in contact with him asked him whether he was not afraid of being punished there, as well as in russia, for having insulted his high friend and ally. the bard's steady reply was 'aquila non capit muscas.'" sir francis bacon, however, was the first in the race, as long before either manning or casti were born he made use of these exact words in his "jurisdiction of the marshes." in my early days john h. contoit kept an ice cream garden on broadway near white street, and it was the first establishment of this kind, as far as i know, in new york. during the summer months it was a favorite resort for many who sought a cool place and pleasant society, where they might eat ice cream under shady vines and ornamental lattice work. the ice cream was served in high glasses, and the price paid for it was twelve and one-half cents. nickles and dimes were of course unknown, but the mexican shilling, equivalent to twelve and one-half cents, and the quarter of a dollar, also mexican, were in circulation. there were no such places as lunchrooms and tearooms in my early days, and the only restaurant of respectability was george w. browne's "eating house," which was largely frequented by new yorkers. the proprietor had a very pretty daughter, mrs. coles, who was brought prominently before the public in the summer of as the heroine of an altercation between august belmont and edward heyward, a prominent south carolinian, followed by a duel in maryland in which belmont is said to have been so seriously wounded as to retain the scars until his death. alexander t. stewart's store, corner of broadway and chambers street, was the fashionable dry goods emporium, and for many years was without a conspicuous rival. william i. tenney, horace hinsdale, henry gelston, and frederick and henry g. marquand were jewelers. tenney's store was on broadway near murray street; gelston's was under the astor house on the corner of barclay street and broadway; hinsdale's was on the east side of broadway and cortlandt street; and the marquands were on the west side of broadway between cortlandt and dey streets. james leary bore the palm in new york as the fashionable hatter, and his shop was on broadway under the astor house. as was usual then with his craft, he kept individual blocks for those of his customers who had heads of unusual dimensions. in his show window he sometimes exhibited a block of remarkable size which was adapted to fit the heads of a distinguished trio, daniel webster, general james watson webb, and charles augustus davis. miss anna leary of newport, his daughter and a devout roman catholic, received the title of countess from the pope. the most prominent hostelry in new york before the days of the astor house was the city hotel on lower broadway. i have been informed that the site upon which it stood still belongs to representatives of the boreel family, descendants of the first john jacob astor. another, but of a later period, was the american hotel on broadway near the astor house. it was originally the town house of john c. vanden heuvel, a member of one of new york's most exclusive families. upon mr. vanden heuvel's death this house passed into the possession of his son-in-law, john c. hamilton, who changed it into a hotel. its proprietor was william b. cozzens, who was so long and favorably known as a hotel proprietor. at this same time he had charge of the only hotel at west point, and it was named after him. if any army officers survive who were cadets during cozzens's _régime_ they will recall with pleasure his kindly bearing and attractive manner. mr. vanden heuvel's country residence was in the vicinity of ninetieth street overlooking the hudson river. his other daughters were susan annette, who married mr. thomas s. gibbes of south carolina, and justine, who became the wife of gouverneur s. bibby, a cousin of my husband. as i first remember union square it was in the outskirts of the city. several handsome houses had a few years previously been erected there by james f. penniman, the son-in-law of mr. samuel judd, the latter of whom amassed a large fortune by the manufacture and sale of oil and candles. miss lydia kane, a sister of the elder de lancey kane and a noted wit of the day, upon a certain occasion was showing some strangers the sights of new york, and in passing these houses was asked by whom they were occupied. "that one," she responded, indicating the one in which the pennimans themselves lived, "is occupied by one of the _illuminati_ of the city." robert l. stuart and his brother alexander were proprietors of a large candy store on the corner of chambers and greenwich streets, under the firm name of r. l. & a. stuart. their establishment was a favorite resort of the children of the day, who were as much addicted to sweets as are their more recent successors. "broken candy" was a specialty of this firm, and was sold at a very low price. alexander stuart frequently waited upon customers, and as a child i have often chattered with him over the counter. he never married. the principal markets were washington on the north river, and fulton on the east side. the marketing was always done by the mistress of each house accompanied by a servant bearing a large basket. during the season small girls carried strawberries from door to door, calling out as they went along; and during the summer months hot corn, carried in closed receptacles made for the purpose, was sold by colored men, whose cries could be heard in every part of the city. mrs. isaac sayre's bakery was an important shop for all housewives, and her homemade jumbles and pound cake were in great demand. her plum cake, too, was exceptionally good, and it is an interesting fact that it was she who introduced cake in boxes for weddings. her shop survived for an extraordinary number of years and, as far as i know, may still exist and be kept by some of her descendants. i must not omit to speak of a peculiar custom which in this day of grace, when there are no longer any old women, seems rather odd. a woman immediately after her marriage wore a cap made of some light material, which she invariably tied with strings under her chin. most older women were horrified at the thought of gray hairs, and immediately following their appearance false fronts were purchased, over which caps were worn. i well recall that some of the most prominent women of the day concealed fine heads of hair in this grotesque fashion. baldheaded men were not tolerated, and "scratches" or wigs provided the remedy. marriage announcements were decidedly informal. when the proper time arrived for the world to be taken into the confidence of a young couple, they walked upon broadway arm in arm, thus announcing that their marriage was imminent. a dinner given in my young days by my parents to mr. and mrs. william c. rives still lingers in my memory. mr. rives had just been appointed to his second mission to france, and with his wife was upon the eve of sailing for his new post of duty. i remember that it was a large entertainment, but the only guests whom i recall in addition to the guests of honor were mr. and mrs. james a. hamilton. he was a son of alexander hamilton, and was at the time united states district attorney in new york. it seems strange, indeed, that the other guests should have escaped my memory, but a head-dress worn by mrs. hamilton struck my young fancy and i have never forgotten it. as i recall that occasion i can see her handsome face surmounted by a huge fluffy pink cap. this mr. and mrs. hamilton were the parents of alexander hamilton, the third, who married angelica, daughter of maturin livingston, and who, by the way, as i remember, was one of the most graceful dancers and noted belles of her day. thomas morris, son of robert morris the great financier of the revolution, was my father's life-long friend. he was an able _raconteur_, and i recall many conversations relating to his early life, a portion of which had been spent in paris at its celebrated polytechnic school. one incident connected with his career is especially interesting. when the sordid louis philippe, then the duke of orleans, was wandering in this country, teaching in his native tongue "the young idea how to shoot," he was the guest for a time of mr. morris. several years later when john greig, a scotchman and prominent citizen of canandaigua, new york, was about to sail for france, mr. morris gave him a letter of introduction to the duke. upon his arrival in havre after a lengthy voyage he found much to his surprise that louis philippe was comfortably seated upon the throne of france. under these altered conditions he hesitated to present his letter, but after mature consideration sought an audience with the new king; and it is a pleasing commentary upon human nature to add that he was welcomed with open arms. the king had by no means forgotten the hospitality he had received in america, and especially the many favors extended by the morris family. mr. morris's wife was miss sarah kane, daughter of colonel john kane, and she was beautiful even in her declining years. she also possessed the wit so characteristic of the kanes, who, by the way, were of celtic origin, being descended from john kane who came from ireland in . she was the aunt of the first de lancey kane, who married the pretty louisa langdon, the granddaughter of john jacob astor. their daughter, emily morris, made frequent visits to our house. she was renowned for both beauty and wit. i remember seeing several verses addressed to her, the only lines of which i recall are as follows: that calm collected look, as though her pulses beat by book. another intimate friend of my father was frederick de peyster, who at a later day became president of the new york historical society. he habitually took sunday tea with us, and always received a warm welcome from the juvenile members of the family with whom he was a great favorite. he was devoted to children, and delighted our young hearts by occasional presents of game-chickens which at once became family pets. in and my father's sympathies were deeply enlisted in behalf of the greeks in their struggles for independence from the turkish rule. it will be remembered that this was the cause to which byron devoted his last energies. the public sentiment of the whole country was aroused to a high pitch of excitement, and meetings were held not only for the purpose of lending moral support and encouragement to the greeks, but also for raising funds for their assistance. among those to whom my father appealed was his friend, rudolph bunner, a highly prominent citizen of oswego, n.y. although a lawyer he did not practice his profession, but devoted himself chiefly to his extensive landed estates in oswego county. he was wealthy and generous, a good liver and an eloquent political speaker. he served one term in congress where, as elsewhere, he was regarded as a man of decided ability. he died about at the age of nearly seventy. the distinguished new york lawyer, john duer, married his daughter anne, by whom he had thirteen children, one of whom, anna henrietta, married the late pierre paris irving, a nephew of washington irving and at one time rector of the episcopal church at new brighton, staten island. mr. bunner's letter in response to my father's appeal is not devoid of interest, and is as follows: oswego, jan'y . my dear sir, though i have not written to you yet you were not so soon forgotten. nor can you so easily be erased from my memory as my negligence might seem to imply. in truth few persons have impressed my mind with a deeper sentiment of respect than yourself; you have that of open and frank in your character which if not in my own, is yet so congenial to my feelings that i shall much regret if my habitual indolence can lose me such a friend. your request in favor of the greeks will be hard to comply with. if i can be a contributor in a humble way to their success by my exertions here they shall not want them, but i fear the _angusta res domi_ may press too heavily upon us to permit of an effectual benevolence. if you wanted five hundred men six feet high with sinewy arms and case hardened constitutions, bold spirits and daring adventurers who would travel upon a bushel of corn and a gallon of whiskey per man from the extreme point of the world to constantinople we could furnish you with them, but i doubt whether they could raise the money to pay their passage from the gut of gibraltar upwards. the effort however shall be made and if we can not shew ourselves rich we will at least manifest our good will. though greece touches few yankee settlers thro the medium of classical associations yet a people struggling to free themselves from foreign bondage is sure to find warm hearts in every native of the wilderness. we admire your noble efforts and if we do not imitate you it is because our purses are as empty as a boetian's skull is thick. we know so little of what is _really_ projecting in the cabinets of europe that we are obliged to believe implicitly in newspaper reports, and we are perhaps foolish in hoping that the holy alliance intends to take the spanish part of the new world under their protection. in such an event our backwoodsmen would spring with the activity of squirrels to the assistance of the regenerated spaniards and perhaps _there_ we might fight more effectually the battle for universal freedom than either at thermopylæ or marathon. there indeed we might strike a blow that would break up the deep foundations of despotic power so as that neither art or force could again collect and cement the scattered elements. we are too distant from greece to make the turks feel our physical strength and what we can do thro money and sympathy is little in comparison with what we could if they were so near as that we might in addition pour out the tide of an armed northern population to sweep their shores and overcome the tyrants like one of their pestilential winds. nevertheless, sympathy is a wonderful power and the sympathy of a free nation like our own will not lose its moral effect. i calculate strongly on this. it is a more refined and rational kind of chivalry--this interest and activity in the fate of nations struggling to break the oppressor's rod, and it should be encouraged even where it is not directed so as to give it all adequate force. they who would chill it, who would reason about the why and the wherefore ought to recollect that such things can not be called forth by the art of man--they must burst spontaneously from his nature and be directed by his wisdom for the benefit of his kind.... we are all here real radical democrats and though some of us came in at the eleventh hour we will not go back, but on--on--on though certain of missing the penny fee. in truth this is the difference between real conviction and the calculating policy which takes sides according to what it conceives the vantage ground. a converted politician is as obstinate in his belief as one born in the faith. the man of craft changes his position according to the varying aspect of the political heavens. the one plays a game--the other sees as much of reality (or thinks he sees) in politicks as he does in his domestic affairs and is as earnest in the one as the other. salve--[greek: kai chaire] r. bunner. o'clock. i have had a full meeting for your greeks--and found my men of more mettle than i hoped for. we will do something thro the _country_--we have set the parsons to work and one shilling a head will make a good donation. we think we can give you or hundred dollars. mr. bunner was over sixty years old when he went to live in oswego, but he soon became identified with the interests of the place and added much by his activities to its local renown. in an undated letter to my father, he thus expatiates upon his situation in his adopted home, and paints its advantages in no uncertain colors:-- i am here unquestionably an exile but i will never dispond at my fate nor whimper because my own folly, want of tact or the very malice of the times have placed me in patmos when i desire a more splendid theatre. i can here be useful to my family--to my district. i can live cheaply, increase my fortune, be upon a par with the best of my neighbors, which i prefer to the feasts of your ostentatious mayor or the more real luxury of phil brasher's table. our population is small, our society contracted, but we are growing rapidly in numbers; and the society we have is in my opinion and to my taste fully equal to anything in your home. we possess men of intelligence without pretention, active men as jacob barker without his roguery--men whom nature intended to flourish at st. james, but whose fate fortune in some fit of prolifick humor fixed and nailed to this sinope. we have however to mitigate the cold spring breezes of the lake a fall unrivalled in mildness and in beauty even in italy, the land of poetry and passion. we have a whole lake in front, whose clear blue waters are without a parallel in europe. we have a beautiful river brawling at our feet, the banks of which gently slope and when our village is filled i will venture to say that in point of beauty, health and variety of prospect it has _nil simile aut secundum_. our house was the rendezvous of many of the learned and literary men of the day, who would sit for hours in the library discussing congenial topics. among others i well recall the celebrated jurist, ogden hoffman. he had an exceptionally melodious voice, and i have often heard him called "the silver-tongued orator." it has been asserted that in criminal cases a jury was rarely known to withstand his appeal. he married for his second wife virginia e. southard, a daughter of judge samuel l. southard of new jersey, who throughout monroe's two administrations was secretary of war. in the "wealthy citizens of new york," edited in by moses y. beach, an early owner in part of _the new york sun_, the hoffman family is thus described: "few families, for so few a number of persons as compose it, have cut 'a larger swath' or 'bigger figure' in the way of posts and preferment. talent, and also public service rendered, martial gallantry, poetry, judicial acumen, oratory, all have their lustre mingled with this name." i regard this statement as just and truthful. still another valued associate of my father was hugh maxwell, a prominent member of the new york bar. in his earlier life he was district attorney and later collector of the port of new york. the maxwells owned a pleasant summer residence at nyack-on-the-hudson, where we as children made occasional visits. many years later one of my daughters formed an intimate friendship with hugh maxwell's granddaughter, virginia de lancey kearny, subsequently mrs. ridgely hunt, which terminated only with the latter's death in . from my earliest childhood gulian c. verplanck was a frequent guest at our house. he and my father formed an intimacy in early manhood which lasted throughout life. mr. verplanck was graduated from columbia college in , the youngest bachelor of arts who, up to that time, had received a diploma from that institution of learning. both he and my father found in politics an all-absorbing topic of conversation, especially as both of them took an active part in state affairs. i have many letters, one of them written as early as , from mr. verplanck to my father bearing upon political matters in new york. for four terms he represented his district in congress, while later he served in the state senate and for many years was vice chancellor of the university of the state of new york. he was an ardent episcopalian and a vestryman in old trinity parish. he was a brilliant conversationalist, and his tastes, like my father's, were decidedly literary. in connection with william cullen bryant and robert c. sands, he edited _the talisman_, an annual which continued through the year . mr. verplanck lived to an old age and survived my father for a long time, but he did not forget his old friend. almost a score of years after my father's death, on the th of july, , mr. verplanck delivered a scholarly oration before the tammany society of new york, in which he paid the following glowing tribute to his memory: in those days james campbell, for many years the surrogate of this city, was a powerful leader at tammany hall, and from character and mind alone, without any effort or any act of popularity. he was not college-bred, but he was the son of a learned father, old malcolm campbell, who had been trained at aberdeen, the great school of scotch latinity. james campbell was, like his father, a good classical scholar, and he was a sound lawyer. he was not only an assiduous, a kind, sound and just magistrate, but one of unquestioned ability. in his days of surrogateship, the days of universal reporting, either in the multitudinous volumes in white law bindings on the shelves of lawyers, or in the crowded columns of the daily papers, had not quite arrived though they were just at hand. had he lived and held office a few years later, i do not doubt that he would have ranked with the great luminaries of legal science. as it is, i fear that james campbell's reputation must share the fate of the reputations of many able and eminent men in all professions who can not look to time's award, feeble tradition is their memory's guard. the most prominent newspaper in new york in my early days was the _courier and enquirer_, edited by general james watson webb, a man of distinguished ability. he began his literary career by editing the _morning courier_, but as this was not a very successful venture he purchased the _new york enquirer_ from mordecai manasseh noah, and in merged the two papers. several leading journalists began their active careers in his office, among others james gordon bennett, subsequently editor of _the new york herald_, henry j. raymond, the founder of _the new york times_, and charles king, father of madam kate king waddington and mrs. eugene schuyler, who at one time edited _the american_ and subsequently became the honored president of columbia college. james reed spaulding, a new englander by birth, was also connected with the _courier and enquirer_ for about ten years. in he became a member of the staff of the new york _world_, which, by the way, was originally intended to be a semi-religious sheet. during president lincoln's administration general webb sold the _courier and enquirer_ to the _world_, and the two papers were consolidated. william seward webb of new york was a son of this general webb, and the latter's daughter, mrs. catharine louisa benton, the widow of colonel james g. benton of the army, lived until recently in washington, and is one of the pleasant reminders left me of the old days of my new york life. _the new york herald_ was established some years after the _courier and enquirer_ and was from the first a flourishing sheet. it was exceptionally spicy, and it dealt so much in personalities that my father, who was a gentleman of the old school with very conservative views, was not, to say the least, one of its strongest admirers. several years before the civil war, at a time when the anti-slavery cauldron was at its boiling point, its editor, the elder james gordon bennett, dubbed its three journalistic contemporaries in new york, the world, the flesh, and the devil--the _world_, representing human life with all its pomps and vanities; the _times_, as a sheet as vacillating as the flesh; and the _tribune_, as the virulent champion of abolition, the counterpart of the devil himself. during the winter of james gordon bennett took his bride, who was miss henrietta agnes crean of new york, to washington on their wedding journey. as this season had been unusually severe, great distress prevailed, and a number of society women organized a charity ball for the relief of the destitute. it was given under the patronage of mrs. madison (the ex-president's widow), mrs. samuel l. gouverneur (my husband's mother), mrs. benjamin ogle tayloe (julia maria dickinson of troy, new york), and other society matrons, and, as can readily be understood, was a financial as well as a social success. tickets were eagerly sought, and mr. bennett applied for them for his wife and himself. at first he was refused, but after further consideration mrs. madison and mrs. gouverneur of the committee upon invitations granted his request on condition that no mention of the ball should appear in the columns of the _herald_. mr. bennett and his wife accordingly attended the entertainment, where the latter was much admired and danced to her heart's content. two days later, however, much to the chagrin and indignation of the managers, an extended account of the ball appeared in the _herald_. this incident will be better appreciated when i state that at this time the personal mention of a woman in a newspaper was an unheard-of liberty. it was the old-fashioned idea that a woman's name should occur but twice in print, first upon the occasion of her marriage and subsequently upon the announcement of her death. my husband once remarked to me, upon reading a description of a dress worn by one of my daughters at a ball, that if such a notice had appeared in a newspaper in connection with his sister he or his father would have thrashed the editor. john l. o'sullivan, a prominent literary man and in subsequent years minister to portugal, edited a periodical called the _democratic review_, which was published in magazine form. i well recall the first appearance of _harper's magazine_ in june, , and that for some time it had but few illustrations. _the evening_ post was established in , many years prior to the _courier and enquirer_. it was always widely read, was democratic in its tone, and its editorials were highly regarded. while i lived in new york, and also much later, it was edited by william cullen bryant, who was as gifted as an editor as he was as a poet. i have before me now a reprint of the first issue of this paper, dated monday, november , . i copy some of the advertisements, as many old new york names are represented: for sale by hoffman & seton twelve hhds. assorted glass ware. boxes listadoes, trunk white kid gloves, boxes soap & candles, bales cinnamon, entitled to drawback. nov. . * * * * * freight for copenhagen or hamburgh, the bark berkkeskow, capt. gubriel tothammer, is ready to receive freight for either of the above places, if application is made to the captain on board, at gouverneur's wharf. gouverneur & kemble. * * * * * for sale gin in pipes; large and small green bottle cases, complete; glass ware, consisting of tumblers, decanters, &c.; hair brushes, long and short; black and blue dutch cloth; flour, by frederick de peyster. a store house in broad-street to let, apply as above. nov. . * * * * * the subscriber has for sale, remaining from the cargo of the ship sarson, from calcutta, an assortment of white piece goods. also tierces rice, hhds. jamaica rum, bales sea-island , pieces white cotton, nankeens, tierces and bls. a quantity of large jamaica coffee, bottles in cases, and as usual, old madeira wine, fit for immediate use. robert lenox. footnotes: [ ] possibly this word is "election." chapter iii school-days and early friends i must return to my school days. after several years spent at miss forbes's my parents decided to afford me greater advantages for study, and especially for becoming more proficient in the french language, and i was accordingly sent to madame eloise chegaray's institution, which for many years was regarded as the most prominent girls' school in the country. it was a large establishment located on the corner of houston and mulberry streets, where she accommodated boarding pupils as well as day scholars. many years later this building was sold to the religious order of the _sacre coeur_. the school hours were from nine until three, with an intermission at twelve o'clock. the vacation, as at miss forbes's, was limited to the month of august. the discipline was not so rigid as at miss forbes's, as madame chegaray, who, by the way, taught her pupils to address her as _tante_, governed almost entirely by affection. she possessed unusual grace of manner and great kindness of heart, and her few surviving pupils hold her name and memory in the highest esteem. her early history is of exceptional interest. she was a daughter of pierre prosper désabaye, and came with her father and the other members of his family from paris to new york on account of his straitened circumstances, caused by an insurrection in san domingo, where his family owned large estates. madame chegaray commenced as a mere girl to teach french in a school in new brunswick, new jersey, kept by miss sophie hay, and was retained on account of the extreme purity of her accent. i chance to have in my possession madame chegaray's own account of her early struggles after leaving miss hay, from which i take great pleasure in quoting: among the royal _émigrés_ to this country was the countess de st. memin who kept a school. as my brother marc had removed to new york we joined him and i was employed as french governess in the school of mademoiselle de st. memin. but i still knew nothing but to speak my own native tongue. one day i was bewailing my ignorance in the presence of m. felix de beaujour, consul general of france to this country. "mlle. eloise," he said, "quand on sait lire on peut toujours s'istruire." this gave me a new thought. i set seriously about studying. i took classes. what i was to teach on the morrow i studied the night before. i worked early and late. with the return of louis philippe the st. memins returned to france and i became a teacher in the school of madame nau. here i studied and taught. on me fell all the burden of the school while madame nau amused herself with harp and piano. for this i had only $ a year. to further assist my family i knit woolen jackets. they were a great deal of trouble to me and i was very grateful to madame isaac iselin, the mother of mr. adrain iselin, who always found purchasers to give me excellent prices. ah, i was young then. i thought that i earned that money. now i know that it was only her delicate manner of doing me a service. madame iselin bought my jackets and then gave them away. feeling that i was worth much to madame nau, and that i must do more to relieve my brother marc, my brother gustave having gone to sea with captain de peyster, i begged madame nau to give me $ . this she refused. her reply, "me navra le coeur," overwhelmed me. it was saturday. i started home in great distress and met on the way the dear admirable miss sophy hay to whom i told my sorrow. "miss hay," i exclaimed, "i will open a school for myself." she tapped me on the forehead. "do, dear eloise, and god will help you." how all difficulties were smoothed away! the dear madame iselin took charge of all my purchases, advancing the money. they were very simple, those splint chairs and carpets and tables, for we were simpler-minded then. on the st of may i opened my school on greenwich street with sixteen pupils. good m. roulet gave me his two wards. i received several scholars from a convent just closed and i had my nieces améline and laura bérault de st. maurice and clara the daughter of marc [désabaye], who afterward married ponty lemoine, the lawyer in whose office charles o'conor studied. thus was my school started, and i take this occasion to express my gratitude to those who confided in so young an instructress--for i was only twenty-two--the education of their daughters, and i pray god to bless them and their country.... many well-known women were educated at this school, and one of the first pupils was miss sarah morris, the granddaughter of lewis morris, the signer, and the mother of the senior mrs. hamilton fish. a younger sister of mrs. fish, christine, who many years later was a pupil of madame chegaray, and who is now mrs. william preston griffin of new york, ministered to madame chegaray in her last illness, and told me that her parting words to her were, "_adieu, chère christine, fidèle amie._" in spite of her extreme youth madame chegaray took an exceptionally serious view of life, even refusing to wear flowers in her bonnets or to sing, although she had a very sweet voice. she dearly loved france, but she was a broad-minded woman and her knowledge of american affairs was as great as that of her own country. she rounded out nearly a century of life, the greater part of which was devoted to others, and i pay her the highest tribute in my power when i say that she faced the many vicissitudes of life with an undaunted spirit, and bequeathed to her numerous pupils the inestimable boon of a wonderful example. all the teachers in madame chegaray's school were men, with the single exception of mrs. joseph mckee, the wife of a presbyterian clergyman. among those who taught were john bigelow, who is still living in new york at an advanced age, and who in subsequent years was secretary of state of new york and our minister to france; thatcher t. payne; edward g. andrew, who became in the course of years a bishop in the methodist church; professor robert adrain, who taught mathematics, and who at the same time was one of the faculty of columbia college; and lorenzo l. da ponte. the latter was a man of unusual versatility, and was especially distinguished as a linguist. he taught us english literature in such a successful manner that we regarded that study merely as a recreation. mr. da ponte was a son of lorenzo da ponte, a venitian of great learning, who after coming to this country rendered such conspicuous services in connection with dominick lynch in establishing italian opera in new york. he was also a professor of italian for many years in columbia college, the author of a book of sonnets, several works relating to the italian language and of his own life, which was published in three volumes. mr. samuel ward, a noted character of the day, the brother of mrs. julia ward howe and who married emily astor, daughter of william b. astor, wrote an interesting memoir of him. madame chegaray taught the highest classes in french. "if i had to give up all books but two," she was fond of saying, "i would choose the gospels and la fontaine's fables. in one you have everything necessary for your spiritual life; in the other you have the epitome of all worldly wisdom." when i entered madame chegaray's school she had about a hundred pupils, a large number of whom were from the southern states. how well i remember the extreme loyalty of the southern girls to their native soil! i can close my eyes and read the opening sentence of a composition written by one of my comrades, elodie toutant, a sister of general pierre g. t. beauregard of the confederate army--"the south, the south, the beautiful south, the garden spot of the united states." this chivalric devotion to the soil whence they sprang apparently was literally breathed into my southern school companions from the very beginning of their lives. their loyalty possessed a fascination for me, and although i was born, reared and educated in a northern state, i had a tender feeling for the south, which still lingers with me, for most of the friendships i formed at madame chegaray's were with southern girls. my first day at madame chegaray's, like many other beginnings, was something of an ordeal, but it was my good fortune to meet almost immediately henrietta croom, a daughter of henry b. croom, a celebrated botanist of north carolina, but who, with his family, had spent much of his life in tallahassee. many are the pleasant hours we spent together, but to my sorrow she graduated at an early age, and a few months later embarked, in company with her parents, a younger brother and sister and an aunt, mrs. cammack, upon a vessel called the _home_ for charleston, south carolina, where they had planned to make their future residence. when they had been several days at sea their vessel encountered a severe storm off cape hatteras, and after a brave struggle with the terrific elements every member of the family sank with the ship within a few miles of the spot where the crooms had formerly lived. this occurred on the th of october, . they had as fellow voyagers a brother of madame chegaray, who, with his wife and three children, had only just left the school to make the voyage to charleston. they, too, lost their lives. over madame chegaray's school as well as her household at once hung a pall, and gloom and mourning prevailed on every side; indeed, the whole city of new york shared in our sorrow. the newspapers of the day were filled with accounts of this direful disaster, but there were few survivors to tell the tale. my late playmate, henrietta croom, was one of the most popular girls at school, possessing great attractions of both mind and person, and, although at the time she was merely a child in years, the new year's address of a prominent daily newspaper of the day contained an extended reference to her which strongly appealed to my grief-stricken fancy. though more than sixty years have passed i have always preserved it with great care in memory of the "sweet damsel" of long ago. the following are the lines to which i have just referred: dear home! what magic trembles in the word; each bosom's fountain at its sound is stirred, disgusted worldlings dream of early love and weary christians turn their eyes above-- well was't thou nam'd, fair bark, whose recent doom has many a household wrapt in deepest gloom! on earth no more those voyagers' steps shall roam that cast their anchor at an heavenly "home"! high beat their hearts, when first their fated prow cut through the surge that boils above them now, they saw in vision rapt their fatherland and felt once more its odorous breezes bland-- the frozen north receded from their sight and fancy's dream entranced them with delight-- oh! who can tell what pangs their soul assail'd when every hope of life and rescue fail'd, when wild despair their throbbing bosoms wrung and winds and waves a doleful requiem sung? there stood the husband whose protecting arm 'till now had kept his lov'd ones safe from harm. remorseless grown, the demon of the storm swept from his grasp her trembling, fragile form. vague fear o'er children's lineaments convuls'd, but selfish hands their frenzied cling repuls'd. when death's grim aspect meets the startl'd view to grovelling souls fair mercy bids adieu! and thou, sweet damsel! who in girlhood's bloom descended then to fill an ocean tomb-- what were _thy_ thoughts, when roaring for their prey the foaming billows choked the watery way! 'tis said that souls have giv'n in parting hour a vast and fearful and mysterious power. a chart pictorial of the past is made, in which minute events are all portray'd-- one painful glance the scroll entire surveys and then in death the blasted eye-balls glaze-- perchance at that dark moment when the maid on life's dim verge her coming doom survey'd, such vision flash'd across her spirit pure, and help'd the youthful beauty to endure. her infant sports beneath the spreading lime, her recent school-days, in a northern clime-- her gentle deeds--her treasur'd thoughts of love-- all plum'd her pinions for a flight above! the croom family owned large plantations in the south together with many slaves. a short time after it was definitely known that not a member of the family had survived, there was a legal contest over the estate by the representatives of both sides of the household, the crooms and the armisteads. eminent members of the southern bar were employed, among whom were judge john mcpherson berrien of savannah and joseph m. white of florida, often called "florida white." after about twenty years of litigation the suit was decided in favor of the armisteads. it seems that as young croom, a lad of twelve, nearly reached the shore he was regarded as the survivor, and his grandmother, mrs. henrietta smith of newbern, north carolina, his nearest living relative, became his heir. i have always understood that this hotly contested case has since been regarded as a judicial precedent. a few days after receiving the news of the shipwreck of the _home_, i found by accident in my father's library an _édition de luxe_, just published in london, of "les dames de byron." in it was an illustration entitled "leila," which bore a wonderful resemblance to my best friend, henrietta croom. beneath were the following lines, which seemed to suggest her history, and the coincidence was so apparent that i immediately committed them to memory, and it is from memory that i now give them: she sleeps beneath the wandering wave; ah! had she but an earthly grave this aching heart and throbbing breast would seek and share her narrow rest. she was a form of life and light that soon became a part of sight, and rose where'er i turned mine eye-- the morning-star of memory. another schoolmate and friend of mine at madame chegaray's was josephine habersham of savannah, a daughter of joseph habersham and a great-granddaughter of general joseph habersham, who succeeded timothy pickering as postmaster general during washington's second term and retained the position under adams and jefferson until the latter part of . she was one of madame chegaray's star pupils in music. she frequently made visits to my home, remaining over saturday and sunday, and delighted the family by playing in a most masterly manner the italian music then in vogue. a few years after her return to her southern home she married her cousin, william neyle habersham, an accomplished musician. for many years they lived in savannah in the greatest elegance, until the civil war came to disturb their tranquil dreams. two young sons, both under twenty-one, laid down their lives for the southern cause during that conflict. after their great sorrow music was their chief solace, and they delighted their friends by playing together on various musical instruments. new orleans was represented at our school by a famous beauty, catharine alexander chew, a daughter of beverly chew, the collector of the port of new orleans, and whose wife, miss maria theodosia duer, was a sister of president william alexander duer of columbia college. he and richard relf, cashier of the louisiana state bank, were the business partners and subsequently the executors of the will of daniel clark of the same city, and it was against them that the latter's daughter, myra clark gaines, the widow of general edmund pendleton gaines, u.s.a., fought her famous legal battles for over half a century. miss chew married judge thomas h. kennedy of new orleans and left many descendants. the sister of general pierre g. t. beauregard, elodie toutant, whom i have already mentioned, was also from louisiana. she was a studious girl, and a most attractive companion. the original family name was toutant, but towards the close of the sixteenth century the last male descendant of the family died, and an only surviving daughter having married sieur paix de beauregard, the name became toutant de beauregard, the prefix _de_ having subsequently been dropped. still another friendship i formed at madame chegaray's school was with elizabeth clarkson jay, which through life was a source of intense pleasure to me and lasted until her pure and gentle spirit returned to its maker. she was the daughter of peter augustus jay, a highly respected lawyer, and a granddaughter of the distinguished statesman, john jay. she was a deeply religious woman, and died a few years ago in new york after a life consecrated to good works. one of the brightest girls in my class was sarah jones, a daughter of one of new york's most distinguished jurists, chancellor samuel jones. she and another schoolmate of mine, maria brandegee, who lived in leroy place, were intimate and inseparable companions. the mother of the latter belonged to a creole family from new orleans, named déslonde, and was the aunt of the wife of john slidell of confederate fame. the brandegees were devout roman catholics, while the members of the jones family were equally ardent episcopalians. archbishop hughes of new york was a welcome and frequent visitor at the brandegee house, where, in my younger days, i frequently had the pleasure of meeting him and listening to his attractive conversation. in this manner sarah jones also came into contact with him. deeply impressed by his teachings, she followed him to the cathedral, where she soon became a regular attendant. in the course of time she became a member of the roman catholic church, and a few years later entered the order of the _sacre coeur_, at manhattanville, where she eventually became mother superior and remained as such for many years. quite a number of years ago i was the guest of the family of charles o'conor, the distinguished jurist and leader of the new york bar, at his handsome home at fort washington, a suburb of new york. he was the son of the venerable thomas o'conor, editor of _the shamrock_, the first paper published in new york for irish and catholic readers, and also the author of a history of the second war with great britain. one afternoon mr. o'conor suggested that i should accompany him upon a drive to the convent of the _sacre coeur_ a few miles distant. he was anxious to confer with madame mary aloysia hardey, who was then mother superior. i was delighted to accept this invitation, as mr. o'conor was an exceptionally agreeable companion and his spare moments were but few and far between. before reaching our destination, i remarked that madame jones, an old schoolmate of mine, was an inmate of this convent, and that i should be very glad to see her again. upon our arrival, sarah jones greeted me in the parlor and seemed glad to see me after the lapse of so many years. leading as she was the life of a _religieuse_, our topics of conversation were few, but i noticed that she seemed interested in discussing her own family, about whom evidently she was not well informed. after a brief visit and while homeward bound, mr. o'conor inquired whether madame jones knew that her father, the chancellor, was rapidly approaching death. i replied that apparently she had no knowledge of his serious condition, and several days later i saw his death announced in a daily newspaper. many years after my interview with sarah jones i met at the residence of mrs. henry r. winthrop of new york an older sister of hers, mary anna schuyler jones, who at the time was the widow of the reverend dr. samuel seabury of the episcopal church. we lunched together, and the conversation naturally drifted back to other days and to my old schoolmate, her sister, sarah jones. she told me that she had seen but little of her in recent years, but related a curious episode in regard to meeting her under unusual circumstances. it seems that mrs. seabury, accompanied by a young daughter, was returning from a visit to europe, when she noticed that the occupants of the adjoining state-room were unusually quiet. in time she made the discovery that they were nuns returning from a business trip abroad. upon examination of the passenger list, she discovered to her astonishment that her sister, madame jones, was occupying the adjoining room. they met daily thereafter throughout the voyage, and afterwards returned to their respective homes. i especially remember an incident of my school-life which was decidedly sensational. sally otis, a young and pretty girl and a daughter of james w. otis, then of new york but formerly of boston, was in the same class with me. one morning we missed her from her accustomed seat, but during the day we learned the cause of her absence. the whole otis family had been taken ill by drinking poisoned coffee. upon investigation the cook reported that a package of coffee had been sent to the house, and, taking it for granted that it had been ordered by some member of the household, she had used it for breakfast. the whole matter was shrouded in mystery, and gossip was rife. one story was that a vindictive woman concentrated all of her malice upon a single member of the family against whom she had a grievance and thus endangered the lives of the whole otis family. fortunately, none of the cases proved fatal, but several inmates of the house became seriously ill. a few years before i entered madame chegaray's school, virginia scott, the oldest daughter of major general winfield scott, enjoyed _tante's_ tutelage for a number of years. she was a rare combination of genius and beauty, and, apart from her remarkable personality, was a skilled linguist and an accomplished vocal and instrumental musician. this unusual combination of gifts suggests the spanish saying: "mira favorecida de dios" ("behold one favored of god!"). her life, however, was brief, though deeply interesting. in the first blush of womanhood she accompanied her mother and sisters to europe, and, after several years spent in paris, made a visit to rome, where she immediately became imbued with profound religious convictions. through the instrumentality of father pierce connelly, a convert to catholicism, she was received into the roman catholic church while in the holy city, and made her profession of faith in the chapel of st. ignatius, where the ceremony took place by the special permission of the most rev. john roothan, general of the jesuits. general scott meanwhile had returned to the united states, having been promoted to the rank of commander-in-chief of the army with headquarters in washington. accompanied by her mother, virginia scott returned to america and, after a short time spent with her parents in washington, drove to georgetown and, without their knowledge or consent, was received there as an inmate of the "convent of the visitation." her family was bitterly opposed to the step, more especially her mother, whose indignation was so pronounced that she never to the day of her death forgave the church for depriving her of her daughter's companionship. general scott, however, frequently visited her in her cloistered home, and always manifested much consideration for the convent as well as for the nuns, the daily companions of his daughter. although she possessed a proud and imperious nature, combined with great personal beauty and much natural _hauteur_, she soon became as gentle as a lamb. she died about a year after entering the convent, but she retained her deep religious convictions to the last. she is buried beneath the sanctuary in the chapel of the georgetown convent. in connection with her a few lines often come to my mind which seem so appropriate that i can not deny myself the pleasure of quoting them: she was so fair that in the angelic choir, she will not need put on another shape than that she bore on earth. i have heard it stated that during virginia scott's residence in paris there existed a deep attachment between herself and a young gentleman of foreign birth. the story goes that in the course of time he became as devoted to his religion as he had hitherto been to the beautiful american, and that it was agreed between them that they should both consecrate themselves thereafter to the service of god. he accordingly entered at once upon a religious life. i have heard that they afterwards met at a service before the altar, but that there was no recognition. as intimate as i became with the members of the scott family in subsequent years, i never heard any allusion to this incident in their family history, and i can readily understand that it was a subject upon which they were too sensitive to dwell. father connelly, whom i have mentioned in connection with miss scott's conversion, began his career as an episcopal clergyman. there was a barrier to his becoming a roman catholic priest, as he was married; but his wife soon shared in his religious ardor, and when he entered the priesthood she became a nun. he lacked stability, however, in his religious views, and was subsequently received again into the episcopal church. it was his desire that his wife should at once join him but she refused to leave the convent, and she finally became the founder of the order of the "sisters of the holy child." i have heard that he took legal measures to obtain possession of her, but if so he was unsuccessful in his efforts. another one of madame chegaray's distinguished pupils was martha pierce of louisville. as she attended this school some years before i entered, i knew of her in these days only by reputation. but some years later i had the pleasure of knowing her quite intimately, when she talked very freely with me in regard to her eventful life. she told me that upon a certain occasion in the days when women rarely traveled alone she was returning to kentucky under the care of henry clay, and stopped in washington long enough to visit the capitol. upon its steps she was introduced to robert craig stanard of richmond, upon whom she apparently made a deep impression, for one year later the handsome young southerner carried the kentucky girl, at the age of sixteen, back to virginia as his bride. during her long life in richmond her home, now the westmoreland club, was a notable _salon_, where the _beaux esprits_ of the south gathered. she survived mr. stanard many years. beautiful, even in old age, gifted and cultivated, her attractions of face and intellect paled before her inexpressible charm of manner. she traveled much abroad and especially in england. a prominent kentuckian once told me that he heard washington irving say that mrs. stanard received more attention and admiration in the highest circles of english society than any other american woman he had ever known. she corresponded for many years with thackeray, the duke of wellington and many other prominent englishmen, and in her own country was equally distinguished. in the course of one of our numerous conversations she told me that after the death of edward everett she loaned his biographer the letters she had received from that distinguished orator. during the latter part of her life she gave up her house in richmond and came to washington to reside, where she remained until the end of her life. she left no descendants. her husband's mother, jane stith craig, daughter of adam craig of richmond, was immortalized by edgar allan poe, who, fictitiously naming her "helen," paid feeling tribute to her charms in those beautiful verses commencing: helen, thy beauty is to me like those nicean barks of yore, that gently, o'er a perfumed sea, the weary, way-worn wanderer bore to his own native shore. among my other schoolmates at madame chegaray's were susan maria clarkson de peyster, a daughter of james ferguson de peyster, who subsequently married robert edward livingston; margaret masters, a daughter of judge josiah masters of troy, new york, and the wife of john w. king; virginia beverly wood, a daughter of silas wood of new york, who became the wife of john leverett rogers; and elizabeth macniel, daughter of general john macniel of the army and wife of general henry w. benham of the u.s. engineer corps. after a number of years spent in teaching, madame chegaray gave up her new york school and moved to madison, new jersey (at one time called bottle hill), with the intention of spending the remainder of her life in retirement; but she was doomed to disappointment. discovering almost immediately that through a relative her affairs had become deeply involved, she with undaunted courage at once opened a school in madison in the house which she had purchased with the view of spending there the declining years of her life. previous to this time i had been one of her day scholars; i entered the second school as a boarding pupil. once a week we were driven three miles to morristown to attend church. i recall an amusing incident connected with this weekly visit to that place. one sunday a fellow boarder, thinking that perhaps she might find some leisure before the service to perfect herself in her lesson for the following day, thoughtlessly took along with her a volume of french plays by voltaire. during the service someone in a near pew observed the author's name upon the book, and forthwith the morristown populace was startled to hear that among madame chegaray's pupils was a follower of the noted infidel. it took some time to convince the public that this book was carried to church by my schoolmate without her teacher's knowledge; and the girl was horrified to learn that she was unintentionally to blame for a new local scandal. while i was at madame chegaray's i owned a schoolbook entitled "shelley, coleridge and keats." i brought it home with me one day, but my father took it away from me and, as i learned later, burned it, owing to his detestation of shelley's moral character. on one occasion he quoted in court some extracts from shelley as illustrative of the poet's character, but i cannot recall the passage. after two years spent in madison, madame chegaray returned to new york and reopened her school on the corner of union square and fifteenth street in three houses built for her by samuel b. ruggles. at that time the omnibuses had been running only to fourteenth street, but, out of courtesy to this noble woman, their route was extended to fifteenth street, where a lamp for the same reason was placed by the city. madame chegaray taught here for many years, but finally moved to madison avenue, where she remained until, on account of old age, she was obliged to give up her teaching. while i was still attending madame chegaray's school, my father, under the impression that i was not quite as proficient in mathematics and astronomy as it was his desire and ambition that i should be, employed professor robert adrian of columbia college to give me private instruction in my own home. under his able tuition, i particularly enjoyed traversing the firmament. i was always faithful to the planet venus, whose beauty was to me then, as now, a constant delight. in those youthful days my proprietorship in this heavenly body seemed to me as well established as in a fifth avenue lot, and was quite as tangible. i regarded myself in the light of an individual proprietor, and, like alexander selkirk in his far away island of the sea, my right to this celestial domain there was none to dispute. after the flight of so many years, and in view, also, of the fact that sometimes the world seems to us older women to be almost turned upside down, it may not be uninteresting to speak of some of the books which were familiar to me during my school days. one of the first i ever read was "clarissa harlowe" by samuel richardson. "cecilia," by frances burney, was another well-known book of the day. mrs. amelia opie was also a popular authoress, and her novel entitled "white lies" should, in my opinion, grace every library. miss maria edgeworth and mrs. ann eliza bray, the latter of whom so graphically depicted the higher phases of english life, were popular authoresses in my earlier days in new york. many years later some of the books i have mentioned were republished by the harpers. "gil blas," whose author, le sage, was the skilful delineator of human nature, its attributes and its frailties, was much read, and, in my long journey through life, certain portions of this book have often been recalled to me by my many and varied experiences. i must not fail to speak of the "children of the abbey," by regina m. roche, where the fascinations of lord leicester are so vividly portrayed; nor of another book entitled "the three spaniards," by george walker, which used to strike terror to my unsophisticated soul. when madame chegaray retired temporarily from her school life and moved to madison in new jersey, charles canda, who had taught drawing for her, established a school of his own in new york which became very prominent. he had an attractive young daughter, who met with a most heartrending end. on her way to a ball, in company with one of her girl friends, charlotte canda was thrown from her carriage, and when picked up her life was extinct. as there were no injuries found upon her body, it was generally supposed that the shock brought on an attack of heart-failure. subsequently the disconsolate parents ordered from italy a monument costing a fabulous sum of money for those days, which was placed over the grave of their only daughter in greenwood cemetery, where it still continues to command the admiration of sightseers. this tragic incident occurred in february, , on the eve of the victim's seventeenth birthday. while madame chegaray was my teacher there was a charming french society in new york, her house being the rendezvous of this interesting social circle. i recall with much pleasure the names of boisseau, trudeau, boisaubin, thebaud and brugiere. madame chegaray's sister, caroline, together with her husband, charles bérault, who taught dancing, and their three daughters, resided with her. the oldest, madame vincente rose améline (madame george r. a. chaulet), taught music for her aunt; the second niece, marie-louise joséphine laure, married joseph u. f. d'hervilly, a frenchman, and in after life established a school in philadelphia which she named chegaray institute; while the youngest, pauline, married a gentleman from cuba, named de ruiz, and now resides in paris. chapter iv life and experiences in the metropolis my health was somewhat impaired by an attack of chills and fever while i was still a pupil at madame chegaray's school. long island was especially affected with this malady, and even certain locations on the hudson were on this account regarded with disfavor. in subsequent years, when the building operations of the hudson river railroad cut off the water in many places and formed stagnant pools, it became much worse. as i began to convalesce, dr. john w. francis prescribed a change of air, and i was accordingly sent to saratoga to be under the care of my friend, mrs. richard armistead of north carolina. a few days after my arrival we were joined by mrs. de witt clinton and her attractive step-daughter, julia clinton. the united states hotel, where we stayed, was thronged with visitors, but as i was only a young girl my observation of social life was naturally limited and i knew but few persons. mrs. clinton was a granddaughter of philip livingston, the signer, and married at a mature age. she had a natural and most profound admiration for the memory of her illustrious husband, whom i have heard her describe as "a prince among men," and she cherished an undying resentment for any of his political antagonists. while we were still at the united states hotel, martin van buren, at that time president of the united states, arrived in saratoga and sojourned at the same hotel with us. his visit made an indelible impression upon my memory owing to a highly sensational incident. during the evening of the president's arrival mrs. clinton was promenading in the large parlor of the hotel, leaning upon the arm of the portuguese _chargé d'affaires_, senhor joaquim cesar de figanière, when mr. van buren espying her advanced with his usual suavity of manner to meet her. with a smile upon his face, he extended his hand, whereupon mrs. clinton immediately turned her back and compelled her escort to imitate her, apparently ignoring the fact that he was a foreign diplomat and that his conduct might subsequently be resented by the authorities in washington. this incident, occurring as it did in a crowded room, was observed by many of the guests and naturally created much comment. in talking over the incident the next day mrs. clinton told me she was under the impression that mr. van buren clearly understood her feelings in regard to him, as some years previous, when he and general andrew jackson called upon her together, she had declined to see him, although jackson had been admitted. this act was characteristic of the woman. it was the expression of a resentment which she had harbored against mr. van buren for years and which she was only abiding her time to display. i was standing at mrs. clinton's side during this dramatic episode, and to my youthful fancy she seemed, indeed, a heroine! mrs. clinton was a social leader in gotham before the days of the _nouveaux riches_, and her sway was that of an autocrat. her presence was in every way imposing. she possessed many charming characteristics and was in more respects than one an uncrowned queen, retaining her wonderful tact and social power until the day of her death. i love to dwell upon mrs. clinton because, apart from her remarkable personal characteristics, she was the friend of my earlier life. possessed as she was of many eccentricities, her excellencies far counterbalanced them. of the latter, i recall especially the unusual ability and care she displayed in housekeeping, which at that time was regarded as an accomplishment in which every woman took particular pride. to be still more specific, she apparently had a much greater horror of dirt than the average housewife, and carried her antipathy to such an extent that she tolerated but few fires in her university place establishment in new york, as she seriously objected to the uncleanness caused by the dust and ashes! no matter how cold her house nor how frigid the day, she never seemed to suffer but, on the contrary, complained that her home was overheated. her guests frequently commented upon "the nipping and eager air" which shakespeare's horatio speaks of, but it made no apparent impression upon their hostess. mrs. clinton's articulation was affected by a slight stammer, which, in my opinion, but added piquancy to her epigrammatic sayings. she once remarked to me, "i shall never be c-c-cold until i'm dead." an impulse took possession of me which somehow, in spite of the great difference in our ages, i seemed unable to resist, and i retorted, "we are not all assured of our temperatures at that period." she regarded me for a few moments with unfeigned astonishment, but said nothing. i did not suffer for my temerity at that moment, but later i was chagrined to learn she had remarked that i was the most impertinent girl she had ever known. i remember that upon another occasion she told me that one of governor clinton's grandchildren, augusta clinton, was about to leave school at a very early age. "doesn't she intend to finish her education?" i inquired. "no," was the quick and emphatic but stuttering reply, "she's had sufficient education. i was at school only two months, and i'm sure i'm smart enough." her niece, margaret gelston, who was present and was remarkable for her clear wits, retorted: "only think how much smarter you'd have been if you had remained longer." in an angry tone mrs. clinton replied, "i don't want to be any smarter, i'm smart enough." mrs. clinton's two nieces, the misses mary and margaret gelston, were among my earliest and most intimate friends. they occupied a prominent social position in new york and both were well known for their unusual intellectuality. they were daughters of maltby gelston, president of the manhattan bank, and granddaughters of david gelston, who was appointed collector of the port of new york by jefferson and retained that position for twenty years. late in life mary gelston married henry r. winthrop of new york. she died a few years ago leaving an immense estate to princeton theological seminary. "i pray," reads her will, "that the trustees of this institution may make such use of this bequest as that the extension of the church of christ on earth and the glory of god may be promoted thereby." in the same instrument she adds: "as a similar bequest would have been made by my deceased sister, margaret l. gelston, had she survived me, i desire that the said trustees should regard it as given jointly by my said sister and by me." some distant relatives, thinking that her money could be more satisfactorily employed than in the manner indicated, contested the will, and the seminary finally received, as the result of a compromise, between $ , , and $ , , . one of my earliest recollections is of john jacob astor, a feeble old man descending the doorsteps of his home on broadway near houston street to enter his carriage. his house was exceedingly plain and was one of a row owned by him. his son, william backhouse astor, who married a daughter of general john armstrong, secretary of war under president madison, during at least a portion of his father's life lived in a fine house on lafayette place. i have attended evening parties there that were exceedingly simple in character, and at which mrs. astor was always plainly dressed and wore no jewels. i have a very distinct recollection of one of these parties owing to a ludicrous incident connected with myself. my mother was a woman of decidedly domestic tastes, whose whole life was so immersed in her large family of children that she never allowed an event of a social character to interfere with what she regarded as her household or maternal duties. we older children were therefore much thrown upon our own resources from a social point of view, and when i grew into womanhood and entered society i was usually accompanied to entertainments by my father. sometimes, however, i went with my lifelong friend, margaret tillotson kemble, a daughter of william kemble, of whom i shall speak hereafter. upon this particular occasion i had gone early in the day to the kembles preparatory to spending the night there, with the intention of attending a ball at the astors'. having dined, supped, and dressed myself for the occasion, in company with miss kemble and her father i reached the astor residence, where i found on the doorstep an irish maid from my own home awaiting my arrival. in her hand she held an exquisite bouquet of pink and white japonicas which had been sent to me by john still winthrop, the _fiancé_ of susan armistead, another of my intimate friends. the bouquet had arrived just after my departure from home and, quite unknown to my family, the irish maid out of the goodness of her heart had taken it upon herself to see that it was placed in my hands. i learned later that, much to the amusement of many of the guests, she had been awaiting my arrival for several hours. it seems almost needless to add that i carried my flowers throughout the evening with much girlish pride and pleasure. among the guests at this ball was mrs. francis r. boreel, the young and beautiful daughter of mr. and mrs. walter langdon, who wore in her dark hair a diamond necklace, a recent gift from her grandfather, john jacob astor. it was currently rumored at the time that it cost twenty thousand dollars, which was then a very large amount to invest in a single article of that character. mrs. langdon's two other daughters were mrs. matthew wilks, who married abroad and spent her life there, and the first mrs. de lancey kane, who made a runaway match, and both of whom left descendants in new york. all three women were celebrated for their beauty, but mrs. boreel was usually regarded as the handsomest of the trio. mrs. walter langdon was dorothea astor, a daughter of john jacob astor, and her husband was a grandson of judge john langdon of new hampshire, who equipped stark's regiment for the battle of bennington, and who for twelve years was a member of the united states senate and was present as president _pro tempore_ of that body at the first inauguration of washington. another society woman whose presence at this ball i recall, and without whom no entertainment was regarded as complete, was mrs. charles augustus davis, wife of the author of the well-known "jack downing letters." indeed, the name "jack downing" seemed so much a part of the davis family that in after years i have often heard mrs. davis called "mrs. jack downing." the davises had a handsome daughter who married a gentleman of french descent, but neither of them long survived the marriage. in an old newspaper of i came across the following marriage notice, which was the first astor wedding to occur in this country: bentzon--astor. married, on monday morning, the th ult. [september], by the rev. mr. [ralph] williston, adrian b. bentzon, esq., of the isle of st. croix, to miss magdalen astor, daughter of john jacob astor of this city. it was while on a cruise among the west indies that miss astor met mr. bentzon, a danish gentleman of good family but moderate fortune. in the early part of the last century many ambitious foreigners went to that part of the world with the intention of making their fortunes. another daughter of john jacob astor, eliza, married count vincent rumpff, who was for some years minister at the court of the tuileries from the hanseatic towns of germany. she was well known through life, and long remembered after death, for her symmetrical christian character. one of her writings, entitled "transplanted flowers," has been published in conjunction with one of the duchesse de broglie, daughter of madame de staël, with whom she was intimately associated in her christian works. henry astor, the brother of john jacob astor, was the first of the family to come to america. i am able to state, upon the authority of the late rev. dr. morgan dix, rector of trinity church in new york, and a life-long friend of the whole astor connection, that he was a private in a hessian regiment that fought against our colonies in the revolutionary war. after its close he decided to remain in new york where he entered the employment of a butcher in the old oswego market. he subsequently embarked upon more ambitious enterprises, became a highly successful business man and at his death left a large fortune to his childless widow. dr. dix has stated that it was probably through him that the younger brother came to this country. however this may be, john jacob astor sailed for america as a steerage passenger in a ship commanded by capt. jacob stout and arrived in baltimore in january, . he subsequently went to new york, where he spent his first night in the house of george dieterich, a fellow countryman whom he had known in germany and by whom he was now employed to peddle cakes. after remaining in his employ for a time and accumulating a little money he hired a store of his own where he sold toys and german knickknacks. he afterwards added skins and even musical instruments to his stock in trade, as will appear from the following in _the daily advertiser_ of new york, of the d of january, , and following issues: j. jacob astor, at no. , queen-street, next door but one to the friends meeting-house, has for sale an assortment of piano fortes, of the newest construction, made by the best makers in london, which he will sell on reasonable terms. he gives cash for all kinds of furs: and has for sale a quantity of canada beaver, and beaver coating, racoon skins, and racoon blankets, muskrat skins, &c. &c. it would seem that these astor pianos were manufactured in london and that george astor, an elder brother of john jacob astor, was associated with the latter in their sale. indeed, one of them, formerly owned by the clinton family and now in washington's headquarters in newburgh, bears the name of "geo. astor & co., cornhill, london;" while still another in my immediate neighborhood in washington has the inscription of "astor and camp, cornhill, london." their octaves were few in number, and a pupil of chopin would have regarded them with scorn; but upon these little spindle-legged affairs a duet could be performed. my first knowledge of instrumental music was derived from one of these pianos, and among the earliest recollections of my childhood is that of hearing my three maiden aunts, my father's sisters, playing in turn the inspiring scotch airs upon the astor piano that stood in their drawing-room. one of their songs was especially inimical to cloistered life and it, too, was possibly of scotch origin. i am unable to recall its exact words, but its refrain ran as follows: i will not be a nun, i can not be a nun, i shall not be a nun, i'm so fond of pleasure i'll not be a nun. i own an original letter written by john jacob astor from new york on the th of april, , addressed to ex-president james monroe, my husband's grandfather, which i regard as interesting on account of its quaint style: dear sir, permit me to congratulate you on your honourable retirement [from public life] for which i most sincerely wish you may enjoy that peace and tranquility to which you are so justly entitled. without wishing to cause you any inconveniency [sic] on account of the loan which i so long since made to you i would be glad if you would put it in a train of sittlelment [sic] if not the whole let it be a part with the interest due. i hope dear sir that you and mrs. monroe enjoy the best of health and that you may live many years to wittness [sic] the prosperity of the country to which you have so generously contributed. i am most respectfully dear sir your obed s. &c. j. j. astor. the honble james monroe. it may here be stated that mr. astor's solicitude concerning mr. monroe's financial obligation was duly relieved, and that the debt was paid in full. john jacob astor's numerous descendants can lay this "flattering unction" to their souls, that every dollar of his vast wealth was accumulated through thrift while leading an upright life. an old-fashioned stage coach in my early days ran between new york and harlem, but the fashionable drive was on the west side of the city along what was then called the "bloomingdale road." many fashionable new yorkers owned and occupied handsome country seats along this route, and closed their city homes for a period during the heated term. i recall with pleasure the home of the prussian consul general and mrs. john william schmidt, and especially their attractive daughters. mr. schmidt, who came to this country as a bachelor, married miss eliza ann bache of new york. quite a number of years subsequent to this event, before they had children of their own, they adopted a little girl whom they named julia and whom i knew very well in my early girlhood. as equestrian exercise was popular in new york at that time, many of the young men and women riding on the bloomingdale road would stop at the schmidts' hospitable home, rest their horses and enjoy a pleasing half-hour's conversation with the daughters of the household. among the fair riders was mary tallmadge, a famous beauty and a daughter of general james tallmadge. during her early life and at a period when visits abroad were few and far between, her father accompanied her to europe. during her travels on the continent she visited st. petersburg, where her beauty created a great sensation. while there the emperor nicholas i. presented her with a handsome india shawl. she returned to america, married philip s. van rensselaer, a son of the old patroon, and lived for many years on washington square in new york. alexander hamilton and family also owned and occupied a house in this charming suburb called "the grange." it was subsequently occupied by herman thorne, who had married miss jane mary jauncey, a wealthy heiress of new york. he lived in this house only a few years when he went with his wife to reside in paris during the reign of louis philippe. mr. thorne became the most prominent american resident there and excited the envy of many of his countrymen by his lavish expenditure of money. his daughters made foreign matrimonial alliances. he was originally from schenectady, for a time was a purser in the u.s. navy, and was remarkable for his handsome presence and courtly bearing. jacob lorillard lived in a handsome house in manhattanville, a short distance from the bloomingdale road. he began life, first as an apprentice and then as a proprietor, in the tanning and hide business, and his tannery was on pearl street. he then, with his brothers, embarked in the manufacture and sale of snuff and tobacco, in which, as is well known, he amassed an immense fortune. my earliest recollection of the family is in the days of its great prosperity. one of mr. lorillard's daughters, julia, who married daniel edgar, i knew very well, and i recall a visit i once made her in her beautiful home, where i also attended her wedding a few years later. at this time her mother was a widow, and shortly after the marriage the place was sold to the catholic order of the _sacre coeur_. mrs. jacob lorillard was a daughter of the rev. doctor johann christoff kunze, professor of oriental languages in columbia college. many years ago the wags of london exhausted their wits in fittingly characterizing and ridiculing the numerous equipages of a london manufacturer of snuff and tobacco. one couplet suggestive of the manner in which this vast wealth was acquired, was who would have thought it that noses had bought it. the suitor of the daughter of this wealthy englishman was appropriately dubbed "up to snuff." alas, this ancestral and aristocratic luxury of snuff departed many years ago, but succeeding generations have been "up to snuff" in many other ways. the gold snuff-box frequently studded with gems which i remember so well in days gone by and especially at the home gouverneur kemble in cold spring, where it was passed around and freely used by both men and women, now commands no respect except as an ancestral curio. dryden, dean swift, pope, addison, lord chesterfield, dr. johnson, garrick, sir joshua reynolds, keats, charles lamb, gibbon, walter scott and darwin were among the prominent worshipers of the snuff-box and its contents, while some of them indulged in the habit to the degree of intemperance. in describing his manner of using the snuff-box gibbon wrote: "i drew my snuff-box, rapped it, took snuff twice, and continued my discourse in my usual attitude of my body bent forwards, and my fore-finger stretched out;" and boswell wrote in its praise: oh, snuff! our fashionable end and aim-- strasburgh, rappe, dutch, scotch--whate'er thy name! powder celestial! quintessence divine new joys entrance my soul while thou art mine; who takes? who takes thee not? where'er i range i smell thy sweets from pall mall to the 'change. while the spirit of patriotism was as prevalent in early new york as it is now, it seems to me that it was somewhat less demonstrative. the th of july, however, was anticipated by the youngsters of the day with the greatest eagerness and pleasure. it was the habit of my father, for many years, to take us children early in the morning to the city hall to attend the official observances of the day, an experience which we naturally regarded as a great privilege. booths were temporarily erected all along the pavement in front of the city hall, where substantial food was displayed and sold to the crowds collected to assist in celebrating the day. about noon several military companies arrived upon the scene and took their positions in the park, where, after a number of interesting maneuvers, a salute was fired which was terrifying to my youthful nerves. small boys, then as now, provided themselves with pistols, and human life was occasionally sacrificed to patriotic ardor, although i never remember hearing of cases of lockjaw resulting from such accidents, as is so frequently the case at present. firecrackers and torpedoes were then in vogue, but skyrockets and more elaborate fireworks had not then come into general use. i do not recall that the national flag was especially prominent upon the "glorious fourth," and it is my impression that this insignia of patriotism was not universally displayed upon patriotic occasions until the civil war. the musical world of new york lay dormant until about the year , when dominick lynch, much to the delight of the cultivated classes, introduced the italian opera. through his instrumentality madame malibran, her father, signor garcia, and her brother, manuel garcia, who by the way died abroad in , nearly ninety-nine years of age, came to this country and remained for quite a period. i have heard many sad traditions regarding malibran, whose name is certainly immortal in the annals of the musical world. mr. lynch was the social leader of his day in new york, was æsthetic in his tastes, and possessed a highly cultivated voice. he frequently sang the beautiful old ballads so much in vogue at that period. i have heard through mrs. samuel l. hinckley, an old friend of mine, who remembered the incident, that during a visit to boston when he sang tom moore's pathetic ballad, "oft in the stilly night," there was scarcely a dry eye in the room. in referring to the introduction of the italian opera into this country dr. john w. francis in his "old new york" thus speaks of dominick lynch: "for this advantageous accession to the resources of mental gratification, we were indebted to the taste and refinement of dominick lynch, the liberality of the manager of the park theater, stephen price, and the distinguished reputation of the venetian, lorenzo da ponte. lynch, a native of new york, was the acknowledged head of the fashionable and festive board, a gentleman of the ton and a melodist of great powers and of exquisite taste; he had long striven to enhance the character of our music; he was the master of english song, but he felt, from his close cultivation of music and his knowledge of the genius of his countrymen, that much was wanting, and that more could be accomplished, and he sought out, while in europe, an italian _troupe_, which his persuasive eloquence and the liberal spirit of price led to embark for our shores where they arrived in november, ." stephen price here referred to by dr. francis was the manager of the old park theater. dominick lynch's grandson, nicholas luquer, who with his charming wife, formerly miss helen k. shelton of new york, resides in washington, and his son, lynch luquer, inherit the musical ability of their ancestor. the great actors of the day performed in the park theater. i also vividly remember the bowery theater, as well as in subsequent years burton's theater in chambers street and the astor place theater. when william c. macready, the great english actor, was performing in the latter in a riot occurred caused by the jealousy existing between him and his american rival, edwin forrest. forrest had not been well received in england owing, as he believed, to the unfriendly influence of macready. while the latter was considered by many the better actor, forrest was exceptionally popular with a certain class of people in new york whose sympathies were easily enlisted and whose passions were readily aroused. during the evening referred to, while macready was acting in the _rôle_ of macbeth, a determined mob attacked the theater, and the riot was not quelled until after a bitter struggle, in which the police and the military were engaged, and during which twenty-one were killed and thirty-three wounded. in consequence of this unfortunate rivalry and its bloody results, forrest became morbid, and his domestic infelicities that followed served to still further embitter his life. in his wife instituted proceedings for divorce in the superior court of the city of new york, and the trial was protracted for two years. she was represented by the eminent jurist, charles o'conor, while forrest employed "prince" john van buren, son of the ex-president. the legal struggle was one of the most celebrated in the annals of the new york bar. there was abundant evidence of moral delinquency on the part of both parties to the suit, but the verdict was in favor of mrs. forrest. she was the daughter of john sinclair, formerly a drummer in the english army and subsequently a professional singer. james gordon bennett said of her in the _herald_ that "being born and schooled in turmoil and dissipation and reared in constant excitement she could not live without it." i have heard it said that one day john van buren was asked by a disgruntled friend at the close of a hotly contested suit whether there was any case so vile or disreputable that he would refuse to act as counsel for the accused. the quick response was: "i must first know the circumstances of the case; but what have you been doing?" dr. valentine mott, who for many years was a resident of paris, gave a fancy-dress ball in new york in honor of the prince de joinville, son of louis philippe. at this entertainment john van buren appeared in the usual evening dress with a red sash tied around his waist. much to the amusement of the guests whom he met, his salutation was: "would you know me?" it will be remembered that he was familiarly called "prince john," owing to the fact that he had once danced with queen victoria prior to her ascension to the throne. one day van buren met on the street james t. brady, a lawyer of equal ability and wit, who had recently returned from a visit to england. in a most patronizing manner he inquired whether he had seen the queen. "certainly," said mr. brady, "and under these circumstances. i was walking along the street when by chance the queen's carriage overtook me, and the moment her majesty's eye lighted upon me she exclaimed: 'hello, jim brady, when did you hear from john van buren?'" i recall another amusing anecdote about john van buren during my school days. mustaches were at that time worn chiefly by the sporting element. mr. van buren, who was very attentive to catharine theodora duer, a daughter of president william alexander duer of columbia college, and who, by the way, never married, adopted this style of facial adornment, but the young woman objecting to it he cut it off and sent it to her in a letter. prince john van buren's daughter, miss anna vander poel van buren, many years thereafter, married edward alexander duer, a nephew of this catharine theodora duer. it was my very great pleasure to know fanny kemble and her father, charles kemble. she was, indeed, the queen of tragedy, and delighted the histrionic world of new york by her remarkable rendering of the plays of shakespeare. in later years when i heard her give shakespearian readings, i regarded the occasion as an epoch in my life. in this connection i venture to express my surprise that the classical english quotations so pleasing to the ear in former days are now so seldom heard. it seems unfortunate that the epigrammatic sentences, for example, of grand old dr. samuel johnson have become almost obsolete. in former years byron appealed to the sentiment, while the more ambitious quoted greek maxims. the sayings of the old authors were recalled, mingled with the current topics of the day. it would seem, however, that the present generation is decidedly more interested in quotations from the stock exchange. edmund burke said that "the age of chivalry is gone, that of sophists, economists, and calculators has succeeded." upon her return to england fanny kemble published her journal kept while in the united states, which was by no means pleasing in every respect to her american readers. it is said that in one of her literary effusions she dwelt upon a custom, which she claimed was prevalent in america, of parents naming their children after classical heroes, and gave as an example a child in new york who bore the name of alfonzo alonzo agamemnon dionysius bogardus. the sister of this youth, she stated, was named clementina seraphina imogen. i think this statement must have been evolved from her own brain, as it would be difficult to conceive of parents who would consent to make their children notorious in such a ridiculous manner. fanny kemble married pierce butler, a lawyer of ability and cousin of the u.s. senator from south carolina of the same name, and they were divorced in , when the hon. george m. dallas was counsel for fanny kemble and rufus choate appeared for her husband. fanny elssler, a queen of grace and beauty on the stage, delighted immense audiences at the park theater. she came to this country under the auspices of chevalier henry wikoff, a roving but accomplished soldier of fortune, who pitched his camp in both continents. upon her arrival in new york the "divine fanny," as she was invariably called, was borne to her destination in a carriage from which the horses had been detached by her enthusiastic _adorateurs_, led by august belmont. she was, indeed, a being so fair that the same lips and eyes she bore on earth might serve in paradise. at this distant day it seems almost impossible to describe her. she seemed to float upon the stage sustained only by the surrounding atmosphere. in my opinion she has never had a rival, with the possible exception of taglioni, the great swedish _danseuse_. i saw fanny elssler dance the _cracovienne_ and the _cachucha_, and it is a memory which will linger with me always. the music that accompanied these dances was generally selected from the popular airs of the day. many dark stories were afloat concerning fanny elssler's private life, but to me it seems impossible to associate her angelic presence with anything but her wonderful art. she was never received socially in new york; indeed, the only person that i remember connected with the stage in my early days who had the social _entrée_ was fanny kemble. we attended the dutch reformed church in new york of which the rev. dr. jacob brodhead was for many years the pastor. my aunts, however, attended one of the three collegiate churches in the lower part of the city, and i sometimes accompanied them and, as there was a frequent interchange of pulpits, i became quite accustomed to hear all of the three clergymen. the rev. dr. john knox, who endeared himself to his flock by his gentle and appealing ministrations; the rev. dr. thomas de witt, a profound theologian and courtly gentleman; and the rev. dr. william c. brownlee, with his vigorous scotch accent, preaching against what he invariably called "papery" (popery), and recalling, as he did, john knox of old, that irritating thorn in the side of the unfortunate mary queen of scots, made up this remarkable trio. during the latter part of his life dr. brownlee suffered from a stroke of paralysis which rendered him speechless, and his catholic adversaries improved this opportunity to circulate the report that he had been visited by a judgment from heaven. there were many shining lights in the episcopal church at this time in new york. the rev. dr. william berrian was the acceptable rector of st. john's, which was then as now a chapel of trinity parish. the rev. dr. francis l. hawks was the popular rector of st. thomas's church, on the corner of broadway and houston streets. he was a north carolinian by birth, but is said to have been in part of indian descent. i recall with pleasure his masterly rendition of the episcopal service. during the civil war he made it quite apparent to his parishioners that his sympathies were with the south, and as most of them did not share his views he moved to baltimore, where a more congenial atmosphere surrounded him. the rev. dr. stephen h. tyng, senior, was the rector of st. george's episcopal church in the lower part of the city. he was a theologian of the low-church school and was greatly esteemed by all of his colleagues. his son, the rev. dr. stephen h. tyng, junior, was in full sympathy with the low-church views of his father, and will be recalled as an evangelical preacher of exceptional power and wide influence. in the summer of he preached, in defiance of the canons of the episcopal church, in st. james's methodist church in new brunswick, n.j., thus invading without authority the parishes of the rev. dr. alfred stubs and the rev. dr. edward b. boggs of that city. his trial was of sensational interest, and resulted, as will be remembered, in his conviction. the attitude of the tyngs, father and son, was humorously described by anthony bleecker, a well-known wit of the day, in these verses: _tyng, junior._ i preach from barrels and from tubs, in spite of boggs, in spite of stubs; i'll preach from stumps, i'll preach from logs, in spite of stubs, in spite of boggs. _tyng, senior._ do, steve; and lay aside your gown, your bands and surplice throw them down; a bob-tail coat of tweed or kersey is good enough at least for jersey. _tyng, junior._ what if the bishops interfere, and i am made a culprit clear; can't you a thunderbolt then forge, and hurl it in the new st. george? _tyng, senior._ be sure i can and out of spite a wrathy sermon i'll indite; i'll score the court and every judge and call the whole proceedings fudge; and worse than that each reverent name i'll bellow through the trump of fame; with bishop potter i'll get even, and make you out the martyr stephen. the rev. dr. orville dewey, renowned for his intellectual attainments, preached in the unitarian church in mercer street. in subsequent years his sermons were published and i understand are still read with much interest and pleasure. archbishop john hughes, whom i knew quite well, was the controlling power in the roman catholic church. he possessed the affectionate regard of the whole community, and naturally commanded a wide influence. a roman catholic told me many years ago that, upon one of the visits of the archbishop to st. peter's church, he took the congregation to task for their exclusiveness, exclaiming: "you lock up your pews and exclude the marrow of the land." i knew very well the rev. charles constantine pise, the first native-born catholic to officiate in st. joseph's church on sixth avenue. he was of italian parentage and was remarkable for his great physical attractiveness. in addition to his fine appearance, he was exceedingly social in his tastes and was consequently a highly agreeable guest. he cultivated the muses to a modest degree, and i have several of his poetical effusions, one of which was addressed to me. in spite of the admiration he commanded from both men and women, irrespective of creed, life seemed to present to him but few allurements. archbishop hughes sent him to a small long island parish where, after laboring long and earnestly, he closed his earthly career. an anecdote is related of this pious man which i believe to be true. a young woman quite forgetful of the proprieties and conventionalties of life, but with decided matrimonial proclivities, made father pise an offer of her fortune, heart and hand. in a dignified manner he advised her to give her heart to god, her money to the poor, and her hand to the man who asked for it. prior to his rectorship of st. joseph's church in new york, father pise, who was an intimate friend of henry clay, served as chaplain of the u.s. senate during a portion of the d congress. at the national capital as well as in new york he was exceptionally popular, making many converts, especially among young women, and preaching to congregations in churches so densely crowded that it was difficult to obtain even standing room. i cannot pass the roman catholic clergy without some reference to the rev. felix varela, a priest of spanish descent and, it is said, of noble birth, who was sent from cuba to spain as one of the deputies to the cortes from his native island. his church was st. peter's in barclay street. it would be difficult for any words to do justice to his life of self-abnegation or to his adherence to the precepts of his divine master. it is with pleasure, therefore, that i relate the following story, for the truth of which i can vouch. a policeman found a handsome pair of silver candlesticks in the custody of a poor unfortunate man, and as they bore upon them a distinctive coat of arms he arrested him. on his way to prison the suspected criminal begged to see father varela for a moment, and as his residence was _en route_ to the station house the officer granted his request. this good priest informed the policeman with much reluctance that the candlesticks had formerly belonged to him, and that he had given them to his prisoner to buy bread for his family. my father was so deeply in sympathy with the life and character of this priest that, although of a different faith, he seldom heard his name mentioned without an expression of admiration for his life and character. there was a french protestant church in franklin street ministered to by the rev. dr. antoine verren, whose wife was a daughter of thomas hammersley. i also remember very well a presbyterian church on laight street, opposite st. john's park, the rector of which was the rev. dr. samuel h. cox, an uncle of the late bishop arthur cleveland cox of the episcopal church. dr. cox was a prominent abolitionist, and when we were living on hubert street, just around the corner, this church was stoned by a mob because the rector had expressed his anti-slavery views too freely. the mode of conducting funerals in former days in new york differed very materially from the customs now in vogue. while the coffins of the well-to-do were made entirely of mahogany and without handles, i have always understood that persons of the hebrew faith buried their dead in pine coffins, as they believed this wood to be more durable. pall-bearers wore white linen scarfs three yards long with a rosette of the same material fastened on one shoulder, which, together with a pair of black gloves, was always presented by the family. it was originally the intention that the linen scarf should be used after the funeral for making a shirt. funerals from churches were not as customary as at the present time. if the body was to be interred within the city limits every one attending the services, including the family, walked to the cemetery. it was unusual for a woman to be seen at a funeral. but the whole social tone of new york society was more _de rigueur_ than now. sometimes, for example, persons living under a cloud of insufficient magnitude to place them behind prison bars, feeling their disgrace, took flight for texas. instead of placing the conventional _p.p.c._ on their cards the letters _g.t.t._ were used, meaning that the self-expatriated ne'er-do-well had "gone to texas." i have always understood that in great britain the transgressor sought the continent, where he was often enabled to pass into oblivion. in this manner both countries were relieved of patriots who "left their country for their country's good." as an example, i remember hearing in my early life of an englishman named de roos, who had the unfortunate habit of arranging cards to suit his own fancy. when his _confrères_ finally caught him in the act he left hurriedly for the continent. in the u.s. sloop of war _somers_ arrived in new york, and the country was startled by the accounts of what has since been known as the "somers mutiny." the captain of the ship was commander alexander slidell mackenzie, whose original surname was slidell. he was a brother of the hon. john slidell, at one time u.s. senator from louisiana, who, during the civil war, while on his passage to england on the _trent_ as a representative of the southern confederacy in england, was captured by captain charles wilkes of the u.s. navy. the result of the alleged mutiny was the execution, by hanging at the yard arm, of philip spencer, a son of the celebrated new york lawyer, john c. spencer, president tyler's secretary of war, and of two sailors, samuel cromwell and elisha small. it was charged that they had conspired to capture the ship and set adrift or murder her officers. being far from any home port, and uncertain of the extent to which the spirit of disaffection had permeated the crew, mackenzie consulted the officers of his ship as to the proper course for him to pursue. in accordance with their advice, and after only a preliminary examination of witnesses and no formal trial with testimony for the defense, they were, as just stated, summarily executed. i speak from the point of view of the legal element of new york, as my father's associates were nearly all professional men. the world was aghast upon receiving the news that three men had been hurled into eternity without judge or jury. spencer was a lad of less than nineteen and a midshipman. although captain mackenzie's action was sustained by the court of inquiry, which was convened in his case, as well as by the _esprit de corps_ of the navy, public feeling ran so high that a court martial was ordered. his trial of two months' duration took place at the brooklyn navy yard, and resulted in a verdict of "not proven." the judge-advocate of the court was mr. william h. norris of baltimore, and mackenzie was defended by mr. george griffith and mr. john duer, the latter of whom was the distinguished new york jurist and the uncle of captain mackenzie's wife. at the request of the hon. john c. spencer, benjamin f. butler and charles o'conor, leaders of the new york bar, formally applied for permission to ask questions approved by the court and to offer testimony, but the request was refused--"so that," as thomas h. benton expressed it, "at the long _post mortem_ trial which was given to the boy after his death, the father was not allowed to ask one question in favor of his son." after a lapse of sixty-nine years, judging from mackenzie's report to the navy department, it almost seems as if he possessed a touch of mediæval superstition. he speaks of spencer giving money and tobacco to the crew, of his being extremely intimate with them, that he had a strange flashing of the eye, and finally that he was in the habit of amusing the sailors by making music with his jaws. mackenzie in his official report stated that this lad "had the faculty of throwing his jaw out of joint and by contact of the bones playing with accuracy and elegance a variety of airs." james fenimore cooper stated it as his opinion, "that such was the obliquity of intellect shown by mackenzie in the whole affair, that no analysis of his motives can be made on any consistent principle of human action;" and the distinguished statesman, thomas h. benton, whose critical and lengthy review of the whole case would seem to carry conviction to unprejudiced minds, declared that the three men "died innocent, as history will tell and show." the proceedings of the mackenzie trial were eagerly read by an interested public. as i remember the testimony given regarding spencer's last moments upon earth, mackenzie announced to the youthful culprit that he had but ten minutes to live. he fell at once upon his knees and exclaimed that he was not fit to die, and the captain replied that he was aware of the fact, but could not help it. it is recorded that he read his bible and prayer-book, and that the captain referred him to the "penitent thief;" but when he pleaded that his fate would kill his mother and injure his father, mackenzie made the inconsiderate reply that the best and only service he could render his father was to die. i recall a conversation bearing upon the _somers_ tragedy which i overheard between my father and his early friend, thomas morris, when their indignation was boundless. the latter's son, lieutenant charles w. morris, u.s.n., had made several cruises with the alleged mutineer cromwell. meeting mackenzie he stated this fact, saying at the same time that he found him a well-disposed and capable seaman. mackenzie quickly responded that "he had a bad eye," and then lieutenant morris recalled that the unfortunate man had a cast in one eye. a few years after his court-martial mackenzie fell dead from his horse. one of the wardroom officers of the _somers_ was adrian déslonde of louisiana, whose sister married the hon. john slidell, of whom i have already spoken as commander mackenzie's brother. i seldom hear the name of john slidell without being reminded of a witticism which i heard from my mother's lips, the author of which was louisa fairlie, a daughter of major james fairlie, who, during the war of the revolution, served upon general steuben's staff. she was, i have understood, a great belle with a power of repartee which bordered upon genius. during the youth of john slidell he attended a dinner at a prominent new york residence and sat at the table next to miss fairlie. in a tactless manner he made a pointedly unpleasant remark bearing upon the marriage of her sister mary to the distinguished actor, thomas apthorpe cooper, a subject upon which the fairlie family was somewhat sensitive. miss fairlie regarded mr. slidell for only a moment, and then retorted: "sir, you have been _dipped_ not _moulded_ into society"--an incident which, by the way, i heard repeated many years later at a dinner in china. to appreciate this witticism, one may refer to the new york directory of , which describes john slidell, the father of the slidell of whom we are speaking, as "soap boiler and chandler, broadway." miss fairlie's pun seems to me to be quite equal to that of rufus choate, who, when a certain baptist minister described himself as "a candle of the lord," remarked, "then you are a dipped, but i hope not a wick-ed candle." it is said that upon another occasion, after the return of mr. slidell from a foreign trip, he was asked by miss fairlie whether he had been to greece. he replied in the negative and asked the reason for her query. "oh, nothing," she said, "only it would have been very natural for you to visit greece in order to renew early associations!" many years thereafter priscilla cooper, the wife of robert tyler and the daughter-in-law of president john tyler, a daughter of thomas apthorpe cooper and his wife, mary fairlie, presided at the white house during the widowhood of her distinguished father-in-law. as has already been stated, the father of the hon. john slidell was a chandler, and he conducted his business with such success that in time he became prominent in mercantile and financial circles, and eventually was made president of the mechanics bank and the tradesmen's insurance company. his son john, who at first engaged in his father's soap and tallow business as an apprentice, finally succeeded him, and the enterprise was continued under the firm name of "john slidell, jr. and company." the house failed, however, and it is said that this fact, together with the scandal attending his duel with stephen price, manager of the park theater, in which the latter was wounded, were the controlling factors that led the future hon. john slidell to remove his residence to new orleans. in this place he became highly celebrated as a lawyer, and his successful political career is well known. he married miss marie mathilde déslonde, a member of a well-known creole family, and many persons still living will recall her grace and _savoir faire_ in washington when her husband represented louisiana in the united states senate. miss jane slidell, a sister of the hon. john slidell, married commodore matthew c. perry, u.s.n., who opened the doors of japan to the trade of the world, and whose daughter, caroline slidell perry, became the wife of the late august belmont of new york, while julia, another of mr. slidell's sisters, married the late rear admiral c. r. p. rodgers, u.s.n. chapter v long branch, newport and elsewhere when i was about ten years of age, accompanied by my parents, i made a visit to long branch, which was then one of the most fashionable summer resorts for new yorkers. as we made the journey by steamboat and the water was rough we were the victims of a violent attack of seasickness from which few of the passengers escaped. many philadelphians also spent their summers at this resort, and there was naturally a fair sprinkling of people from other large cities. at that time there were no hotels in the place, but there was one commodious boarding house which accommodated a large number of guests. it bore no name, but was designated as "mrs. sairs'," from its proprietress. in this establishment our whole family, by no means small, found accommodations. i recall many pleasant acquaintances we made while there, especially that of miss molly hamilton of philadelphia. she was a vivacious old lady, and was accompanied by her nephew, hamilton beckett, in whom i found a congenial playmate. his name made a strong impression upon my memory, as i was then reading the history of thomas à becket, the murdered archbishop of canterbury. i have heard that this friend of my childhood went eventually to england to reside. the penningtons of newark had a cottage near us. william pennington subsequently became governor of new jersey. i also enjoyed the youthful companionship of his daughter mary, whom many years later i met in washington. in the interval she had become a pronounced belle and the wife of hugh a. toler of newark. the guests of the boarding house were inclined to complain that the beach was too exclusively appropriated by two acquaintances of ours who were living in the same house with us, mrs. g. w. featherstonhaugh and mrs. thomas m. willing, and their train of admirers. they were sprightly young women and daughters of bernard moore carter of virginia. i remember it was the gossip of the place that both of them could count their offers of marriage by the score. mrs. willing was a skilled performer upon the harp, an instrument then much in vogue, but whose silvery tones are now, alas, only memory's echo. mr. featherstonhaugh, who was by birth an englishman, after residing in the united states a few years, wrote in a book entitled "excursion through the slave states from washington on the potomac to the frontier of mexico." i recall that in this volume he spoke with enthusiasm of the _agréments_ of the palate which he enjoyed during a few days' sojourn at barnum's hotel in baltimore. he dwelt particularly, with gastronomic ecstasy, upon the canvas-back duck and soft-shell crab upon which he feasted, and was inclined to draw an unfavorable comparison between the former hotel and gadsby's, the well-known washington hostelry. upon his journey he visited monticello, the former home of thomas jefferson. his encomium on this distinguished man appealed to me as i am sure it does to others; he spoke of him as the "confucius of his country." altogether, mr. featherstonhaugh's experiences in america were as novel and entertaining as a sojourn with aborigines. just off the beach at long branch was a high bluff which descended gradually to the sea, and at this point were several primitive bath houses belonging to mrs. sairs' establishment. following the prevalent custom, we wore no bathing shoes and stockings, but, accompanied by a stalwart bathing master, we enjoyed many dips in the briny deep, and were brought safely back by him to our bath house. there was no immodest lingering on the beach; this privilege was reserved for the advanced civilization of a later day. while i was still a young child, and some years after our visit to long branch, my infant brother malcolm became seriously ill. dr. john w. francis, our family physician, prescribed a change of air for him, and my parents took him to newport. we found pleasant accommodations for our family in a fashionable boarding house on thames street, the guests of which were composed almost exclusively of southern families. newport was then in an exceedingly primitive state and i have no recollection of seeing either cottages or hotels, while modern improvements were unknown. we led a simple outdoor life, taking our breakfast at eight, dining at two and supping at six. it was indeed "early to bed and early to rise." as i recall these early days in newport, two fascinating old ladies, typical southern gentlewomen, the misses philippa and hetty minus of savannah, present themselves vividly to my memory. after we returned to our new york home we had the pleasure of meeting them again and entertaining them. another charming guest of our establishment was the wife of james l. pettigru, an eminent citizen of south carolina. she was the first woman of fashion presented to my girlish vision, and her mode of life was a revelation. she kept very late hours, often lingering in her room the next morning until midday. as i was then familiar with miss edgeworth's books for young people, which all judicious parents purchased for their children, i immediately designated mrs. pettigru as "lady delacour," whose habits and fashions are so pleasingly described in that admirable novel, "belinda." although born and bred in south carolina, mr. pettigru remained loyal to the union, and after his death his valuable library was purchased by congress. the members of another representative south carolina family, the allstons, were also among our fellow boarders at long branch. this name always brings to mind the pathetic history of theodosia burr, aaron burr's only child, and her sad death; while the name of washington allston, the artist, is too well known to be dwelt upon. after a month's pleasant sojourn in newport my brother's health had materially improved and we returned to our new york home by the way of boston, where we were guests at the tremont house. i blush to acknowledge to the bostonians who may peruse these pages that my chief recollection of this visit is that i was standing on the steps of the hotel, when i was accosted by a gentleman, who exclaimed: "you are a campbell, i'll bet ten thousand dollars!" i apologize for writing such a personal reminiscence of such an historic town, but such are the freaks of memory. this was prior to the maturer days of william lloyd garrison, wendell phillips and ralph waldo emerson. before passing on to other subjects i must not omit mentioning that at this period the currency used in the new england states differed from that of new york. this fact was brought vividly before me in newport when i made an outlay of a shilling at a candy store. in return for my mexican quarter of a dollar i was handed a small amount of change. i left the shop fully convinced that i was a victim of sharp practice, but learned later that there was a slight difference between the shilling used in new york and that used in new england. many years later i visited boston again, this time as the guest of mr. and mrs. robert c. winthrop at their superb brookline home; and, escorted by mr. winthrop and mr. and mrs. jabez l. m. curry of alabama, who were also their house-guests, i visited all the points of historical interest. both mr. winthrop and mr. curry were then trustees of the peabody fund. a few years after we separated in boston mr. and mrs. curry went to spain to reside, where, as american minister, he was present at the birth of king alfonso of spain. about fifteen years later i again visited newport, but this time i was a full-fledged young woman. during my absence a large number of hotels and cottages had been erected, many of which were occupied by southern families who still continued to regard this rhode island resort as almost exclusively their own. i recall the names of many of them, all of whom were conspicuous in social life in the south. among them were the middletons, whose ancestors were historically prominent; the pinckneys, descended from the illustrious charles cotesworth pinckney, who uttered the well-known maxim, "millions for defense but not one cent for tribute;" the izards; the draytons, of south carolina; and the habershams of georgia. during this visit in newport i was the guest, at their summer cottage, of my life-long friends, the misses mary and margaret gelston, daughters of maltby gelston, former president of the manhattan bank of new york. not far from the gelstons resided what sam weller would call three "widder women." they were sisters, the daughters of ralph izard of dorchester, s.c., and bore distinguished south carolina names; mrs. poinsett who had been the wife of joel roberts poinsett, the well-known statesman and secretary of war under van buren, mrs. eustis, the widow of gen. abram eustis, u.s.a., who had served in the war of , and mrs. thomas pinckney, whose husband, the nephew of general charles cotesworth pinckney, had been a wealthy rice planter in south carolina. the beautiful christmas flower, the poinsettia, was named in compliment to mr. poinsett. these interesting women for many years were in the habit of leaving what they called their "carolina" home for a summer sojourn at newport, where their house was one of the social centers of attraction. with their graceful bearing, gentle voices and cordial manners they were characteristic types of the southern _grandes dames_ now so seldom seen. a short distance from my hosts' cottage lived the daughter of charles carroll of carrollton, who was also the widow of robert goodloe harper, a prominent federalist and a united states senator during the administrations of madison and monroe. mrs. harper's sister married richard caton of maryland, whose daughters made such distinguished british matrimonial alliances. her daughter, emily harper, upon whose personality i love to dwell, was from her earliest childhood endowed with strong religious traits. her gentle christian character exemplified charity to all who were fortunate enough to come within the radius of her influence. she was in every sense of the word a deeply religious woman, and her influence upon those around her was of the most elevating character. i shall always remember with the keenest enjoyment some of the pleasant teas at this hospitable home of the harpers in newport. all sects were welcomed, episcopalians, presbyterians, hebrews, unitarians, and i doubt not that an equally cordial reception would have awaited mahommedans or hindoos. i once heard miss harper say that she shared with chateaubriand the ennobling sentiment that the salvation of one soul was of more value than the conquest of a kingdom. naturally the harper cottage was the rendezvous for southerners and its hospitable roof sheltered many prominent people, especially guests from maryland. mr. maltby gelston told me at the time of this visit that mrs. harper was the only child of a signer then living. it is probable that he spoke from positive knowledge, as he was an authority upon the subject, having married the granddaughter of philip livingston, a new york signer. a few years later, when i was married in washington, d.c., i was deeply gratified when miss harper came from baltimore to attend my wedding. the marked attentions paid to her by caleb cushing, then attorney-general under president pierce, were the source of much gossip, but she seemed entirely indifferent to his devotion. i once heard him express great annoyance after a trip to baltimore because he failed to see her on account of a headache with which she was said to be suffering, and he inquired of me in a petulant manner whether headaches were an universal feminine malady. like her mother, she lived to a very advanced age and when she departed this life the world lost one of its saintliest characters. one of the most attractive cottages in newport at the time of my second visit was occupied by mr. and mrs. henry casimir de rham of new york. it was densely shaded by a number of graceful silver-maple trees. mr. de rham was a prosperous merchant of swiss extraction, whose wife was miss maria theresa moore, a member of one of new york's most prominent families and a niece of bishop benjamin moore of new york. the social leaders of newport at this period were mr. and mrs. robert morgan gibbes, whose winter home was in new york. mr. gibbes, who, by the way, was a great-uncle of william waldorf astor, was a south carolinian by birth and had married miss emily oliver of paterson, new jersey. they lived in a handsome house, gave sumptuous entertainments, and had an interesting family of daughters, several of whom i knew quite well. one well-remembered evening i attended a party at their house which was regarded as the social affair of the season. it made a lasting impression upon my mind owing to a trivial circumstance which seems hardly worth relating. it was the first time i had ever seen mottoes used at entertainments, and at this party they were exceptionally handsome. the one which fell to my share, and which i treasured for some time, bore upon it a large bunch of red currants. these favors were always imported, and a few years later became so fashionable that no dinner or supper table was regarded as quite the proper thing without them. i take it for granted that this custom was the origin of the german favors which in the course of time came into such general use. in i made a third visit to newport as the guest of mrs. winfield scott. general scott's headquarters were then in washington, but, as his military views were widely divergent from those of jefferson davis, president pierce's secretary of war, he was urging the president to transfer him to new york. i have frequently heard the general jocosely remark that he longed for a secretary of war who would not "make him cry." the scotts at this period were spending their winters in washington and their summers in newport. meanwhile his numerous admirers, in recognition of his distinguished services, presented him with a house on west twelfth street which was occupied by him and his family after his transfer to new york. the principal donor of this residence was the hon. hamilton fish. after a charming sojourn of several weeks in newport, i was about returning to my home when i casually invited general scott's youngest daughter, marcella ("ella"), then only a schoolgirl, to accompany me to miss harper's cottage, as i wished to say good-bye. upon entering the drawing-room a cousin and guest of miss harper's, charles carroll mctavish of howard county, maryland, appeared upon the threshold and was introduced to us. he was then approaching middle life and i learned later that he had served some years in the russian army. marcella scott's appearance apparently fascinated him from the moment they met, and from that day he began to be devotedly attentive to her. mrs. scott, however, entirely disapproved of mr. mctavish's attentions to her daughter on account of her extreme youth. a few months later marcella returned to madame chegaray's school, where she became a boarding pupil and was not allowed to see visitors. the following winter she was taken ill with typhoid fever, and, when convalescent enough to be moved, was brought to my home in houston street, new york, to recuperate, as the scotts were still living in washington and the journey was considered too long and arduous to be taken by an invalid. meanwhile, mr. mctavish renewed his attentions to miss scott and the impression made was more than a passing fancy for in the following june they were married in the twelfth street house of which i have already spoken, general scott having in the interim succeeded in having his headquarters removed to new york. i had the pleasure of being present at this wedding, which, in spite of a warm day in june and the many absentees from the city, was one of exceptional brilliancy. the army and navy were well represented, the officers of both branches of the service appearing in full-dress uniform. the hour appointed for the ceremony was high noon, but an amusing _contretemps_ blocked the way. an incorrigible mantua-maker, faithless to all promises and regardless of every sense of propriety, failed to send home the bridal dress at the appointed time. this state of affairs proved decidedly embarrassing, but the guests were informed of the cause of the delay and patiently awaited developments. behind the scenes, however, quite a different spectacle was presented, while amid much bustle and excitement a second wedding gown was being hurriedly prepared. after an hour's delay, however, the belated garment arrived, when the bride-elect was quickly dressed and walked into the large drawing-room in all of her bridal finery, leaning, as was then the custom, upon the arm of the groom. archbishop hughes conducted the wedding service, and seized upon the auspicious occasion to make an address of some length. previous to the ceremony, my intimate friend, the young bride's older sister, cornelia scott, who a few years previous had become while in rome a convert to catholicism, asked me with much earnestness of manner to do my best to entertain the archbishop, as she thought, in her kind way, that he might be somewhat out of his element when surrounded by such a large and fashionable assemblage. this was, indeed, a pleasing task, as it enabled me to renew my earlier acquaintance with this gifted prelate. the only member of the groom's family present at this ceremony was his handsome brother, alexander s. mctavish, who came from baltimore for the occasion. strange to say, in view of the many presents usually displayed upon such occasions nowadays, i do not remember, although i was a family guest, seeing or hearing of a single bridal gift, but some of the wedding guests i recall very distinctly. among them were mr. and mrs. charles king, the former of whom was president of columbia college and an intimate friend of general scott's; mr. and mrs. robert ray, whose daughter cornelia married major schuyler hamilton, aide-de-camp to general scott during the mexican war; prof. clement c. moore and his daughter theresa; mr. and mrs. edward mayo of elizabeth, n.j., the former of whom was mrs. scott's brother; mrs. robert henry cabell, a sister of mrs. scott's from richmond; major thomas williams, an aide to general scott, who was killed during the civil war; and major henry l. scott, aide and son-in-law of general scott. the same evening, after the wedding guests had departed and quiet again reigned supreme in the household, i went to mrs. scott's room to sit with her, as she seemed sad and lonely, and at the same time to talk over with her, womanlike, the events of the day. in our quiet conversation i remember referring to archbishop hughes's address to the groom, and asked her if she had observed that he had dwelt upon the bride "being taken from an affectionate father," while the remaining members of the family were entirely ignored. mrs. scott immediately bristled up and with much warmth of feeling said that she had noticed the omission and believed that the action of the archbishop was premeditated. just here was an undercurrent which as an intimate friend of the family i fully understood. after virginia scott's death at the georgetown convent mrs. scott was most outspoken in her denunciation of the roman catholic church, which she felt had robbed her of her daughter. some years after his marriage charles carroll mctavish applied to the legislature of maryland for permission to drop his surname and to assume that of his great-grandfather, charles carroll. as this request was strenuously opposed by other descendants of the signer, who regarded it as inexpedient to increase the number of charles carrolls, the petition of mr. mctavish was not granted. mary wellesley mctavish, his sister, i remember as a sprightly young woman of fine appearance. she made her _début_ in london society as the guest of her aunt, mary mctavish, wife of the marquis of wellesley. after a brief courtship she married henry george howard, a son of the earl of carlisle, and accompanied him to the netherlands, where he was the accredited british minister. mrs. george bancroft, wife of the historian, who accompanied her husband when he was our minister to england, gave me an interesting sketch of mrs. howard's varied life. death finally claimed her in paris and her body was brought back to this country and buried in maryland, the home of her youth. her mother, who brought the remains across the ocean, soon after her bereavement, established "the house of the good shepherd" in baltimore. three daughters of mr. and mrs. charles carroll mctavish grew into womanhood. the elder sisters, mary and emily, both of whom were well known for their beauty and vivacity, entered upon cloistered lives. just as the two sisters were about taking this step, they made a request, which caused much comment, to the effect that they should be assigned to different convents. i understand that mrs. mctavish, their mother, is still living in rome with the unmarried daughter. during mrs. scott's residence in paris she was invited to witness the ceremony of "taking the veil" at a prominent convent, and writing to her family at home she remarked: "how strange that human beings, knowing the fickleness of their natures, should bind themselves for life to one limited space and unvarying mode of existence." hoboken, or, as it was sometimes called, paulus hook, was a great resort in my earlier life for residents of the great metropolis. we children, accompanied by my father or some other grown person, delighted to roam in that locality over what was most appropriately termed the "elysian fields." professional landscape-gardening had not then been thought of, but nature's achievements often surpass the embellishments of man. our cup of happiness was full to the brim when we were taken to this entrancing spot overlooking the hudson river, with its innumerable sloops, steamboats and tugs adding so much to the picturesqueness of the scene. as we strolled along, we regaled ourselves every now and then with a refreshing glass of mead, a concoction of honey and cold water, purchased from a passing vender; and when cakes or candy were added to the refreshing drink life seemed very _couleur de rose_ to our childish dreams. then again we made occasional trips up the river, but the steamboats and other excursion craft of that day were of course mere pigmies compared with those of the present time. the cabin always had a large dining table, on either side of which was a line of berths. guests were called to dinner at one o'clock by the vigorous ringing of a large bell in the hands of a colored waiter dressed in a white apron and jacket. i have often thought how surprised and pleased this old-time servant, universally seen in every well-to-do household in those days, would be if he could return to earth and hear himself addressed as "butler." it was upon one of these trips up the hudson that the widow of general alexander hamilton and her daughter, mrs. hamilton holly, were taking their mid-day repast, at one end of the long table, when they were informed that aaron burr was partaking of the same meal not far from them. their indignation was boundless, and immediately there were two vacant chairs. mrs. holly was a woman of strong intellect, and a friendship which i formed with her is one of the most cherished memories of my life. she devoted her widowhood to the care of her aged mother. we often engaged in confidential conversations, when she would discuss the tragedies which so clouded her life. i especially remember her dwelling upon the sad history of her sister, angelica hamilton, who, she told me, was in the bloom of health and surrounded by everything that goes towards making life happy when her eldest brother, philip hamilton, was killed in a duel. he had but recently been graduated from columbia college and lost his life in on the same spot where, about three years later, his father was killed by aaron burr. this dreadful event affected her so deeply that her mind became unbalanced, and she was finally placed in an asylum, where she died at a very advanced age. mrs. hamilton lived in washington, d.c., in one of the de menou buildings on h street, between thirteenth and fourteenth streets, and mrs. holly resided in the same city until her death. tragedy seemed to pursue the hamilton family with unrelenting perseverance until the third generation. in the legislature of virginia, desiring that every native president should repose upon virginia soil, made an appropriation for removing the remains of james monroe from new york to richmond. he died on the th of july, , while temporarily residing in new york with his daughter, mrs. samuel l. gouverneur, and his body was placed in the gouverneur vault in the marble cemetery on second street, east of second avenue, where it remained for nearly thirty years. the disinterment of the remains of this distinguished statesman was conducted with much pomp and ceremony and the body placed on board of the steamer _jamestown_ and conveyed to richmond, accompanied all the way by the th regiment of new york which acted as a guard of honor. the orator of the occasion was john cochrane, a distinguished member of the new york bar; while henry a. wise, then governor of virginia, delivered an appropriate address at the grave in hollywood cemetery in richmond. my husband, samuel l. gouverneur, junior, monroe's grandson, accompanied the remains as the representative of the family. after the ceremonies in richmond were completed, but before the th regiment had embarked upon its homeward voyage, one of its members, laurens hamilton, a grandson of alexander hamilton and a son of john c. hamilton, was drowned near richmond. all the proceedings connected with the removal of mr. monroe's remains, both in new york and in richmond, were published some years later by udolpho wolfe, a neighbor and admirer of the late president. a copy of the book was presented to each member of the th regiment and one of them was also given by the compiler to my husband. a few years later this same new york regiment invaded virginia, but under greatly different circumstances. a terrible civil war was raging, and the old dominion for a time was its principal battle ground. i recall an amusing anecdote which mr. gouverneur told me upon his return from this visit to richmond. while the great concourse of people was still assembled at monroe's grave in hollywood cemetery, governor henry a. wise, always proud of his state, remarked: "now we must have all the native presidents of virginia buried within this inclosure." immediately a vigorous hand was placed on his shoulder by a new york alderman who had accompanied the funeral _cortège_, who exclaimed in characteristic bowery vernacular: "go ahead, governor, you'll fotch 'em." the only mode of travel on the hudson river in my early days was by boat. one of my recollections is seeing captain vanderbilt in command of a steamboat. i have heard older members of my family say that he designated himself "captain wanderbilt," and that his faithful wife's endearing mode of accosting him was "corneil." at any rate, it is well-known that he began life by operating a rowboat ferry between staten island and new york. in later years a sailboat was substituted over this same route. the hudson river railroad was originally built under the direction of a number of prominent men in the state who were anything but skilled in such enterprises. in the beginning of its career, while high officials bestowed fat offices upon friends and relatives, its finances were in a chaotic condition. it was during this state of affairs that commodore vanderbilt, with a master mind, grasped the situation and reorganized the whole system, thereby greatly increasing his own fortune, and placing the railroad upon a sound financial basis. after such a remarkable career "blindness to the future" seems unkindly given, as doubtless it would have been a source of great satisfaction to this vanderbilt progenitor could he have known before passing onward that his hard-earned wealth would eventually enrich his descendants, even the representatives of nobility. i have before me an invitation to a new york assembly, dated the th of january, , addressed to my father and mother, which has followed my wanderings through seventy years. all of the managers, a list of whom i give, were representative citizens as well as prominent society men of the day: abm. schermerhorn, j. swift livingston, edmd. pendleton, jacob r. leroy, james w. otis, thos. w. ludlow, wm. douglas, chas. mcevers, jr., henry delafield, william s. miller, henry w. hicks, charles c. king. abraham schermerhorn belonged to a wealthy new york family, and edmund pendleton was a virginian by birth who resided in new york where he became socially prominent. james w. otis was of the harrison gray otis family of boston and, as i have already stated, i was at school with his daughter, sally. william douglas was a bachelor living in an attractive residence on park place, where he occasionally entertained his friends. he belonged to a thrifty family of scotch descent and had two sisters, mrs. douglas cruger and mrs. james monroe, whose husband was a namesake and nephew of the ex-president. early in the last century their mother, mrs. george douglas, gave a ball, and i insert some doggerel with reference to it written by miss anne macmaster, who later became mrs. charles russell codman of boston. these verses are interesting from the fact that they give the names of many of the _belles_ and _beaux_ of that time: i meant, my dear fanny, to give you a call and tell you the news of the douglases ball; but the weather's so bad,--i've a cold in my head,-- and i daren't venture out; so i send you instead a poetic epistle--for plain humble prose is not worthy the joys of this ball to disclose. to begin with our entrance, we came in at nine, the two rooms below were prodigiously fine, and the _coup d'oeil_ was shewy and brilliant 'tis true, pretty faces not wanting, some old and some new. but, oh! my dear cousin, no words can describe the excess of the crowd--like two swarms in one hive. the squeezing and panting, the blowing and puffing, the smashing, the crushing, the snatching, the stuffing, i'd have given my new dress, at one time, i declare, (the white satin and roses), for one breath of air! but oh! how full often i inwardly sighed o'er the wreck of those roses, so lately my pride; those roses, my own bands so carefully placed, as i fondly believed, with such exquisite taste. then to see them so cruelly torn and destroyed i assure you, my dear, i was vastly annoyed. the ballroom with garlands was prettily drest, but a small room for dancing it must be confess'd, if you chanc'd to get in you were lucky no doubt, but oh! luckier far, if you chanced to get out! and pray who were there? is the question you'll ask. to name the one half would be no easy task-- there were bayards and clarksons, van hornes and leroys, all famous, you well know, for making a noise. there were livingstons, lenoxes, henrys and hoffmans, and crugers and carys, barnewalls and bronsons, delanceys and dyckmans and little de veaux, gouverneurs and goelets and mr. picot, and multitudes more that would tire me to reckon, but i must not forget the pretty miss whitten. no particular belle claimed the general attention, there were many, however, most worthy of mention. the lily of leonards' might hold the first place for sweetness of manner, and beauty and grace. her cousin eliza and little miss gitty both danc'd very lightly, and looked very pretty. the youngest miss mason attracted much notice, so did susan le roy and the english miss otis; of _beaux_ there were plenty, some new ones 'tis true, but i won't mention names, no, not even to you. i was lucky in getting good partners, however, above all, the two emmetts, so lively and clever. with morris and maitland i danc'd; and with sedgwick, martin wilkins, young armstrong and droll william renwick. the old lady was mightily deck'd for the ball with harriet's pearls--and the little one's shawl; but to give her her due she was civil enough, only tiresome in asking the people to stuff. there was supper at twelve for those who could get it, i came in too late, but i did not regret it, for eating at parties was never my passion, and i'm sorry to see that it's so much the fashion. after supper, for dancing we'd plenty of room, and so pleasant it was, that i did not get home until three--when the ladies began to look drowsy, the lamps to burn dim, and the laird to grow boosy. the ball being ended, i've no more to tell-- and so, my dear fanny, i bid you farewell. in the old pamphlet from which i have already quoted, edited in by moses y. beach and compiled for the purpose of furnishing information concerning the status of new york citizens to banks, merchants and others, i find the following amusing description of george douglas: "george douglas was a scotch merchant who hoarded closely. his wine cellar was more extensive than his library. when george used to see people speculating and idle it distressed him. he would say: 'people get too many _idees_ in their head. why don't they work?' what a blessing he is not alive in this moonshine age of dreamy schemings." mr. beach apparently was not capable of appreciating a thrifty scotchman. this same pamphlet gives an account of a picturesque character whom i distinctly remember as a highly prominent citizen of new york. his parentage was involved in mystery, and has remained so until this day. i refer to mr. preserved fish, the senior member of the firm of fish, grinnell & co., which subsequently became the prominent business house of grinnell, minturn & co. sustained by the apparel peculiar to infants, he was found floating in the water by some new bedford fishermen who, unable to discover his identity, bestowed upon him the uncouth name which, willingly or unwillingly, he bore until the day of his death. he and the other members of his firm were originally from new bedford, one of the chief centers of the whale fisheries of new england, and came to new york to attend to the oil and candle industries of certain merchants of the former city. few business men in new york in my day were more highly respected for indomitable energy and personal integrity than mr. fish. he became president of the tradesmen's bank, and held other positions of responsibility and trust. he represented an ideal type of the self-made man, and in spite of an unknown origin and a ridiculous name battled successfully with life without a helping hand. in connection with the douglas family, i recall a beautiful wedding reception which, as well as i can remember, took place in the autumn of , at fanwood, fort washington, then a suburb of new york. the bride was fanny monroe, a daughter of colonel james monroe, u.s.a., and granddaughter of mrs. douglas of whose ball i have just spoken. the groom was douglas robinson, a native of scotland. it was a gorgeous autumn day when the votaries of pleasure and fashion in new york drove out to fanwood, where groomsmen of social prominence stood upon the wide portico to greet the guests and conduct them to the side of the newly married pair. mrs. winfield scott was our guest in houston street at the time, but did not accompany us to the wedding as no invitation had reached her. my presence reminded mrs. monroe that mrs. scott was in new york, and she immediately inquired why i had not brought her with me. as i gave the reason both colonel and mrs. monroe seemed exceedingly annoyed. it seems that her invitation had been sent to washington but had not been forwarded to her in new york. in those days mrs. scott's distinguished presence and sparkling repartee, together with the fact that her husband was commander-in-chief of the army, added luster to every assemblage. the army was well represented at this reception and it was truly "the feast of reason and the flow of soul." colonel "jimmy" monroe was a great favorite with his former brother-in-arms as he was a genial, whole-souled and hospitable gentleman. my sister margaret and i were accompanied to fanwood by an army officer, colonel donald fraser, a bachelor whom i had met some years before at west point. the paths of the bride and myself diverged, and it was a very long time before we met again. it was only a few years ago, while she was residing temporarily in washington. she was then, however, a widow and was living in great retirement. she is now deceased. when we alighted from our carriage the day of the monroe-robinson wedding at fanwood a young man whom i subsequently learned was mr. samuel l. gouverneur, junior, a cousin of the bride, walked over to me, asked my name and in his capacity of groomsman inquired whether i would allow him to present me to the bride. i was particularly impressed by his appearance, as it was unusually attractive. he had raven-black hair, large bluish-gray eyes and regular features; but what added to his charm in my youthful fancy was the fact that he had only recently returned from the mexican war, in which, as i learned later, he had served with great gallantry in the th artillery. i had never seen him before, although in thinking the matter over a few days later i remembered that i had met his mother and sister in society in new york. i did not see him again until five years later, when our paths crossed in washington, and in due time i became his bride. to return to the new york assembly in . henry delafield, whose name appears on the card of invitation, belonged to a well-known family. his father, an englishman by birth, settled in new york in and is described in an early city directory as "john delafield, insurance broker, water street." the delafields were a large family of brothers and were highly prosperous. i remember once hearing dr. john w. francis say: "put a delafield on a desert island in the middle of the ocean, and he will thrive and prosper." henry delafield and his brother william were almost inseparable. they were twins and strikingly alike in appearance. general richard delafield, u.s.a., for many years superintendent of the military academy at west point, was another brother, as was also dr. edward delafield, a physician of note, who lived in bleecker street and in married miss julia floyd of long island, a granddaughter of william floyd, one of the new york signers. about thirty-five years ago three of the delafield brothers, joseph, henry and edward, all advanced in life, died within a few days of each other and were buried in greenwood cemetery at the same time, the funeral taking place from old trinity church. on this occasion all the old customs were observed, and the coffins were made of solid mahogany. [illustration: samuel l. gouverneur, junior.] john swift livingston lived in leonard street, and i recall very pleasantly a party which i attended at his house before the marriage of his daughter estelle to general john watts de peyster. the latter, together with his first cousins, general "phil" kearny and mrs. alexander macomb, inherited an enormous fortune from his grandfather john watts, who was one of the most prominent men of his day and the founder of the leake and watts orphan house, which is still in existence. john g. leake was an englishman who came to new york to live and, dying without heirs, left his fortune to robert watts, a minor son of john watts. robert watts, however, did not long survive his benefactor. upon his death the leake will was contested by his relatives, but a decision was rendered in favor of the nearest kin of the boy, who was his father. after gaining his victory john watts established this orphan house and with true magnanimity placed leake's name before his own. jacob r. leroy lived in greenwich street near the battery, which at this time was a fashionable section of the city. his sister caroline, whom i knew, became the second wife of daniel webster. mr. leroy's daughter charlotte married rev. henry de koven, whose son is the musical genius, reginald de koven. henry w. hicks was the son of a prominent quaker merchant and a member of the firm of hicks & co., which did an enormous shipping business until its suspension, about , owing to foreign business embarrassments. thomas w. ludlow was a wealthy citizen, genial and most hospitably inclined. he owned a handsome country-seat near tarrytown, and every now and then it was his pleasure to charter a steamboat to convey his guests thither; and i recall several pleasant days i spent in this manner. when we reached the tarrytown home a fine collation always awaited us and in its wake came music and dancing. charles mcevers, junior, belonged to an old new york family and was one of the executors of the vanden heuvel estate. his niece, mary mcevers, married sir edward cunard, who was knighted by queen victoria. william starr miller married a niece of philip schuyler, who was a woman possessing many excellent traits of character. as far as i can remember, she was the only divorced person of those days who was well received in society, for people with "past histories" were then regarded with marked disfavor. chapter vi some distinguished acquaintances in close proximity to st. john's park, during my early life on hubert street, there resided a frenchman named laurent salles, and i have a vivid recollection of a notable marriage which was solemnized in his mansion. the groom, lispenard stewart, married his daughter, miss louise stephanie salles, but the young and pretty bride survived her marriage for only a few years. she left two children, one of whom is mrs. frederick graham lee, whom i occasionally see in washington, where with her husband she spends her winters. when playing in st. john's park in this same neighborhood, i made the acquaintance of margaret tillotson kemble, one of the young daughters of william kemble already mentioned as living on beach street, opposite that park. mr. kemble was the son of peter kemble, member of the prominent firm of "gouverneur and kemble," shipping merchants of new york, which traded with china and other foreign countries. this firm, the senior members of which were the brothers nicholas and isaac gouverneur, was bound together by a close family tie, as mrs. peter kemble was gertrude gouverneur, a sister of the two gouverneur brothers. my intimacy with margaret tillotson kemble, formed almost from the cradle, lasted without a break throughout life. she was a second cousin of my husband and married charles j. nourse, a member of the old georgetown, d.c., family. the last years of her life were entirely devoted to good works. her sister, mary, married dr. frederick d. lente, at one time physician to the west point foundry, at cold spring, n.y., and subsequently a distinguished general practitioner in new york and saratoga springs. ellen kemble, the other sister, of whom i have already spoken, never married. she was eminent for her piety, and her whole life was largely devoted to works of charity. the kemble house on beach street was always a social center and i think i can truthfully say it was more than a second home to me. mrs. william kemble, who was miss margaret chatham seth of maryland, was a woman of decided social tastes and a most efficient assistant to her husband in dispensing hospitality. gathered around her hearthstone was a large family of girls and boys who naturally added much brightness to the household. mr. kemble was a well-known patron of art and his house became the rendezvous for persons of artistic tastes. it was in his drawing-room that i met william cullen bryant; charles b. king of washington, whose portraits are so well known; john gadsby chapman, who painted the "baptism of pocahontas," now in the rotunda of the capitol at washington; asher b. durand, the celebrated artist; and mr. kemble's brother-in-law, james k. paulding, who at the time was secretary of the navy under president martin van buren. mr. kemble was one of the founders of the century club of new york, a life member of the academy of design, and in , at the age of twenty-one, in conjunction with his older brother, gouverneur kemble, established the west point foundry, which for a long period received heavy ordnance contracts from the united states government. the famous parrott guns were manufactured there. captain robert p. parrott, their inventor and an army officer, married mary kemble, a sister of gouverneur and william kemble, who in early life was regarded as a beauty. mr. william kemble, apart from his artistic tastes, owned a number of fine pictures, among which was a sappho by a spanish master. it was given to mrs. kemble by the grandfather of the late rear admiral richard w. meade, u.s.n. when the kemble family left beach street and moved to west twenty-fifth street this picture was sold to gouverneur kemble for $ , , and placed in his extensive picture gallery at cold spring. mrs. william kemble was a woman of marked ability and an able _raconteurse_. early in life she had been left an orphan and was brought up by her maternal uncle, dr. thomas tillotson of the eastern shore of maryland, whose wife was margaret livingston, a daughter of judge robert r. livingston and a sister of chancellor robert r. livingston. another sister of mrs. tillotson was the widow of general richard montgomery, of the revolutionary war, who fell at the battle of quebec. the tillotsons, livingstons and montgomerys all owned fine residences near hyde park on the hudson; and a close intimacy existed between the tillotsons and the kembles owing to the fact that mr. kemble's first cousin, emily gouverneur, married mrs. kemble's first cousin, robert livingston tillotson. william kemble's younger brother, richard frederick, married miss charlotte morris, daughter of james morris of morrisania, n.y. the summer home of william kemble was in a large grove of trees at cold spring and life under its roof was indeed an ideal existence. i was their constant guest and although it was a simple life it teemed with beauty and interest. our days were spent principally out of doors and the sources of amusement were always near at hand. as all of the kembles were experts with the oar, we frequently spent many hours on the hudson. another unfailing source of pleasure was a frequent visit to west point to witness the evening parade. as we knew many of the cadets they frequently crossed the river to take an informal meal or enjoy an hour's talk on the attractive lawn. lieutenant colonel (subsequently general) william j. hardee, who for a long time was commandant of cadets at west point, i knew quite well. later in his career he was ordered to washington, where as a widower he became a social lion, devoting himself chiefly to isabella cass, a daughter of general lewis cass. his career in the confederate army is too well known for me to relate. after the civil war i never saw him again, as he lived in the south. during one of my visits at the kembles general robert e. lee was the superintendent of the west point military academy, but of him i shall speak hereafter. among the cadets whom i recall are henry heth of virginia, an officer who was subsequently highly esteemed in the army, and who, at the breaking out of the civil war, followed the fortunes of his native state and became a major general in the confederate army; innis n. palmer, whom i met many years later in washington when he had attained the rank of general; and cadet daniel m. beltzhoover of pennsylvania, a musical genius, who was a source of great pleasure to us but whose career i have not followed. at this period in the history of west point cozzen's hotel was the only hostelry within the military enclosure. a man named benny havens kept a store in close proximity to the military academy, but as it was not upon government territory no cadet was allowed to enter the premises. although liquor was his principal stock in trade he kept other articles of merchandise, but only as a cover for his unlawful traffic. the cadets had their weaknesses then as now, and as this shop was "forbidden fruit" many of them visited his resort under the cover of darkness. if caught there "after taps," the punishment was dismissal. the following selections from a dozen verses written by lieutenant lucius o'brien, u.s.a., and others, which i remember hearing the cadets frequently sing, were set to the tune of "wearing of the green": come, fill your glasses, fellows, and stand up in a row, to singing sentimentally, we're going for to go; in the army there's sobriety, promotion's very slow, so we'll sing our reminiscences of benny havens, oh! oh, benny havens, oh!--oh! benny havens oh! so we'll sing our reminiscences of benny havens, oh! * * * * * come, fill up to our generals, god bless the brave heroes, they're an honor to their country and a terror to her foes; may they long rest on their laurels and trouble never know, but live to see a thousand years at benny havens, oh! here's a health to general taylor, whose "rough and ready" blow struck terror to the _rancheros_ of braggart mexico; may his country ne'er forget his deeds, and ne'er forget to show she holds him worthy of a place at benny havens, oh! to the "veni vidi vici" man, to scott, the great hero, fill up the goblet to the brim, let no one shrinking go; may life's cares on his honored head fall light as flakes of snow, and his fair fame be ever great at benny havens, oh! lieutenant o'brien died in the winter of and the following verse to his memory was fittingly added to his song: from the courts of death and danger from tampa's deadly shore, there comes a wail of manly grief, "o'brien is no more," in the land of sun and flowers his head lies pillowed low, no more he'll sing "petite coquette" or benny havens, oh! since then numerous other verses have been added, from time to time, and, for aught i know to the contrary, the composition is still growing. after the death of general scott in the following verse was added: another star has faded, we miss its brilliant glow, for the veteran scott has ceased to be a soldier here below; and the country which he honored now feels a heart-felt woe, as we toast his name in reverence at benny havens, oh! i wish that i could recall more of these lines as some of the prominent men of the army were introduced in the most suggestive fashion. benny havens doubtless has been sleeping his last sleep for these many years, but i am sure that some of these verses are still remembered by many of the surviving graduates of west point. in the vicinity of william kemble's cottage at cold spring was the permanent home of his older brother, gouverneur kemble. for a few years during his earlier life he served as u.s. consul at cadiz, under the administration of president monroe. his cold spring home was of historic interest and for many years was the scene of lavish hospitality. general scott once remarked that he was "the most perfect gentleman in the united states." the most distinguished men of the day gathered around his table, and every saturday night through the entire year a special dinner was served at five o'clock--mr. kemble despised the habitual three o'clock dinners of his neighbors--which in time became historic entertainments. this meal was always served in the picture gallery, an octagonal room filled with valuable paintings, while breakfast and luncheon were served in an adjoining room. all of the professors and many of the officers at west point, whom mr. kemble facetiously termed "the boys," had a standing invitation to these saturday evening dinners. there was an agreement, however, among the younger officers that too many of them should not partake of his hospitality at the same time, as his dining table would not accommodate more than thirty guests. how well i remember these older men, all of whom were officers in the regular army: professors william h. c. bartlett, dennis h. mahan, the father of captain alfred t. mahan, u.s.n., albert e. church, and robert w. weir. if by any chance mr. kemble, or "uncle gouv," as he was generally known to the family connection, was obliged to be absent from home, these entertainments took place just the same, presided over by his sister, mrs. robert p. parrott. indeed, i recall that during a tour of europe mr. kemble made with ex-president van buren these saturday dinner parties were continued for at least a year. carving was considered a fine art in those days, an accomplishment which has largely gone out of style since the introduction of dinner _à la russe_. a law existed in putnam county, in which cold spring is situated, which forbade the killing of game during certain months in the year. when a transgressor of this law succeeded in "laying low" a pair of pheasants, they were nicknamed "owls"; and i have seen two "owls" which, under these circumstances, were almost unobtainable, carved in such a proficient manner by "uncle gouv" that, although we numbered over a score, each person received a "satisfying" piece. his guests were most appreciative of his hospitality, and i once heard general scott say that he would be willing to walk at least ten miles to be present at a dinner at gouverneur kemble's. his wines were always well selected as well as abundant. i have often known him to have a house party of many guests who had the privilege of remaining indefinitely if they so desired. the actress fanny kemble and her father, though not related to the new york family, were guests in his home during one of their visits to america. she was a great pedestrian, and i recall having a small stream of water in the vicinity of cold spring called to my notice where, during her rambles, she was known to stop and bathe her feet. long before the war of the revolution, mr. kemble's aunt, margaret kemble, married general thomas gage, commander-in-chief of the british forces in that conflict, and resided with him in england. while i was living in frederick, maryland, i sent "uncle gouv"--he was then an old man and very appreciative of any attention--a photograph of whittier's heroine, barbara frietchie. he in turn sent it to viscount henry gage, a relative of the british general. the english nobleman who was familiar with the quaker poet seemed highly pleased to own the picture and commented favorably upon the firm expression of the mouth and chin of this celebrated woman. army officers were frequently stationed at cold spring to inspect the guns cast at the kemble foundry. among these i recall with much pleasure major alfred mordecai of the ordnance corps. he was a highly efficient officer and previous to the civil war rendered conspicuous service to his country. he was a southerner and at the beginning of the war is said to have requested the war department to order him to some duty which did not involve the killing of his kinsmen. his request was denied and his resignation followed. in the midst of the civil war, after a protracted absence from the country in china, i arrived in new york, and one of the first items of news that was told me was that the west point foundry was casting guns for the confederacy. i speedily learned that this rumor was altogether unfounded. it seems that some time before the beginning of hostilities the state of georgia ordered some small rifled cannon from the west point foundry with the knowledge and consent of the chief of the ordnance department, general alexander b. dyer. colonel william j. hardee, then commandant-of-cadets, was selected to inspect these guns before delivery; but when they were finished the war-cloud had grown to such proportions that robert p. parrott, the head of the foundry at the time, gouverneur kemble having retired from active business eight or ten years previously, refused to forward them. they lay at the foundry for some time, and were afterwards bought by private parties from new york city and presented to the government, thereby doing active service against the confederacy. in his interesting book recently published entitled "retrospections of an active life," mr. john bigelow refers to this unfortunate rumor. he says: "on the st of january, , i met the venerable professor weir, of the west point military academy, in the cars on our way to new york, when he told me that colonel hardee, then the commandant-of-cadets at the academy, was buying arms for his native state of georgia, and that the kembles, whose iron works were across the river from west point at cold spring, were filling a large order for him." i knew professor weir very well, and mr. bigelow's statement, i think, is a mistake, as all of the professors at west point were too loyal to mr. gouverneur kemble to allow wild rumors engendered by war to remain uncontradicted. this seems a fitting place to recall the pleasant friendship i made with general robert e. lee long before he became the southern chieftain. i have already stated that when i visited cold spring in other days he was superintendent of the u.s. military academy. he was a constant visitor at the kembles, and his imposing presence and genial manner are so well known as to render a description of them altogether superfluous. some years later when i was visiting at the home of general winfield scott in washington i renewed my pleasing friendship with him. there existed between these two eminent soldiers a life-long attachment, and when the civil war was raging it seemed almost impossible to realize that scott and lee represented opposite political views, as hitherto they had always seemed to be so completely in accord. the cold spring colony was decidedly sociable, and a dinner party at one of the many cottages was almost a daily occurrence. captain and mrs. robert p. parrott entertained most gracefully, and their residence was one of the show-places of that locality. i have heard captain parrott facetiously remark that he had "made a loud noise in the world" by the aid of his guns. the first time i ever saw washington irving, with whom i enjoyed an extended friendship, was when he was a guest of gouverneur kemble. the intimate social relations existing between these two friends began in early life, and lasted throughout their careers, having been fostered by a frequent interchange of visits. in his earlier life mr. kemble inherited from his relative, nicholas gouverneur, a fine old estate near newark, new jersey, which bore the name of "mount pleasant." washington irving, however, rechristened the place "cockloft hall," and in a vein of mirth dubbed the bachelor-proprietor "the patroon." irving described this retreat in his "salmagundi," and the characters there depicted which have been thought by many to be fanciful creations were in reality gouverneur kemble and his many friends. his place was subsequently sold, but the intimacy between the two men continued, and it has always seemed to me that there was much pathos connected with their friendship. both of them were bachelors and owned homes of more than passing historic interest on the hudson. irving called kemble's residence at cold spring "bachelor's elysium," while to his own he applied the name of "wolfert's roost." in the spring of in writing to kemble he said: "i am happy to learn that your lawn is green. i hope it will long continue so, and yourself likewise. i shall come up one of these days and have a roll on it with you"; and kemble, upon another occasion, in urging irving to visit him added as an inducement, "come and we will have a game of leap-frog." referring to their last meeting irving said of kemble: "that is my friend of early life--always unchanged, always like a brother, one of the noblest beings that ever was created. his heart is pure gold." that was in the summer of , and in the following november irving died, at the ripe old age of seventy-six. constant in life, let us hope that in death they are not separated, and that in the silent land no morrow's mischief knocks them up. let the cynic who spurns the consoling influences of friendship ponder upon the life-intimacy of these two old men who, throughout the cares and turmoils of a long and engrossing existence, illustrated so beautifully the charm of such a benign relationship. irving impressed me as having a genial but at the same time a retiring nature. he was of about the average height and, although quite advanced in years when i knew him, his hair had not changed color. his manner was exceeding gentle and, strange to say, with such a remarkable vocabulary at his command, in society he was exceedingly quiet. in his early life irving was engaged to be married to one of his own ethereal kind, but she passed onward, and among his friends the subject was never broached as it seemed too sacred to dwell upon. her name was matilda hoffman and she was a daughter of the celebrated jurist of new york, judge josiah ogden hoffman. she died in in her eighteenth year. my last meeting with irving is vividly impressed upon my memory as the occasion was quite memorable. i was passing the winter in washington as the guest of my elder sister, mrs. eames, who a few years before had married charles eames, esq., of the washington bar. irving, who was then seventy-two years old, was making a brief visit to the capital and called to see me. this was in , when william m. thackeray was on his second visit to this country and delivering his celebrated lectures upon "the four georges." i had scarcely welcomed mr. irving into my sister's drawing-room when thackeray was announced, and i introduced the two famous but totally dissimilar men to each other. thackeray was a man of powerful build and a very direct manner, but to my mind was not an individual to be overpowered by sentiment. i can not remember after the flight of so many years the nature of the conversation between irving and thackeray apart from the mutual interchange that ordinarily passes between strangers when casually presented. later i had the pleasure of meeting mr. thackeray quite a number of times during his sojourn in washington where he was much lionized in society. one evening we were all gathered around the family tea table when he chanced to call and join us in that cup which is said to cheer. he entered into conversation with much enthusiasm, especially when he referred to his children. he seemed to have a special admiration for a young daughter of his, and related many pleasing anecdotes of her juvenile aptitude. i think he referred to anne isabella thackeray (lady richie), who gave to the public a biographical edition of her father's famous works. i remember we drifted into a conversation upon a recently published novel, but the title of the book and its author i do not recall. at any rate, he was discussing its heroine, who, under some extraordinary stress of circumstances, was forced to walk many miles in her stocking-feet to obtain succor, and the whole story was thrilling in the extreme; whereupon the author of "vanity fair" exclaimed, "she was shoeicidal." although he was an englishman, he was not averse to a pun--even a poor one! i remember asking mr. thackeray whether during his visit to new york he had met mrs. de witt clinton. his response was characteristic: "yes, and she is a gay old girl!" james k. paulding, the distinguished author who married the sister of gouverneur and william kemble and lived at hyde park, farther up the hudson, frequently formed one of the pleasant coterie that gathered around "uncle gouv's" board. "the sage of lindenwald," as ex-president martin van buren was frequently called by both friend and foe, also repeatedly came from his home in kinderhook to dine with mr. kemble, and these memories call to mind a dinner i attended at "uncle gouv's" when mr. van buren was the principal guest. although it was many years after his retirement from the presidential office, the impression he made upon me was that of a quiet, deliberate old gentleman, who continued to be well versed in the affairs of state. a short distance from cold spring is garrison's, where many wealthy new yorkers have their country seats. putnam county, in which both garrison's and cold spring are located, was once a portion of philipse manor. the house in the "upper manor," as this tract of land was called, was the grange, but over forty years ago it was burned to the ground. it was originally built by captain frederick philips about , and was the scene of much festivity. the philipses were tories during the revolution, and it is said that this property would doubtless have been confiscated by the government but for the fact that mary philips, who was captain frederick philips' only child, was a minor at the close of the war in . mary philips, whose descendants have spelled the name with a final _e_, married samuel gouverneur, and their eldest son, frederick philipse gouverneur, dropped the name gouverneur as a surname and assumed that of philipse in order to inherit a large landed estate of which the grange was a conspicuous part. when i first visited garrison's the philipse family was living at the grange in great elegance. frederick philipse was then a bachelor and his maiden sister, mary marston gouverneur, presided over his establishment. another sister, margaret philipse gouverneur, married william moore, a son of the beloved physician, dr. william moore of new york, a nephew of president benjamin moore of columbia college and a first cousin of clement c. moore who wrote the oft quoted verses, "'twas the night before christmas," which have delighted the hearts of american children for so many decades. frederick philipse subsequently married catharine wadsworth post, a member of a prominent family of new york. it was while mr. and mrs. philipse were visiting her relatives that the grange was destroyed by fire. miss mary marston gouverneur had ordered the chimneys cleaned, in the manner then prevalent, by making a fire in the chimney place on the first floor, in order to burn out the débris. the flames fortunately broke out on the top story, thus enabling members of the family to save many valuable heirlooms in the lower apartments. among the paintings rescued and now in the possession of frederick philipse's daughters, the misses catharine wadsworth philipse and margaret gouverneur philipse of new york, was the portrait of the pretty mary philipse, washington's first love. tradition states she refused his offer of marriage to become the bride of roger morris, an officer in the british army. it is generally believed that she was the heroine of cooper's "spy;" but she had then laid aside the belleship of early youth and had become the intellectual matron of after years. some of the other portraits rescued were those of adolphus philipse, second son of the first lord of the manor; philip philipse, and his wife, margaret marston, whose second husband was the rev. john ogilvie, for many years assistant minister of trinity church of new york; margaret philipse, younger sister of mary, who married roger morris; captain frederick philips, by gilbert stuart; mrs. samuel gouverneur; nathaniel marston and his wife, mary crooke; and mrs. abraham gouverneur who was the daughter of jacob leisler, at one time the acting governor of the province of new york. one visit i made to the philipses at garrison's is especially fresh in my memory, as eleanor jones duer, a daughter of president william a. duer of columbia college, who subsequently married george t. wilson of georgia, was their guest at the same time. she was a woman of much culture and refinement, and in every way a delightful companion. a great intimacy existed for many years between the gouverneurs and philipses of garrison's and the duer family of new york. the philipses, who at this time lived very much in the old-fashioned style, were the last of the old families with which i was familiar to have the cloth removed after the dessert was served; and in doing this an elegant mahogany table always kept in a highly polished condition was displayed. upon it were placed the fruits, nuts and wine. another custom in the philipse family which, as far as i know, was unique in this country was that of having four meals a day. breakfast was served at eight, luncheon at one, dinner at six and supper at nine o'clock. during another visit i made at the grange i had the pleasure of meeting mr. and mrs. henry sheaffe hoyt (frances maria duer), who were house guests there and who had just returned from an extended european tour. she was another daughter of president duer of columbia college and died not long ago in newport, r.i., at a very advanced age. mrs. john king van rensselaer, a daughter of mrs. archibald gracie king (elizabeth denning duer), is her niece. before leaving the banks of the hudson river i must speak of my former associations with newburgh. from my earliest life we children were in the habit of making frequent visits to my mother's relatives, the roe family, who resided there. we all eagerly looked forward to these trips up the hudson which were made upon the old _thomas powell_ and later upon the _mary powell_. my mother's relative, maria hazard, married william roe, one of the most highly respected and prosperous citizens of newburgh. they lived in a stately mansion surrounded by several acres of land in the heart of the city. mrs. roe was a remarkable woman. i knew her only as an elderly matron; but, like women of advanced age in china, where i spent a number of years of my early married life, she controlled everyone who came within her "sphere of influence." i remember, for example, that upon one occasion when i was visiting her, thomas hazard roe, her elder son, who at the time was over sixty years of age and a bachelor and who desired to go upon some hunting expedition, said to her: "mother, have i your permission to go to the adirondacks?" she thought for a few moments and replied: "well, hazard, i think you might go." about the year newburgh was recommended by two of the earliest prominent homeopathic physicians of new york city, doctors john f. gray and amos g. hull, as a locality well-adapted to people affected with delicate lungs, and upon their advice many families built handsome residences there. in my early recollection newburgh had a fine hotel called the powelton, which bade fair to become a prominent resort for new yorkers. in the zenith of its prosperity, however, it was burned to the ground and was never rebuilt. i hardly think that anyone will have the assurance to dispute the healthfulness of this place when i state that my cousin, thomas hazard roe, of whom i have just spoken, died there in after having more than rounded a full century of years. he was in many ways a remarkable man with a mind well stored with knowledge, and he retained all of his mental faculties unclouded until the end of his life. his sister, mary elizabeth, the widow of the late william c. hasbrouck, a prominent newburgh lawyer and a few years his junior, also died quite recently in newburgh at the age of ninety-seven. her son, general henry c. hasbrouck, u.s.a., also died but a short time since, but her daughter, miss maria hasbrouck, whose whole life has been devoted to her family, still resides in the old homestead. the third and youngest member of this interesting trio, miss emily maria roe, is now living in newburgh at an advanced age, surrounded by a large connection and beloved by everyone. one of the most prominent families in newburgh in years gone by was that of mr. and mrs. thomas powell, from whom the celebrated river boats were named. mrs. powell's maiden name was mary ludlow, and she belonged to a well-known new york family. her brother, lieutenant augustus c. ludlow, who was second in command on board the _chesapeake_, under captain james lawrence of "don't give up the ship" fame, is buried by the latter's side in old trinity church-yard in new york. mrs. powell took great pride and pleasure in the boat named in her honor, the _mary powell_, and i have frequently seen her upon my trips up the hudson, sitting upon the deck of her namesake and chatting pleasantly with those around her. newburgh was also the home of andrew jackson downing, the author of "landscape gardening," "cottage residences," and other similar works. i received my first knowledge of horticulture from a visit i made to his beautiful residence, which was surrounded by several acres. it was my earliest view of nature assisted by art, and to my untutored eye his lawn was a veritable paradise. some years later, when i was visiting the scotts in washington, mr. downing called and during our conversation told me that he had come to the capital, upon the invitation of the government, to lay out the smithsonian grounds. his wife was miss caroline de wint of fishkill, new york, a granddaughter of mrs. henry william smith (abigail adams), the only daughter of president john adams who reached maturity. after spending some months in washington, mr. downing was returning to his newburgh home when the _henry clay_, a hudson river steamboat upon which he had taken passage, was destroyed by fire and he perished while attempting to rescue some of the passengers. this was in . there are some persons still living who will readily recall, in connection with social functions, the not uncommon name of brown. the particular brown to whom i refer was the sexton of grace episcopal church, on the corner of broadway and tenth street, where many of the _soi-disant crème de la crème_ worshiped. he must have possessed a christian name, but if so i never heard it for he was only plain brown, and brown he was called. he was born before the days when spurious genealogical charts are thrust at one, _nolens volens_; but probably this was lucky for him and the public was spared much that is uninteresting. in connection with his duties at grace church he came in contact with many fashionable people, and was enabled to add materially to his rather small income by calling carriages from the doorsteps for the society folk of the great metropolis. in this and other ways his pursuits gradually became so varied that in time he might have been safely classed among the _dilettanti_. the most remarkable feature of his career, however, was the fact that, in spite of his humble calling, he became a veritable social dictator, and many an ambitious mother with a thousand-dollar ball upon her hands (this being about the usual sum spent upon an evening entertainment at that time), lacked the courage to embark upon such a venture without first seeking an interview with brown. i knew but little about his powers of discrimination, as we as a family never found his services necessary, but when requested i know he furnished to these dependent hostesses lists of eligible young men whom he deemed proficient in the polka and mazurka, the fashionable dances of the day. strange as it may appear, i can vouch for the truth of the statement that many an exclusive hostess was glad to avail herself of these lists of the accommodating brown. the dances just mentioned were, by the way, introduced into this country by pierro saracco, an italian master who taught me to dance, and who was quite popular in the fashionable circles of his day. many years later, when i was residing in maryland, he came to frederick several times a week and gave dancing lessons to my two older daughters. brown was a pleasant, genial, decidedly "hail-fellow-well-met" man, as i remember him, and was in a way the precursor of ward mcallister, though of course on a decidedly more unpretentious plane. one cannot but express surprise at the consideration with which brown's _protégés_ were treated by the _élite_, nor can one deny that the social destinies of many young men were the direct result of his strenuous efforts. i remember, for example, one of these who at the time was "a youth to fortune and to fame unknown," whom brown took under his sheltering wing and whose subsequent social career was shaped by him. he is of foreign birth, with a pleasing exterior and address and, through the instrumentality of his humble friend who gave him his first start, is to-day, although advanced in life, one of the most conspicuous financiers in new york, and occasionally has private audiences with presidents and other magnates. moreover, i feel certain that he will welcome this humble tribute to his benefactor with much delight, as the halo which now surrounds his brow he owes in a large degree to his early introduction into the smart set by the sexton of grace church. the last i ever heard of brown, he visited europe. after his return from his well-earned holiday he died and was laid to rest in his own native soil. peace to brown's ashes--his work was well done! it cannot be said of him, as of many others, that he lived in vain, as he was doubtless the forerunner of the later and more accomplished leader and dictator of new york's "four hundred." a poetaster paid him the following facetious tribute: oh, glorious brown, thou medley strange of churchyard, ballroom, saint, and sinner, flying by morn through fashion's range and burying mortals after dinner. walking one day with invitations, passing the next at consecrations, tossing the sod at eve on coffins, with one hand drying tears of orphans, and one unclasping ballroom carriage, or cutting plumcake up for marriage; dusting by day the pew and missal, sounding by night the ballroom whistle, admitted free through fashion's wicket, and skilled at psalms, at punch, and cricket. an amusing anecdote is told of brown's financial _protégé_ whose name i have withheld. when he was still somewhat uncertain of his social status he received an invitation to a fancy ball given by a fashionable matron. this recognition he regarded as a conspicuous social triumph, and in his desire to do the proper thing he sought william r. travers--"bill travers," as he was generally called--to ask his advice in regard to the proper costume for him to wear. the inquiring social aspirant had a head well-denuded of hair, and mr. travers, after a moment's hesitation, wittingly replied: "sugarcoat your head and go as a pill!" though not a professional wit, brown was at least capable of making a pun quite equal to those inflicted upon society by some of his superiors. as sexton of grace church, he officiated at the wedding of miss phoebe lord, a daughter of daniel lord, whose marriage to henry day, a rising young lawyer, was solemnized in this edifice. at the close of the reception following the marriage ceremony someone laughingly called upon brown for a toast. he was equal to the occasion as he quickly replied: "this is the lord's day!" chapter vii fashion and letters one of the show places of new york state, many years ago, was the residence of john greig, a polished scotch gentleman who presided with dignity over his princely estate in canandaigua in central new york, and there dispensed a generous hospitality. mr. greig was the agent for some of the english nobility, many of whom owned extensive tracts of land in america. the village of canandaigua was also the home of the honorable francis granger, a son of gideon granger, postmaster general under jefferson and madison. francis granger was the postmaster general for a brief period under president william henry harrison, but the latter died soon after his inauguration and his successor did not retain him in his cabinet. it is said of francis granger that he was a firm believer in the words of ex-governor william l. marcy in the united states senate in that "to the victors belong the spoils of the enemy," and that during his month of cabinet service eighteen hundred employees in his department were dismissed. the democrats evidently thought that "turn about was fair play," as a few years later, under president polk, the work of decapitation was equally active. ransom h. gillett, register of the treasury at that time, became so famous at head-chopping, that he was soon nicknamed "guillotine." mr. granger, with his fine physique and engaging manner (he was often called "the handsome frank granger"), was well adapted to the requirements of social life and especially to those of the national capital, where the _beaux esprits_ usually congregated. his only daughter, adele granger, often called "the witty miss granger," was at school at madame chegaray's with my elder sister fanny, and in my earlier life was frequently a guest in our houston street home, prior to her sojourn in washington, where her father for many years represented his district in congress. we looked forward to her visits as one anticipates with delight a ray of sunshine. she was always assured of the heartiest of welcomes in washington, where she was the center of a bright and intellectual circle. she finally married mr. john e. thayer, a boston capitalist, and after his death became the wife of the hon. robert c. winthrop of the same city. she presided with grace over a summer home in brookline and a winter residence in boston, at both of which she received hosts of distinguished guests. to illustrate the importance with which she was regarded, one of her guests remarked to me, during one of my visits at the brookline home, that mrs. winthrop was more than one woman--that in that locality she was considered an "institution." in the latter part of mr. winthrop's life i received a very graceful note from him enclosing the following ode written by him in honor of the golden jubilee of queen victoria: boston, mass. marlborough street, feb'y . dear mrs. gouverneur: your kind note and the pamphlet reached me this morning. i thank you for them both. i have lost no time in hunting up a spare copy of my little ode on the queen's jubilee. i threw it into a newspaper with not a little misgiving. i certainly did not dream that it would be asked for by a lady seven or eight months after its date. i appreciate the compliment. yours truly, robt. c. winthrop. mrs. m. gouverneur. ode. not as our empress do we come to greet thee, augusta victoria, on this auspicious jubilee: wide as old england's realms extend, o'er earth and sea,-- her flag in every clime unfurled, her morning drum-beat compassing the world,-- yet here her sway imperial finds an end, in our loved land of liberty! nor is it as our queen for us to hail thee, excellent majesty, on this auspicious jubilee: long, long ago our patriot fathers broke the tie which bound us to a foreign yoke, and made us free; subjects thenceforward of ourselves alone, we pay no homage to an earthly throne,-- only to god we bend the knee! still, still, to-day and here, thou hast a part, illustrious lady, in every honest anglo-saxon heart, albeit untrained to notes of loyalty: as lovers of our old ancestral race,-- in reverence for the goodness and the grace which lends thy fifty years of royalty a monumental glory on the historic page, emblazoning them forever as the victorian age; for all the virtue, faith and fortitude, the piety and truth which mark thy noble womanhood, as erst thy golden youth,-- we also would do honor to thy name, joining our distant voices to the loud acclaim which rings o'er earth and sea, in attestation of the just renown thy reign has added to the british crown! meanwhile no swelling sounds of exultation can banish from our memory, on this auspicious jubilee, a saintly figure standing at thy side, the cherished consort of thy power and pride, through weary years the subject of thy tears, and mourned in every nation,-- whose latest words a wrong to us withstood, the friend of peace,--albert, the wise and good! boston, june, . robert c. winthrop. at geneseo, in the beautiful genesee valley, and a few miles from canandaigua, in one of the most fertile portions of the state of new york, resided a contemporary and friend of mrs. robert c. winthrop, miss elizabeth wadsworth, a daughter of james wadsworth, a well-known philanthropist and one of the wealthiest landed proprietors in the state. he was also the father of major general james s. wadsworth, a defeated candidate for governor of new york, who was killed in at the battle of the wilderness. miss wadsworth was celebrated for her grace of manner. i had the pleasure of knowing her quite well in new york, where she generally passed her winters. quite early in life and before the period when the fair daughters of america had discovered, to any great extent, the advantages of matrimonial alliances with foreign _partis_, she married the honorable charles augustus murray, a member of the english parliament and of a scotch family, the head of which was the earl of dunmore. she lived but a few years, and died in egypt, where her husband was consul general, leaving a young son. her husband's ancestor, john murray, lord dunmore, was the last colonial governor of virginia. it has been asserted that but few, if any, colonial governors, not even the sportive lord cornbury of new york who, upon state occasions, dressed himself up in female attire in compliment to his royal cousin, queen anne, had quite as eventful a career. lord dunmore originally came to america as governor of the province of new york, but was subsequently transferred to virginia. while in new york he was made president of the st. andrew's society, a scotch organization which had been in existence about twenty years and whose first president was philip livingston, the signer. in an old new york directory of i find the following names of officers of this society for the preceding year: walter ruturfurde (sic), president; peter m'dougall and george turnbull, vice presidents; george douglass, treasurer; george johnson, secretary; john munro, assistant secretary; the rev. john m. mason and the rev. john bisset, chaplains; dr. james tillary, physician; and william renwick, james stuart, john knox, alexander thomson, andrew d. barclay, and john m'gregor, managers. it was not at all flattering to the pride of virginia that lord dunmore lingered so long in new york after his order of transfer to the old dominion. he also greatly incurred the displeasure of the virginians by occasionally dissolving their assembly, and they found him generally inimical to their interests. finally matters were brought to an issue, and dunmore, in defense of his conduct, issued a proclamation against "a certain patrick henry and his deluded followers." his final act was the burning of norfolk in , which at that time was the most flourishing city in virginia. during lord dunmore's life in colonial virginia, a daughter was born to him and at the request of the assembly was named "virginia." it is said that subsequently a provision was made by the provincial legislature, by virtue of which she was to receive a very large sum of money when she became of age. meanwhile, the war of the revolution severed the yoke of great britain, and lord dunmore returned to england with his family. time passed and the little girl born in the virginia colony grew into womanhood. her father had died and as her circumstances became contracted she addressed a letter to thomas jefferson, then president of the united states, under the impression that he was governor of virginia. jefferson sent the letter to james monroe, who was then governor of virginia, and he in turn referred it to the legislature of that state. this letter is now in my possession and is as follows: sir: i am at a loss how to begin a letter in which i am desirous of stating claims that many long years have been forgotten, but which i think no time can really annihilate until fulfilment has followed the promise. i imagine that you must have heard that during my father dunmore's residence in america i was born and that the assembly, then sitting at williamsburg, requested that i might be their god-daughter and christened by the name of virginia; which request being complied with, they purposed providing for me in a manner suitable to the honor they conferred upon me and to the responsibility they had taken on themselves. i was accordingly christened as the god-daughter of that assembly and named after the state. events have since occurred which in some measure may have altered the intentions then expressed in my favor. these were (so i have understood) that a sum of money should be settled upon me which, accumulating during my minority, would make up the sum of one hundred thousand pounds when i became of age. it is true many changes may have taken place in america, but that fact still remains the same. i am still the god-daughter of the virginians. by being that, may i not flatter myself i have some claims upon their benevolence if not upon their justice? may i not ask that state, especially you, sir, their governor, to fulfil in some respects the engagements entered into by their predecessors? your fathers promised mine that i should become their charge. i am totally unprovided for; for my father died without making a will. my brothers are married, having families of their own; and not being bound to do anything for me, they regard with indifference my unprotected and neglected situation. perhaps i ought not to mention this circumstance as a proper inducement for you to act upon; nor would i, were it not my excuse for wishing to remind you of the claims i now advance. i hope you will feel my right to your favor and protection to be founded on the promises made by your own fathers, and in the situation in which i stand with regard to the state of virginia. you will ask, sir, why my appeal to your generosity and justice has been so tardy. while my father lived, i lived under his protection and guidance. he had incurred the displeasure of the virginians and he feared an application from me would have seemed like one from him. at his decease i became a free agent. i had taken no part which could displease my god-fathers, and myself remained what the assembly had made me--their god-daughter, consequently their charge. i wish particularly to enforce my dependence upon your bounty; for i feel hopes revive, which owe their birth to your honor and generosity, and to that of the state whose representative i now address. now that my father is no more, i am certain they and you will remember what merited your esteem in his character and conduct and forget that which estranged your hearts from so honorable a man. but should you not, you are too just to visit what you deem the sins of the father upon his luckless daughter. i am, sir, your obt. etc. in the small but pretty gramercy park in new york was established by samuel b. ruggles. i have heard that this plot of ground was originally used as a burying ground by trinity parish. as i first recollect the spot, there were but four or five dwellings in its vicinity. one of the earliest was built by james w. gerard, a prominent lawyer, who was regarded as a most venturesome pioneer to establish his residence in such a remote locality. next door to mr. gerard, a few years later, lived george belden, whose daughter julia married frederick s. tallmadge. mr. tallmadge died only a few years ago, highly respected and esteemed by a large circle of friends. in i was one of the guests at a fashionable wedding in a residence on the west side of this park, which was possibly the first ceremony of the kind to take place in this then remote region. the bride's mother, the widow of richard armistead of new bern, n.c., who habitually spent her winters in new york, had purchased the house only a few months previously. the bride, susan armistead, was an intimate friend of mine, and a well-known belle in both the north and the south. the groom, a resident of new york, was john still winthrop, of the same family as the winthrops of massachusetts. the guests composed an interesting assemblage of the old _régime_, many of whose descendants are now in the background. i met on that occasion many old friends, among whom the kings, gracies, winthrops and rogers predominated. mrs. de witt clinton honored the occasion, dressed in the fashion of a decade or two previous. her presence was a very graceful act as she then but seldom appeared in society, her only view of the gay world being from her own domain. her peculiarity in regard to dress was very marked as she positively declined to change it with the prevailing style but clung tenaciously to the old-fashioned _modes_ to the end of her life. miss armistead was an ideal-looking bride in her white dress and long tulle veil and carried, according to the custom then prevalent, a large flat bouquet of white japonicas with white lace paper around the stems. in the dining-room, a handsome collation was served, with a huge wedding cake at one end of the table and pomegranates, especially sent from the bride's southern home, forming a part of the repast. the health of the newly wedded couple was drunk in champagne and good cheer prevailed on every side. the whole house bore a happy aspect with its floral decorations and its bright liverpool coal fires burning in the grates. furnaces, by the way, were then unknown. in new york there was at that time a strong prejudice against anthracite coal, and liverpool coal was therefore generally used, the price of which was fifteen dollars a ton. i have many close and tender associations connected with this bride of so many years ago, especially as our friendship, formed in our early life, still extends to her descendants. some years after mrs. winthrop's marriage, and in her earlier widowhood, four generations traveled together, and then, as at other times, dwelt under the same roof. they were mrs. nathaniel smith, mrs. richard armistead, mrs. john s. winthrop and her son, john s. winthrop, who, with his interesting family, now resides in tallahassee. in , lord morpeth, the seventh earl of carlisle and a worthy specimen of the english nobility, visited the united states, and while here investigated the subject of the inheritance of slaves by english subjects. his report seems to have been favorably received, as a law was passed subsequent to his return declaring it illegal for englishmen to hold slaves through inheritance. england's sympathetic heart about this time was in a perennial throb for "the poor africans in chains," apparently quite oblivious to the fact that the "chains" had been introduced and cemented by her fostering hand. i recall with unusual pleasure an entertainment where lord morpeth was the guest of honor, at the residence of william bard on college place, at that time a fashionable street in the vicinity of old columbia college. i have always remembered the occasion as i was then introduced to lord morpeth and enjoyed a long and pleasant conversation with him. our host was a son of dr. samuel bard, physician to general washington during the days when new york was the seat of government. [illustration: mrs. john still winthrop, nÉe armistead, by sully _from a portrait owned by john still winthrop of tallahassee._] mr. and mrs. john austin stevens lived on bleecker street and had a number of interesting daughters. they were an intellectual family and i attended an entertainment given by them in honor of martin farquhar tupper, the author of "proverbial philosophy." mr. stevens' sister, lucretia ledyard stevens, married mr. richard heckscher of philadelphia. another gentlewoman of the same period was mrs. laura wolcott gibbs, wife of colonel george gibbs of newport. the first oliver wolcott, a signer, governor of connecticut and general in the revolutionary war, was her grandfather; while the second of the same name, secretary of the treasury under washington and adams, governor of his state and united states judge, was her father. i am in the fullest sympathy with the following remarks concerning her made at her funeral by the rev. dr. henry w. bellows: "i confess i always felt in the presence of mrs. gibbs as if i were talking with oliver wolcott himself, and saw in her self-reliant, self-asserting and independent manner and speech an unmistakable copy of a strong and thoroughly individual character, forged in the hottest fires of national struggle. the intense individuality of her nature set her apart from others. you felt that from the womb she must have been just what she was--a piece of the original granite on which the nation was built.... the force, the courage, the self-poise she exhibited in the ordinary concerns of our peaceful life would in a masculine frame have made, in times of national peril, a patriot of the most decided and energetic character--one able and willing to believe all things possible, and to make all the efforts and sacrifices by which impossibilities are accomplished." mrs. gibbs was literally steeped and moulded in the traditions of the past; in fact, she was a reminder of the noble women of the revolutionary era, many of whom have left records behind them. she was gifted with a keen sense of humor, and her talent in repartee was proverbial. although many years my senior, i found delightful companionship in her society, and her home was always a great resource to me. her accomplished daughter, the wife of captain theophile d'oremieulx, u.s.a., was particularly skilled in music. her son, wolcott gibbs, the distinguished professor of harvard university, maintained to the last the high intellectual standard of his ancestors. he died several years ago. i was informed by his mother that at one period of its history columbia college desired to secure his services as a professor, but that the hon. hamilton fish, one of its trustees and an uncompromising episcopalian, objected on the ground of his unitarian faith and was sustained by the board of trustees. it seemed a rather inconsistent act, as at another period of its history a hebrew was chosen as a member of the same faculty. as nearly as i can remember, it was in the summer of that i spent several weeks as the guest of the financier and author, alexander b. johnson, in utica, new york. mrs. johnson's maiden name was abigail louisa smith adams, and she was the daughter of charles adams, son of president john adams. during my sojourn there her uncle, john quincy adams, came to utica to visit his relatives, and i had the pleasure of being a guest of the family at the same time. he was accompanied upon this trip by his daughter-in-law, mrs. charles francis adams, a young grandson whose name i do not recall, and the father of mrs. adams, peter c. brooks, of boston, another of whose daughters was the wife of edward everett. upon their arrival in utica, the greatest enthusiasm prevailed, and the elderly ex-president was welcomed by an old-fashioned torchlight procession. in response to many urgent requests, mr. adams made an impromptu speech from the steps of the johnson house, and proved himself to be indeed "the old man eloquent." although he was not far from eighty years old, he was by no means lacking in either mental or physical vitality. mrs. charles francis adams impressed me as a woman of unusual culture and intellectuality, while her father, peter c. brooks, was a genial old gentleman whom everyone loved to greet. he was at that time one of boston's millionaires; and many years later i heard his grandson, the late henry sidney everett, of washington, son of edward everett, say of him that when he first arrived in boston he was a youth with little or no means. after the adams party had rested for a few days a pleasure trip to trenton falls, in oneida county, was proposed. a few prominent citizens of utica were invited by the johnsons to accompany the party, and among them several well-known lawyers whose careers won for them a national as well as local reputation. among these i may especially mention the handsome horatio seymour, then in his prime, whose courteous manners and manly bearing made him exceptionally attractive. mr. adams bore the fatigue of the trip remarkably well and his strength seemed undiminished as the day waned. his devoted daughter-in-law remained constantly beside him while at the falls to administer to his comfort and attend to his wants; in fact, she was so solicitous concerning him that she requested that she might, in going and coming, occupy a carriage as near him as possible. i cannot but regard her as a model for many of the present generation who fail to be deeply impressed by either merit or years. the adamses were charming guests, and i have always felt that i was highly privileged to visit under the same roof with them, and especially to listen to the words of wisdom of the venerable ex-president. i have heard it stated, by the way, that during his official life in washington, mr. adams took a daily bath in the potomac. this luxury he must have missed in utica, as at this time it offered no opportunities for a plunge except in the "raging canal." mrs. charles francis adams accompanied her husband when he went to england, during our civil war, to represent the united states at the court of st. james. the consummate manner in which he conducted our relations with great britain at that critical period marked him as an accomplished statesman and a diplomatist of the rarest skill. the nature of his task was one of extreme delicacy, and it is highly probable that, but for his masterly efforts, england would have recognized the independence of the southern confederacy. the energy and fidelity with which he met the requirements of his mission undermined his health and, returning to this country, he retired to his old home in quincy. while in utica i drove in the family carriage with mrs. johnson and her sister, mrs. john w. king, to peterboro, about twenty-five miles distant, to visit mr. and mrs. gerrit smith. mr. smith had already commenced his crusade against slavery, and the family antipathy to the institution was so strong that two of his nieces, sisters of general john cochrane, who later became president of the society of the cincinnati, refused to wear dresses made of cotton because it was a southern staple. as i remember this great anti-slavery agitator, he was a remarkably handsome man with an air of enthusiasm which seemed to pervade his whole being. from to he was in congress, and i had the pleasure of listening to one of his scathing speeches on the floor of the house of representatives in denunciation of slavery. i recall his unusual felicity in the use of scriptural quotations, one of which still lingers in my ears: "where the spirit of the lord is there is liberty." his daughter elizabeth married charles dudley miller, a prominent citizen of utica. she was a woman of very pronounced views, as may be judged, in part, by the fact that some years after my marriage, and while living in washington, i met her by accident one day at the capitol and to my surprise discovered that she was wearing bloomers! in september, , i was returning to my home in new york from another visit to the johnsons in utica, when, upon the invitation of mrs. hamilton fish, whose husband was then governor of the empire state, i stopped in albany and visited them. they were of course occupying the gubernatorial mansion, but its exact location i cannot exactly recall. life was exceedingly simple in the middle of the last century, even in the wealthiest families, and through all these years i seem to remember but a single incident connected with the family life of these early friends--the trivial fact that the breakfast hour was seven o'clock. mrs. fish was a model mother and was surrounded by a large and interesting family of children, some of whom are among the highly prominent people of the present time. _apropos_ of the fish children, an amusing story is told of the keen sense of humor of the late william m. evarts, who presented in every-day life such a stern exterior. when, on one occasion, he was a guest of the fish family at their summer home on the hudson, his attention was called to a large and beautifully executed painting of a group of children which, as was quite apparent, was greatly treasured by the ex-governor. mr. evarts gazed upon the portrait for some minutes in silence and then exclaimed in a low tone, "little fishes." mr. fish stood near his guest but, not catching the exact drift of his remark, replied: "sir, i do not understand." the bright response was: "yes, i said little fishes, _sardines_,"--reminding one of artemus ward's definition of sardines, "little fishes biled in ile." another witticism of mr. evarts's which seems to me deserving of preservation is said to have been uttered during his residence in washington, when he was secretary of state under president hayes. a party of distinguished englishmen was visiting the national capital and mr. evarts escorted it to mount vernon. after inspecting the mansion and the grave of washington the party walked to the end of the lawn to view the attractive scenery of the potomac river. one of the englishmen who seemed decidedly more conversant with certain phases of american history than the others asked mr. evarts whether it were really true that washington could throw a shilling across the potomac. "yes," said mr. evarts, in a diplomatic tone, "it is quite true." the same evening at a dinner, the secretary of state repeated the conversation to a mutual friend and added: "he could do even better than that; he could toss a sovereign across the atlantic!" the day after my arrival in albany, president zachary taylor and his suite were the guests of governor and mrs. fish, and the same day a dinner was given in his honor which was attended by prominent state officials. meanwhile, a concourse of people had surrounded the mansion, anxious to see the president and to demand a speech. old "rough and ready" appeared at an open window and faced the multitude, but was not as "ready" in speech as with his sword. he made a brave attempt, however, to gratify the people, but he seemed exceedingly feeble and his voice was decidedly weak. in the course of his remarks his aide and son-in-law, colonel william w. s. bliss, came to his rescue and prompted him, as it were, from behind the scenes; so that everything passed off, as i understood the next day, to the satisfaction of his audience. possibly this was one of taylor's last appearances in public, as he died the following summer. although mrs. fish was at this time a comparatively young woman, she presided over the governor's mansion with the same grace and ease so characteristic of her career in washington when her husband was secretary of state under president grant. in my opinion, and i know but few who had a better opportunity of judging, mrs. fish was in many respects a remarkable woman. for eight years her home was a social center, and she was regarded as the social dictator of the grant administration. when any perplexing questions of a social nature arose during her _régime_, the general inquiry was: "what does mrs. fish say?" this in time became a standing joke, but it illustrates the fact that her decisions usually were regarded as final. one of the social leaders in new york during my younger life was mrs. isaac jones, who, in her own set, was known as "bloody mary." why this name was applied to her i cannot say, as she was not in the least either cruel or revengeful, as far as i knew, but on the contrary was suave and genial to an unusual degree. she lived on broadway, directly opposite the site where the new york hotel formerly stood, and her entertainments were both numerous and elaborate. she was one of the daughters of john mason, who began life as a tailor but left at his death an estate valued at a million dollars, which was a large fortune for those days. isaac jones was president of the chemical manufacturing company and later became prominently connected with the chemical bank of new york. a brother of mrs. jones married miss emma wheatley, a superior young woman who, unfortunately for her father-in-law's peace of mind, was an actress. this alliance was most distasteful to the whole mason connection, and when john mason was approaching death george w. strong, a prominent lawyer, was hastily summoned by his daughters to draft his will. almost immediately following mr. mason's funeral a legal battle was commenced over his estate. he left outright to his three daughters their proportionate share of his fortune, but to his son who had displeased him by his marriage he devised an annuity of only fifteen hundred dollars. charles o'conor, the counsel for the son, in his argument in behalf of his client, said that mr. mason's daughters, instead of sending for a clergyman to console his dying moments, had demanded the immediate presence of a respectable lawyer, "a lawyer so respectable that throughout his entire practice he never had a poor client." mr. o'conor succeeded in breaking this will, and young mason was given his proper share in his father's estate. one of john mason's daughters became the wife of gordon hammersley, whose son louis married the beautiful miss lilly warren price of troy, the daughter of commodore cicero price of the united states navy. she subsequently married the duke of marlborough, and afterwards lord william beresford. the marlborough-hammersley ceremony was performed in this country by a justice of the peace, and the new duchess of marlborough went to england to live upon her husband's depleted estates. it is said that she was allowed by her late husband's family an annual income of one hundred and fifty thousand dollars; and blenheim, which had long felt the strain of "decay's effacing fingers," began again, through the agency of the hammersley wealth, to resemble the structure once occupied by that tyrant of royalty, the imperious sarah jennings. very little seemed to be known about louis hammersley, as he lived a retired life, and when seen in public was almost invariably accompanied by his father, gordon hammersley. when the two appeared upon the street, they were sometimes facetiously dubbed "dombey and son." they were familiar figures on broadway, where they invariably walked arm in arm. john hammersley, a brother of gordon, was the æsthetic member of this well-known family. one of his pet diversions was the giving of unusual, and sometimes sensational, dinners. to celebrate the completion of the trans-continental railroad, he planned what he called a roman dinner. his guests were furnished with togas and partook of the meal in a reclining position, like the romans of old. this unique entertainment was, of course, thoroughly enjoyed, but did not become _à la mode_ as the flowing toga could hardly compete with trim waistcoats and clinging trousers, even on festive occasions. fifty years ago, more or less, a house was erected in new york on the southwest corner of fifth avenue and fifteenth street by mrs. charles maverick parker, and, to the astonishment of gothamites, it was said to have cost one hundred thousand dollars! later it became the home of the manhattan club. many old residents visited it on its completion, as such a costly structure was regarded with nothing short of amazement. i remember it was an _on dit_ of the town that upon one occasion, when mrs. parker was personally escorting some unusually prominent person through the mansion, she pointed to a pretty little receptacle in her bedroom and exclaimed as she passed: "that is where i keep my old shoes. i wear old shoes just as other people do." the cost and pretentiousness of her establishment caused her to be nicknamed "mrs. house parker." her residence was built of brown stone, which so strongly appealed to the taste of new yorkers that in time the same material was largely employed in the erection of dwellings. high ceilings were then much in vogue and were greatly admired. in our house in houston street, where i passed my late childhood and early womanhood, the ceilings were unusually high, while all of the doors were of massive mahogany set in ornamental white frames. in subsequent years i met so many persons who in former days had been our neighbors in houston street that i was conceited enough to designate that locality as "the cradle of the universe." anthony bleecker neilson was our next-door neighbor in this famous old street, and during my life in china twin sons of his, william and bleecker, were again my neighbors in foo chow, where they were both employed in the _hong_ (firm) of oliphant & company. a rival to mrs. parker's fine house was not long in appearing. directly opposite a stately residence was built by mrs. richard k. haight which subsequently became the new york club. a great rivalry existed between these two matrons which even extended to hats, feathers, gowns and all the furbelows so dear to the feminine heart. in fact, the far-famed houses of montague and capulet could not have maintained more skillful tactics; and all the while the gothamites looked on and smiled. a few years later eugene shiff, who had spent the greater portion of his life in france, built a large house on fifth avenue which he surmounted with a mansard roof. these pioneers having set the pace, imposing residences were erected in rapid succession, and the process has been continued until the present day. in december, , new york was agog over the arrival upon the shores of america of louis kossuth. as everyone knows, he was the leader of the hungarian revolution of - , and became the first governor of the short-lived hungarian republic. when this was overthrown by austria and other countries, kossuth fled to turkey and subsequently sailed for this country on the u.s. frigate _mississippi_. when his arrival became known, thousands of people thronged the streets anxious to catch a first glimpse of the distinguished foreigner. one might have fancied from the enthusiasm displayed that he was one of our own conquering heroes returning home. americans were even more sympathetic then than now with all struggles for political freedom, as the history of our own trying experiences during the revolution was, from a sentimental point of view, even more of a controlling influence than it is to-day. several months later i heard kossuth deliver an address at the national hotel in washington before a large assembly chiefly composed of members of congress, when his subject was "hungary and her woes." i vividly recall the impression produced upon his audience when, in his deeply melodious tones, he invoked the "throne of grace" and closed with the appealing words: "what is life without prayer?" i have never before or since observed an audience so completely under the sway of an orator, as it seemed to me that there was not a person in the room who at the moment would not have been willing to acquiesce in whatever demands or appeals he might present. kossuth's countenance suggested such profound depression that one could readily credit the assertion he made during his remarks, "i have been trained to grief." he wore during the delivery of his address the picturesque costume of the magyars of his country. new york had an unusually large coterie of _littérateurs_, many of whom it was my good fortune to know. some of these had only recently returned from brook farm "sadder but wiser" and, at all events, with more practical views concerning "the world's broad field of battle." brook farm had its origin in , and completely collapsed in . it was chiefly intended to be the fulfillment of a dream of the rev. dr. william henry channing of "an association in which the members, instead of preying upon one another and seeking to put one another down, after the fashion of this world, should live together as brothers, seeking one another's elevation and spiritual growth." it was essentially socialistic in its conception and execution and, although professedly altruistic in its nature, was in reality a visionary scheme which reflected but little credit upon the judgment of either its originators or its patrons. its company was composed of "members" and "scholars," to whom may be added a celebrated list of those who sojourned at the farm for brief periods and were known as "visitors." the whole scheme was without doubt one of the most visionary expressions of new england transcendentalism, and it failed because in the nature of things no such ventures ever have succeeded and, until human nature is essentially revolutionized, probably never can. among its most distinguished members were nathaniel hawthorne, charles a. dana, later the brilliant and accomplished editor of _the new york sun_, and george ripley. george william curtis was one of its scholars, and among its visitors were the rev. william henry channing, margaret fuller, ralph waldo emerson, amos bronson alcott, orestes augustus bronson, theodore parker and elizabeth p. peabody--forming together one of the most brilliant intellectual galaxies that were ever associated in a single enterprise. of this number i especially recall george william curtis, a genius of the first brilliancy and remarkable withal for his versatile conversational powers. i was talking to him on one occasion when someone inquired as to his especial work in the co-operative fold of brook farm. his laughing reply was, "cleaning door knobs." george ripley was a distinguished scholar and a prominent journalist. his wife, a daughter of francis dana, became a convert to catholicism and is said to have found much to console her in that faith until her death from cancer in . margaret fuller, though not possessed of much outward grace, was a prolific votary of the pen. i occasionally met her in society before she started on an european tour where she met her destiny in the person of the marquis giovanni angelo ossoli, to whom she was secretly married in . some years later she embarked with her husband and little boy upon a sailing vessel for america, and all were lost off the coast of new york in july, . horace sumner, a younger brother of the distinguished massachusetts statesman, also perished at the same time. about i met anne c. lynch of providence, who came to new york to promote her literary ambitions, and was a pleasing addition to this same intellectual circle. she was the author of several prose works and also of some poetical effusions which were published in and received high commendation. she married vincenzo botta, a learned italian who at one time was a professor in the university of turin. their tastes were similar and the marriage was a very happy one. they lived for many years on thirty-seventh street in new york, where they maintained a charming _salon_. on sunday evenings their home was the rendezvous of many of the literary lights of the metropolis as well as of distinguished strangers. some years before her marriage, mrs. botta was visiting in washington, where she formed a friendship with henry clay. upon her return to new york he committed to her care a valuable gold medal, but upon arriving at her home she discovered to her dismay that it was missing from her trunk. it was the general impression that it had been stolen from her on her way to new york. about the same time i also knew donald g. mitchell ("ik marvel"), but this was before he had entered upon his active and distinguished literary career, and when he was a temporary sojourner in new york. he was contributing at that time some much appreciated letters to various magazines under the signature of "the lorgnette," which were subsequently republished as a volume bearing the same title. n. p. willis was another literary genius of the same period whom i had the pleasure of knowing. he was cordially welcomed into the social world of new york; but, unfortunately for his popularity, he wrote a prose effusion entitled, "those ungrateful blidgimses," which was generally recognized as a direct attack upon two old ladies who were held in high esteem in new york. it was known to many persons that he had had a misunderstanding with them and that he had employed this manner of taking his revenge. new york society frowned upon what was generally considered his ungallant conduct, and for many years the doors of some of the most prominent houses in the city were closed against him. as i remember reading his story at the time, i thought its title was but a poor disguise, as the sisters were named bridgens, the christian name of one of them being cornelia. this name was distorted into "crinny," who, by the way, was a woman of decided ability. it was against her that the author's animosity was chiefly directed. it seems that the misses bridgens and mr. willis chanced to be sojourning at the same time in rome, where the scene of his narrative is laid. miss crinny was a sufferer from an attack of roman fever and, under these dire circumstances, mr. willis represents himself as her attendant, and in this capacity refuses to condone the peculiarities of the poor old lady's sick-room. his patience in gratifying her morbid fancies is graphically described in a vein of ridicule and he tells how by the hour he threaded what he terms her "imaginary locks." he also dwells at length upon her conversational powers and likens her tongue to the elasticity of an eel's tail, which would wag if it were skinned and fried. charles dudley warner has described this writing of mr. willis as "funny but wicked"; it was more than that--it was cruel! willis made another reference to the two sisters in his "earnest clay" where he speaks of "two abominable old maids by the names of buggins and blidgins, representing the _scan. mag._ of florence." the new york public was in no hurry to reopen its doors to mr. willis; indeed, it was not until after his marriage to miss cornelia grinnell, his second wife, that he was again kindly received. i recall with much pleasure a visit i made at mrs. winfield scott's in new york, after that city had ceased to be my home, when we went together to dine with mr. and mrs. n. p. willis at idlewild, their country home on the hudson. these were the days when mrs. scott was sometimes facetiously called _madame la général_. this charming residence of mr. willis was several miles south of newburgh, on high ground overlooking the river, and from its porches there was an enchanting view of west point. mr. willis told us that when he first came to that vicinity he called the attention of a countryman from whom he had purchased the land to some uncultivated acres and asked a suggestion regarding them. "that," said the man, waving his hand in the direction of the trees, "is nothing but an idlewild." the word lingered in mr. willis's mind, and he subsequently adopted it as the name of his new home. while living in new york we frequently attended parties at the hospitable home of mr. and mrs. benjamin f. butler in washington place. he was an elegant gentleman of the old school and had served as attorney general in the cabinets of presidents jackson and van buren. they were people of deep religious convictions, and consequently all their entertainments were conducted upon the strictest code of the day. for example, dancing was never permitted and wine was never served. in place of dancing there was a continuous promenade. i generally attended these parties accompanied by my father, who enjoyed meeting the legal lights of the country, some of whom were always there. exceptionally handsome suppers were served at these entertainments, and every effort was made by mr. and mrs. butler to make up, as it were, for the lack of dancing which was sorely missed by those more gayly inclined. a hundred thousand dollars was considered a highly respectable fortune in new york between sixty and seventy years ago. seven per cent, was the usual rate of interest, the cost of living was low, and life was, of course, much simpler in every way. i recall a prominent young man about this period, henry carroll marx, commonly called "dandy marx," who was said to be the happy possessor of the amount i have named. he was devoted to horses and from his home on broadway he could frequently be seen driving tandem on the cobblestone streets. i do not remember his entering the social arena; possibly he avoided it in order to escape the wiles of designing mothers, whom one occasionally encountered even in those ancient days. his faultless attire, which in elegance surpassed all his rivals, won for him the nickname of "dandy." he also rendered himself conspicuous as the first gentleman in new york to wear the long, straight, and pointed waxed mustache. his two maiden sisters were inseparable companions and nearly every day could be seen walking on broadway. miss lydia kane, one of the wits of my day and of whom i have already spoken, facetiously called them "number "--two straight marks! in burton's theater was an unfailing source of delight to the pleasure-loving public. william e. burton was an englishman of rare cultivation, and was the greatest comedian new york had ever known. although so gifted, his expression of countenance was one of extreme gravity. his presentation of aminadab sleek in the "serious family" has, in my opinion, never been surpassed. he frequently acted in minor comedies, but the "serious family" was his greatest _rôle_. niblo's garden on broadway, near houston street, was a source of great delight in those days to all gothamites. it was in this theater that the ravel family had its remarkable athletic performances. when i recall their graceful, youthful physiques, i am reminded of hamlet's philosophical musings in the graveyard: "where be your gibes now, your gambols, your songs, your flashes of merriment that were wont to set the table on a roar?" p. t. barnum was a conspicuous figure about this time. his museum was on broadway, at the corner of ann street, and not far from the city hall. he was considered a prince of humbugs and perhaps gloried in his reputation as such. i distinctly remember the excitement which he created over a mummified old colored woman who, he asserted, had been a nurse of washington, and to whom he gave the name of joice heth. she was undoubtedly a very aged negress, but she still retained full powers of articulation and was well coached to reply in an intelligent manner to the numerous inquiries respecting her pretended charge. it is needless to add that she was only one of barnum's numerous fakes. philip kearny, a handsome gentleman of a former school, who lived at the corner of broadway and leonard street, was a lavish entertainer. he was a widower when i knew him, but his daughter, the wife of major alexander s. macomb, u.s.a., the son and aide of major general alexander macomb, commander-in-chief of the army, lived with him. major macomb was conspicuous for his attractive personality and imposing presence and was said to bear a striking resemblance to prince albert, the father of edward vii. his wife was one of the three heirs of john watts, who owned a princely estate. the other two were her brother, the gallant general philip kearny, and her cousin, general john watts de peyster, a son of that most accomplished gentleman, frederick de peyster, of whom i have already spoken. mrs. macomb was a generous and attractive woman who dispensed with a liberal hand the wealth she had inherited. her pretty cousins, mary and nancy kearny, whom i knew quite well, daughters of her father's brothers, were her constant guests. another frequent visitor of this household was mrs. "phil" kearny, as she was invariably called, whose maiden name was diana moore bullitt, a famous kentucky belle, well-known for her grace and intellectual attractions. her sister eloise, usually called "lou" bullitt by her intimate friends, married baron frederick de kantzow of sweden, a courtly foreigner who had commercial relations with the merchant princes of new york. tradition states that the baroness de kantzow, though not possessed of mrs. kearny's beauty, was a more successful slayer of hearts than her sister, and it is said that she had adorers by the score. a third bullitt sister, mary, married general henry atkinson and after his death major adam duncan steuart, both of the united states army, the latter of whom was stationed for many years at fort leavenworth. mrs. macomb's health failed at an early period of life and to restore it she sought a foreign clime; but, alas, her many friends were never gladdened again by her kindly welcome, as she died abroad. in my young womanhood i frequently attended parties at the kearny house where dancing and other social pleasures enlivened the scene. in this connection it seems proper to refer at greater length to john watts and his interesting trio of daughters. i have already spoken of his son robert, who died unmarried at an early age. his two older daughters, susanna, wife of philip kearny, and mary justina, wife of frederick de peyster, did not long survive their marriages; but a third daughter, elizabeth, the wife of henry laight, who never had children, lived many years with her father and managed the affairs of his household. an amusing story was told me many years ago regarding mrs. laight which is well worthy of mention. as a young girl she was deeply in love with the young man who eventually became her husband, but her father was so devoted to her and so very dependent upon her that he violently opposed her marrying anyone. accordingly, a secret marriage was planned by the young people to take place in trinity church. as the youthful pair was standing in front of the altar, surrounded by a few sympathetic friends, the rector reached the words, "who giveth this woman to be married to this man?" when, to the astonishment of the assembled group, a gruff, loud voice in the rear of the church shouted "i do." old john watts had opposed his daughter's marriage with all his might, but when he learned by chance that she was to be married clandestinely, he graciously accepted the inevitable and without the knowledge of anyone hurried to the church and, entering it by a side door, duly performed his part as just related. this anecdote was told me by arent schuyler de peyster, a distant cousin of general john watts de peyster. many years later, when i repeated it to mrs. diana bullitt kearny, she remarked in her characteristic manner: "he was mean enough not to even allow her the satisfaction of a runaway marriage." this estimate of his character, however, does not seem to agree with that given by others. the laights were prominent in new york society. one of them, edward laight, whom i knew as a society beau, was remarkably handsome. he was a good deal of a flirt and transferred his affections with remarkable facility from one young woman to another. his sister married a greek, mr. eugene dutilh, a gentleman of culture and refinement, who owned a beautiful place at garrison's-on-the-hudson which he sold about to hamilton fish. philip kearny and his family lived next door to peter a. jay, and i frequently met the young people of his household at mrs. macomb's parties. gouverneur morris, a son of the distinguished statesman, and edward kearny were _habitués_ of this establishment, as were also ridley and essex watts, both of whom i knew well. general "phil" kearny from his youthful days was an enthusiastic soldier, but he was not a graduate of west point, having been appointed to the regular army from civil life by president van buren in . he served throughout the mexican war, where he had the misfortune to lose an arm at the battle of churubusco, and was killed during the civil war in at the battle of chantilly. speaking of general macomb, i am reminded of a social _on dit_ of many years ago. mrs. august belmont (caroline slidell perry) lived in a fine house on fifth avenue and frequently gave large receptions. his sister, sarah perry, subsequently mrs. r. s. rodgers, was an early friend of mine. the elegant major alexander s. macomb, who was his father's namesake and aide, on entering mrs. belmont's drawing-room was unfortunate enough to brush against a handsome vase and completely shatter it. it was generally conceded that his hostess was conscious of the disaster, but "was mistress of herself though china fall" and appeared entirely unconscious of the mishap. some months later at the house of lady cunard (mary mcevers), a similar accident happened. the unfortunate guest, however, in this case was immediately approached by his hostess, who with much elegant grace begged him not to be disturbed as the damage was trifling. immediately society began an animated discussion, when even the judicial powers of solomon might have found it embarrassing to decide which of the two women should be accorded the greater degree of _savoir faire_. in , accompanied by my father, i attended the wedding of estelle livingston, daughter of john swift livingston, to john watts de peyster. at the time of this marriage, mr. de peyster was considered the finest _parti_ in the city; while, apart from his great wealth, he was so unusually talented that it was generally believed a brilliant future awaited him. it was a home wedding, and the drawing-room was well filled with the large family connection and other invited guests. at this time mr. livingston was a widower, but his sister maria, mrs. john c. stevens of hoboken, did the honors of the occasion for her brother. the young bride presented a charming appearance in all her finery, and at the bountiful collation following the ceremony champagne flowed freely. this, however, was no unusual thing, as that beverage was generally seen at every entertainment in those good old days. mrs. john c. stevens lived at one time in barclay street, and i have heard numerous stories concerning her eccentricities. in she gave a fancy-dress ball but, as she had failed to revise her visiting list in many years, persons who had long been dead were among her invited guests. she was especially peculiar in her mode of dress, which was not always adapted to her social position. it is therefore not at all surprising that unfortunate mistakes were occasionally made in regard to her identity. another of her eccentricities consisted in the fact that she positively refused, when shopping, to recognize even her most intimate friends, as she said it was simply impossible for her to combine business with pleasure. in spite of her peculiarities, however, she possessed unusual social charm. her husband was prominent in society and business circles. he was founder of the new york yacht club as well as its first president, and commanded the _america_ in the memorable race in england in , which won the celebrated cup that sir thomas lipton and other english yachtsmen have failed to restore to their native land. mary livingston, the younger daughter of john swift livingston, was a _petite_ beauty. she married a distant relative, a son of maturin livingston. i am told that her brother, johnston livingston, is still living in new york at a very advanced age. joseph kemmerer's band was an indispensable adjunct to all social gatherings in the days of which i am speaking. the number of instruments used was always in proportion to the size of the entertainment. the inspiring airs of strauss and labitzky, then in vogue, were popular with the younger set. these airs bring back pleasant memories, as i have frequently danced to them. the waltz in my day was a fine art and its votaries were numerous. i recall the fact that edward james of albany, a witty young gentleman with whom i occasionally danced, was such a devotee to the waltz that, not possessing sufficient will power to resist its charms and having a delicate constitution, he nearly danced himself into another world. two attractive young brothers, thomas h. and daniel messinger, who were general beaux in society, played their parts most successfully in the social world by their graceful dancing, and no ball was considered complete without their presence. these brothers were associated in the umbrella industry, and miss lydia kane, some of whose witty remarks i have already quoted, dubbed them the "reigning beaux!" daniel messinger eventually married miss elizabeth coles neilson, a daughter of anthony bleecker neilson, and became a lieutenant colonel in the union army during the civil war. the british consul general in new york from to was james buchanan. he was irish by birth, and many young british subjects visiting the united states made his home their headquarters. he had several daughters and, as the whole family was social in its tastes, i often enjoyed meeting these sturdy representatives of john bull at his house. those i knew best came from "the land of brown heath and shaggy wood," as in our family we were naturally partial to scotchmen and, as a rule, regarded them as desirable acquaintances. many of these were graduates of glasgow university and young men of unusual culture and refinement. i especially remember mr. mccorquodale, a nephew of dr. thomas chalmers, the distinguished presbyterian divine of scotland. he met his future wife in new york in the person of a wealthy and attractive widow. her maiden name i do not recall, although i am acquainted with certain facts concerning her lineage. she was the granddaughter of madame de genlis. i doubt whether any of these young scotchmen whom i met remained permanently in this country, as they always seemed too loyal to the "land o' cakes" to entirely expatriate themselves. another young scotchman, mr. dundas, whom i knew quite well through the buchanans, embarked for his native land on board the steamer _president_. this ship sailed in the spring of and never reached her destination. what became of her was never known and her fate remains to this day one of the mysteries of the sea. in the fall of the u.s. man-of-war _levant_, on her voyage from the hawaiian islands to panama, disappeared in the same mysterious manner in the pacific ocean; and, as was the case with the _president_, no human being aboard of her was ever heard of again. there were many conjectures in regard to the fate of this ship, but the true story of her doom has never been revealed. i remember two of the officers who perished with her. one of them was lieutenant edward c. stout, who had married a daughter of commodore john h. aulick, u.s.n., and whose daughters, the misses julia and minnie stout, are well remembered in washington social circles; and the other was purser andrew j. watson, who was a member of one of the old residential families of the district of columbia. chapter viii washington in the forties my first visit to washington was in . i started from new york at eight o'clock in the morning and reached philadelphia late the same afternoon. i broke the journey by spending the night at jones's hotel in the lower part of the city, which was the usual stopping place of travelers who made this trip. a few years later when the journey from new york to washington was made in twelve hours, it was thought that almost a miracle had been performed. mrs. winfield scott in characterized the national capital as "an ill-contrived, ill-arranged, rambling, scrambling village"; and it was certainly all of that when i first saw it. it is not improbable that the cause of this condition of affairs was a general feeling of uncertainty as to whether washington would remain the permanent seat of government, especially as the west was naturally clamoring for a more centrally located capital. when i first visited the city the ubiquitous real-estate agent had not yet materialized, and corner lots, now so much in demand, could be purchased at a small price. taxation was moderate and congress, then as now, held itself responsible for one-half of the taxes. as land was cheap there was no necessity for economy in its use, and spacious fronts were built regardless of back-buildings. in other cases, when one's funds were limited, the rear of the house was first built and later a more imposing front was added. the contrast between the houses of new york, built closely together in blocks, and those in washington, with the abundant space around them, was a great surprise to me. unlike many other cities, land in washington, then, as now, was sold and taxed by the square foot. my elder sister fanny had married charles eames, esq., of the washington bar, and my visit was to her. mr. eames entered harvard in when less than sixteen years of age, and was a classmate of wendell phillips and of john lothrop motley, the historian. the distinguished professor of harvard university, andrew p. peabody, ll.d., in referring to him many years after his death said that he was "the first scholar of his class, and was regarded as a man of unlimited power of acquisition, and of marked ability as a public speaker." after leaving harvard he studied law, but ill health prevented him from practicing his profession. he accompanied to washington george bancroft, president polk's secretary of the navy, by whom he was made principal correspondence clerk of the navy department. he remained there but a few months when he became associate editor of _the washington union_ under the well-known thomas ritchie, usually known as "father ritchie." he was subsequently appointed by polk a commissioner to negotiate a treaty with the hawaiian islands, and took passage upon the u.s. frigate _savannah_ and sailed, by way of cape horn, for san francisco. he unexpectedly found awaiting his arrival in that city dr. gerrit p. judd, prime minister of the king, with two young hawaiian princes. after the treaty was made, he returned east and for six months edited _the nashville union_, when he again assumed charge of _the washington union_. president pierce subsequently appointed him minister to venezuela, where he remained until , and then returned to washington, where he practiced his profession for the remainder of his life. it was while arguing an important case before the supreme court that he was stricken, and he died on the th of march, . he sustained a high reputation as an admiralty lawyer as well as for his knowledge of international jurisprudence. i have now before me a letter addressed to his widow by wendell phillips only three days after his death. it is one of the valued possessions of mr. eames's daughter, who is my niece and the wife of that genial scotchman, alexander penrose gordon-cumming. it reads: quincy, illinois, march , . my dear friend, i have just crossed from the other side of the mississippi, and am saddened by learning from the papers my old and dear friend's death. the associations that bind us together go back many, many years. we were boys together in sunny months full of frolic, plans and hopes. the merriment and the seriousness, the toil and the ambition of those days all cluster round him as memory brings him to me in the flush of his youth. i have seen little of him of late years, as you know, but the roots of our friendship needed no constant care; they were too strong to die or wilt, and when we did meet it was always with the old warmth and intimacy. i feel more alone in the world now he has gone. one by one the boy's comrades pass over the river and life loses with each some of its interest. i was hoping in coming years, as life grew less busy, to see more of my old playmate, and this is a very unexpected blow. be sure i sympathize with you most tenderly, and could not resist the impulse to tell you so. little as we have met, i owe to your kind and frank interest in me a sense of very warm and close relation to you--feel as if i had known you ever so many years. i hope our paths may lead us more together so that i may learn to know you better and gather some more distinct ideas of eames' later years. all his youth i have by heart. with most affectionate regards believe me very faithfully yours, wendell phillips. mrs. eames. i think women never fully realize the strange tenderness with which men cling to college mates. no matter how much opinions or residence separate grown-up men, to have been classmates is a tie that like blood never loosens. any man that has a heart feels it thrill at the sight of one of _those_ comrades. later friendships may be close, never so tender--this makes boys of us again at any moment. unfamiliar tears obey its touch, and a singular sense of loneliness settles down on survivors--good-bye. the young hawaiian princes to whom i have just referred and who, by the way, were mere boys, accompanied dr. judd to new york where my younger brother, malcolm, thinking he might make the acquaintance of some genial playmates, called to see them. upon his return from his visit his only criticism was, "those dusky princes certainly give themselves airs." my sister, mrs. eames, lived in a house on g street near twenty-first street in what was then known as the first ward. this general section, together with a part of indiana avenue, some portions of capitol hill, sixth and seventh streets, and all of that part of the city bounded on the north by k street, on the south by pennsylvania avenue, and westward of fourteenth street to georgetown, was at this time the fashionable section of the city. like many other places in its formative period, washington then presented the picture of fine dwelling houses and shanties standing side by side. i remember, for example, that as late as a fine residence on the corner of i and fifteenth streets was located next to a small frame house occupied by a colored undertaker. the latter's business was prosperous, but his wealthy neighbor objected to the constant reminder of death caused by seeing from his fine bay window the numerous coffins carried in and out. he asked the undertaker to name his price for his property, but he declined, and all of his subsequent offers were ignored. finally, after several years' patient waiting, during which offer after offer had been politely but positively rejected, the last one being an almost princely sum, the owner sold his home and moved away, leaving his humble neighbor in triumphant possession. this is simply a fair example of the conditions existing in washington when i first knew it. two rows of houses on pennsylvania avenue, known as the "six and seven buildings," were fashionable dwellings. admiral david d. porter, then a lieutenant in the navy, occupied one of them. miss catharine l. brooke kept a girls' school in another, while still another was the residence of william lee of massachusetts. i have been informed that while serving in a consular office abroad, under the appointment of president monroe, mr. lee was commissioned by him to select a dinner set for the white house. architects, if i remember correctly, were almost unknown in washington at this time. when a person was sufficiently venturesome to build a house for himself, he selected a residence suited to his tastes and directed a builder to erect one like it. speculative building was entirely unknown, and if any resident of the district had embarked upon such a venture he would have been regarded as the victim of a vivid but disordered fancy. mrs. c. r. latimer kept a fashionable boarding house in a large brick dwelling facing lafayette square where the belasco theater now stands. mr. and mrs. hamilton fish boarded with her while the former was a representative in congress, and mr. and mrs. sanders irving, so well and favorably known to all old washingtonians, also made this house their home. many years later it was the residence of william h. seward, and he was living there when the memorable attempt was made in to assassinate him. as is well known, it subsequently became the home of james g. blaine. when hamilton fish was elected to the senate, he purchased a house on h street, between seventeenth and eighteenth streets, which was afterwards known as the "porter house." previously it had been owned and occupied by general "phil" kearny. the shops of washington in were not numerous, and were located chiefly upon pennsylvania avenue, seventh street then being a residential section. the most prominent dry-goods store was kept by darius clagett at the corner of ninth street and pennsylvania avenue. mr. clagett, invariably cordial and courteous, always stood behind his counter, and i have had many pleasant chats with him while making my purchases. although he kept an excellent selection of goods, it was usually the custom for prominent washington folk to make their larger purchases in baltimore. a little later walter harper kept a dry-goods store on pennsylvania avenue, near eighth street, and some years later two others appeared, one kept by william m. shuster on pennsylvania avenue, first between seventh and eighth streets, and later between ninth and tenth; and the other by augustus and thomas perry on the corner of ninth street and pennsylvania avenue. charles demonet, the confectioner, made his appearance a little later on pennsylvania avenue, between seventeenth and eighteenth streets; but charles gautier, on pennsylvania avenue, between twelfth and thirteenth streets, was his successful rival and was regarded more favorably in aristocratic circles. madame marguerite m. delarue kept a shop on the north side of the same avenue, also between twelfth and thirteenth streets, where small articles of dress dear to the feminine heart could be bought. there were several large grocery stores on the south side of pennsylvania avenue, between sixth and seventh streets. benjamin l. jackson and brother were the proprietors of one and james l. barbour and john a. hamilton of another, although the two latter had their business house at an earlier day on louisiana avenue. louis vavans was the accomplished cook and caterer, and sent to their rooms the meals of many persons temporarily residing in washington. joseph redfern, his son-in-law, kept a grocery store in the first ward. franck taylor, the father of the late rear admiral henry c. taylor, u.s.n., was the proprietor of a book store on pennsylvania avenue, near four-and-a-half street, where many of the scholarly men of the day congregated to discuss literary and current topics. his store had a bust of sir walter scott over its door, and he usually kept his front show-windows closed to prevent the light from fading the bindings of his books. the center market was located upon the same site as at present, but of course it has since been greatly enlarged and improved. all the stores on louisiana avenue sold at retail. i remember the grocery store of j. harrison semmes on ninth street and louisiana avenue, opposite the center market; and the hardware store kept by joseph savage on pennsylvania avenue, between sixth and seventh streets, and at another time between third and fourth streets. on fifteenth street opposite the treasury was another well-known boarding house, conducted by mrs. ulrich and much patronized by members of the diplomatic corps. willard's hotel was just around the corner on the site of the new willard, and its proprietor was caleb willard. brown's hotel, farther down town, on pennsylvania avenue and sixth street, was a popular rendezvous for congressional people. it was first called the indian queen, and was kept by that prince of hosts, jesse brown. after his death the name was changed to the metropolitan. the national hotel on the opposite corner was the largest hostelry in washington. it boasted of a large southern _cliéntèle_, and until president buchanan's administration enjoyed a very prosperous career. subsequent to buchanan's inauguration, however, a mysterious epidemic appeared among the guests of the house which the physicians of the district failed to satisfactorily diagnose. it became commonly known as the "national hotel disease," and resulted in numerous deaths. a notice occasionally appeared in the current newspapers stating that the deceased had died from this malady. mrs. robert greenhow, in her book published in london during the civil war, entitled "my imprisonment and the first years of abolition rule at washington," attributes the epidemic to the machinations of the republicans, who were desirous of disposing of president buchanan. john gadsby was its proprietor at one time, from whom it usually went by the name of "gadsby's." president buchanan was one of its guests on the eve of his inauguration. when i first knew washington, slavery was in full sway and, with but few exceptions, all servants were colored. the wages of a good cook were only six or seven dollars a month, but their proficiency in the culinary art was remarkable. i remember once hearing count adam gurowski, who had traversed the european continent, remark that he had never anywhere tasted such cooking as in the south. the grace of manner of many of the elderly male slaves of that day would, indeed, have adorned a court. when william l. marcy, who, although a master in statesmanship and diplomacy, was not especially gifted in external graces, was taking final leave of the clerks in the war department, where as secretary he had rendered such distinguished services under president polk, he shook hands with an elderly colored employee named datcher, who had formerly been a body servant to president monroe, and said: "good-bye, datcher; if i had had your manners i should have left more friends behind me." some years later, and after my marriage into the gouverneur family, i had the good fortune to have passed down to me a venerable colored man who had served my husband's family for many years and whose name was "uncle james." his manner at times was quite overpowering. on entering my drawing-room on one occasion to greet george newell, brother-in-law and guest of ex-governor marcy, i found him seated upon a sofa and apparently engaged in a "brown study." referring at once to "uncle james," he inquired: "who is that man?" upon my replying, "an old family servant," he remarked: "well, he is the most polite man i have ever met." some years later my sister, mrs. eames, moved into a house on the corner of h and fourteenth streets, which she and her husband had built and which she occupied until her death in . i naturally shrink from dwelling in detail upon her charm of manner and social career, and prefer rather to quote an extract from a sketch which appeared in one of the newspapers just after her death: ... during the twenty-eight years of her married life in washington mrs. eames's house was one of the favorite resorts of the most conspicuous and interesting men of the nation; it was a species of neutral ground where men of all parties and shades of political opinion found it agreeable to foregather. though at first in moderate circumstances and living in a house which rented for less than $ a year, there was no house in washington except, perhaps, the president's, where one was sure of meeting any evening throughout the year so many people of distinction. [illustration: mrs. charles eames, neÉ campbell, by gambadella. _owned by mrs. gordon-cumming._] mr. and mrs. marcy were devoted to mrs. eames; her _salon_ was almost the daily resort of edward everett, rufus choate, charles sumner, secretary [james] guthrie, governor [john a.] andrews of massachusetts, winter davis, caleb cushing, senator preston king, n.p. banks, and representative men of that ilk. mr. [samuel j.] tilden when in washington was often their guest. the gentlemen, who were all on the most familiar terms with the family, were in the habit of bringing their less conspicuous friends from time to time, thus making it quite the most attractive _salon_ that has been seen in washington since the death of mrs. madison, and made such without any of the attractions of wealth or luxury. the relations thus established with the public men of the country at her fireside were strengthened and enriched by a voluminous correspondence. her father, who was a very accomplished man, had one of the largest and choicest private libraries in new york, of which, from the time she could read, mrs. eames had the freedom; in this library she spent more time than anyone else, and more than anywhere else, until her marriage. as a consequence, it is no disparagement to any one else to say that during her residence there she was intellectually quite the most accomplished woman in washington. her epistolary talent was famous in her generation. her correspondence if collected and published would prove to have been not less voluminous than mme. de sevigné's and, in point of literary art, in no particular inferior to that of the famous french woman. after three or four months spent in washington, i returned to my home in new york; and several years later, in the spring of , suffered one of the severest ordeals of my life. i refer to my father's death. no human being ever entered eternity more beloved or esteemed than he, and as i look back to my life with him i realize that i was possibly more blessed than i deserved to be permitted to live with such a well-nigh perfect character and to know him familiarly. from my earliest childhood i was accustomed to see the sorrowing and oppressed come to him for advice. he was especially qualified to perform such a function owing to his long tenure of the office of surrogate. widows and orphans who could not afford litigation always found in him a faithful friend. with a capacity of feeling for the wrongs of others as keenly as though inflicted upon himself, his sympathy invariably assumed a practical form and he accordingly left behind him hosts of sorrowing and grateful hearts. a short time before his death i visited a dying widow, a devoted roman catholic, whom from time to time my father had assisted. when i was about to leave, she said: "say to your father i hope to meet him among the just made perfect." this remark of a poor woman has been to me through all these years a greater consolation than any public tribute or imposing eulogy. finely chiseled monuments and fulsome epitaphs are not to be compared with the benediction of grateful hearts. the funeral services were conducted, according to the custom of sixty years ago, by the rev. dr. william adams and the rev. dr. philip milledoler. members of the bar and many prominent residents of new york, including his two physicians, doctors john w. francis and campbell f. stewart, walked behind the coffin, which, by the way, was not placed in a hearse but was carried to the second street cemetery, where his remains were temporarily placed. there were six clergymen present at his funeral--the rev. doctors thomas de witt, thomas e. vermilye, philip milledoler, william adams, john knox and george h. fisher, all ministers of the reformed dutch church except the rev. dr. adams, the distinguished presbyterian divine. i find myself almost instinctively returning to the scott family as associated with the most cherished memories of some of the happiest days of my life. during my childhood i formed a close intimacy with cornelia scott, the second daughter of the distinguished general, which continued until the close of her life. when i first knew the family it made its winter home in new york at the american hotel, then a fashionable hostelry kept by william b. cozzens, on the corner of barclay street and broadway. in the summer the family resided at hampton, the old mayo place near elizabeth in new jersey, where they kept open house. colonel john mayo of richmond, whose daughter maria was the wife of general scott, had purchased this country seat many years before as a favor to his wife, miss abigail de hart of new jersey, and mrs. scott subsequently inherited it. colonel john mayo, who was a citizen of large wealth and great prominence, was so public-spirited that not long subsequent to the revolutionary war, and entirely at his own expense, he built from his own plans a bridge across the james river at richmond. i have heard mrs. scott graphically describe her father's trips from richmond to elizabeth in his coach-of-four with outriders and grooms, and his enthusiastic reception when he reached his destination. i have frequently heard it said that mrs. scott as a young woman refused the early offers of marriage from the man who eventually became her husband because his rank in the army was too low to suit her taste, but that she finally relented when he became a general. i am able to contradict this statement as mrs. scott told me with her own lips that she never made his acquaintance until he was a general, in spite of the fact that they were both natives of the same state. this did not by any means, however, indicate a marriage late in life, as general scott became a brigadier general on the th of march, , when he was between twenty-seven and twenty-eight years of age. in the _sentinel_, published in newark, new jersey, on the th of march, , the following marriage notice appears: married--at belleville, virginia, at the seat of col. mayo, general winfield scott of the u.s. army to miss maria d. mayo. mrs. scott's record as a belle was truly remarkable, and in the latter years of her life when i knew her very intimately she still retained traces of great beauty. her accomplishments, too, were extraordinary for that period. she was not only a skilled performer upon the piano and harp, but also a linguist of considerable proficiency, while her grace of manner and brilliant powers of repartee added greatly to her social charms. on one occasion during polk's administration she attended a levee at the white house, and as she passed down the line with the other guests she received an enthusiastic welcome and was soon so completely surrounded by an admiring throng that for a while mrs. polk was left very much to herself. it was mrs. scott who wrote in the album of a friend the verse entitled, "the two faults of men." two other verses were written under it several years later by the hon. william c. somerville of maryland, at one time our minister to sweden, and the author of "letters from paris on the causes and consequences of the french revolution." women have many faults, the men have only two; there's nothing right they say, and nothing right they do. _reply_ that men are naughty rogues we know, the girls are roguish, too. they watch each other wondrous well in everything they do. but if we men do nothing right, and never say what's true, what precious fools you women are to love us as you do. many years ago general and mrs. scott traveled with their youthful family through europe, and while at the french capital mrs. scott attended a fancy-dress ball where she represented pocahontas and was called _la belle sauvage_. i have talked to two elderly officers of our army, colonel john m. fessenden and general john b. magruder, the latter subsequently of confederate fame, and both of them told me that at this entertainment she was an object of general admiration. many years later, long after mrs. scott's death, i was visiting her daughter, mrs. henry l. scott, for the last time at the old elizabeth home, accompanied by my young daughter maud, when the latter was invited to a fancy-dress ball given to children at the residence of general george herbert pegram. at first i was at my wits' end to devise a suitable gown for her to wear, when mrs. scott brought out the historic fancy dress worn by her mother so many years before in paris and gave it to me. it seems almost needless to add that the child wore the dress, and that i have it now carefully put away among my treasured possessions. many years subsequent to mrs. scott's visit to paris, her sister, mrs. robert henry cabell of richmond, published for the benefit of a charity her letters written from abroad to her family in virginia, containing many interesting recollections of paris. at the beginning of the mexican war the scotts were living in new york but, for a reason i do not now recall, mrs. scott decided to spend a winter during the general's absence in philadelphia. she secured a portion of a furnished house at south sixth street, and in the spring of i was invited to be her guest. the evening of the day of my arrival i attended a party at the residence of judge john meredith read, a descendant of george read, a signer from delaware. upon the urgent request of mrs. scott i went to this entertainment entirely alone, as she and her daughter cornelia were indisposed and she wished her household to be represented. judge read was a widower and some years later i renewed my acquaintance with him in washington. during my visit in philadelphia, mrs. scott was suddenly called away and hesitated about leaving us two young girls in the house alone, her younger daughters being absent at school. finally, she made arrangements for us to spend the days of her absence in burlington, new jersey, with miss susan wallace, a friend of hers and a niece of the hon. william bradford, attorney-general during a portion of washington's last administration. this, however, was not altogether a satisfactory arrangement for us young people and we became decidedly restless, but to burlington we went just the same. meanwhile, news came from mexico of a great american victory and the public went wild with enthusiasm. philadelphia made plans to celebrate the glad event on a certain evening, and cornelia scott and i decided to return to philadelphia for the festivities. we carefully planned the trip and took as our protector a faithful colored man named lee. arabella griffith, an adopted daughter of miss wallace, also accompanied us, and as another companion we took mrs. scott's pet dog _gee_ whom, before the evening was over, we found to be very troublesome. we made the trip to philadelphia by water and landed in an out-of-the-way portion of the city. owing to the dense crowds assembled to view the decorations, illuminations and fireworks, we were unable to procure a carriage and consequently were obliged to walk, while, to cap the climax, in pushing through the crowd we lost miss griffith. general scott's name was upon the lips of everyone, and his pictures were seen hanging from many windows; yet the daughter of the hero who was the cause of all the enthusiasm was a simple wayfarer, rubbing elbows with the multitude, unrecognized and entirely ignored. i may state, by the way, that arabella griffith subsequently became the wife of general francis c. barlow and that, while her husband was fighting the battles of his country during the civil war, she did noble service in the union hospitals as a member of the united states sanitary commission, and died in the summer of from a fever contracted in the hospitals of the army of the potomac. i remained in philadelphia much longer than i had originally anticipated, and unexpected warm weather found me totally unprepared. i immediately wrote to my sister margaret and asked her to send me some suitable apparel. her letter in reply to mine, which i insert, gives something of an idea of new york society of that period. as she was quite a young girl her references to miss julia gerard whom she knew quite well and "old leslie irving," who, by the way, was only a young man, must be regarded merely as the silly utterances of extreme youth:-- dear sister, i received your letter and as it requires an immediate answer, i shall commence writing you one. i believe in my last i mentioned to you that i was going to virginia wood's [mrs. john l. rogers] the following evening. i went with [william b.] clerke [a young broker] and had quite a pleasant time. there were two young ladies there from virginia whose names i do not know, dr. augustine smith's daughter, myself, mr. galliher, mr. rainsford, mr. bannister and mr. pendleton [john pendleton of fredericksburg, virginia]. i was introduced to the latter and liked him quite well. i had a long talk with him. his manners are entirely too coquettish to suit me; he does nothing but shrug his shoulders and roll up his eyes--perhaps it is a virginia custom. he seems to think miss gerard [julia, daughter of james w. gerard] his _belle_ ideal or _beau_ ideal of everything lovely, etc. i told him that i thought her awful, that she had such an inanimate sickly expression, and i abused her at a great rate! i expect he thinks i am a regular devil! tonight i am going to the opera. "lucretia borgia" is to be performed. i have learned a song from lucia. so you can imagine how much the rooster has improved! on thursday evening i was at the moore's [dr. william moore]. frank bucknor came for me and brought me home. his sister [cornelia bucknor, subsequently the wife of professor john howard van amringe of columbia college] was there, beek fish [beekman fish], bayard fish, dr. [adolphus] follin, old leslie irving and frank van rensselaer. miss moore told me that may came for us that evening to go to the academy. i am dreadfully sorry that you will not be able to go to the kemble [mrs. william kemble] ball; they are going to have it on monday. i dare say it will be very pleasant and old chrystie will be there. emily b. [emily bucknor] and frank [bucknor] are going. my hat has come home, and it is very pretty; it is a sherred blue crape, without any ribbon--trimmed very simply with blue crape and illusion mixed and the same inside. mrs. william le roy has been to see you. ma thinks that you had better come home when you first expected--on tuesday or wednesday. i am very much disappointed that you are not here to go to the kembles as you have a dress to wear. you can tell adeline [adeline camilla scott], if you please, that mr. pendleton wants to know the use of sending her to school when her head is filled with beaux and parties. i told him her mother did it to keep her out of mischief. bucknor says he thinks it is time for you to come home. if you stay much longer my spring fever will come on and i shall get so many things there will be no money left for you. besides mr. pendleton is going to the bucknor's some day next week and i am going to get him to stop for me, and if you are home i shall invite you to go along. beek fish will be there the same evening with his flute. he told emily b. that his sister [mrs. thomas pym remington of philadelphia] had written them that you had been in philadelphia and that she was so delighted to see you. leslie irving told me that he had seen a letter in the commercial advertiser from thomas turner [subsequently rear admiral turner, u.s.n.] to hamilton fish. he thought of sending it to you, but he thought some one else had probably done so. i hear that they [the fishes] are to have a party. the bankheads [general james bankhead's daughters] are going to spend the summer at west point. pa and jim are better. pa rode out yesterday and walked out to-day. he has been in a great state of excitement about general scott. it was reported two days ago that he was killed and he was afraid it was true. vera cruz, i believe, is taken. i cannot write any longer, i'm so tired. i will send cornelia's [cornelia scott] purse by h. forbes [harriet forbes, mrs. colhoun of philadelphia]. m. campbell. saturday april th. pa thinks it is time for you to come home. do you know of any opportunity? i shall not send anything to you. you see you never will take my advice in anything. i told you to bring your pink dress with you but you would not. i suppose i shall not hear from you again. pa says you can do as you please about staying longer. elizabeth, new jersey, was a quaint old town whose inhabitants seemed almost exclusively made up of barbers, ogdens and chetwoods, with a sprinkling of de harts. there was a steamboat plying between elizabethport (now a part of the city of elizabeth) and new york, and we were its frequent patrons. ursino, the country seat of the kean family, then as now was one of the historic places of the neighborhood. as i remember the beautiful old home, it was occupied by john kean, father of the late senior u.s. senator from new jersey. at an earlier period the latter's great-grandfather had married susan livingston, a daughter of peter van brough livingston of new york, and resided at ursino. after the death of her husband she married count julian niemcewicz, who was called the "shakespeare of poland" and who came to america with kosciusco, upon whose staff he had served. she was also the grandmother of mrs. hamilton fish. another noted estate in the same general neighborhood, was "abyssinia," owned and occupied for a long period by the ricketts family, whose walls were highly decorated by one of its artistic members. i am informed that it still stands but that it is used, alas, for mechanical purposes! i recall with intense pleasure another of my visits to new jersey when i was a guest at the home of general and mrs. scott in elizabeth. isabella cass of detroit, daughter of general lewis cass, was also there at the same time. she attended school in paris while her father was minister to france and received other educational advantages quite unusual for women at that time. while residing in washington at a subsequent period she was regarded as one of the reigning belles. she married a member of the diplomatic corps from the netherlands and lived and died abroad. a constant visitor of the scott family whom i recall with great pleasure was thomas turner, subsequently an admiral in our navy. he was a virginian by birth and a near relative of general robert e. lee; but, though possessing the blood of the carters, he remained during the civil war loyal to the national flag. his wife was frances hailes palmer of "abyssinia." still another guest of the scotts in elizabeth was the erratic but decidedly brilliant doctor william starbuck mayo. although mrs. scott was a mayo, they were not related. he was from the northern part of the state of new york, while mrs. scott, as is well known, was from virginia. doctor mayo, however, was an ardent admirer of mrs. scott and made the fact apparent in much that he said and did. he was the author of several works, one of which was a romance entitled "kaloolah," which he dedicated to mrs. scott. when i met him in washington he was on his first bridal tour, although pretty well advanced in years. his bride was mrs. henry dudley of new york, whose maiden name was helen stuyvesant. she was the daughter of nicholas william stuyvesant and one of the heirs of the large estate of peter g. stuyvesant. during van buren's administration, doctor mayo was a social light in washington. there was another dr. mayo--robert mayo of richmond--who, in some respects, created a temporary commotion in public life in washington and elsewhere. he was a virginian by birth, and at one time figured prominently as a politician. he engaged in the presidential campaign of as an ardent partisan of general jackson and during that period edited in richmond the _jackson democrat_. he subsequently, however, parted company with his presidential idol, and in published a volume entitled, "political sketches of eight years in washington," which is almost exclusively devoted to an arraignment of general jackson's administration. in an original letter now before me, written by martin van buren to governor william c. bouck, of new york, which has never before appeared in print, he speaks in an amusing manner of dr. mayo. i insert the whole letter, as his allusions to general jackson are of exceptional interest. no one can well deny that the parting admonition of polonius to his son laertes is a masterpiece of human wisdom, but this letter of the "sage of lindenwald" to governor bouck reveals ability by no means inferior to that of this wise councilor of denmark. [ex-president van buren to gov. william c. bouck of n.y.] confidential. lindenwald, jan^y. th . my dear sir, i embrace the occasion of a short visit of my son major van buren to albany before he goes south to drop you a few lines. although i have not admitted it in my conversations with those who are given to croaking, and thus alarm our friends, i have nevertheless witnessed with the keenest regret the distractions among our friends at albany; & more particularly in relation to the state printing. it is certainly a lamentable winding up of a great contest admirably conducted &, as we supposed, gloriously terminated. without undertaking to decide who is right or who is wrong, and much less to take any part in the unfortunate controversy, i cannot but experience great pain from the eying of so bitter a controversy in the face of the enemy among those who once acted together so honorably & so usefully, and for all of whom i have so much reason to cherish feelings of respect & regard. permit me to make one suggestion, & that relates to the importance of a speedy decision, one way or the other. nothing is so injurious in such cases as delay. it is almost better to decide wrong than to protract the contest. every day makes new enemies & increases the animosities of those who have already become so, & extends them to other subjects; and yet nothing is so natural as to desire to put off the decision of controversies among friends. most happy would i be to find that you had been able to mitigate, if not altogether to obviate, existing difficulties by providing places for one or more of the competitors in other branches of the public service to which they are adapted & with which they would be as well satisfied. it has afforded me unfeigned satisfaction to learn, as i do from all quarters, that you keep your own secrets in regard to appointments, & don't feed every body with promises or what they construe into promises--a practice which so many public men are apt to fall into, & by which they make themselves more trouble & subject themselves to more discredit than they dream of. persevere in that course, consider carefully every case & make the selection which your own unbiassed judgment designates as the best, & above all let the people see as clear as day that you do not yield yourself to, or make battle against, any cliques or sections of the party, but act in good faith and to the best of your ability for the good of the whole, and you may be assured that the personal discontents which you would to some extent occasion, if you had the wisdom of solomon & were pure as an angel, will do you no harm & be exceedingly evanescent in their duration. the democratic is a reasonable & a just party & more than half of the business is done when they are satisfied that the man they have elected means to do right. the difficulty with a new administration is in the beginning. at the start little matters may create a distrust which it will take a series of good acts to remove. but once a favourable impression is made & the people become satisfied that the right thing is intended, it takes great errors, often repeated, to create a counter current. will you excuse me if, from a sincere desire for your success, i go farther & touch upon matters not political, or at least not wholly so? your situation of course excites envy & jealousy on the part of some. it is impossible from the character of man that it should be otherwise, bear yourself ever so meekly & you cannot avoid it. there will therefore in albany, as well as elsewhere, be people who will make ill natured remarks & there will be still more who will make it their business, in the hope of benefitting themselves, to bring you exaggerated accounts of what is said, and if they lack materials they will tell you, if they find that you like to listen to small things, a great deal that never has been said. it is my deliberate opinion that these mischievous gossips cause public men more vexation, yes, ten fold, than all the cares & anxieties of office taken together. i have seen perhaps as much of this as any man of my age, & claim to be a competent judge of the evil & its remedies. the greatest fault i ever saw in our excellent friend gen^l. jackson, was the facility with which (in carrying out his general principle that it was the duty of the president to hear all) he leant his ear, though not his confidence, to such people. though very sagacious & very apt to put the right construction upon all such revelations, it was still evident that he was every day more or less annoyed by them. i endeavored to satisfy him of the expediency of shutting their mouths, but did not succeed, & i am as sure as i can be of any such thing that if the truth could be known it would appear that he had experienced more annoyance from such sources than from all the severe trials through which he had to pass & did pass with such unfading glory. having his case before me, i determined to profit by the experience i had acquired in so good a school. i had no sooner taken possession of the white house than i was beset by these harpies. the way in which i treated the whole crew, with variations of course according to circumstances, will appear from the following dialogue in a single case. the celebrated dr. mayo called upon me & in his stuttering & mysterious way commenced by asking when he could have a few minutes very private conversation with me. knowing the man, i anticipated his business & told him now, i will hear you now. he then told me he had discovered a conspiracy to destroy me politically the particulars of which he felt it to be his duty to lay before [me]. i replied instantly, & somewhat sternly, dr., i do not wish to hear them. i have irrefragable proof, he replied. i don't care, was the response. it is in writing, sir, said he. i won't look at it, sir. what, said he, don't you want to see it if it is in writing & genuine? an emphatic no, sir, closed the conversation. the dr. raised his eyes and hands as if he thought me demented, & making a low bow & ejaculating a long hah-hah retreated for the door. the story about the dr. got out and, partly by mine & i believe in part also by his means, & alarmed all the story tellers who heard of it. a few repetitions of the same dose to others impressed the whole crew with a conviction that nothing was to be gained by bringing such reports to me. the consequence was that although washington is perhaps the most gossiping place in the world, i escaped its contamination altogether, and had no trouble except such as unavoidably grew out of my public duties; and although i had perhaps a more vexatious time than any of my predecessors in that respect i was the only man, they all say, who grew fat in that office. i was happy to learn from my son john by a letter received yesterday the high opinion he entertains of your discreet & honorable bearing in the midst of the difficulties by which you are beset. i hope he & smith, [another son of martin van buren], exercise the discretion by which their course has heretofore been governed, in meddling as little with things political that do not belong to them as possible. they know that such is my wish, as any contest there must necessarily be more or less between my friends; and i shall be obliged to you to give them from time to time such advice upon the subject as you may think proper. be assured that they will take it in good part. you may, if you please, at your convenience, return me the suggestions i sent you, as i may have occasion to weave some parts of them into letters that i am frequently obliged to write; the rough draft was made with a pencil & is now illegible. be assured that your not using them occasioned me no mortification, as i before told you it would not. you had a nearer & could take a safer view of things than myself. don't trouble yourself to answer this letter as it requires none; only excuse me for writing you one so unmercifully long. remember me kindly to mrs. bouck, & believe me to be very sincerely your friend, m. van buren. his excellency, wm. c. bouck. in general and mrs. scott moved to washington and hampton was closed for many years. they lived in one of the houses built by count de menou, french minister to this country from to , on h street, between thirteenth and fourteenth streets, on the present site of the epiphany parish house. these residences were commonly called the "chain buildings," owing to the fact that their fences were made almost entirely of iron chains. two of them, thrown into one, were occupied by the scotts and were owned by my father-in-law, samuel l. gouverneur, senior. in the third, the property of mrs. beverly kennon, lived the venerable mrs. alexander hamilton and her only daughter, mrs. hamilton holly. chapter ix social leaders in washington life i passed many delightful hours in the washington home of general scott and had a standing invitation to come and go as i pleased. upon his return from the war with mexico, crowned with the laurels of victory, he immediately became one of the most prominent lions of the day. he had successfully invaded a practically unknown country reeking with the terrible _vomito_, a disease upon which the mexicans relied to kill their foes more expeditiously than ammunition, and had well earned for himself the plaudits of a grateful country. i distinctly remember that he received flattering letters from the duke of wellington and other distinguished foreigners congratulating him upon his military success. his headquarters were now established in washington, and his house became one of the most prominent social centers of the national capital. about this time mrs. scott was much in new york, where her third daughter, marcella, subsequently mrs. charles carroll mctavish, was attending school, and consequently her daughter cornelia, who not long before had married her father's aide, henry lee scott of north carolina, was virtually mistress of the establishment. mrs. henry lee scott's social sway in washington was almost unprecedented. she was as grand in appearance as she was in character, and during one of her visits to rome she sat for a distinguished artist as a model for his pictures of the madonna. general scott seemed to derive much pleasure and satisfaction from the society of his former companions in arms, who were always welcomed to his hospitable board. among those i especially recall were colonels john abert, roger jones, william turnbull and ichabod b. crane, whose son, dr. charles h. crane, later became surgeon general of the army. these occasions were especially delightful to me as a young woman, and i always regarded it as an exceptional privilege to be present. the whig party meanwhile nominated general scott for the presidency. the opposing candidate was franklin pierce. one day during the campaign scott, in replying to a note addressed to him by william l. marcy, secretary of war in polk's cabinet, began his note: "after a hasty plate of soup"--supposing that his note would be regarded as personal. marcy, who was a keen political foe, was too astute a politician, however, not to take advantage of the chance to make scott appear ridiculous. he classified the note as official, and the whole country soon resounded with it. i saw general scott when he returned from his mexican campaign, covered with glory, to confront his political enemies at home, and i was also with him in when the announcement arrived that he had been defeated as a presidential candidate. were i called upon to decide in which character he appeared to the greater advantage, that of the victor or the vanquished, i should unhesitatingly give my verdict to the latter. there was a grandeur in his bearing under the adverse circumstances with which the success and glamour of arms could not compare. the rev. dr. smith pyne, the beloved rector of st. john's episcopal church, often mingled with the distinguished guests gathered at the residence of general scott. he was full of life and fun and good cheer and would even dare, when occasion offered, to aim his jokes and puns at general scott himself. at one of the general's dinners, for example, while the soup was being served, he addressed him as "marshal _turenne_." it is said that upon one occasion, when the good rector failed by polite efforts to dismiss a book-agent, he was regretfully compelled to order him from his house. "your cloth protects you," said the offended agent. "the cloth protects _you_," replied dr. pyne, "and it will not protect you long if you do not leave this instant." in spite of this incident, it was well known that the doctor had a tender and sympathetic nature. after he had officiated at the funerals of his parishioners it is said that his wife was frequently compelled to exert all her efforts to arouse him from his depression. about this same period, ole bull, the great norwegian violinist who was second only to paganini, was receiving an enthusiastic reception from audiences "panting for the music which is divine." upon this particular evening dr. pyne sat next to me, when he suddenly exclaimed: "if honorary degrees were conferred upon musicians, ole bull would be fiddle d.d." at another time, when dr. edward maynard, a well-known washington dentist, was remodeling his residence on pennsylvania avenue, now a portion of the columbia hospital, dr. pyne was asked to what order of architecture it belonged and replied: "_tusk-can_, i suppose,"--a pretty poor pun, but no worse, perhaps, than most of those one hears nowadays. the rev. dr. pyne performed the marriage ceremony, at the "chain buildings," of general scott's second daughter, adeline camilla, and goold hoyt of new york. it was a quiet wedding and only the members of the family were present. i remember the bride as one of the most beautiful women i have ever known; her face reminded me of a roman cameo. general scott was something of an epicure. i have seen him sit down to a meal where jowl was the principal dish, and have heard his exclamation of appreciation caused in part, possibly, by his recollection of similar fare in other days in virginia. he did the family marketing personally, and was very discriminating in his selection of food. terrapin, which he insisted upon pronouncing t_a_rrapin, was his favorite dish, and he would order oysters by the barrel from norfolk. on one occasion he attended a banquet where all the states of the union were represented by a dish in some way characteristic of each commonwealth. pennsylvania was represented by a bowl of sauer-kraut; and in speaking of the fact the next morning the general remarked: "i partook of it with tears in my eyes." new year's day in washington was a festive occasion, especially in the home where i was a guest. general and mrs. scott kept open house and of course most of the army officers stationed in washington, and some from the navy, called to pay their respects. all appeared in full-dress uniform, and a bountiful collation was served. i was present at several of these receptions and recall that after the festivities of the day were nearly over general scott, who of course had paid his respects to the president earlier in the day, always called upon two venerable women--mrs. "dolly" madison, who then lived in the house now occupied by the cosmos club, and mrs. alexander hamilton, his next door neighbor. during the winter of , which i spent with the scotts, i participated with them in the various social enjoyments of the season. early in the month of january, , and not long after the re-assembling of congress, that genial gentleman, william w. corcoran, gave his annual ball to both houses of congress, and it was in many ways a notable entertainment. as this was long previous to the erection of his public art gallery, his house was filled with many paintings and pieces of statuary. powers's "greek slave," which now occupies a conspicuous place in the corcoran art gallery, stood in the drawing-room. general scott did not care especially for large evening entertainments, but he always attended those of mr. corcoran. in this instance i was the only member of the household who accompanied him, and the ovation that awaited his arrival was enthusiastic; and as i entered the ballroom with him i received my full share of attention. among the prominent guests was general "sam" houston, arrayed in his blue coat, brass buttons and ruffled shirt. his appearance was patrician and his courtesy that of the inborn gentleman. i once laughingly remarked to general scott that general houston in some ways always recalled to me the personal appearance of general washington. his facetious rejoinder was: "was ever the father of his country so defamed?" i met at this entertainment for the first time charles sumner, who had but recently taken his seat in the u.s. senate and of whom i shall speak hereafter. caleb cushing was also there, and cornelia marcy, the beautiful daughter of william l. marcy, was one of the belles of the ball. i have stated that general scott did not generally attend evening entertainments; in his own way, however, he took great interest in all social events, and upon my return from parties, sometimes at a very late hour, i have often found him awaiting my account of what had transpired. i have spoken of general houston's appearance. i now wish to refer to his fine sense of honor. he was married on the d of january, , to miss eliza allen, daughter of colonel john allen, from near gallatin, the county town of sumner county in tennessee, and separated from her directly after the marriage ceremony under, as is said, the most painful circumstances. the wedding guests had departed and general houston and his bride were sitting alone by the fire, when he suddenly discovered that she was weeping. he asked the cause of her tears and was told by her that she had never loved him and never could, but had married him solely to please her father. "i love doctor douglas," she added, "but i will try my best and be a dutiful wife to you." "miss," said governor houston, even waiving the fact that he had just married her, "no white woman shall be my slave; good-night." it is said that he mounted his horse and rode to nashville where he resigned at once his office as governor and departed for the cherokee country, where and elsewhere his subsequent career is well known. having procured a divorce from his wife, he married margaret moffette in the spring of . during the same winter i attended a party given by mrs. clement c. hill, as a "house-warming," at her residence on h street. many years later george bancroft, the historian, occupied this residence and it is still called the "bancroft house." mr. hill was a member of a prominent maryland family which owned large estates in prince george county, and his wife was recognized as one of the social leaders in washington. another ball which i recall, which i attended in company with the scotts, was given by colonel and mrs. william g. freeman at their residence on f street, near thirteenth street, the former of whom was at one time chief of staff to general scott. i well remember that general scott accompanied his daughter and me and that he wore at the time the full-dress uniform of his high rank. as he measured six feet four in his stocking-feet, the imposing nature of his appearance cannot well be described. mrs. freeman, whose maiden name was margaret coleman, was one of the joint owners of the cornwall coal mines in pennsylvania. her sister, miss sarah coleman, shared her house for many years, and old washingtonians remember her as the "lady bountiful" whose whole life was devoted to good works. colonel and mrs. freeman's two daughters, miss isabel freeman and mrs. benjamin f. buckingham, still reside in washington. the first guest whom i recall at this ball was the sprightly mary louisa adams. she made her home with her grandfather, john quincy adams, who lived in one of the two white houses on f street, between thirteenth and fourteenth streets, now called the "adams house." she was the venerable ex-president's principal heir, and subsequently married her relative, william clarkson johnson of utica. george b. mcclellan was also a guest at this entertainment as one of the young beaux. his presence made an indelible impression upon my memory as i was dancing a cotillion with him when, to my nervous horror, the pictures in the ballroom began to spin and i made myself conspicuous by nearly fainting. i did not, however, lose consciousness like the heroines of the old tragedies, and was conducted to a retired seat where, at the request of general scott, i was attended by dr. richard henry coolidge, surgeon in the army, who was also a guest. general scott's admiration for this distinguished gentleman, personally as well as professionally, was very great. i have often heard the general say that dr. coolidge not only prescribed for the physical condition of his patients but also by the example of his christian character elevated their moral tone. he concluded his eulogy with the words: "dr. coolidge walks humbly before his god." his widow, mrs. harriet morris coolidge, daughter of commodore charles morris, u.s.n., one of the distinguished heroes of the war of , is still living in washington. i occasionally see her in her pleasant home on l street where she welcomes a large circle of friends, giving one amid her pleasant surroundings a pleasing picture of a serene old age. during my many visits to the scott household after the mexican war, i always occupied a comfortable brass camp bedstead which had formerly belonged to the mexican general, santa anna. it seems that just after the battle of cerro gordo this warrior made a hasty flight, leaving behind him his camp furniture and even, it is said, his wooden leg. this bedstead was captured as a trophy of war, and finally came into general scott's possession. the memory of this man's brutal deeds, however, never disturbed my midnight repose. texas history tells the story of the alamo and of the six brave men there put to death by his orders, suggesting in a certain degree the atrocities of the duke of cumberland of which i have already spoken. santa anna, however, had indian blood in his veins--an extenuating circumstance that cannot be offered in defense of the "butcher of culloden." there was always more or less gossip afloat concerning the alleged strained relations existing between general and mrs. scott, owing largely to the fact that the conditions attending and surrounding their respective lives were fundamentally different and often misunderstood. general scott was a born commander while _madame la général_ from her earliest life had had the world at her feet. such a combination naturally resulted in an occasional discordant note, which unfortunately was usually sounded in public. their private life, however, was serene, and they were invariably loyal to each other's interests. when mrs. scott, for example, learned that james lyon of richmond, an intimate friend of the general and herself and a trustee for certain of her property, had, although a whig, voted against her husband when a presidential candidate, she at once revoked his trusteeship. at another time she wrote some attractive lines which she feelingly dedicated to her husband. i recall an amusing incident related by general scott just after a journey to virginia that well illustrates the exigencies that awaited persons traveling in those days in carriages. for a brief period before the inauguration of president harrison, general scott was in richmond, and in due time, as he thought, started for the station to catch a train for washington to be present when the president-elect should take his oath of office. he missed the train, however, and immediately secured a carriage to convey him to washington, as his presence there was imperative; but after a hard day's journey the horses could go no further, and he was obliged to seek shelter for the night. stopping at a house near the roadside and inquiring whether he could be accommodated, he was told that there was but one vacant room and that it had been engaged some days in advance by a german butcher, accompanied by his wife and daughter. this party meanwhile arrived and upon being informed of general scott's predicament generously offered to share the room with him. it was arranged that the women should occupy one of the beds and general scott and the butcher the other. the women, after retiring early, gave the signal, "all right," when the men took possession of the second bed. after some pretty fast traveling the next morning, general scott reached his destination. while he was relating this laughable experience to us some years later, i inquired whether he had enjoyed a comfortable rest. "no," was his emphatic response, "the butcher snored the whole night." during this visit to richmond, general scott was invited by an old friend to accompany her and her two sisters to a roman catholic church to hear some fine music. upon arriving at the door they were met by the sexton, who, somewhat flurried by seeing general scott, announced in stentorian tones the advent of the strangers--"three cheers (chairs) for the protestant ladies." [illustration: brigadier general winfield scott, u.s.a., by ingham. _the original portrait was burned many years ago_.] while i am relating scott anecdotes, i must not omit to speak of an amusing experience the old general was fond of relating which occurred while he was traveling in the west. in his official capacity he was a sojourner for a short period in cincinnati, and, upon leaving that now prosperous city, he directed that p.p.c. cards be sent to all persons who had called upon him. it seems that the social _convenances_ had not yet dawned upon this city, now the abode of arts and sciences, as the town wiseacre, learned in many things as well as social lore, was called upon for an elucidation of the three mysterious letters. apparently he was not as able an exponent as was daniel at balshazzar's feast, who so readily deciphered "the handwriting on the wall." he construed the letters to signify _pour prendre café_, an invitation which was gladly accepted, much to general scott's astonishment, who decided then and there to confine himself in future to plain english. the charming old resident society predominated in those days in the district of columbia, and wealth was not a controlling influence in social life. the condition of society was, therefore, different from that of to-day, when apparently the ... strongest castle, tower or town, the golden bullet beateth down. the old washingtonians are now sometimes designated as "cave dwellers," and, generally speaking, the public bows to the golden calf. the term "old washingtonians," as now used, applies to residents descended from the original settlers of maryland and virginia, as well as to presidential families and the representatives of army and navy officers of earlier days. their social code is, in some respects, entirely different and distinct from that of any other city, and was formed many decades ago by the ancestors of the "cave dwellers," who were so peculiarly versed in the varied requirements and adornments of social life that to-day no radical innovations are acceptable to their descendants. speaking of the army and navy, i am reminded of an amusing anecdote which has been generally circulated regarding the wife of a wealthy manufacturer from a small western town who, after building a handsome home in the heart of a fashionable section of the city, announced that her visiting list was growing so large that she must in some way reduce it and that she had decided to "draw it" on the army and navy. it seems almost needless to say that this remark created much unfavorable comment, as washington is especially proud of the army and navy officers she has nurtured. among the families who were socially prominent at the national capital when i first knew it, were the seatons, gales, lees, freemans, carrolls, turnbulls, hagners, tayloes, ramsays, millers, hills, gouverneurs, maynadiers, grahams, woodhulls, jesups, watsons, nicholsons, warringtons, aberts, worthingtons, randolphs, wilkes, wainwrights, roger jones, pearsons, mcblairs, farleys, cutts, walter jones, porters, emorys, woodburys, dickens, pleasantons, mccauleys, and mays. i often recall with pleasure the days spent by me at brentwood, a fine old country seat near washington, and picture to my mind those forms of "life and light" arrayed in the charms of simplicity which were there portrayed. the far west had not then poured its coffers into the national capital, and the mining element of california was then unknown. it is true that washington, with its unpaved streets and poorly lighted thoroughfares, was then in a primitive condition, but it is just as true that its social tone has never been surpassed. brentwood was the residence of mrs. joseph pearson, who dispensed its hospitalities with ease and elegance. for many years it was a social _el dorado_, where resident society and distinguished strangers were always welcome. although it was then remote from the heart of the city, most of its numerous visitors were inclined to linger, once within its walls, to enjoy the charmed circle which surrounded the pearson family. both the daughters of this house, eliza, who married carlisle p. patterson, superintendent of the u.s. coast survey, and josephine, who became the wife of peter augustus jay of new york, were washington beauties. their social arena, however, was not confined to this city, as they made frequent visits to new york, where they were regarded as great belles. christine kean, an old friend of mine who was a younger sister of mrs. hamilton fish, both of whom were daughters of peter philip james kean of new jersey, was intimate with the "pearson girls," and made frequent visits to brentwood, where she shared in their social reign. christine kean married william preston griffin, a naval officer from virginia, who survived their marriage for only a few years. i was accustomed to call her "sunshine" as she carried joy and gladness to every threshold she crossed. she was superintendent of nurses in the sanitary corps during the civil war, and as such rendered conspicuous service in the state of virginia. she still resides in new york, admired and beloved by a large circle of friends, and those charming traits of character which have always made her so universally beloved are now hallowing the declining years of her life. i often met joseph c. g. kennedy at general scott's, usually called "census" kennedy. one day we were shocked to learn that solon borland, u.s. senator from arkansas, standing high in political circles but called by general scott "a western ruffian," had assaulted mr. kennedy and broken his nose. i knew both mr. and mrs. kennedy in after life. he was a gentleman of the old school, beloved and respected by everyone. his death in was a shocking tragedy. a lunatic with a fancied grievance met him on the corner of pennsylvania avenue and fifteenth street, and stabbed him. mr. kennedy was a grandson of andrew ellicott, who, his descendants claim, conceived the original plans of the city of washington instead of pierre charles l'enfant, to whom they are generally attributed. while visiting in washington i had the pleasure of renewing my acquaintance with isaac hull adams of the coast survey. he was a bachelor, and his sister, miss elizabeth combs adams, always lived with him. they were children of judge thomas boylston adams, a son of president john adams, and resided in the old adams homestead in quincy, massachusetts. i had originally known both of them in earlier life in new york, and it was a sincere pleasure to meet them again. miss adams was a generous and broad-minded woman who inherited the intellectuality of her ancestors. her reminiscences of the white house during the monroe administration, when her uncle, john quincy adams, was secretary of state, were of the deepest interest. she also loved to dwell upon the days of the administration which followed, when she was a constant visitor at the white house as the guest of her uncle, the president. i called upon her a few years ago in quincy, while i was visiting in boston, and found her living quietly in the old home, surrounded by her many household gods. she died soon after i saw her, but the memory of her friendship is enduring. before making my visit to quincy i wrote to miss adams asking her whether she was equal to seeing me. she was then nearly ninety-two years old, having been born on the th of february, . in a few days i received the following letter from her own pen: elm street, quincy, mass., november , . my dear mrs. gouverneur: i was very glad to receive your note saying that you would come to see us in a few days. i am a very poor writer, not holding the old pen of the "ready writer," and my brother isaac hull is a great invalid and not able to get about, so lame. i began two or three notes to you but my fingers are so stiff i do not hold the pen, but wish to tell you that we shall be glad to see you. we are both tired of being invalids. we do not forget good old times far back in the century. the steam cars leave boston at the south station. i think i sent you a letter yesterday, but if you fail to get it, i shall be very sorry. i have so many letters to write and can but just keep the pen going. it is a lovely day, but i never go out now and isaac hull is suffering all sorts of pains. comes down when he can. sorry to send such a poor sample. i have not been at jamaica plain for two years. we live in the oldest house and are the oldest couple in "all connecticut," as hull used to sing. very truly yours, e. c. adams. as i say, the very oldest and the head of five generations. i am so forgetful. "hull" adams, as he was generally called, had a fine tenor voice and i have frequently heard him sing in duet with archibald campbell, who sang bass. adams and campbell were lifelong friends and were fellow students at west point. the latter was graduated from west point in and resigned from the army in . he subsequently became a civil engineer and was a commissioner to establish the boundaries between the united states and canada. his wife was miss mary williamson harod of new orleans, and a niece of judge thomas b. adams. her father, charles harod, who was president of the atchafalaya bank of new orleans, was an aide-de-camp to general jackson at the battle of new orleans and, with commodore daniel t. patterson in command of our naval forces, met and arranged with the pirate jean lafitte to bring in his men to fight on the american side. mr. and mrs. campbell were lifelong residents of the district, where she is especially remembered for her many pleasing traits. their son, charles h. campbell, still resides in washington and married a daughter of the late admiral david d. porter, u.s.n. for many years, the archibald campbells lived on h street in a house which is now a portion of the milton. i remember when commander matthew f. maury, u.s.n., the distinguished author of "the geography of the sea," was stationed in the old naval observatory and preparing those charts of the ocean which so gladdened the hearts of mariners, quite unconscious meanwhile of the sensational career which awaited him. he and mrs. maury resided in washington and, aided by their daughters, dispensed a lavish hospitality. a few years later, however, when virginia seceded from the union, maury resigned from the navy and linked his destiny with his native state. i learned much of his subsequent career from general john bankhead magruder, a distant relative of my husband, who also resigned from the service and espoused the southern cause. at the time of general lee's surrender, maury was in england and the following may sailed for st. thomas, where he heard of lincoln's assassination. he then went to havana, whence he sent his son to virginia, and took passage for mexico. he had approved of the efforts of the archduke maximilian to establish his empire in america and had already written him a letter expressive of his sympathy. without waiting, however, for a reply he followed his letter, and upon his arrival in mexico in june was warmly welcomed by maximilian, by whom he was asked to accept a place in his ministry; but the flattering offer was declined and in its place he received an appointment as director of the imperial observatory. it seems superfluous to add what everyone knows, or ought to know, that maury was a christian gentleman of rare accomplishments and one of the most proficient scientists of his day. general magruder was with maury when they learned of lincoln's assassination, and accompanied him to mexico, where he served as major general in maximilian's army until the downfall of the usurping emperor. in referring to his experiences in mexico he dwelt with much emphasis upon the empress carlota and her interesting personality. he described her as especially kind and sympathetic and as treating maury and himself with distinguished consideration at her court. this pleasing experience, however, was not of long duration. a cloud hung over the mexican throne and it became apparent that maximilian's reign was drawing to a close. realizing this state of affairs, magruder and maury left mexico, the former returning to the united states while the latter sailed for europe. the empress carlota returned to austria, leaving maximilian to fight alone a hopeless cause. louis napoleon's vision of an european empire on american soil soon vanished, and maximilian's tragic death and carlota's subsequent derangement caused a throb of sympathy which was felt throughout the civilized world. during the mexican war, general magruder, though a good officer and one of the bravest and most chivalrous of men, never lost sight of his position in the _beau monde_. he never went into battle, however pressing the emergency, without first brushing his hair well, smoothing his mustache and arranging his toggery after the latest and most approved style. often during the rage of the battle, while the shot were raining around him like hail and his men and horses and guns were exposed to a destructive and merciless fire, he would stand up with his tall, straight figure in full view of the mexicans and, assuming the most impressive and fashionable attitudes, would eye the enemy through his glass with all the coolness and grace suited to a glance through an opera glass at a beautiful woman in an opposite box. i have always heard that he could not be provoked by any circumstances to commit an impolite or an ungenteel act. but he came very near forfeiting his reputation in this respect at the battle of contreras. upon being ordered to take a certain position with his battery, he found himself exposed to a terrible fire from the enemy's big guns. in the midst of this hot fire, an aide of one of the generals, from whom magruder had not received his order to occupy this position, rode up to the gallant officer and told him that he had orders for him from general ----. "but, my dear fellow," interrupted the polite captain, "you must dismount and take a glass of wine with me; do--i have some excellent old madeira." the aide dismounted and the wine was hastily drunk by the impatient young lieutenant, who did not enjoy it very much as there was a constant fire of grape and canister rattling about them all the time. but captain magruder desired very much to have a little agreeable chat over his wine, as, he remarked, it was no use popping away with his diminutive pieces against the heavy guns of the enemy. "but i am ordered by general ---- to direct you to fall back, abandon your position, and shelter your pieces," was the impatient response. "my dear fellow," replied the captain, "do take another sip of that wine--it is delicious!" "but you are ordered by general ---- to retire, captain; and you are being cut up." "much obliged to you, my dear friend, but if you will only make yourself comfortable for a few minutes, i will get some sardines and crackers." "i must go," impatiently remarked the lieutenant, mounting his horse; "what shall i report to the general?" "well, my dear fellow, if you are determined to go, please present my compliments to general ---- and tell him that, owing to a previous engagement with general ----, i am under the necessity of informing him that before i leave this spot i will see him in the neighborhood of a certain gentleman whose name is not to be mentioned in polite society." so, at all events, goes the story, and i presume we may believe as much or as little of it as we please. general magruder, while our guest in our country home near frederick, in maryland, related to me many interesting incidents connected with maury's career. the general seemed to possess an unusual appreciation of the good things of life and told me with much gusto about the numerous delicacies with which mexico abounded. his descriptions served to recall to my mind the fact that when he was in our regular army he had the reputation of "faring sumptuously every day." when in command at newport, rhode island, he gave a ball, during which he employed the services of some of the soldiers under his command for domestic purposes, and for this act was reprimanded by the war department. after the civil war he went to texas and died in houston in the winter of . he was a brave soldier and was twice brevetted for gallantry and meritorious conduct on the battlefields of the mexican war. general john b. magruder and his brother, captain george a. magruder of the navy, who early in life became orphans, were brought up by their maternal uncle, general james bankhead, u.s.a. general "jack" magruder, as he was usually called, developed rather lively traits of character, while his younger brother george was so deeply religious that, during his naval career, his nickname was "st. george of the navy." when both young men had reached manhood, general bankhead read them a homily, having special reference, however, to his nephew "jack." "i have reared you both with the utmost care and circumspection," he said, "but you, john, have not my approval in many ways." jack's response was characteristic. "uncle," he said, "i can account for it in the following manner--george has followed your precepts, but i have followed your example." at the outbreak of the civil war, captain magruder resigned from the navy and went with his family to canada, where his daughter helen married james york macgregor scarlett, whose title of nobility was lord abinger, his father having been raised to the peerage as a "lower lord." another virginia family of social prominence, whose members mingled much in washington society while i was still visiting the winfield scotts, was that of the masons of "colross," the name of their old homestead near alexandria in virginia. mrs. thomson f. mason was usually called mrs. "colross" mason to distinguish her from another family by the same name, that of james m. mason, united states senator from virginia. the family thought nothing of the drive to washington, and no entertainment was quite complete without the "mason girls," who were especially bright and attractive young women. open house was kept at this delightful country seat and many were the pleasant parties given there. one of the daughters, matilda, married charles h. rhett, a representative south carolinian, and my friend, cornelia scott, was one of her bridesmaids. florence, another sister, who was generally called "folly," married captain thomas g. rhett of the army, a brother of her sister's husband. he resigned at the beginning of the civil war, as a south carolinian would indeed have been a _rara avis_ in the federal army in , and became an officer in the confederate army; while from to he was a colonel of ordnance in the army of the khedive. miss betty mason, the oldest of these sisters, was a celebrated beauty and became the wife of st. george tucker campbell of philadelphia. it was about this time i first made the acquaintance of emily virginia mason, who recently died in georgetown after a long and active life. we were accustomed to have long conversations over the tea table concerning bygone days, and i sadly miss her bright presence. her memories of a varied life both in washington and paris were highly entertaining and as one of her auditors i never grew weary while listening to her graphic descriptions of persons and things. she was a daughter of john t. mason and a sister of stevens thompson mason, the first governor of michigan, often called the "boy governor." she was very active during the civil war as a confederate nurse and continued her kindly acts thereafter in other fields of benevolence. she wrote a life of general robert e. lee and several other books, and made a compilation of "southern poems of the war," which was subsequently published under that title. one may readily turn from emily virginia mason to her life-long friend, the daughter of senator william wright of new jersey. it was during her father's official life in washington that miss katharine maria wright met and married baron johan cornelis gevers, _chargé d'affaires_ from holland to the united states. after her marriage she seldom visited her native country but made her home in holland until her death a few years ago. her son also entered the diplomatic service of his country and a few years ago was living in washington. after my father's death we continued as a family to live in our houston street home in new york, but in we found the character of the neighborhood, which had been so pleasant in years gone by, changing so rapidly that we sold our house and moved to washington. we secured a pleasant old-fashioned residence on g street, between seventeenth and eighteenth streets, which in subsequent years became the weather bureau. next door to us lived mrs. graham and her daughter, mrs. henry k. davenport, the grandmother and mother respectively of commodore richard g. davenport, u.s.n. mrs. graham was the widow of george graham, who, for a time during monroe's administration, acted as secretary of war. while he was serving in this capacity, his brother, john graham, was a member of the same cabinet, serving as secretary of state. mrs. davenport was the mother of a family of sons known familiarly to the neighborhood as tom, dick and harry. in the same block lived mr. jefferson davis, who was then in the senate from mississippi. i remember hearing mrs. davis say that it was worth paying additional rent to live near mrs. graham, as she had such an attractive personality and was such a kind and attentive neighbor. a few doors the other side of us resided captain and mrs. henry c. wayne, the former of whom was in the army and was the son of james m. wayne of georgia, a justice of the supreme court; while across the street was the french legation. next door, at the corner of g and eighteenth streets, lived edward everett. mr. and mrs. robert d. wainwright lived on the next block in a house now occupied by general and mrs. a. w. greely. i attended the wedding of miss henrietta wainwright, soon after we arrived in washington, to william f. syng of the british legation. she was the aunt of rear-admiral richard wainwright, u.s.n., who, as commanding officer of the _gloucester_, rendered such conspicuous service at the battle of santiago. not far away, on the corner of twenty-first and g streets, lived lieutenant maxwell woodhull of the navy and his wife; and their children still reside in the same house. on f street, near twenty-first street, was the home of colonel william turnbull, u.s.a., whose wife was a sister of general george douglas ramsay, u.s.a., who was so well known to all old washingtonians. general ramsay was very social in his tastes, and many years before this time he and columbus monroe were the groomsmen at the wedding at the white house when john adams, the son of john quincy adams, married his first cousin, miss mary hellen. general and mrs. ramsay lived on twenty-first street, not far from his sister, mrs. william turnbull. mrs. john farley (anna pearson), a half-sister of mrs. carlisle p. patterson, lived on f street, near twenty-first street, and the latter's sister, mrs. peter augustus jay (josephine pearson), began her matrimonial life on the northwest corner of f and twenty-first streets. william thomas carroll's residence on the corner of eighteenth and f streets witnessed a continuous scene of hospitality. mrs. carroll was never happier than when entertaining. she lived to an advanced age, and until almost the very last, remained standing while receiving her guests. i have heard that she retained two sets of servants, one for the daytime and the other for the night. in her drawing-room hung many portraits of family ancestors arrayed in the antique dress of olden times. she was a daughter of governor samuel sprigg of maryland and was a handsome and accomplished woman. her four daughters, who materially assisted her in dispensing hospitality, were very popular young women. violetta lansdale, the oldest, married dr. william swann mercer of the well-known virginia family; sally is the present countess esterhazy; carrie married the late t. dix bolles of the navy; and alida is the wife of the late john marshall brown of portland, maine. the carroll house is still standing and became the residence of the late chief justice melville fuller of the u.s. supreme court. i have always heard that the carroll house, a substantial structure with large rooms, was built by tench ringgold, who was u.s. marshal of the district of columbia longer than any of his predecessors. he occupied this position during the whole of president monroe's administration, and i have heard it related in the gouverneur family that, when monroe was retiring from office, he asked his successor, john quincy adams, on personal grounds, to retain mr. ringgold. this request was granted and mr. monroe made the same appeal to andrew jackson shortly after the latter's inauguration, and received the cordial response, "don't mention it, don't mention it." on the strength of this interview, ringgold naturally assumed he was safe for another term, but, to the surprise of many, he was succeeded two years later by henry ashton, who retained the office for about three years. "old hickory," as everybody knows, had a mind of his own. it was often very pleasant in my new surroundings to welcome to washington some of my early new york friends; and among these none were more gladly received than frances and julia kellogg of troy. my intimacy with these sisters goes back as far as my school days at madame chegaray's, where frances kellogg was a boarding pupil and in a class higher than mine when i was a day-scholar. it was the habit of these sisters to spend their winters in washington and their summers at west point; and it was during their sojourn at the latter place that frances became engaged to george h. thomas of the army who, although a virginian by birth, rendered such distinguished services during our civil war as commander of the army of the cumberland. many years after general thomas's death, his widow built a house on i street, where she and miss kellogg presided during the remainder of their lives. during one of our many conversations, mrs. thomas told me that when her husband was informed that a house was about to be presented to him by admiring friends, in recognition of his conspicuous services during the civil war, he at once declined the offer, saying that he had been sufficiently remunerated, and requested that the money raised for the purpose should be given in charity. a distinguished union general, who had already accepted a house, remonstrated with him and said: "thomas, if you refuse to accept that house it will make it awkward for us." general thomas's characteristic response was: "you may take as many houses as you please, but i shall accept none." at this time the house lafayette square, now jackson place, still standing but very much altered, was owned and occupied by purser and mrs. francis b. stockton and the latter's sister, daughters of captain james mcknight of the marine corps and nieces of commodore stephen decatur. purser stockton once told me that he had purchased this home for seven thousand dollars. the house prior to his ownership had been the residence of a number of families of distinction, among others the southards and monroes. after giving up our home in new york i made a visit of some weeks to my friends, the family of william kemble, who was still residing on st. john's park in new york. while there we were invited to an old-fashioned supper at the home of mr. peter goelet, a bachelor, on the corner of nineteenth street and broadway, presided over by his sister, mrs. hannah greene gerry. upon the lawn of this house mr. goelet indulged his ornithological tastes by a remarkable display of various species of turkeys with their broods, together with peacocks and silver and golden pheasants. as can be readily understood, this was a remarkable sight in the heart of a great city, and caused much admiration from passers-by. it has been said that at one time william w. corcoran's father kept a shoe store in georgetown, and that the son, one of the most conspicuous benefactors of the city of washington, was very proud of the fact. i have also heard it said, although i cannot vouch for the truth of the statement, that the son cherished his father's business sign as one of his valued possessions. whether or not these allegations agree or conflict with the explicit statement concerning his father made by william w. corcoran himself, is left for others to judge. the latter wrote concerning his father: "thomas corcoran came to baltimore in , and entered into the service of his uncle, william wilson, as clerk, beginning with a salary of fifty pounds sterling a year.... he brought his family to georgetown and commenced the shoe and leather business on congress street," etc., etc. be the facts as they may, a witticism of william thomas carroll was a _bon mot_ of the day many years ago in washington. upon being asked upon one occasion whether he knew the elder mr. corcoran, he replied: "i have known him from first to _last_ and from _last_ to first." mr. carroll for thirty-six years was clerk of the supreme court of the united states, and chief justice roger b. taney paid him a well-earned tribute when he stated that he was "an accomplished and faithful officer, prompt and exact in business, and courteous in manner, and during the whole period of his judicial life discharged the duties of his office with justice to the public and the suitors, and to the entire satisfaction of every member of the court." at the period of which i am speaking, some of the clerical positions in the various departments of the government were filled by members of families socially prominent. francis s. markoe and robert s. chew, for example, were clerks in the state department, and archibald campbell and james madison cutts held similar positions. for many years women were not employed by the government. it is said that the first one regularly appointed was miss jennie douglas, and that she received her position through the instrumentality of salmon p. chase, secretary of the treasury, at the request of general francis e. spinner, treasurer of the united states. she was assigned to the duty of cutting and trimming treasury-notes, a task that had hitherto been performed with shears by men. general spinner subsequently stated that her first day's work "settled the matter in her and in women's favor." james madison cutts, at one time second comptroller of the treasury under buchanan, married ellen elisabeth o'neill, who, with her sister rose, subsequently mrs. robert greenhow, resided in the vicinity of washington. both sisters possessed much physical beauty. madison cutts, as he was generally called, was a nephew of "dolly" madison, and his father, richard cutts, was once a member of congress from new hampshire. it is to the kindness of mrs. madison cutts that i owe the memory of a pleasant visit to mrs. madison. she took me to call upon her one afternoon, and i shall never forget the impression made upon me by her turban and long earrings. her surroundings were of a most interesting character and her graceful bearing and sprightly presence, even in extreme old age, have left a lasting picture upon my memory. her niece, "dolly" paine, was living with her at her residence on the corner of h street and madison place, now forming a part of the cosmos club. todd paine, her son, unfortunately did not prove to be a source of much satisfaction to her. he survived his mother some years and eventually the valuable madison manuscripts and relics became his property. at the time of his death in virginia this interesting collection was brought to washington, where, i am informed, some of it still remains as the cherished possession of the mcguire family. mr. and mrs. madison cutts were devotees of society and consequently they and mrs. madison met upon common ground. the afternoon of my memorable visit to this former mistress of the white house i remember meeting quite a number of visitors in her drawing-room, as temporary sojourners at the national capital were often eager to meet the gracious woman who had figured so conspicuously in the social history of the country. i knew madison cutts's daughter, rose adele cutts, or "addie" cutts, as she was invariably called, when she first entered society. her reputation for beauty is well known. i always associate her with japonicas, which she usually wore in her hair and of which her numerous bouquets were chiefly composed. her father frequently accompanied her to balls, and in the wee small hours of the night, as he became weary, i have often been amused at his summons to depart--"addie, _allons_." as quite a young woman, addie cutts married stephen a. douglas, the "little giant," whom lincoln defeated in the memorable presidential election of . it is said that her ambition to grace the white house had much to do with the disruption of the democratic party, as it was she who urged douglas onward; and everyone knows that the division of the democratic vote between stephen a. douglas and john c. breckenridge resulted in the election of lincoln. some years after douglas's death, his widow married general robert williams, u.s.a., by whom she had a number of children, one of whom is the wife of lieutenant commander john b. patton, u.s.n. mrs. madison cutts's sister, mrs. robert greenhow, was a woman of attractive appearance and unusual ability. her husband was a virginian by birth and a man of decided literary tastes. when i first knew her she was a widow, and but few romances can excel in interest one period of her career. she was a social favorite and her house was the rendezvous of the prominent southern politicians of the day. this, of course, was before the civil war, during a portion of which she made herself conspicuous as a southern spy. at the commencement of the struggle her zeal for the southern cause became so conspicuous and offensive to the authorities in washington that she was arrested and imprisoned in her own house on sixteenth street, near k street. later she was confined in the "old capitol prison." general andrew porter, u.s.a., whose widow still resides in washington and is one of my cherished friends, was provost marshal of the district of columbia at this time, and as such mrs. greenhow was in his charge during her imprisonment. this duty was made so irksome to him that, upon one occasion, he exclaimed in desperation that he preferred to resign his position rather than to continue such an uncongenial task. it has been stated that information conveyed by her to the confederates precipitated the battle of bull run, which was so disastrous to the union army. her conduct, even in prison, was so aggressive that the government officials decided she was altogether too dangerous a character to remain in washington. they accordingly sent her, accompanied by her young daughter rose, within the southern lines, fearing that even behind prison bars her ingenuity might devise some method of communicating with the enemy. from the south she went to london, where she published, in , a volume entitled, "my imprisonment and the first years of abolition rule at washington," to which i have already referred. i have heard that this book had quite a circulation in great britain, but that an attempt was made to suppress it in the united states. the last year of the war, mrs. greenhow was returning to america with considerable money acquired by the sale of her book, which she carried with her in gold. she took passage upon a blockade-runner which, after pursuit, succeeded in reaching the port of wilmington, north carolina. she was descending from her ship into a small boat to go on shore when she made a false step and fell into the water. her gold tied around her neck held her down and she was drowned. her remains were recovered and brought to the town hall, where they laid in state prior to an imposing funeral service. she was regarded throughout the south as a martyr to its cause. old washingtonians who recall mrs. greenhow's eventful career will associate with her, in a way, mrs. philip phillips, who was also active in the southern cause, and whose husband represented alabama with much ability for one term in congress. he subsequently remained in washington, where he was known as a distinguished advocate before the supreme court. mrs. phillips's enthusiastic friendship for the south made serious trouble for herself and family. the first year of the war, all of them were sent across the union lines, and went to new orleans, where general benjamin f. butler was in command. a few days after her arrival she was brought before him charged with "making merry" over the passing funeral of captain george coleman de kay of new york, an officer in the union army. when general butler inquired why she laughed, she replied: "because i was in a good humor." unable longer to suppress his indignation, butler exclaimed: "if such women as you and mrs. greenhow are let loose, our lives are in jeopardy." mrs. phillips's reply was: "we of the south hire butchers to kill our swine." another day a search was made in mrs. phillips's house for information concerning the confederacy which she was thought to have. when personally searched and compelled to remove her shoes, she suggested that it was impossible for a northern man to get his hand inside a southern woman's shoe. general butler finally ordered mrs. phillips to be confined on an island near new orleans, and placed over her a guard whose duty it was to watch her night and day. i have often heard her give an account of her life under these trying circumstances. she said she lived in a large "shoe box"--whatever that meant--and that her meals were served to her three times a day upon a tin plate. from what i have already said, it is apparent that she was an exceedingly witty woman. one day, while walking on the streets in washington, she was joined by a distinguished prelate of the roman catholic church, and inquired whether he could lay aside his cloth long enough to listen to a conundrum? upon receiving a favorable response, she asked: "why is his holiness, the pope, like a goose?" the reply was: "because he sticks to his propaganda!" i shall always recall with pleasure a dinner party i attended at the residence of edward everett. as mrs. everett was in very delicate health and seldom appeared in public, mr. everett presided alone. the invitations were for six o'clock, and dinner was served promptly at that hour. i was taken into the dining-room by mr. philip griffith, one of the secretaries of the british legation. we had just finished our second course when, to the surprise of everyone, a tall and gaunt gentleman was ushered into the dining-room. it was alexander h. stephens of georgia, then a member of congress and subsequently vice-president of the southern confederacy. mr. everett at once arose and shook hands with mr. stephens and with an imperturbable expression of countenance motioned the butler to provide another seat at the table. for a moment there was a slight confusion, as the other guests were obliged to move in order to make room for the new comer; but everything was speedily arranged and mr. stephens began his dinner with the third course. no explanation was offered at the moment, but later, while we were drinking our coffee in the drawing-room, i noticed mr. everett and mr. stephens engaged in conversation. a few days later, through mr. colin m. ingersoll, a representative in congress from connecticut, the cause of mr. stephens' late appearance at the dinner was made clear to me. it seems that mr. everett and the french minister, the count eugène de sartiges, his next door neighbor, were giving dinner parties the same evening. the dinner hour at the french legation was half-past six o'clock, while mr. everett's was half an hour earlier. through the mistake of a stupid coachman, mr. stephens was landed at the door of count de sartiges's home and entered it under the impression that it was mr. everett's residence. he walked into the drawing-room and suspected nothing, as nearly all the guests were familiar to him. count de sartiges, however, surprised at the presence of an unbidden guest, anxiously inquired of mr. ingersoll the name of the stranger, and upon being informed remarked: "i'll be very polite to him." seating himself by mr. stephens' side, an animated conversation followed. meanwhile other guests arrived and the count de sartiges became diverted, while mr. stephens, still unconscious of his mistake, turned to mr. ingersoll, who stood near, and in an irritated tone of voice said: "who is this frenchman who is tormenting me, and where is mr. everett?" mr. ingersoll explained that the frenchman was the count de sartiges, and that mr. everett was probably presiding over his own dinner in the adjoining house. my _vis à vis_ at mr. everett's table was miss ann g. wight, a woman with an unusual history. she was born in montgomery county, maryland, and as a child was placed in a convent. she eventually became a nun and an inmate of the convent of the visitation in georgetown, where she assumed the name of "sister gertrude." she was an intellectual woman and was deeply beloved by her associates. without any apparent cause, however, she planned an escape from the convent and sought the residence of her relative, general john p. van ness, dropping her keys, as i have understood, in rock creek as she passed over the georgetown bridge. mrs. charles worthington, a catholic friend of mine who was educated at this same convent, gave me the following explanation of her conduct: there was an election for mother superior, and miss wight, deeply disappointed that she was not chosen to fill the position, was dissatisfied and when it became her turn to answer the front-door bell, suddenly determined to leave. she was, however, recognized by one of the priests, who followed her to general van ness's residence, where he insisted upon seeing her. at first she refused to meet him, but, upon informing the general that he must learn from her own lips whether her departure was voluntary, she consented to see him in the presence of her relative. she admitted that she had in no way been influenced. when i first met miss wight she was more devoted to "the pride, pomp and circumstance" of the world than many who had not led such deeply religious lives. she was still living at the residence of general van ness, and i have heard that she always remained a roman catholic. during the everett dinner my escort, mr. philip griffith, remarked to me in an undertone: "we have an escaped nun here; are we going to have an _auto da fé_?" i responded that i believed it to be a matter of record that _autos da fé_ were solely a courtly amusement. mrs. sidney brooks, formerly miss fanny dehon of boston, was another of mr. everett's guests. she was a relative of our host, and it was her custom to make prolonged visits to the everett home. her presence in washington was always hailed with delight. she was a pronounced blonde, and her reputation as a brilliant conversationalist was widely extended. rufus choate was an occasional visitor in washington subsequent to his brilliant senatorial career which ended in . that i had the pleasure of intimately knowing this man of wit and erudition is one of the brightest memories of my life. his quaint humor was inexhaustible and some of his bright utterances will never perish. when a younger sister of mine was lying desperately ill in washington in he called to inquire about her condition, and the tones of his sympathetic voice still linger in my ear. it has been fittingly said of mr. choate that even one's name uttered by him was in itself a delicate compliment. it is to him we owe the inspiring quotation, "keep step to the music of the union," which he uttered in his speech before the whig convention of . i have heard some of mr. choate's clients dwell upon his mighty power as an advocate, and it seems to me that words of law flowing from such lips might have been suggestive of the harmony of the universe. the chirography of mr. choate was equal to any chinese puzzle; it was even more difficult to decipher than that of horace greeley. i once received a note from him and was obliged to call upon my family to aid me in reading it. he had a fund of humor which was universally applauded by an admiring public. once, in replying to a toast on yale college at the "hasty-pudding" dinner, he said that "everything is to be irregular this evening." he followed this remark by poking a little fun at the expense of the college by reading a portion of the will of lewis morris, one of the signers and the father of gouverneur morris. this document was executed in in new york, and in it he expresses his "desire that my son, gouverneur morris, may have the best education that is to be had in europe or america, but my express will and directions are that he be never sent for that purpose to the colony of connecticutt, lest he should imbibe in his youth that low craft and cunning so incident to the people of that colony, which is so interwoven in their constitutions that all their art cannot disguise it from the world; though many of them, under the sanctifyed garb of religion, have endeavored to impose themselves on the world for honest men." the laughter which followed the reading of this extract was as _regular_ as the remarks were _irregular_. it may be added that lewis morris died two years after making this will, when his son gouverneur was between ten and eleven years of age, and that his desires were respected, as his son was graduated from king's (now columbia) college in new york in , when only sixteen years old. his father, cold in the grave, had his revenge on the "colony of connecticutt" and the hatchet, for aught we know to the contrary, was forever buried, while old elihu's college still survives in new haven. an anecdote relating to gouverneur morris still lingers in my memory. before his marriage, quite late in life, to miss anne cary randolph, his nephew, gouverneur wilkins, was generally regarded as heir to his large estate. when a direct heir was born, mr. wilkins was summoned to the babe's christening. one of the guests began to speculate upon the name of the youngster, when mr. wilkins quickly said, "why, _cut-us-off-sky_, of course," in imitation of the usual termination of such a large number of russian names. in john f. t. crampton was british minister to the united states and i had the pleasure of knowing him quite well. he was a bachelor of commanding presence, and it was rather a surprise to washingtonians that he evaded matrimonial capture! he lived in georgetown in an old-time and spacious mansion, surrounded by ample grounds. the proverbial tea-drinking period had not arrived, but mr. crampton, notwithstanding this fact, gave afternoon receptions for which his house, by the way, was especially adapted. in , during the crimean war, an unpleasantness arose between great britain and this country in connection with the charge that crampton had been instrumental in recruiting soldiers in the united states for service in the british army. accordingly, in may of the same year, president pierce broke off diplomatic relations with him and he was recalled. there was never, however, any severe reflection made upon him by his home ministry, and after his return to england he was made a knight of the bath by lord palmerston, and a little later became the british minister at st. petersburg. in the autumn of , while in russia, he married victoire balfe, second daughter of michael william balfe, the distinguished musical composer, from whom he was divorced in . i frequently attended receptions at the british legation, and i particularly recall those in the spring of the year when they took the form of _fêtes champêtres_ upon the well-kept lawn. on these occasions the diplomatic corps was well represented, as well as the resident society. i have heard a curious story about henry stephen fox, the english minister in washington from to . he evidently represented the sporting element of his day, as it was said he was _en évidence_ all night and seldom visible by daylight. he was, moreover, exceedingly careless about some of the reasonable responsibilities of life which rendered it difficult for his creditors to secure an audience. they, however, surrounded his house in the first ward one evening and demanded in clamorous tones that he should name a definite time when he would satisfy their claims. fox appeared at a front window and pleasantly announced that, as they were so urgent in their demands, he would state a time which he hoped would meet with their satisfaction, and accordingly named in stentorian voice the "day of judgment." one of the constant visitors at our home on g street was john savile-lumley, who was appointed in as the secretary of the british legation under crampton, and in the following year became the english _chargé d'affaires_ in washington. i remember him as a fine looking gentleman and an especially pleasing specimen of the english race. he was the natural son of john lumley-savile, the eighth earl of scarborough, by a mother of french origin. after leaving washington, he represented his country in rome and other prominent courts of europe, and, upon his retirement from the diplomatic service in , was raised to the peerage as baron savile of rufford in nottinghamshire. the last i heard of him was through one of lord ronald gower's charming books of travel, where it states that he was representing great britain at the court of leopold i. in belgium. he died in the fall of . his younger brother lived in london where, for a period, he acted as a sort of major-domo in society, and but few entertainments were considered complete without him. chapter x diplomatic corps and other celebrities i have already spoken of the count de sartiges, who so ably represented the french government in the united states. he had not been very long in this country when he married miss anna thorndike of boston, and while residing in washington they dispensed a lavish hospitality. just before he came to this country, the count spent several years in persia, which was then regarded as an out-of-the-way post of duty. i recall quite an amusing incident which occurred at an entertainment given by the countess de sartiges to which i was accompanied by george newell, brother-in-law of william l. marcy. mr. newell had not been in washington long enough to, become acquainted with all the members of the diplomatic corps, and, crossing the room to where i stood, he inquired: "who is the aborigine who has been sitting next to me?" i looked in the direction indicated and recognized the well-known person of general juan nepomuceno almonte, the mexican minister, whose features strongly portrayed the indian type. some matrimonial alliances in mexico at this time, by the way, were more or less complicated; for example, general almonte's wife was his own niece. the first secretary of the french legation was baron geoffrey boilleau, who remained in this country for several years. while stationed in washington, he married susan benton, a daughter of thomas h. benton, u.s. senator from missouri and a political autocrat in his own state, another of whose daughters, jessie ann, was the wife of general john c. fremont. at a later day, both boilleau and fremont became involved in difficulties of a serious character in consequence of which the former, while minister to ecuador, was recalled to france, where, as i am informed, he was convicted and confined for a period in the _conciergerie_. i am not fully acquainted with the exact details of the charges upon which he was tried, but they had their origin in the negotiation of certain bonds of the proposed memphis and el paso railroad. in my opinion, however, no one who knew baron boilleau well ever doubted his integrity. he was a man of decidedly literary tastes and, like many persons of that character, possessed but meager knowledge of business. it seems that general fremont had obtained from the legislature of texas a grant of state lands in the interests of the railroad just referred to, which was to be a portion of a projected transcontinental line from norfolk, virginia, to san diego and san francisco. it has been stated that "the french agents employed to place the land-grant bonds of this road on the market made the false declaration that they were guaranteed by the united states. in the senate passed a bill giving fremont's road the right of way through the territories, an attempt to defeat it by fixing on him the onus of the misstatement in paris having been unsuccessful. in he was prosecuted by the french government for fraud in connection with this misstatement. he did not appear in person, and was sentenced by default to fine and imprisonment, no judgment being given on the merits of the case." prince louis de bearn, secretary of the french legation, was a gentleman of most pleasing personality. he was a strikingly handsome bachelor at the time i knew him and was much seen in the gay world. he was never called "prince" in those days, but "count"; but in a letter now before me, written in by his son, who was recently an attaché of the french embassy in washington, he claims that both his father and grandfather were princes by right of birth. he also states that the title was borne by his family before the revolution of . during his official life in washington, prince de bearn married miss beatrice winans, daughter of ross winans of baltimore. chevalier john george hulsemann, the austrian minister, was a convivial old bachelor and was much esteemed at the capital for his genial qualities. he lived on f street, below pennsylvania avenue, and was stationed in washington for many years. chevalier giuseppe bertinatti, the italian minister, commenced his diplomatic career in washington as a bachelor. he did not occupy a house of his own, but lodged at the establishment of mrs. ulrich, which was the headquarters of many foreigners. fifty years ago and more, the members of the diplomatic corps, with few exceptions, lived either in modest residences or in boarding houses, in striking contrast with many of the imposing mansions now occupied by the official representatives of foreign lands. his mission was a diplomatic success and while at the capital he married mrs. eugénie bass, a handsome widow from mississippi, and soon departed upon another mission, taking his american bride with him. soon after the announcement of his prospective marriage, count bertinatti issued invitations to a large dinner given in honor of his _fiancée_. when the gala day arrived, mrs. bass, though quite indisposed, was persuaded to be present at the dinner, but, feeling decidedly ill, she retired from the table and in a short time became much nauseated. when this state of affairs was explained to general george douglas ramsay, one of the guests of the evening, his quick sally was, "a bass relief!" baron frederick charles joseph von gerolt, whom i knew very well and who represented king william of prussia, is still affectionately recalled by his few survivors who cling to early associations. his departure from washington with his family was more deeply regretted than that of some other foreign residents whom i remember, as they had made many friends and had lived in washington so long that they were regarded almost as permanent residents. the misses bertha and dorothea von gerolt were graceful dancers and were very popular. dorothea married into the diplomatic corps and accompanied her husband to greece. i have heard that bertha became deeply attached to the chevalier a. p. c. van karnabeek, secretary of the netherlands legation, but that, owing to religious considerations, her parents frowned upon the alliance. she accordingly determined to enter upon a cloistered life and went to the georgetown convent where she became a nun, and was known until the day of her death in as "sister angela." baron von gerolt was an intellectual man and, prior to his career in the united states, his name was much associated with baron alexander von humboldt; but as neither he nor madame von gerolt were proficient english scholars when they first arrived they naturally depended upon others for instruction. i can vouch for the truth of the statement that upon one occasion they were advised by members of his own legation to greet those whom they met with the words, "i'm damned glad to see you." mr. alfred bergmans, secretary of the belgian legation, married lily macalister, a philadelphia heiress, who, in her widowhood, returned to this country and made washington her home. madame bergmans was a devotee to society and was particularly fond of dancing. she was a _petite blonde_, and, even after it ceased to be fashion, she wore her light hair down her back in many ringlets. when george m. robeson, president grant's secretary of the navy, saw her for the first time one evening while she was dancing, he exclaimed, "that is the tripping of the light fantastic toe." she married quite late in life j. scott laughton, who was considerably her junior, but did not long survive the alliance. many members of the diplomatic corps of this period married american women. baron guido von grabow, one of the secretaries of the prussian legation whom i knew very well, married mrs. edward boyce, whose maiden name was nina wood. she was a granddaughter of president zachary taylor and was well known and beloved by old washingtonians. her marriage to baron von grabow offers strong encouragement to persistent suitors. he was deeply in love with her prior to her first marriage, but she rejected him for edward boyce, who was a member of a prominent georgetown family. mr. boyce lived only a few years, and her subsequent married life with baron von grabow was long and happy. alexandre gau, _chancelier_ of the prussian legation, married my younger sister, margaret, who was regarded as a remarkable beauty as well as an accomplished linguist and pianist. her wedding took place in our g street home in the same room where five months later her funeral services were held. mr. gau did not long survive her and was interred by her side in my father's old burial plot in jamaica, long island. don calderon de la barca, the spanish minister to the united states, together with his wife, who was miss fanny inglis, and her sister, miss lydia inglis, were presiding social spirits in washington for many years. the latter married a mr. mcleod, and, becoming financially embarrassed, established on staten island a school for girls which was ably conducted. these sisters were members of a scotch family of distinguished lineage. one of mrs. mcleod's pupils was mary e. croghan, a prominent heiress from pittsburgh. she was still attending school on staten island when captain edward w. h. schenley of the royal navy, a scotch relative of mrs. mcleod, came to america to visit her. in inviting him to be her guest she felt that, as he was an elderly man, he would prove to be quite immune to the attractions of mere school girls. i met captain schenley about this same time in new york, and his "make up" was of such a remarkable character that it was a favorite _on dit_ that, when he was dressed for standing, a sitting posture was quite an impossibility. young miss croghan must have discovered fascinations in this scotchman as she eloped with him from mrs. mcleod's school and after a brief period accompanied him to england, where she spent the remainder of her life. mrs. mcleod was severely criticised by her patrons for carelessness, and her school was somewhat injured by miss croghan's matrimonial adventure. don leopoldo augusto de cueto was another spanish minister, whom i regarded as an agreeable acquaintance. during his _régime_ filibustering against spanish possessions, and especially cuba, was a favorite pastime of american citizens and rendered the position of the spanish minister in washington one of delicacy and difficulty. residing in washington during de cueto's tenure of office was a cuban named ambrosio josé gonzales, who, in the civil war, became inspector general of artillery in the confederate army, under general beauregard. as he was well versed in music and had a remarkable voice, he frequently, upon request, sang selections from the popular operas then in vogue. among the songs frequently heard in drawing-rooms was "suoni la tromba," from bellini's opera "i puritani di scozia," which had been interdicted by the spanish government. one evening when de cueto was spending an informal evening with my sisters and myself at our g street home, mr. gonzales happened to call and was asked to sing. he seated himself at the piano and for sometime sang various airs for us. finally, not knowing that "suoni la tromba" was under the spanish ban, i asked him to sing it. during the song de cueto was politely attentive, and at its conclusion had the politeness to applaud it. imagine, however, my surprise when i heard a few days later, through a mutual friend, that gonzales had boasted that he sang the song in de cueto's presence, proudly adding that he had looked the spaniard full in the eye when he uttered the word _libert[)a]_. mr. josé de marcoleta, the nicaraguan minister to the united states, was an elderly and punctilious spaniard. he was indefatigable in the observance of all social duties, and i met him wherever i went. he was a bachelor but, soon after his arrival in washington, announced his engagement to miss mary west of boston, who unfortunately died before her wedding day. i am under the impression that he eventually married another american. i remember once when he called to see us i asked him to tell me something about nicaragua, which was then an almost unknown country. my surprise can hardly be described when he told me he had never seen the country which he represented, but was a native of spain. baron waldemar rudolph raasloff represented denmark in a manner creditable both to his country and our own. he told me that some years previous to his mission to america he came to new york in the capacity of an engineer and was engaged on work in new york harbor, "blowing up rocks." possibly he was thus employed at "hell gate," at that time one of the most dangerous obstacles to navigation in that vicinity. the well-known "octagon," as the old tayloe home on the corner of new york avenue and eighteenth street is still called, during my early residence in washington was closed. many superstitious persons regarded it with fear, as its reputation as a haunted house was then, in their opinion, well established. i have been told by the daughters of general george d. ramsay that upon one occasion their father was requested by colonel john tayloe, the father of benjamin ogle tayloe, to remain at the octagon over night, when he was obliged to be absent, as a protection to his daughters, anne and virginia. while the members of the family were at the evening meal, the bells in the house began to ring violently. general ramsay immediately arose from the table to investigate, but failed to unravel the mystery. the butler, in a state of great alarm, rushed into the dining-room and declared that it was the work of an unseen hand. as they continued to ring, general ramsay held the rope which controlled the bells, but, it is said, they were not silenced. the architect of the octagon was dr. william thornton, of the west indies, who designed the plans of the first capitol in washington and who was the controlling spirit of the three commissioners appointed by congress to acquire a "territory not exceeding ten miles square" for the establishment of a permanent seat of government. these men were daniel carroll, thomas johnson, first governor of the state of maryland, and david stuart. most of this land, which included georgetown and alexandria, was primeval forest and was owned chiefly by daniel carroll, notley young, samuel davidson and david burns. the commissioners had great difficulty in dealing with burns, who owned nearly all of what is now the northwestern section of the city, as he was a closefisted and hardheaded scotchman, who was unwilling to part with his lands without being roundly paid for them. when argument with him proved fruitless, it is said that general washington, realizing the gravity of the situation, rode up several times from mount vernon to discuss the situation with "stubborn mr. burns." at length, in despair, he remarked: "had not the federal city been laid out here, you would have died a poor planter." "ay, mon," was burns's ready response, "and had you no married the widder custis wi' a' her nagres ye'd ha'e been a land surveyor the noo', an' a mighty poor ane at that!" it is further related that washington finally succeeded in winning burns over to his way of thinking, and that the canny scotchman, realizing how largely he was to profit by the transaction, actually became generous and gave to the commissioners, in fee simple, his apple orchard which is now the beautiful lafayette square. in passing through lafayette square, i have often sat down upon a bench to rest near the "wishing tree," a dwarf chestnut so well known to residents of the district, and i have been impressed by the many superstitious persons, both men and women, who have stopped for a moment and silently stood under its branches. many are the credulous believers in its power to satisfy human desires, and the season when its branches are full of nuts is regarded by these as a specially propitious time for their realization. with many persons this tree is the basis of their only superstition. i remember the case of a young girl who had been working very hard to obtain a position in one of the departments but without success and who, thoroughly discouraged, came to the tree early one morning and made the wish that to her and her family meant the actual necessities of life. she then sat down to rest upon a near-by bench before going home, and while there became engaged in conversation with a pleasing looking woman, to whom she poured forth her heart as she related her hopes and disappointments about obtaining a government position. as her listener was a sympathetic person, she asked the young woman her name and address, and in a few days the poor girl received a notice to go to a certain department for examination. it seems that her companion under the tree was the wife of an influential senator, who was so touched by the young woman's efforts, as well as by her childish faith in the "wishing tree," that she took pleasure in seeing that her great desire was gratified. at this time washington was not far behind other large cities in games of chance, and gambling was frequently indulged in quite openly. edward pendleton's resort, a luxurious establishment down town, was regarded as quite _à la mode_, and i have heard it said that he had able assistance from social ranks. i have often wondered why a man who indulged in this sport was called a gambler, as the term "gamester," used many years ago, seems decidedly more appropriate. i own two volumes of a very old book, published in the eighteenth century, entitled "the gamesters," in which the heroes are professional gamblers. i have seen mrs. pendleton's costly equipage, drawn by horses with brilliant trappings and followed by blooded hounds, coursing the length of pennsylvania avenue, while its owner seemed entirely unconscious of the aching hearts which had contributed to all her grandeur. cards were universally played in private homes and whist was the fashionable game, general scott being one of its chief devotees. i have often thought how much the old general would have enjoyed "bridge," as there was nothing that gave him more pleasure than playing the "dummy hand." my old friend, mrs. diana bullitt kearny, the widow of general "phil" kearny, in our many chats in her latter days, gave me many reminiscences of washington at a time when i was not residing there. she described a fancy-dress ball given by her while residing in the old porter house on h street, which must have been about , as general kearny had just returned from the mexican war. she dwelt particularly upon the costume of emma meredith, one of her guests and the daughter of jonathan meredith of baltimore, who came to washington to attend the party. she represented a rainbow and her appearance was so gorgeous that mrs. kearny said the heavenly vision seemed almost within the grasp of common mortals. miss meredith's supremacy as a belle has never been eclipsed. i recall a painful incident connected with her life. a young naval officer was deeply in love with her and, it is said, was under the impression that she intended to marry him. at a theater party one evening he discovered his mistake and, taking the affair to heart, returned to his quarters and the same evening swallowed a dose of corrosive sublimate. physicians were immediately summoned and, although he regretted the act and expressed a desire to live, they were unable to save him. it is said that about the same time miss meredith left her home in baltimore to visit her sister, mrs. gardiner g. howland, whose husband was one of the merchant princes of new york, and that, as she crossed the jersey city ferry, one of the first objects which met her eyes was the funeral cortege of her disappointed lover _en route_ to his final resting place. subsequent to this tragedy, i met miss meredith in saratoga, surrounded by the usual admiring throng. she never married. i heard of her in recent years, at a summer resort near baltimore, and, although advanced in years, i understood she still possessed exceptional powers of attraction. only a short time ago i heard a young man remark that he knew her very well and that he would rather converse with her than with women many years her junior. mrs. kearny was said to be the last of the "lafayette girls." in , when lafayette made his memorable visit to the united states as the guest of the nation, she was living with her parents in louisville, and at the tender age of five strewed flowers in the pathway of the distinguished frenchman. she remembered the incident perfectly and in our numerous conversations i have repeatedly heard her allude to it. she told me that, seated at general lafayette's side in the carriage which conveyed him through the city, was the great-uncle, colonel richard c. anderson, who led the advance of the american troops at the battle of trenton. general robert anderson, u.s.a., whose memory the country honors as the defender of fort sumpter, was his son. the general's widow, a daughter of general duncan l. clinch, u.s.a., resided in washington until her death a few years ago. she was a woman of rare intelligence and, although a great invalid for many years, gathered around her an appreciative circle of friends, who were always charmed by her attractive personality. in my earliest recollection of washington the old van ness house was still sheltered by many trees. the foliage was so dense that it may have been the desire of the occupants to shield themselves in this manner from public view. when i first knew the landmark it was occupied by thomas green, an old-time resident of the district. he married, as his second wife, ann corbin lomax, a daughter of major mann page lomax of the ordnance department of the army. during the civil war, mr. green's sympathies were with the south, but he took no active part in the conflict. one of his idiosyncrasies was to pick up, on and around his spacious grounds, scraps of old iron, such as horse shoes, hay rakes and the like, which were placed in a corner of his capacious cellar. suspicion was centered upon his house by information given to the government by an old family servant who thought he was doing the country a service, and directions were accordingly given that it should be searched. while this order was in process of execution, the discovery of the scrap-iron is said to have played an important part and in some unaccountable manner to have aroused further suspicion. whatever the logic of the situation may have been is not intelligible, but the fact remains i that mr. and mrs. green and the latter's sister, miss virginia lomax, were arrested in a summary manner and taken to the old capital prison, where for a time they were kept in close confinement, during which miss lomax suffered severe indisposition and, as is said, never entirely recovered from the effects of her incarceration. about twenty-five years after the war, while staying at the same house with her in warrenton, virginia, i quite longed to hear her reminiscences of prison life; but when i expressed my desire to a member of her family, i was requested not to broach the subject as, even at this late day, it was painful to her as a topic of conversation. during the war of , major lomax was sent upon a mission to canada by the u.s. government and, one day during his brief sojourn, dined in company with some british officers. during the dinner a toast was offered by one of the sons of john bull: "to president madison, dead or alive." the responding toast by major lomax was: "to the prince regent, drunk or sober." the british officer who had proposed the toast to madison immediately sprang to his feet and with much indignation inquired: "do you mean to insult me, sir?" the quick rejoinder was: "i am responding to an insult!" i met charles sumner soon after his first appearance in the united states senate as the successor of daniel webster, who had become secretary of state. he was a man of striking appearance and bore himself with the dignity so characteristic of the statesmen of that period. "sumner is one of them literary fellows," was the facetious criticism of the hon. zachariah chandler of michigan, who a few years later became one of his colleagues in the senate, and who in earlier life was accumulating a large fortune while mr. sumner, in his massachusetts home, was engaged in those intellectual and scholarly pursuits which eventually made him one of the ripest and most accomplished students in the land. chandler, however, in his own way, furnished a conspicuous example to aspiring youths of the day, both by his earlier and subsequent life, of what may be accomplished by determined application. for a decade or more preceding the civil war the political sentiment of washington, especially in reference to the violent anti-slavery agitation then engrossing the thought of the country, was decidedly in sympathy with the attitude of the south. it is not, therefore, surprising that sumner, whose radical views were known from maine to texas, should have been received at first in washington society with but little cordiality. as the years passed along, he was rapidly forging himself ahead to the leadership of his party in the senate and, of course, became strongly inimical to buchanan's administration. he was regarded with confidence and esteem by his own party, and, although naturally both disliked and feared by his political opponents, it could be truthfully said of him that he was a man that fortune's buffets and rewards hast ta'en with equal thanks, and that no attempts to socially ostracize or to deride him for his political views and his intense application to his sense of duty deterred the great massachusetts statesman from pursuing the "even tenor of his way." an anecdote went the rounds of the capital to the effect that, one morning when a gentleman called to see sumner at his rooms on pennsylvania avenue, a colored attendant answered the door and after glancing at his card informed him that it would be impossible to disturb his master, as he was rehearsing before a looking-glass a speech which he expected to deliver the following morning. whether this was originally told by a friend or foe of mr. sumner is not known. mr. sumner once requested me to take him to see a young washington belle who combined parisian grace with kentucky dash. i refer to miss sally strother, an acknowledged beauty of decidedly southern views, who lived on seventh street near f street, now a commercial center. mr. sumner and i walked to her house from my home on g street and found several guests in her drawing-room, where the topic of conversation, in the course of the evening, drifted to the subject of spiritualism. it was announced that at a recent _séance_ the spirit of washington had appeared and uttered the usual platitudes, whereupon miss strother, without a moment's hesitation, remarked: "i wonder what general washington would say about mr. sumner?" someone undertook to define washington's views, but miss strother interrupted and said: "i know just what he would say--that he was a very intelligent, a very handsome, but a very bad man." this remark was naturally productive of much mirth, but failed to arouse any manifestation of feeling or disapprobation on the part of mr. sumner. later, as we were walking homeward he remarked: "i have _l'esprit d'escalier_ and my retorts do not come until i am well-nigh down the flight of stairs." sally strother went abroad, where she married baron fahnenberg of belgium, and shared a fate similar to that of many of her country-women, as she was finally separated from her husband. she cherished, however, a pride of title and bequeathed $ , to erect in spa, belgium, a handsome chapel as well as a vault to contain the remains of her mother, brother and herself. her kentucky relatives, however, including the family of mrs. basil duke, succeeded in breaking the will on the ground that her mother's will, through which she had inherited her property, did not permit it to leave the family. the chapel and vault, accordingly, were not built, and all her property reverted to her relatives. in addition to his commanding presence, nature bestowed upon mr. sumner a clear and melodious voice, which rendered it quite unnecessary for him to resort to demosthenic methods of cultivation. for many years his inspiring words could be heard upon the floor of the senate in all of the leading debates of the day, and his masterly orations will go down to posterity as an important contribution to the history of many national administrations. i well remember preston s. brooks's cowardly assault upon charles sumner in the senate chamber in the spring of . public indignation ran very high, and his political opponents referred to him thereafter as "bully brooks." socially, as well as politically, he was popular. he possessed a gentle and pleasing bearing and it would have been difficult for anyone to associate him with such a cruel outrage. his uncle, andrew p. butler, who was in the u.s. senate from south carolina at the same time, was a fine-looking and venerable gentleman, but he was one of the class then designated as "fire-eaters." there existed between mr. sumner and henry w. longfellow a strong friendship which was contracted in early life. i have often heard the massachusetts statesman recite some of his friend's poetical lines, which seemed to me additionally beautiful when rendered in his deep and sonorous voice. in the latter years of his life he resided in the house which is now the arlington hotel annex, where he surrounded himself with his remarkable collection of books and articles of _virtu_ which he exhibited with pride to his guests. i especially recall an old clock presented to him by henry sanford, minister to belgium, as an artistic work of exceptional beauty. mr. sumner, by the way, was an accomplished connoisseur in art. i have heard him strongly denounce clark mills's equestrian statue of general andrew jackson, now standing in the center of lafayette square. he told me that on one occasion he was conducting a party of englishmen through the streets of the national capital and, as they were driving along pennsylvania avenue, he seated himself in such a position as to entirely obstruct the view of what he called this "grotesque statue," calling the attention of his guests, meanwhile, to the white house on the other side of the street. i felt honored in calling charles sumner my friend, and i take especial pleasure in repeating the encomium that "to the wisdom of the statesman and the learning of the scholar he joined the consecration of a patriot, the honor of a knight and the sincerity of a christian." george sumner, his brother, did not appear in the land of his birth as a celebrity, but he had a remarkable career abroad. he hobnobbed with royalty throughout the european continent and was highly regarded for his profound learning. he studied at the universities of heidelberg and berlin and traveled extensively through europe, asia and africa. he never tarried long in his "native heath," and furnished conspicuous evidence that "a prophet is not without honor save in his own country." alexander von humboldt praised the accuracy of his researches and alexis de tocqueville referred to him as being better acquainted with european politics than any european with whom he was acquainted. while sumner was in the senate, george t. davis of greenfield, massachusetts, was a member of the house of representatives. i knew him very well and he was a constant visitor at our home. he was celebrated for his flashes of wit, which sometimes stimulated undeveloped powers in others, and i have often seen dull perceptions considerably sharpened at his approach. oliver wendell holmes speaks of his witty sayings in the "autocrat of the breakfast table," and his conversational powers were so brilliant that they won the admiration of thackeray. robert rantoul, also from massachusetts, and a colleague of davis, was a "webster whig" and a powerful exponent of the "free-soil" faith. davis, who was so bright and clever in the drawing-room, could not, however, compete with rantoul on the floor of the house in parliamentary debate. the epitaph on rantoul's monument says that "he died at his post in congress, and his last words were a protest in the name of democracy against the fugitive-slave law." one of the verses of whittier's poem, entitled "rantoul," reads as follows:-- through him we hoped to speak the word which wins the freedom of a land; and lift, for human right, the sword which dropped from hampden's dying hand. i first met the eccentric count adam gurowski at the convivial tea table of miss emily harper in newport, upon one of those balmy summer evenings so indelibly impressed upon my memory. he was, perhaps, in many respects, one of the most remarkable characters that washington has ever known. he was a son of count ladislas gurowski, an ardent admirer of kosciusko, and was active in revolutionary projects in poland in consequence of which he was condemned to death by the russian authorities. he managed, however, to escape and in published a work entitled "la verité sur la russie," in which he advocated a union of the various branches of the slavic race. this book was so favorably regarded in russia that its author was recalled and employed in the civil service. he came to this country in , and, after being employed on the staff of _the new york tribune_, came to washington, where his linguistic attainments and the aid of charles sumner secured for him a position as translator in the state department, which he held from to . the count was a medley of strange whims and idiosyncrasies that almost baffle description. together with his strong individuality, he possessed a trait which made many enemies and ultimately proved his undoing. i refer to his uncontrollable desire to contradict and to antagonize. it was simply impossible to find a subject upon which he and anyone else could agree. there were, however, extenuating circumstances. "chill penury," forced upon him by the state of his financial affairs, had much to do with his cynical and acrimonious spirit. prosperity is certainly conducive to an amiable bearing, and i believe that gurowski would have been more conciliatory if adversity had not so persistently attended his pathway. it is highly probable, too, that gurowski would have retained his position under the government indefinitely but for his unfortunate disposition. he wrote a diary from to which he was so indiscreet as to keep in his desk in the state department; and, unknown at first to him, some of its pages were brought to the attention of certain officials of the government. they contained anything but complimentary references to his chief, william h. seward, secretary of state, and he was discharged. meanwhile he had antagonized his benefactor, mr. sumner, by opposing, in a caustic manner, his views in reference to the conduct of the civil war, and by other similar indiscretions was making new enemies almost every day. the intense bitterness and intemperance of gurowski in the expression of his views is well illustrated in a conversation quoted by one of his friends in _the atlantic monthly_ more than forty years ago. it had reference to a period preceding the civil war when the "fugitive-slave law" was engrossing the attention of the country. "what do i care for mr. webster," he said. "i can read the constitution as well as mr. webster." "but surely, count, you would not presume to dispute mr. webster's opinion on a question of constitutional law?" "and why not? i tell you i can read the constitution as well as mr. webster, and i say that the 'fugitive-slave law' is unconstitutional--is an outrage, and an imposition of which you will all soon be ashamed. it is a disgrace to your humanity and to your republicanism, and mr. webster should be hung for advocating it. he is a humbug or an ass--an ass, if he believes such an infamous law to be constitutional, and if he does not believe it, he is a humbug and a scoundrel for advocating it." the count's sarcastic reference to secretary seward is equally amusing. it seems that one of his duties, while in the state department, was to keep a close watch upon the european newspapers for matters of interest to our government, and also to furnish the secretary of state, when requested, with opinions on diplomatic questions, or, as gurowski expressed it, "to read the german newspapers and keep seward from making a fool of himself." the first duty, he said, was easy enough, but the latter was rather difficult! in gurowski published his book, "russia as it is," which was soon followed by another work entitled, "america and europe." both of them met with a favorable reception, but, after losing his government position, it became a difficult matter for him to eke out a maintenance, and his disposition, if possible, became still more embittered. at an evening party i took part by chance in an animated discussion upon the subject of dueling. suddenly my eye lighted upon count gurowski, who had just entered the room. calling him to my side i asked him in facetious tones how many men he had killed. he quickly responded, "wonly (only) two!" count gurowski's fund of knowledge was in many ways highly remarkable, especially upon his favorite theme of royalty and nobility, past and present. he was intensely disliked by the diplomatic corps in washington, many of whose members regarded him as a russian spy, a suspicion which, of course, was without the slightest foundation. baron waldemar rudolph raasloff, the danish minister, once refused to enter a box at the opera where i was seated because gurowski was one of the party. the count seemed to be in touch with sources of information relating to diplomats and their affairs which were unknown to others--a fact which naturally aroused dislike and jealousy. he once announced to me, for example, that the _attachés_ of the french legation were in a state of great good humor, as their salaries had been raised that day. i once heard a member of a foreign legation say to another: "gurowski is an emanation of the devil." "the devil, you say," was the response, "why, he is the devil himself." in discussing with a foreigner the count's exile by the russian government, i said that i knew of relatives of his in high position in russia. evidently controlled by his prejudices, he replied: "it must be a family of contrasts, as his position in this country is certainly a low one." if he intended to convey the impression that the count was "low" in his pocket, his statement was certainly correct, but not otherwise. it is true that his unhappy disposition made him more enemies than friends, but he was by no means devoid of admirable traits, even if he so frequently preferred to conceal them. the finer side of his nature and his pleasing qualities only were presented to my sister, mrs. eames, who always welcomed him to her house. one day when he called the condition of his health seemed so precarious that she insisted upon his becoming her guest. he accepted the invitation, but did not long survive, and in the spring of his turbulent spirit passed away while under my sister's roof. much respect was paid to his memory and the most distinguished men and women in washington attended his funeral. he is buried in the congressional cemetery, where a crested tablet surmounts his grave. little was generally known of his immediate family relations, but robert carter, one of his most intimate friends and the author of the article in _the atlantic monthly_, already referred to, states that he was a widower and had a son in the russian navy and a married daughter in switzerland. early in life his brother, count ignatius gurowski, met the infanta isabella de bourbon, sister of the prince consort of spain, while she was receiving her education at the _sacre coeur_ in paris, and eloped with her. they were pensioned by the spanish government for a while under queen isabella's reign and made their home in brussels. i have heard, however, that when isabella was forced from the throne the pension ceased and their circumstances became quite reduced. it is said that the prince consort, ignatius gurowski's brother-in-law, suggested to him soon after his marriage that it might be well for him to be created a duke of the realm. this friendly offer was declined with indignation. "i would prefer," said gurowski, "being an old count to a new duke!" sometime ago i saw the statement in a newspaper to the effect that descendants of ignatius gurowski were living in the united states. this suggests, although remotely, the inquiry heard many years ago: "have we a bourbon among us?"--referring, of course, to the last dauphin, whom many believed to exist in the person of the rev. eleazer williams, who resided in st. lawrence county, new york. the rev. dr. francis l. hawks had such an abiding faith that williams was actually the dauphin that he wrote an article in for _putnam's magazine_ expressive of his views. if the newspaper story and dr. hawks's claims be true, this country has accordingly been the retreat of more than one member of the ill-fated bourbon family. several years ago i was surprised to hear it stated that the father of kuroki, the famous japanese general, was a brother of adam and ignatius gurowski. this information, i am informed, came from a nephew of general kuroki who was receiving his education in europe. "my uncle kuroki," he is said to have written, "is of polish origin. his father was a polish nobleman by the name of kourowski, who fled from russia after the revolution of . he finally went to japan and married a japanese. as the name of kourowski is difficult to pronounce in japanese, my uncle pronounced it kuroki. the general's father, upon his death bed said to him that perhaps some day he would be able to take vengeance upon the russians for their cruel treatment of unhappy poland." one of the most notable men of my acquaintance in washington was caleb cushing. i first met him when he was attorney-general in president pierce's cabinet, and the friendship formed at that time lasted for many years. he was among the guests at my wedding, and miss emily harper, whom he accompanied, told me that he especially commented upon that portion of the service which reads, "those whom god hath joined together, let no man put asunder." his remarks evidently appealed to her as an ardent roman catholic. ralph waldo emerson declared mr. cushing to be the most eminent scholar of the country, and wendell phillips went still further and said: "i regard mr. cushing as the most learned man living." his habit was one of constant acquirement. he was what i should call "a northern man with southern principles," an expression which originated in , and was first applied to martin van buren. i have heard cushing defend slavery with great eloquence and although, like him, i was born and bred in the north, i regarded that institution, in some respects, as far less iniquitous than the infamous opium trade which so enriched british and american merchants, and of which i saw so much during my life in china. it must have been from his pilgrim forefather that mr. cushing inherited a decided antipathy for great britain, and it was once said that he carried this prejudice so far that he refused to visit england. this statement, however, is untrue, as i have before me an amusing article, written many years ago by his private secretary, during his mission to spain, which contradicts it. he gives some amusing incidents connected with his visit of a few days in london when he and mr. cushing were _en route_ to spain. "mr. cushing's headwear," he writes, "was a silk hat which must have been the fashion of about the time he discarded umbrellas. it was slightly pointed at the top and there was, so to say, no back or front to it and there was no band for it. as i knew he intended paying several visits, i asked him if he would not exchange his hat, which at the time was thoroughly soaked, for a new and lighter one. the old man took off his ancient hat, examined it critically and then said slowly and deliberately, as if delivering an opinion on the bench, 'no, sir, i think that i shall wait and see what the fashions are in madrid.' it was said with much earnestness, as if it had been a state question. a third person would have found it irresistibly funny, but there was nothing laughable in it to general cushing. in fact, his sense of humor was of a very grim order." he also writes: "the old man was an inveterate smoker, and yet, during the whole period of my intercourse with him, i did not see him light a score of fresh cigars. he bought them, that is certain, but he must have been averse to lighting them in public for he almost invariably had a stump between his lips. ask him if he would have a cigar and the answer would be, 'thank you, sir, i think i have one,' and out would come a dilapidated case, from which he would shake from one to half a dozen butts as the supply ran." while cushing was attorney-general under president pierce, he formed a friendship with madame calderon de la barca, of whom i have already spoken, who, upon his arrival in madrid, was one of the first persons to greet him. she was then a widow and occupied a high social position at the spanish court. cushing and she thoroughly enjoyed the renewal of their earlier friendship in washington, and the last visit he made in madrid was when he bade her a final farewell. in , and prior to his mission to spain, mr. cushing was appointed by president tyler minister to china, where his able diplomacy has been the subject of recognition and admiration to this day. he carried with him the following remarkable letter which he was charged by the president to deliver in person to the emperor. it may have been--who knows?--the first lesson in occidental geography submitted to the "brother of the sun and the sister of the moon and stars." had the president of the united states been called upon to address a country sunday school, he could hardly have exhibited a more conscious effort to adapt himself to the level of his hearers. this is the letter:-- i, john tyler, president of the united states of america--which states are maine, new hampshire, massachusetts, rhode island, connecticut, vermont, new york, new jersey, pennsylvania, delaware, maryland, virginia, north carolina, south carolina, georgia, kentucky, tennessee, ohio, louisiana, indiana, mississippi, illinois, alabama, missouri, arkansas and michigan--send this letter of peace and friendship, signed by my own hand. i hope your health is good. china is a great empire, extending over a great part of the world. the chinese are numerous. you have millions and millions of subjects. the twenty-six united states are as large as china, though our people are not so numerous. the rising sun looks upon the great mountains and great rivers of china. when he sets he looks upon mountains and rivers equally large in the united states. our territories extend from one great ocean to the other; and on the west we are divided only from your domain by the sea. leaving the mouth of one of our great rivers and going constantly towards the setting sun we sail to japan and the yellow sea. now, my words are that the governments of two such great countries should be at peace. it is proper and according to the will of heaven that they should respect each other and act wisely. i therefore send to your court caleb cushing one of the wise and learned men of this country. on his first arrival in china he will inquire for your health. he has strict orders to go to your great city of pekin and there to deliver this letter. he will have with him secretaries and interpreters. the chinese love to trade with our people and sell them tea and silk for which our people pay silver and sometimes other articles. but if the chinese and americans will trade there should be rules so that they shall not break your laws or our laws. our minister, caleb cushing, is authorized to make a treaty to regulate trade. let it be just. let there be no unfair advantage on either side. let the people trade not only at canton, but also at amoy, ningpo, shanghai, fushan and all such other places as may offer profitable exchanges both to china and the united states, provided they do not break your laws or our laws. we shall not take the part of the evil doers. we shall not uphold them that break your laws. therefore we doubt that you will be pleased that our messenger of peace, with this letter in hand, shall come to pekin and there deliver it, and that your great officers will, by your order, make a treaty with him to regulate the affairs of trade, so that nothing may happen to disturb the peace between china and america. let the treaty be signed by your own imperial hand. it shall be signed by mine, by the authority of the great council, the senate. and so may your health be good and may peace reign. written at washington this twelfth day of july, in the year of our lord one thousand eight hundred and forty-three. your good friend, john tyler, president. mr. cushing accordingly negotiated our first treaty with china on the d of july of the following year, and his ability at that time, as well as thereafter, won for him, irrespective of party affiliations, an enviable place in the history of american diplomacy. he was sent upon his mission to spain in by the party which he had opposed from its first organization, and his diplomatic erudition was indispensable to the state department during the grant administration. certain events in the career of mr. cushing serve to recall the days of mr. and mrs. franklin pierce, whose lives were clouded by a grief that saddened the whole of their subsequent career. a short time before pierce's inauguration, the president-elect with mrs. pierce and their only son, a lad of immature years, were on their way to andover in massachusetts, when the child was accidentally killed. mrs. pierce never could be diverted from her all-absorbing sorrow, and i shall always remember the grief-stricken expression of this first lady of the land. her maiden name was jane means appleton, and she was the daughter of the rev. dr. jesse appleton, president of bowdoin college. during the pierce administration, judge john cadwalader, the father of the present john cadwalader of philadelphia, was a member of congress. the son was then a mere lad, but he bore such a strong resemblance to the president's son that one day when mrs. pierce met him she was completely overcome. after this boy had become a man and had attained exceptional eminence at the bar, he feelingly alluded to this touching incident of his earlier days. i was very intimately acquainted with elizabeth and fanny macneil, president pierce's nieces, who were occasional visitors at the white house. they were daughters of general john macneil, u.s.a., who had acquitted himself with distinction in the war of . elizabeth married, as before stated, general henry w. benham of the engineer corps of the army, and fanny became the wife of colonel chandler e. potter, u.s.a. dr. thomas miller was our family physician for many years. he came to washington from loudoun county, virginia, and married miss virginia collins jones, daughter of walter jones, an eminent lawyer. during the pierce administration he was physician to the president's family. chapter xi marriage and continued life in washington i met my future father-in-law, samuel l. gouverneur, sr., for the first time in cold spring, new york. mr. gouverneur, accompanied by his second wife, then a bride, who was miss mary digges lee, of needwood, frederick county, maryland, and a granddaughter of thomas sim lee, second governor of the same state, was the guest of gouverneur kemble. when i first knew mr. gouverneur he possessed every gift that fortune as well as nature can bestow. to quote the words of eliab kingman, a lifelong friend of his and who for many years was the nestor of the washington press, "he even possessed a seductive voice." general scott, prior to my marriage into the family, remarked to me that there "was something in mr. gouverneur lacking of greatness." the history of my husband's family is so well known that it seems almost superfluous to dwell upon it, but, as these reminiscences are purely personal, i may at least incidentally refer to it. samuel l. gouverneur, sr., was the youngest child of nicholas gouverneur and his wife, hester kortright, a daughter of lawrence kortright, a prominent merchant of new york and at one time president of its chamber of commerce. he was graduated from columbia college in new york in the class of , and married his first cousin, maria hester monroe, the younger daughter of james monroe. this wedding took place in the east room of the white house. my husband, samuel l. gouverneur, jr., was the youngest child of this alliance. _the national intelligencer_ of march , , contained the following brief marriage notice: _married_ on thursday evening last [march th], in this city, by the reverend mr. [william] hawley, samuel laurence gouverneur, esq., of new york, to miss maria hester monroe, youngest daughter of james monroe, president of the united states. for a number of years samuel l. gouverneur, sr., was private secretary to his father-in-law, president monroe. in he was a member of the new york legislature, and from to postmaster of the city of new york. for many years, like the gentlemen of his day and class, he was much interested in racehorses and at one time owned the famous horse, _post boy_. he was also deeply interested in the drama and it was partially through his efforts that many brilliant stars were brought to this country to perform at the bowery theater in new york, of which he was a partial owner. among its other owners were prosper m. wetmore, the well-known author and regent of the university of the state of new york, and general james a. hamilton, son of alexander hamilton and acting secretary of state in , under jackson. mr. gouverneur was a man of decidedly social tastes and at one period of his life owned and occupied the de menou buildings on h street in washington, where, during the life of his first wife, he gave some brilliant entertainments. it was from this house that his son, and my future husband, went to the mexican war. many years subsequent to my marriage i heard rear admiral john j. almy, u.s.n., describe some of the entertainments given by the gouverneur family, and he usually wound up his reminiscences by informing me that sixteen baskets of champagne were frequently consumed by the guests during a single evening. my old friend, emily mason, loved to refer to these parties and told me that she made her _début_ at one of them. the house was well adapted for entertainments, as there were four spacious drawing-rooms, two on each side of a long hall, one side being reserved for dancing. at the time of the gouverneur-monroe wedding the bride was but sixteen years of age, and many years younger than her only sister, eliza, who was the wife of judge george hay of virginia, the united states district-attorney of that state, and the prosecuting officer at the trial of aaron burr. mrs. hay was educated in paris at madame campan's celebrated school, where she was the associate and friend of hortense de beauharnais, subsequently the queen of holland and the mother of napoleon iii. the rev. dr. william hawley, who performed the marriage ceremony of miss monroe and mr. gouverneur, was the rector of old st. john's church in washington. he was a gentleman of the old school and always wore knee breeches and shoe buckles. in the war of he commanded a company of divinity students in new york, enlisted for the protection of the city. it is said that when ordered to the frontier he refused to go and resigned his commission, and i have heard that commodore stephen decatur refused to attend st. john's church during his rectorship, because he said he did not care to listen to a man who refused to obey orders. [illustration: mrs. james monroe, nÉe kortright, by benjamin west. _original portrait owned by mrs. gouverneur._] only the relatives and personal friends attended the gouverneur-monroe wedding at the white house; even the members of the cabinet were not invited. the gallant general thomas s. jesup, one of the heroes of the war of and subsistance commissary general of the army, acted as groomsman to mr. gouverneur. two of his daughters, mrs. james blair and mrs. augustus s. nicholson, still reside at the national capital and are prominent "old washingtonians." after this quiet wedding, mr. and mrs. gouverneur left washington upon a bridal tour and about a week later returned to the white house, where, at a reception, mrs. monroe gave up her place as hostess to mingle with her guests, while mrs. gouverneur received in her place. commodore and mrs. stephen decatur, who lived on lafayette square, gave the bride her first ball, and two mornings later, on the twenty-second of march, , decatur fought his fatal duel with commodore james barron and was brought home a corpse. "the bridal festivities," wrote mrs. william winston seaton, wife of the editor of _the national intelligencer_, "have received a check which will prevent any further attentions to the president's family, in the murder of decatur." the invitations already sent out for an entertainment in honor of the bride and groom by commodore david porter, father of the late admiral david d. porter, u.s.n., were immediately countermanded. i never had the pleasure of knowing my mother-in-law, mrs. maria hester monroe gouverneur, as she died some years before my marriage, but i learned to revere her through her son, whose tender regard for her was one of the absorbing affections of his life and changed the whole direction of his career. at an early age he was appointed a lieutenant in the regular army and served with distinction through the mexican war in the fourth artillery. on one occasion subsequent to that conflict, while his mother was suffering from a protracted illness, he applied to the war department for leave of absence in order that he might visit her sick bed; and when it was not granted he resigned his commission and thus sacrificed an enviable position to his sense of filial duty. many years later, after my husband's decease, in looking over his papers i found these lines written by him just after his mother's death:-- "a man through life has but _one_ true friend and that friend generally leaves him early. man enters the lists of life but ere he has fought his way far that friend falls by his side; he never finds another so fond, so true, so faithful to the last--_his mother_!" mrs. gouverneur was somewhat literary in her tastes and, like many others of her time, regarded it as an accomplishment to express herself in verse on sentimental occasions. one of my daughters, whom she never saw, owns the original manuscript of the following lines written as a tribute of friendship to the daughter of president john tyler, at the time of her marriage:-- to miss tyler on her wedding day. the day, the happy day, has come that gives you to your lover's arms; check not the tear or rising bloom that springs from all those strange alarms. to be a blest and happy wife is what all women wish to prove; and may you know through all your life the dear delights of wedded love. 'tis not strange that you should feel confused in every thought and feeling; your bosom heave, the tear should steal at thoughts of all the friends you're leaving. happy girl may your life prove, all sunshine, joy and purest pleasure; one long, long day of happy love, your husband's joy, his greatest treasure. be to him all that woman ought, in joy and health and every sorrow; let his true pleasures be only sought with you to-day, with you to-morrow. believe not that in palace walls 'tis only there that joy you'll find; at home with friends in your own halls there's more content and peace of mind. more splendor you may find 'tis true, and glitter, show, and elevation, but if the world of you speak true, you prize not wealth or this high station. your heart's too pure, your mind too high, to prize such empty pomp and state; you leave such scenes without a sigh to court the joys that on you wait. after meeting mr. and mrs. gouverneur, my future husband's father and his second wife, at cold spring, i renewed my acquaintance with them in washington, where they were living in an old-fashioned house on new york avenue, between fourteenth and fifteenth streets. we often welcomed mrs. gouverneur as a guest at our washington home and i was subsequently invited to visit her at their country seat, needwood, frederick county, maryland, located upon a tract of land chiefly composed of large farms at one time owned exclusively by the lee family. i quote mrs. gouverneur's graceful letter of invitation:-- my dear miss campbell, i can not refrain from writing to remind you of your promise to us; this must be about the time fixed upon, (at least we all feel as if it was), and the season is so delightful, not to mention the strawberries which will be in great perfection this week--these reasons, together with our great desire to see you, determined me to give you warning that we are surely expecting you, and hope to hear very soon from you to say when we may send to the _knoxville_ depot for you. i would be so much gratified if mrs. eames would come with you; it would give us all the sincerest pleasure, and i do not think that such a journey would be injurious. you leave washington to come here on the early ( o'clock) train, get out at the relay house, and wait until the western cars pass, (about o'clock), get into them, and reach knoxville at o'clock. so you see that altogether you have only six hours, and you rest more than half an hour at the relay house. from knoxville our carriage brings you to "needwood" in less than an hour. if there is any gentleman you would like to come as an escort mr. g. and myself will be most happy to see him. dr. jones, you know, does intend to travel about a little and said he would come to see us; perhaps he will come with you, or mr. hibbard i should be most happy to see--anyone in short whom you choose to bring will be most welcome. tell mr. hibbard i read his speech and admired it as i presume everyone does. good-bye, dear miss campbell. i hope you will aid me in persuading mrs. eames to come with you. my warmest regards to mrs. campbell and your sisters, in which my sister [mrs. eugene h. lynch] and mr. gouverneur unite. believe me, yours most truly, m. d. gouverneur. needwood, may nd, . i accepted the invitation and, while i was mrs. gouverneur's guest, my sister margaret was visiting one of the adjoining places at the home of colonel john lee, whose wife's maiden name was harriet carroll. she was a granddaughter of charles carroll of carrollton, and their home was the former residence of another ancestor, governor thomas sim lee of maryland. during my visit at needwood i renewed the acquaintance of my future husband, which i had formed a number of years before at the wedding of miss fanny monroe and douglas robinson, of which i have previously spoken. it is unnecessary to refer to his appearance, which i have already described, but i am sure it is not unnatural for me to add that a year after the conclusion of the mexican war he was brevetted for gallantry and meritorious conduct in the battles of contreras and churubusco. while his general bearing spoke well for his military training, his mind was a storehouse of information which i learned to appreciate more and more as the years rolled by. but of all his fine characteristics i valued and revered him most for his fine sense of honor and sterling integrity. like his mother, mr. gouverneur was literary in his tastes and occasionally gave vent to his feelings in verse. in oak hill, the stately old monroe place in virginia where he had spent much of his early life, was about to pass out of the family. he was naturally much distressed over the sale of the home so intimately associated with his childhood's memory, and a few days prior to his final departure wrote the following lines. in after years nothing could ever induce him to visit oak hill. farewell to oak hill, , on departing thence. the autumn rains are falling fast, earth, the heavens are overcast; the rushing winds mournful sigh, whispering, alas! good-bye; to each fond remembrance farewell and forever, oak hill i depart to return to thee never! the mighty oaks beneath whose shade in boyhood's happier hours i've played, bend to the mountain blast's wild sweep, scattering spray they seem to weep; to each moss-grown tree farewell and forever, oak hill i depart to return to thee never! the little mound now wild o'ergrown, on the bosom of which my tears have oft flown, where my mother beside her mother lies sleeping, o'er them the rank grass, bright dew drops are weeping; to that hallowed spot farewell and forever, oak hill i depart to return to thee never! oh, home of my boyhood, why must i depart? tears i am shedding and wild throbs my heart; home of my manhood, oh! would i had died and lain me to rest by my dead mother's side, ere my tongue could have uttered farewell and forever, oak hill i depart to return to thee never! mr. gouverneur's pathetic allusion to the graves of his mother and grandmother affords me an opportunity of saying that in the legislature of virginia appropriated a sum of money sufficient to remove the remains of mrs. monroe and her daughter, mrs. gouverneur, from oak hill. they now rest in hollywood cemetery, richmond, virginia, on opposite sides of the grave of james monroe. the friendship of mr. gouverneur and myself ripened into a deep affection, and the winter following my visit to needwood we announced our engagement. i was warmly welcomed into the gouverneur family, as will appear from the following letter: i can not longer defer, my dear marian, expressing the great gratification i experienced when sam informed me of his happiness in having gained your heart. it is most agreeable to me that you of all the women i know should be the object of his choice. how little i anticipated such a result from the short visit you made us last summer. sam is in an elysium of bliss. i have lately had a charming letter from him, of course all about his lady love. i think you too have every reason to anticipate a life of happiness, not more marred than we must all look for in this world. sam is very warm-hearted and affectionate and possesses a fine mind, as you know, and when he marries, you will have nothing to wish for. these are his own sentiments and i assure you i entirely agree with him. mr. gouverneur is greatly gratified and both wrote and told me how nobly you expressed yourself to him. i am going to baltimore to-day to meet mr. g. and perhaps may go to washington. if i do you will see me soon after i arrive there. i feel as if i should like so much to talk to my future daughter. i take the warmest interest in everything concerning sam's happiness, and my heart is now overflowing with thankfulness to you for having contributed so much to it. please remember me in the kindest manner to your mother, whose warm hospitality i have not forgotten, and to the girls. my sincere congratulations to margaret who mary [lee] writes me is as happy as the day is long. ellen desires me to present her congratulations to you and margaret. believe me, very sincerely yours, m. d. gouverneur. needwood, feb. th. i was married in washington in the old g street house, and the occasion was made especially festive by the presence of many friends from out of town. we were married by the rev. dr. smith pyne, rector of st. john's episcopal church, and i recall his nervous state of mind, owing to the fact that he had forgotten to inquire whether a marriage license had been procured; but when he was assured that everything was in due form he was quite himself again. among those who came from new york to attend the wedding were general scott; my father's old friend and associate, hugh maxwell; his daughter, now the wife of rear admiral john h. upshur, u.s.n.; and miss sally strother and her mother. miss emily harper and mrs. solomon b. davies, who was miss bettie monroe, my husband's relative, came from baltimore and, of course, mr. and mrs. gouverneur and miss mary lee from needwood were also present. my own family circle was small, as my sister, mrs. eames, and her young children were in venezuela, where her husband was the u.s. minister; but i was married in the presence of my mother, my two younger sisters, margaret and charlotte, and my brothers, james and malcolm. mr. gouverneur's only sister, elizabeth, who some years before had married dr. henry lee heiskell, assistant surgeon general of the army, accompanied by her husband and son, the late james monroe heiskell, of baltimore, a handsome and promising youth, were also there. among the other guests were charles sumner, caleb cushing and stephen a. douglas, none of whom at that time were married; peter grayson washington, then assistant secretary of the treasury, and a relative of my husband; miss katharine maria wright, who shortly thereafter married baron j. c. gevers, _chargé d'affaires_ from holland; her brother, edward wright, of newark; john g. floyd of long island; james guthrie, secretary of the treasury, and his two daughters; william l. marcy, secretary of state, and his wife; their daughter, miss cornelia marcy, subsequently mrs. edmund pendleton; baron von grabow and alexandre gau of the prussian legation, the latter of whom married my sister, margaret, the following year; mr. and mrs. william t. carroll; lieutenant (subsequently rear admiral) james s. palmer of the navy; jerome e. kidder of boston, and general william j. hardee, u.s.a. a few days before my marriage i received the following letter from edward everett:-- boston, feb. my dear miss campbell, i had much pleasure in receiving this morning mrs. campbell's invitation and your kind note of the th. i am greatly indebted to you for remembering me on an occasion of so much interest and importance, and i beg to offer you my sincere congratulations. greatly would it rejoice me to be able to avail myself of your invitation to be present at your nuptials. but the state of my health and of my family makes this impossible. but i shall certainly be with you in spirit, and with cordial wishes for your happiness. praying my kindest remembrance to your mother and sisters, i remain, my dear miss campbell, sincerely your friend, edward everett. p.s. i suppose you saw in the papers a day or two ago that poor miss russell is gone. the miss russell referred to by mr. everett was miss ida russell, one of three handsome and brilliant sisters prominent in boston in the society of the day. soon after my marriage my husband and i made a round of visits to his numerous family connections. it is with more than usual pleasure that i recall the beautiful old home of mr. gouverneur's aunt, mrs. thomas cadwalader, near trenton, which a few years later was destroyed by fire. a guest of the cadwaladers at the same time with ourselves was my husband's first cousin, the rev. robert livingston tillotson of new york, who studied for the episcopal ministry and subsequently entered the roman catholic priesthood. from trenton, we journeyed to yonkers, new york, to visit the van cortlandt family at the historic manor-house in that vicinity. it was then owned and occupied by mr. gouverneur's relatives, dr. edward n. bibby and his son, augustus, the latter of whom had recently changed his name from bibby to van cortlandt, as a consideration for the inheritance of this fine old estate. dr. bibby married miss augusta white of the van cortlandt descent, and for many years was a prominent physician in new york city. when i visited the family, he had retired from active practice and was enjoying a serene old age surrounded by his children and grandchildren. henry warburton bibby, the doctor's second son, was also one of this household at the time of our visit. he never married but retained his social tastes until his death a few years ago. in the drawing-room of the van cortlandt home stood a superb pair of brass andirons in the form of lions, which had been presented to mrs. augustus van cortlandt by my husband's mother as a bridal present. they had been brought by james monroe upon his return from france, where he had been sent upon his historic diplomatic mission by washington. the style of life led by the van cortlandt family was fascinating to me as, even at this late date, they clung to many of the old family customs inherited from their ancestors. our next visit was to the cottage of william kemble in cold spring, and it seemed to me like returning to an old and familiar haunt. my marriage into the gouverneur family added another link in the chain of friendship attaching me to the members of the kemble family, as they were relatives of my husband. i was entertained while there by the whole family connection, and i recall with especial pleasure the dinner parties at gouverneur kemble's and at mrs. robert p. parrott's. martin van buren was visiting "uncle gouv" at the time, and i was highly gratified to meet him again, as his presence not only revived memories of childhood's days during my father's lifetime in new york, but also materially assisted in rendering the entertainments given in my honor at cold spring unusually delightful. from cold spring we drove to the grange, near garrison's, another homestead familiar to me in former days, and the residence of frederick philipse, where i renewed my acquaintance with old friends who now greeted me as a relative. at this beautiful home i saw a pair of andirons even handsomer than those at the van cortlandt mansion. they were at least two feet high and represented trumpeters. the historic house was replete with ancestral furniture and fine old portraits, one of which was attributed to vandyke. the whole philipse and gouverneur connection at garrison's were devoted episcopalians and were largely instrumental in building a fine church at garrison's, which they named st. philips. in more recent years a congregation of prominent families has worshiped in this edifice--among others, the fishes, ardens, livingstons, osborns and sloanes. for many years the beloved rector of this church was the rev. dr. charles f. hoffman, a gentleman of great wealth and much scholarly ability. he and his brother, the late rev. dr. eugene a. hoffman, dean of the general theological seminary in new york, devoted their lives and fortunes to the cause of religion. residents of new york are familiar with all angels church, built by the late rev. dr. charles f. hoffman on west end avenue, of which he was rector for a number of years. during his life at garrison's, both dr. and mrs. hoffman were very acceptable to my husband's relatives, especially as the doctor was connected with the family by right of descent from a gouverneur forbear. charles f. hoffman married miss eleanor louisa vail, a daughter of david m. vail of new brunswick, new jersey, who in every way proved herself an able helpmeet to him. mrs. hoffman was educated at miss hannah hoyt's school in new brunswick, a fashionable institution of the day, and at a reunion of the scholars held in recent years, she was mentioned in the following appropriate manner: "nearly half a century ago, in the well-known miss hoyt's school, was eleanor louisa vail who was noted for her good lessons and considerate ways towards all. she never overlooked those who were less fortunate than herself, but gave aid to any who needed it, either in their lessons or in a more substantial form. in the wider circle of new york the benevolent mrs. hoffman, the wife of the late generous rector of all angels church, but fulfilled the promise made by the beautiful girl of former days." mr. and mrs. charles f. hoffman's daughter, mrs. j. van vechten olcott, is as beloved in her generation as her mother was before her. samuel mongan warburton gouverneur, a younger brother of frederick philipse, was living at the grange at the time of my visit. some years later he built a handsome house in the neighborhood which he called "eagle's rest," and resided there with his sister, miss mary marston gouverneur. after his death, the place was sold to the late louis fitzgerald, who made it his home. after six months spent in the mountainous regions of maryland, not far from cumberland, on property owned by my husband's family, mr. gouverneur and i returned to washington and began our married life in my mother's home. soon after we had settled down, my eldest daughter was born. the death of my sister, mrs. alexandre gau, from typhoid fever soon followed. it was naturally a terrible shock to us all and especially to me, as we were near of an age and our lives had been side by side from infancy. my mother, in her great affliction, broke up her home and mr. gouverneur and i rented a house on twelfth street, near n street, a locality then regarded as quite suburban. here i endeavored to live in the closest retirement, as the meeting with friends of former days only served to bring my sorrow more keenly before me. meanwhile my whole life was devoted to the little girl whom we had named maud campbell, and who, of course, had become "part and parcel" of my quiet life. mr. gouverneur was the last surviving member of his family in the male line, and the whole family connection was looking to me to perpetuate his name. soon after the birth of my daughter my husband received the following characteristic letter from mr. gouverneur's aunt, mrs. david johnstone verplanck, who before her marriage was louisa a. gouverneur, a gifted woman whose home was in new york: thursday, april th. my dear sam, in return for your kind recollections i hasten to offer my most sincere congratulations to yourself and mrs. g. as husband and father you have now realized all the romance of life, the pleasures of which i have little doubt you already begin to feel deeply intermingled with many anxious hours. it is wisest and best to enjoy all that good fortune sends and fortify ourselves to meet and endure the trials to which our destiny has allotted. tell mrs. g. that we must send for the girdle the old woman sent the empress eugénie. she had a succession of seven sons, and requested her to wear it for luck. as it was very dirty the royal lady sent it back. it might be procured and undergo the purifying influence of water. all i can say at present to console your disappointment i hope a son will soon consummate all your joys and wishes. you know it rests with you to keep the name of gouverneur in the land of the living. it is nearly extinct and you its only salvation. i regret to hear your father is unwell at barnum's [hotel, baltimore]. i hope he will soon be with us. i long to see him. believe me always your friend, louisa verplanck. i also append a letter received by mr. gouverneur from mrs. william kemble (margaret chatham seth), which recalled many tender associations. new york th april. i need not tell you, my dear friend, how much we were all gratified by your kind remembrance of us, in the midst of your own anxiety and joy, to give us the first news of our dear marian's safety. give my very best love to her and a kiss to miss gouverneur with whom i hope to be better acquainted hereafter. mr. and mrs. nourse with our dear little charlie left us yesterday for washington. you will probably see them before you receive this. i feel assured that marian is blessed in being with her mother who has every experience necessary for her. therefore it is idle for me to give my advice but i must say, keep her quiet, not to be too smart or anxious to show her baby--at first--and she will be better able to do it afterwards. may god bless you all three and that this dear pledge committed to your charge be to you both every comfort and joy that your anxious hearts can wish. please to give my best regards and wishes to mrs. campbell and her daughter from your sincerely attached friend and cousin, m. c. kemble. on the corner of fourteenth and p streets, and not far from our home, was the residence of eliab kingman, an intimate friend of mr. gouverneur's father. this locality, now such a business center, was decidedly rural, and mr. kingman's quaint and old-fashioned house was in the middle of a small farm. it was an oddly constructed dwelling and the interior was made unusually attractive by its wealth of curios, among which was a large collection of indian relics. after his death i attended an auction held in the old home and i remember that these curiosities were purchased by ben perley poore, the well-known journalist. although many years his senior, my husband found mr. kingman and his home a source of great pleasure to him, and he formed an attachment for his father's early friend which lasted through life. the kingman house was the rendezvous of both literary and political circles. william h. seward was one of its frequent visitors and i once heard him wittily remark that it might appropriately be worshiped, as it resembled nothing "that is in the heaven above, or in the earth beneath, or the water under the earth." for a number of years mr. kingman was a correspondent of _the baltimore sun_ under the _nom de plume_ of "ion." his communications were entirely confined to political topics and he was such a skilled diplomatist that the adherents of either party, after perusing them, might easily recognize him as their own advocate. thomas seaton donoho, of whom i shall speak presently, was a warm friend of mr. kingman and the constant recipient of his hospitality. among his poems is a graceful sonnet entitled e. kingman. ever will i remember with delight strawberry knoll; not for the berries red, as, ere my time, the vines were out of bed, and gone; but many a day and many a night have given me argument to love it well, whether in summer, 'neath its perfumed shade, whether by moonlight's magic wand arrayed, or when in winter's lap the rose leaves fell, for pleasant faces ever there were found, for genial welcome ever met me there, and thou, my friend, when thought went smiling round, madest her calm look, reflecting thine, more fair. those who have known thee as a statesman, know thy noon-day: i have felt thy great heart's sunset glow! mr. kingman married miss cordelia ewell of virginia, a relative of general richard s. ewell of the confederate army. she was in some respects a remarkable character, a "dyed-in-the-wool" southerner and a woman of unusual personal charm and ability. in dress, manner and general appearance she presented a fitting reminder of the _grande dame_ of long ago. her style of dress reminded one of the quaker school. her gray gown with a white kerchief crossed neatly upon her breast and her gray hair with puffs clustered around her ears, together with her quaint manner of courtesying as she greeted her guests, suggested the familiar setting of an old-fashioned picture. she was an accomplished performer upon the harp as well as an authority upon old english literature. in all the years i knew her i never heard of her leaving her house. she had no children and her constant companion was a venerable parrot. john savage, familiarly known as "jack" savage, was an intimate friend of the kingmans and also a frequent guest of ours. he was an irish patriot of and was remarkable for his versatility. he had a fine voice, and i remember seeing him on one occasion hold his audience spell-bound while singing "the temptation of st. anthony." he was an accomplished journalist and the author of several books, one of which, "the modern revolutionary history and literature of ireland," has been pronounced the best work extant "on the last great revolutionary era of the irish race." after the civil war i often met at mr. kingman's house general benjamin f. butler, whose withering gift of sarcasm is still remembered. simon cameron, lincoln's first secretary of war, was also a frequent visitor there. he was an unusually genial and cordial gentleman, and some years later mr. kingman and my husband, upon his urgent invitation, visited him at his handsome country place, lochiel, in pennsylvania. his fine graperies made such a vivid impression upon my husband that his description of them almost enabled me to see the luscious fruit itself before me. my old friends, purser horatio bridge, u.s.n., and his wife, lived on the corner of k and fourteenth streets at a hotel then known as the rugby house. mrs. bridge was a sister of the famous beauty, miss emily marshall, who married harrison gray otis of boston. mr. bridge, while on the active list, had been stationed for a time in washington and, finding the life congenial and attractive, returned here after his retirement and with his wife made his home at the rugby house. while there the hotel was offered for sale and was bought by mr. bridge, who enlarged it and changed its name to the hamilton, in compliment to mrs. hamilton holly, an intimate friend of mrs. bridge and the daughter of alexander hamilton. mrs. holly, my old and cherished friend, lived in a picturesque cottage on i street, on the site of the present russian embassy, where so many years later the wife and daughter of benjamin f. tracy, harrison's secretary of the navy, lost their lives in a fire that destroyed the house. among the attractions of this home was a remarkable collection of hamilton relics which subsequent to mrs. holly's death was sold at public auction. the sale, however, did not attract any particular attention, as the craze for antiques had not yet developed and the souvenir fiend was then unknown. it was while i was living on twelfth street that i first met miss margaret edes, so well known in after years to washingtonians. she was visiting her relatives, the donoho family, which lived in my immediate vicinity. her host's father was connected with _the national intelligencer_, and the son, thomas seaton donoho, was named after william winston seaton, one of its editors. thomas seaton donoho was a truly interesting character. he was decidedly romantic in his ideas and many incidents of his life were curiously associated with the ivy vine. he planted a sprig of it in front of his three-story house, which was built very much upon the plan of every other dwelling in the neighborhood, and called his abode "ivy hall"; while his property in the vicinity of washington he named "ivy city," a locality so well known to-day by the same name to the sporting fraternity. his book of poems, published in washington in , is entitled "ivy-wall"; and, to cap the climax, when a girl was born into the donoho family she was baptized in mid-ocean as "atlantic may ivy." in addition to his poems, he published, in , a drama in three acts, entitled, "goldsmith of padua," and two years later "oliver cromwell," a tragedy in five acts. soon after my marriage, mr. gouverneur acted as one of the pallbearers at the funeral of his early friend, gales seaton, the son of william winston seaton, and a most accomplished man of affairs. in those days honorary pallbearers were unknown and the coffin was borne to the grave by those with whom the deceased had been most intimately associated. the seatons owned a family vault, and the body was carried down into it by mr. seaton's old friends. after the funeral i heard mr. gouverneur speak of observing a coffin which held the remains of mrs. francis schroeder, who was miss caroline seaton, and whose husband, the father of rear admiral seaton schroeder, u.s.n., was at one time u.s. minister to sweden and norway. seaton munroe, a nephew of gales seaton, was prominent in washington society. he never married and many persons regarded him as the ward mcallister of the capital. when colonel sanford c. kellogg, u.s.a., then military _attaché_ of the u.s. embassy in paris, heard of munroe's death, he wrote to a mutual friend: "i do not believe the man lives who has done more for the happiness and welfare of others than seaton munroe." he was one of the prominent founders of the metropolitan club, which commenced its career in the old morris house on the corner of vermont avenue and h street; and later, when it moved to the graham residence on the corner of fifteenth and h streets, he continued to be one of its most popular and influential members. in april, , occurred the famous gwin ball, so readily recalled by old washingtonians. it was a fancy-dress affair, and it was the intention of senator and mrs. william mckendree gwin of california that it should be the most brilliant of its kind that the national capital had ever known. of course mr. gouverneur and i did not attend, owing to my deep mourning, but i shall always remember the pleasure and amusement we derived in dressing mr. kingman for the occasion. we decked him out in the old court dress which mr. gouverneur's grandfather, james monroe, wore during his diplomatic mission in france. as luck would have it the suit fitted him perfectly, and the next day it was quite as gratifying to us as to mr. kingman to hear that the costume attracted marked attention. the ball was rightly adjudged a brilliant success. among the guests was president buchanan, though not, of course, in fancy dress. senator gwin represented louis quatorze; ben perley poore, "major jack downing"; lord napier, george hammond--the first british minister to the united states; mrs. stephen a. douglas, aurora; mrs. jefferson davis, madame de staël; and so on down the list. it is probable that the wife of senator clement c. clay, of alabama, who represented mrs. partington, attracted more attention and afforded more amusement than any other guest. washington had fairly teemed with her brilliant repartee and other bright sayings, and upon this occasion she was, if possible, more than ever in her element. she had a witty encounter with the president and a familiar home-thrust for all whom she encountered. many of the public characters present, when lashed by her sparkling humor, were either unable or unwilling to respond. she was accompanied by "ike," mrs. partington's son, impersonated by a clever youth of ten years, son of john m. sandidge of louisiana. mr. john von sonntag haviland, formerly of the u.s. army, wrote a metrical description of this ball, and in referring to mrs. clay, thus expresses himself:-- mark how the grace that gilds an honored name, gives a strange zest to that loquacious dame whose ready tongue and easy blundering wit provoke fresh uproar at each happy hit! note how her humour into strange grimace tempts the smooth meekness of yon quaker's face. * * * * * but--denser grows the crowd round partington; 'twere vain to try to name them one by one. mr. haviland added this to the above:--"mrs. senator clay, with knitting in hand, snuff-box in pocket, and 'ike, the inevitable,' by her side, acted out her difficult character so as to win the unanimous verdict that her personation of the loquacious _mal-aprops_ dame was the leading feature of the evening's entertainment. go where she would through the spacious halls, a crowd of eager listeners followed her footsteps, drinking in her instant repartees, which were really superior in wit and appositeness, and, indeed, in the vein of the famous dame's _cacoëthes_, even to the original contribution of shillaber to the nonsensical literature of the day." one of the guests at this ball was the wife of the late major general william h. emery, u.s.a., whose maiden name was matilda bache. she was arrayed for the evening in the garb of a quakeress, and it is to her that mr. haviland alludes in his reference to the "smooth meekness of yon quaker's face." at the commencement of the civil war, senator gwin was arrested on a charge of disloyalty and imprisoned until . he then went to paris, where he became interested in a scheme for the colonization by southerners of the state of sonora in mexico, in consequence of which he was sometimes facetiously called the "duke of sonora." while thus engaged, he was invited to meet the emperor, napoleon iii., in private audience, and succeeded in enlisting his sympathies. it is said that, upon the request of the minister of foreign affairs, he formulated a plan for the colony which, after receiving the emperor's approval, was submitted to maximilian. the latter was then in paris and requested mr. gwin's attendance at the tuileries where, after diligent inquiry, the scheme received the approbation of maximilian. two weeks after the departure of the latter for mexico, mr. gwin left for the same country, carrying with him an autograph letter of napoleon iii. to marshal bazaine. the scheme, however, received no encouragement from the latter, and maximilian failed to give him any satisfactory assurances of his support. returning to france in , he secured an audience with the emperor, to whom he exposed the condition of affairs in mexico. napoleon urged him to return to that country immediately with a peremptory order to marshal bazaine to supply a military force adequate to accomplish the project. this request was complied with but mr. gwin, after meeting with no success, demanded an escort to accompany him out of the country. this was promptly furnished, and he returned to his home in california. it seems fitting in this connection to speak of a brilliant ball in washington in . although, of course, i do not remember it, i have heard of it all my life and have gathered here and there certain facts of interest concerning it, some of which are not easily accessible. i refer to the ball given by mrs. john quincy adams, whose husband was then secretary of state under monroe. mrs. adams' maiden name was louisa catharine johnson and she was a daughter of joshua johnson, who served as our first united states consul at london, and a niece of thomas johnson of maryland. she gave receptions in washington on tuesday evenings which were attended by many of the most distinguished men and women of the day. this period, in fact, is generally regarded as, perhaps, the most brilliant era in washington society. a generous hospitality was dispensed by such men as madison, monroe, adams, calhoun, wirt, rush, southard, general winfield scott and general alexander macomb. the british _chargé d'affaires_ at this time was henry unwin addington. the russian minister was the baron de tuyll; while france, spain and portugal were represented by gentlemen of distinguished manners and rare accomplishments. the illustrious john marshall was chief justice, with joseph story, bushrod washington, smith thompson and other eminent jurists by his side. in congress were such men as henry clay, william gaston, rufus king, daniel webster, andrew jackson, thomas h. benton, william jones lowndes, john jordan crittenden and harrison gray otis; while the navy was represented by stephen decatur, david porter, john rodgers, lewis warrington, charles stewart, charles morris and others, some of whom made their permanent home at the capital. the ball given by the secretary of state and mrs. adams was in honor of general andrew jackson, and was not only an expression of the pleasant personal relations existing between john quincy adams and jackson only shortly before the former defeated the latter for the presidency, but also a pleasing picture of washington society at that time. general jackson was naturally the hero of the occasion, and there was a throng of guests not only from washington but also from baltimore, richmond and other cities. a current newspaper of the day published a metrical description of the event, written by john t. agg: mrs. adams' ball. wend you with the world to-night? brown and fair and wise and witty, eyes that float in seas of light, laughing mouths and dimples pretty, belles and matrons, maids and madams, all are gone to mrs. adams'; there the mist of the future, the gloom of the past, all melt into light at the warm glance of pleasure, and the only regret is lest melting too fast, mammas should move off in the midst of a measure. wend you with the world to-night? sixty gray, and giddy twenty, flirts that court and prudes that slight, state coquettes and spinsters plenty; mrs. sullivan is there with all the charm that nature lent her; gay mckim with city air, and winning gales and vandeventer; forsyth, with her group of graces; both the crowninshields in blue; the pierces, with their heavenly faces, and eyes like suns that dazzle through; belles and matrons, maids and madams, all are gone to mrs. adams'! wend you with the world to-night? east and west and south and north, form a constellation bright, and pour a splendid brilliance forth. see the tide of fashion flowing, 'tis the noon of beauty's reign, webster, hamiltons are going, eastern floyd and southern hayne; western thomas, gayly smiling, borland, nature's protégé, young de wolfe, all hearts beguiling, morgan, benton, brown and lee; belles and matrons, maids and madams,' all are gone to mrs. adams'! wend you with the world to-night? where blue eyes are brightly glancing, while to measures of delight fairy feet are deftly dancing; where the young euphrosyne reigns the mistress of the scene, chasing gloom, and courting glee, with the merry tambourine; many a form of fairy birth, many a hebe, yet unwon, wirt, a gem of purest worth, lively, laughing pleasanton; vails and tayloe will be there, gay monroe so debonair, hellen, pleasure's harbinger, ramsay, cottringers and kerr; belles and matrons, maids and madams, all are gone to mrs. adams'! wend you with the world to-night? juno in her court presides, mirth and melody invite, fashion points, and pleasure guides; haste away then, seize the hour, shun the thorn and pluck the flower. youth, in all its spring-time blooming, age the guise of youth assuming, wit through all its circles gleaming, glittering wealth and beauty beaming; belles and matrons, maids and madams, all are gone to mrs. adams'! the "mrs. sullivan" referred to was sarah bowdoin winthrop, the wife of george sullivan of boston, son of governor james sullivan of massachusetts; while "winning gales" was the wife of joseph gales, editor of _the national intelligencer_. "forsyth" was the wife of senator john forsyth of georgia, who subsequently served as secretary of state during jackson's administration; and "the crowninshields in blue" were daughters of benjamin w. crowninshield, secretary of the navy under madison and monroe. "the pierces, with their heavenly faces," were handsome boston women who in after life became converts to the roman catholic faith and entered convents. the "vails" were eugene and aaron vail, who were protégés of senator william h. crawford, of georgia. they married sisters, daughters of laurent salles, a wealthy frenchman living in new york. aaron vail accompanied martin van buren to england as secretary of legation and for a season, after van buren's recall, acted as _chargé d'affaires_. "tayloe" was benjamin ogle tayloe, the distinguished washingtonian. "ramsay" was general george douglas ramsay, the father of rear admiral francis m. ramsay, u.s.n.; and "hellen" was mrs. adams's niece, who subsequently became her daughter-in-law through her marriage to her son, john adams. president monroe attended this ball and both he and john quincy adams were somewhat criticised for their plain attire, which was in such striking contrast with the elaborate costumes and decorations worn by the foreign guests. in his boyhood mr. gouverneur formed an intimacy with george h. derby, better known in literary circles under the _nom de plume_ of "john phoenix." he is well remembered by students of american humor as a contemporary and rival of artemus ward. he was a member of a prominent boston family, and of the class of at west point. he was a gallant soldier, having been wounded during the mexican war at cerro gordo, and was promoted for his bravery in that battle. scarcely anyone was immune from his practical jokes, but, fortunately for his peace of mind, mr. gouverneur was acquainted with an incident of his life which, if known, would make him a butt of ridicule; and he accordingly felt perfectly safe in his companionship and well enjoyed his humorous exploits. one day derby and mr. gouverneur were sauntering through the streets of washington when the keen eye of the humorist was attracted by a sign over a store door which read, "ladies' depository"--the old-fashioned method of designating what would now be called a "woman's exchange." turning to his companion, derby remarked: "i have a little business to transact in this shop and i want you to go inside with me." they entered and were met by a smiling female to whom derby remarked: "my wife will be here to-morrow morning. i am so pleased to have discovered this depository. i hope that you will take good care of her. expect her at eleven. good-morning." in the early ' 's adjutant general roger jones determined to adopt a new uniform for the u.s. army, and derby was thus afforded a conspicuous opportunity to exercise his wit. he was an excellent draughtsman and set to work and produced a design. he proposed changing the entire system of modern tactics by the aid of an iron hook to be attached to the seat of each soldier's trousers, this hook to be used by the three arms of the service--cavalry, infantry and artillery. he illustrated it by a series of well-executed designs, and quoted high medical authority to prove its advantages from a sanitary point of view. he argued that the heavy knapsack induced a stooping position and a contraction of the chest but, hung on a hook by a strap over the shoulders, it would brace the body and back and expand the chest. the cavalrymen were to be rendered more secure in their seats when hooked to a ring in the saddle. all commissioned officers were to carry a light twenty-foot pole, with a ring attached to the end, to be used during an engagement in drawing stragglers back into the ranks. he made a drawing of a tremendous battle during which the generals and colonels were thus occupied, and in many other ways expatiated upon the value of the hook. when jefferson davis, the secretary of war, saw derby's designs and read his recommendations, he felt that his dignity was wounded and the service insulted, and he immediately issued an order that derby be court-martialed. william l. marcy, then secretary of state, was told of the transaction and of the cloud hanging over derby. he looked over the drawings and saw a regiment, their backs towards him and drawn up in line, with knapsacks, blankets and everything appertaining to camp life attached to each soldier by a hook. marcy, who saw the humorous side at once, said to davis: "it's no use to court-martial this man. the matter will be made public and the laugh will be upon us. besides, a man who has the inventive genius that he has displayed, as well as the faculty of design, ill-directed though they be, is too valuable to the service to be trifled with." derby therefore was not brought to grief, and in time davis's anger was sufficiently mollified for him to enjoy the joke. i am enabled to state, through the courtesy of the present assistant secretary of war, that the drawings referred to are not now to be found in the files of the war department; and a picture, which at the time was the source of untold amusement and of wide-spread notoriety, seems to be lost to the world. [illustration: miniature of james monroe, painted in paris in , by semÉ. _original owned by mrs. gouverneur._] an incident connected with the indian war of - , in washington territory, furnished another outlet for derby's effective wit. a catholic priest was taken prisoner by the savages at that time and led away into captivity, and in caricaturing the scene derby represented an ecclesiastic in full canonicals walking between two stalwart and half-naked indians, carrying a crook and crozier, with a tooth-brush attached to one and a comb to the other; while the letters "i. h. s." on the priest's chasuble were paraphrased into the words, "i hate siwashes." it must not be thought, however, that derby's life was wholly devoted to fun and frivolity, for he has been pronounced by an accomplished military writer and critic to have been "an able and accomplished engineer." he was the author of "the squibob papers" and of "phoenixiana; or sketches and burlesques," either of which would worthily place him in the forefront of humorists in the history of american literature. i own a copy of the latter book which was given by the author to my husband. it seems strange, when one considers the character and career of this gifted man, that subsequent to his death nearly every member of his family should have met with a tragic end. although not a practical joker, my husband found much in derby that was congenial, as many of their tastes were similar. both of them were devoted to literature and both were accomplished writers; but while derby published his works and was rewarded with financial success, mr. gouverneur wrote chiefly for the newspaper press. he edited and published a work by james monroe, entitled "the people the sovereigns," but never sent to the press any works of his own production. i think that the lack of encouragement from me was the chief obstacle that deterred him from embarking upon a literary career. he commenced several novels but never finished them, and his chief literary remains are principally confined to the limits of his "commonplace-books." president buchanan's niece, harriet lane, subsequently mrs. henry elliott johnston of maryland, presided with grace and dignity over the white house during her uncle's administration. i first met miss lane before the period when buchanan represented the united states at the court of st. james. it was at a party given by mrs. hamilton fish, whose husband was then a u.s. senator from the state of new york. her blond type of beauty made an indelible impression upon me, as she was very much the same style as the daughters of general winfield scott. some years before her death, while she was living in washington, i incidentally referred to this resemblance between the scotts and herself and was not surprised to hear her say that others had spoken of it. to an exceptionally fine presence, she added unusual intelligence and brilliant power of repartee. i have often heard the story that at a social function at the white house an accomplished courtier was enlarging to miss lane upon her shapely hands--"hands," he ejaculated, "that might have swayed the rod of empire." her retort came without a moment's hesitation, "or wake to ecstasy the living lyre." emily schomberg, who married hughes hallett of england, wrote some years ago a charming sketch of harriet lane johnston which was published in mrs. elizabeth f. ellet's book entitled, "the court circles of the republic." among the prominent belles of the buchanan administration, and an intimate friend and companion of harriet lane, was rebecca b. black, daughter of the eminent jurist, judge jeremiah s. black of pennsylvania, attorney-general and for a time secretary of state under buchanan. she was the widow of isham hornsby of washington, where, in her beautiful home, she was surrounded by a charming circle and was much admired and beloved. peter grayson washington, a son of lund washington, whom i have already mentioned in connection with my wedding, was a conspicuous figure at the national capital during the buchanan _régime_. during the pierce administration he was assistant secretary of the treasury under james guthrie. he had an impressive bearing, and carried a gold-headed cane which he boasted had originally belonged to his distinguished relative, the first president. although by birth a virginian, mr. washington never wavered in his loyalty to the union. during the latter part of the civil war he made a visit to us in our maryland home, and i shall always remember the expression of his opinion that many leaders of the confederate cause were not true representatives of the south, citing as examples some members of jefferson davis's cabinet. he concluded his remarks with the facetious statement that "if they had only chosen a second washington as a leader they might have been successful." earlier residents of the district will recall littleton quinton washington, a prolific writer chiefly upon political subjects, and a younger half-brother of peter g. washington. my old and valued friend, mrs. hamilton holly, and peter grayson washington were the godparents of my eldest daughter. at the earnest request of the former, this ceremony took place in the house of mrs. alexander hamilton, in the de menou buildings. mrs. holly and i characterized the gathering as a revolutionary party, as so many of the guests bore names prominent during our struggle for independence. i never saw mrs. hamilton holly again. shortly after this pleasant function i sailed for china, and just before starting on my long voyage i received the following note, which saddened me more than i can well express:-- sep. th. my dear friend, for many days i have been blessed by your very kind letter, but am too, too low to answer it. one day so weak as to be obliged with my hand to wave mrs. furguson away (another lady obtained admittance), lest in the effort to converse i might find another home. my hand and head are exhausted. most truly yours, e. h. holly. chapter xii sojourn in china and return prior to the civil war, mr. gouverneur received an appointment from james buchanan as u.s. consul to foo chow in china, and i decided to accompany him upon his long journey. meanwhile a second daughter had been added to our family, much to the disappointment of the large circle of relatives who were still anxiously expecting me to hand down the name of gouverneur. we named her ruth monroe. we took passage upon the clipper ship _indiaman_, a vessel of heavy tonnage sailing from new york and commanded by a "down-east" skipper named smith. no railroads crossed the american continent in those days, and the voyage to the far east had to be made either around cape horn or by way of the isthmus of panama or around the cape of good hope. we selected the latter route, leaving new york in october and arriving in shanghai the following march. my preparations for such a protracted journey with two very young children were carefully and even elaborately planned but, to my dismay, some of the most important articles of food for the childrens' diet became unfit for use long before we reached our destination. as one may readily imagine, i was accordingly put to my wits' end for substitutes. we also provided ourselves with a goodly amount of literature, and more particularly books relating to china, among which were father evariste régis huc's volume on "the chinese empire," and professor s. wells williams's work on "the middle kingdom." we read these _en route_ with great interest but discovered after a few months' residence in the east that no book or pen we then knew conveyed an adequate idea of that remarkable country. we had a very favorable voyage, and sailing in the trade winds in the southern hemisphere was to me the very acme of bliss. i was thoroughly in sympathy with the passage of humboldt where he speaks of the tropical skies and vegetation in the following beautiful manner:--"he on whom the southern cross has never gleamed nor the centaur frowned, above whom the clouds of magellan have never circled, who has never stood within the shadow of great palms, nor clothed himself with the gloom of the primeval forests, does not know how the soul seems to have a new birth in the midst of these new and splendid surroundings. nowhere but under the equatorial skies is it permitted to man to behold at once and in the same sweep of the eye all the stars of both the northern and southern heavens; and nowhere but at the tropics does nature combine to produce the various forms of vegetation that are parceled out separately to other climes." the patience of our captain was sorely tried by the lack of wind while passing through the doldrums. this nautical locality, varying in breadth from sixty to several hundred miles and shifting in extreme limits at different seasons of the year, is near the equator and abounds in calms, squalls and light, baffling winds which sometimes prevent the progress of sailing vessels for weeks at a time. when we finally emerged from the doldrums, we were compensated for the trying delay by greeting the trade winds so cherished by the hearts of mariners. we sailed many leagues south of the cape of good hope and much too far away even to catch a glimpse of it, but we realized its proximity by the presence of the cape pigeons which hovered around our vessel. the albatross was also our daily visitor and one or two of them were caught by the sailors, regardless of the superstition of possible calamity attending such an act. our only stop during the long voyage was at the moluccas or spice islands, in the malay peninsula, and was made at the request of the passengers who were desirous of exploring the beauties of that tropical region. the waters surrounding these islands were as calm as a lake and all around our ship floated the débris of spices. the vegetation was more beautiful than i can describe and the shells which covered the shores were eagerly collected by the passengers. our fellow voyagers were four missionaries, who on sundays conducted divine service, and a mr. pemberton, a young canadian who was _en voyage_ to join the _hong_ of purden and company in shanghai. in these early days it was the custom of parents of refractory or adventurous sons to place them on board sailing vessels for lengthy outings. occasionally they were sent upon whaling voyages, where the hardships were greater and the voyage more prolonged. on the _indiaman_ there were several of these youths and it was quite pathetic as well as comical to see them ascend the rigging amid the jeers of a well-disciplined crew. one of them, whose father had occupied an official position in the city of new york, had been quite a society "swell" and claimed acquaintance with me. at times he was required by the captain to hold my younger child, a mere babe, in the arms. every now and then we were startled by her shrieks and for quite a time we could not detect the cause until we finally discovered that his task was uncongenial and that, in order to get rid of his charge, the incorrigible youth had administered an occasional pinch. one sunday afternoon while sailing in the indian ocean we had a narrow escape from shipwreck. every sail was set to catch the least breath of air, and mr. gouverneur and the children were on deck with the captain, when in the distance they saw what seemed to resemble a huge wall. the moment the experienced eye of our skipper saw it he exclaimed, "my god, we are gone!" it slowly but surely approached our ship and when it reached us its force was so great that our sails almost dipped into the ocean. the ship, however, gradually righted itself and we were naturally more than grateful for our deliverance. i chanced to be resting in my cabin at the perilous moment and in a most unceremonious manner was thrown to the floor. after reaching the mouth of that stupendous river, the yangtze kiang, we thought our long voyage was nearly ended, but we soon discovered that we had not yet "crossed the rubicon," and that trouble was still in store for us. we had just passed the mouth of this river and cast anchor when, to our surprise and dismay, we encountered a severe storm, and during the night dragged anchor for about twenty miles. the morning, however, dawned bright and clear, but our captain, who had lost his temper during the storm, did not accord the chinese pilots who boarded us a very gracious reception. this was my first glimpse of the chinese within the limits of their own domain. when we reached the city of shanghai it was quite dark, but we found coolies awaiting us with chairs. i shall never forget my first impressions of china. all of my anticipations of the beautiful orient were fully realized, and, as i was carried through the crowded streets, visions of the arabian nights enchanted me and it seemed to me a veritable region of delight. the streets of shanghai, however, after the broad thoroughfares of washington, appeared like small and complicated pathways. they were not lighted with public lamps at this time, but myriads of lanterns of every conceivable shape and color carried by wayfarers met the eye at every turn and made the whole scene appear like fairyland. but, alas, the following morning i was undeceived, for daylight revealed to my vision a very squalid and dirty city. we were carried to the largest hotel in shanghai, where it seemed as though i were almost receiving a home greeting when the sign over the door told me that it was the astor house! still another surprise awaited me. although in a strange land, one of the first persons to welcome me was a former acquaintance, the wife of mr. robert morrison olyphant, the head of the prominent _hong_ of olyphant and company. her maiden name was anna o. vernon and i had formerly known her quite well in new york and newport. we did not linger long in shanghai, but embraced the first opportunity to reach foo chow. it was a coast voyage of several days and was attended with much discomfort, as the choppy seas through which we sailed made all of us very ill--a remarkable experience, considering the fact that during the whole of our protracted voyage we had not suffered an uncomfortable moment. we reached foo chow, however, in due time, and mr. gouverneur at once assumed his official duties. foo chow is called by the natives _hok chiu_, or "happy city." it is also what is termed a "foo-city," signifying a place of the largest magnitude, and was the sole chinese port where royalty was represented. it is situated upon the min river, about twenty-five miles from its mouth, and is the capital of the province of fokien. the navigation of the river min was regarded as dangerous, and the insurance rates for vessels navigating it were higher than those of any other chinese port. the place is surrounded by castellated walls nine or ten miles in circumference, outside of which are suburbs as extensive as the city itself. its walls are about thirty feet high and twelve wide at the top. its seven gates are overlooked by high towers, while small guardhouses stand at frequent intervals along the walls. upon our arrival in foo chow we found no house provided for the u.s. consul, and immediately made our residence with a missionary family, where we were most comfortable, until the _hong_ of augustus heard and company provided us with a residence for which we paid rent. the english government took better care of its representative. not far from us was the british consulate, a fine building reminding one in certain respects of the white house. in another residence near by, and provided by his government, lived the british interpreter, a scotchman named milne. walter h. medhurst, the british consul, and his interpreter were descendants of early english missionaries. we found foo chow to be a somewhat lawless city. many of its inhabitants were mountaineers from the surrounding region who had become pretty well starved out and had found their way into the city. as a result of their early training, they gave the authorities much trouble. i was naturally much impressed by some of the novel and curious customs then prevalent. the seat of honor assigned a guest was on the left of the host. the uncovered head for a man was a mark of disrespect and a servant would accordingly be severely reprimanded if he appeared before his master with his hat off. persons in mourning wore white, in striking contrast with the somber apparel used by ourselves. the shoe polish in vogue was a chalky white substance. from these and other examples it can readily be seen i was justified in feeling that i had been transferred to another planet and had left "dull earth behind me." when we reached foo chow, the gorgeous flowers and other vegetation were at their best. the month of april was a season set apart by the chinese to decorate with flowers the graves of their ancestors; and coming from a land where such a ceremony was unknown, it impressed me as a beautiful custom. it suggests, moreover, the inquiry as to whether it was from the chinese, or from an innate conviction of the beautiful sentiment demanding an outward expression, that induced the descendants of the blue and the gray, at a later period, to strew with flowers the last resting-places of those whose memories they delighted to honor. next door to the u.s. consulate lived a parsee named botelwalla, who was an english subject. he never uncovered his head, and his tarpaulin hat carried me back to the pictures in my geography while studying at miss forbes's school. he was extensively engaged in the opium trade, and had large quantities of it stored in his dwelling. one day he came to our home to make a social visit and, taking it for granted that he was a fire-worshiper, i inquired whether he came from persia. he told me that twelve hundred years ago his family emigrated from that country to india, where their descendants had since resided. i recall an incident which convinced me at the time that he was not a consistent follower of his own religion. mr. gouverneur noticed smoke issuing one day from what he thought was a remote portion of the botelwalla home, and immediately called out to the parsee from an adjoining window that his house was on fire. without a moment's hesitation, he got all of his family together, and for a while they worked most strenuously to subdue the flames and to save from destruction the hundred thousand dollars' worth of opium lodged in the parsee's home. somewhat later we were surprised to learn that it was our own kitchen which was on fire. our ignorance was due to the fact that the walls of the two houses were so irregular and so oddly constructed that it was at first exceedingly difficult, upon a superficial view, to distinguish certain portions of our own home from those of our neighbor. the one feature, however, connected with the fire which impressed us most forcibly was the fact that botelwalla, our neighbor and fire-worshiper, did not allow his religious scruples to interfere with the safety of his valuable personal possessions. my attention, as well as admiration, was frequently directed to a number of superb india cashmere shawls which i often saw airing on his upper veranda and which, i think, were used for bed coverings. soon after his arrival in foo chow, mr. gouverneur was fortunate in securing the services of a chinese interpreter named ling kein, a mandarin of high order, who wore the "blue button," significant of his rank. in addition to this distinction he wore on his hat the peacock feather, an official reward of merit. he was a chinese of remarkable intelligence, well versed in english as well as in the chinese vernacular, and was also the master of several dialects. he surprised me by his familiarity with new york, and upon inquiry i learned that he had once taken a junk into that port, which was naturally regarded with great curiosity by the gothamites. he remembered many prominent new yorkers, one of whom was daniel lord, the distinguished lawyer, whom he had met in a professional relation. he also recalled my old friend and mr. gouverneur's kinsman, william kemble, who lived next door to mr. lord opposite st. john's park. ling kein and his family lived in our house, but they led such secluded lives that i seldom saw them; indeed, we never laid eyes upon our interpreter except when his presence was required. he was not in the employ of our government, but his salary of one hundred dollars a month was paid from my husband's private means. his services were invaluable and when we first began housekeeping he secured our domestic staff for us. the butler was ning ping, a christianized chinese, who took entire charge of the establishment--going to market, regulating the servants and even handing them their wages. for his services he received four dollars a month. i found this mode of life ideally pleasant and easy until i heard an uproar one day in the servants' quarters in which my two nurses seemed to be involved. i was entirely ignorant as to the cause of the commotion and for some time held my peace, as one of the first lessons i learned in china was not to probe too deeply into domestic affairs, since one derived but little satisfaction from the attempt. as the confusion continued, however, i summoned ling kein in order to ascertain the cause of it. it seems that ning ping had paid the women their wages in mexican dollars which were not of the proper weight. there prevailed a crafty method of clipping or punching the coins, and this dishonest chinaman had taken advantage of those whom he thought to be simply unsophisticated women. the trouble was finally quelled by an agreement that in future i should personally pay the nurses their wages. i gave each of these women four dollars a month for their services. our cook, ting ting, who was a chef, and the four coolies, who were the chair bearers, were also paid four dollars a month each. the gatekeeper, whose duties were to open and close the front gate and to look after the chairs of visitors, received a similar sum for his services. i also employed by the month a native tailor, whose sole requirements for his work were a chair and a table. he did the entire sewing of the establishment and charged four dollars a month for his labor. at least one of my experiences with him failed to confirm the extraordinary powers of imitation possessed by the chinese, for upon one occasion when i trusted him with a handsome garment, with strict injunctions to follow the model i gave him, he completely ignored my instructions and carried out his own designs. fortunately for us, this retinue of retainers provided its own food and clothing, and i was in blissful ignorance as to where they stowed themselves away for the night. a laundryman called once a week for our clothes and his charges were two dollars a hundred for articles of every description. i am almost ashamed to acknowledge that i never saw the interior of our kitchen, but our cook served our dinners in the most approved manner. we frequently had guests to dine with us and as the butler, ning ping, was as much an expert in his department as the cook, ting ting, was in his, i was delightfully irresponsible and often wondered, as i sat at my own table, what the next course would be. our guests were principally men, usually the senior members of _hongs_ and officers of war-ships lying in the harbor, and it was the custom of each to bring with him his "boy," who stood behind him throughout the repast. there was quite a number of missionaries in the city, and each religious denomination provided its ministers with comfortable quarters. the baptists were especially well represented and also the "american board," which was established in boston in . the english residents had a small chapel of their own which was well sustained by them. there was one missionary who commanded my especial respect and admiration. i refer to the rev. mr. william c. burns, a scotch presbyterian clergyman. he led a life of consecrated self-denial, living exclusively with the natives and dressing in the chinese garb which, with his caucasian features and blond complexion, caused him to present the drollest appearance. only those who have resided in china can understand the repugnance with which anyone accustomed to the amenities of refined society would naturally regard such a life. he gave up body and soul to the spread of christianity in a heathen land, recalling to my mind the early jesuits, francis xavier, lucas caballero and cipriano baraza, who penetrated pathless forests and crossed unknown seas in conformity with the requirements of their sacred mission. mr. burns died in china in the earnest pursuit of his vocation. i own a copy of his life published in new york in , soon after his death. the roman catholic church was well represented in foo chow and was under the general direction of the order of the dominicans. each portion of china, in fact, even the most remote, was under the jurisdiction of some roman catholic order, so that directly or indirectly almost every chinaman in the empire was reached. the catholics also had a large orphan asylum in foo chow, over whose portals, in chinese characters, was the verse from the psalms: "when my father and my mother forsake me, then the lord will take me up." nothing brought back to me my far-away western home more pleasantly than the tones of the angelus sounding from the belfry of this institution. there was a native orphan asylum in foo chow, not far from the american consulate--a fact i have never seen stated in any of the numerous books i have read relating to the "middle kingdom." with true chinese insight, the largest salary was paid the nurse who successfully reared the greatest number of babies. when i lived in china, the laws for the prevention of infanticide were as stringent as our own, but they were often successfully evaded. poverty was so grinding in the east that the slaughter of children was one of its most pitiable consequences. infants were made way with at birth, before they were regarded with the eye of affection. fifty years ago slavery was prevalent among the chinese, and one of its saddest features consisted in the fact that its victims were of their own race and color. poverty-stricken parents sold their offspring to brokers, and in foo chow it was recognized as a legitimate business. theoretically there were no slaves in hong-kong, which is british territory, but in reality the city was full of them. both men and women slave-brokers infested the large cities of china, and boys and girls between the ages of ten and twelve were sent from all the neighboring villages to be sold in foo chow. the girls were purchased to be employed as servants, and sometimes parents would buy them for the purpose of training them until they reached the proper age and of then marrying them off to their sons. in this way, as may readily be seen, some of the young people of china were spared the vicissitudes and discouragements of courtship so keenly realized in some other countries. i have seen girl slaves sold with no other property except the clothes upon their backs. frequently their garments were of the scantiest character and in some cases even these were claimed by the avaricious brokers. many of the waifs were purchased upon trial as a precaution against leprosy which prevailed throughout the east. one of the tests consisted in placing the child in a dark room under a blue light; if the skin was found to be of a greenish hue, the slave passed muster; but, on the other hand, if it was of a reddish tinge it indicated the early stages of this fatal malady. babies were not much in demand in foo chow and did not even command the price of fresh pork! i learned at an orphan asylum in shanghai that they were purchased at twenty cents each. this institution was conducted by missionaries who taught the girls all kinds of domestic duties and, when they arrived at proper ages, saw that they were given to suitable men for wives. not far from the consulate were the quarters of the tartars. they seemed to live very much to themselves, and most of the men were connected with the military service of the country. it may not be generally known that ever since the commencement of the tartar dynasty, between two and three centuries ago, the queue has been worn by the chinese as a badge of submission to the tartars. the feet of the women were not compressed by these early rulers and consequently the court did not set the fashion as in european countries. i understand that even now the bandaged feet are universal. in those days there were no railroads or telegraphs in china. the emperor died while we were living in foo chow and the news did not reach us until several weeks after the event, and then only through the medium of a courier. the official announcement came to the consulate upon a long yellow card bearing certain chinese characters. all of the mandarins in our city, upon receiving the intelligence, gathered at the various temples to bewail in loud tones and with tearful eyes the death of their ruler. the palace of the viceroy was naturally the chief objective point of all foreigners and especially of officials upon their arrival in port. occasions frequently occurred when mr. gouverneur was compelled to go through the formality of requesting an interview with this high official. these audiences were always promptly granted and were conducted with a great amount of pomp and ceremony very dear to the inhabitants of "far cathay," but exceedingly tiresome to others. some distance from us, and in another quarter of the city, was a large building called examination hall, used by the natives exclusively in connection with the civil service of the government. it was divided into small rooms, each of which was large enough to accommodate only one person, and in these the young men of that locality who were aspirants for governmental positions were locked each year while they wrote their test examination papers. the hall accommodated ten thousand students and the time of examination was regarded by the chinese as a critical period in a young man's life, as his chances of future success largely depended upon the ability displayed in his papers. these were carefully read by a board of examiners, and official positions were assigned to those who excelled in the examination. intelligence was regarded as the chief condition of executive favor and, although personal influence naturally had its weight, its exercise did not seem to be as prevalent in china as elsewhere. it may not be flattering to the pride of other nations, but the fact remains that the civil service of china was the forerunner of the reforms instituted in countries which we are accustomed to regard as much more enlightened in governmental polity. while we were in china, the seas were infested with a formidable band of native pirates that had committed depredations for many years. one day two rival factions dropped anchor at the same time in the min river, directly opposite foo chow, and opened a brisk fire upon each other. many of the foreigners became much alarmed, as projectiles were flying around at a lively rate. one of these which had entered the house of an american missionary was brought to the consulate, and mr. gouverneur was urged to take some action. the natives of china were at times a turbulent people who seemed glad for an excuse to stir up the community and, in consequence of this battle of the sea-robbers, a mob formed in foo chow which threatened disastrous results. the only foreign vessel in the harbor was a united states man-of-war, the _adams_, under the command of james f. schenck, subsequently a rear admiral in our navy. only a few days previous the british ships had departed for the mouth of the peiho river, for the purpose of forcing opium upon the poor chinese at the cannon's mouth. the city authorities were requested to use their influence in quelling the riots but seemed unequal to the emergency. this state of affairs continued for several days, when one morning the _taotai_ (mayor), preceded by men beating gongs and followed by a large retinue, arrived at the consulate and requested protection for the city. upon a similar occasion during the previous summer, when a number of british warships were in port, these belligerent pirates received summary treatment by having their anchor cables cut, thus causing them to float down the river. upon mr. gouverneur's request the _adams_ sent a detachment of marines on shore. it was quartered around the consulate and its presence quickly had the desired moral effect upon all parties, and proved a source of great relief to both foreign and native residents. later all apprehension was removed by the speedy departure of the unwelcome marauders. meanwhile the consulate had received many valuables, deposited there for safety. the morning following the departure of the ships we noticed a large number of boxes in our courtyard and also several sheep tied to the flag-staff. for a time we could not understand the meaning of this queer collection and were compelled to assign it to the usual incomprehensibilities of chinese life. mr. gouverneur went in search of our interpreter, hoping that he could explain the situation, but to our surprise he had fled. we learned that he stood in great awe of the pirates and feared their vengeance if he told all he knew about them. mr. milne, the british interpreter, finally came to our rescue. it seems that the sheep and boxes were parting gifts--"kumshaws," as the chinese term them--from the pirates to the american and british consuls and mr. milne. at first we had no idea what the boxes contained, and mr. gouverneur sought the advice of william sloane, the head of the _hong_ of russell and company, who had long been a resident of china, as to what should be done with this strange consignment. he strongly urged that, as a matter of policy, they be accepted and the british consul, walter h. medhurst, agreed with him. the medley collection was accordingly divided into three groups and some coolies were engaged to convey to the english consul and mr. milne their respective shares. the sheep took the lead, and it was indeed a curious procession that we watched from our windows as we breathed a sigh of relief over the departure of this "embarrassment of riches," and commenced to plan for the disposal of our own share. a few minutes later i chanced to glance out of the window when, to my utter dismay, i saw the procession so recently _en route_ to the british consulate reenter our courtyard. we were informed that medhurst had weakened and refused to receive his share of the "kumshaws." mr. gouverneur was much annoyed by such vacillating conduct and immediately notified the british consul in emphatic language that if he refused to accept the piratical gifts he would regard it as a personal matter. this had the desired effect and a second time the procession wended its way to the british consulate. the boxes proved to contain hams, rock candy, dates and other provisions which we immediately sent to the american missionaries, while the sheep were given to mr. sloane to do with them whatever he pleased. we found this gentleman throughout our chinese life to be a man of superior judgment and an agreeable companion. after a long and successful career in the east, he died in china just on the eve of his embarkation for america. he never married and many years later i had the pleasure of becoming acquainted with his brother, samuel sloane, the railroad magnate, at garrison's-on-the-hudson; and, owing to our agreeable association with his brother, both mr. and mrs. sloane always welcomed me with great cordiality. i have already referred to commander (afterwards rear admiral) james f. schenck, u.s.n. our association with him in foo chow was highly agreeable. he was our frequent guest at the consulate and we soon discovered in him a man of rare wit; indeed, i have understood that fifty years ago he was considered the most clever _raconteur_ in the navy. commander schenck's executive officer on the _adams_ was lieutenant james j. waddell, whom we regarded as a pleasing and congenial guest. subsequent to his life in eastern waters, his career was unusually interesting. he was a native of north carolina and, resigning his commission in the united states service at the opening of the civil war, subsequently entered the confederate navy, where he was finally assigned to the command of the celebrated cruiser _shenandoah_. this ship, formerly the british merchantman _sea king_, was bought in england for £ , by james d. bulloch, the naval agent of the southern confederacy in great britain, to take the place of the _alabama_, which had been sunk by the _kearsarge_ in june, . she left london in the fall of the same year and fitted out as an armed cruiser off madeira. she then went to australia and, after cruising in various parts of the pacific, sailed for behring sea and the arctic ocean, where she met with remarkable success in her depredations upon northern shipping. she captured thirty-eight vessels, mostly whalers, and the actual losses inflicted by her were only sixty thousand dollars less than those charged to the _alabama_. captain waddell first heard of the downfall of the confederacy when off the coast of lower california on the d of august, --between three and four months after the event--and, as he had captured in that interval about a dozen ships and realized that his acts might be regarded as piratical, he sailed for england where, early in november, he surrendered the _shenandoah_ to the british government. she was turned over to the united states, was subsequently sold to the sultan of zanzibar and was lost in in the indian ocean. she was the only ship that carried the flag of the confederacy around the world. in december, , captain waddell married a daughter of james iglehart of annapolis, and died in that city a number of years ago. the american consulate was the rendezvous of all naval officers who came into port, and i recall with gratification lieutenant john j. b. walbach, a son of colonel john debarth walbach, a well-known officer of the army, dr. philip lansdale, dr. benjamin f. gibbs, lieutenant george m. blodgett and lieutenant (afterwards rear admiral) john c. beaumont. the latter was frequently my guest in washington after my return to america, and doctors lansdale and gibbs i met again at the capital, where we took pleasure in discussing our chinese observations and experiences. while in china i also became acquainted with captain and mrs. eliphalet nott of schenectady, the former of whom was a nephew of the venerable president eliphalet nott of union college. he commanded his own vessel, the _don quixote_, and was usually accompanied on his voyages by his wife--a mode of life that impressed me as quite ideal. one day as i was passing through the streets of foo chow my attention was directed to a gayly-dressed woman seated in a chair decked with flowers. i was informed that she was a chinese widow who was about to sacrifice herself upon the pyre in accordance with the custom of the country. i subsequently learned that when this woman reached the place appointed for the ceremony, she found an immense assemblage, including many mandarins and her own brother, the latter of whom had agreed to apply the torch that should launch her into eternity. the crowd, however, was disappointed, for at the last moment her courage failed her and she announced that she must return home at once as she had forgotten to feed her pig! the woman's life was saved, but the disappointment of the throng found expression in a riot which, however, was speedily quelled by the authorities. the chinese nation was the victim of an outrageous wrong, and the perpetrators were americans and englishmen whose unquenchable avarice overcame their moral convictions. i refer to the iniquitous manner in which opium was introduced into the country and subsequently sold to the natives. large fortunes were accumulated in this way, but it was nothing more nor less than "blood money" wrung from the pockets of those who had a right to expect better things from the representatives of christian countries. china at this time was unable to cope by force with the western nations, but she did not renounce the right to protect herself from this outrage without a struggle. when, however, she asserted this right, as she did on a certain occasion by seizing and burning the deadly drug, she made herself liable for heavy indemnities and was compelled to abandon the unequal struggle. in consequence of this act, six hundred thousand dollars passed through mr. gouverneur's hands as u.s. consul. even in recent years the chinese emperor has sought to protect his subjects from the evils of opium. when i lived in china, congo tea was cultivated around foo chow, but in time it was abandoned and the poppy took its place. a few years ago an edict was issued prohibiting the cultivation of this flower and i understand that tea is again a product of this region. when i resided in foo chow, some of the most prominent business houses were involved in the smuggling of opium, and one very large and wealthy firm--that of jardine and matthewson--actually employed a heavily armed gunboat to assist it in the accomplishment of this colossal outrage. it will be remembered that when li hung chang, then one of the richest men in the world, visited this country a few years ago he frequently asked the wealthy men whom he met where they got their money. whether or not he had in mind at the time the manner in which certain american and english fortunes had been accumulated in his native land does not appear; but if his question had been directed to the heads of some of the business houses in foo chow and elsewhere in china while i was there, it certainly would have produced, to say the least, no little embarrassment. poor china has suffered much from the impositions and depredations of foreigners. pillage and theft have marked the paths of foreign invaders in a manner wholly inconsistent with the code of honorable warfare, and acts have been committed that would never be tolerated in conflicts between western nations. it was said that the title of comte de pelikao was conferred by louis napoleon upon general charles montauban for having presented the empress eugénie with some superb black pearls taken from the imperial summer palace when it was looted in . at the same time and in the same manner also disappeared many almost priceless gems, costly articles of _vertu_, treasures in gold and silver and a wealth of ancient manuscripts; while similar outrages were ruthlessly perpetrated in the same unfortunate city only a few years ago as the closing chapter in the boxer troubles. unhappy china! she has felt the aggressive hand of her western "brothers" ever since the unwilling invasion of her shores. about this time china was the resort of many adventurous americans, some of whom doubtless "left their country for their country's good," with a view of seeking their fortunes. we became very well acquainted with a new yorker named augustus joseph francis harrison, a master of a craft sailing in chinese waters. his early life had been spent in morrisania in new york, where he had become familiar with the name of my husband's relative, gouverneur morris, and was thus led to seek our acquaintance. one day he came to the consulate apparently in ill health and told us he was in a serious condition. it seems that he had employed an english physician whose violent remedies had failed to benefit him and had prompted him to declare that he had been mistaken for a horse! he begged us for shelter and we accordingly gave him a room and retained him at the consulate as our guest. we knew but little of medical remedies, but we did the best for him we could, and in due time were delighted to see that our patient was convalescing. one day my husband and my daughter maud visited him in his room and, as a token of gratitude, he presented to the little girl the "pirates' god," one of his most cherished treasures--a curious idol, which is still in her possession. on the back of it he wrote the following history:--"this idol, together with the whole contents of two large pirate boats, was captured after a severe fight of three hours, they having undertaken to take us by surprise; consequently thirty or forty were killed. the rest made good their escape by jumping overboard and swimming ashore. the boats and contents, too, were sold." foo chow was a region frequently visited by typhoons, in consequence of which a municipal law required houses to be but one story high. during the latter part of our residence in china we experienced the terrors of a storm remarkable for its severity and in the course of which a portion of the consulate was blown down. after spending some anxious hours in an underground passage in the middle of the night, we were finally obliged to take refuge in the _hong_ of augustus heard and company. i shall never forget, as we sat in this lonely cellar with the elements raging above us, the imploring cries of my young children, "i want to go home." it was while this storm was raging that mr. gouverneur received the following note from george j. weller, the representative of this well-known firm:-- my dear mr. gouverneur, the barometer is going up--the wind will probably abate a little soon, and perhaps then mrs. g. and the children can come. _make_ the coolies carry the chair. three can do it. the semi-tropical climate of foo chow, however, did not agree with mr. gouverneur, in consequence of which we decided to return home. his campaign during the mexican war had made serious inroads upon his health, from which he never entirely recovered. it was hoped that his life in the east would be beneficial, but it proved otherwise. meanwhile, the civil war was raging in the united states, but the news concerning it was very stale long before it reached us. we did not receive the particulars of the battle of bull run, for example, until three months after its occurrence. in view of the turbulent state of affairs at home, the government thought it important that mr. gouverneur should remain at his post of duty until the arrival of his successor, and he decided to do so. during these days of uncertainty, however, my husband deemed it wise that, if possible, i should return with the children on a ship sailing under the protection of the british flag, and i quite agreed with him. in due time the favorable opportunity presented itself, and i embarked for america in the british merchantman _mirage_. the wisdom of mr. gouverneur's judgment was fully confirmed, as the next american vessel sailing from foo chow after my departure was captured by a confederate privateer. when i went to china i took two little girls with me, and returned with three. at the birth of the last daughter we named her "rose de chine," in order to identify her more intimately with the land of her nativity. soon after her birth, several chinese asked me: "how many girls do you keep?" we were the only passengers on the _mirage_ and, besides having very superior accommodations on board, we were treated with every consideration by its captain. we were three months upon the homeward voyage and the captain called it smooth sailing. we fell in with many vessels _en route_ and, to quote our skipper, we found them "like human beings, some very friendly and others stern and curt." when in mid-ocean we passed an american vessel, the _anna decatur_, which seemed like a welcome from home as it was named after a former new york friend of mine, anna pine decatur, a niece of commodore stephen decatur, who married captain william h. parsons of the merchant service. lieutenant stephen decatur, u.s.n., a brother of anna pine decatur, was a constant visitor at our house in houston street in my young days. during one of his cruises he was stricken with a serious illness which resulted in total blindness. he subsequently married but, although he never had the pleasure of seeing his wife and children, his genial nature was not changed by his affliction. in he became a commodore on the retired list, but some of the family connection objected to his use of this title, as in their opinion the world should recognize only one commodore stephen decatur, the naval hero of . as we neared new york harbor i became decidedly impatient and was congratulating myself one morning that our long voyage was almost over, when i noticed that the usually pleasant expression on the captain's face had changed to one of extreme anxiety. i inquired: "what is wrong, captain?" and to my dismay he replied: "everything!" he then told me we were just outside the pilot grounds, but that in all his experience, even in chinese waters, he had never known the barometer to fall so low; and, to add to his anxiety, there was no pilot within sight! it was a very cold february morning, the thermometer having reached the zero mark, and i went at once to my cabin to prepare for the worst. the captain meanwhile commenced to make preparations for a severe storm, but before we realized it the tempest was upon us and our vessel was blown far out to sea, where for three days we were at the mercy of the elements. the rudder was tied, the hatches battened down and there was nothing left to do but to sit with folded hands and trust to that providence whom even the waters obey. [illustration: mrs. gouverneur's three daughters. _miss gouverneur, mrs. roswell randall hoes, mrs. william crawford johnson._] i remember sitting in my stateroom one of those terrible nights entirely alone and without even the comforting sound of a human voice. our life preservers were within reach, but i fully realized that they would be of but little avail in such a raging sea. during those anxious moments, with my little children sound asleep in the adjoining cabin and quite oblivious of impending danger, i wondered whether it would be my destiny to close my earthly career on rockaway beach, near the spot where i had first seen the light of day; but soon after those anxious moments i was indeed grateful, as the captain told me that if the wind had been in another quarter all of us would have perished within a few hours. gradually the winds and storm ceased and, the waters becoming calmer, we finally reached our haven without even being subjected to the annoying presence of a custom house official, as the high seas had prevented his visit. when i reached land i learned that the awful storm had extended along the whole eastern coast and had carried death and devastation in its track. the children and i were driven to my mother's late residence, west thirty-sixth street, but she was no longer there to greet me, as she had passed into the great beyond the year before my return; but my sister charlotte and my brother malcolm were still living there, both of whom were unmarried. i had received such kindness from the captain of the _mirage_ during the homeward voyage that i felt i should like to make some fitting return, and accordingly his wife and daughter became my guests. chapter xiii the civil war and life in maryland as the time passed i became somewhat anxious over the delay in mr. gouverneur's return to this country. it seems, however, that, with neither of us knowing it, we were upon the sea at the same time. his homeward voyage was made by the way of the isthmus of suez and marseilles. for a while it seemed difficult for either of us to realize that we were in our own country once more, as the civil war had turned everything and everybody topsy turvy. when we left the country, party animosities were pitched to a high key, but the possibility of a gigantic civil war as a solution of political problems would have been regarded as preposterous. on our return, however, the country was wild with excitement over an armed struggle, the eventual magnitude of which no one had yet dreamed of. newly equipped regiments were constantly passing in our vicinity for the seat of war, the national ensign and other emblems of loyalty were displayed on every hand and a martial spirit pervaded the very atmosphere. the war was the one important topic of conversation at homes, in the streets and in places of business. the passions of the people were so thoroughly aroused that they were frequently expressed in severe denunciation of any who presumed to entertain conservative views of the situation of affairs and who still hoped for conciliation and peace. suspicions were often created by trivial but well-intended acts or remarks that were susceptible of a double construction, and loyal sentiment was often so pronounced in its denunciation of the south that no word or remark could be tolerated that by any possibility could be construed as a criticism of the administration, a disapproval of the war or of any detail relating to its conduct. for example, not long after our return from china, while mr. gouverneur and i were visiting my sister, mrs. eames, in washington, we were watching one day a newly equipped regiment from vermont while passing her residence _en route_ for the seat of war, when mr. eames remarked, "gouverneur, isn't that a fine regiment?" my husband, who then and always thereafter was thoroughly loyal to the cause of the union, but whose military training had made him familiar with the precise tactics and evolutions of regular troops, replied: "they need training," when mr. eames, with much warmth of feeling, exclaimed: "you are a secessionist, sir!" that, however, represented but a mild state of feeling compared with that sometimes entertained between those who were loyal to the union and others who sympathized with the south. i recall one conspicuous instance where such antagonistic views resulted in personal animosity that severed tender personal relations of long standing. when i left the country a lifelong intimacy had existed between mrs. charles vanden heuvel, a granddaughter of robert morris, the great financier of the revolution, and mrs. george gibbs, granddaughter of the connecticut statesman, oliver wolcott; but after the outbreak of the war these two elderly women differed so radically in their views concerning the conflict that, for a period, their personal relations were severed. the spirit of toleration was so utterly lacking in both the north and the south that even those allied by ties of blood were estranged, and a spirit of bitter resentment and crimination everywhere prevailed. this state of feeling, under the circumstances, was doubtless inevitable, but it emphasized better than almost anything else, except bloodshed itself, the truth of general sherman's declaration that "war is hell!" the animosities engendered by the war ruptured family ties and familiar associations in maryland much more completely than in the north. one of the needwood families was that of outerbridge horsey, who was a pronounced southern sympathizer, while not far away at mount o'donnell, a superb old estate, lived general columbus o'donnell, who ardently espoused the cause of the union. mr. horsey had a son born just after a southern victory whom he named robert victor lee; but later, after a confederate defeat, general o'donnell suggested that the name be changed to robert "skedaddle" lee, whereupon mr. horsey retorted that he thought the name of a grandchild of general o'donnell might appropriately be changed to george "retreat" mcclellan. of charles oliver o'donnell, one of the general's sons, i retain the pleasantest memories. he was a gentleman of attractive personality and a genial nature. his first wife was lucinia de sodré, daughter of luis pereira de sodré, who at the time of his daughter's marriage was the brazilian minister in washington. mr. o'donnell's second wife was miss helen sophia carroll of baltimore. after remaining a few months in new york and a shorter period in washington, we visited mr. gouverneur's father, who was still living at needwood in maryland. here we found a radical change of scene, for we were now in close proximity to the seat of war. on our journey southward we were somewhat delayed by the rumor that general lee was about to enter maryland, rendering it necessary for us to procure passes, which was accomplished through the courtesy of general edward shriver, a native of frederick, who held at the time an important official position in baltimore. we had thought when we arrived in new york that public feeling ran high, but it was mild compared with our observations and experiences in maryland, and we never dared to predict what a day would bring forth. mr. gouverneur's father was a pronounced northern man, but his wife's relatives, as well as most of his neighbors, sympathized with the south. soon after the outbreak of the war, while we were yet in china, and at the period when maryland was wavering between the north and south, and to anxious spectators secession seemed almost inevitable, my father-in-law and ex-governor philip f. thomas left one morning on a hurried trip to frederick, where the state legislature was convened in special session, instead of at the state capitol in annapolis, which was then occupied by union troops. a report had reached them that the legislature would probably declare for secession and call a convention to take into consideration an ordinance for the accomplishment of that end, and they desired to exert whatever influence they could command to retain the state in the union. the national administration, however, was equally alert, and a measure much more effective, in this instance, than moral suasion was employed to defeat the adherents of the southern cause. general john a. dix arrested ten members-elect of the state legislature, the mayor of baltimore, a congressman and two editors; while in frederick, general nathaniel p. banks took into custody nine other members who, under the suspension of the writ of habeas corpus, were confined for a time either in fort lafayette in new york or in fort warren in boston. i well remember that one of these was severn teackle wallis of baltimore, a lawyer of exceptional prominence and ability and a universal favorite in society. shortly before the battle of gettysburg, when frederick county was occupied by the union troops, many of the officers dined at needwood. a little later, although over forty miles away, we knew that a great battle was in progress, as we distinctly heard the steady firing of heavy artillery. the news of the great union victory finally reached us and i listened in silent sympathy to the rejoicing of the unionists and heard the lamentations of the sympathizers with the southern cause. after the battle of gettysburg, the disorganized southern army came straggling along through maryland, their objective point being harper's ferry; while general george g. meade with his troops was on south mountain, within sight of the former locality. during the night there arose one of the most violent storms i have ever known, and we naturally supposed that it would render the potomac and shenandoah rivers, which meet at harper's ferry, absolutely impassable, as all bridges had, of course, been destroyed. the storm raged with such fury that we were actually afraid to go to bed. mr. gouverneur and i were elated because we believed it meant the end of hostilities and the union restored; for in our opinion, it seemed impossible for human beings to successfully contend with the elements and at the same time to live under the fire of meade's guns. it would therefore be difficult to describe our surprise when we learned the next morning that lee's troops had safely crossed the potomac and were again on the soil of virginia. several days later mr. gouverneur and i were driving on the national turnpike, commonly called the hagerstown pike, when we encountered the union army. our destination was the country seat of ex-governor philip f. thomas, two miles from frederick and within the shadow of catoctin mountain, which we were contemplating as a future home. our travel was not impeded except by an occasional inquiry in regard to our political sentiments, as the northern army was prone to believe that every sojourner in maryland at this time was an adherent of the south. this national turnpike, which has been and still is a well-traveled thoroughfare, was constructed at a cost of several million dollars and was generally regarded as an extravagance of john adams' administration. in speaking of this road, which begins at georgetown, d.c., and crosses the mountains into kentucky, henry clay once remarked that no one need go abroad for scenery after viewing "the valley of the shenandoah, harper's ferry, and the still more beautiful middletown valley." we were so favorably impressed by the thomas place that we decided to purchase it and in a short time found ourselves permanent residents of frederick county, in maryland. we changed the name from "waverley" to "_po-ne-sang_," which was the name of a chinese mission and meant "a small hill." after seeing the children and myself comfortably established in our new home, mr. gouverneur felt that he was now free to give his services to the country for which he had so valiantly fought during the mexican war. as he was still in exceedingly delicate health, active service in the field with all the exposures of camp life was entirely out of the question but, desirous of rendering such services as he could, he wrote the following letter to major general henry w. halleck, commander in chief of our army:-- on my return from china, where i held the office of consul of the u.s., in the early part of may last i had the honor, through the honorable secretary of state, to offer my services to the president of the united states in any capacity in which my military or other experience might enable me to serve my country in its present hour of peril. to my communication to this effect i have received no reply. i have the honour now to tender to you my services on your staff in some position wherein they may prove most available. the record of my former services in mexico is on the files of the war department, and i am without vanity led to believe that the historical associations which place my name in connection with that of james monroe may give a prestige in our cause not wholly valueless. in conclusion i beg to add that the subject of compensation with me would be a matter of indifference. general halleck replied as follows:-- washington, july , . samuel l. gouverneur jr. new york. sir, the law authorizing the appointment of additional aides has been repealed. moreover, i have long since refused to nominate except for distinguished or meritorious military services. it is true that some have been put upon my staff without having rendered any service at all, but they were not nominated by me, and i do not recognize their appointment as legal. yours &c., h. w. halleck, major general commanding. general halleck seemed to be ignorant of the fact that the chief requisite for serving upon his staff was not wanting in the case of my husband, who, as before stated, was brevetted for gallantry and meritorious conduct at the battles of contreras and churubusco in the mexican war. halleck's reply was a bitter disappointment to mr. gouverneur but a tremendous relief to me, as i knew he was not in the condition of health to serve even as a staff-officer. when he originally broached the subject to me i did not try to dissuade him, as i felt that i had no moral right to interfere with his ideas of duty to his country. the halleck letter, therefore, brought about a state of affairs in our household much more satisfactory than my most sanguine anticipations. mr. gouverneur, having done his full duty, gave up his idea of re-entering the army and, in a spirit of contentment, began to take up life in our new home. during the month of august, , we had just gotten fairly settled when the confederate guerrilla chieftain, john s. mosby, appeared at our door with his band of marauders. their visit was brief and we were spared the usual depredations--why, we knew not, unless it were owing to the fact that mr. gouverneur's nephew, james monroe heiskell, a mere boy of sixteen, who ran away from home and swam across the potomac to join mosby's band, possibly accompanied him. mosby's men in the east and morgan's rangers in the west represented a species of ignoble warfare. in reality they did not benefit the cause which they professed to serve, but merely molested inoffensive farmers by carrying off their stock and thus depriving them of their means of livelihood. in recent years i discussed with a confederate officer, the late general beverly robertson, mosby's mode of warfare, and he surprised but gratified me very much by saying that in his opinion, it was a great injury to the southern cause. it seems hardly just that, during president grant's administration and later, official positions should have been bestowed upon mosby while the interests of other confederate officers who had fought a fair and honorable fight and had battled, moreover, for their country during the mexican war, should have been neglected. these war experiences furnished strenuous days for us in our new home and we lived in a state of constant excitement. i well recall the first morning it was announced to us by one of the colored servants, while we were at the breakfast table, that "the rebels were coming," and the feeling of timidity that nearly overpowered me. very soon some troops under the command of general bradley t. johnson, a native of frederick, marched upon our lawn and encamped all around us. general johnson immediately came to our door and, although i was in anything but a comfortable frame of mind, i summoned all my courage and met him at the threshold. in a very courtly manner--too much so, in fact, to be expected in time of war--he remarked, "you are a stranger here, madam." i responded: "my life here has been short; my name is gouverneur." he at once said: "i suppose you are a relative of mr. gouverneur of the maryland tract." i admitted the fact although i was not quite sure it was discreet to do so, as the union sentiments of my father-in-law were generally well known, and i was talking to a confederate general. he and his officers spent some time with us and we found them exceedingly friendly, and thus, at least for a time, the terrors of war were averted. many years later i met general johnson in my own drawing-room when he and his wife came from baltimore to attend the wedding of my daughter, ruth monroe, to his cousin, doctor william crawford johnson, of frederick. we naturally discussed our first meeting when he was greeted with less cordiality than he received during his present visit. upon learning of the approach of the confederates, we made rapid preparations for their advent. as we had learned from our neighbors that the south stood in great need of horses and we owned a number of them of more than usual value, mr. gouverneur seized upon an ingenious plan for concealing them. under our house was a fine cellar which, unfortunately, the horses refused to enter until the steps leading into it were removed. when this had been done, they were led down one by one into a darkened room, and bags were securely tied over their eyes to prevent them from neighing. during the visit of the confederates, which seemed to us interminably long, owing to our anxiety about the horses, general johnson sat directly over their hiding place; but they behaved like well-bred beasts and never uttered a sound. i had serious misgivings, however, when i saw a mounted officer, riding around the house to make a survey of the premises, stop at the upturned steps. for a moment i thought all was over and my feelings were akin to those, i fancy, of a person secreting stolen goods; but the investigation happily went no further and he rode on. when the active preparations for hiding the horses were in progress my children were running hither and thither and watching the process with much interest and excitement. i called them to me and in my sternest tones told them of the near approach of the soldiers and gave them to understand that if they said "horse" or "rebel devil" in their presence i should punish them severely. they had been taught by the negroes on the place to call the southerners "rebel devils," and i feared for the result if they allowed their childish tongues to wag too freely. a few hours later i spoke to one of the little girls upon some topic entirely foreign to our original subject, but she was so overawed by my threat and the presence of the troops that she seemed afraid to utter a word. after a little encouragement, however, she crept up to my side and whispered: "mamma, they have taken all of our saddles!" general johnson was still sitting on our porch, when a soldier approached and asked for an ax. one was immediately procured, when the general, asking the man's name, said: "that ax is to be returned." this order struck me as somewhat ludicrous when a little later i learned that the ax was to be used in demolishing all of our fences! this precaution was deemed important in order to facilitate, if necessary, a more speedy retreat. as night approached we were asked if a guard would be acceptable, and we were only too glad to avail ourselves of such protection. as we were closing the house for the night, after our strenuous day, one of the soldiers on guard duty remarked to me, in a friendly voice: "now i am going to bed!" in my astonishment i said: "where?" the smiling response was: "on the porch, to be sure!" in this state of unrest there was no repose for us that night and we did not even attempt to undress, as we knew not what an hour might bring forth. just before dawn there was a knock upon the front door and, upon opening it, i found facing me a guard who, without any apology, said: "i left my boots inside!" before i had locked the front door again and returned to my room, the southerners had "folded up their tents like the arabs and as silently stolen away." only a short period had elapsed when several mounted officers dashed up our driveway and anxiously inquired: "where are the guards?" they gave me only time enough to say, "they have gone," when they rode rapidly away. we came to the conclusion that they were young men visiting their relatives and friends in frederick and that the retreat was so sudden that no word of warning could be sent them. we realized the next day that the hasty departure of the confederates was timely, as the union army was encamped all around us. some of the officers came to see us and mr. gouverneur invited them to dine. this was a period of sudden transitions, for that night the union army retreated and the next day the confederates were with us again, dining upon the remnants of the meal left by their adversaries. it was all we had to give them, as all our colored servants, having been told that they would be captured and taken further south, had fled upon hearing of the second visit of the confederates. this was naturally a trying experience for me, as no servant except a chinese maid was left upon the place and i was in a strange locality. but luckily i found the last set of officers pleasant and congenial and ready to make due allowance for all household deficiencies. several of them were natives of loudoun county, virginia, and were familiar with our name, as they had lived near oak hill, the estate of mr. gouverneur's grandfather, where my husband had passed a portion of his early life. we soon learned that country life during war times without satisfactory servants was much more than either mr. gouverneur or i had sufficient courage or strength to bear. this state of affairs resulted in my husband going to new york, where he secured a family of irish immigrants consisting of a woman and three men. the relative positions of the two armies in our general vicinity had meanwhile shifted several times and we never knew from day to day whether we were destined to greet friend or foe. on the particular morning of which i am about to speak, the confederates were again with us. they were apparently unacquainted with the topography of the surrounding country and were naturally desirous of securing such information as should enable them, in case of necessity, to effect a speedy and secure retreat. we received an early call from several of their officers who inquired the way to the "alms house road." we had been so busily engaged in trying to settle ourselves down under such adverse circumstances that we knew actually nothing of the surrounding country; and, when mr. gouverneur informed our visitors of this fact, they looked at one another in such a decidedly incredulous way as to convince us that they thought we were withholding information. my husband finally sent for john demsey, one of our irish immigrants, who had driven considerably around the adjacent country, and one of the officers in a rather offensive manner renewed his query about the "alms house road." to our chagrin, john's answer was, "i do not know;" and mr. gouverneur, realizing that affairs were assuming a rather serious aspect, said: "john, you do know; tell the officer at once." with true irish perspicacity he exclaimed: "oh, sir, you mean the 'poor house road'--i know that;" and forthwith gave the desired information. in anything but pleasant tones the irish youth was told by the officers to accompany them as guide, and the order was obeyed with both fear and alacrity. mr. gouverneur then exacted from the commanding officer his word of honor that the man be permitted to return, and remarked at the same time, in an ironical manner, that if they continued to tear down our fences and commit other depredations we should all of us know the location of the alms house. at a much later period general jubal a. early's army passed our door _en route_, as at least he hoped, for washington. general john b. gordon sent an orderly to our house with his compliments to ask for a map of frederick county, which we were unable to supply. all through the day the southern troops continued to march by, until, towards sunset, the rear of the last column halted in front of our place. as we knew that a battle was imminent, we awaited the result with beating hearts and anxious hopes. when the firing of cannon began we know that the battle of the monocacy had begun and were truly grateful that it was four miles away! the battle was short and decisive and the southern army was repulsed. the wounded soldiers were conveyed to frederick, where hospitals were improvised, and the dead were laid to rest in mount olivet cemetery, on the outskirts of the city. both northern and southern sympathizers became skilled nurses and their gentle ministrations resulted in several instances in romantic attachments. among the young physicians left in frederick to attend the wounded soldiers was doctor robert s. weir, who subsequently became distinguished as a surgeon in new york city. while stationed at the hospital in frederick, he met a daughter of robert g. mcpherson, whom at the conclusion of the war he married. mrs. mcpherson was miss milicent washington, who was a direct descendant of colonel samuel washington, a younger brother of george washington, and whose five wives are all interred in the graveyard at the old family home, harewood, in jefferson county, virginia. mrs. mcpherson, one of whose ancestors was miss ann steptoe, who married willoughby allerton, was also a niece of "dolly" madison. prior to the battle of the monocacy i discovered that our house was again surrounded by quite a number of northern soldiers. this was an usual occurrence, to be sure, but this time they were making such a careful scrutiny of the premises that i was led to inquire of one of them what object they had in view. to my utter dismay i was informed that as our house was upon a hill they had selected it as "a position," and that our safest place was in the cellar. we soon realized the wisdom of this retreat as shells began to fly around us from several directions and with much rapidity. we spent the greater part of the day underground, wondering all the while how long our involuntary imprisonment would last, as these dark and dismal quarters were naturally a great restraint upon the children and exceedingly depressing to mr. gouverneur and myself. although northern in our sentiments, we sometimes preferred the visits of the confederates to those of their adversaries, owing to the greater consideration which we received from them. upon the arrival of our own soldiers, their first act was to search the house from garret to cellar. at first i indignantly inquired their object and was curtly informed that they were searching for "concealed rebels." i gradually tolerated this mode of procedure until one morning when we were routed up at five o'clock, and then i protested. the union soldiers took it for granted that, owing to the locality of our home, we were southern sympathizers, and accordingly at times seemed to do everything in their power to make us uncomfortable. during those trying days i frequently recalled the wise saying of marechal villars, "defend me from my friends, i can defend myself from my enemies." we noticed, however, a great difference in the conduct of the various detachments of the union army with which we came in contact. we always greeted the appearance of the th army corps with much enthusiasm. it was composed of stalwart and sturdy veterans of the regular army; and i trust its survivors will accept my humble tribute of respect and esteem. very early in the morning of the day following the departure of some members of this corps from _po-ne-sang_ a private appeared at one of our rear doors and inquired when the troops had departed. he had been indulging in a sound sleep under one of the broken fences and was wholly unconscious that his comrades had moved away. he hesitated for some minutes as to the course he should pursue and then hurried off toward hagerstown. we subsequently learned that he was shot at a point not far distant and were impressed anew by the bloody horrors attending our civil war. general david hunter made frequent visits to frederick and his approach was regarded with terror by those in sympathy with the southern cause. it was he who performed the unpleasant duty of sending persons suspected of disloyalty further south, thereby often separating families. many of his victims were elderly people and it is difficult for me at this late day to describe the amount of distress these orders occasioned. i remember one case particularly well, that of dr. john thomas mcgill, a practicing physician who, together with his wife, was ordered to proceed immediately. mrs. mcgill was in very delicate health and the fright caused by such summary proceedings, which by the way were not carried out, tremendous union influences having been brought to bear, resulted in death. many years after the war i attended a supper party at the home of judge and mrs. john ritchie, when the guests drifted into war reminiscences. dr. mcgill was present and, as the conversation progressed, he was so overcome by his emotion that an apoplectic stroke was feared. during the numerous visits of the confederate army to frederick county, general "joe" johnston became a great favorite and for some time made his headquarters in the city of frederick. i learned from colonel william richardson, a beloved citizen of that place, that the general was especially solicitous concerning the welfare of the men under his command. one day, for example, he found one of his soldiers eating raw persimmons and at once reproved him for partaking of such unsuitable food. the soldier explained that he was adapting his stomach to the character of his rations. although we did not see stonewall jackson's troops pass on their march to frederick, we were aware of their presence there. barbara frietchie, whom whittier has immortalized, lived in a small house on west patrick street, adjoining carroll creek, but whether she ever waved a union flag as stonewall jackson's men were passing is a question concerning which opinions differ. southern sympathizers deny it, while persons of northern sentiments living in frederick assert that the verses of the quaker poet represent the truth. at any rate, a woman with such a name "lived and moved and had her being" in that city. she was interred in the burying ground of the german reformed church, and frequently pilgrimages are made to her grave, over which floats a union flag not far from where the clustered spires of frederick stand green-walled by the hills of maryland. i may state, in passing, that it was during the civil war that the word "shoddy" was coined. it was originally used to designate a class of inferior goods intended for use in the army from the sale of which many fortunes were made. later the word was employed to designate those who used such goods; and thus, by extension, one heard not only of "shoddy people," but also of "shoddy parties," "shoddy clothes," and so on. we heartily shared in the rejoicings of the north when general lee surrendered. in our country home we had lived in an actual condition of camp life so long that at its conclusion i remarked to my husband in a jocular vein that i was prepared for a life with the comanches! we restored our damaged fences, dug up our silver which had been buried many months under a tree in the garden, and mr. gouverneur began to turn his attention to agriculture. our farm was among the finest in frederick county, which is usually regarded as one of the garden spots of the country. our social relations had been entirely suspended, as the distractions attending the war had kept us so actively employed; but that was now a past episode and we began making pleasant acquaintances from frederick and the surrounding country. among our first visitors were judge and mrs. william p. maulsby; richard m. potts and his brother, george potts; mr. and mrs. charles e. trail; the rev. dr. and mrs. george diehl and their daughter marie, who in subsequent years endeared herself to the residents of frederick; mrs. john mcpherson and her daughter, mrs. worthington ross; dr. and mrs. fairfax schley; judge and mrs. john ritchie; mr. and mrs. jacob m. kunkel; and the rev. marmaduke dillon-lee, an englishman who had served in the british army and at this time was the rector of all saints episcopal church in frederick. he had been selected for this pulpit on account of his neutral political views and we found in him a congenial acquaintance. he remained in frederick, however, for only a short period after the war and was succeeded by the deservedly beloved rev. dr. osborne ingle, who, after a pastorate of nearly half a century, recently passed to his reward. i can not pass this godly man by without an encomium to his memory. he came to frederick as a very young man and throughout his long rectorship he was truly a leader of his flock and, like the "good shepherd of old," the sheep knew him and loved him. it did not take long for mr. gouverneur and me to discover that neither of us was adapted to a country life under the conditions prevailing at the close of the war--so very different from those existing in that locality at a later period. he knew nothing of practical farming and i knew nothing of practical cooking. although i was never entirely without domestic service, as i always had with me the chinese maid whom i had brought from the east, we were not fitted, at the best, for such a life. the result was that after one winter's experience we made _po-ne-sang_ only our summer home. during the trials and tribulations of that distant winter i often recalled a remark which lord chesterfield is said to have made to several persons whom he disliked: "i wish you were married and settled in the country." it has even been asserted that, in his absentmindedness and excitement incident to encountering an infuriated cow, he addressed the beast with the same words. this was a favorite anecdote of general scott, and it appealed to me then as well as now, as i regard country life a forlorn fate for all women excepting possibly those who are endowed with large wealth with which to gratify every passing whim. the primitive life we led at _po-ne-sang_ was full of annoyances and discouragements. for example, we had no running water in our house and were supposed to supply ourselves from a cistern in the yard which had contracted the bad habit of running dry and for inconvenient periods remaining so. we were therefore compelled to carry all our water from a neighbor's spring at least a quarter of a mile away. we tried to remedy this defect by boring an artesian well, but all our attempts were unsuccessful. country life was distasteful to cooks as they preferred to live in a city where they could make and mingle with friends, and i soon learned that if i wanted to keep a servant i must hire one who had a baby, and that is just what i did. although country life was distasteful to her, too, she took her dose of medicine because she could not help herself as no one else would employ her. often these babies were a source of great care to me, as their mothers would neglect them--sometimes from ignorance but more frequently from sheer indifference. i remember one cook whose baby, owing to the lack of proper attention, was actually in danger of starving to death. she kept it in a wooden box under a tree in the garden, and i was obliged at stated intervals to see that the child was fed. during our summers at _po-ne-sang_ our servants made both hard and soft soap in a large kettle which swung from an iron tripod in the yard. they also made apple and peach butter, a german marmalade that was highly regarded in that section of the country. the apples or peaches were allowed to cook slowly all day in a kettle suspended from the tripod and were stirred by wooden paddles, whose handles were long enough to enable them to be worked at a convenient distance from the fire. in making this marmalade, cider was regarded as an important ingredient and the sugar was seldom added until the last. mr. gouverneur experimented somewhat in wine making. his success was almost phenomenal and we enjoyed the fruits of his labor for many years. he used catawba grapes entirely, which were brought to our door in wagon-loads by the country folk who surrounded us. the maryland mountaineers, as i knew them, were very similar in life and character to those in north carolina, of whom more or less has been written the last few years. they had peculiar customs as well as quaint modes of action and expression, and invented names for things and conditions to suit themselves. i remember, for example, that when persons showed signs of physical illness and the exact nature of their maladies was uncertain they were said to have "the gobacks." frederick county was settled by the early germans and many of their expressions are still in vogue. a peach dried whole with the seed retained is called a _hutzel_, and dried apples are _snitz_. in this connection i am reminded of a german family named house, which resided in frederick and consisted of four maiden sisters. their means were limited and they eked out their living by stamping from original designs and taking in plain sewing. their front door was always locked and bolted, and to reach the inmates it was necessary to pass through a gate leading into a long alley and thence through a scrupulously clean kitchen and up the steep and narrow back stairs to a small rear room, where sat these four spinsters. the first one who met you said, "good-morning," and the others repeated the salutation in turn until the last one was reached, who simply said, "morning." this laughable procedure was followed in their subsequent conversation, for one of them had only to lead off with a remark and the others repeated the close of it. it is said that crissie, the youngest of the quartette, once had a beau with whom she sat each night for many years in their prim parlor and that, when he finally jilted her, one of her sisters was heard to remark, _àpropos_ of the broken engagement: "just think of all them candles wasted!" the second winter of our maryland life was spent at a hotel in frederick where we formed a lasting friendship with our fellow boarders, judge and mrs. john a. lynch. with my historical as well as social tastes, i found the mcpherson household a source of great pleasure and intellectual profit to me. i knew mrs. "fanny" mcpherson, as she was invariably called, only as an elderly woman who retained all the graces and charms of youth. to listen to her tales of bygone days was a pleasure upon which i even yet delight to dwell. she lived to a very great age surrounded by her children, her grandchildren and her great-grandchildren, and went to her grave beloved by all. she was the granddaughter of thomas johnson, the first governor of maryland. i remember reading on one occasion a letter which she took great pride in showing me, written to her grandfather by washington, offering him the position of secretary of state in his cabinet. this flattering offer he declined, but to him is said to belong the honor of having nominated washington as commander in chief of the army. mrs. mcpherson was nearly related to mrs. john quincy adams, who was louisa catharine johnson of this same maryland family, and, as she was an occasional visitor at the white house during her relative's residence there, she mingled with many prominent people. i recall a weird story she once told me in connection with a daughter of smith thompson, secretary of the navy under president monroe. it seems she married the viscount paul alfred de bresson, the third secretary of the french embassy in washington, and subsequently many elaborate entertainments were given in her honor in washington. she returned with her husband to europe and several months later her family received the announcement of her death. as they had only recently received a letter from her, when apparently she was in the best of health and spirits, they felt somewhat skeptical and wrote at once for more definite information. a few weeks later a package reached them containing her heart preserved in alcohol. mrs. mcpherson's older daughter, mrs. worthington ross, lived with her mother and ministered with loving hands to her wants in her old age, while the remainder of her life was devoted to unselfish labor in her master's vineyard. her memory, as well as that of her only child, fanny mcpherson ross, who passed onward and upward before her, is still revered in frederick. mr. gouverneur and i also formed a pleasant acquaintance with rev. dr. john mcelroy, whose remarkable career in the catholic church is well worthy of notice. coming to this country as a mere lad, he engaged in mercantile pursuits in georgetown, d.c., and when about sixteen years of age became a lay jesuit and in entered the priesthood. after ministering to trinity church in georgetown for several years, he was transferred, at the request of chief justice roger b. taney, to frederick, where he built st. john's church, a college, an academy, an orphan asylum, and the first free school in the city. after remaining there for twenty-three years and establishing a reputation for devotion to his church and rare executive ability that made him one of the most useful jesuits in the country, he was sent back to his old church in georgetown and the following year went to the mexican war as chaplain in the regiment commanded by caleb cushing. during our occasional conversations it seemed to afford him more than usual pleasure to discuss with me the ability of his distinguished military chief. after the war he was sent to boston, where he became pastor of st. mary's church, and built the boston college and the church of the immaculate conception. at the age of ninety, he became blind and retired to the scene of his early labors in frederick, where, as the oldest jesuit in the world, he died in the fall of . i remember meeting him one day on the street when he proudly announced that it was his birthday and that he was sixty-nine years of age. i knew him to be much older, and my words of astonishment evidently revived his senses for, realizing that he had reversed his figures, he corrected himself by adding, "i mean ninety-six." at that time he was quite active, considering his extreme age, and to the close of his life was much respected and beloved by the residents of frederick, irrespective of creed. i attended his funeral and he was laid to rest in the burying ground of the old novitiate which he founded. it was then that i saw for the first time the grave of chief justice roger b. taney. the two-story brick house in frederick in which he lived is still standing, but it would be regarded with contempt by any of the present justices of the supreme court of the united states. but how natural, for how changed are the times! in an eloquent address subsequent to taney's death, charles o'conor concluded with these words: "may the future historian in writing of judge roger b. taney sorrowfully add, _ultimus romanorum_." francis scott key, the author of "the star-spangled banner," is also buried in frederick soil. for many years his remains reposed in an unnoticed grave in mount olivet cemetery but, through the efforts of the citizens of frederick, and especially of its women, an imposing monument now towers above him surmounted by a superb male figure with outstretched arms. while living in maryland i frequently met chief justice salmon p. chase at the residence of mrs. margaret goldsborough, and was much impressed by his imposing presence and courtly bearing. many years before, he had been a tutor in the frederick college, which still survives and whose walls bear the inscription " ." mrs. goldsborough was a lifelong resident of frederick and a woman of a high degree of intelligence. her daughter, miss mary catharine goldsborough, i always numbered among my most cherished friends. after a pleasant sojourn of a number of months in frederick, we went to spend the summer at _po-ne-sang_, where we had the satisfaction of entertaining quite a number of old friends, among whom was the hon. lafayette s. foster, then vice-president _pro tempore_ of the united states. maryland was a familiar as well as a cherished state to him, as in early life he had been a tutor in centerville on the "eastern shore." mr. foster's visit was decidedly uneventful to him, as he was there entirely unheralded and without even a newspaper notice to announce his coming and going. chapter xiv visit to the far south and return to washington in the autumn of the same year i decided to make a long anticipated visit to mrs. john still winthrop in tallahassee, whose marriage in gramercy park i had attended so many years ago and which i have already described. my two younger children accompanied me, but my oldest daughter i left behind under her father's protecting care at the misses vernon's boarding school in frederick. this period seemed especially suitable for such a long absence, as the whole time and attention of mr. gouverneur was engrossed in editing for publication a posthumous work of james monroe, which was subsequently published by the lippincotts under the title, "the people the sovereigns." we sailed from new york and stopped _en route_ in savannah to enable me to see my old friend and schoolmate, mrs. william neyle habersham. sherman in his "march to the sea" had passed through georgia, carrying with him destruction and devastation, and the suffering which this and other campaigns of the war had brought into the homes of these southern people it would be difficult to describe. the whole south seemed to be shrouded in mourning, as nearly everyone i met had given up to the "lost cause" a husband or a son, and in some cases both. two gallant sons of the habershams, mere boys, had died upon the same battlefield, and when i saw mr. habersham for the first time after the war he was so overcome with grief that he was obliged to leave the room. talented to an unusual degree and possessing much fortitude, his wife fought bravely for the sake of her dear ones still spared her, but every now and then her sorrow asserted itself anew and seemed more than her bleeding soul could bear. she was especially gifted with her pen, and about ten years after the war, while her heart was still wrung with grief, she wrote the following pathetic lines:-- up above, the pines make sweet music; sad, plaintive, for must there not be a tone of "infinite sadness" in all the places of earth's finite gladness? from a spray of jessamine i hear the chirp of a little bird--a young beginner; it tries over and over again "its one plain passage of few notes"--the prelude to the full-voice anthem which summer will harmonize. ah! what shades and sunlight! what coloring! green in the grass and trees, blue in the violets and sky, gray in the moss, yellow in the jessamines, falling around in a perfect danæan shower of burnished gold! my truant fancy sees all this--and more! a dear hand that held mine, a "pure hand," a boy's hand, that ere many summers had spread out their gorgeous pageantry had drawn the sword for that dear summer-land of the jessamine and pine--had drawn the sword and dropped it; dropped it from the earnest, vigorous clasp of glorious young manhood to lie still and calm, life's duty nobly done; ah, a short young life but ... and then the other young soldier! for is not my sorrow a twin sorrow? can they be dissevered? in death they were not divided. my eyes grow dim. wipe away the mist, poor mother! to see the dear faces of sons and daughters gracing the board. let the blue of the violets breathe to thee rather of endless skies and an eternal heaven, where earth's finite sadness is beautified into infinite gladness. we finally reached tallahassee, where we found the most cordial welcome awaiting us. mrs. winthrop lived in the very heart of the city but our surroundings were much more beautiful than i can describe, for the orange trees and hyacinths and jessamine in full bloom and other wealth of semi-tropical vegetation were suggestive of an earthly paradise. since we last met my hostess had become a widow, but fortunately she and her only son, who was then just emerging into manhood, had not felt the personal vicissitudes of the struggle, as they had taken refuge in the mountains of north carolina. before the war the winthrops had owned hundreds of slaves and most of them, in a state of freedom, were still living in quarters only a short distance from the house and were working on her plantations just as though the war had not made them free. but both among those who suffered from the war and those who escaped its ravages the unfriendly feeling entertained at this time against their northern brethren was naturally intense. i remember that one sunday morning a young son of mrs. custis, who with his mother was then an inmate of the winthrop household, asked his mother, who had just returned from the early service of the episcopal church, whether "the 'yankees' went up to the same communion table with the southern people." during my tallahassee life i made the acquaintance of madame achillé murat, who lived in an old mansion outside of the city limits. she was miss catharine a. willis of virginia, and a great-grandniece of general washington. upon her marriage to achillé murat he took her abroad, where she was received with much distinction on account of her washington blood. then, too, her marriage into such an illustrious french family was an open sesame to the most exclusive circles of society. she was an elderly woman when i met her, but her conversation abounded with the most interesting reminiscences of her life in france. she died in the summer of . achillé murat was the son of joachim murat, the great marshal of napoleon, whose sister caroline he married and became king of naples. many years later his two sons came to this country. one of them settled in bordentown in new jersey, and achillé murat, after his marriage to his virginia bride, became a resident of florida. madame murat told me of some of the visits she made to france when the voyage was long and tedious. she had many articles of _vertu_ around her, and i especially recall a superb marble bust by canova of her mother-in-law, queen caroline. i expressed surprise at the extreme attractiveness of the late queen, as i had always understood that the princess pauline, napoleon's other sister, was the family beauty. madame murat, however, told me i was mistaken and that her royal mother-in-law was, in that respect, quite the equal of her sister. during my acquaintance with madame murat, napoleon iii. was on the throne of france, and i learned from our many friendly chats that her relations with her distinguished kinspeople were of the most cordial character; and i am informed that for many years the emperor gave her an annuity. hanging in her drawing-room, whose contents were replete with historic association, were two handsome portraits of the emperor and empress of france, which she called to my attention as recent gifts from her royal relatives. that prince of hosts, gouverneur kemble, once told me an amusing incident _àpropos_ of achillé murat's resourcefulness under peculiar difficulties. on one occasion quite a number of foreign guests appeared at the frenchman's door and, although florida is a land "flowing with milk and honey," he was sorely perplexed to know what would be "toothsome and succulent" to serve for their repast. suddenly an idea flashed upon him. he owned a large flock of sheep and, nothing daunted, gave immediate orders to have the tips of their ears cut off. these were served in due form, and his guests departed in total ignorance of what they had eaten but fully convinced that america produced the choicest of viands. upon one of her numerous visits to france, madame murat was accompanied to the louvre by mr. francis porteus corbin, a virginian whose contemporaries proudly asserted was an adornment to any court. while they were engaged in viewing the works of art, madame murat was joined by jerome bonaparte, to whom she formally presented mr. corbin. when the opportunity arose bonaparte inquired of his kinswoman who "the elegant gentleman" was. the ready response was: "mr. corbin, of virginia." "well," was the ejaculation, "i had no idea there was so much elegance in america." i think these pages will show that all through life i have had a decided fancy for older men and women. i can hardly account for this taste except by the fact that my predilections have always been of a decidedly historical character. as another instance, i especially enjoyed my meeting in the far south with judge thomas randall, who made his home in tallahassee, but who was originally from annapolis. he did not allow advanced years to interfere with his social tastes, but frequently accompanied us to parties, where his vivacity rendered him one of the most acceptable of guests. still another elderly gentleman with whom i had the pleasure of becoming acquainted during this southern sojourn was francis wayles eppes. he was the son of u.s. senator john wayles eppes, whose wife was maria jefferson, elder daughter of thomas jefferson. he left virginia many years prior to my acquaintance with him and settled with several members of the randolph family in western florida when it was almost a wilderness. i left with keen regret this picturesque land of flowers and stately oaks, but duty called me home, as my husband and little daughter were growing impatient over our long absence. it would seem that the observance of timetables differed in those days according to localities and other circumstances. i was informed that the train i should take from tallahassee would leave _about_ such and such a time; but upon my inquiring in savannah as to whether the ship upon which i proposed to embark for baltimore would leave on time, i was explicitly told by its captain that if i were a minute late i should not be one of its passengers. after my return to maryland, the home of our adoption, we abandoned the idea of country life, sold our residence and took up our abode in frederick. my children were now reaching an age when education became an important matter and i took advantage of the frederick female seminary, an institution that has since become a college, as an excellent place to which to send my eldest daughter. it was during this period of transition that it was my good fortune to meet for the first time the wife of the hon. henry gassaway davis of west virginia, who was a native of frederick and a daughter of gideon bantz. her two older daughters, hallie, the widow of u.s. senator stephen b. elkins, and kate, who subsequently became the wife of robert m. g. brown of the u.s. navy, were boarding pupils at the same school; and mrs. davis frequently visited them while there. my daughters formed an intimate friendship with mrs. brown, whom at a later day we often welcomed as a guest in our washington home. she has since passed "over the river," having survived her mother for only a few months, and her memory is hallowed in my family circle. mrs. elkins, the promising young girl of so many years ago, is widely known in washington and elsewhere for her womanly tact, intelligence and fine presence. grace, another of mrs. davis' daughters, is now mrs. arthur lee of washington, but was born after my earlier acquaintance with her mother in frederick. loved and admired, she resides in washington surrounded by an exclusive coterie, and devotes much of her time and means to works of philanthropy. the prominent authoress, mrs. elizabeth f. ellet, was repeatedly our guest while we were living in frederick. a volume of her poems had appeared as early as , and she subsequently published quite a number of books which were highly regarded. when she first came to visit us, her "women of the american revolution" had just appeared and her journey to maryland was for the purpose of collecting data for a new work which later was published under the title of "the court circles of the republic." besides being a gifted writer, mrs. ellet had considerable histrionic ability, and i have now before me an old newspaper clipping containing an account of an entertainment given by me in her honor when she recited from "pickwick papers", "widow bedott" and "the lost heir." another party at which music and recitations were a prominent feature was given to mrs. ellet in frederick by mrs. charles e. trail, a gifted woman who thoroughly appreciated intellectual accomplishments wherever found. my first acquaintance with the hon. joseph holt, who at the time was judge advocate general of the army, began in frederick in . he was a kentuckian by birth and, after serving for a time as postmaster general under president buchanan, succeeded, in , john b. floyd of virginia as secretary of war. he made frequent visits to frederick where he was always the guest of the rev. dr. and mrs. george diehl. he was a typical kentuckian, over six feet tall, and in my opinion no one could have known him well without being impressed by his intellectual ability. after we returned to washington to live, in , judge holt was a constant visitor at our home and i frequently attended handsome entertainments given in his residence on capitol hill. although i have been in society more or less all of my life, i can say without hesitancy that he more perfectly understood and practiced the art of entertaining--it certainly _is_ an art, and possessed by but few--than any other person i have ever known. his second wife, who was miss margaret anderson wickliffe of kentucky, had died in and, as he had no children, he was living entirely alone. from my earliest acquaintance with judge holt i was deeply impressed by the cloud of sadness that seemed to envelop him, and i never learned until i had known him many years and really called him my friend that he was laboring under a deep sense of wrong and injustice. without entering into exhaustive details, the main facts are substantially these: in mr. holt was judge advocate general of the army and as such was the prosecuting officer before the military commission convened by order of president johnson for the trial of mrs. mary e. surratt and others for complicity in the assassination of lincoln. the findings and sentence of the commission were accompanied by a recommendation signed by a majority of its members in which they "respectfully pray the president, in consideration of the sex and age of the said mary e. surratt, if he can, upon all the facts in the case, find it consistent with his sense of duty to the country, to commute the sentence of death, which the court have been constrained to pronounce, to imprisonment in the penitentiary for life." this recommendation for executive clemency remained unknown to the public until it was incidentally referred to by the hon. edwards pierrepont, counsel for the government in the trial of mrs. surratt's son in . this was followed in subsequent years, and after andrew johnson had ceased to be president, by a controversy in which reflections were made upon the personal and official integrity of judge holt by the charge that he had never presented the recommendation for clemency to the president. the matter finally sifted itself down to a question of personal veracity between the ex-president and judge holt, in which the latter affirmed that "he drew the president's attention specially to the recommendation in favor of mrs. surratt, which he read and freely commented on"; and was contradicted by the ex-president in the assertion that "in acting upon her case no recommendation for a commutation of her punishment was mentioned or submitted to me." the enemies of holt accordingly held him indirectly responsible for mrs. surratt's execution, and against such a charge he naturally rebelled until the day of his death. the most cruel feature of the whole affair, however, and the one which probably did more than anything else to sadden and becloud the remaining days of judge holt's life, was the personal disloyalty of an eminent citizen of his own state, who had been his intimate friend from youth. i refer to james speed, andrew johnson's attorney general. in , after most of the prominent actors in the scene were dead and the animosities caused by the controversy were largely allayed--at a time, too, when holt realized that he was growing old and recognized more keenly than ever the importance of leaving behind a final refutation of the calumnies that had been heaped upon him--he appealed to speed, who, he believed he had reason to assume was in possession of the exact facts of the case; but all that could be wrung from him were evasive words to the effect that he saw the petition for clemency in the president's office, without intimating whether it was before or after mrs. surratt's execution, and that he did not "feel at liberty to speak of what was said at cabinet meetings." an exchange of letters followed between the two in which speed excused himself for six months on the pleas of bereavement and press of business, and that he had lost his glasses, when he finally replied:--"after very mature and deliberate consideration, i have come to the conclusion that i cannot say more than i have said." it is no wonder, then, that holt, driven to desperation by such treatment, wrote to speed:--"your forbearance towards andrew johnson, of whose dishonorable conduct you have been so well advised, is a great mystery to me. with the stench of his baseness in your nostrils you have been all tenderness for him, while for me ... you have been as implacable as fate." while spending the summer of in princeton, massachusetts, i read in the _north american review_ for july of the same year the correspondence relating to the surratt question between holt and speed in . knowing judge holt as i did, having firm faith in his version of the controversy, believing him to be a victim of gross injustice and realizing withal how keenly through all these years he had felt the sting of misrepresentation, i wrote him a lengthy letter. it was not long before i received his reply, and i copy it here, as i believe it casts an additional sidelight upon a subject which caused this brilliant and high-minded gentleman bitter suffering from which he never wholly recovered. i add several more letters written to me by him which are beautiful in expression but pathetic in character. washington, august th, . mrs. m. gouverneur, my dear madam: your kind letter of the th instant was quite a surprise, but a very agreeable one i assure you. my reply has been thus long delayed from an impression that it would probably more certainly reach your hands if addressed to you at frederick. i have read and re-read your letter with increasing gratification and thankfulness. truly am i grateful for the friendly spirit that prompted you to make so thorough an examination of the speed correspondence as your _résumé_ of it discloses. that _résumé_ is in every way admirable. it has the clearness and logical force of a first-class lawyer's brief. indeed, i was on the point of asserting that you have a good lawyer's head on your shoulders, but prefer saying that you have a head which obeying the inspirations of your heart enables you to discern and _appreciate_ the truth and extricate it, as well, from the entanglements of chicanery and fraud. be assured, my dear madam, that i shall treasure up your letter fondly, at once as a consolation and as a powerful support of the endeavors which i have been making for years to rescue my name from the obloquy of an accusation, than which nothing falser or fouler ever fell from the lips of men or devils. it was a severe shock for my faith in human nature when general speed--with whom i had maintained relations of cordial friendship for some fifty years--suddenly allowed himself to become a compliant coadjutor of andrew johnson in his diabolical plot to destroy me. the _rôle_ of suppressing the truth, which he voluntarily assumed for himself and in which--without explanation or defense--he persisted down to his grave, amounted fully to this and to nothing less. yet during all of that time he _knew_ me to be innocent, as well as i myself knew and know it, and this he never denied. alas, alas! what a masquerade is human life, and amid its heady currents how rarely do we pause to think of the possibilities that lurk under the disguise of its spotless reputations! i should be rejoiced to hear that the summer has strewed flowers and only flowers on the paths of your "outing," and that you will be able to return to washington glad of heart and reinvigorated for the social duties in which you find and bestow so much pleasure. for my own isolated and infirm life home was thought to be the best place, and hence i have remained here happily finding under my own roof a contentment that has left me without envy of those whose more fortunate feet have sought the seashore and the mountain slopes. you yourself, however, acted wisely and well in going away, since the world is still pressing to _your_ lips the sparkling cups, which for my own are now but a dim, receding memory. i congratulate you on miss rose's approaching marriage which you have been so good as to announce, and sincerely hope that all the bright visions which the coming event must be awakening will have an abounding fulfilment. the invitation with which you have honored me is accepted with thanks, and i shall attend the ceremony with the higher gratification, realizing as i shall how closely your own happiness is bound up with that of your daughter.[ ] faithfully and gratefully your friend, j. holt. * * * * * washington, nov. d, . my dear mrs. gouverneur: i am in receipt of your very welcome letter of the st instant and hasten to send the "index" as requested. hope it may be of service in illustrating and supporting your application. i shall preserve the admiral's [rear admiral francis a. roe, u.s.n.] emphatic words as a cherished testimonial. the language of mrs. stanard is also very grateful to me. her favorable opinion is the more prized and precious because she has known me so long and so well. and now, my dear good friend, how can i sufficiently thank you for your generous interest in this trouble of mine--which has been a thorn in my life for so many years--and for your surpassingly kind offices which have been so effectively exercised in connection with it? be assured that while my poor words cannot adequately express it, my heart will always throb with gratitude for the tokens of good will with which you have so honored and gladdened me. i feel much complimented by so early a receipt of the invitation to miss rose's wedding, and i shall have great joy in being present. * * * * * faithfully yours, j. holt. * * * * * washington, d.c., january st, . dear mrs. gouverneur: i regret to be obliged to acknowledge the receipt of your welcome letter by the hand of another, owing to the condition of my eyes. for many weeks their inflammation has prevented me from reading or writing, and i fear that this condition will continue for a good while to come. so soon as i am able to do so i will either write or have the pleasure of calling on you. in the meanwhile believe me most grateful for your letter which, however, has been but imperfectly read. the darkened chambers of my life never had more need than at present of the sunshine which your sympathizing letters have always brought me. very sincerely yours, j. holt. * * * * * washington, d.c., jan. th, . dear mrs. gouverneur: your last two letters have been received and i thank you heartily for them. as tokens of your continued friendly remembrance they are precious to me. i am much obliged for the privilege of reading the letter of mrs. vance [mrs. zebulon b. vance], which is herewith returned. it is another of the many indications i have had of the subtle and wide spread circulation given to the johnson-speed calumny to which you refer. it seems to me that the poison is beyond the reach of any human antidote, and that i must look to god alone for shelter from it. your generous and effective good offices in this matter, so deeply affecting my reputation and happiness, have filled my heart with an enduring gratitude. your unflagging solicitudes, too, for my poor waning life have much added to that debt of gratitude, great as it was and is. let the good lord be praised for ever and ever that spirits such as yours have been born into the world. i am obliged to address you in this brief and unsatisfactory manner by the hand of another. after two years and a half of continued treatment i have as yet received no relief whatever, nor do the eminent physicians who have treated me afford me any encouragement for the future. while the world feasts, it is evident that _my_ lot is and must be _ashes_ for _bread_. hoping that you are drinking yourself freely from the fountain of happiness you open for others, i remain very sincerely your friend, j. holt. * * * * * washington, d.c., april , . my dear good friend: i regret much to be obliged to communicate with you by the hand of another, but my poor life seems to be fixed by fate on the down grade, and at present there is no encouragement to believe that the future has anything better in store for me. i send you a number of the north american review containing the correspondence to which you refer between general speed and myself. in it there is also a detached printed letter of colonel brown which is important. and i must ask that both this letter and the number of the review be carefully preserved and after their perusal by your friend be returned to me, as i have no other copies and wish to preserve these. i am sorry that the sad circumstances of my condition prevent me from thanking you in person for your continued interest in my reputation which has been so basely assailed, but i trust as triumphantly vindicated. i thank you sincerely for what you have said of mrs. kearny. it would be a great gratification to me to have an interview with her on the long, long ago, but this is a pleasure which i now have no encouragement to promise myself. believe me most grateful for the repeated calls and inquiries as to my health which you have been so good as to make. such calls are precious fountains of consolation that will not go dry. very sincerely your friend, j. holt. it has been asserted upon high authority that after the conviction and sentence of mrs. surratt her daughter anna, as well as catholic priests and prominent men in washington, attempted to see the president in order to intercede for executive clemency in her behalf, but were denied admission by preston king, collector of the port of new york and then a guest at the white house, and by u.s. senator james lane of kansas. it has also been said that mrs. stephen a. douglas succeeded in reaching the president by pushing herself past the guards, but her attempts in behalf of the condemned woman were fruitless. i knew preston king very well and his political career interested me deeply. he was from st. lawrence county, new york, and in my girlhood i often heard it asserted that the mantle of silas wright had fallen upon him. i saw much of him in when i was visiting the scotts in washington, and was particularly impressed by his exceptionally sensitive nature. general scott once told me that at one period of his military career he was ordered to quell a disturbance between canadians and americans near ogdensburg, the home of mr. king, and that the latter was so seriously affected by the scenes he witnessed at that time that it was long before he recovered his normal condition of mind. during president johnson's administration mr. king, while collector of the port of new york, boarded a jersey city ferry boat one morning, attached weights to his person and jumped into the river. when the news of his death reached me i was not surprised as i had seen evidences of his nervous temperament which might well result in acts indicative of an unbalanced mind. he was a man of big heart and exceptional ability, and in his death the state of new york lost one of her most gifted and distinguished sons. the frederick county agricultural fairs, as far back as my memory of that quaint maryland town goes, have always been a feature of special interest not only to the farmers of that productive region but also from a social point of view. in bygone days some of the most distinguished men of the nation made addresses at these "cattle shows," as they were called by the country folk. i recall the visit of president grant on one of these occasions when he was the guest of mrs. margaret goldsborough. he was accompanied by general sherman and made a brief address. the evening of the day these distinguished guests arrived mrs. goldsborough gave a dinner in their honor, which mr. gouverneur and i attended. the entertainment was served in the style then prevalent among old maryland families in that vicinity, the _pièces de resistance_ being chicken, fried to perfection, at one end of the table together with an old ham on the opposite end. to these were added "side trimmings," enough to almost bury the table under their weight. president grant was then filling his first term as chief executive of the nation and, although mr. gouverneur had known him in mexico, it was my first glimpse of the distinguished man. as a whole we were a merry party, but grant was a reticent guest. general sherman, however, as usual made up for all deficiencies in this line, and as he sat next to me i found him to be a highly agreeable conversationalist. this dinner party proved a great social success and at its conclusion a number of prominent citizens called to pay their respects to the guests of honor. the next year horace greeley was the orator of the day at the frederick fair, and it fell to our lot to entertain him. he wrote the following letter to my husband:-- new york tribune, new york, oct. , . dear sir: i expect to be duly on hand to fulfil my engagement to speak at your county fair and to stop with you, if that shall be agreeable to those who have invited me. will you please see mr. c. h. keefer who invites me and say to him that i am subject to his order and, with his consent, i shall gladly accept your invitation. yours, horace greeley. s. l. gouverneur, esq., frederick, maryland. as mr. greeley about this time was appearing upon the political horizon as a prospective presidential candidate, much interest was naturally centered in his visit. his appearance was decidedly interesting. he was of the blond type, past middle life and in dress anything but _à la mode_. i am no student of physiognomy, but if the question had been asked i should have said that his most prominent trait of character was benevolence. he wore during this memorable visit the characteristic white hat, miniature imitations of which during his presidential candidacy became a campaign badge. i am the fortunate possessor of two of these souvenirs. they are made of white metal and are attached to brown ribbons, the color of the latter standing for b. gratz brown, the candidate for vice-president upon the greeley ticket. this visit was the pleasing forerunner of a sincere friendship between my husband and horace greeley. in our intimate association of a few days we recognized as never before his conscientious purpose and intellectual power, and mr. gouverneur was so deeply impressed by his remarkable ability and sterling character that later in the same year he started a newspaper in frederick, which he called _the maryland herald_, with a view of advocating his nomination for the presidency. my husband had never before been especially interested in politics, but he now entered the political arena with all the enthusiasm of his intense nature, and, at a mass meeting in frederick, was chosen a delegate to the national liberal republican convention in cincinnati, which resulted in the nomination of greeley and brown. although this party was largely composed of republicans who had become dissatisfied with the grant administration, it will be remembered that its candidates were subsequently endorsed by the democratic party at its convention in baltimore, and that the fusion of such hitherto discordant political elements added exceptional interest to the subsequent campaign. the venerable thomas jefferson randolph, grandson of the author of the declaration of independence, although he had reached the advanced age of eighty years, was chosen as the temporary chairman of the baltimore convention. the proceedings of the cincinnati delegates were replete with interest and the enthusiasm was intense. during the uproarious demonstration in the convention hall, immediately following greeley's nomination, mr. gouverneur's friend, john cochrane of new york, of whom i have spoken elsewhere, in the excitement of the moment gave expression to his delight in an indian war dance, and other usual scenes of boyish hilarity prevailed. my husband's paper had been the first of the maryland press, and long before the convention, to place the name of greeley at the head of its columns, but others followed, and for a time the movement, both in that state and elsewhere, appeared to gain strength and to assume formidable proportions. subsequent events, however, proved that it would have been better if the newborn babe had been strangled at its birth, as it was destined to enjoy but a brief and precarious existence. although the movement commanded the support of the united democracy and enlisted the active sympathies of able men from the republican ranks--such as carl schurz, whitelaw reid, charles a. dana, charles francis adams, lyman trumbull, david davis, andrew g. curtin and many more--the voice of the people pronounced for grant, and in the latter part of the same month that witnessed his defeat, poor greeley died of a broken heart! greeley's defeat was a severe blow to mr. gouverneur. as the member from maryland of the national committee of the liberal republican party, he had engaged in the contest with his characteristic ardor, and his strenuous but unsuccessful efforts had made inroads upon his health that he could but ill afford. under the circumstances, a change of scene and employment seemed highly expedient, and we accordingly decided to break up our attractive home in frederick and return to washington, where so much of mr. gouverneur's life had been spent and where i, too, had so many pleasant associations. it was in the summer of that this plan was consummated, and we began our second washington life in a house which we bought on corcoran street, near fourteenth street. it was one of a row of dwellings built as an investment by the late george w. riggs, the distinguished banker, and was in a portion of the city which still abounded in vacant lots. houses in our vicinity were so widely scattered that we had an almost uninterrupted view of that part of the district boundary which is now florida avenue. as these were the days of horse cars, it was my habit to stand in my vestibule and wait for a car, as i could see it approaching a long distance off, although we lived half a block from the route, which was on fourteenth street. the entire northwestern section of the city, which is now a semi-palatial region, was also, at that time, largely a sea of vacant lots. the only house on dupont circle was "stewart castle," and the fashionable part of the city was still that portion below pennsylvania avenue, bounded on the east by seventeenth street, although the general trend in the erection of fine residences was towards the northwest. many of the streets were not paved, but the _régime_ of alexander r. shepherd, familiarly called "boss shepherd," changed all of this, and the work of grading commenced. it was a trying ordeal for property owners, as it left many houses high in the air and others below the customary grade, while many from the ranks of the poorer classes, unable to meet the necessary assessments, were forced to part with their homes. in the course of several years, however, the situation righted itself. cellars were dug and english basements became prevalent, and it is only occasionally that one now sees a house far above the level of the street. we sometimes hear the praises of mr. shepherd sung, and without a doubt he made washington the beautiful city it is to-day, but he accomplished it only at a tremendous cost--the sacrifice of many homes. next followed the paving of the streets with wooden blocks; and i was much surprised when they were being laid on fourteenth street, as i recalled the time during my earlier days in new york when they were used in paving broadway, and i also well remember how speedily they degenerated and decayed. i was told, however, that this form of block was an improvement upon the old style, and was induced to believe it until i saw fourteenth street and pennsylvania avenue masses of holes and ruts! after we were fairly settled in our new home i made the pleasing discovery that my next door neighbors were our old acquaintances, mr. and mrs. edmund pendleton gaines. mrs. gaines was frances hogan, a former neighbor of ours in houston street in new york. william hogan, her aged father, was living with her, and their close proximity recalled many early memories. he was a gentleman of broad culture and a proficient linguist, and at an early age had accompanied his father to the cape of good hope. he formed an intimacy with lord byron at harrow, where he received the early portion of his education. byron was not then a student but was occupying a small room at harrow, which he called his "den." another of mr. hogan's daughters, who is still living, wrote me that at this time lord byron was a young man and her father a little boy. she says: "lord byron often admitted my father to his room, when he would make him repeat stories of his african life and describe the occasional appearance of an orang-outang walking through the streets of cape town." after his father's return to new york, mr. hogan attended columbia college, from which he was graduated in , and afterwards studied law. he subsequently purchased land in the black river country and did much to develop that portion of his native state. the town of hogansburg in franklin county was named after him. he became a county judge and member of congress and later resided in washington, where he was employed in the department of state, first as an examiner of claims and then as an official interpreter. a short distance from our home and on the same street lived dr. and mrs. alexander sharp with their large and interesting family of children, one of whom, bearing the same name as his father, recently died in washington while a captain in the navy. dr. sharp's wife was a younger sister of mrs. u. s. grant, and her husband was ably filling at the time the position of u.s. marshal of the district of columbia. a few doors from mrs. sharp's lived her sister-in-law, the widow of louis dent; and in the same block, but nearer thirteenth street, were the residences of two agreeable army families, colonel and mrs. almon f. rockwell and colonel and mrs. asa bacon carey, the latter of whom was the niece of the late senator redfield proctor of vermont. i formed a pleasant friendship almost immediately with mrs. sharp and was always received with much cordiality in her home. corcoran street, in fact, from a social point of view, proved to be an ideal locality until its tranquillity was disturbed by the advent of mr. ---- and family, the former of whom was the washington representative of a prominent new york daily paper whose columns had been strongly denunciatory of grant and antagonistic to his election, while they abounded in praises of greeley. both mr. and mrs. ----were persons of much culture, but they were unfortunate in their selection of a home, as the personal and political sentiment of the neighborhood was friendly to grant, while his family connections, the dents and sharps, residing in that part of the city, were deservedly popular. my own position was one of much delicacy. although i was especially fond of mrs. dent and mrs. sharp, i could not, in view of mr. gouverneur's active interest in the greeley campaign, be quite so enthusiastic over the grant administration as were most of my neighbors, and, therefore, when i was invited by a mutual friend to call upon mrs. ----i had no hesitation in doing so. i was taken to task for my act, however, by some of my friends, but i survived the rebuke and am still alive to tell the tale. i was told that, several months after the family just referred to was established in its corcoran street home, mrs. ----was returning unaccompanied to her residence one evening, when a colored man, carrying a bucket of mud in one hand and a brush in the other, ran after her and besmeared her clothing; but the dents and grants were not of the class of people to approve of such a ruffianly act, nor were any of the other decent residents in the community. if mrs. sharp ever had any feeling in connection with my calling upon mrs. ----, i never knew of it. our relations were of the most cordial character from the first, and when her niece, nellie grant, was married to algernon sartoris she brought me a box of wedding cake, coupling with it the remark that she knew of no one more entitled to it than i--referring, i presume, to the associations connecting the gouverneur family with the white house. after the close of the grant administration, dr. sharp was appointed a paymaster in the army and for many years resided with his family in yankton, dakota. i remained in touch with mrs. sharp, however, and for a long period we kept up an active correspondence. at this period vice-presidents were not so much _en évidence_ as later, and vice-president and mrs. schuyler colfax lived quietly in washington and mingled but little in the social world. during his life at the capital, mr. colfax repeatedly delivered his eloquent oration on lincoln, which concluded with the lines of n. p. willis on the death of president william henry harrison:-- let us weep in our darkness, but weep not for him-- not for him who, departing, leaves millions in tears, not for him who has died full of honor and years, not for him who ascended fame's ladder so high, from the round at the top he has stepped to the sky. directly back of us on q street lived an old and intimate friend of mine, mrs. septimia randolph meikleham, the last surviving grandchild of thomas jefferson. she was the widow of dr. david scott meikleham of glasgow, who was a relative of sir walter scott and died in early life in new york. mrs. meikleham was the seventh daughter (hence her name "septimia," suggested by her grandfather) of governor thomas mann randolph of virginia and his wife martha, the younger daughter of thomas jefferson. she was born at monticello and was familiarly known to her intimate friends as "tim," a name in surprising contrast with her elegance and dignity. she bore a striking resemblance to her grandfather, and, although a woman of commanding presence, was simple and unaffected in manner. strong in her convictions, attractive in conversation and loyal in her friendships, she and her home were sources of great delight to me, and it was pleasing to both of us that her children and mine should have been brought into intimate contact. mrs. meikleham and i often dwelt upon this family intimacy extending unbroken from jefferson and monroe down to the fourth generation. in the same block with mrs. meikleham lived mr. and mrs. john w. douglas, the former of whom, some years later, during the harrison administration, was one of the district commissioners. a daughter of his is the wife of henry b. f. macfarland, the late senior commissioner of the district, who, as well as his wife, is universally respected and beloved in washington. on the same street, but on the other side of fourteenth street, colonel and mrs. robert n. scott resided for many years; while just around the corner, on iowa circle, in what was then a palatial home, lived allan mclane and his only child, anne, who married from this house john cropper of new york. she is now a widow but lives in washington, where she is greatly beloved. in this same general region, on the corner of n and fourteenth street, lived lieutenant commander (now rear admiral) and mrs. francis j. higginson, and the latter's attractive sister, miss mary haldane. not far from our dwelling on corcoran street lived the attractive wife of _monsieur_ grimaud de caux, _chancelier_ of the french legation, who left unfading memories behind her. during our many delightful chats i was much interested in the accounts of her early life and experiences in ireland, and i especially recall many things she told me concerning the members of the wilde family, with whom she had been quite intimately associated. i learned from her that oscar wilde inherited his æsthetic tastes largely from his mother. she was a woman of unusual type and habitually dressed in white--at a time, too, before white garments had become so generally prevalent. i was also told that oscar wilde's father was an oculist of some prominence, and that he built a mansion so singular in its construction that the wits of dublin called it "wilde's eye-sore." another of my intimate friends of those days was mrs. mary donelson wilcox, widow of the hon. john a. wilcox, formerly secretary of the u.s. senate, a member of congress and a veteran of the mexican war. she was a woman of rare intellectual ability, and subsequent to her husband's death was for a time one of the official translators of the government. she was the daughter of colonel andrew jackson donelson, a nephew of president jackson as well as his adopted son and private secretary. general jackson when president was a widower, and it was while mrs. donelson was presiding as mistress of the white house that mrs. wilcox was born. her memory remained clear until her last illness, and her recollections of prominent men and events, extending back to her childhood, and especially those of her early life at the white house, were of exceptional interest. i was especially amused by her account of the prompt manner in which general jackson sent her mother back to tennessee because she refused to accord social recognition to the wife of general john h. eaton, his secretary of war. as is well known, this was "peggy o'neal" who, before her marriage to eaton, was the widow of purser john b. timberlake of our navy, who committed suicide while serving in the mediterranean. the relation which she sustained to the disruption of jackson's cabinet has passed into history and is too well known to bear repetition here. as colonel donelson shared the views of his wife, he resigned his position as the president's private secretary and returned with her to tennessee. he was succeeded by nicholas p. trist of the state department, but a few months later, through the kindly offices of personal friends, they were both restored to jackson's favor and resumed their former functions in the white house. just across the street from our home lived mr. and mrs. bernard p. mimmack and the latter's mother, mrs. mary bailey collins, widow of captain charles oliver collins of the u.s. army, and a typical representative of the new york gentlewomen of former days. she was one of the bailey family, which was much identified with the history of new york, and she and her daughter, mrs. mimmack, were valuable additions to our community. of mr. mimmack, only recently deceased, i can speak only in terms of the warmest praise. he was a true friend to me and many times during my widowhood placed his ripe judgment and wide experience at my command. as i first remember professor and mrs. joseph henry, they were living with their three daughters in a portion of the smithsonian institution. he was a man whose public career and private life commanded universal respect, while his scientific discoveries, both at princeton college and at the national capital, marked him as one of the most distinguished men of his day. i am not qualified to pronounce upon his scholarly attainments nor upon the estimate in which he is held by the learned world of to-day, but it may be assumed that the eulogistic words of the late professor simon newcomb, himself a scientific giant, represent the truth. "professor joseph henry, first secretary of the smithsonian institution," he wrote, "was a man of whom it may be said, without any reflection on men of our generation, that he held a place which has never been filled. i do not mean his official place, but his position as the recognized leader and exponent of scientific interests at the national capital. a world-wide reputation as a scientific investigator, exalted character and inspiring presence, broad views of men and things, the love and esteem of all, combined to make him the man to whom all who knew him looked for counsel and guidance in matters affecting the interests of science. whether anyone could since have assumed this position, i will not venture to say; but the fact seems to be that no one has been at the same time able and willing to assume it." the society circle in washington in was small compared with that of to-day. there was much less form and ceremony, fewer social cliques and a greater degree of affability. the "old washingtonians" were more _en évidence_ than now and the political element came and went without disturbing in any marked degree the harmony of the social atmosphere. there were, however, many in public life whose families were cordially received into the most exclusive circles of washington society and enriched it by their presence. mrs. hamilton fish held social sway by the innate force of character and general attractiveness with which nature had so lavishly endowed her. mrs. james g. blaine, whose husband was in congress when i first knew them, shared in his popularity. mrs. george m. robeson, wife of grant's secretary of the navy, lived on k street and kept open house. the secretary of the treasury and mrs. william a. richardson, who lived in the old hill house on h street, were well known and very popular. francis kernan, the junior senator from new york, with his wife and daughter, was seen everywhere. thomas kernan, their son, who eventually became a roman catholic priest, was a great dancer and a general favorite. roscoe conkling, the senior senator from new york, was socially disposed, but his wife, who was a sister of horatio seymour, although well fitted for social life, took but little part in it. she was a pronounced blond, wore her hair in many ringlets and was _petite_ in figure. senator and mrs. henry l. dawes and their intellectual daughter, miss anna, were highly esteemed by washingtonians. general ambrose b. burnside, senator from rhode island and a widower, lived on h street, where he lavishly entertained his friends. senator joseph r. hawley and wife of connecticut and the latter's bright sister, miss kate foote, resided in the capitol hill neighborhood; while senator henry b. anthony, also of rhode island and a widower, was famous for his grasshopper turkeys, with which he liberally supplied his guests at his home on the southwest corner of h and fourteenth streets. this was the period when william e. chandler was beginning his prominent and successful political career. he lived with his first wife and interesting family of boys on fourteenth street below g street. the social leader in washington in was mrs. frances lawrence ricketts, whose husband, general james b. ricketts, u.s.a., had served his country during the civil war and on account of disabilities was awarded a handsome pension. they lived on g street between eighteenth and nineteenth streets and her friday afternoons were festive occasions. mrs. ricketts was no mean philanthropist in her way and a certain wag once wrote-- here comes mrs. ricketts with a pocketful of tickets. the doggerel had a basis in fact as she frequently appeared in public with tickets to sell for the benefit of some charitable object; and she sold them, too, as but few had the courage to refuse her. she was an exceedingly fine looking woman with a cordial manner and graceful bearing. mrs. julia a. k. lawrence, her mother, the widow of john tharp lawrence, originally of the island of jamaica, lived with her, was quite as fond of society as the daughter, and, although advanced in years, seemed to have more friends and admirers than any woman i have ever known. one day by chance i met her in the drawing-room of a mutual friend, mrs. sallie maynadier, where she shocked us by fainting. one of my daughters wrote her a note of sympathetic inquiry and received in reply the following answer. i regarded it as a somewhat remarkable note as its writer was then approaching her ninetieth birthday. pray accept my grateful thanks, my dear miss gouverneur, for your kind attention in writing me such a lovely note. i wish i had known you brought it. i would have been so much pleased to see you in my room, which i could not leave yesterday though very much better. i think the fainting was from the heat of mrs. maynadier's parlour and the agitation of the previous day, at the prospect of parting with my very dear friends in the delicate state of dear kate eveleth's health! i hope to hear to-day how she bore the journey, the beautiful day very much in her favor! i can not close this note without expressing my sincere wish that your mamma and yourself will be so kind as to come and see me during the winter. i know that mrs. gouverneur does not "pay visits" but as i can no longer have the pleasure of meeting you at our dear friend's i hope she will make an exception in favor of such an old woman as myself, one too who has known and loved so many of your father's family for generations, dating back to president monroe's family, when i was a child in england and used to play often with your grandmamma [maria hester monroe]. can you believe that a vivid memory can turn back so many years? ask your mamma to favour me and come yourself to see yours very truly, julia lawrence. g street, tuesday morning. an old family friend of mrs. lawrence and her daughter, the late dr. basil norris, u.s.a., a native of frederick, resided in the ricketts home, and i am certain that his memory is still revered in the district. when mrs. ricketts, upon her husband's death, broke up her washington home, dr. norris went to san francisco to reside. a daughter of mine on her way to join her husband in honolulu was taken seriously ill in that city and was attended by him with consummate skill. he was then on the retired list of the army, but had a large and fashionable practice in his newly adopted home. in connection with mrs. lawrence my memory brings vividly before me my old and valued friends, mrs. maynadier, widow of general william maynadier of the ordnance department of the army, and her witty sister, kate eveleth. to render acts of kindness seemed their natural avocation, and i never think of them without recalling sir walter scott's description of a ministering angel. i have heard mrs. maynadier say that at the time of her marriage her husband, then a young officer, was receiving a salary of only six hundred dollars; and yet she reared a large circle of children, her daughters marrying into prominent families and her sons becoming professionally well known. their father was aide to general scott in the black hawk war and performed similar duty under general alexander macomb. their mother lived to see the fourth generation of her descendants, many of whom still reside in the district. when i returned to washington, i found the old decatur house facing lafayette square owned and occupied by general and mrs. edward f. beale, who had recently returned from a long residence in california. mr. gouverneur had known the general--"ned" beale, as he was usually called--in other days and i soon derived much pleasure from mrs. beale's acquaintance. she was a woman of the most aristocratic bearing and was especially qualified to meet the exacting requirements of the most exclusive society. the household was rendered additionally brilliant by her two daughters, both of whom were then unmarried. the sparkling vivacity of the elder, miss mary beale, who subsequently became madame bakhmeteff of russia, is easily recalled; while her sister, now mrs. john r. mclean, is so well known in washington and elsewhere as to render quite superfluous any attempt to describe her many charming qualities. their home was a social rendezvous, and i especially recall an entertainment i attended there when i met many social celebrities. general beale had collected numerous relics of early california which seemed peculiarly adapted to the historic mansion, and these objects of interest, together with the highly polished floors, the many and brilliant lights and the large assemblage of society folk in their "best bibs and tuckers," presented a scene which is not readily effaced from one's memory. among others i met that evening were general ambrose e. burnside, whom i had known as a cadet at west point, and my old friend, captain (afterwards general) richard tyldin auchmuty of new york, who since i had last seen him had passed through the civil war. this reception was given in honor of the then young but gifted tragedian, john e. mccullough, with whom the beale family had formed a friendship in the far west. footnotes: [ ] my youngest daughter, rose de chine gouverneur, and chaplain roswell randall hoes, u.s.n., were married in washington on the th of december, . chapter xv to the present day shortly after our return to washington we received an invitation to a party at the house of mr. and mrs. william a. richardson, the former secretary of the treasury in grant's cabinet. in my busy life i have never seemed inclined to devote much time to the shifts and vagaries of fashionable attire. although as a woman i cannot say that i have been wholly averse to array myself in attractive garments, they were always matters of secondary consideration with me and have yet to cause me a sleepless night. my indifference now confronted me, however, with the query as to what i should wear upon this particular occasion, and i was compelled, as merchants say, "to take account of stock," especially as my invitation reached me at too late a day to have a new gown made. although while living in frederick i did pretty much as i pleased in regard to dress, i realized that in washington, willing or unwilling, i might be compelled to do, to a certain extent, what other people pleased; but such demands have their reasonable limits, and i therefore determined to ignore the dictates of fashionable sentiment and practice a little originality on my own account. i accordingly decided to wear a handsome and elaborate dress of a fashion of at least a generation before--a light, blue silk with its many flounces embroidered in straw in imitation of sheaves of wheat. in former years i had worn with this gown black velvet gloves which were laced at the side--a parisian fancy of the day, a pattern of which had been sent me by mrs. schuyler hamilton. these also i concluded to wear with the antiquated dress; and thus arrayed i attended the party and had a thoroughly good time, supposing, as a matter of course, that the incident was closed. the _new york graphic_, however, seemed to think otherwise and dragged me into its columns in an article which was subsequently copied into other papers. although at first i felt somewhat chagrined, upon further consideration i was inclined to be pleased, at least with that part of the narrative that made a passing allusion to my attire. this is what the _graphic_ said:-- among the ladies frequently seen in society this winter is mrs. marian campbell gouverneur, daughter of the late james campbell of new york and the wife of samuel l. gouverneur, the only surviving grandson of ex-president james monroe. mrs. gouverneur is an elegant lady of pleasing manners, sparkling vivacity and possesses a fund of humor and a mind stored with a variety of charming information. she has traveled a great deal and seen much of the fashionable world. mr. gouverneur's mother was married in the white house and--think of it!--on a spread eagle--that is to say, on the carpet of which that very elastic bird made the central figure. suppose miss nellie grant, of whose engagement rumor outside of washington talks so loud and this city appears to know nothing, should take it into her head to be married on a spread eagle, would not the other eagle, the public, stretch its wings and utter a prolonged shriek? now i ask you candidly, have we retrograded in matters of taste or become less loyal to the true spirit of our republican institutions? mrs. gouverneur has the most wonderful collection of american and asiatic antiques. she favors antique styles, even in matters of the toilet, and at a party last week had her dress looped with the ornaments which formed part of mr. monroe's court dress when minister to france. she also wore black velvet mittens of that date. while my sister, mrs. eames, was residing in paris with her son and daughter, her home on the corner of h and fourteenth streets was occupied by ward hunt and his wife of utica. judge hunt had recently been appointed a justice of the supreme court, and i immediately renewed my associations of former days with his family. next door to the hunts lived mr. and mrs. titian j. coffey, the former of whom had accompanied ex-governor andrew g. curtin of pennsylvania upon his mission to russia; and the adjoining residence, the old "hill house," was the home of mr. and mrs. james c. kennedy, the latter of whom was miss julia rathbone of albany. their hospitality was lavish until the death of mr. kennedy, when his widow returned to albany where a few years later she married bishop thomas alfred starkey of new jersey. mrs. robert shaw oliver, wife of the present efficient assistant secretary of war, is her niece. after mrs. kennedy left washington, mr. and mrs. robert elkin neil of columbus, ohio, with their daughter, mrs. william wilberforce williams, lived in the "hill house." they were people of large means and entertained on an extensive scale. mrs. neil belonged to the sullivant family of ohio whose women were remarkable for their beauty. the wife of william dennison, one of the district commissioners, was mr. neil's sister and her daughter, miss jenny dennison, was one of the belles of the hayes administration. there were so many representatives of the "buckeye state" at that time in washington that someone facetiously spoke of the city as the "united states of ohio." mr. and mrs. matthew w. galt, parents of mrs. reginald fendall, lived in the next house in the h street block, while adjoining them resided colonel and mrs. james g. berret. i knew colonel berret very well. nature had been very lavish in her gifts to him, as he was the fortunate possessor of intelligence, sagacity and fine personal appearance. it was his frequent boast, however, that through force of circumstances he had received but "three months' schooling," but he took advantage of his subsequent opportunities and became an efficient mayor and postmaster of the city of washington, while a prince might well have envied him his dignified and imposing address. he sold his attractive home to justice william strong of the u.s. supreme court, who with his family resided in it for many years and then moved into a house on i street, near fifteenth street, which in late years has been remodeled and is now the spacious residence of mr. charles henry butler. directly across the street and in the middle of the block, between fourteenth and fifteenth streets, lived colonel and mrs. john f. lee. this is a house which i link with many pleasing associations. mrs. lee, whom i knew as ellen ann hill, was a member of one of washington's oldest families and with her husband had a country home in prince george county in maryland. she was a deeply religious woman and one of the saints upon earth. she gave me _carte blanche_ to drop in for an informal supper on sunday evenings--a privilege of which i occasionally availed myself. colonel lee was a virginian by birth and a graduate of west point, but at the beginning of the civil war resigned his commission. his brother, samuel phillips lee, however, who was then a commander in the navy, remained in the service and eventually became a rear admiral. although differing so widely in their political views, the two brothers were respected and beloved by their associates, and never allowed their opinions upon matters of state to interfere with their fraternal affection. the only daughter of colonel lee, mrs. henry harrison, usually spends her winters in washington. next door to the lees on the east lived senator and mrs. zachariah chandler, the parents of mrs. eugene hale; while still further down the street was the residence of doctor william p. johnston, a favorite physician of long standing and father of mr. james m. johnston and miss mary b. johnston, the latter of whom is president of the society of old washingtonians of which i enjoy the honor of being a member. it is at her home on rhode island avenue that the privileged few who are members of this exclusive organization meet once each month to listen to papers read on topics relating to earlier washington and to discuss persons and events connected with its history. the insignia of the society is an orange ribbon bearing the words inscribed in black: "should auld acquaintance be forgot?" a prominent member of this organization is mrs. anna harris eastman, widow of commander thomas henderson eastman, u.s.n., and daughter of the beloved physician, the late medical director charles duval maxwell, u.s.n. in the opinion of many old washingtonians no history of the district of columbia would be complete without some mention of the highlands, the home of the nourse family. in years gone by i remember that this ivy-covered stone house was deemed inaccessible, as it was reached only by private conveyance or stage coach. the first time i crossed its threshold i could have readily imagined myself living in the colonial period, as the furniture was entirely of that time. when i first knew mrs. nourse, who was miss rebecca morris of philadelphia, the widow of charles josephus nourse, she was advanced in life, but notwithstanding the infirmities of age, she had just acquired the art of china painting, and was filling orders the proceeds of which she gave in aid of st. alban's which was then a country parish. i frequently passed a day at this ancestral home, and i especially recall seeing a wonderful elizabethan clock in the hallway which i am told is still, in defiance of time, striking the hours in the home of a descendant. near the highlands is rosedale, occupied for many years by the descendants of general uriah forrest, who built it subsequent to . he was the intimate friend of general washington, and its present occupant, mrs. louisa key norton, daughter of john green and widow of john hatley norton of richmond, is my authority for the statement that one day after dining with her grandfather, general forrest, washington walked out upon the portico and, lost in admiration of the beautiful view, exclaimed: "there is the site of the federal city." mrs. norton's sister, miss alice green, married prince angelo de yturbide, and it was their son, prince augustine de yturbide, who was adopted by the emperor maximilian. one of the pleasing local features connected with the grant administration, which at the time made no special impression upon me, was the fact that there were then but few, if any, social cliques in washington, and that society-going people constituted practically one large family. a stranger coming to the capital at that time and properly introduced was much more cordially received than now. such, for example, was the condition of affairs when mr. and mrs. alexander jeffrey came to washington to spend a winter. they rented the old pleasanton house on twenty-first street below f street and entertained with true southern hospitality. the jeffrey family was of scotch extraction and mrs. jeffrey was miss rosa vertner of kentucky, where she was favorably known as a poetess. the first wife of alexander jeffrey was miss delia w. granger, a sister of my old and valued friend, mrs. sanders irving. as soon as they were settled in their home, mr. and mrs. jeffrey gave a large evening entertainment which mr. gouverneur and i attended. we much enjoyed meeting there a number of kentuckians temporarily residing in washington--among others, mrs. john key of georgetown and her sister, mrs. hamilton smith; mrs. william e. dudley; and wickliffe preston and his sister, a decided blonde who wore a becoming green silk gown. madame le vert and her daughter, octavia walton le vert, were also there and it is with genuine pleasure i recall the unusual vivacity of the former. this gifted woman was a pronounced belle from alabama and had passed much of her life in italy, where she had much association with the brownings. during her absence abroad the ravages of our civil war made serious inroads upon her financial circumstances, and when she visited washington at the period of which i am speaking she gave a series of lectures upon mr. and mrs. robert browning in willard's hall on f street. they received the endorsement of fashionable society and, at the conclusion of her last appearance, albert pike, the later apostle of freemasonry, offered as an additional attraction a short discourse upon his favorite theme. madame le vert's maiden name was octavia walton, and she was the granddaughter of george walton, one of the signers from georgia, and the daughter of george walton, the territorial governor of florida. in she married dr. henry s. le vert, son of the fleet-surgeon of the count de rochambeau at yorktown, va. in her "souvenirs of travel" appeared, and later she wrote "souvenirs of distinguished people" and "souvenirs of the war," but, for personal reasons, neither of the two was ever published. my first acquaintance with george bancroft, the historian, dates back to the year , when he came from new england to deliver a course of lectures and was the guest of my father in new york. one of the evenings he spent with us stands out in bold relief. he was a man of musical tastes, and justine bibby onderdonk, a friend of mine and a daughter of gouverneur s. bibby, who only a few days before had made a runaway match with henry m. onderdonk, the son of bishop benjamin t. onderdonk of new york, happened to be our guest at the same time. her musical ability was of the highest order and she delighted mr. bancroft by singing some of his favorite selections. later, when he was secretary of the navy during the polk administration, i saw mr. bancroft very frequently. i am not aware whether it is generally known that he began his political life in massachusetts as a whig. when i first knew him, however, he was a democrat and the change in his political creed placed him in an unfavorable light in his state, most of whose citizens were well nigh as intolerant of democrats as their ancestors had been of witches in early colonial days. upon my return to washington i soon renewed my acquaintance with mr. and mrs. bancroft, and the entertainments i attended in their home on h street, between sixteenth and seventeenth streets, revived pleasant recollections of mrs. clement c. hill, whose house they purchased and of whose social leadership i have already spoken. mr. bancroft at this time was well advanced in years, and in referring to his age i have often heard him say: "i came in with the century." in spite of the fact, however, that he had exceeded the years usually allotted to man, he could be seen nearly every day in the saddle with herrman bratz, his devoted german attendant, riding at a respectful distance in the rear. i may add, by the way, that a few doors from the bancrofts lived dr. george clymer of the navy with his wife and venerable mother-in-law, the latter of whom was the widow of commodore william b. shubrick, u.s.n. colonel alexander bliss, mrs. bancroft's son and familiarly known to washingtonians as "sandy" bliss, lived just around the corner from his mother's. his wife was the daughter of william t. albert, of baltimore, but when i knew him best he was a widower. a few doors from colonel bliss lived senator matthew h. carpenter, a political power of the first magnitude during president grant's second presidential term, whose daughter lilian was a reigning belle. equestrian exercise was not then quite so popular in washington as later, but it had its devotees, among whom was colonel joseph c. audenreid, u.s.a., an unusually handsome man with a decidedly military bearing. he was generally accompanied by his daughter florence, then a child, and was often to be seen riding out fourteenth street towards the soldiers' home, which was then the fashionable drive. john l. cadwalader, a cousin of mr. gouverneur and now one of the most prominent members of the new york bar, was assistant secretary of state under hamilton fish during the grant _régime_. he was a bachelor and was accompanied to washington by his two sisters, both of whom lived with him in a fine residence on the corner of l street and connecticut avenue, which has since been torn down to make way for a large apartment house. it was while the cadwaladers were occupying this residence that i first made the acquaintance of dr. s. weir mitchell. miss mary cadwalader brought him to see us in our corcoran street home and during the visit announced her engagement to him. he was then the highly eminent physician alone, as he had not yet entered the arena of fiction and poetry in which he has since attained such wide-spread distinction. it gives me pleasure to add that he suggested to me, while i was visiting in philadelphia many years later, that i should write these reminiscences. all of the large balls and parties of this date, including the bachelors' germans, which i frequently attended, were given at lewis g. marini's on the south side of e street, near ninth street. marini was an italian and the dancing master of the day. twice a week he went to annapolis to teach the midshipmen, who, when subsequently ordered to duty in washington, became very acceptable beaux, as they danced the same step that their master had taught his pupils here. the bachelors' germans were organized among others by robert f. stockton, hamilton fish, jr., john davis, and hamilton perkins; while soon thereafter seaton munroe became one of its officers. i especially recall a german given by the bachelors at marini's, on the twenty-second of february, , when lady thornton, wife of sir edward thornton, british minister to the united states, received the guests. the decorations were unusually elaborate, consisting chiefly of american flags draped along the walls from floor to ceiling; while at one end of the room, in compliment to the hostess of the evening, the stars and stripes made way to two british flags. a small cannon and a miniature ship were placed below the music gallery, while above them was a semicircle of cutlasses and a _chevaux-de-frise_ of glistening spears behind which were the musicians. in an old scrap book i find a brief notice of this entertainment which mentions the belles of the ball, some of whom became matrons of a later day in washington and elsewhere. this is the list:--miss zeilin, miss dunn, miss kilbourn, miss emory, miss campbell, miss kernan, miss dennison, miss keating of philadelphia, miss patterson, miss jewell, miss badger, miss warfield, madame santa anna, mrs. gore jones, madame mariscal, madame dardon, mrs. belknap, mrs. robeson, mrs. frederick grant and miss dodge ("gail hamilton"). in the old stockton house, next door to the residence of william w. corcoran, lived mr. and mrs. elijah ward who probably entertained more lavishly than any other family of that day. mr. ward was then in congress from new york. his wife possessed much grace of manner and a subtle charm quite impossible to describe. i enjoyed her intimate friendship and often availed myself of a standing invitation to take tea with her. in her drawing-room one constantly met acceptable recruits from social and political life, all of whom she charmed by her affable conversation and unaffected bearing. upon her return to new york miss virginia stuart, her daughter by a former marriage, married the rev. alexander mckay-smith, assistant rector at st. thomas' church. soon after his marriage he received a call to st. john's church in washington, where he remained the beloved rector until in he was elected bishop-coadjutor of pennsylvania. it was about this same period that i formed a friendship with lieutenant commander and mrs. arent schuyler crowninshield. he was then ordnance officer of the washington navy yard and lived in the quaint old house later assigned to the second line officer of that station. mrs. crowninshield's sister, elizabeth hopkins bradford, lived with her and i attended her wedding there. she married edmund hamilton smith of canandaigua, new york, a son of judge james c. smith of the supreme court of that state, and the ceremony was performed by the rev. dr. john vaughan lewis of st. john's church, washington. this wedding made an indelible impression upon my memory owing to an unfortunate circumstance which attended it. the mother of the bride-elect and the latter's youngest sister, louise, were traveling in europe and had arranged their return passage in ample time, as they supposed, to be present at the ceremony. the ship met with an accident off the coast of newfoundland, however, and during the delay the wedding took place. there was much anxiety concerning the safety of the bride's mother and sister which naturally cast an atmosphere of gloom over the marriage feast, but in a few days the ship came into port and unalloyed happiness prevailed. after mr. crowninshield's promotion to a captaincy in the navy he was ordered to command the _richmond_ in the philadelphia navy yard, and there i repeatedly met him and his fascinating wife. he remained there, however, for less than a year, when he was placed in command of the ill-fated _maine_, and about ten months before she was destroyed was ordered to washington as chief of the bureau of navigation with the rank, first of commodore and then of rear admiral. he served as such with marked efficiency during the spanish-american war, and several years later commanded the flagship of the european squadron. he retired in on his own application and died five years later, deeply regretted by a large circle of official and personal friends. mrs. crowninshield is so well and favorably known to the public as an authoress that it would be impossible for me to add any leaves to the laurels she now wears; but i cannot refrain from paying a tribute to her remarkable loyalty as a friend and expressing my admiration for those uncommon traits of character which, with her commanding presence, have made her so deeply respected and so greatly admired. the first loan-exhibition given in washington that i now recall was near the close of grant's administration, and was for the benefit of the church of the incarnation. it was in an old house on the corner of fifteenth and h streets, since torn down to make way for the george washington university. as much interest was shown in the enterprise and many of the old washington families sent valuable relics, a large sum of money was realized. among the contributors were william w. corcoran, miss olive risley seward, senator john p. jones of nevada, and seth ledyard phelps, the latter of whom was at the time one of the district commissioners and owned a large number of chinese curios gathered by him during his life in the east. i, too, was glad to aid so worthy a cause and sent some of my most cherished possessions. before the exhibition was formally opened, i attended a private view of the collection given in honor of william w. corcoran and horatio king. of mr. corcoran i have elsewhere spoken; with mr. king i was also well acquainted. in , while a young man, he was appointed to a position in the post office department and eleven years later was connected with its foreign service in which he originated and perfected postal arrangements of great importance to the country. his promotion was rapid and he finally became postmaster general under president buchanan, a position which he held with credit both to the administration and himself. about , when i first knew mr. and mrs. king, they lived in a modest home at h street where, every saturday evening, many _littérateurs_ and prominent men of state were accustomed to gather and discuss the important literary and political problems of the day. john pierpont read a poem at the first of these receptions and grace greenwood rendered some choice selections, while george william curtis and other men of note contributed their share to the success of other similar occasions. these literary reunions are said to have been the first of their kind ever held in washington. i was invited one evening in by mrs. madeleine vinton dahlgren, widow of rear admiral john a. dahlgren, u.s.n., who was then living at the corner of l and fourteenth streets, to attend a meeting of the washington historical society held in her drawing-rooms. it was washington's birthday and james a. garfield, then senator from ohio, was the orator of the evening. in one portion of his remarks he seemed to go out of his way to emphasize the statement that mary ball, washington's mother, was a very plain old woman. why he considered that her lack of prominent lineage necessarily added greater luster to the father of his country, was not apparent to quite a number of his audience, for even the numerous votaries of the patron saint of erin, "the beautiful isle of the sea," took honest pride in according him a gentle descent:-- st. patrick was a gintleman, he came from dacent people. mrs. dahlgren was a woman of unusual intellectual ability. she was the daughter of samuel finley vinton of ohio, who for many years represented his district in congress and was chairman of the ways and means committee. in she published a small volume entitled "etiquette of social life in washington." she followed this book with another, whose title i do not recall, in which she dwelt at length upon society in washington. it was not well received as her criticisms upon the wives of cabinet officers and others were such as to invoke general disfavor and arouse bitter resentment. mrs. dahlgren's ablest work, however, was the life of her husband, which was published in in a volume of over six hundred and fifty pages. she had a fine command of the english language and excellent literary discrimination in the use of its words, as appears everywhere in her writings and especially in the following tribute to her husband in the preface of his life:-- "admiral dahlgren was a man of science, of inventive genius, of professional skill; but beyond all these, he was a _patriot_. while climbing, at first with slow and toilsome but reliant steps, and, later on, with swifter, surer progress, that summit to which his genius urged him, he was often and again confronted by the clamor of discontent, the jealousies of his profession, and the various forms of opposition his rapid, upward course evoked; and until the present generation of actors in the great drama in which he played so conspicuous part shall have passed away, it will be difficult to gain an impartial opinion. yet death having arrested his ultimate conceptions while yet midway in his career, and set the final seal upon his actions, we are content to leave the verdict of a 'last appeal' to his beloved country and the hearts of a grateful people." two years later i attended another meeting of this historical society at the residence of henry strong, who built and owned the house on k street now occupied by mrs. stephen b. elkins, and for a time resided there. it was a brilliant assemblage and it deemed itself fortunate in having moncure d. conway, the distinguished historical writer and essayist, as the orator of the evening. he spoke upon the leaders of the federal party during the formative period of our national government, and soon made it apparent that his sympathies were not with them. he was strongly denunciatory of the federalists, going so far even as to brand some of them as traitors, and especially criticized jay's treaty with england in which was their pet creation. he spoke at some length of oliver wolcott, one of the most prominent federalists of that day, entirely ignorant meanwhile of the fact that some members of the tuckerman family, his descendants, were in the audience. at this time mr. conway was writing the life of thomas paine, which has since been published, and the morning after his lecture on the federal party he called upon me to ascertain whether any unpublished information relating to paine, which might aid him in his projected biography of the latter, was to be found in the private papers of james monroe which were in my possession. during our conversation i ventured to remark to mr. conway that possibly he was not aware that the previous evening certain descendants of oliver wolcott were in his audience. he responded that he had no desire to give offense but that unfortunately he could not adapt history to suit the views of the descendants of early statesmen. to use a terse expression of hamlet, i have often heard that paine was one of the unfortunates who were not treated by our government "according to their deserts." it is now conceded by students of our national history that no man rendered more effective service to the american revolution than "tom" paine. his devotion to the cause and his conspicuous sacrifices in its behalf were repeatedly acknowledged by washington, franklin and all the lesser lights of the day. after independence had been secured, still imbued with the spirit of liberty, his pen and his presence were not wanting when required in behalf of the liberties of the french people. he was imprisoned with hundreds of others in the luxembourg, where he languished for nearly eleven months in daily expectation of being hurried to the guillotine. following the fall of robespierre he was liberated through the kindly offices of james monroe, who had succeeded gouverneur morris as our minister to france, and was at once crowned with honors by the government in whose behalf he had suffered. during the term of his imprisonment, it was his belief that a single word from washington would effect his release, and he had a right to expect it, but he waited in vain. he was wholly unconscious, meanwhile, that the mind of washington had been poisoned against him by one high in public counsels, and while still in ignorance of this fact addressed him the well-known denunciatory letter which evoked such wide-spread criticism. washington, however, was not to blame, for he had been deceived in the house of his friends; but of this paine was entirely ignorant. delaware davis, a son of colonel samuel b. davis of delaware who rendered such distinguished service during the war of , told me a few years ago that his father was present at a dinner where paine was asked what he thought of washington. doubtless in a spirit of acrimony he uttered the following lines: take from the rock the rough and rudest stone, it needs no sculptor, it is washington; but if you chisel, let the strokes be rude, and on his bosom write ingratitude. there is probably no period of our national history when party rivalries were so intense and the expression of political animosities were more bitter than they were a century ago between the disciples of jefferson and hamilton. epithets in popular discourse were openly hurled at political antagonists that decent men would not tolerate to-day, and the public press gave expression to charges and insinuations against honorable partisans such as none but the very yellowest and most debauched journals would now deem it expedient to print. as a single illustration, i have in my possession what is called "an infallible remedy to make a true federalist." it is without date and was given to me by a descendant of thomas jefferson who knew nothing of its origin except that it was a boston production. it speaks for itself, and is as follows:-- take the head of an old hypocrite, one ounce of nero's conspiracy, two ounces of the hatred of truth, five scruples of liars' tongues, twenty-five drops of the spirit of oliver cromwell, fifteen drops of the spirit of contentment. put them in the mortar of self-righteousness and pound them with the pestle of malice and sift them through the skin of a doctor of divinity and put the compound into the vessel of rebellion and steep it over the fire of sedition twenty-four hours, and then strain it in the rag of high treason. after which put it in the bottle of british influence and cork it with the disposition of toryism, and let it settle until the general court rises, and it will then be fit for use. this composition has never been known to fail, but if by reason of robust constitution it should fail, add the anxiety of the stamp act, and sweeten with a provisional army. the above articles may be had of the following gentlemen who are appointed wholesale venders of british agents in america. f. target. the last days of the grant administration were filled with forebodings and excitement. i shall always remember, when the news reached washington that rutherford b. hayes had been nominated by the republican party, the eager inquiries: "who is hayes?" it was then i heard for the first time an expression which constantly occurs nowadays--"a dark horse." samuel j. tilden, as is well known, was the standard bearer of the democracy. the fight was long and bitter, as almost up to the day of the inauguration the question as to which candidate was successful was a matter of doubt. the electoral commission, the compromise agreed upon by both parties, was composed of the same number of republicans and democrats with justice joseph p. bradley of the supreme court as the fifteenth member, chosen on account of his neutral position. it decided that the republican nominee was entitled to the electoral votes of florida, louisiana and south carolina, and the electoral college accordingly awarded the presidency to mr. hayes by a vote of to . the tilden campaign was engineered by manton marble, an able man and the editor of the new york _world_. i had known mr. tilden when he was a great adherent of martin van buren. he was a small, insignificant looking man whose whole life was given up to politics. as i remember him in general, he was expounding upon his favorite subject regardless of "time and tide." his father had been affiliated with the celebrated "albany regency," and the son, inheriting his views, became one of the ablest as well as shrewdest political leaders that the democratic party in new york has ever known. as a lawyer his great ability was universally recognized, and yet his last will was successfully contested, although it had been drawn up by him with almost infinite care and with the most scrupulous regard for details and engrossed with his own hand. i saw the hayes inaugural-parade from a window on the corner of fifteenth street and new york avenue. all through the day there was a suppressed feeling of uncertainty and excitement, but at the appointed hour the president-elect drove to the capitol in the usual manner and took the oath of office. the procession which escorted him to the white house was by no means so imposing as others i had seen, among them that of eight years later at cleveland's first inauguration, when general fitzhugh lee rode at the head of the virginia troops and received a greater ovation than the new president himself. it was late in february before it was definitely known what the final decision of the electoral commission would be, and the uncertainty arising from this fact, together with the prevailing political disquietude, doubtless had much effect in limiting the size of the parade. i soon made the acquaintance of president and mrs. hayes and was always a welcome guest at the white house. the latter was of commanding presence and endowed with great beauty, while she possessed moral and intellectual traits that not only endeared her in time to the residents of the capital but also won for her the respect and admiration of the people at large. she was also a woman of strong convictions and exceptional strength of character, and rarely failed to make her influence felt in behalf of what she believed to be right. although, for example, the attitude she assumed in regard to the use of wine at the white house entertainments was a radical departure from precedent and evoked the antagonism of many of her friends and admirers, she believed herself to be right and successfully persevered in her course to the end; so that william m. evarts, hayes's secretary of state, kept pretty close to the truth when he asserted years thereafter that "during the hayes administration water flowed at the white house like champagne!" she was a woman of deeply religious experience and a devout member of the methodist church. washington society felt the influence of her example, and during her residence at the white house the sabbath was more generally observed at the national capital than during any other administration i have known. as time passed and we became better acquainted, my respect and admiration for her greatly increased. i repeatedly spent the evening with her informally at the white house when our intercourse was unhampered by red-tape, and it was then, of course, that i saw her at her best. her _rôle_ was by no means without its embarrassments. she necessarily knew that many persons of prominence and influence viewed with serious doubt the legality of her husband's title to the presidential chair and that there were those who even alluded to him as "his fraudulency"; but the world was none the wiser, so far as she was concerned, and she pursued the "even tenor of her way," and by the subtle influence of her character and conduct won both for her husband and herself the admiration of many who, but for her, would probably have remained their enemies. in stephen j. field of california was appointed by president lincoln a justice of the u.s. supreme court, and made his residence in one of the three dwelling-houses on second street facing the capitol, which is said to have been a gift from his brothers, david dudley, the eminent lawyer; cyrus w., the father of the atlantic cable; and the rev. dr. henry m., the eminent presbyterian divine and versatile editor of _the new york evangelist_. here the brothers met every february to celebrate the birthday of david dudley field. for many years after the destruction of the first capitol by the british in the war of , the field house and the two which adjoined it were used by congress as the seat of its deliberations. henry clay served within its walls as speaker for about ten years, and mrs. field took much pride in showing her guests the mark on the wall where his desk stood. at one period before its occupancy by judge field this residence was used as a boarding house, and in its back parlor john c. calhoun breathed his last. during the civil war it was used by the government with the two adjoining houses as the "old capitol prison"--but of this i have spoken in another place. justice field was "a gentleman of the old school" and one of the most courtly men in public life, while his wife was well known for her tact, culture and exquisite taste. their home was enriched with many curiosities collected at home and abroad, and i especially recall a bust of the young emperor augustus, an exact copy of the original in the vatican. mrs. field's sister, miss sarah henderson swearingen, accompanied her to washington and some years later was married from this home to john condit-smith. my old friend, dr. charles w. hoffman, who for twenty years was the librarian of the u.s. supreme court, was a near neighbor and friend of judge and mrs. field. after a life well spent he retired to the home of his birth in frederick, maryland, where he lived for many years, surrounded by his well-loved books and art treasures. he never married. when i first knew mr. and mrs. james g. blaine they were living on fifteenth street between h and i streets. miss abigail dodge, "gail hamilton," a cousin of mrs. blaine, resided with them and added greatly to the charm of the establishment. the world in general as well as his eulogists have done full justice to mr. blaine's amazing tact and charm of manner; but i may be pardoned the conceit if i offer my own tribute by referring to a graceful remark he made the first time i had the pleasure of meeting him. i heard someone say: "here comes mr. blaine," and as i turned and he was formally presented to me i saw before me a distinguished looking middle-aged man of commanding presence, who, as he raised his hat to greet me, remarked in a low and pleasant voice: "i bow to the name!" the social column so generally in vogue in all the large newspapers throughout the country was introduced into washington about . miss augustine snead, who wrote under the _nom de plume_ of "miss grundy," was the first woman society reporter i ever knew. she represented several newspapers, and she and her mother, mrs. fayette snead, herself a graceful writer under the pen name of "fay," were seen at many entertainments. both of them were wide-awake and clever women. i happen to have preserved an article which appeared in the society column of _the evening star_, written by miss snead, which is largely made up of puns upon the society men of the day, some of whom are now gray-haired veterans and some, alas! are no longer here. she wrote:-- "our society men are sighing for their rights and complain that whereas it is only once in four years they have the privilege of being courted and receiving special attention the social columns of the newspapers should give them more space. we have detailed one of our corps for the purpose with the following result. it (s)eames to us that the officers of the marine corps are muse-ing on an exhibition of their zeal in the invention of a patent payne-killer, in proof that they have not leaned upon a broken reed. some one may call us palmer (h)off of bad puns, but we have not given a(u)lick amiss. no wonder the marine corps, in hourly dread of annihilation, has its anxieties increased by the continuance of the alarm at the navy yard, the officers of that formidable little vessel having proved through the season that it is well named, by each striking eight _belles_ per hour." "eames" was my nephew, charles campbell eames. "muse" was general william s. muse, u.s.m.c., now residing on the eastern shore of maryland, who usually spends a portion of each year at the capital. "zeal in" referred to lieutenant william f. zeilin, u.s.m.c., a son of general jacob zeilin, u.s.m.c. "payne" was frederick h. paine, formerly in the navy, who still makes washington his home. "reed" was general george c. reid, u.s.m.c., now residing in washington. "(h)off" was captain william bainbridge hoff, u.s.n., who died a few years ago; and "palmer" was lieutenant aulick palmer, formerly in the marine corps and now u.s. marshal of the district of columbia. when i first knew the distinguished scientist, professor theodore e. hilgard, he and his wife were living on n street, near twelfth street. for many years he was superintendent of the coast survey, and after an interval of a number of years was succeeded by his nephew, mr. otto h. tittmann. the latter and his wife are now among the widely-known and popular residents of washington. the french government in appreciation of professor hilgard's scientific achievements presented to him a superb vase which is now owned by dr. thomas n. vincent. about thirty years ago my daughters and i formed a friendship with senator and mrs. james b. beck of kentucky and their daughter, the wife of general green clay goodloe of the u.s. marine corps. mr. beck was one of the democratic leaders in the senate and was regarded as among the ablest men of his party. he was proud of his scotch blood and loyal in his friendships. his wife was miss jane washington augusta thornton, whose grandfather, colonel john thornton of rappahannock county, virginia, was a first cousin of general washington. both the senator and his wife have passed onward, but our affection still lives in general and mrs. goodloe, who are among the best and truest friends i have ever known. just before the close of the hayes administration, walter d. davidge, whose home for many years was on sixth street, built a large mansion on the corner of h and seventeenth streets and upon its completion he and mrs. davidge, who was miss anna louisa washington, gave a housewarming. champagne flowed freely upon this occasion and it is said that the supper was one of the handsomest and most elaborate ever served in washington. the same winter my daughters attended a brilliant ball given at stewart castle by its chatelaine, mrs. william m. stewart, whose husband was one of the u.s. senators from nevada. she was the daughter of senator henry s. foote, who represented mississippi in ante-bellum days, and gave the ball in honor of several virginia girls who were her guests. she was assisted in the entertainment by her two elder daughters, both of whom were married. stewart castle was well adapted for such a social function as it was one of the few mansions in washington that had a spacious ballroom. this residence was quite suburban, and the hillyer house on massachusetts avenue which stood on a high terrace was the only other dwelling in the immediate vicinity. i remember that when the home of the british embassy was in the course of erection, the wisdom of the location was greatly questioned, owing to its remoteness from the fashionable center of the city. during the arthur administration, mr. edward c. halliday and his wife came to the national capital to spend a winter. i had known him many years before when he visited the widow of general alexander macomb in her home on the corner of i and seventeenth streets, where the farragut apartment house now stands. he was of a scotch family which originally settled in new york, and his father for some years was president of the st. andrews society of that city. after residing several months in washington mr. halliday built several houses opposite the british embassy on n street, the largest of which he reserved for his own residence. it was here that mr. and mrs. halliday entertained with such true scotch hospitality. their friday evenings were bright spots on the social horizon, especially for the young people, as dancing was one of their special features. just before the close of her second social season mrs. halliday gave a fancy-dress ball, which was a happy inspiration, varying as it did the monotony of germans, receptions and teas. on this occasion the minuet was danced by the younger guests dressed in louis xiv. costumes. in the spring of the long and painful illness of my husband closed in death. he had been handicapped by years of ill health, and, although he had the intellectual power, the ability, the wings to spread, there was, alas, no surrounding air to bear them up! the ambition was there and the intense desire, but strength was lacking and he bore his affliction with sublime fortitude. for a while after his departure i felt akin to a ship lost at sea; my moorings were nowhere within sight. i had leaned on him through so many years of married life, constantly sustained by his high code of integrity and honor, that his death was indeed a bereavement too terrible for words to express. i care to say no more. the summer of the same year, accompanied by my daughters, i sought the quietude of the mountains of virginia. tarrying in the same house with me was mrs. john griffith worthington of georgetown, d.c., with whom i formed a lasting friendship. the worthington family resided in the district long before it became the seat of government and owned extensive property. even in extreme old age mrs. worthington was one of the most truly beautiful women i have ever seen. she was miss elizabeth phillips of dayton, ohio, and a lineal descendant of president jonathan dickinson of princeton university. her daughter eliza, mrs. william henry philip, represented the same type of woman. john g. worthington's sister married judge william gaston, the eminent jurist of north carolina. the administration of garfield was of short duration. the tragedy which brought to a speedy close his earthly career is too well known to be dwelt upon at length. the mortal attack upon him in by the fanatic charles j. guiteau in the old pennsylvania railroad station on the corner of sixth and d streets shocked the civilized world, and his long and painful illness at elberon was closely watched by a sympathizing public until it closed in death. dr. d. w. bliss was the garfield family physician but the most eminent specialists of the country were called into consultation. it is the first time within my memory that i ever heard of the issue of official bulletins by physicians announcing the condition of their patients. at the trial of guiteau he was defended by his brother-in-law, george m. scoville, while judge john k. porter of new york and walter d. davidge of the washington bar were employed to assist in the prosecution. this trial was of such absorbing interest that men and women crowded to the city hall, where admission was granted only by ticket. no one could possibly have seen guiteau without a feeling akin to pity, as he displayed every indication of possessing an unbalanced mind. the administration of president arthur proved a source of delight to washington society and afforded abundant demonstration, as in the cases of jefferson, jackson, van buren and buchanan before him, that a "mistress of the white house" in the person of a wife is not an absolute necessity. mrs. john e. mcelroy, the president's sister, spent much of her time in washington and presided with grace over the social functions of the white house. the president himself was a gentleman of dignified and imposing presence and of great social as well as political tact. he instinctively seemed to know the proper thing to do and exactly when to do it. i was deeply touched by his thoughtfulness when my second daughter, ruth monroe, was married in december, . although we were still in mourning and had no personal acquaintance with the president nor other association at that time with the white house, general arthur on that occasion sent superb flowers to my home from the conservatory of the executive mansion. i regarded the act as exceedingly gracious, but it was in every way characteristic of the man. the circumstances under which he succeeded to the presidential chair were so painful and some of his former political affiliations were so distasteful to many that the early portion of his administration was attended with a certain degree of embarrassment; yet, by sheer force of character, unquestioned ability and magnificent tact he so effectively worked his way into the hearts of the people that he left the presidential chair as highly esteemed as any of his predecessors and carried with him into retirement the applause of the people irrespective of party affiliation. i made the acquaintance of general and mrs. adolphus w. greely soon after his return from his arctic expedition. both he and rear admiral winfield scott schley, u.s.n., the rescued and the rescuer, were then receiving the ovations of the public. during our early acquaintance the greelys purchased a delightful old-fashioned house on g street, below pennsylvania avenue, where they still reside surrounded by a charming group of sons and daughters. general greely is always an object of interest wherever he goes and deservedly so, as scientific attainments, distinguished bearing and engaging manners such as his can never fail to win applause. mrs. greely, the bride of his youth and the companion of his maturer years, wins all hearts and holds them. it would be both unjust and ungrateful to make no mention of mrs. phoebe hearst, the mother of william r. hearst of new york. she came to washington an entire stranger as the wife of the late senator george hearst of california, but soon endeared herself to all old residents by her personal magnetism, her social tact and her philanthropic acts. deeply in sympathy with the work of women, her benevolence in this particular field was unbounded. her entertainments were lavish and i was often numbered among her guests. i especially recall an evening reception given by her in honor of a company of authors attending a congress in washington. it was remarkable for the number of distinguished men and women gathered from all parts of the country, some of whom i had never met before, and among them mark twain, francis marion crawford and william dean howells. as i lay down my pen, memories of many old friends are passing before me and of their children, too. then there are others with whom i formed ties later in life of the most enduring character. this is especially true of my old and cherished neighbors, rear admiral and mrs. francis a. roe. with his work well done he now rests from his labors, but his widow is yet my valued friend. still another is rear admiral winfield scott schley, u.s. n. who, surrounded by admiring friends in washington, lives quietly and unostentatiously and bears his laurels well; and last, but anything in the world but least, mrs. julian james, a representative of a distinguished new york family, the daughter of theodorus bailey myers, who has made her home in washington for many years, and is now the "lady bountiful" of the national capital. beautiful in person as well as in character, she distributes her wealth with a lavish hand, and richly deserves the words "well done." in looking backward through the years of a long and active life i have seen varied relays of humanity, all of them acting their parts and filling their appropriate niches--great and small often standing shoulder to shoulder and engaged in the same strife. many of them, my friends in childhood as well as old age, have long since passed into the life beyond. _vanitas vanitatis!_ may be the exclamation of the moralizing cynic, but to me many of these memories are a blessed heritage, and i am grateful to the father of all for permitting me to catch from them the inspiration to prepare these rambling notes. index abert, john, . abinger, lord, . lady, . adams, abigail, . abigail louisa smith, . charles, . charles francis, , . mrs. charles francis, , , . elizabeth combs, - . isaac hull, - . john ( ), , , , , , . john ( ), , . mrs. john, , . john quincy, , , , , , , , , , , . mrs. john quincy, , , . mary louisa, . thomas boylston, , . william, . addington, henry unwin, . addison, joseph, . adrian, robert, , . agg, john t., . albert, prince, . william t., . alcott, amos bronson, . alfonso xiii., of spain, . allen, eliza, . john, . allerton, willoughby, . mrs. willoughby, . allston, washington, . almonte, juan nepomuceno, . mrs. juan nepomuceno, . almy, john j., . anderson, richard c, . robert, . mrs. robert, , . andrews, edward g., . john a., . anne, queen, . anthon, charles, - , . anthony, henry b., . appleton, james means, . jesse, . armistead, richard, . mrs. richard, , . susan, , . armstrong, john, . mr., of new york, . arthur, chester a., , , . ashton, henry, . astor, dorothea, . eliza, . emily, . george, . "george and company," . henry, . john jacob ( ), , , , - . john jacob ( ), . magdalen, . william b., , , , . william waldorf, . "astor and camp," . atkinson, henry, . mrs. henry, . auchmuty, richard tyldin, . audenreid, florence, . joseph c., . augustus, emperor, . aulick, john h., . bache, eliza ann, . matilda, . bacon, alice, . delia, . francis, . julia, . leonard, . badger, miss, . bakhmeteff, madame, . balfe, michael william, . victoire, . ball, mary, . bancroft, george, , , , . mrs. george, , . bankhead, james, , . the misses, . banks, nathaniel p., , . bannister, mr., . bantz, gideon, . baraza, cipriano, . barbour, james l., . barca, de la, don calderon, . madame calderon, , . barclay, andrew d., . bard, samuel, . william, . barker, jacob, . barlow, francis c., . barnum, p. t., . barron, james, . bartlett, william h. c., . bass, mrs. eugénie, . bazaine, françois achillé, . beach, moses y., , . beale, edward f., . mrs. edward f., . mary, . bearn, de, louis, , . princess, . beauharnais, de, hortense, . beaujour, de, felix, . beaumont, john c., . beauregard, de, paix, . toutant, . pierre g. t., , , . beck, james b., . mrs. james b., . becket, à, thomas, . beckett, hamilton, . belden, george, . julia, . belknap, william g., . bellini, giovanni, . bellows, henry w., . belmont, august, , , . mrs. august, , . beltzhoover, daniel m., . benham, henry w., , . mrs. henry w., , . bennett, james gordon, , , . mrs. james gordon, . benton, james g., . mrs. james g., . jessie ann, . mr., . susan, . thomas h., , , , . bentzon, adrian b., . mrs. adrian b., . bérault, améline, . charles, . madame charles, . laura, . marie-louise joséphine laure, . pauline, . vincente rose améline, . beresford, william, . bergmans, alfred, . madame alfred, . berret, james g., . mrs. james g., . berrian, william, . berrien, william mcpherson, . bertinatti, giuseppe, . madame giuseppe, . bibby, augustus, . edward n., . mrs. edward n., . gouverneur s., , . mrs. gouverneur s., . henry warburton, . biddle, nicholas, . bigelow, john, , . bisset, john, . black, jeremiah s., . rebecca b., . blackwell, jacob, . lydia, . robert, . blaine, james g., , , . mrs. james g., , . blair, hugh, . mrs. james, . bleecker, anthony, . bliss, alexander, . mrs. alexander, . d. w., . william w. s., . blodgett, george m., . boggs, edward b., . boilleau, baron geoffrey, , . the baroness, . bolles, t. dix, . mrs. t. dix, . bolton, william compton, . mrs. william compton, . bonaparte, jerome, . boreel, mrs. francis r., . borland, mr., . solon, . boswell, james, . botelwalla, (a parsee), . botta, vincenzo, . mrs. vincenzo, , . bouck, william c., , . bowne, walter, . boyce, edward, . mrs. edward, . bradford, elizabeth hopkins, . william, . bradish, luther, . bradley, joseph p., . brady, james t., , . brandegee, maria, . brasher, philip, . bratz, herrman, . bray, mrs. ann eliza, . breckenridge, john c., . bresson, de, paul alfred, . bridge, horatio, . mrs. horatio, . bridgens, cornelia, , . the misses, . brodhead, jacob, . broglie, de, duchesse, . bronson, orestes augustus, . brooke, catharine l., . brooks, peter c., . preston s., . mrs. sidney, . brown, b. gratz, . colonel, . jesse, . john marshall, . mrs. john marshall, . mr., . robert m. g., . mrs. robert m. g., . (sexton), , , . browne, george w., . browning, robert, . mrs. robert, . brownlee, william c., . bryant, william cullen, , , . buchanan, james, , , , , , , , , , , . james, (british consul in n.y.), . roberdeau, . mrs. roberdeau, . buckingham, mrs. benjamin f., . buckley, barzilla, . bucknor, cornelia, . emily, . frank, , . bull, ole, . bullitt, diana moore, . eloise, ("lou"), . mary, . bulloch, james d., . bunner, anne, . rudolph, , , . burdette, charles, . burke, edmund, . burney, frances, . burns, david, , . robert, . william c., . burnside, ambrose e., , . burr, aaron, , , , . theodosia, . burton, william e., , , , . bush, ralph i., , . butler, andrew p., . benjamin f., , . mrs. benjamin f., . gen. benjamin f., , , . charles henry, . pierce ( ), (senator), . pierce ( ), . byron, lord, , , . caballero, lucas, . cabell, mrs. robert henry, , . cadwalader, john ( ), . john ( ), . john l., . mary, . mrs. thomas, . calhoun, john c., , , . cameron, simon, . cammack, mrs., . campan, madame, , . campbell, alexander, , . archibald, , . mrs. archibald, . charles h., . mrs. charles h., . charlotte, , . fanny, , , , . james ( ), , - , , - , , , , , . mrs. james, , , , , , . campbell, james ( ), , , . malcolm ( ), , , , . malcolm ( ), , , , , . margaret, , , , , , - . marian, , , , , . st. george tucker, . mrs. st. george tucker, . miss, . canda, charles, . charlotte, . canova, antonio, . carey, asa bacon, . mrs. asa bacon, . carlisle, earl of, , . carlota, empress, , . caroline, queen of naples, , . carpenter, lilian, . matthew, . carr, jonathan, . carroll, alida, . carrie, . charles, , , . daniel, . harriet, . helen sophia, . sallie, . violetta lansdale, . william thomas, , , . mrs. william thomas, , . carter, bernard moore, . robert, . cass, isabella, , . lewis cass, , . casti, giovanni battista, . caton, richard, . mrs. richard, . caux, de, grimaud, . madame grimaud, . chalmers, thomas, . chandler, william e., . mrs. william e., . zachariah, , . mrs. zachariah, . channing, william henry, , . chapman, john gadsby, . charraud, john t., . chase, salmon p., , . chateaubriand, françois auguste, . chaulet, mrs. george r. a., . chegaray, madame eloise, - , , , , - , , , , . chesterfield, lord, , . chew, beverly, . mrs. beverly, , . catharine alexander, . robert s., . choate, rufus, , , , . chopin, fréderic françois, . chrystie, mr., . church, albert e., . clagett, darius, . clark, daniel, . clay, clement c., . mrs. clement c., . henry, , , , , , , , . clerke, william b., . cleveland, grover, , . clinch, duncan l., . clinton, augusta, . mrs. dewitt, , , , , . julia, . cochrane, john, , , . codman, charles russell, . coffey, titian j., . mrs. titian j., . cohen, abraham h., . mrs. abraham h., . mrs. sara jane picken, . coleman, margaret, . sarah, . coles, mrs. (of new york), . colfax, schuyler, . mrs. schuyler, . colhoun, mrs. william h., . collins, charles oliver, . mrs. charles oliver, . mrs. mary bailey, . condit-smith, john, . mrs. john, . conkling, roscoe, . mrs. roscoe, . connelly, pierce, , . mrs. pierce, . contoit, john h., . conway, moncure d., , . coolidge, mrs. harriet morris, . richard henry, . mrs. richard henry, . cooper, james fenimore, , . priscilla, . thomas apthorpe, . mrs. thomas apthorpe, . corbin, francis porteus, . corcoran, thomas, . william w., , , , . cornbury, lord, . cottringer, mr., . coudert, frederick r., . cox, arthur cleveland, . samuel h., . cozzens, william b., , . craig, adam, . mrs. adam, . jane stith, . crampton, john f. t., - . mrs. john f. t., . crane, charles h., . ichabod b., . crawford, francis marion, . william h., , . crean, henrietta agnes, . crittenden, john jordan, . croghan, mary e., , . cromwell, oliver, , . samuel, , . crooke, mary, . croom, henry b., . henrietta, , , . cropper, john, . mrs. john, . crowninshield, arent schuyler, . mrs. arent schuyler, , - . benjamin w., . the misses, , . cruger, mrs. douglas, . cumberland, duke of, , . cunard, edward, . lady, . curry, jabez l. m., . mrs. jabez l. m., . curtin, andrew g., , . curtis, george william, , . cushing, caleb, , , , , , , , , , . custis, mrs. daniel parke, . mrs. sallie smith, . cutts, mrs. rose adelle ("addie"), . james madison, , . mrs. james madison, - . richard, . dahlgren, john a., , . mrs. john a., . mrs. madeleine vinton, , . dallas, george m., . daly, charles p., , . joseph f., . dana, charles a., , . francis, . mrs. francis, . da ponte, lorenzo, , . lorenzo l., . dardon, madame, . darwin, charles, . davenport, mrs. henry k., richard g., . davidge, walter d., , . mrs. walter d., . davidson, samuel, . davies, solomon b., . mrs. solomon b., . davis, charles augustus, , . mrs. charles augustus, . david, . delaware, . henry gassaway, . mrs. henry gassaway, . george t., . grace, . hallie, . jefferson, , , , . mrs. jefferson, , . john, . kate, . samuel b., . winter, . dawes, anna, . henry l., . mrs. henry l., . day, henry, . de genlis, madame, . de hart, abigail, . de kay, george coleman, . de koven, henry, . mrs. henry, . reginald, . de menou, jules, . de peyster, arent schuyler, , . captain, . frederick ( ), . frederick ( ), , , . mrs. frederick, . james ferguson, . john watts, , , , . mrs. john watts, , . susan maria clarkson, . de rham, henry casimir, . mrs. henry casimir, . de ruiz, domingo leoncio, . mrs. domingo leoncio, . de sodré, lucinia, . luis pereira, . de staël, madame, , . de veaux, mr., of new york, . de wint, caroline, . de witt, thomas, , . de wolf, mr., . decatur, anne pine, . stephen ( ), , , , , , . mrs. stephen, . stephen ( ), . dehon, fanny, . delafield, edward, . mrs. edward, . henry, , , . john, . joseph, . richard, . william, . delarue, marguerite m., . demonet, charles, . demsey, john, . denning, hannah maria, . dennison, jenny, . miss, . william, . mrs. william, . dent, louis, . mrs. louis, . derby, george h., - . désabaye, caroline, . clara, . gustave, . marc, , . pierre prosper, . déslonde, adrian, . marie mathilde, . dewey, orville, . d'hervilly, joseph u. f., . madame joseph u. f., , . dickinson, jonathan, . julia maria, . didot, firmin, . diehl, george, , . mrs. george, , . marie, . dieterich, george, . dillon-lee, marmaduke, . dix, john a., . morgan, . dodge, mary abigail, , . donelson, andrew jackson, , . donoho, thomas seaton, , . d'oremieulx, theophile, . douglas, dr., . george, , . mrs. george, , . jennie, . john w., . mrs. john w., . stephen a., , , . mrs. stephen a., , , , . william, . downing, andrew jackson, . mrs. andrew jackson, . "jack," . mrs. "jack," . dryden, john, . dudley, mrs. henry, . mrs. william e., . duer, anna henrietta, . catharine theodore, . edward alexander, . mrs. edward alexander, . eleanor jones, , . elizabeth denning, . frances maria, , . john, , . mrs. john, . maria theodosia, . william a., , , , , . mrs. william a., . duke, mrs. basil, . dundas, mr., . dunmore, earl of, - . dunn, miss, . durand, asher b., . dutilh, eugene, . mrs. eugene, . dyer, alexander b., . eames, charles, , , , . mrs. charles, , - , , , , - , , , . charles campbell, . fanny, . early, jubal a., . eastman, mrs. anna harris, . thomas henderson, . mrs. thomas henderson, . eaton, john h., . mrs. john h., . edes, margaret, . edgar, daniel, . mrs. daniel, . edgeworth, maria, , . edward vii., . elkins, stephen b., . mrs. stephen b., , . ellet, mrs. elizabeth, , , . ellicott, andrew, . elssler, fanny, , . emerson, ralph waldo, , , . emery, william h., . mrs. william h., . emmett, the messrs. of n.y., . emory, miss, . eppes, francis wayles, . john wayles, . mrs. john wayles, . esterhazy, the countess, . eugénie, empress, , , . eustis, abram, . mrs. abram, . evarts, william m., , , . eveleth, kate, , . everett, edward, , , , , , - , . mrs. edward, , . henry sidney, . ewell, cordelia, . richard s., . fahnenberg, baron, . fairlie, james, . louisa, . mary, . farley, mrs. john, . featherstonhaugh, g. w., . fendall, mrs. reginald, . fessenden, john m., . field, cyrus w., . david dudley, . henry m., . stephen j., . mrs. stephen j., , . figanière, joaquim cesar de, . fish, bayard, . beekman, , . "fish, grinnell and company," . fish, hamilton ( ), , , , , , , , , , . mrs. hamilton, , , , , , , , , . hamilton ( ), . preserved, , . fisher, george h., . fitzgerald, louis, . floyd, john b., . john g., . julia, . mr., . william, . follin, adolphus, . foote, henry s., . kate, . forbes, harriet blackwell, . john, . mrs. john, . maria, - , - , , , . forrest, edwin, , . mrs. edwin, . uriah, , . forsyth, john, , , . mrs. john, , . foster, lafayette s., . fox, henry stephen, , . francis, john w., , - , , , , , , . franklin, benjamin, , , . fraser, donald, . freeman, isabel, . william g., . mrs. william g., . frelinghuysen, frederick, . frederick theodore, . theodore, . fremont, john c., . mrs. john c., . frietchie, barbara, , . fuller, margaret, . melville, . furguson, mrs., gadsby, john, . gage, henry ( ), . henry ( ), . thomas, . mrs. thomas, . gaines, edmund pendleton ( ), . mrs. edmund pendleton, . edmund pendleton ( ), . mrs. edmund pendleton ( ), . mrs. myra clark, . gales, mrs. joseph, , . galliher, mr., . galt, matthew w., . mrs. matthew w., . garcia, manuel, . signor, . garfield, james a., , , . garrick, david, . garrison, william lloyd, . gaston, william, , . mrs. william, . gau, alexandre, , . mrs. alexandre, , . gautier, charles, . gauvain, michael a., . gelston, david, . henry, . maltby, , , , . margaret, , , . mary, , , . genet, edmond charles, , , . george i., . gerard, james w., , . julia, . gerolt, von, bertha, . the baroness, . frederick charles joseph, , . the baroness, . gerry, mrs. hannah greene, . gevers, johan cornelis, , . the baroness, . gibbes, annette, . charlotte augusta, . robert morgan, . mrs. robert morgan, . thomas s., , . mrs. thomas s., , , . gibbon, edward, . gibbs, benjamin f., . george, . mrs. george, , . laura wolcott, . wolcott, . gillett, ransom h., . goelet, peter, . goldsborough, margaret, , . mary catharine, . gonzales, ambrosio josé, , . goodloe, green clay, . mrs. green clay, . gordon, john b., . gordon-cumming, alexander penrose, . mrs. alexander penrose, . gould, james, . gouverneur, mrs. abraham, . elizabeth, . emily, . frederick philipse, . gertrude, . isaac, . louisa a., . margaret philipse, . mary marston, , , . maud campbell, , , , , . nicholas, , , . rose de chine, , . ruth monroe, , , . samuel, . mrs. samuel, , . samuel l. ( ), , - , , , , , , , , . mrs. samuel l. ( ), (first wife, maria hester monroe), , , , , , , . mrs. samuel l. ( ), (second wife, mary digges lee), , , , . samuel l. ( ), , , , , , - , , - , , , , , , , , , , , - , - , , , - , , , , , , , , - , , , , , , . mrs. samuel l. ( ), _preface_, , , , , , , , , , , , . samuel mongan warburton, . "gouverneur and kemble," , . gower, ronald, . grabow, von, guido, , . the baroness, . graham, george, . mrs. george, . john, . granger, adele, . delia w., . francis, . gideon, . grant, frederick, . nellie, , . ulysses s., , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . mrs. ulysses s., . gray, john f., . greeley, horace, , , , , , . greely, adolphus w., , . mrs. adolphus w., , . green, alice, . john, . thomas, . mrs. thomas, . greenhow, robert, . mrs. robert, , , , , . rose, . greenwood, grace, . greig, john, , . griffin, william preston, . mrs. william preston, , . griffith, arabella, . george, . philip, , . grinnell, cornelia, . "grinnell, minturn and co.," . guiteau, charles j., . gurowski, adam, , - . ignatius, , . ladislas, . guthrie, james, , , . gwin, william mckendree, , . mrs. william mckendree, . habersham, joseph ( ), . joseph ( ), . josephine, . william neyle, , . mrs. william neyle, , . haight, mrs. richard k., . haldane, mary, . hale, eugene, . halleck, henry w., , . hallett, hughes, . mrs. hughes, . halliday, edward c., . mrs. edward c., , . hamilton, alexander ( ), , , , , , . mrs. alexander ( ), , , . alexander ( ), . mrs. alexander ( ), . angelica, . gail, , . james a., , . mrs. james a., . john a., . john c., , , . mrs. john c., . laurens, . molly, . philip, . schuyler, . mrs. schuyler, , . hammersley, gordon, . mrs. gordon, . john, , . louis, . mrs. louis, . thomas, . hammond, george, . hardee, william j., , , , , . hardey, madame mary aloysia, . harod, charles, . mary williamson, . harper, emily, , , , , . harper, robert goodloe, . mrs. robert goodloe, . walter, . harrison, augustus joseph francis, . benjamin, , . mrs. henry, . william henry, , , . hasbrouck, henry c., . maria, . william c., . mrs. william c., . havens, benny, - . haviland, john von sonntag, . hawks, francis l., , , . hawley, joseph r., . mrs. joseph r., . william, , . hawthorne, nathaniel, . hay, george, , . mrs. george, , . sophie, , . hayes, rutherford b., , , - , . mrs. rutherford b., . hayne, mr., . hazard, john, - , , . mrs. john ("nancy"), . jonathan, . maria, . mary ann, . theodore e., . "heard (augustus) and company," , . hearst, george, . mrs. george (phoebe), . william r., . heckscher, richard, . mrs. richard, . heiskell, henry lee, . mrs. henry lee, . james monroe, , . hellen, mary, , , . henry, joseph, , . mrs. joseph, . patrick, . heth, henry, . joice, . heyward, edward, . hibbard, mr., . hicks, henry w., , . "hicks and company," . higginson, francis j., . mrs. francis j., . hilgard, theodore e., . mrs. theodore e., . hill, clement c., . mrs. clement c., , . ellen ann, . hilton, henry, . hinckley, mrs. samuel l., . hinsdale, horace, . hoes, roswell randall, . mrs. roswell randall, _preface_, . hoff, william bainbridge, . hoffman, charles f., , . mrs. charles f., . charles w., . eugene a., . josiah ogden, . matilda, . ogden, . mrs. ogden, . "hoffman and seaton," . hogan, frances, . william, . hogarth, william, . holly, mrs. hamilton, , , , . holmes, oliver wendell, . holt, joseph, - , - . hone, john, . philip, , . hopkins, louise, . samuel miles, . hornsby, isham, . mrs. isham, . horsey, outerbridge, . hortense, queen, . house, crissie, . the misses, . houston, sam, , . mrs. sam (first wife, eliza allen), . mrs. sam (second wife, margaret moffette), . howard, henry george, . mrs. henry george, . howe, mrs. julia ward, . howells, william dean, . howland, gardiner g., . mrs. gardiner g., . hoyt, goold, . mrs. goold, . hannah, . hoyt, henry shaeffe, , . mrs. henry sheaffe, , . jesse, , , . huc, evariste régis, . hughes, john, , , , - . hull, amos g., . hulsemann, john george, . humboldt, von, alexander, , , . hunt, ward, . mrs. ward, . mrs. ridgely, . hunter, david, . iglehart, james, . ingersoll, colin m., . ingle, osborne, . inglis, fanny, . lydia, . irving, leslie, , . pierre paris, . mrs. pierre paris, . sanders, . mrs. sanders, , . washington, , , , , . iselin, adrian, . isaac, , . izard, ralph, . jackson, andrew, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . benjamin l., . luther, . thomas j. ("stonewall"), . james ii., . james, edward, . mrs. julian, . "jardine and matthewson," . jauncey, jane mary, . jay, elizabeth clarkson, . john, , . peter augustus, , , . mrs. peter augustus, , . jefferson, maria, . martha, . thomas, , , , , , , , , , . jeffrey, alexander, . mrs. alexander, . jeffrey, jennie, . jennings, sarah, . jesup, thomas s., . jewell, miss, . johnson, alexander b., . mrs. alexander b., , . andrew, , , , - . bradley t., , , . george, . joseph e. ("joe"), . joshua, . louisa catharine, , . samuel, , . thomas, , , . mrs. william clarkson, . william crawford, . johnston, mrs. harriet lane, . mrs. henry elliott, . james m., . mary b., . william p., . joinville, de, prince, . jones, david s., . dr., . mrs. gore, . isaac, . mrs. isaac, . john p., . mary anna schuyler, . roger, , . samuel, , . madame sarah, - . virginia collins, . walter, . joseph ii., of austria, . judd, gerrit p., , . samuel, . kane, de lancey, , . mrs. de lancey, , . john, . lydia, , , . sarah, . kantzow, de, frederick, . the baroness, . kean, christine, , . john, . peter philip james, . kearny, mrs. diana bullitt, , . edward, . mary, . kearny, nancy, . philip ( ), - . mrs. philip ( ), . philip ( ), , , , , . mrs. philip ( ), , , , . virginia de lancey, . keating, miss, . keats, john, . keefer, c. h., . kellogg, frances, . julia, . sanford c., . kemble, charles, . ellen, . fanny, , - , . gouverneur, , , , - , , , , , . margaret, . margaret tillotson, , . mary, , . peter, . mrs. peter, . richard frederick, . mrs. richard frederick, . william, , , , , , , , . mrs. william, , , , , . kemmerer, joseph, . kennedy, james c., . mrs. james c., . joseph c. g., . mrs. joseph c. g., . thomas h., . mrs. thomas h., . kennon, mrs. beverly, . kernan, francis, . mrs. francis, . miss, , . thomas, . kerr, mr., . key, francis scott, . mrs. john, . kidder, jerome e., . kilbourn, miss, . king, archibald gracie, . mrs. archibald gracie, , . charles, , , . mrs. charles, . charles b., . king, charles c., . horatio, , . mrs. horatio, . john w., . mrs. john w., , . preston, , . rufus, , . kingman, eliab., , - , . mrs. eliab., . kneeland, samuel f., . knox, john ( ), . john ( ), , . john, of scotland, . kortright, hester, . lawrence, . kosciusko, thaddeus, , . kossuth, louis, , . kourowski, mr., . kunkel, jacob m., . mrs. jacob m., . kunze, johann christoff, . kuroki, general, . labitzky, joseph, . lafayette, de, marquis, , . lafitte, jean, . la fontaine, jean, . laight, edward, . henry, . mrs. henry, . lamb, charles, . lane, harriet, , . james, . langdon, john, . louisa, . walter, , . mrs. walter, , . lansdale, philip, . latimer, c. r., . laughton, j. scott, . lawrence, james, . john tharp, . mrs. john tharp, . mrs. julia a. k., , . leake, john g., , . leary, anna, . james, . lee, mrs. arthur, . fitzhugh, . frederick graham, . john, . mrs. john, . lee, john f., . mrs. john f., . mary, . mary digges, . robert e., , , , , , , , , . samuel phillips, . thomas sim, , . william, . mr., . leisler, jacob, . lemoine, ponty, . mrs. ponty, . l'enfant, pierre charles, . lenox, robert, . lente, frederick d., . mrs. frederick d., . leopold i., . leroy, caroline, . charlotte, . herman, . jacob r., , , . susan, . mrs. william, . le sage, alain rené, . leupp, miss, . le vert, henry s., . mrs. henry s., , . octavia walton, . lewis, john vaughan, . li hung chang, . lincoln, abraham, , , , , , , , . ling kein (mandarin), , . lippincotts, the publishers, . lipton, thomas, . lispenard, alice, . livingston, angelica, . estelle, , . john swift, , , , . johnston, . margaret, . maria, . mary, . maturin, , . mrs. maturin, . peter van brough, . philip, , , . robert edward, . robert r. (chancellor), . robert r. (judge), . susan, . lomax, ann corbin, . mann page, , . virginia, . longfellow, henry w., , . lord, daniel, , . phoebe, . lorillard, jacob, . mrs. jacob, . julia, . louis xiv., , . louis xvi., . lowndes, william jones, . ludlow, augustus c., . mary, . thomas w., , . lumley-savile, john, . luquer, lynch, . nicholas, . mrs. nicholas, . lynch, adelaide, . anne c., . dominick, , , . mrs. eugene h., . henry, . james, . john a., . mrs. john a., . mary, . lyon, james, , . macalister, lily, . macfarland, henry b. f., . mrs. henry b. f., . mackenzie, alexander slidell, , , . macmaster, anne, . macneil, elizabeth, , . fanny, . john, , . macomb, alexander, , , , . mrs. alexander, . alexander s., , . mrs. alexander s., - . macready, william c., . mcallister, ward, , . mcclellan, george b., . lucy, . mccorquodale, mr., . mccullough, john e., . mcdonnel, d. n., . mcelroy, john, . mrs. john e., . mcevers, charles, jr., , . mary, , . mcgill, john thomas, . mrs. john thomas, . mckay-smith, alexander, . mrs. alexander, . mckee, joseph, . mckim, mr., . mcknight, james, . mclane, allan, . anne, . mrs. john r., . mcleod, mr., . mrs., , . mcpherson, mrs. john ("fannie"), , , . robert g., . mrs. robert g., . mctavish, alexander s., . charles carroll, , , . mrs. charles carroll, , , . emily, . mary, . mary wellesley, . mcvickar, john, . m'dougall, peter, . m'gregor, john, . madison, james, , , , , , , , . mrs. james ("dolly"), , , , , , . magruder, george a., . helen, . john b., , - . mahan, alfred t., . dennis h., . maitland, mr., of new york, . malibran, madame, . manning, daniel, . marble, manton, . marcoleta, de, josé, . marcy, cornelia, , . william l., , , , , , , , , . mrs. william l., , . marini, lewis g., , . mariscal, madame, . markoe, francis s., . marlborough, duke of, . duchess of, . marquand, frederick, . henry g., . marshall, emily, . john, . marston, nathaniel, . mrs. nathaniel, . martin, mr. (of jamaica, n.y.), . marvel, ik, . marx, henry carroll, . mary, queen of scots, . mason, betty, . emily virginia, , , . florence, . james m., . john, , . john m., . john t., . matilda, . miss, of new york, . stevens thompson, . mrs. thomson f. ("colross"), . masters, josiah, . masters, margaret, . maulsby, william p., . mrs. william p., . maury, matthew f., - . mrs. matthew f., . maximilian, archduke, , , . maxwell, charles duval, . hugh, , . maynadier, william, . mrs. william ("sallie"), , . maynard, edward, . mayo, edward, . mrs. edward, . john, , . mrs. john, . maria d., , . robert, , , , . william starbuck, . mrs. william starbuck, . meade, george g., . richard w., . medhurst, walter h., , . meikleham, david scott, . mrs. david scott (septimia randolph), . mercer, william swann, . mrs. william swan, . meredith, emma, , . jonathan, . messinger, daniel, , . mrs. daniel, . messinger, thomas h., . milledoler, philip, . miller, charles dudley, . mrs. charles dudley, . thomas, . mrs. thomas, . william starr, , . mills, clark, . milne, mr., , . mimmack, bernard p., . mrs. bernard p., . minus, hetty, . philippa, . mitchell, donald g., . s. weir, . samuel l., . moffette, margaret, . monroe, bettie, . columbus, . eliza, , . fannie, , . james, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . mrs. james, , , . james (nephew of president), . mrs. james, , . maria hester, - , . mr. . montauban, charles, . montgomery, richard, . mrs. richard, . moore, benjamin, , , . clement c., , , . maria theresa, . theresa, . thomas, . william ( ), , . william ( ), . mrs. william ( ), . mordecai, alfred, . morgan, john hunt, . mr., . morpeth, lord, . morris, charles, , . charles w., . charlotte, . emily, . gouverneur ( ), , , . morris, mrs. gouverneur ( ), . gouverneur ( ), . james, . lewis, . rebecca, . robert, , . roger, . mrs. roger, . sarah, . thomas, , , , . mrs. thomas, . mr., of new york, . mosby, john s., . motley, john lothrop, . mott, valentine, . munro, john, . seaton, , , . murray, charles augustus, . mrs. charles augustus, . john (lord dunmore), . virginia, . murat, achillé, . madame achillé, , , . joachim, . muse, william s., . myers, theodorus bailey, . napier, lord, . napoleon i., , . iii., , , , , . nau, madame, . neil, robert elkin, . mrs. robert elkin, . neilson, anthony bleecker, , . bleecker, . elizabeth coles, . william, . newcomb, simon, . newell, george, , . nicholas i., of russia, . nicholson, mrs. augustus s., . niemcewicz, julian, . ning ping (a chinese servant), - . noah, mordecai manasseh, . norris, basil, . william h., . norton, john hatley, . mrs. john hatley (louisa key), . nott, eliphalet ( ), . eliphalet ( ), . mrs. eliphalet ( ), . nourse, charles j. ( ), , . charles j. ( ), . charles josephus, . mrs. charles josephus, . o'brien, lucius, , . o'conor, charles, , , , , , , . o'donnell, charles oliver, . mrs. charles oliver, . columbus, . o'neal, peggy, . o'neill, ellen elizabeth, . rose, . o'sullivan, john l., . ogilvie, john, . mrs. john, . olcott, mrs. j. van vechten, . oliver, emily, . robert shaw, . mrs. robert shaw, . "olyphant and company," , . olyphant, robert morrison, . mrs. robert morrison, . onderdonk, benjamin t., . henry m., . mrs. henry m., . justine bibby, . opie, mrs. amelia, . orleans, duke of, . ossoli, giovanni angelo, . the marchionesse, . otis, harrison gray, , , . mrs. harrison gray, . james w., , . miss, of new york, . sally, , . owen, john, . sarah, . paganini, nicolo, . paine, "dolly," . frederick h., . thomas, , . todd, . palmer, aulick, . frances hailes, . innis n., . palmer, james s., . palmerston, lord, . paris, de, comte, . parker, mrs. charles maverick, . theodore, . parmly, eleazer, . parrott, robert p., , - . mrs. robert p., , , , . parsons, william h., . mrs. william h., . partington, ike, . mrs., . patterson, carlisle p., . mrs. carlisle p., , . daniel t., . miss, . patton, john b., . mrs. john b., . paulding, james k., , . pauline, princess, . payne, thatcher t., . peabody, andrew p., . elizabeth p., . pearson, anna, . eliza, . joseph, . josephine, , . pegram, george herbert, . pelikao, de, comte, . pemberton, mr., . pendleton, edmund, . mrs. edmund, . edward, . mrs. edward, . john, , . penniman, james f., . pennington, mary, . william, . perkins, hamilton, . perry, augustus, . caroline slidell, , . matthew c., . mrs. matthew c., . sarah, . thomas, . pettigru, james l., . mrs. james l., . phelps, seth ledyard, . philip, mrs. william henry, . philippe, louis, , , , . philips, frederick, , . mary, . philipse, adolphus, . catharine wadsworth, . frederick, , , , . mrs. frederick, . margaret, . margaret gouverneur, . mary, . philip, . mrs. philip, . phillips, elizabeth, . philip, . mrs. philip, , . wendell, , , , . phoenix, john, . picken, andrew, , . mrs. andrew, . pickering, timothy, . picot, mr., of new york, . pierce, franklin, , , , , , , , , . mrs. franklin, . martha, . sarah, . the misses, , . pierpont, john, . pierrepont, edwards, . pike, albert, . pinckney, charles cotesworth, . thomas, . mrs. thomas, . pise, charles constantine, , . pleasanton, mr., . poe, edgar allan, , . poinsett, joel roberts, . mrs. joel roberts, . polk, james k., , , , , , . mrs. james k., . poore, ben perley, , . pope, alexander, . porter, andrew, . mrs. andrew, . david, , . david d., , , . john k., . post, catharine wadsworth, . potter, chandler e., . mrs. chandler e., . potts, george, . richard m., . powell, thomas, . mrs. thomas, . powers, hiram, . preston, wickliffe, . price, cicero, . lilly warren, . stephen, , , . proctor, redfield, . "purden and company," . pyne, smith, , , . raasloff, waldemar rudolph, , . racine, jean, . rainsford, mr., . ramsay, francis m., . george douglas, , , , , , . mrs. george douglas, . randall, thomas, . randolph, anne cary, . thomas jefferson, . thomas mann, . mrs. thomas mann, . rantoul, robert, . rathbone, julia, . ray, cornelia, . robert, . mrs. robert, . raymond, henry j., . read, george, . john meredith, . redfern, joseph, . reid, george c., . whitelaw, . relf, richard, . remington, mrs. thomas pym, . renwick, james, , , . mrs. james, . jane jeffrey, . william, , . reynolds, joshua, . rhett, charles h., . mrs. charles h., . thomas g., . mrs. thomas g., . richardson, samuel, . william, , . william a., , . mrs. william a., , . richie, lady, . ricketts, mrs. frances lawrence, - . ricketts, james b., . riggs, george w., . ringgold, tench, . ripley, george, . ritchie, john, , . mrs. john, , . thomas, . rives, william c., . mrs. william c., . robertson, beverly h., . robeson, george m., , . mrs. george m., , . robespierre, m. m. i., . robinson, douglas, , . mrs. douglas, . rochambeau, de, count, . roche, regina m., . rockwell, almon f., . mrs. almon f., . rodgers, c. r. p., . mrs. c. r. p., . john, . robert s., . mrs. robert s., . rodney, george b., . roe, emily maria, . francis a., , . mrs. francis a., . mary elizabeth, . thomas hazard, . william, . mrs. william, . rogers, john leverett, . mrs. john leverett, , . roothan, john, . ross, fanny mcpherson, . mrs. worthington, , . roulet, mr., of new york, . ruggles, samuel b., , . rumpff, vincent, . the countess, . rush, benjamin, . "russell and company," . russell, ida, , . ruturfurde (rutherford), walter, . sairs, mrs. deborah, . salles, laurent, , . louise stephanie, . sandidge, john m., . sands, robert c., . sanford, henry, . santa anna, antonio lopez, , . madame antonio lopez, . saracco, pierro, . sartiges, de, eugène, , , . the comtesse, . sartoris, algernon, . savage, john, . joseph, . savile, baron, . savile-lumley, john, . sayre, mrs. isaac, . scarborough, earl of, . scarlett, james york macgregor, . schenck, james f., , . schenley, edward w. h., , . schermerhorn, abraham, . schley, fairfax, . mrs. fairfax, . winfield scott, , . schmidt, john william, . mrs. john william, . julia, . schomberg, emily, . schroeder, francis, . mrs. francis, . seaton, . schurz, carl, . schuyler, mrs. eugene, . philip, . scott, adeline camilla, , . cornelia, , , , , , , . henry lee, , , . mrs. henry lee, . marcella ("ella"), , , . robert n., . mrs. robert n., . virginia, - , . walter, , , , . winfield, , , - , , - , , , , , , - , - , , , , , , , , , , . mrs. winfield, , - , , , , - , , , , , , , . scoville, george m., . seabury, samuel, . mrs. samuel, . seaton, caroline, . gales, . william winston, . mrs. william winston, . sedgwick, mr., of new york, . selkirk, alexander, . semmes, j. harrison, . seth, margaret chatham, , . sevigné, de, madame, . seward, olive risley, . william h., , , , , . seymour, charles, . horatio, , . shakespeare, william, , , . sharp, alexander ( ), , . mrs. alexander ( ), , . alexander ( ), . shelley, percy bysshe, . shelton, helen k., . shepherd, alexander r., , . sherman, william t., , , . shiff, eugene, . shillaber, benjamin p., . shriver, edward, . shubrick, william b., . mrs. william b., . shuster, william m., . sinclair, john, . skidmore, lemuel, . martha, . slidell, jane, . john ( ), , , . john ( ), , - . julia, . "slidell, john, jr., and company," . sloane, samuel, . mrs. samuel, . william, , . small, elisha, . smith, augustine, . captain, , . edmund hamilton, . mrs. edmund hamilton, . elizabeth, . gerrit, . mrs. gerrit, . mrs. hamilton, . mrs. henrietta, . mrs. henry william, . james c., . mrs. nathaniel, . snead, augustine, , . mrs. fayette, . somerville, william c., . southard, samuel l., , . virginia e., . spaulding, james reed, . speed, james, - , , . spencer, john c., , . philip, , , . spinner, francis e., . sprigg, samuel, . stanard, robert craig, . mrs. robert craig, , , . stark, john, . starkey, thomas alfred, . mrs. thomas alfred, . stephens, alexander h., , . steptoe, ann, . steuart, adam duncan, . mrs. adam duncan, , . steuben, frederick william, . stevens, john austin, . mrs. john austin, . john c., , . mrs. john c., . lucretia ledyard, . stewart, alexander t., . campbell f., . charles, . lispenard, . mrs. lispenard, . william m., . mrs. william m., . st. memin, de, comtesse, . stockton, francis b., . mrs. francis b., . robert f., . story, joseph, . stout, edward c., . jacob, . julia, . minnie, . strauss, johann, . strong, george w., . henry, . william, . strother, sally, , , . stuart, alexander, . david, . gilbert, . james, . robert l., . virginia, . "stuart, r. l. and a.," . stubs, alfred, . stuyvesant, helen, . nicholas william, . peter g., . sullivan, george, . mrs. george, , . james, . sultan of zanzibar, . sumner, charles, , , - , , , . george, . horace, . surratt, anna, . mrs. mary e., - , . suydam, hendrick, . swearingen, mrs. sarah henderson, . swift, dean, . syng, william f., . mrs. william f., . taglioni, maria, . tallmadge, frederick s., . mrs. frederick s., . james, . mary, . taney, roger b., , , . tardy, l'abbé, . target, f., . tasistro, louis fitzgerald, , , . mrs. louis fitzgerald, . tayloe, anne, . benjamin ogle, , , . mrs. benjamin ogle, . john, . virginia, . taylor, franck, . henry c., . zachary, , , . tellkampf, john louis, . tenney, william i., . thackeray, anne isabella, . william m., , , , . thayer, john e., . mrs. john e., . thomas, george h., . mrs. george h., . mr., . philip f., - . thomson, alexander, . thompson, smith, , . thorburn, grant, . thorndike, anna, . thorne, herman, . mrs. herman, . thornton, edward, . lady edward, . jane washington augusta, . john, . william, . tilden, samuel j., , . tillary, james, . tillotson, robert livingston, , . thomas, . mrs. thomas, . timberlake, john b., . mrs. john b., , . ting ting (chinese cook), , . tittmann, otto h., . mrs. otto h., . tocqueville, de, alexis, . todd, laurie, . toler, hugh a., . mrs. hugh a., . tothammer, gubriel, . toutant, elodie, , . tracy, benjamin f., . trail, charles e., . mrs. charles e., , . travers, william r., . trist, nicholas p., . trumbull, lyman, . tuckerman, bayard, . mrs. lucius, . tupper, martin farquhar, . turnbull, george, . william, , . mrs. william, . turner, thomas, , . mrs. thomas, . tuyll, de, theodore, . twain, mark, . tyler, elizabeth, . john, , , - , . robert, . mrs. robert, . tyng, stephen h. ( ), . stephen h. ( ), . ulrich, mrs. hannah, , . upshur, john h., . mrs. john h., . van amringe, john howard, . van buren, abraham, . anna vander poel, . john, , , , , . martin, - , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . smith, . van cortlandt, augustus, . mrs. augustus, . van hoesen, george m., . van rensselaer, frank, . mrs. john king, , . philip s., . mrs. philip s., . van karnabeek, a. p. c., . van ness, john p., . vail, aaron, , . david m., . eleanor louisa, . eugene, , . mrs. eugene, . vance, mrs. zebulon b., . vanden heuvel, mrs. charles, . john c., , . justine, . susan annette, , . vanderbilt, cornelius, . vandeventer, mr., . vandyke, anthony, . varela, felix, . vermilye, thomas e., . vernon, anna o., . the misses, . verplanck, mrs. david johnstone, . gulian c., , , . louisa verplanck, . verren, antoine, . vertner, rosa, . victoria, queen, , , , , . villars, marechal, . vincent, thomas n., . vinton, samuel finley, . vivans, louis, . voltaire, françois m. a., . waddell, james j., , . waddington, madam kate king, . wadsworth, elizabeth, . james, . james s., . wainwright, henrietta, . richard, . robert d., . mrs. robert d., . walbach, john debarth, . john j. b., . walker, george, . wallace, susan, , . wallis, severn teackle, . walton, george ( ), . george ( ), . octavia, . ward, artemus, , . elijah, . mrs. elijah, . samuel, . mrs. samuel, . warfield, miss, . warner, charles dudley, . warrington, lewis, . washington, anna louisa, . bushrod, . george, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . littleton quinton, . lund, . milicent, . peter grayson, , , . samuel, . watson, andrew j., . watts, elizabeth, . essex, . john, , , , . mary justina, . ridley, . robert, , . susanna, . wayne, henry c., . mrs. henry c., . james m., . webb, catharine louisa, . james watson, , . webb, william seward, . webster, daniel, , , , , , , . weir, robert s., . mrs. robert s., . robert w., , . weller, george j., . sam, . wellesley, marquis of, . marchionesse of, . wellington, duke of, , . west, mary, . wetmore, prosper m., . wheatley, emma, . white, augusta, . joseph m., . whitten, miss, of new york, . whittier, john g., , , . wickliffe, margaret anderson, . wight, ann g., . wikoff, chevalier henry, . wilcox, john a., . mrs. john a., , . mrs. mary donelson, . wilde, oscar, . wilkes, charles, , . mrs. charles, . wilkins, gouverneur, . martin, . wilks, mrs. matthew, . willard, caleb, . william, king of prussia, . williams, eleazer, . robert, . mrs. robert, . s. wells, . thomas, . mrs. william wilberforce, . willing, mrs. thomas m., . willis, n. p., - , , . mrs. n. p., . williston, ralph, . wilson, george t., , . mrs. george t., , . william, . winans, beatrice, . ross, . winthrop, henry r., . mrs. henry r., , . mrs. john still, , , , , . john s., jr., . robert c., , . mrs. robert c., , , . sarah bowdoin, . wirt, william, . wise, henry a., . wolcott, oliver ( ), . oliver ( ), , , , . wolfe, udolpho, . wood, nina, . silas, . virginia beverly, , . woodhull, maxwell, . mrs. maxwell, . worthington, mrs. charles, . eliza, . mrs. john griffith, . wright, edward, . katharine maria, , . silas, . william, . wyndham, earl of, . xavier, francis, . young, notley, . yturbide, de, madame alice, . de, angelo, . de, augustine, . zeilin, jacob, . miss, . william f., . +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | transcriber's notes | | | | page : comberland amended to cumberland | | page : distingushed amended to distinguished; semminaries | | _sic_ | | page : hayti _sic_ | | page : berault amended to bérault | | page : venitian _sic_ | | page : tuilleries amended to tuileries | | page : racoon _sic_ | | page : "home gouverneur kemble" _sic_ | | page : dintinguished amended to distinguished | | page : eariler amended to earlier | | page : editon amended to edition | | page : strongely amended to strongly | | page : unsually amended to unusually; it amended to its | | ("brook farm had its origin....") | | page : angustine amended to augustine | | page : bucknor's _sic_ | | page : palmerson amended to palmerston | | page : goeffrey boilleau amended to geoffrey boilleau | | page : fort sumpter _sic_ | | page : belguim amended to belgium | | page : comanding amended to commanding | | page : audenried amended to audenreid | | page : af amended to of ("spirit of acrimony") | | page : intercouse amended to intercourse | | page : alfonzo amended to alfonso | | page : beaujoir amended to beaujour; giuseppi amended to | | giuseppe | | page : index entry for mr. and mrs. titian t. coffey | | removed and replaced by index entry for mr. and mrs. titian | | j. coffey. | | page : daponte amended to da ponte | | page : everiste amended to evariste; kantzou amended to | | kantzow | | page : marquard amended to marquand; isaiah masten | | amended to josiah masters | | page : lathrop amended to lothrop | | page : palmerson amended to palmerston | | page : thackaray amended to thackeray | | page : louis vavans (p. ) has been indexed as louis | | vivans. | | | | hyphenation has generally been standardized. however, when a | | word appears hyphenated and unhyphenated an equal number of | | times, both versions have been retained (churchyard/ | | church-yard; earrings/ear-rings; housewarming/house-warming; | | lifelong/life-long; midday/mid-day; stateroom/state-room; | | transcontinental/trans-continental; warships/war-ships). | | | | accented letters have generally been standardized, unless | | different versions of the word appear an equal number of | | times (cortege/cortège; resistance/résistance). | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ file was produced from images generously made available by the library of congress.) transcriber's note this ebook retains the spelling and punctuation variations of the original text published in . a few corrections have been made where inadvertent typographical errors were suspected. details of these corrections can be found in a transcriber's note at the end of this text. the trial of reuben crandall, m. d. charged with publishing and circulating seditious and incendiary papers, &c. in the district of columbia, with the intent of exciting servile insurrection. carefully reported, and compiled from the written statements of the court and the counsel. by a member of the bar. washington city. printed for the proprietors. . entered according to the act of congress, in the year , in the clerk's office of the district of columbia. notice. the trial of crandall presents the first case of a man charged with endeavoring to excite insurrection among slaves and the free colored population that was ever brought before a judicial tribunal. it lasted ten days before the whole court, and was as closely contested as any trial on record, by the counsel on both sides. every point of law was fully and strenuously argued, and carefully considered by the court; and where no statutes have been enacted, this case may be considered as settling the legal questions touching the rights of the slaveholding population, on the one hand, to protect themselves from foreign influence; and the circumstances, on the other hand, which may bring people from the nonslaveholding states into danger of the law, by having in their possession, showing, or circulating, papers and tracts which advocate the abolition of slavery in such a way as to excite slaves and free people of color to revolt and violate the existing laws and customs of the slaveholding states. no trial has ever occurred more important to travellers from the north, or to the domestic peace of the inhabitants of the southern states. the trial of reuben crandall, m. d. on a charge of circulating incendiary papers. united states' circuit court, _district of columbia, friday, april th, ._ present: cranch, chief justice, thruston and morsell, justices. f. s. key, district attorney, and j. m. carlisle, for the prosecution. r. s. coxe and j. h. bradley, for the defence. john h. king, nicholas callan, james kennedy, walter clarke, george crandall, william waters, thomas hyde, thomas fenwick, samuel lowe, george simmes, wesley stevenson, and jacob gideon, jr., were empannelled and sworn as jurors to try the issue. this was an indictment charging, in five counts and in various forms, the offence under the common law of libels, of publishing malicious and wicked libels, with the intent to excite sedition and insurrection among the slaves and free colored people of this district. the three first counts only having been relied upon, and no evidence having been offered under the others, an abstract, omitting the mere formal part, will be sufficient to show the nature of the libels charged. st. the first count charged the defendant with publishing a libel, containing in one part thereof these words: "then we are not to meddle with the subject of slavery in any manner; neither by appeals to the patriotism, by exhortation to humanity, by application of truth to the conscience. no; even to propose, in congress, that the seat of our republican government may be purified from this crying abomination, under penalty of a dissolution of the union." and in another part thereof, in an article entitled "reply to mr. gurley's letter, addressed to the rev. r. r. gurley, secretary of the american colonization society, washington city," signed by arthur tappan and others, the following words: "we will not insult your understanding, sir, with any labored attempt to prove to you that the descendants of african parents, born in this country, have as good a claim to a residence in it, as the descendants of english, german, danish, scotch, or irish parents. you will not attempt to prove that every native colored person you meet in the streets, has not the same right to remain in this his native land, that you and we have. assuming this as an incontrovertable truth, we hold it self-evident that they have as good right to deport us to europe, under the pretext that there we shall be prosperous and happy, as we have to deport them to africa on a similar plea." and in another part thereof, in the said reply, the following words: "in what language could the unrighteous principles of denying freedom to colored people in this country, (which amounts to the same thing as demanding the expulsion of those already free,) be more effectually and yet more plausibly inculcated than in those very words of gen. harper you have, with so much approbation, quoted to us." and in another part thereof, in the said reply, the following words: "against this doctrine of suspending emancipation upon the contingency or condition of expatriation we feel bound to protest; because we believe that every man has a right to reside in his native country if he chooses, and that every man's native country is the country in which he was born--that no man's right to freedom is suspended upon, or taken away by his desire to remain in his native country--that to make a removal from one's own native country a _sine qua non_ of setting him free when held in involuntary bondage, is the climax of moral absurdity." and in another part thereof, in a certain other article, entitled "three months' residence, or seven weeks on a sugar plantation, by henry whitby," containing the most shocking and disgusting details of cruel, inhuman, and immoral treatment of slaves by the owners and overseers, and attorneys or agents of proprietors, according to the tenor and effect following--that is to say: "on this and other occasions, i thought it my duty to acquaint the attorney with my observations and feelings in regard to the cruel floggings and severe treatment generally which i have witnessed at new ground. he admitted the facts, but said that plantation work could not be carried on without the cart-whip. he moreover labored hard to convince me that the flogging did not injure the health of the negroes. i also told him of the exceeding immorality and licentiousness which i had witnessed; mentioning, in substance, the facts previously detailed. he replied that "that was a thing which they must wink at." if a man in manners so much the gentleman, and in other respects so estimable, was necessarily led to countenance or wink at the enormities i have feebly attempted to describe, what, i ask, is to be expected from its subordinate administrators who are continually exposed to the demoralizing influences of slavery? what, indeed, but the frightful wickedness and cruelty which are its actual fruits?"--in contempt of the laws, to the disturbance of the public peace, to the evil example of all others, and against the peace and government of the united states. d. the second count charges the publication of another libel, containing among other things, in one part thereof, the following words, viz: "our plan of emancipation is simply this--to promulgate the doctrine of human rights in high places and low places, and all places where there are human beings--to whisper it in chimney corners, and to proclaim it from the house tops, yea, from the mountain tops--to pour it out like water from the pulpit and the press--to raise it up with all the force of the inner man from infancy to grey hairs--to give line upon line, precept upon precept, till it forms one of the foundation principles and parts indestructible of the public soul." and in another part thereof, the following, viz: "i (meaning the said crandall) am not unaware that my remarks may be regarded by many as dangerous and exceptionable; that i may be regarded as a fanatic for quoting the language of eternal truth; and denounced as an incendiary for maintaining in the spirit, as well as the letter, the doctrines of american independence. but if such are the consequences of a simple performance of duty, i shall not regard them. if my feeble appeal but reaches the hearts of any who are now slumbering in iniquity; if it shall have power given it to shake down one stone from that foul temple where the blood of human victims is offered to the moloch of slavery; if, under providence, it can break one fetter from off the image of god, and enable one suffering african ------------to feel the weight of human misery less, and glide ungroaning to the tomb-- i shall not have written in vain; my conscience will be satisfied. far be it from me to cast new bitters in the gall and wormwood waters of sectional prejudice. no, i desire peace--the peace of universal love--of catholic sympathy--the peace of common interest--a common feeling--a common humanity. but so long as slavery is tolerated, no such peace can exist. liberty and slavery cannot dwell in harmony together. there will be a perpetual war in the members of the political _mezentius_--between the living and the dead. god and man have placed between them an everlasting barrier--an eternal separation. no matter under what law or compact their union is attempted, the ordination of providence has forbidden it--and it cannot stand. peace! there can be no peace between justice and oppression--between robbery and righteousness--truth and falsehood--freedom and slavery. the slaveholding states are not free. the name of liberty is there, but the spirit is wanting. they do not partake of its invaluable blessings. "wherever slavery exists to any considerable extent, with the exception of some recently settled portions of the country, and which have not yet felt, in a great degree, the baneful and deteriorating influence of slave labor--we hear, at this moment, the cry of suffering. we are told of grass-grown streets--of crumbling mansions--of beggared planters, and barren plantations--of fear from without--of terror within. the once fertile fields are wasted and tenantless: for the curse of slavery--the improvidence of that laborer whose hire has been kept back by fraud--has been there, poisoning the very earth, beyond the reviving influence of the early and the latter rain. a moral mildew mingles with, and blasts the economy of nature. it is as if the finger of the everlasting god had written upon the soil of the slaveholder the language of his displeasure. "let then the slaveholding states consult their present interest by beginning, without delay, the work of emancipation. if they fear not, and mock at the fiery indignation of him to whom vengeance belongeth, let temporal interest persuade them. they know, they must know, that the present state of things cannot long continue. mind is the same every where, no matter what may be the complexion of the frame which it animates; there is a love of liberty which the scourge cannot eradicate. a hatred of oppression which centuries of degradation cannot extinguish. the slave will become conscious, sooner or later, of his strength--his physical superiority--and will exert it. his torch will be at the threshold, and his knife at the throat of the planter. horrible and indiscriminate will be the vengeance. where then will be the pride, the beauty, and the chivalry of the south. the smoke of her torment will rise upward, like a thick cloud, visible over the whole earth." d. the third count charged the defendant with publishing twelve other libels, in which are represented and exhibited "several disgusting prints and pictures of white men in the act of inflicting, with whips, cruel and inhuman beatings and stripes upon young and helpless and unresisting black children; and inflicting with other instruments, cruel and inhuman violence upon slaves, and in a manner not fit and proper to be seen and represented; calculated and intended to excite the good people of the united states in said county to violence against the holder of slaves in said county as aforesaid, and calculated and intended to excite the said slaves in said county, to violence and rebellion against their said masters in said county; in contempt of the laws, to the disturbance of the public peace, to the evil example of all others, and against the peace and government of the united states." all these counts contained averments that at the time of the publication of these libels, the citizens of the united states residing in the county of washington, in the district of columbia, were lawfully authorized to hold slaves as property, and many of them did so hold them--and that many free persons of color also reside in the district; and that the defendant, unlawfully, maliciously, and seditiously, contriving and intending to traduce, vilify, and bring into hatred and contempt, among the citizens of the united states, the laws and government of the united states in the county of washington as duly established and in force, and to inflame and excite the people of the united states to resist and oppose and disregard the laws and government aforesaid, and the rights of the proprietors of slaves in the said county, and to inflame and excite to violence, against the said proprietors of the said slaves, not only the ignorant and ill disposed among the free people of the united states and the free persons of color in the said county, but also the slaves; and to produce among the said slaves and free persons of color, insubordination, violence, and rebellion, and to stir up war and insurrection between the said slaves and their said masters, published the said libels, containing among other things divers false, malicious and seditious matters, of and concerning the laws and government of the united states in the said district, and of and concerning the citizens of the united states holding slaves in the said district, and of and concerning the said slaves and free persons of color, and their labor, services, and treatment, and the state of slavery in the said district. the defendant pleaded not guilty. _the district attorney_ opened the case for the government. he said this was a serious and important charge of publishing inflammatory and seditious libels, which was always an indictable offence. in this particular case, situated as the population of the district is, it was peculiarly dangerous and atrocious. in point of law, it would be necessary to prove a publication; that the prisoner did in some way or other exhibit or circulate one or more of the libels; and with that view he should connect evidence that he was found with many similar libels of a most dangerous and inflammatory tendency, with the words "_read and circulate_" upon them, in writing which crandall admitted to be his own handwriting; and that he gave different and contradictory accounts of how he came by them, and how they came here in his possession. also, that similar libels were dropped into the post-office, and sent by nobody could tell whom, to almost every body in the district. after proving these facts, he said he should carry the libels before the jury, and let them judge whether the prisoner could have been here with any good motive, or have such a mass of obnoxious papers with any good purpose. _mr. coxe_ wished to state, at the outset, what he understood to be the law. the libels charged were not upon individuals, nor the government, but were said to be designed to excite the whole community; and therefore publication or circulation with the intent charged, would be necessary to sustain the prosecution. possession, however bad or dangerous the libels might be, was no crime; any man might have and keep the worst libels with entire innocence; and in this case, it would be no evidence of malicious or dangerous intent that he loaned or gave one to respectable individuals, who would not be injured and would not do any injury to others. _henry king_ testified that about last june or july, he knew crandall in georgetown, where he came and took an office as a botanist, and followed that business. _key_ handed him a pamphlet, and asked if he had seen any like it; stating, upon objection being made by coxe, that his object was to show that crandall gave the witness such a paper to read. _coxe_ objected to the testimony, as furnishing no ground of inference that the act of publication by giving the paper to a respectable white free man, was intended to create excitement, or was the result of a malicious intent. _key_ said he would connect this with other circumstances to show the intent. it was proper evidence to go to the jury, and they must judge what the intent really was. _the court_ ruled that the evidence was admissible; and, _henry king_ went on to testify: he was in crandall's office in georgetown, some time in july last. received from dr. crandall a pamphlet similar to the one now shown him, called the "anti-slavery reporter." there was something written on it, but can't say what it was. he left it at linthicum's store. some one took it away from the store and it was lost. _judge morsell._ did crandall make any remark, when you took the pamphlet? _witness._ no. witness was looking at the botanical preparations in the office, and seeing this and other tracts on the subject of abolition lying about, he took up one and remarked, "the latitude is too far south for these things;" "they won't do here;" but, "by your leave, i will take this and read it over." crandall was at the time engaged in taking out preparations of plants from a large trunk. there were three of these pamphlets on the table, but don't know whether they were taken from the trunk or not. crandall used newspapers, or something like them, as wrappers for the preserved plants. witness is not a slaveholder himself. witness after looking over the pamphlet threw it on the desk in linthicum's store, and afterwards threw it under the counter. when the excitement arose, looked for it and could not find it. had thought nothing about it till then. did not remember what words were written on the pamphlet. crandall did not call his attention to the tracts. he asked crandall for the pamphlet, as a loan, and took it away with crandall's leave. crandall never asked for it afterwards. he saw something written on the pamphlet, and recollects that crandall at his examination in the jail, admitted the words, "please read and circulate" to have been written by himself. he saw in crandall's shop two or three of them, not more than three. the plants were enveloped in large newspapers. crandall had been in georgetown about three weeks or a month, at this time. witness was frequently in the shop. crandall was much engaged in gathering and preserving plants. _key_ proposed to read from the pamphlet. _coxe_ objected that the publication, with the malicious intent charged, had not been proved, and that it was necessary before going into any other evidence to make out the fact of publication. the paper could not be read to show the intent, when no evidence of publication is offered to show such a publication as is charged; and he cited various authorities of no interest to the general reader. _key_ argued that possession alone of a known published libel, was evidence of publication sufficient to call upon the defendant to show how he came by it. the intent was to be inferred from the character of the libel: and the evidence he had already given was sufficient _prima facia_ evidence to put the prisoner to his defence, and allow the libel to be read to the jury. he meant to show other circumstances which would show the intent. if the evidence of having given one to a witness, and having in possession a bundle of other similar libels was not enough, then a man has only to keep them on hand, and take care not to give them away; but he may tell every body that he has them, and advertise them from one end of the country to the other; and may give them to every body who chooses to call for them, without any danger from the law. _the court_ called king again, when he stated that crandall permitted him to take away the pamphlet at his request, reluctantly; that it was a private office, without any sign, or indication of business, or any thing shown for sale at the windows, nor any thing for sale in the shop. the pamphlets might have been thrown down in the confusion of unpacking; and he never saw but three persons in the shop, which was usually kept locked. crandall was mostly out collecting plants; and he once saw him describing some specimens to mr. cruickshank and doctor king; he understood crandall had given out that he was about to teach botany. the counsel for the defence here contended, that this was not sufficient evidence of malicious publication. the delivery to king was no more than simple possession in the eye of the law, and was compatible with entire innocence; and possession alone was no offence. _key_ cited a number of authorities to show that _prima facia_ evidence of publication only, was necessary to let the libel go to the jury. here was a publication--the jury must judge of the intent--with the handwriting of the prisoner endorsed with the words "read and circulate;" and he made the point that when a libel is printed, and a copy is found in possession of the prisoner, it is _prima facia_ evidence to allow the libel to be read. to prove that the words were on the libel given to king, in the prisoner's handwriting, he called _william robinson_, who testified, that he saw the pamphlet which king said he got of crandall in linthicum's shop, and that the words "read and circulate" were written on it. _the court_, deeming this to be _prima facia_ evidence of publication, permitted the pamphlet to be read to the jury, or so much thereof as either party might think proper to be read, and pertinent to the issue. _key_ was about to read the libel. _coxe_ objected, that it was not the libel proved to have been given to king, for that was lost. _king_ was called again and said the paper he had was lost; how or where he did not know; but he identified the one handed to him as an exact copy of the same pamphlet; but said he could not say what writing was on the one he had. he might have remembered if he had not seen some with and some without writing. _c. t. coote_ was one of the examining magistrates in the jail when crandall was arrested. he recollected that king pointed out one with the writing on, as similar to the one he had, and that crandall admitted the writing to be his. _b. k. morsell_, another of the magistrates, recollected that king stated distinctly, that the words "read and circulate" were on the paper when he got it; and that crandall said it was his handwriting, but he did not recollect crandall's saying it was put on a year before. the question was here raised and argued by the counsel on both sides, whether any evidence could be given of any libels, except those of which the publication was proved, unless they referred distinctly to the libels charged in the indictment. _the court_ was of opinion that the united states could not give in evidence to the jury, for the purpose of proving the intent of the defendant in publishing the libel stated in the first count, any papers subsequently published by the defendant, or found in his possession unpublished by him, which would be libels, and might be substantive subjects of public prosecution, if published. _thruston, j._, differed with the majority and delivered the following opinion: there are five counts in the indictment charging, in various ways, the publishing by the traverser of sundry libels with intent to create sedition and excite insurrection among the slaves and free blacks. the first count in the indictment charges the publication of a certain libel, not otherwise described or set out in the count, than by selecting certain paragraphs in the supposed libellous pamphlet, and setting them out severally in the count. to this count only and to the libellous matter charged thereon has any evidence of publication been given. the attorney for the united states has moved the court to be permitted to give in evidence to the jury other printed pamphlets of the same character and on the same subject, and which the traverser acknowledged to represent his sentiments, as evidence of malice on the part of the traverser in the publication of the libel in the first count; the libel in the first count being one of those which, with the others now asked to be given in evidence, the traverser acknowledged contained his sentiments. that is, that it is competent to prove malice in the publication of one libel by others found in the possession of the traverser on the same subject, of which no proof of publication has been offered. the motion to admit the said alleged libellous pamphlets in evidence has been supported by no precedent or adjudged case, but from analogies drawn from proceedings in other cases, and from the expediency or necessity of punishing the enormous crime of which the defendant stands accused; enormous, we all admit the crime to be, if substantiated, but which judges cannot punish but under the rules and principles of law. enormous as the offence is, it is questionable whether from public considerations it is not better that the accused should escape punishment, than that the law should be perverted to obtain his conviction. there being no authorities cited to sustain the motion of the attorney for the united states, we have no other guide to enlighten and direct us than the established principles and rules of law in criminal proceedings. i take it to be well settled, that in indictments for libels, publication is the gist and essence of the crime; that having in one's possession one or more seditious or libellous writings, whether written or printed, if their contents be not communicated or made known to one or more persons, then the possessor is not criminal in a legal point of view. it is true that hawkins was cited to prove that having in one's possession a known published libel is _prima facie_ evidence of publication against such possessors; admitting this authority, it seems not to touch the case before us, unless those libels were published within this district. they purport on the face of them to have been printed in _new york_, and there published, so far as sending them abroad, within that state, from the printing office, and putting them into the hands of others amounts to a publication within this district; and no evidence has been offered that the traverser ever distributed a single copy or imparted their contents to any person within this district saving the one charged in the first count. hawkins surely did not mean that having a copy of a libel published in a foreign country in one's possession, was evidence of publication in another state or country where the possessor of such copy may be found: for example, a libel against the british government printed and published in france would be no publication in england, to charge a person found in england with one or more copies of such libels in his possession, with the guilt of publishing such libel against the laws of england. it is true, in times of great excitement in england, when the rebellious principles of france were gaining ground and endangering the very existence of the government, the scottish courts did condemn and send to botany bay, muir and palmer for having in their possession a printed copy of thomas paine's rights of man. it is very long since i read the case; indeed shortly after we first obtained the information of their trial, and shortly indeed after the trial; but i have never heard the judgment of the court in their case spoken of but with reprobation. i cannot remember the particulars of the case. the evidence was, that the book had been reprinted and published in great britain. if so, that case is stronger than that of having a printed copy in possession of a libel published only in a foreign country; and so far, if such be the fact, it is sustained by the dictum in hawkins, but this dictum is not itself sustained, as far as i could judge from the authorities cited at the bar, from hawkins himself, nor by any adjudged case. i think i may boldly assert, then, that the merely having in possession a libel printed and published in a foreign country only, is not an indictable offence here, and publication of the same libel here. let us then examine how far these alleged libels, which, although not subjects of criminal prosecution here, can be made use of to sustain the publication, or prove, or aid in proving, the criminal intent or malice in the publication of another libel charged in the first count, and of the publication of which some evidence has been offered to the jury. now the libels in the first count, of which evidence of publication has been given to the jury, is of itself libellous, or it is not; if it be libellous and published, the law deduces the criminal intent from the libellous matter itself, and therefore requires no aid from other libellous writings to sustain it: if it be not libellous, it cannot be made so by showing other libellous writings of the traverser, of which he is not accused or charged in the indictment. i mean the libellous matter itself in the libel is, in the eye of the law, proof of criminal intent, if it be published, unless the traverser can rebut this inference of law by proving his innocence of any criminal intent, by some sufficient excuse, as that some person stole the copy from him and published it without his knowledge or consent. but the attorney for the united states urged that these pamphlets, indicating the one charged in the first count, contained or expressed opinions which coincided with his sentiments on the subject matter of them; and this was urged as a reason for admitting them in evidence. this, in my view, amounts to nothing more than that he appropriated to himself and adopted the thoughts of others. what proof could this appropriation or adoption afford of a malicious intent in their publication? every man has an unquestionable right to his own moral or religious sentiments: there is no crime in this: it would be criminal to restrain any man in this country in his own, or in adopting the moral or religious opinions of others, if he please; it is criminal only when he attempts to propagate them, and only when they have a tendency to disturb the peace of society--to invade the general rights of property--and are most essentially criminal, if they have a tendency to produce the dreadful results charged in the indictment. but bad as the tendency of those writings may be, and unquestionably are, if truly portrayed in the indictment, i know not how much less danger would result, if, led away by our feelings, we bend the rules and principles of law from expediency, or the supposed political necessity of convicting the accused. the present crisis may pass without leaving any dangerous consequences behind it. the good sense and virtue of the people, and the fear of punishment in transgressors, will check the progress of these alarming doctrines; but if we invade the panoply which the law has provided for the protection of the accused against arbitrary or vindictive judgments, we establish precedents, the evil consequences of which cannot be calculated. the criminal intent, then, does not consist in the writing or possession of a written or printed libel, but in the publishing it. it is not easy to conceive how the criminal intent of publishing one libel, can be proved by the having in possession other libels not published, any more than you would be permitted to prove a man guilty of stealing one horse, because you might prove that he had a propensity to horse-stealing. but you would not be allowed to introduce such proof. the _quo animo_ with which a horse is taken, is as necessary in an indictment for horse stealing, as for publishing a libel. now, as i observed before, if the matter of the pamphlet charged in the first count in the indictment is libellous, does not the acknowledgment of the traverser that the sentiment in the several pamphlets coincided with his own, embrace in it the sentiments in the pamphlets charged in the first count, and of which evidence has been offered of publication? if so, does not this libel of itself afford sufficient evidence of malice, without resorting to the matter of other pamphlets not charged? then why resort to them? the traverser was not apprised from this first count, that he was responsible for any libel or libellous matter, except what was contained in the libel set out in said count. if you are permitted in order to prove malice in publishing the libel in the first count, to read to the jury the libellous matter of other alleged libels, what will be the consequence? the matter in those other libels may be of a more aggravated or inflammatory character than in that set out in the first count. is it not evident, if such be the case, that the jury may be influenced to convict the traverser, not by the matter of the libel with which he is charged, but from that of other libels with which he is not charged? surely, if malice in the publication of a libel be an inference of law, that inference must be drawn only from the libel charged and published, not from other writings which are not libellous because not published. as i observed before, if the paper charged in the first count be of itself libellous, the criminal intent of publication is to be inferred from the confession of the traverser that he approved of the sentiments contained in it. if such inference can be drawn from such confession it can as well be sustained from the matter of this libel, as from that of any number of others, and there is no need to resort to them for such inference; if the matter of such papers be not libellous, no number of other libels found in the traverser's possession, however coinciding with his own opinions, can sustain the libel charged. again: if the matter of those pamphlets, which the attorney for the united states has moved the court to be permitted to lay before the jury, be libellous, may not the traverser be hereafter arraigned upon them if proof shall be had of their publication? this is possible; almost probable, if his zeal in the cause be so great as has been attempted to be proved. then might he not be convicted by their instrumentality in the present prosecution, and again in a subsequent prosecution for publishing those very libels? i thought the court had decided this point in a former opinion in this case, where they said they could not be evidence if _they were of themselves indictable writings_. again: if the proof of malice in the publication of the charged libel be not complete, can it be made so by the production of other pamphlets or libels not published? is it an inference of law, that having such libels in the traverser's possession furnishes any proof of malice in the publication of the charged libel? i question the legal logic of such an argument. it was almost as easy to publish by distributing fifty pamphlets as one. now if but one of fifty was given out, is it not as probable that he did not desire to publish them, as that he did? now an inference from facts, or acts, is matter of law, and i should hesitate to tell the jury that the traverser having in his possession fifty other libels, or any lesser or greater number, which he might have published with the same ease as he published one, is proof of malice in publishing that one. an inference to be drawn from proved facts or circumstances is something like a corollary drawn from a previously demonstrated theorem in mathematics. i wish it was as certain and clear. an inference deduced from a proved theorem in geometry is unquestionable. every body will agree to it. an inference drawn by law from previously proved facts or circumstances, is doubtful at best. two discreet judges may and often do disagree in regard to it. do we not hear every day, in this court, of the most wise and able judges--of the venerated hale himself--admonishing courts and juries not to lend a willing ear to them; at least against circumstantial evidence, which is the same thing. how many almost irresistable cases of inferences drawn from pregnant facts have been shown, in which time proved the fallacy of such inferences, and that many an innocent man has been consigned to an ignominious death by circumstantial or (which is the same thing) inferential evidence, and still so strong were the facts and circumstances in the very cases cited by them, (where time proved the innocence of the accused who had suffered the penalty of the law), that under the same circumstances i should permit the same evidence to go to the jury--but in the case before the court those admonitions are well worth considering. we are asked to admit certain pamphlets said to be of similar libellous tendency, and proved by the confession of the traverser to coincide with his opinions, as the one charged in the indictment, and of the publication of which evidence has been offered to the jury, although such pamphlets were never out of the possession of the traverser nor shown to any one, to prove malice in the traverser in the publication of another pamphlet charged to have been published by him in the first count in the indictment. i do not distinctly see the legal inference of malice in having in his possession those unpublished pamphlets. he could have published them, if this malice was in his heart. why did he not? is it not in evidence that when he permitted one of those pamphlets to be taken from his counter and read by mr. king, that he did it with reluctance, and that he was warned of the danger of bringing such writings so far south? is it unreasonable to suppose that he was deterred by the warning? taking then the whole evidence together, although it proved great indiscretion in the traverser, and great guilt had he propagated his writings--and that he would have deserved the most condign punishment had he had the temerity to have published them--yet, if i am to take the whole of the testimony in the case, i should be compelled to say, that in withholding the other pamphlets from the view of others, or of any other, he was influenced by the counsel he had received, and was afraid to publish them; and that, under the circumstances in which he permitted the first pamphlet to be taken from his counter and published, if such permission be a publication, that he then was aware of the danger he was in, and that under such circumstances the having in his possession other pamphlets of a similar character, (if the publication by permitting the pamphlets charged in the first count to be taken from his counter and read by mr. king, be not taking the contents of the pamphlet into view of itself a malicious publication), it cannot be made so by having other pamphlets of similar tendency in his possession, which he did not publish nor attempt to publish. it was contended, among the reasons assigned by the attorney for the united states for the admission of those pamphlets in evidence to the jury, that some three or four of them were endorsed with the words "read this and circulate," in the handwriting of the traverser, and this was evidence of malice in the publication of the pamphlet charged in the first count, and of which evidence of the publication has been offered to the jury. but this pamphlet last spoken of had also the same words written on it: whatever evidence of malice may be inferred from these words, is furnished by the said pamphlet itself, and therefore it is not necessary to resort to other sources for such evidence. it is true that a multiplication of the same inscriptions on other pamphlets may, and do, manifest greater zeal, and more intense interest in the subject matter of the writings, and indicate an intention on the part of the writer of such inscriptions to publish them. the malice which the law denounces is in the publication, not in the writing or composition: a man may express his thoughts or opinions in writing with impunity, and is as innocent in the eye of the law (provided he keeps such writings or compositions locked up from the public eye) as if they were locked up in his own mind. is not an indication or manifestation of an intention to publish certain writings or printed compositions, and the withholding the execution of such intention as strong evidence of change of purpose from fear of the consequences or for other reasons, as of malice in the publication of one of them in the way, and under the circumstances, in which the one charged to have been published in the first count was published? it is very clear, it seems to me, that if there were no other evidence of any other publication of any of the pamphlets in question, than the inscription on the corner "read this and circulate," that the indictment could not be sustained, because such inscriptions, if the pamphlets are never shown to any other person, is in the eye of the law harmless. if, then, we are asked to admit such inscriptions or pamphlets never shown to, or seen by any other person within this district, because there is evidence that one such pamphlet was permitted to be seen and partly read by another, must we not look at the evidence which proves such exhibition of such pamphlets, and connect that with such inscriptions on other pamphlets not published, to see how far such inscriptions go to fortify and strengthen the evidence of malice as to the published pamphlets? in other words, to see what legal inferences of additional evidence such inscriptions afford? if this were a case of ordinary importance, i should say without much hesitation, that they afford no such inferences. it is for the jury to draw inferences of guilt or malice from circumstances; they are fully competent to do so in the present case from the evidence now before them; but it is often and almost always a nice point for a court to instruct a jury from what circumstances or facts inferences of guilt or malice may be drawn. it is saying, gentlemen of the jury, such and such a circumstance, if proved to your satisfaction, is evidence from which you may and ought to find against the traverser. it satisfies our minds and ought to satisfy yours. but juries ought and will judge for themselves in criminal cases; and i have always thought it a delicate matter in criminal cases, to give such instructions to juries. here we are not asked to give an instruction; but we are asked to permit evidence to go the jury, which, if allowed, carries with it the opinion of the court that such evidence affords inference of malice. i must see such inference pretty clear myself, before i give my sanction to the jury to draw such inference themselves. it is true the law denounces any published writing having a tendency to produce a breach of peace, or insurrection, or to jeopardize the general rights of property, whether the intent of the writer was wicked or innocent, as libellous. the writing itself being of a libellous character, is of itself evidence of malice in the publication, and it would be no excuse for the publisher to say, i meant no harm, i thought i was doing good. in the eye of the law he is as guilty as if this intention was really wicked. this is called implied malice, in the absence of any other proof of malice than what is offered by the internal evidence of the writing itself. now the object of the motion to lay before the jury other libellous papers, can be for no other purpose than to prove express malice; for the published libel charged in the first count, if it contain libellous matter, and was published, is of itself, sufficient proof of implied malice, and if it be not libellous, no other libellous writing can be introduced to make it so. then, if it be libellous itself, it implies malice; and if other similar writings be introduced to prove malice, what does it amount to but proving the implied malice of one libel by the implied malice of other libels? or, if it be said that some evidence of express malice has been laid before the jury, can you make this evidence more strong or clear by evidence of implied malice, contained in other similar writings not published? upon the whole, i do not distinctly see, under all the circumstances of this case, how the unpublished writings can be admitted to prove the implied malice to be gathered from them if they had been published, the implied malice in the libel charged and allowed to have been published, or how such evidence of implied malice in them, can be brought to prove express malice in the publication of the charged libel in the first count. i am against the motion. _mr. key_, for the united states, then offered to prove the publication by the defendant of the libels stated in the first, second, and third counts, _by proving the following facts_, viz: that a large collection of libels, and among them several copies of those charged in those counts, with the words "_read and circulate_" in his handwriting, were found upon the traverser--that he undertook to account for their being in his possession, and gave untrue and contradictory accounts--that he acknowledged that he had brought here those then shown to him, being the same now in court, and that they comprehended all he brought here, except about a dozen; and that prior to the traverser's arrest sundry similar publications had been privately sent to various persons in this district by some unknown person or persons in this district. after arguments which occupied nearly the whole of saturday, in which the counsel on both sides displayed great learning and ingenuity, _the court_ delivered the opinion that the attorney for the united states may give evidence of the publication, in this district, of any copies of the libels charged in the first and second counts of the indictment. that if he shall have given any evidence tending to show such a publication here, he will be permitted to show that other copies of the same libels were found in the possession of the defendant. he may then give evidence that a certain number of papers or pamphlets were found in the possession of the defendant, together with the copies of the libels charged, and of the publication of which in this district, he shall have given evidence; but he will not be permitted to give in evidence to the jury the contents of any of the papers other than those charged as libels in this indictment, unless such other papers have relation to the libels charged in the indictment, and would not in themselves be substantive ground of prosecution. he may then give evidence to the jury of any confessions or acknowledgments made by the defendant in relation to any of the matters charged in the indictment. _the district attorney_ then put in evidence as follows, to show that the prisoner had many similar libels in his possession, and that others were distributed throughout the district. _h. b. robertson_, constable, deposed that he found some tracts on dr. crandall's table at his office in georgetown. don't recollect how many. there were also a number of them at his lodgings, in a trunk. he denied to me that he had distributed any, but did not conceal or deny that he was in possession of them. he mentioned that he was formerly a subscriber to the emancipator, but they had stopped it, and he had taken them in its place. they were sent to him from new york, and came in a box by water, and not by mail. witness collected and brought them to the jail, tied up in a handkerchief. being fearful of some trouble when he got into the hack, he proposed to mr. jeffers to take crandall to the jail through the back streets, and keep him there during the night, for fear he might be wrested from us and lynched. it was dr. crandall's desire to be taken out of the way of the people, and be carried to the jail. before they left the office a crowd had collected, and they made an effort to get off as quick as possible, being very apprehensive that dr. crandall would suffer some harsh treatment, and serious injury from them. the event verified his expectations, for he found afterwards that the carriage was waited for somewhere on the avenue, where it was expected to pass, by a numerous and excited collection of people. _cross examined._--conversed with dr. crandall at his office and on the way to the jail. went to his lodgings, and found emancipators there. did not offer to carry him before a magistrate in georgetown. told dr. crandall what my apprehensions were for his personal safety, and of being waylaid, and proposed that he should stay at the jail that night. he attempted no concealment, and gave witness free leave to search his papers, &c. witness found boston, new york, and baltimore newspapers, and a great many telegraphs. dr. crandall opened the trunk himself and showed the tracts. don't remember whether they were loose, or tied together and enveloped. those were the pamphlets now in court. don't recollect whether the letters were brought away. there were many plants in the office. don't know what they were put up in. think it was pasteboard, or something like it. asked him if he was dr. crandall, to which he replied yes. then told him that he was charged with being an abolition agent and exhibited the warrant for his arrest. he did not then say any thing about the tracts in his possession, but when they were found he stated they were sent to him from new york, instead of the emancipator, to which he had formerly been a subscriber. he did remark that he had not distributed any tracts of the kind. _question by key._ which of the pamphlets did you find at the office, and which at the house? _coxe_ objected to the question. _key._ i wish to know which kind were sent to crandall in the box from new york. _cranch, c. j._, saw no objection to the question. witness then stated that he found the anti-slavery reporters in the office. did not recollect any others in the office, except the newspapers. the other tracts, together with some books, were found in his trunk at the house. crandall did not say all the papers came in the box. did not endeavor to elicit any confessions from dr. crandall, and, in fact, reminded him that he and mr. jeffers might be called on as witnesses. witness recollected that, during the examination, there was a paper produced by dr. crandall, who was too much agitated to read it. one of the magistrates attempted to read it, but don't know whether it was read or not. dr. crandall was much agitated. there was a great excitement outside the jail, and much alarm in it. dr. crandall was arrested on the th, and examined on the th of august. witness remembers that there was a conversation in the hack, as they were coming from georgetown to the jail, in which the following question was asked dr. crandall:--"don't you think it would be rather dangerous, at the present time, to set all the negroes free?" don't recollect the precise words of the reply, but he inferred from it---- _the court_ interposed. we don't want your inferences, mr. robertson; give us the facts, if you please. well, if it please the court, continued mr. robertson, my impression was, at the time, that dr. crandall's reply amounted to this--that he was for abolition, without regard to consequences. mr. jeffers asked the doctor if he did not think that abolition would produce amalgamation and also endanger the security of the whites. the doctor did not object to these consequences. he thought the negroes ought to be as free as we were. _m. jeffers_, constable, deposed that he saw some pamphlets endorsed "please read and circulate" in dr. crandall's office. witness, when he entered the office, said, "we want all your incendiary tracts, doctor." witness looked into a large box and saw the pamphlets. the box was without cover, and the pamphlets lay in a corner. at his lodgings, more pamphlets were found. don't know how many there were in the box. those in the trunk, at the house, were nearly all new. dr. crandall explained that they had stopped the emancipator and sent the pamphlets in lieu of it. think he said they were sent around in a vessel, in a box. witness asked him what he was doing with so many of them. the reply was that he had procured them for information. don't recollect that any of the botanical specimens were in newspapers. he said they had stopped sending papers weekly and sent them monthly. witness asked what he was doing with so many of the same numbers at the same time, to which he replied that they all came in the box, and that he wanted them merely for information. witness looked into, and not liking their language, remarked that he did not see how any one could derive much improvement from such stuff. witness recollected that there was a paper which dr. crandall tried to read, but was prevented from reading, by extreme agitation. dr. crandall rolled it up and put it in his pocket. he was much agitated, and witness thought, at the time, that he was indiscreet in so freely expressing his sentiments. no pamphlets with the endorsement "read and circulate" were found in the trunk. when crandall was asked why he wanted so many of the same number of the anti-slavery reporter for information, he made no reply. in the course of the conversation in the hack, crandall said he did not intend to deny his principles. witness asked him if colonization would not be better than abolition. he replied: no; he was in favor of immediate emancipation. _question by bradley._ did he not say, "i am for immediate preparation for emancipation." witness did not recollect precisely. that might have been the answer. would not say it was not. when he said he was in favor of immediate emancipation, witness remarked that it would be attended with dreadful consequences. we should all have our throats cut, and the next thing would be amalgamation. _thruston, j._ would the amalgamation occur after our throats are cut, mr. jeffers? _witness._ dr. crandall in reply to this remark, said, "well let the law take care of all that." _b. k. morsell, esq._, one of the justices who committed the traverser, stated that, at the examination of the traverser in the jail, the witness just examined, henry king, deposed that the pamphlet which he took from crandall's office had written upon it the words "please to read and circulate." this deposition was made in the presence of crandall, and crandall did not pretend to deny it, and admitted that the words were in his own handwriting. he said that when he was about to take passage in the steamboat, at new york, there was a bundle of pamphlets brought to him. don't recollect whether he said they were brought to him before or after he went on board of the boat. don't remember whether crandall said they were sent or brought to him. he stated that he was then on his way to this city. a bundle of pamphlets were brought into the jail, at the time of the examination. crandall said that all he brought on were there, except twelve or thirteen. crandall did not state at what time the words "please read and circulate" were written upon the pamphlets. there was no distinction drawn between those which were endorsed and those which were not. they were all thrown together. don't recollect that crandall made any distinction in regard to them. he was understood to speak of all the pamphlets together. the only contradiction in crandall's statement was that he, at first, said that pamphlets were brought to him as he was leaving new york in the boat, and afterwards said they had been in his possession for some time. witness looked at some of them and saw that some were of older date than others. could not distinctly recollect which were of old and which of new date. there was a considerable interval between the dates, but don't remember how long. while the examination was going on, there was a great commotion outside of the jail, and a loud knocking at the door; the prisoner seemed agitated, which was not wonderful, considering the circumstances. don't recollect that he said any thing about the time when the words "_please read and circulate_" were written on the pamphlets. _mr. key_ here admitted that he recollected hearing the prisoner say, at the examination in the jail, that the endorsements were written two years before. _mr. morsell_ continued. don't remember that crandall presented a written paper. think it likely he did. there were three magistrates sitting, and it might have been given to one of the other two. he believed it appeared, on the examination, that crandall had been in this district some months. _clement t. coote, esq._, one of the magistrates who examined the traverser in the jail, deposed that henry king, upon his examination, stated that the words "_please read and circulate_" were written upon the pamphlet when he got it from crandall. a bundle of the tracts were brought in. crandall said he had received them just as he was leaving new york, on his way to this district. he was going down to the boat when they were brought to him. crandall stated, as witness distinctly recollects, that the endorsements were made some time before. witness did not recollect that he stated the precise time, but that he said the endorsements were made some time before. did not recollect that he said he came on directly to washington. after the pamphlets were shown to king and crandall, witness's impression was that crandall had been detained some where on the way, and in the interval had written the words. there was no contradiction that he noticed in crandall's statements. crandall admitted that the words were in his handwriting, but said they were written some time before. crandall said they were all there except about a dozen. he did not say whether he had distributed any; but witness did not understand him to state that the number had been diminished since he came here, but that the bundle exhibited embraced all the tracts which he brought with him from new york. witness's impression that they were all the pamphlets which witness brought to the district, except the one which he lent to king; but crandall did not in his statement except that one. he understood crandall that all that he received at new york were there, except about a dozen. he recollected that crandall said he had been a subscriber to some of the abolition publications. witness or one of the magistrates asked crandall "whether he was aware of the nature of the pamphlets when he left new york?" to which crandall replied that he supposed them to be of the character with those for which he had been in the habit of subscribing. crandall was also asked "why he was put in possession by the publishers of so many copies of the pamphlets, and whether it was not because they supposed he would circulate them and be an efficient agent?" in reply to which crandall said "it might be so." he did not intimate that he had any knowledge of his appointment as an agent. _the court_ here asked witness whether the traverser intimated that the tracts were given to him with his assent and approbation. _witness._ he admitted that the tracts contained his sentiments; but he was not understood to say that he approved of his appointment as an agent, or considered himself as acting in that capacity. when crandall said the endorsements were written some time ago, witness called his attention to the date of one which was not two years ago. witness received a written statement from crandall at the examination. does not know what became of it. thinks it was returned to crandall. crandall did not say he knew the contents of the tracts when he received them, but said he supposed they were of similar character to those which he had subscribed for. witness read a paper which contained crandall's statement on the subject, and recollects that it was written in the jail. has no recollection that it stated that crandall was a member of an abolition or emancipation society. when witness called crandall's attention to the endorsements on the tracts, crandall said they had been on some time. believes he said something about two years, and recollects that he then remarked to crandall that one of them had not been published two years. _b. k. morsell, esq._, (called again) stated that crandall, when asked whether he was acquainted with the nature of the pamphlets sent to him in new york, said he supposed that they contained his sentiments, and were of the same character with those which he had taken some time before. he used these very words, "i don't pretend to deny that i am an anti-slavery man, and profess these sentiments." the pamphlets were then before us, and the examination referred to them. he added, that when he came on here, he found he was too far south to circulate the tracts, and that all he had received were those before us, except about a dozen. he did not deny that he came direct to this city from new york. he said nothing which impressed witness with the belief that he stopped on the road, if he said he stopped on the way, witness did not hear it. there was considerable confusion in the jail during the examination. crandall might have said many things which witness did not hear. there were a great many people in the jail. he recollected that crandall said the words "please read and circulate" were written two years before, and that mr. coote pointed to a pamphlet, so endorsed, which had been printed within two years; but he understood that crandall's statement was applied to all the pamphlets together. he understood that some of the pamphlets were found at crandall's office, and some at his lodgings, and that they were found scattered about the office. does not recollect that there was any testimony about unpacking a box. there was nothing in the testimony which made any impression that there was any distinction between the pamphlets. they were all brought together. recollects that crandall handed him a written paper. began reading it, but could not get through with it; could not read it, and handed it back to crandall; supposed that it was written under some agitation. _jacob oyster_ knew the prisoner in georgetown, and prisoner hired a shop of him. he was sick some time after he hired it, but had a large box put into it. when he hired it he said he was going to lecture on botany at different places. witness was present when he opened the box, and it contained books, surgical instruments, and pamphlets. he saw two or three such pamphlets as were shown in court, which were thrown out of the box. mr. king came in and picked up a pamphlet and said he should like to have the reading of one; and the prisoner said he might. when king saw it, he said it would not answer, it was too far south. a day or two after he asked king what he thought of it, and he said he didn't like it, and asked witness if he had seen the endorsement, which he showed, "read and circulate." witness didn't see any writing on the others. he had some conversation with crandall when the news first came of the attempt to murder mrs. thornton, and told prisoner nobody was to blame but the new yorkers and their _aid de camps_; and that the boy said he had made use of their abolition pamphlets. crandall replied, that he didn't approve of putting them into circulation, for the excitement was too high already. _cross-examined._ he said he helped unpack the box--that he knew of no other pamphlets; but crandall had newspapers to put up his plants. witness was in the shop almost every day, and never saw more than two or three people there; and never saw crandall talking with any colored people or slaves. he was in the habit of going out into the fields, and brought back a great many plants. he thought the prisoner conducted himself very well, and was a very steady man in every respect. the papers in his office were of all sorts, and from different cities. _william robinson_ saw the words "read and circulate," but had never seen the defendant write. he had received similar publications but did not know where they came from. one came through the post-office, but was not postmarked where it was sent from; and had no postage on it. he returned it to new york to the publisher. he heard crandall admit the handwriting to be his in the jail. _charles gordon_ was in the war department, and the whole building was flooded by them. he returned his to new york to the agent with remarks, and had received none since. this was just before crandall's arrest. _coxe_ remarked he had done the same; and it was no evidence against crandall. _the court_ was of opinion that the printing and publishing these pamphlets in new york, is not evidence of their publication here, so as to fix upon the defendant here such a knowledge of their publication as to make his possession alone, even with the words "_read and circulate_" written upon them, evidence of the publication of them by him here. that in order to show the evil intent with which the defendant published the paper charged in this first count, it is not competent for the united states to give in evidence to the jury other _unpublished_ papers or pamphlets found in the defendant's possession, unless accompanied by evidence of some acknowledgment or admission, by the defendant, that he knew and approved their contents. that the evidence did not appear to the court to justify the inference that the defendant knew and approved the contents of those pamphlets, unless it can be connected with evidence that they were of the same nature with those which he had been a subscriber for. _key_ then proposed, as he had shown that the traverser had by his declaration approved of the publications, and had also implied approval by writing on the words read and circulate, to put them in as evidence of intent, in relation to the one published, and given to the witness king. _the court_ ruled that they could not be given in evidence, without proof of publication. _key_ then proposed to read the emancipator, as a paper he had subscribed for, instead of which these had been sent. this was objected to on the ground that there was no proof that he had _subscribed_ for the emancipator; and that if he had, it was at a period previous to the time about which he was charged with any offence. the emancipator was sent gratis, and _taken_ by many persons who did not approve of it. _jeffers_ was called, and said crandall said he had _taken_ the emancipator, or _subscribed_ for it, he didn't know which. _the court_ decided that such emancipators might be given in evidence as were published before the declarations of the traverser. _thruston, j._, dissented from this opinion on the ground that it was not competent to put in one libel, for which the prisoner was not indicted, to show the sentiments he entertained in regard to one for which he was indicted. in the midst of considerable discussion as to the parts which were proper to be read on the different sides, the most of the day, tuesday and wednesday, was consumed in reading long articles from different numbers of the emancipators, to show that the anti slavery society intended to use every exertion to procure the immediate abolition of slavery. in the course of this reading, _key_ proposed to read an advertisement of the different works published by the anti slavery society, which was objected to on the ground that it would admit all the works named to be read, and as crandall had not been proved to be a member of that society, he ought not to be made answerable for all their doings, nor for all that the editor of the emancipator might see fit to publish. _the court_ decided that the reading must be confined within some reasonable limits. that the district attorney might read such _editorial_ articles, or parts of them, as he saw fit, and the counsel for the defence might read any other parts, or the whole, if they chose. the advertisement was of course rejected, but reading of other parts was continued. _the district attorney_ afterwards offered evidence, under the third count of the indictment, to put in certain tracts with pictures upon them, which was objected to upon two grounds. _first_, that the count was insufficient, as it did not specify any libellous publication and did not declare that the offence was against any person, or government, or people, which was said to be an essential form of indictment; and, _second_, because the whole of the tracts, papers, and pamphlets, were illegally obtained from the prisoner. the defendant's counsel then read the warrant under which crandall was apprehended, which authorized the officers to take the person of the prisoner, and to search his papers; and contended that such search warrant was illegal--that a man's private papers were sacred from search. the objection was resisted on the ground that the objection was made too late. it should have been taken at the outset of the trial, or before the magistrates--that the warrant (which was admitted to have been made by the district attorney) was proper, and conformable to the law which admitted of search in the premises and in the persons of thieves and counterfeiters for the tools and implements with which they were enabled to commit their crime--and that it was competent to use the evidence which had been obtained, although it was illegally gotten in the first instance. _the court_ was of opinion that the evidence was competent, on the principle upon which evidence might be given of stolen goods found in consequence of confession, though the confession might be forced from the prisoner by threats or evil treatment. the confession might not be evidence, but the fact of finding the stolen goods could be proved to the jury. _the court_ also overruled the objection to the form of the count, and did not consider it so imperfect as to authorize them to reject evidence offered under it. _key_ then went on to prove that certain libels found in the possession of the prisoner were circulated in the district. _gen. hunter_ identified one of the tracts as a copy of one sent to him through the post office, marked one cent postage, both the tract and envelope of which having been burnt. he thought it strange the postage from new york should be only one cent. it was about the time the city was inundated with abolition papers. _coxe_ objected to the testimony, if the paper was destroyed. _key_ was called as a witness by bradley, and testified that the paper handed the witness was one of them handed in at the jail as found upon crandall, and had not been out of his possession, since. _bradley_ remarked that the paper was a july number, and had not been published when crandall came from new york. if, by the testimony showed, they were all delivered in new york, this paper could not have been found upon him. _james a. kennedy_ was shown a paper, and said his initials were on it. a considerable number of the same came on in a bag--about a bushel and a half--from new york, some of which were delivered and some were returned to the post office. the rest were not delivered at all. he did not recollect any of the same kind sent before, though many had been sent since, every month, as late as march last. they came in an envelope addressed to single individuals. the postage for a sheet was two and a half cents. these were marked half a sheet, and some were charged one cent and a quarter; afterwards, they were found to be more than half a sheet, and were charged two and a half cents, as for a whole one. there was no postmark put upon them, as that is confined wholly to letters. _benj. e. giddings_ saw some of these papers at the time spoken of by mr. kennedy; and never saw any before july last. they all came in a bag, and he did not think any were dropped into the post office here. the office here, as well as at georgetown, had been watched to see if any were put in by persons here. the two last witnesses were clerks in the post office. _mr. ball_ said the papers were given to him at the jail, after crandall's examination, and he kept them locked up till they were sent for and delivered to mr. key at his office. it appeared that they were kept at the office some time, and were sealed and labelled by charles mcnamee, though one or two persons were in the office while he was doing it; and mr. key certified, that on the first day of the trial, before they were sorted, many persons in court took different numbers of them to look at, but he believed they were all returned, and he took pains to request them who took them to hand them back to him. to the best of his belief, the pamphlets now in court were the same which were delivered at the jail, without addition or diminution. _p. r. fendall_ was connected with the office of the colonization society. the anti-slavery reporter was sent from new york in exchange for the african repository published by the colonization society; some controversy had existed between the two societies, and it was necessary to read their attacks in order to be able to answer them. the papers received were open for the use of members, and were sometimes loaned to others to take away and read. _key_ then offered four numbers of the second volume of the anti-slavery reporter to the jury. _bradley_ claimed one as his, which never was in the possession of the prisoner. _key_ requested him to be sworn, and _bradley_ testified, that he could identify the paper by several marks which he pointed out. he received it in november last, in consequence of a letter which he had written with a view to procure two or three, which were sent on through the post office. he wrote for them in consequence of conversation with crandall; (but he was not allowed to state the substance of what crandall said.) how this paper came into mr. key's possession he did not know, but this disappeared from his desk in court, and two others had been taken from his office. considerable argument ensued upon the point, whether it was competent to give in evidence a printed copy of a _known published libel_, or whether in order to be evidence against the person on whom it is found, it must not be a written copy. on one side it was argued that every one might innocently have a printed copy, but the having a written copy would show some extraordinary interest in the libel; and the books all spoke of a written copy only as evidence of publication. for the prosecution it was urged that having a printed copy was stronger evidence than a written one, especially when the party had a number of copies of the same libel, endorsed in his own handwriting with words that showed an interest, and an intent to circulate it. _the court_ was of opinion that it was competent to give in evidence such printed copies of the known published libel as were found upon the prisoner with the endorsement "read and circulate." two witnesses were called, _colclazier_ and _tippet_, to testify to conversations held with crandall in the jail, in which he spoke in favor of immediate emancipation and against slavery. the case for the prosecution was here closed. _mr. bradley_ then stated the opening of the defence. after some general remarks upon the course taken by the prosecution, and difficulty of getting witnesses here to testify in behalf of the prisoner, from so great a distance, as well as the impossibility of putting in depositions in a criminal case, without the district attorney's consent, which he would not give, he went on to call the attention of the jury to the details he meant to prove. he intended to show crandall's whole course of life, from his boyhood up; that he was regularly educated as a surgeon and physician, and settled in peekskill; and that no man ever obtained a higher character for probity and skill; that he never was a member of an abolition society, and there was none in the place where he lived; that he had no idea of stopping here when he came on, but came as the attendant of an invalid family with whom he had resided; that the pamphlets were packed up, not by him, but by the lady of the house, as waste paper, without his even dreaming of their contents; and that the endorsements were put on some two years ago. he would show also that he had subscribed for temperance papers; but that the abolition papers were sent to him without his knowledge of their contents; that after he arrived here, and found this the best field in the world for the study of botany, he concluded to stop and give a course of lectures, instead of going to the west, as had been his intention previously, according to arrangements he had made. the bundle that was given him in new york was sent without his knowledge of their contents. it remained tied up till a day or two before his arrest, when it was untied by mrs. austin; and, as had been proved by the officers who arrested him, up to that moment they had never been opened or even separated. he said he would show the law, and bring it to bear upon the points of the case; and he declared if he believed crandall guilty of distributing or intending to distribute incendiary papers, he would abandon his cause, and no longer consider himself his counsel. the following extracts of speeches made in the capitol at washington, at the eleventh annual meeting of the colonization society, in which slaveholders themselves made remarks which, it was urged by the defendant's counsel, were quite as strong, and as much calculated to excite sedition, as the words of the libel charged against the prisoner. mr. key read the parts of his own speech not enclosed in brackets, to show the difference of meaning in the whole papers, and the difference of intent. the paragraph in brackets was read by mr. bradley. the following is from mr. harrison's speech: "but a dearer land to our hearts is too to be regenerated. a wretched class, cursed with ineffectual freedom, is to be made free indeed, and an outlet is to be opened to those who will voluntarily disencumber themselves of the evil and the threatening ruin of another domestic pestilence. public opinion must be the only agent in this: the most reluctant shall not be forced; the most timid shall not be alarmed by any thing we are to do. hitherto and henceforward our plan has been and shall be without constraint on any one, and never shall we offer any argument or invitation to humanity divorced from patriotism. to this truly quiet, unofficious spirit, do i trust for bringing about the time when we shall be one homogeneous nation of freemen; when those great principles now true of us only in part, shall be true in the whole; and when the clear light now in our upper sky only, shall brighten the whole expanse of the american character." the speech of mr. key, the district attorney, is as follows: "on behalf of the board of managers, who had this night seen and heard all that was calculated to animate them to a faithful discharge of their duties, he begged leave to present a resolution of thanks for the zealous co-operation of the auxiliary societies throughout the united states. in the increasing exertions of these valuable branches of the parent institution, the society believed itself to possess the most satisfactory pledge that its design had received the approbation, and would ere long enjoy the support of the great body of citizens throughout our country. such an anticipation was not to be thought delusive, because the opposition made to the society at its commencement still continued. on the contrary, this very opposition, properly considered, affords the fullest proof of the wisdom of our object, and the fairest presage of its success. "at its origin the society found itself in a very extraordinary situation. it had scarcely been formed when it was assailed by opponents of the most contrary character, from the north and south. men who held, upon these subjects, the most opposite views, who agreed in no one thing that related to our colored population, united in denouncing us. this state of things, in some measure, still continues. but the board of managers have long ceased to look upon it with alarm. they soon perceived that a wisdom far higher than their own, was, in a way most contrary to their expectations, gradually preparing the public mind for a fair consideration and favorable reception of their measures. they were compelled to see and to acknowledge that it was best it should be so. had the design of the society been approved and supported in the outset by either of these opposing parties, it must have encountered the settled and irreconcileable opposition of the other; but as it is, the society, instead of being espoused by the north in opposition to the south, or by the south in opposition to the north, has been silently filling its ranks with converts from both. its cause has been gradually bringing over the moderate, the reasonable, the humane, the patriotic, from all parties and from every portion of the union to give their aid and countenance to the support of a scheme which they once opposed only because they misunderstood it. i have adverted to this extraordinary opposition that the friends of the society may not be dismayed by it; and i take this occasion to address a few words to each of these classes of opponents. ["i would premise what i have to say to them by stating two very plain propositions. the first is, that the subject of slavery, in some way or other, will come into the thoughts, feelings, and plans of men situated as we are. it is vain to say--let it alone. there may have been a time when the excitement now felt on this subject might have been stifled. when it was determined by our fathers to secure to themselves and their posterity the rights of freemen and the blessings of independence, then should they have been warned of the exciting consequences that would result from the acquisition and enjoyment of such rights. then should it have been shewn how they would lead to conceptions and discussions dangerous to the rights of property and the public peace. then should they have been called to choose between these conflicting interests, and to count the cost of what they might lose by declaring to the world that all men were free and equal, and appealing to heaven for its truth. but there was, then, no man cold enough for such a calculation; no man who could darken the brightness of that day by raising such a question. it is too late now. in this age, in this country, the agitation of this subject is unavoidable. legislation never can restrain it. public sentiment never will. you may as well forge fetters for the winds, as for the impulses of free and exulting hearts; if speech and action could be repressed, there would be excitement in the very looks of freemen.] "the other proposition is this, that among the plans and descriptions that relate to this delicate subject, it must happen that some will be rash and dangerous. "it is not to be expected, that men, not well informed of facts as they exist, and misled by the ardor of an inconsiderate zeal, will not devise projects and hold them out to others, which may be attended with the most disastrous consequences. this is the nature of things. it must ever be so upon every subject, which like this contains within itself the elements of great excitement; more especially when that excitement is connected with some of the best principles and feelings of the heart. "now, sir, put these two propositions together; that silence and inaction are unattainable, and dangerous and improper projects almost unavoidable, and what are we to do? something we must do. however desirous we might be to do nothing, it is impossible, because others will not consent to do nothing; and if we relinquish the task of action, it will infallibly fall into hands most unfit to receive it. nothing remains, then, but to devise something safe and practicable and place it in prudent hands. "and now, sir, i would respectfully ask our opponents, of both descriptions, to consider whether this has not been done by the establishment of this society. i would ask the abolitionist to suspend his own labors, and consider the object and the consequences of ours. i would ask him if it is not better to unite with us in what is safe and practicable, and may be managed with the consent of those, whose consent is not to be dispensed with, than to attempt to force his own views upon men, by means which they denounce as dangerous. "sir, this is the appeal which has been made by the society, and which it yet makes to one class of its opponents. nor is it altogether unsuccessful. many active and benevolent men are now with us, who, but for this society, would have been working on their own more questionable projects, and vainly attempting what, perhaps, can scarcely be pursued, with safety to the peace and happiness of the country. "and may we not appeal also to our brethren of the south--and ask their fair consideration of the two propositions i have suggested? if feeling, discussion, and action, in reference to a subject upon which they are so sensitive, cannot be extinguished, is it not wise to endeavor to moderate and restrain them? may they not, if they cannot give their approbation to our society, as good in itself, at least bring themselves to tolerate it as the preventive of greater evils? may it not be wise for those who must know that there are schemes more alarming to their interests than colonization, to suffer us to enlarge our sphere of action, and bring those who would otherwise be engaged in dangerous and injudicious projects, to unite in our safer labors? may we not claim at least this merit for our labors:--that they are safe? may we not appeal to the experience of eleven years, to show that the work in which we are engaged can be conducted without excitement or alarm? and who are we, we may be permitted to ask, to whose hands this charge has been committed? we have the same interests in this subject with our southern brethren--the same opportunity of understanding it, and of knowing with what care and prudence it should be approached. what greater pledge can we give for the moderation and safety of our measures than our own interests as slaveholders, and the ties that bind us to the slaveholding communities to which we belong? "i hope i may be excused if i add that the subject which engages us, is one in which it is our right to act--as much our right to act, as it is the right of those who differ with us not to act. if we believe in the existence of a great moral and political evil amongst us, and that duty, honor and interest call upon us to prepare the way for its removal, we must act. all that can be asked of us is, that we act discreetly--with a just regard to the rights and feelings of others;--that we make due allowances for those who differ with us; receive their opposition with patience, and overcome it by the fruits that a favoring providence, to which we look, may enable us to present from our labors." the next passages were from a speech of mr. custis, as follows: "sir, the prosperity and aggrandizement of a state is to be seen in its increase of inhabitants, and consequent progress in industry and wealth. of the vast tide of emigration, which now rushes like a cataract to the west, not even a trickling rill wends its feeble course to the ancient dominion.--of the multitude of foreigners who daily seek an asylum and a home, in the empire of liberty, how many turn their steps toward the regions of the slave? none. no not one. there is a malaria in the atmosphere of those regions, which the new comer shuns, as being deleterious to his views and habits. see the wide-spreading ruin which the avarice of our ancestral government has produced in the south, as witnessed in a sparse population of freemen, deserted habitations, fields without culture, and, strange to tell, even the wolf, which, driven back long since by the approach of man, now returns, after the lapse of an hundred years, to howl o'er the desolations of slavery. "where, i ask, is the good ship virginia, in the array of the national fleet? drifting down the line, sir,--third, soon to be fourth. where next?--following in the wake of those she formerly led in the van: her flag still flying at the main, the flag of her ancient glory; but her timbers are decaying, her rigging wants setting up anew, and her helmsman is old and weatherbeaten. but let her undergo an overhaul, let the parts decayed by slavery be removed, and good sound materials put in their stead, then manned by a gallant crew, my life on it, the old thing will once more brace upon a wind, aye, and show her stern to those who have almost run her hull under. "let me say, sir, in this legislative hall, where words of eloquence have so often "charmed the listening ear," that the glorious time is coming when the wretched children of africa shall establish on her shores a nation of christians and freemen. it has been said that this society was an invasion of the rights of the slaveholders. sir, if it is an invasion, it comes not from without. it is an irruption of liberality, and threatens only that freemen will overrun our southern country--that the soil will be fertilized by the sweat of freemen alone, and that what are now deserts will flourish and blossom under the influence of enterprise and industry. such will be the happy results of this society. "let the philanthropist look at the facts. nearly two millions of this unhappy people tread our soil. in the southern climate their increase is more rapid than that of the whites. what is the natural result, if some means are not applied to prevent it? what is now, compared to our own population, but as a mole hill, will become a mountain, threatening with its volcanic dangers all within its reach. what is the next consequence? why, as in the slave colonies of other countries, you must have an army of troops to keep in awe this dangerous population. what a sight would this be in a land of liberty! the same breeze that fanned our harvests, that played among the leaves of the cane and the corn, would also rustle banners of war! by the side of implements of agriculture, employed in the works of peace, will appear the gleam of arms. shall it be said that we are not liable to the same vicissitudes that have overtaken other nations? no, sir; we are operated upon by the same circumstances to which other nations have been subjected.--the same causes will produce the same effects, as long as the nature of man is unchanged, in every clime. "i trust, sir, that the march of mind is now upon its glorious way. i trust that the minds of all have been sufficiently opened to the true interest and glory of the country, to agree with me, that this is no fitting place for the slave. that this country must, at some future time, be consecrated to freemen alone. there are many individuals in the southern country, of which i am a native, who predict that the plan must fail. they say we shall go on and partially succeed, that a portion of the black population will go out to the colony, and after residing there a short time, become discontented, when the plan must be given up--and that the evil which we have endeavored to remove will be only the worse for our exertion to obviate it. but this, sir, will not hold true. it was, as it were, but a few day since, a small number of individuals were thrown upon the shores of africa. and what is the result? here let it be said--in the palace of legislation--that this people, but just now a handful, are rising to consequence, and to a capability of the enjoyment of political and civil rights;--and let us say to those who doubt--this is the evidence in favor of our plan! ought not this to join all hearts, and call forth renewed exertions from those whose labors have thus far been crowned with unexpected success? "may not this be looked upon as a glorious work, the success of which has been demonstrated! and when the time shall come,--and i trust in god it will come--when this free and enlightened nation, dwelling in peace and happiness under the mild influences of its government and laws, shall have fixed deep the foundations of civilization in that distant land, hitherto only known for its wide-spread deserts and its savage race. oh! sir, what will be the gratitude of that people, who, transferred from the abode of their bondage, shall enjoy the rights of freemen in their native clime!--and, oh sir, when we look to ourselves--when we see the fertilization of those barren wastes which always mark the land of slaves--when we see a dense population of freemen--when lovely cottages and improved farms arise upon the now deserted and sterile soil--and where now deep silence reigns, we hear the chimes of religion from the village spire;--will you not--will not every friend of his country, thank this society for its patriotic labors! yes! kings might be proud of the effects which this society will have produced. far more glorious than all their conquests would ours be: for it would be the triumph of freedom over slavery--of liberality over prejudice--and of humanity over the vice and wretchedness which ever wait on ignorance and servitude!" _b. hallowell_, having affirmed, stated that he knew crandall, and that he came here in may last, with introductions from very respectable sources. dr. crandall had also been here about a year before, at which time he (mr. h.) wished to engage a person at his seminary in alexandria, as a lecturer on botany. he offered him $ a year, and encouraged him to believe that he would considerably add to that income by making up different classes during the year. dr. crandall said, at the time, that he would take it into consideration, and if he should determine upon it, would move down. the doctor did not return in time to fulfil that engagement. but he brought with him letters showing that he was a christian, a man of science, and a gentleman. he understood it to be dr. crandall's object to have a class not merely for one session, but for every summer, while he remained here. it was about the last of may or first of june when dr. crandall returned. _general fowler_, of georgetown, stated that he knew dr. crandall, and that he was introduced to him, soon after he came, by a person interested in botany, as a man well acquainted with that science. witness was fond of hunting after wild flowers, and proposed to take excursions with dr. crandall. they went out botanizing, six, eight, or ten times together. their conversation was confined to that subject, and witness had no reason to suppose that dr. crandall had any incendiary pamphlets, or was at all engaged in the circulation of them. his conduct, so far as he had seen him, was that of a gentleman. he never knew him to converse with any negro. he never had any pamphlets with him, to his knowledge. dr. crandall's knowledge of the science was far beyond that which witness professed to have. _ward b. howard_ stated that he had known crandall some years: at least for seven or eight years. witness was then resident at peekskill. his reputation was good, and he never heard that he was an abolitionist. witness himself had no fancy for abolitionists. there was no society of them at peekskill. crandall resided in peekskill seven or eight years, and had, as he understood, attended the medical lectures at philadelphia, and received a diploma there. he had brought letters of introduction to witness when he came to peekskill, with the view to settlement there. dr. crandall was actively engaged as an agent for the temperance society. witness would not now know the handwriting of the traverser. he might know the signature, but not the general handwriting. _jackson o'brown_ was living at peekskill when dr. crandall first came there. he boarded with him nearly two years, and had an opportunity of seeing much of his character; a great part of the time he roomed with him. the witness never heard that he was engaged in the abolition societies, though he knew he was an active member of the temperance society. _henry gaither_ said he was in linthicum's shop at the time when dr. crandall was arrested. that an hour before he had heard that the officers were in pursuit of him. he saw the officers, robertson and jeffers, enter the office; and noticed a crowd gathering around it. he asked jeffers, as soon as he came out, what he had discovered, and jeffers, in reply, said he had found more than he expected, and had taken or pamphlets. there was much excitement then in the vicinity. witness was then himself excited. when crandall came out, witness was apprehensive that he would be wrested from the officers by the people. oyster came in, and witness asked him if he had seen any pamphlets. he said yes, but not more than two or three. witness remarked, that jeffers said he had seen and taken or . oyster replied, jeffers is a liar. some conversation followed, in which it was suggested that attempts might be made to prejudice the public mind against crandall. witness had since met jeffers, on the avenue, and spoken with him on the subject. witness remarked to jeffers, the poor fellow has suffered enough by so long a confinement, and jeffers assented to the remark, and added that he believed crandall to be innocent. _jared stone_ was acquainted with crandall, who lived three years in witness's family, and eat at his table, in peekskill. crandall was a physician who obtained a good reputation in that part of the country, and it continued unblemished. he never was known to have any abolition papers, or to say any thing in its favor, but was, if any thing, opposed to it. _mr. wilson_ was present at the time spoken of by mr. gaither, and said one of the officers came out and said he had discovered more than he expected, and remarked, my hopes are more than realized. he could not recollect exactly the number of papers the officer said he had found, but thought it was one hundred or a hundred and twenty. some one in the crowd said "we ought to take the damned rascal and hang him up on one of the trees opposite." the witness then went away. _mr. judson_, representative in congress from connecticut, had known crandall from his boyhood. crandall studied with witness's family physician, and acquired a good reputation; nobody stood better in the neighborhood. after he had finished his education he removed to peekskill, since which witness had been in the habit of seeing him frequently; and he had always known him as a peaceable citizen. the precise year when crandall was admitted he could not recollect, but it was about or . witness had not seen him for two years till he saw him here in prison, and had never heard aught against him till now. mr. judson also testified, that the prisoner was a brother of prudence crandall, and that at the time of the difficulty with her and her school for blacks in connecticut, he met crandall on board the boat on his way home from new york; that he talked with him about that school, and the prisoner said he was going to break it up; that he did not know as he should be able to do it, for his sister prudence was obstinate, but his other sister, who was with her, he knew he could get away. crandall then continued home with the witness, and exerted himself with as much zeal as any one could to break up the school. _dr. sewall_ testified that the traverser came to him some time in the spring to get a license to practice in the district, and showed him two letters of high recommendation. he had some conversation with crandall upon subjects of science and upon his knowledge of medicine and surgery, and formed a high opinion of his talents and acquirements. he advised the defendant by no means to abandon the practice of his profession for entering upon botany or chemistry, but if he could do that without interfering with practice, it might do; he thought him too well qualified in the profession to give it up. crandall also showed the witness a diploma, which was regularly signed, and he gave a verbal license to practice, and said at the meeting of the board he would have a regular license made out. he had no reason to believe, from his conversation with the prisoner, that he had any object in view except the pursuit of his profession. all the stories that he had talked upon the subject of abolition with witness, and given him anti-slavery papers, were mere idle talk. _mr. howard_ said he was sheriff of winchester county, where crandall lived, and identified the handwriting of signatures to a letter of recommendation which crandall brought with him, and which was allowed in evidence. all the signers were respectable men. witness thinks he should have known if any anti-slavery society existed there--but he knew of none. he also remembered that crandall delivered lectures on chemistry there, and he attended them. _mr. ward_, representative from the district where crandall resided, knew that he had lived there seven or eight years, and that he had a high reputation as a respectable man, and a good physician. _mr. austin_ was now a resident in georgetown, but formerly lived in peekskill, where he knew the prisoner, who lived in his family three years. he came then in consequence of having raised up mrs. austin from a dangerous sickness. witness was a lawyer, and knew crandall's reputation to be high as a physician and surgeon, far and near. witness was president of a temperance society, and crandall was secretary; he did not know of any anti-slavery society, and did not know or believe that the prisoner belonged to any, or had any thing to do with them. crandall came on at his request to accompany mrs. a., who, with her two children, were always severely sick in travelling; and returned home soon after, when he came back again to stop here to teach botany. he came to witness's house on his return, and was taken sick soon after and confined to his room. witness was not a subscriber for the emancipator, though he understood one of the numbers in court was addressed to him. he never saw any abolition papers in crandall's possession. if he had, they would have attracted his attention. witness did not know how the large box of books and papers came on, but supposed they came by water when crandall came the second time. he could not say distinctly, but he thought a mr. dennison, an abolition agent, once left some abolition pamphlets at his house for himself, and some for crandall. he could not identify them in court as the same, and he could not swear whether the endorsement on them was in crandall's handwriting or not. _mrs. austin_ said she had known the prisoner as long as mr. austin, and that his conduct in her family was irreproachable. she remembered mr. dennison's having left pamphlets for crandall and her husband, but could not say those in court were the same, but they were similar. crandall came at her husband's request, to accompany the family, because they were sick in travelling. he did not wish to come further than new york, and would not consent to come further than philadelphia; but as mr. austin did not meet them there, he kindly came on to washington. she was cleaning up the house, preparatory to leaving it, and gave crandall the large box; and asked his permission to put into it his books and papers. these pamphlets were lying as waste paper in the garret, and she threw them with others into the box. saw that some of them had writing on, but didn't know of any with writing on in the trunk. the box was sent round by water, but he brought the trunk when he came on the second time. he did not carry it to the house when he arrived at night, but it was sent over in the morning. crandall was immediately taken sick, and witness frequently went to the trunk for various purposes, and saw a package nicely done up, which she supposed to be books. the package remained just as it was tied up at the bookstore, till six or eight days before the prisoner's arrest, when she had curiosity to know what it contained, and he consented that she might open it. some conversation was held between witness and prisoner, before and after opening, which the court refused to admit in evidence. mrs. austin went on and testified, that she did not tie up the package again, but left it, and she saw it repeatedly in the same state up to the time of prisoner's arrest. she also saw several emancipators in the house, and one or two tracts sent by mail, which she used or destroyed as waste paper. _bradley_ here offered to put in two letters and a deposition from the man who gave crandall the package in new york. _key_ objected that it was not legal evidence. _bradley_ knew it was not, but the witnesses were beyond the reach of the court--they could not be forced to come and testify; and had distinctly declared that they were afraid to come into the district. he had last term requested the district attorney to join him in taking their depositions, in consequence of the circumstances, but having been refused, he had gone on and taken them exparte, and he hoped they would be allowed to go to the jury. _key_ was willing to admit any thing reasonable, but this testimony was clearly inadmissible. _the court_ said, by the rules of evidence, it could not be given but by consent. _mr. carlisle_ opened the summing up for the prosecution, and remarked that his was observed by the opposite counsel to be the only case of seditious libel ever brought before this court, and i will add, gentlemen, that the decision of it may determine whether or not it may be the last;--whether or not this traverser may return to his fellow laborers in iniquity, and inform them that _here_ he has found the gates wide open, and the way all clear for the propagation of their libels and their plans. it has been truly said that this topic is one of excitement all over the country. under these circumstances this traverser may congratulate himself upon the opportunity of a fair and full trial, and that he has not been the victim of summary justice. but, gentlemen, let justice lose nothing of its proper efficiency by being administered with coolness and deliberation. the opposite counsel say that the charge is grave. aye, gentlemen, it is so, but the proof is full. the offence charged is one of a fatal, devastating, and, beyond all power of palliation, most horrid character. these libels are not like common libels, which tend to bring individuals into discredit and disrepute. it is an offence of which the like is not contained in the annals of criminal jurisprudence, peculiar to the state of our society, and in enormity equal to all other crimes combined. an opulent and extensive society send out their emissaries and commission and enjoin them to scatter these infamous productions in the highways and by-ways; to proclaim them from the house tops, and whisper them in the chimney corners; to teach to all, high and low, that slaveholding is man-stealing; and yet they mean no such thing as breaking the peace, and abhor all violence and tumult. does the preaching such language to slaves tend to pacification? mr. carlisle was here commenting upon the nature of the agents employed for these unlawful purposes, to show that educated men, such as dr. crandall, were the kind naturally to be selected, and was further proceeding to examine the evidence as applicable to the laws, and, in his opinion, conclusively establishing the guilt of the traverser, when extreme physical debility and indisposition prevented him from proceeding. _mr. bradley_ then commenced summing up for the defence. he said the nature of the charge was such that it was almost impossible to set aside the prejudices which had been cherished from youth up, and which were so natural to men of this section of the country; but he felt confident the jury would give him a patient hearing, and judge correctly after a careful consideration of the case. he then gave a statement of the points of the evidence, upon which there was no dispute; such as--that the prisoner allowed one pamphlet to be taken by mr. king; that he was found here with a number of other papers; that some came round in a box by water; and that others were given him in new york, and brought on in his trunk. he wished to draw a distinction between the kinds of papers. it was proved that a bundle of papers were found, and they were here in court; but the contents were unknown; whether good or bad the jury had no right to infer. a large number of papers were found, some of which were brought away and the others were left. that was all the jury had to consider, except in regard to three numbers of the anti-slavery reporter, five numbers of the emancipator, and the late pictures which were cut from a work, and represented in contrast two modes of education--one where children were whipped, and the other where they were taught more mildly by means of books. he would not stop now to consider the declarations said to have been made before the magistrate. nothing could be more unsatisfactory and uncertain evidence than these examinations. the very fact that a man is accused throws him off his guard, and he may say what he does not intend, or which, if he did, in the midst of excitement the witnesses might not properly understand or correctly remember. it was said there were contradictions in his statements, but that supposition arose entirely from a mistake of one of the justices. the other understood it differently and saw no mistake at all. it respected the manner in which he brought on the books--one understood him to say that they were all given to him in new york, and that he brought them here, and they were all in the jail but about a dozen; and then, at another time, he said that he had some of them a long time. the other justice understood him to say that all that he brought into the district were there, and that they were all he brought from new york, except about a dozen, which he supposed he had left by the way. neither of these suppositions were right. when he said they were all of them, he meant to say all he brought from new york; that he had distributed none, for even the one he loaned to mr. king was taken by the prisoner from linthicum's shop, and was then in mr. key's possession, though they supposed it was lost; and when he referred to about a dozen, he meant that he brought them all with him except about a dozen, which came in a box by water. it had been said that he admitted he had circulated a dozen; and yet the united states' witnesses prove that he denied having circulated any, and from the first disapproved of putting them in circulation. when the learned counsel asked why the persons were not brought, to whom he had given the dozen, to show that they were respectable men, he should have remembered that the testimony was all against such an idea; and that, if he had distributed any, the zeal and perseverance of the district attorney and the officers would have discovered evidence of it. it was also asked why the person who gave the bundle to him in new york was not brought to testify in his favor? as if the criminal wretch who had palmed off these incendiary papers upon an innocent man, without his knowledge, could be brought here to testify, when he was beyond the jurisdiction of the court, and had declared that he was afraid to come. he had requested the attorney to have a deposition taken, but he refused; and when he was spoken to, he threatened a prosecution, and said he should like to see him; he wished he could get him. the attorney now says he would be safe; perhaps so from him; but there are here, as elsewhere, hundreds of base cowardly scoundrels, who are willing in mobs to hunt down any one against whom they conceive a prejudice; men who dare not face a man alone, but who, backed by a mob, are willing to assail an individual without knowing any thing of his guilt or innocence. mr. b. then commented upon the character of the libel charged, and read the first count. the first paragraph, he argued, contained no incendiary language, unless it was to call slavery a crying abomination. he had not known before that those words were calculated to stir up insurrection. people were in the habit of hearing them daily from the pulpit, and he never knew that they became seditious on account of it. the whole of the matter was a controversy between the anti-slavery society and the colonization society, in relation to the expediency of their different measures; and if any body could make any thing libellous, he must have intellectual spectacles stronger than those with which newton looked at the stars. in the next paragraph slavery is called "unrighteous," which was the great offence charged there. if this was a libel, he should show that arthur tappan & co. were not singular in the guilt of libelling; for that fathers of the church in a slave state had called slavery unrighteous too, and that some of the most eminent of our patriotic southern politicians had used far stronger and more exciting language. this was all a controversy whether it was proper that provision should be made that no slave should be emancipated unless provision was made for sending him out of the country; and the writer contends that to make sending a man out of this country, where he was born, a condition of releasing him from bondage, in which he was forcibly held was a moral absurdity; and to say so might be libellous, but he could not understand how it should be so. some of the jury would recollect when a discussion of this topic took place in the legislature of maryland upon a proposed law to the same effect, and they would remember that similar arguments were used there. the next passage was an extract showing the treatment of slaves in another country, different from ours, where they have no law to protect the persons of slaves; and could not apply to the condition of any portion of our people. it could not be libellous to have the book giving the original journal of the traveller, and, if it were not, he did not see how any evil or excitement could be produced by this extract. he came next to the passage in the second count, which was an extract of a speech, in which the orator tried to say something grand; but it amounted to no more than had been said by slaveholders themselves; and though the attorney said it with an amusing emphasis, yet he would show stronger language, to the same purport, in the writings of mr. jefferson and of mr. archer, of virginia, which had been approved by all who heard or read them. the whole argument used in the anti-slavery reporter, he contended, was mild and temperate, more so than could be expected, when the different habits and modes of thought of the people from whence they came were considered--a people who, from infancy upward, had heard nothing but the accents of freedom, and had never lived in a country where they could actually know the practical effects of our system of slavery. the example was set them by the ablest writers here, and if we publish and send to them similar writings, is it to be considered wonderful that, in their discussions, they should adopt it. their argument is, that slavery may increase to be an evil which, by and by, cannot be remedied without violence and bloodshed; and it is addressed to men who have the power and the influence to apply a remedy now. the same arguments were published here by the colonization society, which does honor to human nature, and were founded on extreme necessity. he read numerous extracts of books to show that similar expressions to those in the libels charged, were not considered blameable if uttered or published at the south; and denied the right of the district attorney to take particular words, here and there, and hold them up to fix the character of the paper, without regard to the connexion in which they were used; and he said that if crandall was indictable for the language and meaning of the anti-slavery reporter, then every member of the colonization society were liable to indictment. [it may be proper to introduce one or two extracts, that the reader may know the character of the papers read. the following are taken from an address to the colonization society of kentucky, by _r. j. breckenridge_.] "there are some crimes so revolting in their nature, that the just observance of the decencies of speech deprives us of the only epithets which are capable of depicting their enormity. every well regulated heart is smitten with horror at the bare idea of their perpetration; and we are uncertain whether most to loathe at the claim of those who habitually commit them to companionship with human nature, or to marvel that the unutterable wrath of heaven doth not scathe and blast them in the midst of their enormities. let the father look upon the dawning intelligence of the boy that prattles around his knee, the pride of his fond heart, and the hope and stay of his honest name; and then, if he can, let him picture him in distant bondage, the fountain of his affections dried up, the light of knowledge extinguished in his mind, his manly and upright spirit broken by oppression, and his free person and just proportions marred and lacerated by the incessant scourge. let the husband look upon the object in whose sacred care he has "garnered up his heart," and on the little innocent who draws the fountain of its life from her pure breast, recalling, as he gazes on one and the other, the freshness and the strength of his early and his ardent love; and then if he be able, let him picture those objects, in comparison with which all that earth has to give is valueless in his eyes, torn from him by violence, basely exchanged for gold, like beasts at the shambles, bent down under unpitied sorrows, their persons polluted, and their pure hearts corrupted--hopeless and unpitied slaves, to the rude caprice and brutal passions of those we blush to call men. let him turn from these spectacles, and look abroad on the heritage where his lot has been cast, glad and smiling under the profuse blessings which heaven has poured on it, let him look back on the even current of a life overflowing with countless enjoyments, and before him on a career full of anticipated triumphs, and lighted by the effulgence of noble and virtuous deeds, the very close of which looks placid, under the weight of years made venerable by generous and useful actions, and covered by the gratitude and applause of admiring friends; let the man-stealer come upon him, and behold the wreck of desolation! shame, disgrace, infamy, the blighting of all hopes, the withering of all joys; long unnoticed wo, untended poverty, a dishonored name, an unwept death, a forgotten grave; all, and more than all, are in these words, _he is a slave_! he who can preserve the even current of his thoughts in the midst of such reflections, may have some faint conception of the miseries which the slave trade has inflicted on mankind. i am unable to state with accuracy the number of the victims of this horrible traffic; but if the least dependance can be placed on the statements of those persons who have given the most attention to the subject, with the best means of information, it unquestionably exceeds ten millions of human beings exported by violence and fraud from africa. this appalling mass of crime and suffering has every atom of it been heaped up before the presence of enlightened men, and in the face of a holy god, by nations boasting of their civilization, and pretending to respect the dictates of christianity. the mind is overwhelmed at the magnitude of such atrocity, and the heart sickens at the contemplation of such an amount of human anguish and despair." "the legislative acts which, with a cool atrocity, to be equalled only by the preposterous folly of the claim they set up over the persons of god's creatures, doom to slavery the free african the moment his eyes are opened on the light of heaven, for no other offence than being the child of parents thus doomed before him, can, in the judgment of truth and the estimation of a just posterity, be held inferior in heinousness only to the first act of piracy which made them slaves. it is in vain that we cover up and avoid such reflections. they cling to us, and earth cries shame upon us that their voice has been so long unheeded. the free lybian, in his scorching deserts, was as much a slave when he rushed, in the wild chase, upon the king of beasts, as is his unhappy offspring before our laws cleave to him. god creates no slaves. the laws of man do oftentimes pervert the best gifts of nature, and wage an impious warfare against her decrees. but you can discover what is of the earth and what is from above. you may take man at his birth, and by an adequate system make him a slave, a brute, a demon. this is man's work. the light of reason, history and philosophy, the voice of nature and religion, the spirit of god himself, proclaims that the being he created in his own image he must have been created free." "it can be no less incorrect to apply any arguments drawn from the right of conquest, or the lapse of time, as against the offspring of persons held to involuntary servitude. for neither force nor time has any meaning when applied to a nonentity. he cannot be said to be conquered, who never had the opportunity or means of resistance; nor can time run against one unborn. those who lean to a contrary doctrine should well consider to what it leads them. for no rule of reason is better received, or clearer, than that force may be always resisted by force; and whatever is thus established, may, at time, be lawfully overthrown. or, on the other hand, if error is made sacred by its antiquity, there is no absurdity or crime which may not be dug up from its dishonored tomb, and erected into an idol around which its scattered votaries may reassemble." mr. bradley then went on to argue upon the tendency of the libels, and contended that they were not calculated to excite sedition. they are not addressed to the colored people, nor adapted to excite insurrection and revolution among them. they are calm appeals to reason, designed to produce measures to arrest a danger which they think threatens them, in common with their brethren of the south. he next adverted to the law of publication. there were two grounds of publication--one is legally to be inferred--the other actually proved. the monstrous doctrine is contended for by the prosecutor, that if a man has a libel in his possession, if it was publicly circulated in the country, the possession is _prima facia_ evidence that he put it in circulation. to show the absurdity of such a position he took a case of a favorite popular libel, which would be all sold in a day, and said that it would be impossible to find an impartial jury to try a case under such a law--because it would not be easy to find twelve men drawn as jurors who would not have been possessors in some way of the libel, and of course equally criminal. having a written copy of a published libel in one's own handwriting may be _prima facia_ evidence; but it is not so with a printed copy. the publication must be brought home to the defendant. an actual publication is when the party puts the libel in circulation--when he gives it to a third party, either by himself or an agent, for the purpose of having it put in circulation. the evidence in this case, he contended, afforded not only no proof, but no presumption that he published the libel. the one copy he allowed king to take was not given to be circulated. he had been warned of the danger, and had avowed his opposition to having such papers put in circulation. there could be no pretence that it was given to stir up mischief; and if any one was responsible for any evil effects, supposing any to accrue, it was mr. king who had shown it, and left it exposed openly in a shop. but he argued that the loan of the paper to king was simple possession--he had afterwards taken it back from the shop, and no evil had been done or intended. the intent, he said, must be gathered from the circumstance of the publication, and not alone from the libel charged; and he then commented upon the manner in which this paper was taken by mr. king, and upon his character as a substantial, respectable man, who had just given the prisoner a warning, to show that no presumption could arise of an intent as charged in the indictment. the words "read and circulate," upon which so much stress had been laid, showed no evidence of an intent to publish the pamphlets here, for they were put on two years before in peekskill; and even the having them brought here was no act of the prisoner's, nor does it appear that he knew they were in the box. he went at length into an examination of the evidence tending to show crandall's good character, and the accidents which brought him here and induced him to make it his permanent residence. the trouble and excitement, he said, had not been owing to the prisoner or to any act of his, but was entirely owing to the misapplied zeal of the officers, and to their indiscretion and stupidity. he said he had gone over all the evidence of publication, and it was certain that no other publication had been made by him, for the district attorney would have brought proof of it; if one had been dropped ten fathoms deep, into the vilest well, some one would have been found to fish it up. he traced the course of the prisoner from his boyhood to college, and to the study of his profession--from that to his settlement at peekskill; and urged upon the jury the consideration of his uniformly sustained character, and of his blameless life. he followed him with mr. austin's family to this city, and afterwards shewed his course to new york, when the important bundle of abolition tracts was palmed upon him; and then followed him here with those papers, which he did not even open, and of which he could not have known the contents, till he was informed by mrs. austin. he had shewn that no anti-slavery society existed where he came from, and that he had never been a member of any such society. he had also shewn his acts, in connection with his good character and principles, when he went to connecticut to suppress the school founded by arthur tappan & co., which he thought an improper and dangerous institution; and though he has always avowed himself to be opposed to slavery, yet he has always been as firmly opposed to excitement. he had traced him here, and shewn his declarations and principles here, and the business in which he was engaged. he said he had been satisfied, early in the trial, that there was no ground for the prosecution--that the counsel for the united states had not made out a case which would satisfy themselves or you; but it was necessary to go on with the trial, for the satisfaction of others. the public were anxious to have the whole truth before them; and he was happy to believe that the jury would come to the conclusion that the government had wholly failed, upon their own evidence, to make out a case which would justify a conviction of the prisoner. _mr. coxe_ addressed the jury. he was not aware, he said, that during his whole career as a professional man, he had ever entered upon the discharge of his professional duties with feelings of more anxiety than in the present case. the interest which he felt in the result was not limited to the consequences which might befall the traverser--an individual to whom he was an entire stranger; but principles had been advanced, and a course of proceeding adopted in this case, which involved results of the most general and momentous character; results which may to-morrow, and through all time, be brought to bear upon each one of us and upon our posterity. the cause now on trial was the first of the same description which, to his knowledge, had ever been brought up for judicial decision. it was an indictment for a seditious libel at common law. mr. coxe here adverted to a portion of our history, during the administration of the elder adams, when we were threatened with a foreign war and internal commotion, and when it was believed that a resort to unusual means of protection from impending peril was necessary. at that crisis was passed the act of july , , commonly called the sedition act, by which it was provided that any person guilty of uttering a seditious libel against the government of the united states, with intent to defame the same and bring it into contempt and disrepute, shall be punished by a fine not exceeding two thousand dollars, and by imprisonment not exceeding two years. the act was denounced as tyrannical, oppressive, unconstitutional, and destructive of the liberty of speech and of the press, and it was made one of the principal charges against the party in power of that day, and was the chief means of its overthrow. during the short period of the existence of that odious law, some few prosecutions were instituted under it against obnoxious individuals; and these were the only cases of prosecution for seditious libel that had ever occurred in this country. in the present case, an attempt was made to apply the well known principles of the common law to the same improper and unconstitutional end. the case was new to our courts, and was of rare occurrence in the courts of england. without being a prophet or the son of a prophet, mr. coxe said he would venture to predict that, if the doctrines which had been urged in behalf of this prosecution, and the proceedings which had been here justified by the district attorney, should be established as lawful, the seeds will have been sown from which will be reaped, for us and for our children, a harvest of woe and disaster. he could not, therefore, but deeply feel the share of responsibility which devolved upon him in the management of this case, and in the vindication of the great principles of constitutional liberty in which he had been nurtured and to which he was bound to adhere. if, upon such a warrant as was issued against this traverser, any individual in this community might be arrested, his papers seized and examined, his most private correspondence exhibited to the public gaze, and if all this proceeding was to be warranted by the laws under which we live, then, gentlemen, said mr. coxe, this district is no place for me. he would seek some place where he would be safe from such outrages--some place where the principles of civil liberty are still understood and cherished. if, upon testimony thus illegally obtained from him, without having been guilty of any overt act against the peace of the community, he could be indicted for sedition, incarcerated for eight months preparatory to a trial, and then be told that for having such publications as the traverser had in his private custody, under his own lock and key, or for loaning one to an intelligent friend, for his single perusal, he should be exposed to conviction and punishment for sedition, then he would, to escape such tyranny, expatriate himself, abandoning a land no longer free. but this was not, and could not be the law of this district. what was the case? let us go back to the th of august last, when this warrant was placed by a justice of the peace, acting under the advice of the district attorney, in the hands of the officers who served it. the only foundation of the prosecution was simply this: mr. king, while visiting the office of the traverser, with whom he was in habits of intimacy and free intercourse, saw there lying about the room, amongst various works on different branches of science and the arts, three pamphlets, which were taken from a box containing surgical instruments, books on surgery, and botanical preparations, in packing all which the pamphlets had been with other papers employed. mr. king casually taking up one of these pamphlets, read its title page, and remarked that this was too far south for such things. he asked permission of the traverser to read it, which was granted, and up to the th day of august, a month afterwards, this was the extent of dr. crandall's offence. the affidavit in the warrant did not even go so far as this, in any positive charge. william robinson, who made the affidavit, deposed that he had seen in georgetown an incendiary pamphlet having upon it the name of dr. crandall, and that he, the deponent, had been informed and believed, that dr. crandall was engaged in distributing and circulating such pamphlets. the only positive averment in the affidavit was unimportant, and, if important, was untrue. mr. robinson, when examined, had no recollection of such a pamphlet, and there was abundant evidence to prove that the pamphlet loaned to king was now in court, and there was no such endorsement on it. he had not, therefore, seen a tract with dr. crandall's name upon it. that dr. crandall was engaged in the circulation of this or similar pamphlets was equally unsupported by evidence. upon this allegation, so flimsy and so false, the justice, acting under the advice of our learned district attorney, issued the illegal and unconstitutional precept which he held in his hand. by this warrant the constable was directed to search and examine the traverser's private papers, to select such as might appear to be incendiary and to bring them and the traverser before some justice of the peace, to be dealt with according to law. this illegal process, thus illegally executed, had been justified by the district attorney, who had avowed himself ready, whenever required, to prove that it was lawful. on the other hand, he, mr. coxe, pledged himself, on all occasions, and whenever the question might be presented for argument and decision, to brand it as tyrannical, oppressive, illegal, and unconstitutional. the next evidence for the prosecution was found in the pamphlets thus stolen, and the possession of them by the traverser was alleged as proof of their publication by him. against this false and more than inquisitorial doctrine, he solemnly protested. let the accidental possession of a denounced pamphlet be made proof of its utterance and publication by the possessor, and let the new process of detecting and bringing to light that obnoxious pamphlet be established, and what man, in the whole community, can be safe in the enjoyment of his personal rights? may not any man be subjected to be treated as a felon, upon the instigation of private malice, or party animosity, or religious rancor? how easy would it be to find a magistrate at any time, who, confiding in the learning and experience and official character of the district attorney, will, at his instance, grant such a search warrant against any individual?--and how easy will it not be to find constables, who, in the execution of it, will raise a hue and cry, and an excitement against the individual at whom the process is levelled?--so that if he escape the tyranny of the law and of the officers of the law, he may, nevertheless, fall a victim to the blind and ignorant violence of popular fury! two things, mr. coxe said, must combine to bring the traverser, in this case, within the law, if indeed there was any law to meet the case. the publications themselves must be calculated to excite insurrection among the blacks, and contempt of government among the whites; and the mode and manner of the publication must be such as to justify the supposition that the publisher intended to produce this effect. if both of these facts could not be proved, the prosecution must fail, and the traverser be entitled to a verdict of acquittal. admitting that the character of the pamphlets was incendiary, and as mischievous in their tendency as the district attorney may, on this occasion, be pleased to represent them, still it cannot be shown that the traverser was guilty of any injurious or malicious dissemination of them. the loan to mr. king was the only instance proved of distribution, and could that be considered malicious? mr. king was admitted to be an intelligent and discreet citizen, without any sympathies with the abolitionists, and he could read one of these pamphlets with as little injury to the public welfare, as could this court and the many individuals to whom the district attorney had been reading them. if the traverser had been criminal, mr. key had been still more so. if dr. crandall is punishable for yielding a reluctant and hesitating consent to the request of mr. king to be allowed to take one of these pamphlets and read it, to what condemnation has mr. key subjected himself by forcing these same tracts, and particularly the worst passages he could select from them, upon the attention of so many individuals? but another ground had been taken against the traverser. he was charged with being a northern man; a native of connecticut, and a resident of new york. have we then, said mr. coxe, lived to see the day when in a court of justice, in the federal city, under the very eyes of congress, and of the national government, it can be urged against an individual arraigned at the criminal bar, as a circumstance of aggravation, or as a just ground for suspicion, that the individual comes from the north or the south, from the east or the west? but we were told, that the northern men were interlopers and intruders amongst us. he protested against the use of such language, especially in the district of columbia, which was dependant for its very existence upon the bounty of congress, and which owed so much to the liberal policy extended to it by northern men. mr. c. admitted that there were in the north some vile fanatics, who, under the guise of purity and zeal, had attempted to scatter firebrands amongst us; men who propose to accomplish the worst ends by the most nefarious means; men who, under the professions of christian sympathy and humanity, seek to involve the south in all the accumulated horrors of a servile war. these men were, however, few in number and contemptible in resources. on the other hand, there were men at the south who, for base motives, make themselves auxiliaries to this excitement, and endeavor to alarm and agitate the people of the south by misrepresentations of the general feeling and policy of the people of the north. with neither of these two classes of fanatics had the people of this district any common interest. as a citizen of this district, he protested against making it the arena for the operations of these incendiaries. it was for this jury to resist the first attempt, now made, to render our courts of justice accessory to their designs. he would demonstrate from the evidence that the traverser had no part in producing the excitement which prevailed in this district during the last summer. dr. crandall was not even the innocent cause of it. it was an excitement got up against crandall, and not by him. when the constables went to his lodgings and office with their warrant, there was no excitement nor commotion among the people. all was calm, and but for the constables and their process, would have remained so. but they published in the streets of georgetown the nature and object of their errand, and collected a number of individuals who were curious to see the result of this extraordinary search. one of the constables, jeffers, after leaving the office of the traverser, goes to linthicum's shop, and there proclaims to the assembly that "they had found more than they expected;" that "their hopes were more than realized." the constable then goes on to proclaim that he had found a large number of incendiary pamphlets, or . then ensued an excitement, and a cry was at once heard, "carry him across the street and hang him to the tree!" such was the origin of the excitement which pervaded our community, and which the district attorney lays to the charge of the traverser. the testimony was silent as to any act of publication by the traverser of more than one of the publications referred to in the indictment, and in that he was shown to have had no improper design. we were told, however, that the possession was proof of criminal design. was it to be endured that, without authority of law, and contrary to all law, private papers should thus be wrested from the possession of an individual, and then be offered as a proof of malicious intent and malicious publication? in any prosecution for a libel it was necessary to prove a malicious publication. malice may be inferred to an individual from the simple act of publication. but in cases of seditious libel, it was necessary, in order to infer malice, to prove that the publication was made to such persons as that the public could be injured by it. his case being destitute of such proof, the traverser was entitled to a verdict in his favor. mr. coxe went into a minute examination of the testimony to prove that the pamphlets were brought innocently and without intent to circulate them. those in the box were brought with other papers, and were packed by a lady, for the purpose of wrappers, &c., for plants. the pamphlets given to him in new york, by a person from whom he had purchased a book, he had received without any knowledge of their contents, and the package remained unopened in his trunk until it was taken by the constables. no mischief had been produced; no insurrection raised; no human being injured, except the unfortunate traverser himself, whom, after an incarceration of eight months, the prosecutor wishes you still further to punish. this was a reproach to our community; a burlesque of our courts of justice; it had no support in principle or reason. was this the boasted intelligence, spirit, and generosity of the south! from a review of the testimony it would be found that the traverser came into possession of the papers innocently; that he retained them innocently; and that they were never distributed by him. mr. coxe then proceeded to maintain, at length, that, granting the publication, there was nothing in the quotations from the pamphlets incorporated in the indictment from which a criminal intent could be inferred. if there was no criminal matter in the extracts, then there was no crime charged. he went on to prove that they did not contain a single sentiment or expression on the subject of slavery, and its political, moral, and social results, which had not also been used by slaveholders; by the statesmen, and lawyers, and writers of the south. mr. coxe proceeded to compare the language charged as seditious in the indictment, with passages from colonization speeches made by mr. key himself; by mr. archer, mr. custis, bishop smith, general harper; by patrick henry, in the virginia convention; mr. pinckney, in the legislature of new york; by mr. jefferson, in his notes on virginia; by judge tucker, in his notes to blackstone's commentaries; and by other distinguished gentlemen at the south. neither he, nor the jury, nor the district attorney, could distinguish the language and sentiment of one of those parties from the other. if there was any difference it was in this, that the northern publications were somewhat more temperate than the others. the controversy which had grown up between the rival societies for colonization and abolition had given birth to this excitement. which of them was right, or whether they were both right or wrong, was not now a matter in issue; but he would allude to the fact that the sincerity and personal excellence of the abolitionists had been warmly acknowledged by the amiable secretary of the colonization society, and by one of its most distinguished members and friends, mr. gerrit smith. but the district attorney denounced the abolition societies and dr. crandall, whom he alleged to be a member of the american abolition society. this assertion was unsupported by testimony, and untrue in fact. one of the constables, indeed, had testified that crandall, after his arrest, admitted that he was a member of that society; but this was disproved by all the other testimony in the case. mr. coxe, without defending the abolition societies, here undertook to prove, from various documentary evidence, that there was, after all, but very little difference between the sentiments and objects of the colonizationists and the abolitionists. in conclusion, mr. coxe remarked, that if any the smallest injury had resulted from the traverser's sojourn in this district, it was not his fault. he was innocently occupied in professional pursuits, and was quietly pursuing the even tenor of his way. whatever excitement and injury had grown out of his visit here was solely attributable to the illegal course taken by the prosecutor in procuring his arrest and the seizure of his papers, which were harmlessly reposing in his trunk. with these remarks, and his thanks for the patient hearing afforded him by the jury, mr. coxe submitted the case, with entire confidence, to their hands. _mr. f. s. key._ i consider this one of the most important cases ever tried here; i wish the prisoner every advantage of a fair trial. it is a case to try the question, whether our institutions have any means of legal defence against a set of men of most horrid principles, whose means of attack upon us are insurrection, tumult, and violence. the traverser defends himself by justifying the libels. we are told that they are harmless--that they have no tendency to produce the horrid results which we deprecate. we have been told that _this_ community has not been endangered. the emancipator has been read, the extracts from it justified, this prosecution scouted. if such publications are justifiable, then are we, indeed, at the tender mercy of the abolitionist, and the sooner we make terms of capitulation with him the better. what does he propose for the slave? immediate emancipation. in one instant the chains of the slave must snap asunder. without delay, and without preparation, he becomes a citizen, a legislator, goes to the polls, and appoints _our_ rulers. if this be the plan, then am i ready, as the opposite counsel expresses it, to seek refuge in other parts of the united state. are you willing, gentlemen, to abandon your country; to permit it to be taken from you, and occupied by the abolitionist, according to whose taste it is to associate and amalgamate with the negro? or, gentlemen, on the other hand, are there laws in this community to defend you from the immediate abolitionist, who would open upon you the floodgates of such extensive wickedness and mischief? there are such laws, gentlemen; they are as essential to your prosperity and peace as is the sacred law of self-defence to every individual. but you have heard it denied that there are such laws; that these pamphlets are incendiary; and this prosecution is likened to those under the sedition law--a law reprobated and repealed--and hence we may infer that a man may publish what he pleases, however seditious and insurrectionary it may be. not so. the repeal of the sedition law left the common law, by which these offences always were punishable, in full force; and, gentlemen, it is well known that the principal argument against the sedition law was, that the offences which it punished were sufficiently provided for already by the common law as it stood. but the traverser is not content with acting merely on the defensive. it appears that he is a _persecuted innocent man_; upon an illegal warrant, without proper evidence, attacked, _robbed_, put in jail; all for having a few harmless publications about him. why does not this _persecuted_ man bring his action for false imprisonment? why do not his counsel advise it? the warrant was issued upon probable cause on oath. the magistrate was bound to issue it, but it made the constable the judge of what were incendiary papers! yes! and had the constable have taken any other course he would have been responsible to the traverser for so doing. but carry out the law as expounded on the other side. here's a counterfeiter caught, with his tools, plates, &c., all found upon a search for stolen goods. the gentleman would bring him before a magistrate, have the warrant quashed, his _goods_ returned to him, and should the articles, thus found, be used in evidence against him, it would be horrid, tyrannical, oppressive, shocking, and enough to make a man runaway from a country where there are such laws, and find refuge in some other. gentlemen, if in searching for stolen goods you find evidence of counterfeiting, you may use it for the purpose of convicting the culprit of either offence. but the papers were safe in dr. crandall's trunk. yes, all were there and safe, but those taken out and circulated, exactly as the case would have been had they been counterfeit bank notes, and not incendiary pamphlets. gentlemen, did he not give mr. king one, because he thought that he _would not_ mention it? and, gentlemen, would he not as likely give to those who _could not_ tell? at every step in our community, he meets such men; he is enjoined in the language of these papers, to give them currency "in highways and by-ways." this man should be glad of the opportunity, by public trial, to exonerate himself from the charges against him. they are distinctly made--the testimony clearly laid down--testimony, in my opinion, ample for his conviction. there are two questions in this case: are the libels charged criminal?--are they proved to have been published by the traverser? i call your attention to the libels and to their tendency. the colonization society published them only to denounce them. the colonization society only contemplates free negroes, and has nothing to do with slavery. mr. key here explained the difference between the papers read by the traverser's counsel and those charged in the indictment, and showed that the kentucky synod, the grand jury of our district, &c. were for gradual emancipation by the whites, and not violence by the blacks, &c. he thought having a number of these printed libels stronger proof against the traverser than having only one written; commented upon these papers coming through the post office with only one cent postage, as strong evidence that they were sent in here; upon the fact that none of his witnesses testified to his character or pursuits within the last two years; upon the improbability of such a man as crandall was represented to be, of high character as a man and a physician, leaving peekskill to go botanizing merely. mr. k. here commented upon the inflammatory character of the libel alluding to the _colonial_, and, as he contended, the _general_ system of slavery. mr. k. here read again from the pamphlet, and then added: i am accused of being emphatic; i confess my blood boils when i read the closing sentence of this libel--this taunting us with the torch of the negro at our threshold, and his knife at our throats--this fiendish allusion to the _beauty_ and chivalry of the south; it displays cool and demoniac malignity! mr. k. then alluded to the pictures, saying that they could be meant only for the illiterate, and tended only to insurrection and violence. mr. k. animadverted upon the speeches and opinions of eminent southern men, quoted by the traverser's counsel, to show that their objects were different from those of the abolitionists. mr. key remarked, with great severity, on the abstract proposition of the sinfulness of slavery, and the declaration in the libels of the "south being awakened from their snoring by the thunder of the southampton massacre." he contended that crandall admitted, in his examinations at the jail, that all the papers he had were sent from new york, and came in a box; and said nothing about having received two parcels; and that he also admitted, that he had all the papers sent, but twelve or thirteen, and argued that those twelve or thirteen were circulated here, amongst improper persons: that if otherwise, the traverser might and could prove to him, to whom they were delivered. he adverted to the slander contained in the libels, that a free person of color might be sold here for jail fees when apprehended as a runaway slave. he commented on the evidence of mr. austin, and argued that it was far from showing that the packages were not broken by dr. crandall, and part of them taken out and distributed. he also argued that dr. crandall took no pains to have the pamphlet returned to him, which he delivered to mr. king, and did not destroy those he had after hearing that there was an excitement on the subject, and that none of these libels and picture books were used by him, as the other newspapers were, to preserve his plants, thereby proving his disposition to preserve and circulate them. mr. key also referred, in corroboration of what c.'s views were, to his declarations to jeffers' favorable to the amalgamation of the blacks and whites, and also those to colclazier and tippet, "that slavery brought the slaveholder and slave into promiscuous sensual intercourse," "and that he was willing that the north and the south should be arrayed against each other." mr. key added: this is a subject to us not of indifference. it has been one of much excitement, and we are bound to act in self-defence. if in your conscience, gentlemen, you think the traverser innocent, acquit him. judge of these libels--the words--the meaning--the tendency--read their endorsement "please read and circulate" in the traverser's handwriting--look at these pictures!--hear his admission, "i gave them to a man who i thought would not tell on me." there are twelve or thirteen of them brought here by him unaccounted for; hear his prevarications in the jail and elsewhere: and if he is an innocent man, cruelly imprisoned under an illegal warrant, and these vile, calumniatory libels, are actually this _innocent_, _persecuted_ gentleman's _property_--_stolen_ from him--then gentlemen return him his property and let him go free. it is with you, gentlemen; i ask of you but to do your conscientious duty. * * * * * the jury retired, and, after a short deliberation, agreed upon a verdict of not guilty. after which they separated, and returned their verdict into court the next morning. transcriber's note some of the words in this text were verified by referencing the document "the trial of reuben crandall, m.d., charged with publishing seditious libels, by circulating the publications of the american anti-slavery society, before the circuit court for the district of columbia, held at washington, in april, , occupying the court the period of ten days." (new-york: h. r. piercy, ) the following corrections have been made to this text: page : removed stray quote marks (if a man in manners) page : changed choses to chooses (to every body who chooses) page : changed posession to possession (traverser's possession) page : added missing end punctuation (question by key.) page : changed crrndall's to crandall's (dr. crandall's reply) page : changed did'nt to didn't (he didn't know which) page : added missing word 'to' (i have to say to them) page : added missing quote marks ("i hope i may be excused) page : removed stray quote marks (run her hull under.) page : changed desarts to deserts (its wide-spread deserts) page : removed duplicate word 'as' (so far as he had seen him) page : changed did to didn't (didn't know of any with writing) (verified by referencing the document mentioned above.) page : changed posssession to possession (wrested from the possession) page : changed gentlemen's to gentleman's (_persecuted_ gentleman's) page : changed jeffer's to jeffers' (jeffers' favorable) none betty gordon in washington or strange adventures in a great city by alice b. emerson contents chapter i the gored cow ii hospitality under difficulties iii bob has great news iv at the vendue v consequences vi the runaway missed vii a belated letter viii good-by to bramble farm ix new friends x fellow travelers xi a serious mix-up xii straightening things out xiii washington monument xiv libbie is romantic xv off to investigate xvi what hale had to tell xvii more sightseeing xviii betty understands xix an unexpected meeting xx mutual confidences xxi the accident xxii being rescued xxiii another rescue xxiv bob is cleared xxv future plans betty gordon in washington chapter i the gored cow for lack of a better listener, betty gordon addressed the saucy little chipmunk that sat on the top rail of the old worn fence and stared at her with bright, unwinking eyes. "it is the loveliest vase you ever saw," said betty, busily sorting the tangled mass of grasses and flowers in her lap. "heavy old colonial glass, you know, plain, but with beautiful lines." the chipmunk continued to regard her gravely. "i found it this morning when i was helping mrs. peabody clean the kitchen closet shelves," the girl went on, her slim fingers selecting and discarding slender stems with fascinating quickness. "it was on the very last shelf, and was covered with dust. i washed it, and we're going to have it on the supper table to-night with this bouquet in it. there! don't you think that's pretty?" she held out the flowers deftly arranged and surveyed them proudly. the chipmunk cocked his brown head and seemed to be withholding his opinion. betty put the bouquet carefully down on the grass beside her and stretched the length of her trim, graceful self on the turf, burying her face luxuriously in the warm dry "second crop" of hay that had been raked into a thin pile under the pin oak and left there forgotten. presently she rolled over and lay flat on her back, studying the lazy clouds that drifted across the very blue sky. "i'd like to be up in an airplane," she murmured drowsily, her eyelids drooping. "i'd sail right into a cloud and see--what was that?" she sat up with a jerk that sent the hitherto motionless chipmunk scurrying indignantly up the nearest tree, there to sit and shake his head angrily at her. "sounds like bob!" said betty to herself. "my goodness, that was mr. peabody--they must be having an awful quarrel!" the voices and shouts came from the next field, separated from her by a brook, almost dry now, and a border of crooked young willow trees grown together in an effective windbreak. "anybody who'll gore a cow like that isn't fit to own a single dumb creature!" a clear young voice shaking with passion was carried by the wind to the listening girl. "when i need a blithering, no-'count upstart to teach me my business, i'll call on you and not before," a deeper, harsh voice snarled. "when you're farming for yourself you can feed the neighbors' critters on your corn all you've a mind to!" "oh, dear!" betty scrambled to her feet, forgetting the bouquet so carefully culled, and darted in the direction of the willow hedge. "i do hope mr. peabody hasn't been cruel to an animal. bob is always so furious when he catches him at that!" she crossed the puttering little brook by the simple expedient of jumping from one bank to the other and scrambled through the willow trees, emerging, flushed and anxious-eyed, to confront a boy about fourteen years old in a torn straw hat and faded overalls and a tall, lean middle-aged man with a pitchfork in his hands. "well?" the latter grunted, as betty glanced fearfully at him. "what did you come for? i suppose you think two rows of corn down flat is something to snicker at?" they stood on the edge of a flourishing field of corn, and, following the direction of mr. peabody's accusing finger, betty gordon saw that two fine rows had been partially eaten and trampled. "oh, that's too bad!" she said impulsively, "what did it--a stray cow?" "keppler's black and white heifer," answered mr. peabody grimly. "bob here is finding fault with me because i didn't let it eat its head off." "no such thing!" bob henderson was stung into speech. "because the poor creature didn't get out fast enough to suit you--and you bewildered her with your shouting till she didn't know which way to turn--you jabbed her with the pitchfork. i saw the blood! and i say nobody but an out and out coward would do a thing like that to a dumb animal." "oh!" breathed betty again, softly. "how could you!" "now i've heard about enough of that!" retorted mr. peabody angrily. "if you'd both attend to your own business and leave me to mind mine, we'd save a lot of time. you, bob, go let down the bars and turn that critter into the road. maybe keppler will wake up and repair his fences after all his stock runs off. you'd better help him, betty. he might step on a grub-worm if you don't go along to watch him!" bob strode off, kicking stones as he went, and betty followed silently. she helped him lower the bars and drive the cow into the road, then put the bars in place again. "where are you going?" she ventured in surprise, as bob moodily trudged after the animal wending an erratic way down the road. "going to take her home," snapped bob, "peabody would like to see keppler have to get her out of the pound, but i'll save him that trouble. you can go on back and read your book." "just because you're mad at mr. peabody is no reason why you should be cross to me," said betty with spirit. "i wasn't reading a book, and i'm coming with you. so there!" bob laughed and told her to "come on." he was seldom out of sorts long. indeed, of the two, betty had the quicker temper and cherished a grudge more enduringly. "just the same, betty," bob announced, as he skillfully persuaded the cow to forego the delights of a section of particularly sweet grass and proceed on her course, "i'm about through. i can't stand it much longer; and lately i've been afraid that in a rage i might strike mr. peabody with something and either kill him or hurt him badly. of course, i wouldn't do it if i stopped to think, but when he gets me furious as he did to-day, i don't stop to think." "well, for mercy's sake, bob henderson," ejaculated betty in an instant alarm, "don't kill him, whatever you do. then you'd be put in prison for life!" "all right," agreed bob equably, "i won't kill him--just nick him in a few places--how will that do?" "but i'm really serious," insisted betty. "don't let the cow turn up that lane. think how awful you would feel if you were sent to prison, bob." bob took refuge in a masculine stronghold. "if that isn't just like a girl!" he said scornfully. "who said i was going to prison? i merely say i don't want to lose my temper and do something rash, and you have me convicted and sentenced for life. gee, betty, have a little mercy!" betty's lips trembled. "i can't bear to think of you going away and leaving me here," she faltered. "i'm not going to stay either, bob, not one minute after i hear from uncle dick. i'm sure if the benders knew how things were going, they would think we had a right to leave. i had the loveliest letter from mrs. bender this morning--but it had been opened." bob switched an unoffending flower head savagely. "you come out of that!" he shouted to the perverse cow that seemed determined to turn to the left when she was plainly asked to turn to the right. "wait a minute, betty; here's fred keppler." the half-grown boy who accosted them with "what are you doing with our cow?" grinned fatuously at betty, showing several gaps in a row of fine teeth. "keep your cow at home where she belongs," directed bob magnificently. "she's been making her dinner off our corn." "oh, gee," sighed the boy nervously. "i'll bet old peabody was in a tearing fury. look, bob, something's tore her hide! she must have been down in the blackberry bushes along the brook." "well, see that it doesn't happen again," commanded bob, gracefully withdrawing by walking backward. "corn that's as high as ours is worth something, you know." "you never told him about the pitchfork," said betty accusingly, as soon as fred keppler and the cow were out of earshot. "you let him think it was blackberry bushes that scratched her like that." "well, his father will know the difference," grinned bob cheerfully. "why should i start an argument with fred? saving the cow from the pound ought to be enough, anyway. mr. keppler has had to buy more than one animal out before this; he will not pay attention to his fences." betty sat down on a broad boulder and leaned up against an old hickory tree. "stone in my shoe," she said briefly. "you'll have to wait just a minute, bob." bob sat down on the grass and began to hunt for four leaf clovers, an occupation of which he never tired. "do you think mr. peabody opened your letter?" he asked abruptly. betty paused in the operation of untying her shoe. "who else would?" she said thoughtfully. "it wasn't even pasted together again, but slit across one end, showing that whoever did it didn't care whether i noticed it or not. i'll never mail another letter from that box. i'll walk to glenside three times a day first!" "well, the only thing to do is to clear out," said bob firmly. "you'll have to wait till you hear from your uncle, or at least till the benders get back. we promised, you know, that we wouldn't run away without telling them, or if there wasn't time, writing to them and saying where we go. that shows, i think, that they suspected things might get too hot to be endured." "i simply must get a letter from uncle dick or go crazy," sighed betty feverishly. she put on her shoe and stood up. "i wish he would come for me himself and see how horrid everything is." chapter ii hospitality under difficulties betty gordon had come to bramble farm, as mr. peabody's home was known, early in the summer to stay until her uncle, richard gordon, should be able to establish a home for her, or at least know enough of his future plans to have betty travel with him. he was interested in mines and oil wells, and his business took him all over the country. betty was an orphan, and this uncle dick was her only living relative. he came to her in pineville after her mother's death and when the friends with whom she had been staying decided to go to california. he remembered mrs. peabody, an old school friend, and suggested that betty might enjoy a summer spent on a farm. these events are related in the first book of this series, called "betty gordon at bramble farm." that story tells how betty came to the farm to find joseph peabody a domineering, pitiless miser, his wife agatha, a drab woman crushed in spirit, and bob henderson, the "poorhouse rat," a bright intelligent lad whom the peabodys had taken from the local almshouse for his board and clothes. betty gordon found life at bramble farm very different from the picture she and her uncle had drawn in imagination, and only the fact that her uncle's absence in the oil fields had prevented easy communication with him had held her through the summer. once, indeed, she had run away, but circumstances had brought her and bob to the pleasant home of the town police recorder, and mr. and mrs. bender had proved themselves true and steadfast friends to the boy and girl who stood sorely in need of friendship. it was the benders who had exacted a promise from both bob and betty that they would not run away from bramble farm without letting them know. betty had been instrumental in causing the arrest of two men who had stolen chickens from the peabody farm, and at the hearing before the recorder something of mr. peabody's characteristics and of the conditions at bramble farm had been revealed. anxious to have betty and bob return, joseph peabody had practically agreed to treat them more humanely, and for a few weeks, during which the benders had gone away for their annual vacation, matters at bramble farm had in the main improved. but they were gradually slipping back to the old level, and this morning, when peabody had gored the cow with his pitchfork, bob had thought disgustedly that it was useless to expect anything good at the hands of the owner of bramble farm. as he and betty tramped back after delivering the cow, bob's mind was busy with plans that would free him from mr. peabody and set him forward on the road that led to fortune. bob included making a fortune in his life work, having a shrewd idea that money rightly used was a good gift. "where do you suppose your uncle is?" he asked betty, coming out of a reverie wherein he bade bramble farm and all the dwellers there with a single exception a cold and haughty farewell. "why, i imagine he is in washington," returned betty confidently. "his last letter was from there, though two days ago a postal came from philadelphia. i think likely he went up to see his lawyer and get his mail. you know it was held there while he was out west. i hope he has all my letters now, and last night i wrote him another, asking him if i couldn't leave here. i said i'd rather go to the strictest kind of a boarding school; and so i would. i'll mail the letter this afternoon in glenside." "it's too long a walk for you to take on a hot afternoon," grumbled bob. "i'm going over to trowbridge, and i'll mail it there for you." betty pulled the letter from her blouse pocket and handed it to him. "where's trowbridge?" she asked, as they came in sight of the boundary line of bramble farm and sighted mr. peabody in conversation with the mail carrier at the head of the lane. "can i go with you?" "we'd better hurry," suggested bob, quickening his steps. "trowbridge is four miles beyond laurel grove. you've never been there. no, you can't go, betty, because i have to ride the sorrel. i suppose in time old peabody will buy another wagon, but no one can tell when that will come to pass." the wagon house had burned one night, and the master of bramble farm could not bring himself to pay out the cash for even a secondhand wagon. as a result, the always limited social activities of the farm were curtailed to the vanishing point. "what are you going for?" persisted betty, who had her fair share of feminine curiosity with the additional excuse that interesting events were few and far between in her present everyday life. bob grinned. "going to a vendue," he announced. "now how much do you know?" betty tossed her head, and elevated her small, freckled nose. "a vendue?" she repeated. "why, a vendue is a--a--what is it, bob?" "a sale," said bob. "some farmer is going to sell out and peabody wants a wagon. so i have to ride that horse fourteen miles and back--and he has a backbone like a razor blade!--to buy a wagon; that is, if no one bids over me." "and mr. peabody won't pay more than six dollars; he said so at the supper table last night," mourned betty. "you'll never be able to buy a wagon for that. i wish i could go, too. bob, i never saw a country vendue. please, can't i?" "you cannot," replied bob with unaccustomed decision. betty usually wheedled him into granting her requests. "haven't i just told you there is nothing to go in? if you see yourself perched on that raw-boned nag with me, i don't, that's all. but i tell you what; there's a sale to-morrow at a farm this side of glenside--i'll take you to that, if you like. i guess peabody will let me off, seeing as how there are wagons advertised. we can easily walk to faulkner's place." this promise contented betty, and she ate her dinner quietly. bob rode off on the old horse directly after dinner, and then for the first time betty noticed that mrs. peabody seemed worried about something. "don't you feel well? won't you go upstairs and lie down and let me do the dishes?" urged the girl. "do, mrs. peabody. you can have a nice, long rest before it's time to feed the chickens." "i feel all right," said mrs. peabody dully. "only--well, i found this card from the new minister back of the pump this morning. it's a week old, and he says he's coming out to call this afternoon. there's no place in the house i can show him, and i haven't got a decent dress, either." betty swallowed her first impulse to say what she thought of a husband who would make no effort to see that his wife received her mail, and instead turned her practical mind to consideration of the immediate moment. the so-called parlor was hopeless she knew, and she dismissed it from the list of possibilities at once. it was a sparsely furnished, gloomy room, damp and musty from being tightly closed all summer, and the unpainted, rough boards had never been carpeted. "there's the porch," said betty suddenly. "luckily that's shady in the afternoon, and we can bring out the best things to make it look used. you let me fix it, mrs. peabody. and you can wear--let me see, what can you wear?" mrs. peabody waited patiently, her eyes mirroring her explicit faith in betty's planning powers. "your white shirtwaist and skirt," announced the girl at length. "they're both clean, aren't they? i thought so. well, i'll lend you a ribbon girdle, and you can turn in the high neck so it will be more in style. you'll see, it will look all right." while mrs. peabody washed her dishes with more energy than usual because she had a definite interest in the coming hours, betty flew to the shabby room that was titled by courtesy the parlor. she flung up the windows and opened the blinds recklessly. she would take only the plain wooden chair and the two rockers, she decided, for the stuffed plush furniture would look ridiculous masquerading as summer furnishings. the sturdy, square table would fit into her scheme, and also the small rug before the blackened fireplace. she dashed back to the kitchen and grabbed the broom. she did not dare scrub the porch floor for fear that it would not dry in time, but she swept it carefully and spread down the rug. then one by one, and making a separate trip each time, she carried out the table and the chairs. with a passing sigh for the bouquet abandoned in the field and probably withered by this time, she managed to get enough flowers from the overgrown neglected garden near the house to fill the really lovely colonial glass vase she had discovered that morning. "it looks real pretty," pronounced mrs. peabody, when she was brought out to see the transformed corner of the porch. "looks as if we used it regular every afternoon, doesn't it? do you think it will be all right not to ask him in, betty?" "of course," said betty stoutly. "don't dare ask him in! if he wants a drink of water, call me, and i'll get it for him. you must be sitting in your chair reading a magazine when he comes and he'll think you always spend your afternoons like that." "i'll hurry and get dressed," agreed mrs. peabody, giving a last satisfied glance at the porch. "i declare, i never saw your beat, betty, for making things look pretty." betty needed that encouragement, for when it came to making mrs. peabody look pretty in the voluminous white skirt and stiff shirtwaist of ten years past, the task seemed positively hopeless. betty, however, was not one to give in easily, and when she had brushed and pinned her hostess's thin hair as softly as she could arrange it, and had turned in the high collar of her blouse and pinned it with a cameo pin, the one fine thing remaining to mrs. peabody from her wedding outfit, adding a soft silk girdle of gray-blue, she knew the improvement was marked. mrs. peabody stared at herself in the glass contentedly. "i didn't know i could look that nice," she said with a candor at once pathetic and naive. "i've been wishing he wouldn't come, but now i kinda hope he will." betty gently propelled her to the porch and established her in one of the rocking chairs with a magazine to give her an air of leisure. "you'll come and talk to him, won't you?" urged mrs. peabody anxiously. "it's been so long since i've seen a stranger i won't know what to say." "yes, you will," betty assured her "i'll come out after you've talked a little while. he won't stay long, i imagine, because he will probably have a number of calls to pay." "well, i hope joseph stays out of sight," remarked joseph peabody's wife frankly. "of course, in time the new minister will know him as well as the old one did; but i would like to have him call on me like other parishioners first." chapter iii bob has great news the new minister proved to be a gentle old man, evidently retired to a country charge and, in his way, quite as diffident as mrs. peabody. he was apparently charmed to be entertained on the porch, and saw nothing wrong with the neglected house and grounds. his near-sighted eyes, beaming with kindness and good-will, apparently took comfort and serenity for granted, and when betty came out half an hour after his arrival, carrying a little tray of lemonade and cakes, he was deep in a recital of the first charge he had held upon his graduation from the theological seminary forty years before. "there, that's over!" sighed mrs. peabody, quite like the experienced hostess, when the minister's shabby black buggy was well on its way out of the lane. "you're dreadful good, betty, to help me through with it. he won't come again for another six months--it takes him that long to cover his parish, the farms are so far apart. let me help you carry back the chairs." betty longed to suggest that they leave them out and use the porch as an outdoor sitting room, but she knew that such an idea would be sure to meet with active opposition from the master of bramble farm. long before he came in to supper that night the chairs had been restored to their proper places and mrs. peabody had resumed the gray wrapper she habitually wore. only the vase of flowers on the table was left to show that the afternoon had been slightly out of the ordinary. that and the tray of glasses betty had unfortunately left on the draining board of the sink, intending to wash them with the supper dishes. "whose glasses, and what's been in 'em?" demanded mr. peabody suspiciously. "there's sugar in the bottom of one of 'em. you haven't been making lemonade?" he turned to his wife accusingly. bob had not come home yet, and there was only ethan, the hired man, betty, and the peabodys at the supper table. "i made lemonade," said betty quietly. "those are my own glasses i bought in glenside, and the sugar and lemons were mine, too. so were the cakes." this silenced peabody, for he knew that betty's uncle sent her money from time to time, and though he fairly writhed to think that she could spend it so foolishly, he could not interfere. as soon as it was dark the peabody household retired, to save lighting lamps, and this evening was no exception. betty learned from a stray question mrs. peabody put to ethan, the hired man, that bob was not expected home until ten or eleven o'clock. there was no thought of sitting up for him, though betty knew that in all likelihood he would have had no supper, having no money and knowing no one in trowbridge. she was not sleepy, and having brushed and braided her hair for the night, she threw her sweater over her dressing gown and sat down at the window of her room, a tin of sardines and a box of crackers in her lap, determined to see to it that bob had something to eat. there was a full moon, and the road lay like a white ribbon between the silver fields. betty could follow the lane road out to where it met the main highway, and now and then the sound of an automobile horn came to her and she saw a car speed by on the main road. sitting there in the sweet stillness of the summer night, she thought of her mother, of the old friends in pineville, and, of course, of her uncle. she wondered where he was that night, if he thought of her, and what would be his answer to her letter. "is that a horse?" said betty to herself, breaking off her reverie abruptly. "hark! that sounds like a trotting horse." she was sure that she could make out the outlines of a horse and rider on the main road, but it was several minutes before she was positive that it had turned into the lane. yes, it must be bob. no one else would be out riding at that hour of the night. betty glanced at her wrist-watch--half-past ten. the rhythmic beat of the horse's hoofs sounded more plainly, and soon betty heard the sound of singing. bob was moved to song in that lovely moonlight, as his sorry mount was urged to unaccustomed spirit and a feeling of freedom. "when in thy dreaming, moons like these shall shine again, and, daylight beaming, prove thy dreams are vain." bob's fresh, untrained voice sounded sweet and clear on the night air, and to betty's surprise, tears came unbidden into her eyes. she was not given to analysis. "moonlight always makes me want to cry," she murmured, dashing the drops from her eyes. "i hope bob will look up and know that i'm at the window. i don't dare call to him." but bob, who had stopped singing while still some distance from the house, clattered straight to the barn. betty hurried over to her lamp, lit it, and set it on the window sill. "he'll see it from the barn," she argued wisely, "and know that i am not asleep." her reasoning proved correct, for in a few minutes a well-known whistle sounded below her window. she blew out the light and leaned out. "oh, betty!" bob's tone was one of repressed excitement. "i've got something great to tell you." "have you had any supper?" demanded betty, more concerned with that question than with any news. "i've something for you, if you're hungry." "hungry? gee, i'm starved!" was the response. "i didn't dare stop to ask for a meal anywhere, because i knew i'd be late getting home as it was. the horse was never cut out for a saddle horse; i'm so stiff i don't believe i can move to-morrow. where's the eats?" "here. i'll let it down in a moment," answered betty, tying a string to the parcel. "sorry it isn't more, bob, but the larder's getting low again." bob untied the can and cracker box she lowered to him, and betty pulled in the string to be preserved for future use. "thanks, awfully," said bob. "you're a brick, betty. and, say, what do you think i heard over in trowbridge?" "don't talk so loud!" cautioned betty. "what, bob?" "why, the poorhouse farm is this side of the town," said bob, munching a cracker with liveliest manifestations of appreciation. "coming back to-night--that's what made me late--jim turner, who's poormaster now, called me in. said he had something to tell me. it seems there was a queer old duffer spent one night there a while back--jim thought it must have been a month ago. he has a secondhand bookshop in washington, and he came to the poorhouse to look at some old books they have there--thought they might be valuable. they opened all the records to him, and jim says he was quite interested when he came to my mother's name. asked a lot of questions about her and wanted to see me. jim said he was as queer as could be, and all they could get out of him was that maybe he could tell me something to interest me. he wouldn't give any of the poorhouse authorities an inkling of what he knew, and insisted that he'd have to see me first." "where is he?" demanded betty energetically. "i hope you didn't come away without seeing him, bob. what's his name? how does he look?" "his name," said bob slowly, "is lockwood hale. and he went back to washington the next day." betty's air castles tumbled with a sickening slump. "bob henderson!" she cried, remembering, however, to keep her voice low. "the idea! do you mean to tell me they let that man go without notifying you? why i never heard of anything so mean!" "oh, i'm not important," explained bob, quite without bitterness. "poorhouse heads don't put themselves out much for those under 'em--though jim turner's always treated me fair enough. but lockwood hale had to go back to washington the next day, betty. there honestly wasn't time to send for me." "perhaps they gave him your address," said betty hopefully. "but, oh, bob, you say he was there a month ago?" bob nodded unhappily. "he hasn't my address," he admitted. "jim says he meant to give it to him, but the old fellow left suddenly without saying a word to any one. jim thought maybe he had the name in mind and would write anyway. i'd get it, you know, if it went to the poorhouse. but i guess hale's memory is like a ragbag--stuffed with odds and ends that he can't get hold of when he wants 'em. no, betty, i guess the only thing for me to do is to go to washington." "well, if you don't go to bed, young man, i'll come down there and help you along," an angry whisper came from the little window up under the roof. "you've been babbling and babbling steady for half an hour," grumbled the annoyed ethan. "how do you expect me to get any sleep with that racket going on? come on up to bed before the old man wakes up." thankful that it was ethan instead of mr. peabody, bob gathered up his sardines and the remnants of the crackers and tiptoed up the attic stairs to the room he shared with the hired man. betty hastily slipped into bed, and though bob's news had excited her, she was tired enough to fall asleep readily. in the morning she watched her chance to speak to bob alone, and when she heard him grinding a sickle in the toolhouse ran out to tell him something. "you must let me lend you some money, bob," she said earnestly. "i know you haven't enough to go to washington on. i've been saving, thanks to your advice, and i have more than i need. besides, i could borrow from the guerins or the benders. you will take some, won't you?" "i have enough, really i have," insisted bob. "you know dr. guerin sold every one of those charms i carved, and i haven't spent a cent. it's all buried in a little canvas bag under the rose bush, just like a movie. i hate to take money from a girl, betty." "don't be silly!" betty stamped her foot angrily. "it's only a loan, bob. and you'd feel cheap, wouldn't you, if you had to come back after you ran away because you didn't have enough money? you take this, and you can pay it back as soon as you please after you have seen the old bookstore man." she pushed a tight little wad of money into the boy's perspiring hand. "all right," he capitulated. "i'll borrow it. i would like to know i had enough. sure i'm not crippling you, betsey?" betty shook her head, smiling. "i've enough to buy a ticket to washington," she assured him. "that's all we need, isn't it, bob? oh, how i wish uncle dick would send for me!" chapter iv at the vendue "you, bob!" the shout awakened betty at dawn the next morning, and running to the window she saw bob disappear into the barn, mr. peabody close on his heels. "oh, goodness, i suppose he's scolding about something," sighed the girl. "there always is something to find fault about. i hope bob will keep his temper, because i want him to be able to take me to the vendue this afternoon." joseph peabody came into breakfast in a surly frame of mind, a mental condition faithfully reflected in the attitude of his hired man who jerked back his chair and subsided into it with a grunt. betty's irrepressible sense of humor pictured the dog (the peabodys kept no dog because the head of the house considered that dogs ate more than they were worth) tucking his tail between his legs and slinking under the table as a port in the storm. the dog, she decided, glancing at mrs. peabody's timid face, was all that was needed to set the seal on a scene of ill-nature and discomfort. bob, when he came in late with the milk pails, wore a black scowl and set his burden down with a crash that spilled some of the precious fluid on to the oilcloth top of the side table. "be a little more careful with that," growled mr. peabody, taking the last piece of ham, which left nothing but the fried potatoes and bread for bob's breakfast. "the cows are going dry fast enough without you trying to waste the little they give." bob, looking as though he could cheerfully fling the contents of both pails over his employer, sullenly began to pump water into the hand basin. this habit of "washing up" at the kitchen sink while a meal was in progress always thoroughly disgusted betty, and bob usually performed his ablutions on the back porch. this morning he was evidently too cross to consider a second person's feelings. "always ready enough to throw out what doesn't belong to you," went on mr. peabody grumbling. "born in the poorhouse, you're in a fair way to die there. if i didn't watch you every minute, you'd waste more than i can save in a year." bob, his face buried in the roller towel, lost his temper at this point. "oh, for pete's sake, shut up!" he muttered. but mr. peabody had heard. with a quickness that surprised even his wife, for ordinarily he slouched his way around, he sprang from his chair, reached the side of the unconscious bob, and soundly boxed his ears twice. "i'll take no impudence from you!" he cried, enraged. "here, come back!" he yelled, as bob started for the door. "you come back here and sit down. when you don't come to the table, it will be because i say so. sit down, i say!" bob, his face livid, his ears ringing, dropped into a chair at the table. ethan continued to eat stolidly, and betty kept her eyes resolutely fastened on her plate. "just for that, you stay home from the faulkner sale!" announced mr. peabody who was more than ordinarily loquacious that morning. "i'll find something for you to do this afternoon that'll keep your hands busy, if not your tongue. eat your breakfast. i'll have no mincing over food at my table." poor bob, who had often been forbidden a meal as punishment, now mechanically tried to eat the unappetizing food placed before him. betty was terribly disappointed about the sale, for she had set her heart on going. there were few pleasures open to her as a member of the household at bramble farm, and, with the exception of the guerin girls in town, she had no girl friends her own age. bob had proved himself a sympathetic, loyal chum, and he alone had made the summer endurable. "don't care!" she cried, to console the boy, as peabody and his helper went out of the house to begin the field work for the day. "don't care, bob. i really don't mind not going to the sale." mrs. peabody was in the pantry, straining the milk. "we're going," whispered bob. "you meet me right after dinner at the end of the lane. i'm sick of being knocked around, and i think jim turner will be at the sale. i want to see him. anyway, we're going." "but--but mr. peabody will be furious!" ventured betty. "you know what a scene he will make, bob. do you think we had better go?" "you needn't," said bob ungraciously. "i am." "of course, if you go, so will i," replied betty, swallowing a sharp retort. bob was badgered enough without a contribution from her. "perhaps he will not miss us--we can get back in time for supper." immediately after dinner at noon mr. peabody sent bob out to the hay loft to pitch down hay for the balers who were expected to come and set up their machine that night, ready for work the next day. he could not have selected a meaner job, for the hay loft was stifling in the heat of the midday sun which beat down on the roof of the barn, and there were only two tiny windows to supply air. mr. peabody himself was going up in the woods to mark trees for some needed fence rails. bob departed with a significant backward glance at betty, which sent her flying upstairs to get into a clean frock. mrs. peabody manifested so little interest in her activities that the girl anticipated no difficulty in getting safely out of the house. as it happened, her hostess made the way even easier. "if you're going to glenside, betty," she remarked dully, stopping in the doorway of betty's room as the girl pulled on her hat, "i wish you'd see if grimshaw has any meat scraps. joseph might get me a bit the next time he goes over. just ask how much it is, an' all--the hens need something more than they're getting." betty knew that joseph peabody would never buy meat scraps for his wife's hens. indeed, she had priced stuff several times at mrs. peabody's request and nothing had ever come of it. but she agreed to go to grimshaw's if she got that far in her walk, and mrs. peabody turned aside into her own room without asking any questions. "gee! thought you never were coming," complained bob, when the slim figure in the navy serge skirt and white middy met him at the end of the lane road. "the sale starts at one sharp, you know, and we'll miss the first of it. lots of 'em will come in overalls, so i'll be in style." before they had walked very far they were overtaken by a rattling blackboard, drawn by a lean, raw-boned white horse and driven by a cheerful farmer's wife who invited them to "hop in," an invitation which they accepted gratefully. she was going to the faulkner vendue, she informed them, and her heart was set on three wooden wash tubs and seven yards of ingrain carpet advertised in the list of household goods offered for sale. "my daughter's going to set up for herself next fall," she said happily, "and that ingrain will be just the thing for her spare room." when they reached the faulkner farm, a rather commonplace group of buildings set slightly in a hollow, they found teams and automobiles of every description blocking the lane that led to the house. bob tied the white horse to an unoccupied post for the woman, and she hastened away, worried lest the ingrain carpet be sold before she could reach the crowd surrounding the auctioneer. betty, for whom all this was a brand-new experience, enjoyed the excitement keenly. she followed bob up to the front porch of the house where the household effects were being put up for sale, bob explaining that the live stock would be sold later. "well, look who's here!" cried a hearty voice, as a man, moving aside to give betty room, allowed the person standing next to him to see the girl's face. "betty gordon! and bob, too! not thinking of going to farming, are you?" gray-haired, kindly-faced doctor guerin shook hands cordially, and kept a friendly arm across bob's thin shoulders. "friends of yours coming home next tuesday," he said, smiling as one who knows he brings pleasant news. "the benders are due in laurel grove. mrs. guerin had a postal card last night." betty was glad to hear this, for she did not want bob to leave bramble farm without seeking the advice of the fine young police recorder who had been so good to them and whose friendship both she and bob valued as only those can who need real friends. "i came to bid on a secretary," doctor guerin confided presently. "it's the only good thing in the whole house. rest of the stuff is nothing but trash. that antique dealer from petria is here, too, and i suspect he has his eye on the same piece. don't you want to bid for me bob, to keep him in the dark?" bob was delighted to do the doctor a service, and when the mahogany secretary was put up for sale the few other bidders soon dropped out, leaving the field to the petria dealer and the lad in the faded overalls. the dealer, of course, knew that bob must represent some buyer, but he could not decide for whom he was bidding, and so was in the dark as to how high his opponent would go. had he known that doctor hal guerin was bidding against him, he would have been enlightened, for the doctor's collection of antiques was really famous and the envy of many a professional collector. "i suppose some rube wants the desk for his sitting room," thought the petria man lazily, his eye, keen as it was, failing to see the doctor in the crowd. "let him have it, and i'll buy it from him for ten dollars more before he leaves the sale. he can't resist turning over his money quick like that." so when the auctioneer boomed "sold for forty dollars," and in answer to his request for the buyer's name bob said clearly, "doctor guerin," in his own language, the man from petria was "just plain sick." after the household things were sold--and betty noted with satisfaction that the three tubs and the ingrain carpet went to the woman who had so coveted them--she and bob went out to the barn and watched the horses and cows, wagons, harnesses and farm machinery sold. it was an absorbing and colorful scene, and the boy and girl, fascinated, lingered till the last item was checked off. then, with a start, bob heard a farmer announce that it was half past five. "oh dear!" sighed betty nervously, "you ought to be milking this minute. oh, bob, let's not go home! couldn't we stay overnight with doctor guerin?" "now don't you be afraid, there won't anything happen to scare you," responded bob soothingly. it must be confessed that the knowledge of the little sum of money tucked away under the rosebush gave him a bolder outlook on the future. hiram keppler, who owned the farm just beyond the peabody place, gave them a lift as far as their lane, and as they hurried down the road betty tried her best to master her dread of the coming interview. she had not a doubt but that bob's absence would have been noticed. looking ahead fearfully, she saw a sight that confirmed her worst forebodings. joseph peabody stood at the barnyard gate, a horsewhip in his hand chapter v consequences "oh, bob!" betty clutched the boy's sleeve in a panic. "and the balers have come!" "so!" began mr. peabody, in tones of cold fury. "that's the way you carry out my orders! not one forkful of hay pitched down, and the men ready to go to work to-morrow. you miserable, sneaking loafer, where have you been?" "to the vendue," said bob defiantly. "flatly refuse to mind, do you? well, i'll give you one lesson you won't forget!" the man reached over and gripped bob by his shirt collar. struggling violently, he was pulled over the five-barred gate. "i'll learn you!" snarled peabody, raising the whip. betty sprang up on the gate, her eyes blazing. "how dare you!" she cried, her voice shaking with anger. "how dare you strike him! i'll scream till some one comes if you touch him. those men at the barn won't stand by and see you beat a boy." "hoity toity!" sputtered the amazed farmer, confronting the angry girl in the middy blouse with the blazing cheeks and tangled dark braids. bob tried to pull himself free, but was brought up short by a quick twist. "i'm not through with you," peabody informed him grimly. he glanced quickly toward the barn and observed the men watching him covertly. it was the better part of discretion, something told him, not to flog the boy before so many witnesses. "i'm through with you!" declared bob through clenched teeth. "i'm going! you've had all out of me you're going to get. let go of me!" for answer, peabody tightened his hold on the worn shirt collar. "is that so?" he drawled. "let me tell you, mr. smarty, you'll go out to that barn and pitch down the hay you were supposed to do this afternoon or you'll go back to the poorhouse. you can take your choice. the county has a place for incorrigible boys, and if you go far enough you'll land in the reform school. are you going out to the barn or not?" "i'll go," agreed bob sullenly. "then see that you do. and you needn't bother to stop for supper--you've several hours' lost time to make up," said peabody nastily. "now go!" he shook the boy till his teeth rattled and then released him with a powerful sling that sent him spinning into the dust. bruised and shaken, bob picked himself up and started for the barn. "you hold your tongue a bit better, or something'll come your way," said peabody shortly, eyeing betty with disfavor and turning on his heel at a shout of "ho, boss!" from the foreman of the balers. "hateful!" cried betty stormily, climbing down from the gate. "he's the most absolutely hateful man that ever lived! i wonder if he could send bob back to the poorhouse?" the same thought was troubling bob, she found, when after supper she went out to the barn and climbed the loft ladder to see him. she had brought him some bread and water, the latter contributed by the peabody pump and the bread saved from betty's own meal. "do you know, betty," confided the boy, wiping the heavy perspiration from his face with a distressingly hot looking red cotton handkerchief, "i've been thinking over what old peabody said. he might take it into his head to send me back to the poorhouse. he really needs a younger boy, one he can slam about more. i'm getting so i can fight back. i don't fancy hanging on here till he makes up his mind to get another boy, and running away from the poorhouse isn't a simple matter. i'd better make the plunge while there's good swimming." it was stifling in the loft, and betty felt almost giddy. she sat at the top of the ladder, her feet hanging over the edge of the floor and regarded bob anxiously. "well, perhaps you had better go early next week," she said judiciously. "it would be dreadful if he did return you to the poorhouse." "therefore, i'm going to-night," announced bob coolly. "there's an eleven-thirty train from glenside that will make some sort of connection with the southern local at the junction. wish me luck, betty!" "to-night!" gasped betty in dismay. "oh, bob! don't go to-night. wait just one night more, ah, please do!" betty had the truly feminine horror of quick decisions, and she was frankly upset by this determination of bob's. even as she pleaded she knew he had made up his mind and that it was useless to ask him to change it. "i don't see how you can go--you're not ready," she argued feverishly. "your shirts are on the line; i saw them. you're dead tired after all this work, and it's a long walk to glenside. wait just till to-morrow, bob, and i won't say a word." "no, i'm going to-night," said bob firmly. "i haven't so much packing to do that it will take me over fifteen minutes. i'll help myself to the shirts on the line as i go in. by to-morrow morning i'll be as far away from bramble farm as the local can take me." "but--but--i'll miss you so!" protested betty, the catch in her voice sounding perilously close to tears. "what shall i ever do all alone in this hateful place!" "oh, now, betty!" bob put a clumsy hand on her shoulder in an effort to comfort her. "don't you care--you'll be going to washington as soon as you get word from your uncle. maybe i'll be there when you come, and we'll go sightseeing together." "are you going right to washington?" asked betty, drying her eyes. "and are you sure you have enough money?" "oceans of cash," bob assured her cheerfully. "that's right, brace up and smile. think what it will mean to have one peaceful breakfast, for the last week peabody has ragged me every meal. sure i'm going to washington to dig out a few facts from this lockwood hale. now i'll throw down a little more hay for good measure and we'll go on in. mustn't rouse suspicions by staying out too long. peabody will probably sit up for me to come in to-night." betty waited till the hay was pitched down, then followed bob to the main floor of the barn. "couldn't i walk just a little way with you?" she asked wistfully. "how soon are you going to start? i could go as far as the end of the lane." "i'd rather you went to bed and to sleep," said bob kindly. "you couldn't very well traipse around at night, betty, and i'm not going till it is good and dark. there's no moon to-night, and you might have trouble getting back to the house." "well--all right," conceded betty forlornly. "there doesn't seem to be anything i can do. whistle under my window, please do, bob. i'll be awake. and i could say good-by. i won't make a fuss, i promise." the boy's packing was of the simplest, for he owned neither suitcase nor trunk, and his few belongings easily went into a square of old wrapping paper. he had earned them, few as they were, and felt no compunctions about taking them with him. after the bundle was tied up he waited a half hour or so, purely as a precaution, for the peabody household went to bed with the chickens and, with the possible exception of mrs. peabody, slumbered heavily. bob slipped down the stairs, waking no one, unfastened the heavy front door, never locked and only occasionally, as to-night, bolted with a chain, and stepped softly around to the bush where his precious tin box was buried. this box was bob's sole inheritance from his mother, and he had only a vague knowledge of the papers entrusted to it. among the yellowed slips was the marriage certificate of his parents, and he knew that there were one or two letters. when joseph peabody had taken him from the poorhouse, the lad had buried the box for safekeeping, and during the three or four years he had been with mr. peabody had never taken it up. it was not buried very deeply, and he easily uncovered it, smoothing down the earth to hide the traces of his hasty excavating. he went around to betty's window and whistled softly, half hoping that she might be asleep. "hello, bob dear!" she called instantly, leaning from the window, her vivid face so alight with affection and hope for him that it was a pity he could not see her clearly. "i'm wishing you the best of luck, and i hope the old bookstore man has splendid news for you. you wait for me in washington." "i will!" whispered bob heartily. "and you tell mr. bender, won't you? he'll understand. i'll write him the first chance i get, and doc guerin, too. good-by, betty--i--i--" to his surprise and confusion, bob suddenly choked. "here's something to take with you," said betty softly, dropping a little packet that landed at his feet. "good-by, bob. i just know things will turn out all right for you." the dark head was withdrawn, and bob, picking up the little package, turned and began his long walk to the glenside station. a hoot-owl screeched at mournful intervals, and the night sounds would have tried a city lad's nerves in that long dark stretch that led him finally to the station. but bob could identify every sound, and nature had always proved kind to him, far kinder than many of the people he had known. he trudged along sturdily, and, twenty minutes before the train was due, found himself the solitary passenger on the glenside platform. he stood under the uncertain rays of the lamp to examine the parting gift betty had given him. tucked under half a dozen chocolate wafers was a five dollar bill folded into the tiniest possible wad. the choky feeling assailed bob again. "she certainly is some girl!" he thought with mixed gratitude and admiration. chapter vi the runaway missed bob's absence was not discovered till breakfast time, for ethan, who was a sound sleeper, when he woke and saw bob's empty cot, supposed the boy had risen earlier than usual and gone to the barn. mr. peabody, too, took it for granted that the boy was milking, and it was not until they were seated at the table and half way through the meal that anything out of the ordinary was suspected. "why in tarnation doesn't that good for nothing bring in the milk?" grumbled mr. peabody. "i declare he gets later and later every morning. the balers will be over to start work at seven, and if he thinks he's going to spend half an hour dawdling over his breakfast after they get here, he's much mistaken." the men who were to bale the hay had slept at the adjoining farm, according to the agreement made, and would be at bramble farm for dinner and supper and to spend that night. "you're finished, ethan. go hurry him up," ordered joe peabody. "send him in here flying and turn the cows out to pasture." "he hasn't milked!" ethan cleared the porch steps at a single bound and burst into the kitchen, shouting this intelligence. excitement was scarce in ethan's life, and he enjoyed the pleasurable sensation of carrying unusual tidings, even if unpleasant. "the barn door was shut and the cows were bellowing their heads off. not a one of 'em's been milked!" "i want to know!" said joseph peabody stupidly. "was he in bed when you came down, ethan?" "no, he wasn't," answered the hired man. "i thought he'd gone on out. do you suppose something's happened to him?" mr. peabody stepped to the porch and gave a quick glance at the bench where the milk pails were usually left to air and dry. they were there, just as they had been left the night before. "i think he's cleared out!" he announced: grimly. "betty, do you know what this young scoundrel is up to?" betty's eyes brimmed over, and she flung herself blindly into mrs. peabody's arms which closed around her, though that good woman was unaccustomed to demonstrations of affection. "there, there." she tried to soothe the girl, for betty's convulsive sobbing really alarmed her. "don't you go to feel bad, dearie. if bob's gone, he's gone, and that's all there is to it." peabody, milk pail in hand, motioned to ethan to go out and begin milking. "that isn't all there is to it, not by a long shot!" he growled at his wife. "if i get my hands on that boy he'll rue the day he ever set foot off this farm. he'll go back to the poorhouse and there he'll stay till he's of age." betty sat up, pushing the tumbled hair from her hot forehead. "i'm glad bob ran away!" she cried recklessly. "he's gone where you won't catch him, either. you never treated him fairly, and you know it." peabody banged the kitchen door by way of relieving his feelings, but the latch did not fasten so that he heard betty's next sentence addressed to his wife. "i'm only waiting for a letter from uncle dick," confided betty. "then i'm going to washington. things will never be any different here, mrs. peabody; you've said so yourself. i wish uncle dick would hurry and write. it's been a good while since i heard." and there was a catch in the girl's voice. the man slouched off the porch, a peculiar smile on his lean, shrewd face. one hand, thrust into his ragged coat pocket, rested on a letter there. as he felt it beneath his fingers, his crafty eyes brightened with a gleam of mockery. mrs. peabody may have been curious about bob's departure, but she asked no questions, somewhat to betty's surprise. "i'm glad she doesn't ask me," thought betty, helping mechanically in the preparations for dinner which were more elaborate than usual because of the presence of the three balers. "bob must be half way to washington by now, and i don't believe they have the slightest idea he is headed for there." the peabodys, she reasoned, knew nothing of lockwood hale, and of the attraction the capital of the country held for the orphan lad. betty insisted on doing a fair share of the extra work after the noon meal, and then ran upstairs to get ready to go over to glenside. she wanted to tell the guerins that bob had gone, and from their house she knew she could telephone to those other good friends, the benders. laurel grove was too far to walk, even for a practised hiker like betty. to her dismay, as she left the house, mr. peabody joined her and fell into step. "i'll go as far as durlings with you," he announced affably, durling being their neighbor on the south, his farm lying along the road in the direction of glenside. "sorry the horses haven't shoes, betty, or you might drive." betty shot him a suspicious glance. the three horses never were shod, except when a certain amount of traveling had to be done on the stone road. in all the weeks she had spent at bramble farm a horse had never been offered for her convenience, and all of her trips to town had been either afoot, or taken with bob in the rattling, shabby, one-horse work wagon. "where did you say bob was going?" came next. betty bit her lip. "i didn't say," she said evenly. "i--i don't think it's fair to ask me." "but you know," snapped mr. peabody. "i guess i have a right to know where he's gone. i'm responsible for him. i've got papers that show it. the poorhouse folks are going to ask me what becomes of him. you just tell me where he went, and i'll satisfy 'em. i won't follow him and try to bring him back, betty. he's too old for that. making his bed, he'll have to lie on it. i won't follow him." the girl twisted her handkerchief nervously. she was not afraid of the man. that is, she feared no physical violence at his hands, but he was capable, she knew, of forcing her back to the farm and locking her up in her room till she furnished him with the required information. and what harm could it do bob? it was not likely that peabody could find the boy in a large city. "he won't be made to come back," repeated her tormentor. "i wish i could believe you," said betty pitifully. she looked so young and helpless, trying to pit her girlish intelligence and strength against the wily miser, that another man would have been ashamed to press her. not so peabody--he had always considered that he was entitled to whatever he could get from others, information, cash, or work, it mattered not. they were approaching the durling farm now, and suddenly betty's pointed chin lifted. "i won't tell you!" she said firmly. "i do know where bob went, but he was perfectly justified in leaving a place where he was treated worse than a dog. you would do him no good--i'm sure of that. and if the poorhouse authorities make a fuss about his running off, i'll tell them what he had to endure." joseph peabody's mouth dropped in astonishment. he had seen betty lose her temper before, but she had never so openly defied him. "you think you're high and mighty," he sneered. "let me tell you, miss, there's more ways than one of getting what you want in this world. joe peabody isn't checkmated very often, and it takes more than an impudent girl to do it. i'm going into lem durling's and telephone jim turner, the poormaster. i kind of surmise he can give me a line on the direction bob's taken." betty walked on, disdaining to answer, her head very high in the air but her heart in her shoes. jim turner would be sure to tell of lockwood hale, and mr. peabody would be astute enough to guess that bob's destination was washington. when she reached doctor guerin's house, between the heat and the dust and the long walk and her anxiety, she was in a highly excited state, and the doctor's wife made her lie down on the couch and rest before she would allow her to telephone to the benders. mrs. bender's sister answered the telephone. the recorder and his wife had made a detour on their homeward trip that would extend their absence for another week. "betty, you'll be ill if you're going to get all worked up like this," scolded mrs. guerin, for betty was crying as she hung up the receiver. "i never saw you so unstrung, my dear. you won't be fit to go to your uncle when he does send for you. i wonder if the doctor hadn't better see you?" norma and alice guerin, two pretty girls, the former about betty's age, the latter a year or two older, looked at her anxiously. betty in tears was an unusual sight to them. "i'm all right," gulped that young person, inwardly alarmed at the thought of being too ill to travel when the word came. "i didn't sleep very well last night, thinking of bob. is that the secretary he bid on at the faulkner sale?" knowing that the quickest way for betty to get control of her nerves was to forget her troubles, mrs. guerin entered into an enthusiastic description of the beauties of the old desk, showing the secret drawer and the half score of carved pigeonholes and dwelling on the doctor's delight in securing such a treasure at a bargain. mrs. guerin succeeded in having betty more like her old self before doctor hal guerin came in from a round of calls. he was delighted to see betty, who was an especial favorite of his, and much interested in her account of bob's flight. "did the lad have money enough?" he growled. "i suppose he'd walk before he'd borrow from me." "he had enough," betty assured him. "all the charms you sold for him amounted to quite a lot, and he had saved every cent of that." "and you probably helped him out," commented the doctor shrewdly. "well, well, the lad may yet whittle his way to fame and fortune." he referred to bob's knack for fashioning pretty and quaint little wooden charms and pendants, which he polished to satin smoothness and painted and stained in bright colors. norma guerin had worn one at boarding school, and it was through her and her father that bob had secured a large number of orders which had netted him a tidy little sum. when the time came for betty to go, the doctor insisted that he would take her as far as the lane, and on the trip she told him that as soon as she heard from her uncle she meant to pack her trunk and leave for washington. "i don't like the idea of your making the journey alone," grumbled doctor guerin; "but i don't see who there is to go with you. one thing, betty girl, brushing up against the peabodys has given you a practical fund of self-reliance. you're better fitted than alice to find your way about alone. not that i would have chosen to have you get your knocks just in the manner they've been handed to you, but the results leave nothing to be desired. you're standing squarely on your own feet, betsey, and it's this summer's grilling training that has done it." chapter vii a belated letter the hay was all baled by the next morning, and the balers, atop the lumbering machine, caroled loudly if not musically as the fat horses dragged them slowly up the lane. neat bales of hay were piled high on the barn floor, to be carted over to hagar's corners and loaded on a freight car. that would be ethan's job, and he grumbled at the prospect of doing it without bob's help. betty, coming in from the garden, stumbled over something in the narrow entry. it was a man's coat--mr. peabody's, she recognized when she picked it up and shook it slightly to free it from dust. a letter fell from the pocket as she replaced it on the hook where it usually hung, and, stopping to pick it up, she saw to her surprise that it was addressed to her. "from washington!" she said aloud, deciphering the postmark. "and mailed five days ago! he's carried it in his pocket ever since it came!" at first she feared it had been read, but evidently mr. peabody had not troubled to open it; so hastily tearing the envelope, she read the brief note. a check was enclosed for her, and mr. gordon suggested that she go to pineville and visit old friends there for a week or two until his plans were definitely shaped. "i know the arnolds are in california," he wrote; "but the bensingers will be glad to have you, or any of your mother's old friends. you do not have to stay one minute where you are unhappy." betty looked up as a shadow fell across the sunny floor. it was mr. peabody, and he had the grace to show confusion when he saw the letter in her hand. betty sprang to her feet. "why did you keep my letter?" she demanded hotly. "how did you dare to hold back mail? this must have been in your coat pocket three or four days. it was mailed five days ago!" "been rummaging in my coat pocket, have you?" sneered the farmer. "i have not! the coat was on the floor, and i fell over it. the letter fell out while i was trying to hang it up. no one has a right to hold back another person's mail!" "now hold your horses," advised peabody pacifically. "who's been holding back mail? if a body takes the mail out of the box and carries it around in his coat a day or two, because he doesn't remember it, that ain't such a crime that i ever knew. i just forgot there was a letter for you." betty turned away in disgust and went out to her favorite apple tree to think things over. she did not believe for one moment that mr. peabody had forgotten her letter. indeed, absent-mindedness was far from being one of his traits. however, there was absolutely nothing to be gained by arguing, and the way was now clear for her to leave bramble farm. surely the worst of her troubles were over. "i might go to pineville," she thought meditatively. "i'd love to see the bensingers again and the dear little house where we lived. i'll pack this afternoon." betty was an orderly little person, and at her work that afternoon she stopped frequently to sew on a button here, to mend a rip in this garment or to whip a frayed edge that might mar an otherwise dainty belonging. singing softly over her task, a timid knock at her door wakened the girl from a happy reverie. "come in, mrs. peabody," she called cheerfully. "do sit down and give me advice about where things should go. i thought i hadn't bought anything this summer, but i seem to have a great deal more stuff than i brought with me." "you're packing then?" asked mrs. peabody, taking a chair near the bed and regarding betty oddly. "are you really going, betty?" "oh, yes," betty answered matter-of-factly, "uncle dick wants me to stop in pineville and visit old friends for a bit. and there's no use in pretending, mrs. peabody, that--that--" "no, i suppose not," sighed the woman, understanding only too well. "land knows, if i could get away i'd have no misgivings about the right of it. i'll miss you, though. you've been a sight of company this summer, and no one could have been sweeter to me, betty." "agatha!" came a stentorian shout from the front hall. "are you going to stay up there all day?" "my stars, i forgot what i came up for!" mrs. peabody rose hurriedly. "joseph sent me up to tell you he wanted to ask you something, betty. and here i sit right down and him waiting there all this time!" betty was far from concerned over mr. peabody's wasted time, but she wondered uneasily what he could wish to ask her. something connected with bob, doubtless. she followed mrs. peabody downstairs and found the master of bramble farm striding up and down impatiently. "never saw the beat of women," he muttered. "gabble, gabble, and an hour right out of a day's work means nothing to 'em. oh, here you are, miss. you know that gray alpaca coat of mine you took the letter from this morning?" "the coat the letter fell out of?" corrected betty, knowing that such quibbling was foolish on her part and might provoke serious irritation in her questioner, yet unable to refrain. "of course i remember it; what about it?" peabody accepted her description of the coat. he was plainly excited and nervous, and betrayed a curious disposition to conciliate betty, instantly detected in his change of tone. "did you pick up any other papers?" he asked quite politely. "any folded sheets, i mean, or a long envelope? i thought you might have put them back of the clock or somewhere for safe keeping and forgotten to mention them to me." betty looked her astonishment. automatically her eyes traveled to the clock which was pulled out of its place against the wall. so the man had actually looked there, believing that out of chagrin she might have concealed his papers from him! "nothing fell out of your pocket except my letter," she said earnestly and with a quietness that carried conviction. "i saw absolutely nothing else on the floor. if i had picked up other papers, i should have returned them to you, of course." mrs. peabody cleared her throat, usually a sign of coming speech on the rare occasions when she did open her mouth in her husband's presence. "what you lost, joseph?" she asked eagerly. "something missing out o' your pocket?" "yes, something out of my pocket!" said her husband savagely. "you wouldn't know if i told you, but it's an unrecorded deed and worth a good deal of money. and i'll bet i know who took it--that measly runaway, bob henderson! by gum, he carried the coat up to the house for me from the barn the day before he lit out. that's where it's gone. i see his game! he'll try to get money out of me. but i won't pay him a cent. no sir, i'll go to washington first and choke the deed out of his dirty pocket." "did bob go to washington?" quavered mrs. peabody, her mind seizing on this concrete fact, the one statement she could understand in her husband's monologue. "how'd you find out, joseph?" "not through betty," returned peabody grimly. "she's willing to take the scoundrel's part against honest folks any time. jim turner told me. leastways he told me of some old duffer who runs a crazy shop down there, and he thinks bob's gone looking him up to find out about his parents. just let him try blackmailing me, and he'll learn a thing or two." betty had kept still as long as she could. "bob is no thief!" she said bravely. "you ought to be ashamed to say such a thing about him. i know he didn't take your old deed. what earthly use would it be to him? besides, bob would never touch a thing that wasn't his!" "i don't believe he would take anything, joseph," urged mrs. peabody with perfectly amazing temerity. as a rule she took neither side in a controversy. "besides, as the child says, what good would an unrecorded deed do him? unless--joseph, have you bought the warren lots?" "you tend to your housework, and i'll manage my own affairs," snapped peabody, turning a dull brick red, however. "i meant to put the thing in the safety deposit box over to the bank, and then that sick cow took my mind completely off it. if betty didn't take it, bob did. it's gone, and they're the only two that could have put hands on it." "i tell you that i haven't seen the deed," said betty firmly. "and i am equally certain that bob never took it. he's the soul of honor, whatever you may think, and he would no more take what wasn't his than he would lie to you about it." peabody caught hold of her right hand suddenly. "what you carrying?" he demanded suspiciously. "a trunk key? looks mighty funny, doesn't it, to be packing up with something pretty valuable missing? the law would likely give me the right to search your trunk." "what a dreadful old man you are!" cried betty, involuntarily, shrinking from the sinister face that grinned malevolently into hers. "you have no right to touch my trunk." "well, no call to look like that," muttered peabody, turning toward the door. "i knew that other young one took it, and i aim to make it hot for him." "bob didn't take any deed!" stormed betty to mrs. peabody, her packing forgotten for the moment. "why does he keep insisting bob stole it? and why, oh, why did that poorhouse man have to tell where bob had gone?" mrs. peabody's natural curiosity had to be satisfied, and as it was no longer a secret betty told her of lockwood hale and bob's determination to find out more about himself. "he doesn't want any deed," she finished scornfully. "can't you make mr. peabody see how foolish such an accusation is?" mrs. peabody leaned against the kitchen table wearily. "i know what he's thinking," she said dully. "i know more than i want to know, betty. joseph has bought the warren lots, and that means he's got 'em for his own price. old man warren is in his dotage and these lots have been surveyed and cut up into building plots on the stone road over t'other side of laurel grove where the trolley's coming through this spring. joseph will probably sell 'em for three times what he's paid for 'em. that's why he doesn't have the deed recorded; warren's children will get hold of it, and i doubt if the sale would hold in court. everybody knows the old father isn't competent to handle his property. there was talk of having one of the sons made his guardian some months ago. joseph has just talked him into selling. if he wasn't my husband, i should say the sale was a plain swindle." chapter viii good-by to bramble farm betty was still mystified. "what has bob to do with it?" she urged. "i don't see how the deed would be of any use to him; he couldn't claim the lots." "no, he couldn't claim the lots," admitted joseph peabody's wife. "but he could hold the deed and threaten to notify george warren, if joseph didn't pay him a good round sum of money. mind you, i'm not saying he would do that, betty, but he could. that's what joseph thinks he means to do." "well, i call that very silly," said betty briskly. "bob henderson isn't a thief or a blackmailer, whatever mr. peabody chooses to think. that deed is probably in another coat pocket this minute, or else he's lost it over in glenside." "i expect that worries him some, too," confided mrs. peabody. "he would hate to have it known that he's bought the warren lots. but i guess it would have been better to have had the deed recorded than to run the risk of losing it and the whole town likely to pick it up on the street." before supper that night betty had her trunk packed and her simple belongings gathered up. she knew that peabody was fully aware of her intention to leave, but, as her board was paid for nearly a week in advance, he could make no possible objection. it was sheer perversity, she decided, that kept him from mentioning the subject to her. "i'm going to-morrow, mr. peabody," she said pleasantly at the supper table, having waited till ethan had gone to the barn to milk. "what time would be most convenient to take my trunk over to glenside or to hagar's corners?" "i'm not going to either place to-morrow," was the composed answer. "don't know exactly when i shall be going over again, either. ethan and me's got our hands full right here with the late-season cultivating." "but i have to get to the station," protested betty. "i can walk, of course, but some one will have to take my trunk. you met me at the station when i came, or rather bob did, you know. why aren't you willing to help me go now that the summer is nearly over?" "you haven't done me so many favors that i should put myself out for you," retorted peabody sourly. "i don't care how you get to the station, but none of my rigs go off this place to-morrow, that's flat. and you haven't got that thieving nimble-fingers to plot and plan with you now. you'll have to manage by yourself." "what are you going to do, betty?" asked mrs. peabody anxiously, following the girl to the door after the meal was over. "you're not going to walk to glenside to-night to try to get a team to come after you?" "no, i'm only going over to kepplers," replied betty capably. "i'm sure one of the boys will drive me over, if not to glenside, to hagar's corners, where i can get some kind of train for the junction. all the through trains stop at hagar's corners, don't they? i came that way. perhaps that station is better than glenside, after all." the walk across the fields tranquillized her, and she was able to enlist the aid of the keppler's oldest boy without entering into too detailed an account of mr. peabody's shortcomings. indeed, the kepplers, father and sons, having been the nearest neighbors to bramble farm for eleven years, had a very fair idea of what went on there. "sure, i'll take you, and the trunk, too," promised fred keppler heartily. "any time you say, betty. there's a good train for pineville, not too many stops, at twelve-three. how about that?" it was settled that he should come for her about half past ten, and betty walked home filled with thoughts of the little home town to which she would be speeding on the morrow. "if uncle dick knew the things i've had to endure, i'm sure he'd say that i haven't lost my temper often, considering," she mused. "is that something sticking out of the mail box? why. it is, and a newspaper. i guess mr. peabody forgot to come down to the box to-day." she opened the box and found the paper was addressed to her. the familiar wrapper and type told her it was the _pineville post_, to which she had subscribed when she left the town, and, tucking it under her arm, she went on to the house, intending to read an hour or so before going to bed. lighting the lamp in her room, betty glanced toward her trunk mechanically. she had left it locked, but the lid was now ajar. had some one been tampering with the lock? "he's opened it!" she cried to herself, making a hasty examination. "how did he dare! and look at the mess everything's in!" alas for betty's hour of neat and careful packing! dainty garments were tossed about recklessly, her shoes rested on her clean handkerchiefs, and it was plain that no attempt had been made to conceal the fact that a heavy hand had thoroughly explored the contents of the trunk. "i'm only thankful he didn't break the lock," said betty, trying to find a ray of brightness. "whatever he opened it with, nothing is broken. i suppose the only thing to do is to take everything out and do it all over. and to-morrow morning i'll sit on the top till fred keppler comes." taking out her clothes and repacking was a tiresome job, and all thoughts of reading well gone from betty's mind when the task was completed and the trunk locked for a second time. with the feeling that, in view of what the next day might bring, she ought to go to bed early, she began at once to prepare for bed. brushing her thick, dark hair, her eyes fell on the unopened paper. "i suppose i'll be there to-morrow night," she thought, picking it up and slitting the wrapper with a convenient nail file. she opened and smoothed out the first page. the first words that caught her attention, in large black headlines across four columns, were: gypsy band stricken with small-pox: whole town quarantined! then followed the account of the discovery of illness among a band of gypsies camped on the outskirts of pineville, of the diagnosis of smallpox, and of the strict quarantine immediately put in force. the issue of the _post_ was only two days old. "well, i never!" gasped betty, doing some rapid thinking. "i'm glad it didn't happen after i got there. i might be held up for weeks. i can't stay here, that's certain. there's nothing to do but drive to glenside and take the train for washington. i guess fred will be willing to change his plans." she decided that she would say nothing to the peabodys about the alteration of her traveling schedule, fearing that if mr. peabody heard she was going to washington he might accuse her of a conspiracy with bob in connection with the lost deed. bright and early the next morning she was up, her pretty traveling bag, the gift of her uncle, packed, her room in perfect order. there was really no one or nothing to say good-by to, for she felt more pity than affection for mrs. peabody, and the bramble farm animals had been too unused to petting to respond readily to her overtures. betty, at the breakfast table, had a swift conviction that she would be leaving with far different feelings if bob had been there to stay behind. mr. peabody asked her no questions about her plans and stalked off as usual to the barn with ethan when he had finished the meal. "i declare i'm going to miss you, betty," said mrs. peabody once, in the middle of the dishwashing, with which betty insisted on helping. that was a good deal for her to say, and the girl, who had a natural longing to be missed, was grateful. and when fred keppler drove into the yard, promptly at half-past ten, and went upstairs for her trunk--for neither peabody nor his hired man was in sight--mrs. peabody kissed her warmly and with tears in her eyes. "hop right in, betty," said fred cordially. "got a nice day for your trip, haven't you? all fixed? all right, then." he gathered up the reins and had turned the horse's head when, apparently from the clouds, mr. peabody appeared on the scene. "long as you're going over to hagar's corners you won't mind giving me a lift, will you?" he drawled. "i have an errand over at the station, and it won't take me a minute. i can come right back with you. go on, fred; i'll sit in here with the trunk and you and betty needn't mind me." without waiting for an invitation, he swung himself up on top of the trunk, and smiled pleasantly. he was saving his own horse a long drive and getting a necessary errand done at the expense of a neighbor, always a desirable consummation in the peabody mind. fred opened his mouth and closed it wordlessly. his father would have known what to do, but fifteen-year-old fred did not know how to deal with such a display of assurance. there seemed nothing to do but to take this unwelcome passenger to hagar's corners and back. betty, for her part, could have cried with vexation. gone was her chance of asking fred to take her to glenside, and with it the hope of getting to washington. she knew that after the noon train at hagar's corners there were no more till four o'clock. she wanted to say good-by to the guerins and to cash her uncle's check. no wonder she was assailed by a strong desire to tumble the satisfied mr. peabody out head over heels. the drive was taken almost in silence, each of the three busy with his own thoughts. at the station betty and her trunk were put down, and then she had a few minutes to speak to fred while mr. peabody was talking to the freight agent, who was also the passenger agent, the telegraph clerk and the janitor. "don't you want some money?" whispered fred hurriedly. "mother told me to ask you. and she sent you this." he thrust into her hands a box of lunch. "i have a check i want to cash," said betty nervously. "will the station agent do it, do you suppose? it's for fifty dollars. and, fred, pineville is quarantined for smallpox and i want to go to washington, but i didn't want mr. peabody to know. hush! here he comes now!" fred keppler had what his fond mother called a "good head," and as peabody and the agent stopped in the station doorway to continue their discussion he proceeded to bear out her theory by thrusting a wad of bills into betty's hand. "money for the calves," he explained. "just fifty there. haven't seen dad to turn it over to him. give me the check and it will be all right. and you ask dan gowdy, the agent, about trains. i guess he can dope out a way to get you to washington. you still have ten minutes." "good-by, and thank you heaps!" cried betty warmly, shaking his hand. "i don't know what i should have done without you, fred!" chapter ix new friends her hands filled with the bank bills fred had thrust into them, her bag under one arm and the lunch box under the other, betty stood forlornly on the platform and watched the horse and wagon out of sight. mr. peabody had merely nodded to her by way of farewell, and betty felt that if she never saw him again there would be little to regret. as a matter of fact, she was to meet him again and not under much more favorable aspects. but of that she was happily ignorant. the whistling of the lanky young station agent, who was covertly staring at her under pretense of sweeping up the already neat boards before the door, roused her. she remembered that she did not want to go to pineville. "why, i guess i can fix it up for you," said dan gowdy cheerfully, when she had stated her predicament, withholding only the reason for not telling mr. peabody. "let me see--twelve-three stops at centertown. but you don't want to spend the night on the train. going from centertown, you'd get to washington about ten in the morning." "i'd rather not sleep on the train," answered betty timidly, hoping that she was not unreasonable. aside from the expense, she was not used to traveling, and the idea of a night alone on the train for the first time rather daunted her. "well, then--wait a minute, i've got it!" shouted the agent enthusiastically. "you buy a ticket up the line to halperin. that's quite a town, and the through trains all stop. my brother-in-law's telegraph operator there, and i'll send him a message to look out for you, and he and my sister will keep you over night. they've got a pretty place right in the country--trolley takes you to the door--and a baby that's named for me and some kid if i do say it. then in the morning you can take the seven-forty-five for washington and get there at five-fifty-two if it isn't late. how's that?" "but your sister!" stammered betty. "she doesn't know me. what will she say?" "she'll say you have eyes just like juliet, the little sister who died when she was about your age," declared dan gowdy gently. "don't you fret, sister, she'll be glad to have you. now here's your ticket, and i'll talk to steve as soon as you're on board the train. that's her smoke now." betty was conscious that there was something else on her mind, but it was not until she was seated in the train and had had her ticket punched that she remembered. she had thanked kind dan gowdy rather incoherently, though as warmly as she could, and had only half heard his explanation that she was taking the : train up the line instead of the : down, and it was no wonder that in the bustle of boarding the train she had forgotten her intention of telegraphing to her uncle dick. he had given her his address as the willard hotel, and the letter was already six days old. "but i really think in the morning will be better," decided betty, watching the flying landscape. "he wouldn't have given me the address if he didn't expect to be there for some time. before i take the washington train i'll telegraph him and let him know when to meet me." the train made three stops before halperin was reached, and betty stepped down to find herself before a pretty, up-to-date station built of cream-colored brick, with a crowd of stylish summer folk mingling on the platform with farmers and townspeople. several automobiles were backed up waiting for passengers, and there were one or two old-fashioned hacks. a trolley car was rounding the street corner, the motorman sounding his bell noisily. "betty gordon, isn't it?" asked a pleasant voice. a round-faced man was smiling down at her, a young man, betty decided, in spite of the white hair. his keen dark eyes were pleasant, and he held out his hand cordially. "dan told me you had cornflowers on your hat," he said quizzically, "and i, knowing that dan calls all blue flowers cornflowers, picked you out right away. only they are forget-me-nots, aren't they?" "they're supposed to be larkspur," answered betty, laughing and feeling at ease at once. "perhaps the milliner didn't have a garden." "well, anyway, they're blue," said the brother-in-law comfortably. "don't suppose dan told you my name?" he was guiding her around the station toward the trolley tracks as he spoke. "he said the baby was named for him, but he didn't say what your name was," admitted betty dimpling. "just like him!" grinned her companion. "dan's so all-fired proud of that youngster he never lets a chance slip to tell we named him daniel gowdy brill. though dan senior usually forgets to add the brill." "does--does mrs. brill know i'm coming?" ventured betty. "she sure does! i telephoned her the minute i heard from dan, and i suspect she and the baby are sitting out on the fence now watching for you to come along. sorry i can't go with you, but i've just come on duty. you tell the conductor to let you off at brill's, and i'll see you at supper to-night." he helped her on the car, tipped his hat, and ran back to the station, leaving betty with the comfortable feeling that the brills were used to company and rather liked it. she repeated her instructions to the conductor, who nodded silently, and, after a quarter of an hour's ride, signaled to her that her destination was reached. they had passed the town limits, and were in the open country. betty had noticed several farmhouses, of the artistic remodeled type, evidently summer homes of the well-to-do, as the car rattled along. she saw one of these as she stepped from the trolley car, and also, under a tree, a young woman holding a beautiful, rosy baby. these two immediately swooped down upon her. "i'm so glad you've come!" mrs. brill kissed her unaffectedly. "kiss danny, too! isn't he a nice baby? we waited lunch for you, and if you're half as starved as we are--" still chattering, she led the way into the house. mrs. brill was an elder sister of the hagar's corner's agent and very like him in face, manner, and bright, cheery way of speaking. the house was tastefully furnished, and a white-capped maid could be seen hovering over the table as they went upstairs. betty learned long afterward that mr. brill's father was wealthy and idolized his son's wife, who had given the younger man the ambition and spur his career had lacked until he met and married her. it was lovely rose gowdy who persuaded steve brill to take the job of telegraph operator, forgetting his prematurely white hair, and she who encouraged him to work his way to the top of the railroad business. rose, and rose's son, were given all the credit of that ultimate success by the older brill. "i had a little sister once who looked just like you," said mrs. brill, as she watched betty smooth her hair at the mirror in the chintz-hung guest room. "her name was juliet. poor old dan nearly broke his heart when she died." "he said something about her," replied betty shyly. "oh, look at that cunning baby! he thinks he can eat his own foot!" "he will, too, if he doesn't get his bottle soon," said the baby's mother, rising. "come, dear, we'll go down. danny has his bottle in his wheeler right in the dining-room." the little maid served them a dainty meal, and the round-eyed baby fell asleep as they ate and talked, lying in blissful content in a white-enameled contrivance that was like a crib on four wheels, and sucking quietly on his bottle. "now if you want to lie down, you may," said mrs. brill when they had finished. "i'll be busy for the next couple of hours with two of my neighbors who are planning a minstrel show for the country club. they had already planned to come when steve telephoned. if you're not tired, perhaps you'll enjoy looking over our farm. even if you've spent your summer on one, you may find things to interest you." betty was not tired, and she had been longing to explore the belt of green fields that encircled the old farmhouse. hatless, but carrying her sweater over her arm, she went happily out. there was a small but well-kept poultry yard with some handsome white leghorns lazily sunning themselves; a gentle-eyed jersey cow stood close to the first pair of bars; and a fat, lazy collie snoozed under a cherry tree but declined to accompany betty on her explorations, though she petted and flattered and coaxed him with all her powers of persuasion. he wagged his tail cordially and beamed upon her good-naturedly, but as to getting up and walking about so soon after dinner--well, he begged to be excused. "you're a lazy thing!" said the girl indignantly, finally giving up the task as hopeless and climbing the fence into a larger pasture. over in one corner of the field she spied something that quickened her steps with pleasure. a baby colt, long-legged, sleek of head and altogether "adorable" as betty would have said, ambled more or less ungracefully about enjoying the shade of a clump of trees and sampling the grass at intervals. "oh, i do hope you're tame!" whispered betty softly. she was fond of animals, and bramble farm, with the exception of a few lambs, had had no young life in its pastures and stables. the little calves were always sold as early as possible that there might be more milk for butter, and betty was fairly aching to pet something. she walked cautiously up to the colt, who sniffed at her suspiciously, but stood his ground. he pricked his ears forward and looked at her inquiringly. "you dear!" said the girl quietly. "you little beauty! you wouldn't mind if i patted you, would you?" she put out one hand and touched the rough side of the little animal. he stood perfectly still, and she stroked him for a minute or two, speaking gently to him. presently he nuzzled her playfully. "oh, you darling!" she cried delighted. "wouldn't i love to take you with me and have you for a pet! if you wouldn't grow any larger than you are now, i'd take you everywhere just like a dog." she had both arms around the colt's neck now, and he seemed to enjoy being petted. all at once betty thought she heard hoof-beats on the ground, and at the same time the colt raised his head and whinnied. betty looked up and across the field toward the house. she stood back from the colt and stared in dismay and astonishment at what she saw. tearing across the ground, headed directly for her, was a fierce animal with flashing red nostrils, huge mouth open wide and showing two great rows of strong yellow teeth bared to the gums. sparks seemed to fly from the hoofs and a coarse black tail streamed in the wind. "good gracious!" gasped betty weakly. "that must be the colt's mother!" the colt whinnied again in welcome and delight, but betty felt rooted to the earth. chapter x fellow travelers it is sometimes said that in moments of danger one's whole life passes swiftly in review through the mind, but betty always declared that she had just a single thought when it seemed that in another moment she would be trampled under the mare's hoofs; she had not telegraphed to her uncle and he would not know where she had gone. the horse continued to cover the ground rapidly, and then, when it had almost reached the terrified girl, fear lent sudden wings to betty's leaden feet. she turned and ran. speeding over the field toward the fence at the other end, she could hear the steady pounding of the mare's hoofs, though she did not dare to glance over her shoulder. her thoughts worked busily, trying to figure out a way to climb over or under the fence, and she had a lively fear of those terrible teeth nipping her as she tried to climb. as the fence seemed to her strained vision to rise suddenly from the ground and come to meet her, a way to safety opened. before she began to run she had unconsciously stooped to gather her sweater from the ground where she had dropped it, and now she turned and waved the garment frantically in the furious animal's face. bewildered and confused, the mare stopped, and, as betty continued to flap the sweater, she turned and dashed back to her colt. weakly the girl tumbled over the fence and the adventure was over. "she thought you were going to hurt pinto," said mrs. brill, when she heard the story. "goodness, i certainly am glad you had the presence of mind to shake your sweater at old phyllis. wouldn't it have been dreadful if she had bitten you!" the next morning, betty said good-by to the hospitable family who had been so wonderfully kind to her, and, much refreshed after a luxurious hot bath and a night's sleep in the pretty guest room, took the trolley car into town with mr. brill, who at the station door bade her farewell in his capacity of host and two minutes later as telegraph operator sent her message to uncle dick in washington. the : was on time to the minute, and as the long train pulled in and the porter helped her on, betty drew a long breath of relief. surely there could be no more delays and in a comparatively few hours she might hope to be with her uncle and know the comfort of telling him her experiences instead of trusting their recital to letters. the train had been made up late the night before and many of the passengers were still sleepy-eyed after restless hours in their berths. a good many of them were at breakfast in the dining car, and as there was no parlor car betty had to take half a section already occupied by a rather frowsy young woman with two small children. "we take on a parlor car at willowvale," the porter assured betty, only too sympathetically, for he had been waiting on the woman and her children since the afternoon before. "i'll see that you get a chair then, miss." betty settled herself as comfortably as she could and opened her magazine. "read to me?" suggested a little voice, and a sticky hand caressed her skirt timidly. "now don't bother the lady," said the mother, trying to pull the child away. "my land, if i ever live to get you children to your grandmother's i'll be thankful! lottie, stop making scratches on that window sill!" lottie pursed her pretty mouth in a pout and drummed her small heels discontentedly against the green plush of the seat. betty smiled into the rebellious blue eyes and was rewarded by a sudden, radiant smile. she closed her magazine and found the mother gazing at her with a look almost as childlike in its friendly curiosity as her little daughter's. "you've got a way with children, haven't you?" said the woman wistfully. "i guess everybody on this train will be glad when we get off. the children have been perfect torments, and lottie cried half the night. we're none of us used to traveling, and they're so mussed up and dirty i could cry. at home i keep 'em looking as neat as wax. we're going to see my husband's mother, and i know she'll think i started with 'em looking like this." betty was far older than many girls her age in some things. she was self-reliant and used to observing for herself, and she had a rich fund of warm and ready sympathy that was essentially practical. she saw that the mother of these lively, untidy children was very young, hardly more than a girl, and worn-out and nervous as a result of taking a long journey with no help and little traveling experience. she was probably, and naturally, anxious that her children should impress their father's mother favorably, and it took little imagination to understand that in her home the young mother had been used to praise for her excellent management. betty, added to her qualities of leadership and sound judgment, had a decided "knack" with children. in pineville she had been a general favorite with the little ones, and many a mother had secretly marveled at the girl's ability to control the most headstrong youngster. now she seized the opportunity presented to help a fellow-passenger. "have you had your breakfast?" she asked. "no? i thought not. well, i had mine before i got on the train. if you are willing to trust the children with me, i'll amuse them while you go into the diner and have a quiet meal. you'll feel much better then." "oh, it's been a nightmare!" confided the young mother with a sudden rush of feeling. "nobody ever told me what it would be like to travel with two children. lottie upset her milk and baby spilled her supper on the floor. and people just glare at me and never offer to help. it will be heavenly to eat my breakfast without them, but i feel that i'm imposing on you." betty managed to send her off convinced that everything was as it should be, and to the mother's surprise the children snuggled down like little mice to listen to the honorable and ancient story of the three bears. by the time a rested and radiant mother came back to them, for she had stolen a little time in the dressing room and rearranged her fair hair and adjusted her trim frock, something she had found it impossible to accomplish with two restless children clinging to her skirts, lottie and baby were firm friends with miss betty. "i never knew any one as lovely as you are!" the gratitude of the woman was touching. "i was just about crazy. my husband tipped the porter, and he did try to look after me, but he didn't know what to do. usually there is a maid on this train, they told us, but she was taken sick, and there wasn't time to get any one to fill her place. now don't let the children bother you. they had their breakfast early, and i can read to them till we get to willowvale where their grandmother will meet us." but betty had not finished. she loved the feel of soft little arms about her neck and there was not much connected with a baby's welfare she did not know about. many a pineville baby she had washed and dressed and fed as correctly as a model baby should be. "let me take them one at a time and tidy them up?" she suggested. "they'll take to it kindly, because i am new and that will lend to the washing a novelty. if we go in relays, we can't upset the whole car." so first with lottie, and then with baby, who seemed to be without other name, betty went into the dressing-room and there washed pink and white faces and hands till they shone, and brushed silk locks till they lay straight and shining. clean frocks were forthcoming, and two spick and span babies emerged to beam upon a transformed world no longer seen through a veil of tears. this new friend could tell the most wonderful stories, invent delightful games, and sing dozens of foolish little rhymes in a low sweet voice that disturbed no one and yet allowed every word to be distinctly understood. both children went to sleep during the morning, and then betty heard that mrs. clenning, as the mother introduced herself, lived in the west and that this journey to willowvale was the first she had taken since the birth of the babies. "my husband's mother is crazy to see them because they are her only grandchildren," she explained. "i didn't want to come without mr. clenning, but he couldn't get away for a couple of months. he is to come after us and take us home. if he didn't, i'm sure i'd live east the rest of my days, or at least till the children are grown up. i'll never have the courage to try a long train trip with them again." before willowvale was reached betty helped mrs. clenning get her wraps and bags together and tied the babies into bewitching white bonnets with long fluted strings. the porter came for the bags, but betty carried the younger child to the car door and handed her down to the mother, who had gone first with lottie. she saw a tall, stately, white-haired woman, dressed all in white from her shoes to her hat, gather all three into her arms, and then went back to her seat satisfied that the mother's troubles were over. "parlor car's ready, miss," announced the porter, coming up to her. "shall i take you on in?" betty followed him, to be established comfortably on the shady side of the car, with the window adjusted at the most comfortable height. she did not hear the porter's comment to the conductor when he passed him in the vestibule of the parlor car. "that girl in seat fourteen, she's one perfect little lady," said the dusky porter earnestly. "you jest observe her when you takes her ticket. 'member that lady with the two children what racketed all day and all night? well, she done fix those two kids up till you wouldn't know 'em, and cheered their mother up, too. and all jest as pretty and like a lady. that mighty fine lady in the red hat (i give her a seat on the sunny side of the car a-purpose) wouldn't do nothing yesterday when i axted her to hold a glass of milk while i went to get a extra pillow. said she wasn't going to be nursemaid to no stranger's brats!" so betty was zealously looked after by the whole train crew, for the story had spread, and the siege of clenning had been a protracted one with a corresponding fervency of gratitude for release; and at six o'clock that night the attentive porter handed her down the steps to the platform of the beautiful union station in washington. she had only her light traveling bag to carry, so she followed the crowd through the gates, walking slowly and scanning the faces anxiously in order that she might not pass her uncle. she did not wish to go through the station out on the plaza, lest she make it more difficult for him to find her, and she was keenly disappointed that he had not been at the gate, for the train was half an hour late and she had confidently expected him to be waiting. she took up her stand near the door of the waiting room and scanned the eddying circles of travelers that passed and repassed her. "something must have delayed him," she thought uneasily. "he couldn't miss me even in a crowd, because he is so careful. i hope he got the telegram." she had turned to compare her wrist-watch with the station clock when a voice at her back said half-doubtfully, "betty?" chapter xi a serious mix-up "you are betty, aren't you?" the girlish voice insisted, and this time betty identified it as belonging to a girl a year or two older than herself who stood smiling uncertainly at her. "yes, of course i'm betty," said betty gordon smiling. the face of her questioner cleared. "all right, girls," she called, beckoning to two others who stood a little way off. "she's betty. i was sure i hadn't make a mistake." betty found herself surrounded by three laughing faces, beaming with good-will and cordiality. "we must introduce ourselves," said the girl who had first spoken to her. "this is louise," pointing to a gray-eyed miss apparently about betty's age. "this is esther." a girl with long yellow braids and pretty even white teeth bobbed a shy acknowledgment. "and of course i'm roberta, bobby for short." "and if we don't hurry, we'll be late for dinner," suggested the girl who had been called louise. "you know carter isn't as patient as he once was; he hates to have to wait." bobby thrust her arm through betty's protectingly. "come on, betty," she said comfortably. "never mind about your trunk check. carter will drive down after it early in the morning." betty's bewildered mind was vaguely appreciative of the wide sweep of open plaza which lay before them as they came out on the other side of the station, but before she could say a word she was gently bundled into a handsome automobile, a girl on either side of her and one opposite, and the grim-faced, silver-haired old chauffeur, evidently slightly intolerant of the laughter and high spirits of his young passengers, had started to thread his way through the lane of taxicabs and private cars. betty was intensely puzzled, to put it mildly. her uncle had mentioned no girls in his letters to her, and even supposing that she had missed some letters, it was hardly possible that he should not have let fall an explanatory word or two from time to time. "i thought uncle dick would come down to meet me," she said, voicing her surprise at last. "oh, poor dear, his heart is almost broken to think he has to stay cooped up in the house," answered bobby, who seemed to be the general spokesman. "but how stupid of us--of course you don't know that he hurt his foot!" "is he hurt?" betty half rose from her seat in alarm. "is he badly injured? when did it happen?" bobby pulled the excited girl down beside her. "you see it happened only yesterday," explained louise, finding her voice with a rush. "you'd better believe we were frightened when they brought him to the house in the ambulance. his foot has some little bones broken in it, the doctor says, but he'll be all right in a month or so. he has to hobble around on crutches till the bones knit." "but it isn't serious, so don't look like that," urged bobby. "why, betty, your lips are positively white. we're so thankful it was his foot and not his head--that would have been something to worry about." "how--how did it happen?" gasped betty, anxious and worried in spite of these assurances. "was he in an accident?" "he was the whole accident," announced bobby cheerfully. "you see he's completely wrapped up in these new buildings they're putting up on the outskirts. we'll take you out to see 'em while you're here and perhaps you'll understand the construction, which is more than i do. anyway, the whole firm and every workman is absorbed in the experiment, and they're burnt as red as the bricks from working outdoors all day." "uncle dick does love to be outdoors," murmured betty. "he sure does," agreed bobby. "well, nothing would do yesterday but that he must climb up on the roof of one they've just started and take a peek at the chimney. i guess it needed looking after, for the whole thing tumbled over on him, coming down full-weight on his right foot. forcet, the foreman, had an awful time getting him down from the roof, and instead of telephoning for the car, some nervous person sent for the ambulance and scared us all into fits." betty blinked again. no mention of building houses had been made in uncle dick's letters to her. "did he get my telegram?" she asked, leaning forward to look at a monument they were passing. "a little before noon," replied bobby. "louise and esther and i had such a violent argument as to which of us should come to meet you that we didn't even dare draw lots; it seemed safer for us all to come along." esther, who sat opposite betty, had noticed her interest in the washington monument. "we're going to take you sightseeing to-morrow," she promised. "aren't we, bobby? and i don't see why we don't go home by way of fort myer. it doesn't take any longer, and dinner isn't till seven, you know." "all right." bobby leaned forward and spoke to the chauffeur. "take us round by fort myer, please, carter," she directed. the car turned sharply, and in a few minutes they were rattling over an old bridge. "we live out in the country, betty, i warn you," said the voluble bobby. "but it has its compensations. you'll like it." betty, a stranger to washington, decided that the willard must be a country hotel. it would be like uncle dick, she knew, to shun the heart of the city and establish himself somewhere where he could see green fields the first thing every morning. "what is fort myer?" she asked with lively curiosity, as the car began to climb a steep grade. "is that where they had training camps during the war?" "right," said bobby. "it's an army post, you know. see, here are some of the officers' houses. i only hope we live here when louise and i are eighteen--they give the most heavenly dances and parties." betty looked with interest at the neat houses they were passing. the names of the officers were conspicuously tacked on the doorsteps, and there was a general air of orderliness and military spic and spanness about the very gravel roads. occasionally a dust-colored car shot past them filled with men in uniform. "do you ride?" asked betty suddenly. "uncle dick has always wanted me to learn, but i've never had a good chance." "well, you can begin to-morrow morning," bobby informed her. "we've three ponies that are fine under the saddle. betty, i do wish you'd make up your mind to live in washington this winter. there's no reason in the world why you shouldn't, and we were talking it over last night, making plans for you." "why! that's entirely as uncle dick says," returned betty, surprised. "i haven't any say in the matter." bobby shot a triumphant glance toward the other girls. "he said he hadn't much right to dictate, but i told him i knew better," she said with satisfaction. "he wants you as much as we do, and that's considerable, you know." again a wave of doubt swept over betty. uncle dick had said he had not much right to dictate! when he was her only living relative! "uncle hasn't a fever or anything, has he?" she asked apprehensively. "i mean the injury to his foot hasn't, it didn't--" she floundered. "oh, that old hurt to his head never amounted to anything," declared bobby with convincing carelessness. "no, indeed, he's perfectly well except for the crutches, and the doctor says keeping him indoors for a few days will give him a much-needed rest." betty recalled the accident in which her uncle had been stunned when he had slipped down a bank into an excavation made along a road on which they had been driving. bobby evidently referred to that old injury. "now you can begin to watch for the house," said the silent esther, as carter swung the car around another curve in the beautiful road. "i don't see why i couldn't have been named virginia!" "esther has a personal grievance because she's the only one of us born in the south, and she had to be named for an aunt like the rest of us," laughed bobby. "every tenth girl you meet down here seems to be named virginia." "but was she born in virginia?" asked betty. "where did you live then?" bobby stared. then she laughed. "oh, i see," she said. "we lived at fairfields. of course you know that. but, like so many friends, you have always thought of us as living in washington. we're in virginia, betty, didn't you know that?" "no." betty's puzzlement was plainly written on her face. "when we crossed the bridge, we left the district of columbia," explained bobby. "of course we're very close to the line, but still we are not in washington." "there's the house!" exclaimed louise. "i wonder if mother got back from shopping. i don't see her on the porch." betty saw a beautiful white house, dazzlingly white against a background of dark trees, with a broad lawn in front circled by a wide white driveway. a terraced garden at the side with a red brick walk was arranged with wicker chairs and tables and a couple of swings protected with gay striped awnings. it was a typical southern mansion in perfect order, and betty reveled in its architectural perfections even while she told herself that it did not look in the slightest like a hotel. what was it bobby had called her home? "fairfields"--that was it; and she, betty, wanted to go to the willard. had they made a mistake and brought her to the wrong place? there was no time to ask for explanations, however. the girls swept her out of the car and up the low steps through the beautiful doorway. a well-trained man servant closed the door noiselessly, and the three bore betty across the wide hall into a room lined with books and boasting three or four built-in window seats, in one of which a gentleman was reading. "we found her! here she is!" shouted the irrepressible bobby. "don't tell us we can't pick a girl named betty out of a crowd!" the gentleman closed his book, and, steadying himself with a cane lying near by, rose slowly. there was no recognition in the gaze he fastened on betty, and she for her part hung back, staring wildly. "you're not uncle dick!" she gasped accusingly. chapter xii straightening things out betty's speech was shock number one. another quickly followed. the gentleman tugged quizzically at his short gray mustache. "and you," he announced quietly, "are not my niece, betty littell!" esther and louise stared, round-eyed, while bobby collapsed dramatically on a convenient couch. "have we kidnapped anybody?" she asked, a bit hysterically. "good gracious, dad, don't tell me i've forcibly run off with a girl? haven't you made a mistake? she must be betty--she said so." "my darlings, i'm sorry to be late," said a new voice, a rich, sweet contralto, and a stout woman with a kindly, florid face swept through the doorway. "why, what is the matter?" she demanded hurriedly, confronting the tense group. "momsie!" exclaimed bobby, hurling herself upon the newcomer. "oh, momsie, isn't this betty littell? we went to meet her and she said her name was betty, and all the way home she talked about uncle dick, and now she says dad isn't her uncle! i'm afraid i've made a mess of things." "yes, i think you have," said betty, with blazing cheeks. "i came to washington to meet my uncle, mr. richard gordon, who is stopping at the willard. of course my name is betty. i'm betty gordon, and he's my uncle dick. and goodness only knows what he is doing now--he'll be about crazy if he came to meet me." bobby began to laugh uncontrollably. "i never heard of such a thing in my life!" she giggled, wiping her eyes. "dad's name is richard littell, and we've been expecting our cousin betty littell to arrive to-day from vermont for a long visit. we haven't seen her since she was six years old, but i took a chance on recognizing her. and then there was the name! how could i guess there would be two bettys looking for two uncle dicks! don't be mad, betty; you can see a mix-up like that wouldn't happen twice in a life time." "she isn't mad," interposed mr. littell, lowering himself carefully to the window seat, for he had been standing all this time and his foot began to pain again. "after she knows you a little better, bobby, she will expect this sort of denouement to follow whatever you undertake. i say we ought to have some dinner, mother, and then talk at the table." "of course, of course," agreed motherly mrs. littell. "the poor child must be famished. take betty--you don't mind if i call you betty, do you, dear?--up to your room, bobby, and when you come down dinner will be served." "but my uncle!" urged betty. "he will be so worried. and the other girl--where do you suppose she is?" "by george, the child has more sense than i have," said mr. littell energetically. "i'd give a fortune if bobby had half as level a head. our betty is probably having hysterics in the station if she hasn't taken the next train back to vermont." his keen eyes twinkled appreciatively at betty, and she knew that she liked him and also sensed instinctively that his eldest daughter was very like him. "why, father, how you do talk!" reproved mrs. littell comfortably. "i'll call up the station while the girls are upstairs and then betty shall call the willard, or you do it for her, and then perhaps we can eat dinner before the souffle is quite ruined." the girls took betty upstairs to a luxurious suite of rooms they shared, and when she had bathed her face and hands and brushed her hair, they came down to find that mr. littell had called up the union station and discovered that because of a freight wreck the vermont express had been delayed and would not be in before nine o'clock that night. "so our betty is probably having a comfortable dinner on the train," he announced. "now just a minute, and i'll have the willard for the other betty. we'll tell your uncle you are safe and that we'll bring you into washington to-night." in a few minutes he had the connection, and they heard him ask for mr. richard gordon. his mobile face changed as the clerk answered, and betty, watching, knew that he had disconcerting news. he turned to them, covering the mouthpiece with his hand. "mr. gordon left early this morning for oklahoma," he said. "he left an address for mail, and there's a telegram which came after he left. it was sent from halperin and was received at eleven-thirty this morning." "that's the one i sent!" answered betty. "and uncle dick's gone to oklahoma! what on earth shall i do?" "do!" repeated mr. and mrs. littell in concert. "why, stay right here with us, of course! do you suppose we'd let a young girl like you knock around alone in a city? we'll be glad to have you stay as long as you will, and you mustn't be uncomfortable another second. when you hear from your uncle there'll be plenty of time to make other plans." betty did not try to express her gratitude to these new kind friends, for she knew that she could never say one-half the thanks she felt toward them. they were cordiality itself, and did everything in their power to make her feel at home. an excellent dinner was served in the charming dining-room with a mixture of formality and simple home courtesy that was as unusual as it was delightful, and in this atmosphere of good breeding and tact, betty bloomed like a little rose. "a charming girl, whoever she is," said mr. littell to his wife, as he smoked his cigar after dinner and the girls drew betty to the piano. "she has plenty of spirit, but lacks bobby's boisterousness. it will be a good thing for the girls to have some one like her, self-reliant and quiet and yet with decided snap, to chum with." "i like the idea of five girls in the house," beamed mrs. littell, who was the soul of hospitality and fairly idolized her three daughters. whatever discipline they had came from their father. "and now i think i had better go to the station, after our betty, don't you?" "oh, mother!" came in concert from the piano, where bobby was rattling off a lively waltz. "we all want to go. please? there's plenty of room in the car." mrs. littell looked undecided. "one of you may go with your mother," said mr. littell decisively. "i think it had better be louise. now, there is no use in arguing. one girl is enough. betty will be tired after traveling all night and all day, and she will be in no mood for talking and carrying on. i'll tell carter to bring the car around, mother." bobby pouted for a few moments after her mother and sister had gone, but her good-nature was easily restored and she and betty and esther were deep in an exchange of confidences when mrs. littell returned bringing the missing betty with her. "now stand up for a minute, you two bettys," commanded bobby, when greetings had been exchanged and explanations made. "i want to see if i made such a dreadful mistake in taking betty gordon for betty littell." the two girls stood side by side, and though they both had dark eyes and hair, there the resemblance ceased. betty littell was a dumpling of a girl with curly hair, a snub nose and round face. she looked the picture of good-nature, and her plumpness suggested a fondness for sweets that subsequent acquaintance with her fully sustained. betty gordon had grown tall through the summer, and she was of a slender, wiry build that hinted of a fondness for outdoor life. her heavy straight hair was wrapped around her well-shaped little head in braids, and her exquisite little hands and feet, so far her one claim to beauty, though later promises lay in her glowing face, gave her, as louise afterward confided to her mother, "an air like an indian princess." "no, you don't look much alike," conceded bobby, after a prolonged scrutiny. "but betty gordon looks the way i thought betty littell would look, so i don't see that i am to blame." "trust bobby to excuse herself from a scrape," chuckled her father. "by the way, how are you going to arrange about names? two bettys in the family will involve complications." "i think we'll have to call betty littell, 'libbie'" suggested mrs. littell, smiling. "that was your mother's name at home, always, betty." "yes, i know it; and that's why they called me betty," replied the littell girl. "two names, the same names, i mean, do make confusion. i'm willing to be called libbie, aunt rachel, if you let me have a little time to get used to it. if i don't answer right away, you'll understand that i'm listening for 'betty.'" "well, mother, i think at least two of these girls need sleep," announced mr. littell. "betty gordon looks as if she couldn't keep her eyes open another moment, and betty littell has yawned twice. i should say we all might retire--it's after eleven." "goodness, so it is," said his wife hastily. "time does fly so when you're talking. come, girls, if you are going sightseeing to-morrow, you'll need a good night's rest." there were three bedrooms and a private bath at the disposal of the girls, and separate beds in all the rooms. betty gordon shared a room with bobby, louise and betty littell had the one adjoining, and esther slept alone in the third room, which was also connected with the others. long after the other girls were asleep betty lay awake, thinking over the happenings of the day. finally she worked around to the suggested change in names. "they must expect me to stay if they plan to avoid confusion of names," she thought. "i must talk to mr. littell in the morning and ask him if it's really all right. i feel as if it were an imposition for me, a perfect stranger, to accept their hospitality like this." in the morning she was up and dressed before the rest, fortunately having a fresh blouse in her bag so that, although she had nothing but her suit skirt, she looked well-groomed and dainty. betty littell was also without her trunk, though bobby promised that both trunks should be brought from the station that morning. "i'd like to speak to your father a minute," said betty, when she was dressed. bobby, on the floor tying her shoes, blew her a kiss. "you'll find him on the terrace probably," she said confidently. "go ahead, dear, but it won't do you any good. we're determined to keep you to play with us." so the astute bobby had guessed what she wanted to say! nevertheless, betty was determined to carry out her resolution. she went slowly down the wide staircase and stepped out through double screen doors on to the bricked terrace. sure enough, there sat mr. littell, smoking comfortably and reading his morning paper. chapter xiii washington monument "you're up early!" the gentleman greeted betty cordially. "guess you're ahead of even esther, who usually leads the van. sleep well? that's good," as she nodded. "no troubles this bright morning?" betty gave him a grateful glance. "i can't help it," she said bravely. "you know how i feel, coming here like this--you don't know me--" "no-o," drawled mr. littell, pulling forward a gay-cushioned chair and motioning for her to sit down. ("can't have any manners when your foot is smashed," he explained in an aside.) "no, betty, it's true we don't know you. but mother and i think we know a nice girl when we see her, and we're glad to have you stay with us just as long as you can feel comfortable and at home. if i were you, i'd just bury these uneasy feelings you speak of. fact is, i'll give you two good reasons why you should make us a little visit. one is that if we had had the pleasure of your acquaintance you would have had a regular letter from mother weeks ago, asking you to come and spend the summer with us. the second is that i know how your uncle would feel to think of you alone in the city or the country. guess how i'd take it if one of my own daughters was waiting for word from me and no one made things pleasant for her. won't you shake hands and make a bargain with me that you'll try to see our side of it, your uncle's and mine, and then just plan to have a happy time with the girls until we can reach him in the west?" betty placed her small hand in the larger one held out to receive it, and smiled back at mr. littell. he had a smile very few people could resist. "that's better," he said with satisfaction. "now we're friends. and, remember, i'm always ready to give advice or listen. that's what fathers and uncles are for, you know. and i'd like to have you look on me as a second uncle dick." thus encouraged, betty briefly outlined for him her story, touching lightly on her experiences at bramble farm, but going into detail about bob henderson, her uncle, and her pleasant recollections of pineville. by the time she had finished, the four girls had joined them on the terrace and presently a table was brought out and spread with a cloth, and, mrs. littell following the maid with a silver coffee urn, breakfast was served. "the girls will want to go into town to-day, i suppose," said the motherly lady, selecting the brownest muffin for betty and signaling her husband to see that the maid served her an extra portion of omelet. "i have some shopping to do, so i'll go in with them in the car. but i absolutely refuse to 'do' the monument again." "poor mother!" laughed bobby. "she hates to ride in an elevator, and yet i know by actual count she's gone up in the monument a dozen times." "i suppose every one who comes to washington wants to go sightseeing," said betty littell, or, as she must begin to be called now, libbie, "i know how it is in our little town at home. there's just one monument--erected to some revolutionary hero--and i get fairly sick of reading the inscription to all the visiting aunts and uncles." "well, i like to go around," declared the energetic bobby. "but just once i had an overdose. we had a solemn and serious young theological student who made notes of everything he saw. he was devoted to walking, and one of his favorite maxims was never to ride when he could walk. he dragged me up every one of those nine hundred steps in the washington monument and down again, and i was in bed for two days." "wait till you see the steps, and you'll understand," said louise to libbie and betty. "if you try to walk down you're apt to get awfully dizzy." after breakfast carter brought the car around, and mr. littell hobbled to the door to see them off. "betty wants to send a telegram to her uncle," he said in an aside to his wife, while she stood at the long glass in the hall adjusting her veil. "better help her, for she'll feel that she is doing something. if gordon is in the oil regions, as i think from what she tells me he is, there isn't much chance of a telegram reaching him any quicker than a letter. however, there's no use in dampening her hopes." "now we'll drop you at the monument," planned mrs. littell, as the car bore them down the driveway. "you can walk from there to that pretty tea-room--what is its name, bobby?--can't you?" "the dora-rose, you mean, mother," supplied bobby. "of course we can walk. but carter is taking the longest way to the monument." "we're going to the station first," answered her mother. "betty wants to send her uncle a telegram, and carter is going to leave directions to have the trunks sent up to the house. you have your baggage checks, haven't you, girls?" they produced them, and carter slipped them into his pocket. betty had leisure and opportunity to enjoy the beauty of the handsome building as they approached it this perfect morning, and she could not help exclaiming. "yes, it is fine, every one says so," admitted bobby, with the carelessness of one to whom it was an old story. "finer, daddy says, than the big terminals in new york." libbie had the advantage of being the only one of the girls who had been to new york. "this has lots more ground around it," she pronounced critically. "course in a city like new york, they need the land for other buildings. but you just ought to see the pennsylvania station there!" "all right, take your word for it," said bobby. "where do we go to send a telegram, momsie?" mrs. littell smiled. "betty and i are all who are necessary for that little errand," she said firmly. "the rest of you stay right in the car." carter opened the door for them and then went in search of the baggage man. betty and mrs. littell found the telegraph window and in a few minutes a message was speeding out to richard gordon, flame city, oklahoma, telling him that his niece was in washington, giving her address and asking what he wished her to do. "i'll write him a letter to-night," promised mrs. littell when this was accomplished. "then he'll know that you are in safe hands. you must write to him, too, dear. flame city may consist of one shack and a hundred oil wells and be twenty miles from a post-office, you know." carter reported that the trunks were already on their way to fairfields, and now the car was turned toward the gleaming monument that seemed to be visible from every part of the city, betty, her mind relieved by the sending of the telegram, abandoned herself to the joys of sightseeing. here she was, young, well and strong, in a luxurious car, surrounded by friends, and driving through one of the most beautiful cities in the united states. any girl who, under those circumstances, could remain a prey to doubts and gloom, would indeed be a confirmed misanthrope. the car was stopped at one of the concrete walks leading to the base of the monument, and with final instructions as to the time and place they were to meet her, mrs. littell drove away. "why, there's a crowd there!" cried libbie in wonder. "waiting to be taken up," explained louise. "come on, we'll have to stand in line." the line of waiting people extended half way around the monument. the girls took their places, and when the crowd streamed out and they were permitted to go inside, betty and libbie, the two strangers, understood the reason for the delay. the elevator seemed huge, but it was quickly filled, and when the gates were closed the car began to mount very slowly. "we'd be sick and dizzy if they went up as fast as they do in department stores and office buildings," said bobby. "it takes about fifteen minutes to reach the top. watch, and you'll see lots of interesting things on the floors we pass." betty was wondering how bobby had ever survived the climb up the stairs and the trip down again with the enthusiastic theological student, when a cry somewhere in the back of the car startled her. "what's the matter?" demanded the elevator operator, without turning his head. "john isn't here!" declared a hysterical feminine voice. "oh, can't you stop the car and go down and get him? he pushed me in, and i thought he was right behind me. aren't you going back?" "can't, madam," was the calm answer. "have to finish the trip. you can go right back with the next load." "oh, goodness gracious," moaned the voice. "what'll i do? if i go back i may miss him. if i wait at the top it will be half an hour. suppose he walks up? maybe i'd better start to walk down to meet him." bobby stifled a giggle with difficulty. "bride and groom," she whispered to betty. "washington's full of 'em. guess the poor groom was lost in the shuffle. is she pretty--can you see?" betty tried to look back in the car, though the press of passengers standing all about her made it difficult. the bride was easily identified because she was openly crying. she was an exceedingly pretty girl, modishly gowned and apparently not more than twenty years old. "we'll get hold of her and persuade her to wait," planned bobby. "i'll show her the sights to amuse her while we're waiting for the next elevator load to come up. here we are at the top." a crowd was waiting to descend, and as they walked from the elevator, the bride meekly following, bobby plucked her sleeve. "excuse me," she said bluntly, but with a certain charm that was her own, "i couldn't help hearing what you were saying. your husband missed the elevator, didn't he?" the bride blushed and nodded. "well, don't try to walk down," advised bobby. "i did it once, and was in bed for two days. he'll come up with the next load. no one ever walks up unless they are crazy--or going to theological seminary. your husband isn't a minister, is he?" "oh, no, he's a lawyer," the bride managed to say. "all right," approved bobby, noting with satisfaction that the elevator gate had closed. "come round with us and see the sights, and then when your husband comes up you can tell him all the news. this is betty gordon, libbie littell and louise, esther and bobby littell, all at your service." "i'm mrs. hale," said the bride, stumbling a little over the name and yet pronouncing it with obvious pride. chapter xiv libbie is romantic the girls, marshaled by bobby, made a tour of the windows, and though betty was fascinated by the views of the city spread out before her and bought post cards to send to the pineville friends and those she knew in glenside and laurel grove, her mind was running continuously on young mrs. hale's announcement. "she couldn't be the old bookstore man's wife," she speculated, her eyes fixed on the potomac while bobby cheerfully tangled up history and geography in a valiant effort to instruct her guests. "lockwood hale was an old man, bob said. he didn't say he had a son, but i wonder----oh, bobby, the jesuit fathers didn't sail down the potomac, did they?" "well, it was some river," retorted bobby. "anyway, miss, you didn't seem to be listening to a word i said. what were you thinking about in such a brown study?" betty made a little face, but she had no intention of revealing her thoughts. she wanted to find out about the bookshop quietly, and if possible get the address. always providing that mrs. hale was related to the man who had shown such an interest in bob henderson's almshouse record. "of course hale is an ordinary enough name," she mused. "and yet there is just a chance that it may be the same." the girls were planning to take the next car down, and yet when it came up they lingered diplomatically to catch a glimpse of the bridegroom. "john" proved to be a good-looking young man, not extraordinary in any way, but with a likeable open face and square young shoulders that libbie, who startled them all by turning poetical late that night, declared were "built for manly burdens." louise, esther and bobby were the last to squeeze into the car, libbie, the prudent, having ducked earlier. as betty turned to follow them, the gate closed. "car full!" said the operator. "oh, betty!" bobby's wail came to her as the car began to disappear. "we'll wait for you," came the parting message before it dropped from sight. mrs. hale laughed musically. "now you know something of how i felt," she said merrily. "may i present my husband? john, those five girls have been so nice to me. and now you'll go round with us, won't you?" but betty knew better than that. "i'm going to write some of my post cards," she said. "but i would love to ask you a question before you go. do you know a man in washington who keeps a bookshop? his name is lockwood hale." mr. and mrs. hale exchanged glances. "know him?" repeated the young man. "why, i should think we did! he's my great-uncle." "i'm very anxious to see him to ask about a friend of mine," explained betty. "mr. hale thought he might be able to tell him something of his parents who died when he was a baby. as soon as i heard your name i hoped you could tell me where to find the bookstore." "yes, uncle is a wizard on old family records," admitted the nephew. "sometimes i think that is why he hates to part with a book. he keeps a secondhand bookshop, you know, and he's positively insulting to customers who try to buy any of the books. the old boy is really queer in his head, but there's nothing to be afraid of. he wouldn't hurt a flea, would he, elinor?" mrs. hale said doubtfully, no, she supposed not. "elinor didn't have a very good impression of him," laughed her husband. "we're on our wedding trip, you know,"--he blushed slightly--"and mother made us promise we'd stop in to see the old man. he hasn't seen me since i wore knickerbockers, and we had a great time making him understand who we were. then he said that he hoped we liked washington, and went back to his reading." "and the shop is so dirty!" shuddered the bride. "i don't think she ought to go to such a place alone, john." "i won't," promised betty hastily. "if you'll let me have the address, i'll be ever so grateful and it may be a great help to my friend." young mr. hale wrote down the street and number on the back of the brand-new visiting card his wife pulled from her brand-new purse, and betty thanked them warmly and turned to her card writing, leaving them free to enjoy each other and the view to their hearts' content. she had directed post cards to a dozen friends before the elevator returned, and this time both she and the bridal couple made sure that they were among the first to step in. betty felt of the little slip in her purse several times during the afternoon, inwardly glowing with satisfaction. if she could find bob henderson in washington through the old bookseller, or learn something definite of the lad, she would find it easier to wait for word from her uncle. after luncheon, which was calculated to please healthy appetites of five girls to a nicety, they went into several of the large shops with mrs. littell, and then, because it had begun to rain and did not promise pleasant weather for driving, they went to a moving picture show. "had a full day?" asked mr. littell at dinner that night. "libbie, what did you see?" libbie's answer provoked a gust of laughter. she was so essentially a matter-of-fact little personage in appearance and manner that when she opened her red mouth and announced, "a bride and groom!" the effect was startling. that started bobby, and she told the story of the lost john, told it as her father would have, for neither bobby nor mr. littell were at all inclined toward sentimentality. "well, betty," mr. littell beckoned to her afterward when they were all in the pleasant living-room across the hall, "think you're going to like washington, even if it is overrun with brides and grooms?" "it's lovely," betty assured him fervently. "we've had the most perfect day. and, mr. littell, what do you think--i've found out something important already." she had told him about bob that morning, and he was interested at once when she narrated what the bride and groom had told her of old lockwood hale. "why, i know where his shop is. everybody in washington does," said mr. littell when she had finished. "he has lots of rare books mixed in with worthless trash. funny i didn't take in you meant that hale when you spoke of him. i suppose you'll want to go there to-morrow carter will take you in the car, and you'd better have one of the girls go with you. bobby is all right--she may be scatter-brained but she doesn't talk." for some reason none of the girls was sleepy that night, and after going upstairs they all assembled in bobby and betty's room to talk. libbie could not keep her mind off the bride. "i wonder how i'd look in a lace veil," she said, seizing the fluted muslin bedspread and draping it over her head. "it must be lovely to be a bride!" "you've been reading too many silly books," scolded bobby. "anyway, libbie, you're too fat to look nice in a veil. better get thin before you're old enough to be married, or else you'll have to wear a traveling suit." libbie eyed her scornfully and continued to parade up and down in her draperies. "betty would look pretty in a veil," said louise suddenly. "come on, girls, let's stage a wedding. libbie won't sleep all night if she doesn't have some romantic outlet. i'll be the father." she seized a pillow and stuffed it in the front of her dressing gown so that it made a very respectable corpulency. "i'll be the mother!" esther began to pin up her hair, a dignity to which she secretly aspired. "i'm your bridesmaid, libbie," announced betty, catching up the bride's train and beginning to hum the wedding march under her breath. "if you _will_ be silly idiots, i'm the minister," said bobby, mounting the bed and leaning over the foot rail as if it were a pulpit. the bride stopped short, nearly tripping up the devoted bridesmaid. "i don't think you should make fun of ministers," she said, looking disapprovingly at her cousin. "it's almost wicked." "i'd like to know how it's any more wicked than to pretend a wedding," retorted bobby wrathfully. "weddings are very solemn, sacred, serious affairs. mother always cries when she goes to one." betty began to laugh. she laughed so hard that she had to sit down on the floor, and the more the two girls glared at each other, the harder she laughed. "i don't see what's so funny," resented bobby, beginning to snicker, too. "for goodness sake, don't have hysterics, betty. mother will hear you and come rapping on the door in a minute." "i just thought of something." the convulsed betty made a heroic effort to control her laughter and failed completely. "oh, girls," she cried, wiping her eyes, "here you are bickering about the bride and the minister, and not one of us thought of the bridegroom. we left him out!" louise and bobby rolled over on the bed and had their laugh out. libbie collapsed on the floor, and esther leaned against the bureau, laughing till she cried. "they say the bridegroom isn't important at a wedding, but i never heard of ignoring him altogether," gasped bobby, and then they were off again. they made so much noise that mrs. littell tapped on the door to ask why they were not in bed, and when bobby told her the joke, she had to sit down and laugh, too. "i'll send you up some sponge cake and milk if you'll promise to go right to sleep after that," she told them, kissing each one good night all over again. "libbie shall at least have the wedding cake, if she can't have a wedding." chapter xv off to investigate drip! drip! drip! betty listened sleepily, and then, as she raised herself on one elbow to hear better, she knew the noise was made by the rain. "if that isn't too provoking!" bobby sat up with an indignant jerk and surveyed betty across the little table at the head of the beds. "i thought we'd all go down to mount vernon to-day, and now it's gone and rained and spoiled it all. oh, dear! i don't think i'll get up"; and she curled down in a dejected heap under the white spread. "well, i'm going to get up," announced betty decidedly, springing out of bed with her accustomed energy. "rainy days are just as much fun as sunny ones, and there's something i have to do to-day, weather or no weather." "she's a dear," said louise warmly, smiling as the sound of betty's carolling came to them above the sound of running water in the bathroom. "mother says she likes her more and more every day. i wish her uncle would never write to her and she'd just go on living with us all the time." "and go to school with us in the fall. that would be nice," agreed bobby reflectively. "but, of course, betty's heart would be broken if she never heard from her uncle. however, we'll be as nice to her as we can, and then maybe she will want to stay with us anyway, even if he does send for her." "what are you two plotting?" asked betty gaily, emerging warm and rosy from her vigorous tubbing. "do you know, i've just remembered that i promised to show libbie how to make mile-a-minute lace before breakfast? i hope there is time." "what on earth do you want to make lace for?" demanded the practical bobby, as her cousin appeared in the doorway, rubbing sleepy eyes. "it's too early to begin on christmas presents." libbie was not at all confused in her ideas, and she had a very clear reason for wishing to add this accomplishment to her rather limited list. "it's for my hope-chest," she informed bobby with dignity, and not even the shout of laughter which greeted this statement could ruffle her. "you may think it's funny," she observed serenely, "but i have six towels and three aprons made and put away all ready." "my aunt!" sighed bobby inelegantly, shaking her head. "you believe in starting young, don't you? why, i'm fourteen, and i've never given a thought to a hope-chest." here esther, the early riser of the family, created a diversion by coming in fully dressed and announcing that mammy lou was willing to teach as many girls as cared to come after breakfast how to make beaten biscuit. "take libbie," giggled bobby, whose sense of humor was easily tickled. "she's collecting stuff for her hope chest and i should think biscuit recipes would be just the thing. do you want to learn to cook, betty? esther has a kitchen hobby and rides it almost to death." "i do not!" retorted esther indignantly. "do i, louise? mother loved to cook when she was a girl, and she says she likes to see me fussing in the kitchen." betty was showing libbie how to hold her crochet hook, and now she looked up from her pupil. "why, i'd love to learn to make those wonderful biscuits mammy lou makes," she said slowly, "but i really have to go into washington to-day. that is, if it will not upset any one's plans? i can easily walk to the trolley line, and i won't be gone longer than a couple of hours." a trolley line ran about half a mile from the house, and to betty who had frequently walked ten miles a day while at bramble farm, this distance seemed negligible. "let me go with you, betty?" coaxed bobby. "carter will take us in the machine. i won't bother you, and if you have personal business to attend to, i'll wait for you in the library or some place. cooking and making lace drives me wild, and if you leave me at home as likely as not i'll pick a quarrel with some one before the morning is over." "worse than that, she'll insist on singing while i'm trying to practice," said louise. "i'm three or four days behind with my violin, and a rainy morning is a grand time to catch up. do take her with you, betty." "why, goodness, she will be taking me," insisted betty. "of course you know i'll love to have you, bobby. as a matter of fact, i wanted to ask you to go with me because it is a strange place and your father said not to go alone. only i didn't want to disturb any plans you might have made for to-day. i'll tell you about it on the way," she added noting the look of growing curiosity on bobby's face. after breakfast the girls scattered to their chosen occupations, and mrs. littell settled herself to read to her husband on the glass enclosed piazza that extended half way across the back of the house. the car was brought round for betty and bobby and, commissioned to do several small errands in town, they set off. "now where are we going?" demanded bobby bouncing around on the seat cushions more like a girl of seven than fourteen. "do tell me, for i'm simply devoured with curiosity." so betty briefly outlined for her a little of bob's history and of what she knew lockwood hale had told the poorhouse master. she also explained how she had obtained the old bookshop man's address from the bride they had met in the monument the day before. the rain came down steadily, and the country road was already muddy, showing that it had stormed the greater part of the night. carter was a careful driver, and the luxurious limousine had been substituted for the touring car so that the girls were protected and very comfortable. quite suddenly carter brought the car to a stop on a lonely stretch of road just above a sharp turn. "goodness, i hope he hasn't a puncture," said bobby. "i was so interested in listening to you i never heard anything. what's wrong, carter?" she called. "there's a little dog in the road, miss bobby," said carter slowly and distinctly, as he always spoke. bobby had once declared that she did not believe a fire would shake carter from his drawling speech. "a puppy, i guess you'd call it. i'll have to move it to one side before we can drive past, because it is in the middle of the road." bobby leaned out to look. "it must be hurt!" she cried. "bring it in here, quick, carter. why, it's just a tiny puppy, betty," she added; "a black and white one." carter, mingled pain and reproach in his face, brought the dog to them, holding it gingerly away from him so as not to soil his coat. "it's very muddy, miss bobby," he said disapprovingly. "your mother won't like them nice gray cushions all stained up." "well, couldn't you lend me your handkerchief, carter?" suggested bobby gently. "i'll wipe him off. there now, he's all right. my handkerchief's so small it wouldn't have done one of his paws." carter, minus his handkerchief, started the car and they rounded the curve. the puppy seemed to be all right except that he was wet and shivering, and bobby and betty had decided that he was very young but otherwise in perfect health when the car stopped again. "there's another one of 'em, miss bobby," groaned carter. "you don't want this one, do you?" the girls thrust out their heads. sure enough, another black and white puppy lay abandoned in the roadway. "certainly, we'll pick it up," said bobby indignantly. "do you suppose we're going to go past a dog and let it die in the rain? bring it here, please, carter." the old man got down stiffly and picked up the dog. this time he handed over a second handkerchief with a ludicrous air of "take-it-and-ruin-it." "that's the last handkerchief i have with me, miss bobby," he announced feelingly, watching his young mistress mopping water and mud from the rescued puppy. "well, there won't be any more puppies, carter," bobby assured him cheerfully. but they had not gone twenty rods when they found another, and, after that, a few rods further on, a fourth. "here's where we use our own handkerchiefs," giggled bobby. "and what are we going to do with a car full of dogs?" the problem was solved, however, before they crossed the bridge into washington. on the hill leading to the bridge they overtook a small colored boy weeping bitterly. bobby signaled carter to stop, and leaning out asked the child what the matter was. "i done lost my dawgs!" he sobbed. "we-all is moving, and i had 'em in a basket with a burlap bottom. i done tol mammy that burlap was rotten." he held up the basket for them to see the hole in the cloth tacked across the bottom. "i was going to sell them dawgs for fifty cents apiece when they was bigger," he finished with a fresh burst of grief. his joy when the girls showed him the puppies and explained how they had found them was correspondingly noisy. he had an old gingham apron with him, and into this the dogs were unceremoniously bundled and securely knotted. betty and bobby each gave him a shining ten-cent piece, and a blissful boy went whistling over the bridge, his world changed to sunshine in a few brief minutes. the car threaded a side street, turned twice, and brought up before a quaint old house with a basement shop tucked away under a bulging bay-window. "this is hale's bookshop, miss," said carter respectfully to betty, chapter xvi what hale had to tell the door of the bookstore opened with a loose old-fashioned latch, and one fell down two steps without warning into a long, narrow room lined with books. betty went first, and bobby, stumbling, would have fallen if she had not caught her. "gracious! i'm a little bit scared, aren't you?" bobby whispered. "it seems like such a spooky place." it was certainly very quiet in the shop, and for a few moments betty thought they must be alone. then some one stirred, and, looking down the room, they saw an old man bent over a book open on a table near a dusty window. he wore big horn spectacles and was evidently extremely nearsighted, for he kept his face so near the book that his nose almost touched the pages. "that must be mr. hale," said betty. "i wonder if it's all right to interrupt him?" "i should say the only way to make him understand you're here, would be to go up and take that book away," rejoined bobby. "he can't be very anxious to sell anything, or he'd pay more attention to his store," giggled betty. "i'll wait here," said bobby hastily, as betty moved toward the rear of the store. "i'd probably say the wrong thing anyway. let me see, i'll be reading this fat brown book. they all look alike to me, but this may be thrilling in spots." betty approached the motionless old man, whose lean brown forefinger traced the curious black characters in the book before him so slowly that it did not seem to budge at all. "i beg your pardon?" she said tentatively. no response. "i want to ask you----" betty began again, a little breathlessly. "i want to ask you about a boy named bob henderson." "name's hale," said the old man, without looking up and speaking in a cracked, hoarse voice. "lockwood hale, dealer in new and secondhand books. just look around on the tables and you'll likely come across what you want. i'll wrap it for you when you find it. just now i'm busy." betty looked desperately at bobby, who was listening over the top of her book, and stifled a desire to laugh. "i don't want a book," she insisted gently. "i want to ask you a question. about bob henderson. you know you were interested in the records of the oliver county almshouse, and you thought you might know something of his people." the old man pushed his spectacles up on his forehead fretfully and regarded the girl impatiently from a pair of near-sighted blue eyes. "the books weren't worth anything," he told her seriously. "i spent near a day going over 'em, and there wasn't a volume worth bringing back with me. folks get the idea in their heads that a book's worth money just because it is old. 'tain't so--i could fill my tables and shelves with old trash and still not have any stock. jim turner don't know a valuable book from a turnip." mr. hale gave every indication of returning to the absorbing volume before him, and betty plunged in hastily with another question. "you know a boy named bob henderson, don't you?" she urged. "yes, he was in here some time last week," answered hale calmly. "was it wednesday, or tuesday--that load of old almanacs was delivered that same afternoon." "well, i'm a friend of his." betty almost stuttered in her eagerness to explain before the old man should be lost again in his book. "he worked on the farm where i spent the summer, and he told me about you and how anxious he was to see you and find out about his people. i've been anxious, too, to learn if he reached washington and whether he is here now. do you know?" now that the shopkeeper's mind was fairly detached from his printed page he seemed to be more interested in his caller, and though he did not offer to get betty a chair, he looked about him vaguely as though he might be seeking a place for her to sit. "i don't mind standing. i mustn't stay long," she said hurriedly, afraid to let him fix his attention on outside objects. "didn't bob henderson say where he was going? did he mention anything about leaving washington?" "well, now let me see," considered the old man. "bob henderson? oh, yes, i recollect now how he looked--a manly lad with a frank face. yes, yes, his mother was faith henderson, born a saunders. that's what caught my eye on the almshouse record book. years ago i traced the saunders line for a fine young lady who was marrying here in washington. she wanted a coat of arms, and she was entitled to one, too. but there was a break in the line, one branch ending suddenly with the birth of faith saunders, daughter of robert and grace. i never forget a name, so when i read the almshouse record and saw the name of this lad's mother there i knew i had my chart complete. yes, the boy was interested in what i could tell him." betty, too, was interested and glad to know that bob had succeeded in finding the old bookseller and learning from him what he had to tell. but if bob was still in washington, she wanted to see him. he could doubtless tell her what to do in case she did not hear from her uncle within a few days--and betty was growing exceedingly anxious as no answer came in reply to her telegram. and above all, she wanted to see an old friend. the littells were kindness itself to her, but she craved a familiar face, some one to whom she could say, "do you remember?" "didn't bob say where he was going?" she urged again. "going?" mr. hale repeated the question placidly. "oh, i believe he went to oklahoma." oklahoma! betty had a sudden wild conviction that her thoughts had been so centered on that one locality that she was beginning to lose her mind and imagine that every one repeated the word to her. "did you--did you say oklahoma?" she ventured. "why, how funny! i have an uncle out there in the oil fields. at least we think he is in the oil fields," she added, a sudden look of worry flashing into her eyes. "it seems so funny that bob should go away off there." the old man peered up at her shrewdly. "aye, aye, funny it may be," he croaked. "but suppose i should tell you i advised the lad to go there? would that seem funny, eh?" betty stared in complete bewilderment. "oh, it isn't always in the story books, sometimes it happens to real boys," he nodded exultantly. "suppose i told you, in strictest confidence, young lady, for i think you're a true friend to him, that he has relatives out there? his mother's two sisters, both of 'em living on the old homestead? neither of 'em married and without near kith or kin so far as they know? suppose i tell you that the old farm, as i locate it, is in the oil section? suppose the lad is entitled to his mother's interest in the place? eh? suppose i tell you that?" he made a question of each point, and emitted a dry cackle after every assertion. "i told the lad to go out there, and if he had any trouble proving who he was to come back here to me," said hale importantly. "i can help him straighten out the tangles. i've untied many a knot for families more tangled up than this. so he may be back, he may be back. drop in any day, and i'll tell you whatever i know." betty thanked him warmly and he followed the girls to the door, repeating that he would be glad to tell them everything he knew. they were going to one of the large shops to do a few errands for mrs. littell, and since their visit to the bookstore had taken so long they agreed to separate and each do one or two commissions and then meet at the door within half an hour. betty's mind was busy with the astonishing revelations lockwood hale had made, and as she deftly matched wool for a sweater, she turned the information over in her mind. "i don't believe bob has gone so far west at all," she said to herself firmly. "he wouldn't have money enough, i'm sure. i suppose he has written to me, but my mail will go to the farm, of course, and mr. peabody would be the last person to forward it. i must write the postmaster to hold and redirect my mail--when i know where i am to be." although she had promised herself not to worry, betty was becoming very anxious to hear from her uncle. she had written to the benders in laurel grove and to norma guerin at glenside, explaining her situation and asking them to let her know as soon as the quarantine in pineville should be lifted. she knew that she could visit friends there indefinitely. but that did not much lighten the burden. anxiety for her uncle and growing fear that she might never again hear from him, it had already been so long a time since his last letter, at times oppressed her. their chopping finished, she and bobby were reunited and were glad to enter the car and drive quietly home to luncheon. it was still raining, and they found the other girls impatient for their return. "we know all about beaten biscuit," boasted esther. "and i stirred up a gold cake every bit myself." "practising all done," reported louise. "and i'm just aching for a good lively game. no wedding stuff, libbie, i warn you. i can see a romantic gleam in your eye." libbie said nothing then, but after lunch when they were debating what to do, she had a suggestion. "let's play hide-and-go-seek," she said enthusiastically. "well, i didn't know you had that much sense," approved bobby, who was blunt almost to a fault but undoubtedly fond of her younger cousin. "come on, girls, we'll have one more good game before the family begin to hint i'm too old for such hoydenish tricks. we'll go up to the attic and make as much noise as we can." chapter xvii more sightseeing libbie waited till they were safely in the attic before she followed up her suggestion. "i read the loveliest story last summer," she said dreamily. "it was about a bride--" a shout of laughter from the listening girls interrupted her. "i knew there would be a bride in it somewhere," rippled bobby. "now, libbie, once and for all, this is hide-and-go-seek, not a mock wedding." "you might let me finish," protested libbie. "i only meant to say this story was about a bride who ran away from her wedding guests for fun and hid in a great carved chest; the chest had a spring lock and it closed tight when she pulled it down. her husband and all the guests hunted and hunted, and they never found her. years and years after, when they opened the chest, there were only some bones and the wedding dress and veil." "and you call that a lovely story!" bobby's scorn was immeasurable. "well, i think it's gruesome. and what kind of housecleaning did they have in those days? my mother opens every chest and trunk and box in the house at least twice a year." the game started merrily, and, forewarned by libbie's story, the girls knew exactly where to find her when she hid from them and unerringly pulled her out of every chest into which she hopefully squeezed her plump self. "you never should have mentioned 'chest' to us," laughed betty, when libbie was "it" for the third time. "we know your line of reasoning now, you see." libbie good-naturedly began her counting, and betty looked about for a good place to hide. the attic was long and wide and a splendid place to play. it was rather too well lighted for hide-and-seek, but the trunks and boxes arranged neatly around the walls offered a fair chance to escape detection. a peculiar fan-shaped box near a window attracted betty's attention, apparently being a built-in box. "i'll hide there," she resolved, running lightly over to it. louise and esther and bobby were already stowed away in various corners, and betty slipped into the box noiselessly. libbie ceased counting. the three littell girls reached "home" without being detected, and then perched merrily on an old trunk to watch libbie prowl about after betty. a five-minute search failed to reveal her, and libby gave up. "all safe, you may come in!" they called in unison. no betty appeared, and they shouted again. "well, if that isn't queer!" louise looked at bobby in doubt. "where do you suppose she is hiding?" bobby, a furrow of anxiety between her eyes, searched the attic with level glances, her sisters and cousin watching her apprehensively. "something must have happened to her," louise was beginning, when bobby gave a cry and raced for the door. "i'll bet i know where she went," she flung over her shoulder. "haven't time--to stop--don't bother me----" she flew down the stairs, the others after her at top speed. down, down, down, through the third, second and first floors, the four girls fled like a whirlwind, down, always following flying bobby, to the laundry in the basement where modern electric equipment made washing clothes a scientific process. bobby brought up her mad flight before a tall cupboard in one corner, turning the catch on the door, opened it and out tumbled--betty! "are you hurt?" demanded bobby, helping her to her feet. "oh, betty, darling, do say you're all right! it's a wonder you weren't suffocated or didn't break any bones." "i'm all right," said betty, smoothing out her skirts. "but i'm still a bit dazed. it was such a sudden drop. what have i done that i shouldn't, bobby?" libbie, too, was bewildered, and stared at the disheveled betty with puzzled wonder. "why, my dear child," explained bobby, with a funny maternal manner, "you fell down the laundry shoot. it opens into the attic for good ventilation. i'm glad there were some soiled clothes at the bottom for you to land on, otherwise you might have had a bad bump. sure you're all right?" "yes, indeed," insisted betty. "i thought i was climbing into a box and went in feet first without looking. instead of hitting the floor, i slid gently on and on. i hadn't any breath to scream with i went so fast. anyway, there wasn't time to scream. i just sat here for a time after i landed. and i was wondering where i was and how i could get out when you opened the door for me." that ended the game for the day, and the rest of the afternoon the girls were content to spend quietly, betty in writing a long letter to mrs. arnold, one of her mother's old friends who had moved to california, and the others with books and sewing. the next morning was fair and sunny, and before breakfast bobby had it planned that they should spend the day at mount vernon. of course betty and libbie were very anxious to see the famous place, and the three sisters were glad to have the opportunity to take them for the first time. "it's never the same again," explained louise, obligingly tying esther's hair-bow for her. "there's a wonderful thrill you get when you see the things that really were washington's and were handled by him that never comes again. though we love to go there and never tire of looking at the rooms." "what a chatter-box you are, child!" expostulated her mother, who had come up to tell them breakfast was ready. indeed the gong had sounded fully fifteen minutes before. "how nice you look, all of you! i'll be proud to take five girls to mount vernon. we're going to-day, aren't we?" dear mrs. littell! betty already loved her dearly, as indeed did every member of the household. she was so unaffected, so affectionate and generous, and she allowed money to change her simple, happy nature not at all. the littells had not always been wealthy, and the mistress of the beautiful mansion did not hesitate to tell of the days when she had done all of her own housework and taken care of two babies. soon after breakfast the party started, the plan to go by motor being abandoned in favor of the trip down the river. it was decided that carter should come down later with the car and bring a basket luncheon, taking them home in the afternoon. mount vernon is sixteen miles below washington, and the sail down the potomac was delightful in the cool of the morning, and betty thought she had never seen anything more beautiful than the deep greens of the trees and grass on either bank. by common consent the boatload of chattering people became silent as they came in sight of mount vernon, and as the glimmer of the house showed white between the trees. betty's heart contracted suddenly. louise, who was watching her, squeezed her arm sympathetically. "i know how you feel," she whispered. "mother told me that the first time she went abroad and dad took her to see the colosseum she cried. you're not crying, are you, betty?" betty shook her head, but her eyelashes were suspiciously damp. libbie was staring in unaffected enjoyment at the scene before her and fairly dancing with impatience to be off the boat. "i do want to see martha washington's things," she confided, as they went ashore. "her ivory fan and her dishes and the lovely colonial mahogany furniture." "george washington's swords for mine," announced bobby inelegantly. "i've seen 'em every time i've been here, and i'd give anything to have one to hang in my room." "bobby should have been a boy," remarked mrs. littell indulgently. "you're mother's only son, aren't you, dear?" "well, my name is as near as i'll ever come to it," mourned bobby. "however, i manage to have a pretty good time if i am only a girl." mrs. littell led them first to the tomb of washington. the plain brick building was directly at the head of the path leading from the landing, and a reverent group stood, the men with bared heads, for a few moments before the resting place of the father of his country. high above the river, overlooking the land he loved, stands the mount vernon mansion. from the tomb the littell party went directly to the house. each of the girls, although interested in the whole, showed her personality distinctly in her choice of special relics. it was betty who lingered longest in the library, fascinated by the autographed letters of washington, his tripod used in surveying, and his family bible. bobby had to be torn bodily from the room which contained the four swords. esther spent her happiest hour in the old kitchen, admiring the huge fireplace and the andirons and turnspit. louise and mrs. littell were able to go into raptures over the old furniture in martha washington's bedroom and sitting room, though they, of course, had seen it all many times before. mrs. littell herself had a collection of antique furniture of which she was justly proud, and mahogany furniture was sure of her intelligent appreciation. strange to say, libbie remained cool toward the very things she had voiced a desire to see, and in the middle of the morning they missed her. they were on their way to the barn washington's father had built, and betty volunteered to run back and see if the missing girl had stayed behind in the house. chapter xviii betty understands betty hurried back and began a hasty inspection of the rooms. she recollected seeing libbie upstairs at the door of washington's room the last time she had definitely noticed her, and she ran upstairs to see if she might not be there. no libbie was in any of the rooms. downstairs she searched hurriedly, peeping under people's elbows, trying not to annoy others and yet to make a thorough hunt in a short time so as not to keep the others waiting. then in the music room, or east parlor, as it is often called, she found the truant, gazing with rapt eyes at the quaint old harpsichord which had belonged to nellie custis. "every one is waiting for you," announced betty, pulling her gently by the sleeve. "come on, libbie, we're all going. we've seen the whole house." libbie followed in a sort of daze, and when they rejoined the others she seemed to be still in a brown study. "for goodness sake," prodded bobby impatiently, "what were you doing back there? we nearly went off and left you. where did you find her, betty?" "i was in the music room," announced libbie with dignity. "i wanted to see the harpsichord. say, girls, did you know washington gave that to nellie custis when she was married? he wore his uniform when he gave her away, and--" "well, for pity's sake!" bobby's disgust was ludicrous. "trust libbie to dig up a romance wherever she goes. what else did you find connected with weddings, lib?" libbie was inclined to be ruffled, but mrs. littell soothed the troubled waters by telling them that the old barn, which they had reached by this time, was built in by washington's father and that the bricks were supposed to have been imported from england. the beautiful old formal garden further mellowed their tempers, for it was impossible to say sharp things walking along the very paths which george washington had often trod and between the rows of box brushed by the silken skirts of mrs. washington. where her rose bushes used to be are planted others, and mrs. littell assured the girls that it was one of the great pleasures of the first lady of the land to gather rose leaves for her potpourri jars and to make a perfumed unguent for which she was famous among her friends. "she was a wonderful housekeeper," added mrs. littell, smiling at libbie, whose momentary resentment had quickly faded, "and a very fine manager. we are told that she was thoroughly domestic in her tastes and that she made her husband ideally happy." presently carter came with a hamper of luncheon and their appetites did full justice to mammy lou's dainties. betty wondered, sitting on the grass, the potomac flowing lazily several feet below, whether she was dreaming and might not wake up to find herself at bramble farm with mr. peabody scolding vigorously because something had not gone to suit him. she often had this odd feeling that her present happiness could not be real. this, too, brought the thought of her uncle to her mind, and again she wondered if she would ever hear from him--if something dreadful had not happened to him, leaving her almost as much alone in the world as bob henderson. she shivered a little, then resolutely threw herself into the chatter of the other girls and soon forgot all but the present pleasure and excitement. after rambling about the grounds another hour or so, the party from fairfield was ready to go, and they all found it restful to lean back in the comfortable car and spin back to the city. "if you're not too tired i think we might drive down pennsylvania avenue," suggested mrs. littell. "our guests haven't seen the white house yet, have they?" neither betty nor libbie had, and as the car turned into the famous thoroughfare both girls sat up alertly so as not to miss a single sight of interest. carter slowed down as they approached a high iron fence, and at the first glimpse of the white mansion separated from the fence and street by a wide stretch of lawn, libbie shouted joyfully. "the white house!" "well, you needn't tell everybody," cautioned bobby. "think of the weddings they've held in there, libbie!" "i imagine any one who has ever seen a picture of the white house recognizes it instantly," said betty, fearing a resumption of cousinly hostilities. "how beautiful the grounds are." "you must go through it some day soon," said mrs. littell. "and now we'll drive to the capitol. day after to-morrow would be a good time for you to take the girls to the capitol, bobby." the capitol reminded libbie of a pin tray she had at home, and awoke recollection in betty's mind of a bronze plaque that had been one of mrs. arnold's treasures in the stiff little parlor of the pineville house. all good americans know the white house and the capitol long before they make a pilgrimage to washington. on their arrival at fairfields they found mr. littell playing solitaire, and something in his undisguised relief at seeing them made betty wonder if time did not hang heavily on his hands. after dinner bobby proposed that they turn on the phonograph and have a little dance among themselves. "oh, that will be fine!" cried betty. "then you can dance?" "a little--mother taught me." so the girls danced and had a good time generally for an hour or more, with mr. and mrs. littell looking on. then betty sank down on the arm of mr. littell's chair. "i've been thinking of something," she half whispered. "do you like to play checkers? if you do, i know how." maybe mr. littell understood that she was doing it largely to keep him company. but he said nothing, and they played checkers for nearly two hours. betty was a fairly good player and managed to land several victories. "with a little more practice you'll make a very good player," declared mr. littell. "i appreciate your staying to play with a cripple like me," he added gratefully. "does your uncle dick play?" "i don't really know," replied the girl, and now her face clouded for an instant. oh, why didn't she hear from uncle dick? the next few days were filled with sightseeing trips. betty was kept too busy to have much time to worry, which was fortunate, for no word came from her uncle and no word reached her from bob henderson. the guerins and the benders wrote to her, and each letter mentioned the fact that bob had sent a postal from washington, but that no later word had come from him. "i met peabody on the road yesterday," ran a postscript to norma guerin's letter, written by her doctor father. "he hinted darkly that bob had done something that might land him in jail, but i couldn't force out of him what fearful thing bob had done. i hope the lad hasn't been rash, for peabody never forgives a wrong, real or fancied." betty knew that the farmer's action had to do with the unrecorded deed, but she did not feel that she should make any disclosures in that connection. of bob's innocence she was sure, and time would certainly clear him of any implication. the girls visited the capitol, seeing the great bronze doors that are nineteen feet high and weight ten tons. betty was fascinated by the eight panels, and studied them till the others threatened to leave her there over night and call for her in the morning. then she consented to make the tour of the three buildings. but the historical paintings again held her spellbound. when she reached the senate chamber, which was empty, except for a page or two, the senate not being in session, she dropped into a gallery seat and tried to imagine the famous scenes enacted there. they spent the better part of a day at the capitol, and saw practically everything in the buildings. they were so tired that night that libbie went to sleep over her dessert, and betty dreamed all night of defending the city with a shotgun from the great gilded dome. but she and libbie agreed that they would not have missed it for anything. chapter xix an unexpected meeting "that's twice you've made a wrong play, betty," observed mr. littell. "what lies heavy on your mind this evening?" betty blushed, and attempted to put her mind more on the game. she was playing checkers with mr. littell, whose injured foot still kept him a prisoner most of the time, and she had played badly all the evening, she knew. truth to tell, she was thinking about her uncle and wondering over and over why she did not hear from him. after the rubber was played and the other girls who had been around the piano, singing, had gone out to get something to eat, for the maids had the evening off, betty spoke to her host. "i suppose you think i'm foolish," she ventured; "but i am really worried about uncle dick now. he has never answered the telegram and the two letters i've written. his philadelphia lawyer writes that he is waiting to hear from him. he seems to have dropped out of the world. do you think he may be sick in some hospital and not able to communicate with us?" "that's a possibility," admitted mr. littell soberly. "but i tell you honestly, betty, and not simply to relieve your mind, that i consider it a very remote one. business men, especially men who travel a great deal, as you tell me your uncle does, seldom are without somewhere on their person, their names and addresses, and directions about what is to be done in case of sickness or accident. i never travel without such a card. ten to one, if your uncle were ill or injured, his lawyer would have been notified immediately." a weight of anxiety slipped from betty's heart, for she immediately recognized the sound common sense in this argument. still, something else was troubling her. "don't you think," she began again bravely, "that i had better go to pineville? the quarantine is lifted, i hear, and the bensingers will take me in till i can hear from uncle dick. you and mrs. littell and the girls have been so lovely to me, but--but--" her voice trailed off. mr. littell leaned back in his chair and lit a fresh cigar. "well, now of course," he said slowly, "if you feel that you want to go to pineville, we really have no right to say anything. but if i were you, i'd stay right here. your uncle may be intending to come back to washington. in any case, he will address his letter to you here. of that much we are certain. you'll hear more quickly if you don't move about. besides, there is that henderson lad. i'm counting on making his acquaintance. he's likely to bob up any day--though i didn't mean to pun. if you want my advice, betty, it is to stay here quietly with us and wait as patiently as you can. we like to have you, you know that. you're not a stranger, but a friend." he went on to explain to her in his quiet, even, matter-of-fact way, that to the disturbed girl was inexpressibly soothing, his belief that her uncle was on an exploration trip for oil and might easily find a month's accumulation of mail awaiting him on his return. "it's only here, in the heart of civilization, that we think we can't live without four mails a day," mr. littell concluded. "i've been out of touch with a post-office for three weeks at a time myself, and our sailors, you know, often go much longer without letters." on one particularly lovely morning the four girls, with mrs. littell, started off on the pleasant mission of seeing the white house. betty's and libbie's acquaintance with it was confined solely to the glimpses they had had from the street, but louise and bobby had attended several new year's receptions and had shaken hands with the president. the party spent a delightful morning, visiting the famous east room, admiring the full length portraits of george and martha washington, about which latter the story is told that mrs. dolly madison cut it from its frame to save it from the approaching enemy in . they were also fortunate to find a custodian taking sightseers through the other official apartments so that they saw more than the casual visitor does in one visit. they visited in turn, the green room, the red room, and the blue room, saw the state dining-room with its magnificent shining table about which it was easy to imagine famous guests seated, and enjoyed a peep into the conservatory at the end of the corridor. they did not go up to the executive offices on the second floor, knowing that probably a crowd was before them and that an opportunity to see the president on the streets of the city was likely to present itself. "well, i shouldn't want to live there," sighed betty, as they came down the steps, "it is very grand and very stately, but not much like a home. i suppose, though, the private rooms of the president and his family are cozy, if one could see them." "beyond a doubt," agreed mrs. littell. they lunched at one of the large hotels, and afterward mrs. littell had a club engagement. the girls, she announced, might spend the afternoon as they chose, and she would pick them all up at five o'clock with carter and the car. "esther and i want to see 'the heart of june,'" announced libbie, who found romance enough to satisfy her in the motion-pictures. louise was interested, too; but betty had promised to take some papers for mr. littell and see that they reached an architect in one of the nearby office buildings. bobby elected to go with her, and they decided that, that errand accomplished, they might do a little shopping and meet the others at the theater door at five o'clock. "mr. waters won't be in till three o'clock," announced the freckle-faced office boy who met them in the outer office of the architect's suite. "then we'll have to come back," decided betty, glancing at her watch. "it is just two now." "you can leave anything with me," said the boy politely. "i'll see that he gets it as soon as he comes in." "yes, do, betty," urged bobby. "dad would say it was all right to leave that envelope of papers. they're not terribly important." "we can do our shopping and then come back," insisted betty, to the evident disgust of bobby and the hardly less concealed impatience of the office boy. "why wouldn't you leave 'em?" demanded bobby, when they were once more in the street. "dad hasn't any secret service stuff, i'm sure of that. now we have to come all the way back here again, and that means hurrying through our shopping." "you needn't come," said betty mildly. "your father asked me to give those papers personally to mr. waters. he didn't say they were important; i don't know that they are. but if i say i am going to give an envelope personally to any one, i don't intend to give that envelope to a third person if there's nothing in it more valuable than--hair nets!" the window they were passing suggested the comparison, and bobby laughed good-naturedly and forebore to argue further. promptly at three o'clock she and betty entered the elevator in the office building and were whirled up to the fifth floor to find mr. waters in his private office. "mr. littell telephoned half an hour ago," he told them, taking the envelope and running over the papers with a practised eye as he talked. "he hoped to catch you before you left here. i believe he wants to speak to his daughter. there's a booth right there, miss bobby." bobby had a brief conversation with her father and came out in a few minutes in evident haste. "he wants us to do a couple more errands, betty," she announced. "we'll have to hurry, for it's after three." the architect had written a receipt for the papers, and bobby now hurried betty off, explaining as they went that they must take a car to octagon house. octagon house proved to be the headquarters for the american institute of architects, and bobby's errand had to do with one of the offices. betty admired the fine woodwork and the handsome design of the house while waiting for her companion, and in less than fifteen minutes they were back on the street car bound for "the tallest office building in washington," as bobby described it. "dad wants an architectural magazine that's out of print, and he thinks i can get it there," she said. "afterward, if we have time, we'll go to the top of the building. the root is arranged so that you can step out, and they say the view is really splendid. not so extensive as from the monument, of course, but not so reduced, either. i've always wanted to get up on the roof and see what i could see." finding the office her father had specified did not prove as easy a task as bobby had anticipated, and she said frankly that if she had been alone she would have given up and taken another day for the search. "but if you can keep a promise down to the last dot of the last letter, far be it from me to fall short," she remarked. "oh, betty, do you see any office that looks like sherwood and david on this board?" at last they found it under another name, which, as bobby rather tactlessly told the elevator boy, was not her idea of efficiency. the copy of the magazine mr. littell especially wanted was wrapped up and placed safely in bobby's hands. "and now," declared that young person gaily, "as the reward of virtue, let's go up on the roof. it is after four, but we'll have time if we don't dawdle. we can get from here to the theater in fifteen minutes." they started for the elevator, and as a car came up and the gates opened a boy got off. he would have brushed by without looking up, but betty saw him at once. "bob!" she cried in amazement "why, bob henderson!" chapter xx mutual confidences "betty! oh, betty! _betty!_" bob henderson's familiar, friendly voice rose to a perfect crescendo of delight, and several passengers in the elevator smiled in sympathy. bobby littell, who had entered the car, backed out hastily and the gate closed. "bobby, this is bob henderson," betty performed a hasty introduction. "and, bob, this is roberta littell, always called bobby." the latter held out an instant cordial hand to bob. "i know about you," she proclaimed frankly. "betty thinks you are fine. we ought to be good friends, because our names are almost alike." "i must talk to you, bob," said betty hurriedly. "where are you going? have you heard from bramble farm or uncle dick? how long have you been in washington? did you get out to oklahoma?" bobby laughed and touched betty on the arm. "there's a seat over by the elevator," she suggested. "why don't you sit there and talk? i'll come back and get you at a quarter to five--i want to get some new hair-ribbons for esther." "but you wanted to go up on the roof!" protested betty, longing to talk to bob and yet mindful of bobby's first plans. "plenty of other days for that," was the careless response. "see you quarter to, remember. good-by, bob--though i'll see you again, of course." she disappeared into a down elevator, and betty and bob sat down on the oak settle in the corridor. "wasn't it lucky we met you!" exclaimed betty, getting a good look at the boy for the first time. "seems to me you're thinner, bob. are you all right?" "couldn't be better!" he assured her, but she noticed there were rings under his eyes and that his hands, white enough now in contrast to the tan which still showed at his wrists, were perceptibly thinner. "fact is, i work in this building, betty. kind of junior clerk for a man on the fourth floor, substituting while his clerks are away on vacation. hale got me the place." betty told him of her interview with the old bookshop man, and bob listened intently. "so that's how you heard about oklahoma," he commented. "you could have knocked me down with a feather when you said it. i guess hale forgot i was working here--he really is dreadfully absent-minded--or else he thought you weren't to be trusted with so important a secret. he's as queer as they make 'em, but he was very good to me; couldn't seem to take enough pains to trace out what he knew of my mother's people." bob went on to explain that his money had given out and that he had to work in order to get together enough to pay his fare out to the west and also to board himself and pay for some new clothes. betty guessed that he was scrimping closely to save his wages, though she did not then suspect what she afterward learned to be true, that he was trying to live on two meals a day, and those none too bountiful. bob had a healthy boy's appetite, and it took determination for him to go without the extra meal, but he had the grit to stick it out. "when bobby comes back you must go with us and meet mrs. littell," observed betty. "she'll want to take you home to dinner. oh, bob, they are the loveliest people!" bob shifted his foot so that the patch on one shoe was hidden. "i'll go with you to meet her on one condition," he said firmly. "i won't go to dinner anywhere to-night--that's flat, betty. my collar isn't clean. and who are the littells?" that led to long explanations, of course, and betty told in detail how she had left bramble farm, of the mix-up at the union station, and her subsequent friendship with the hospitable family. she also told him of mr. gordon's sudden trip to oklahoma and his almost inexplicable silence, but kept to herself her worry over this silence and as to her own future if it continued. she gave him the latest news of the benders and the guerins and handed over the two letters from these friends she happened to have in her purse that he might read and enjoy them at his leisure. in short, betty poured out much of the pent-up excitement and doubt and conjecture of the last few weeks to bob, who was as hungry to hear as she was to tell it. "they certainly are fine to you!" he exclaimed, referring to the littells. "there isn't another family in washington, probably, who would have been as kind to you. i think you'll hear from your uncle soon, betty. lots of times these oil wells, you know, are miles from a railroad or a post-office. you take that mr. littell's advice--he sounds as if he had a heap of common sense. and whatever they've done to you, you're looking great, betty. pretty, and stylish and--and different, somehow." betty blushed becomingly. she had brightened up amazingly during her stay in washington, despite her anxiety about her uncle and, lately, bob, the serene and happy life the whole household led under the roof of "fairfields" had a great deal to do with this transformation, for the bickering and pettiness of the daily life at bramble farm had worn betty's nerves insensibly. she tried to say something of this to bob. "i know," he nodded. "and, betty, what do you think? i met the old miser right here in washington!" instinctively betty glanced behind her. "you didn't!" she gasped. "where? did he--was he angry?" "sure! he was raving," replied bob cheerfully. "what do you think he accused me of this time? stealing an unrecorded deed! did you know anything about that, betty?" betty described the incident of her delayed letter and told of the morning she had picked it from the floor and hung up mr. peabody's coat. "he insists you took it, but i never believed it for one moment," she said earnestly. "i'm sure mrs. peabody doesn't either; and i didn't think mr. peabody really thought you took it. you know how he flies into a temper and accuses any one. but if he came down to washington and said pointblank to you that you took it, it looks as if he thought you did, doesn't it?" "you wouldn't have any doubts if you had heard him," bob said grimly. "he had me by the coat collar and nearly shook my teeth loose. perhaps he expected to shake the deed out of my pocket. what on earth does he think i could do with his old deed, anyhow?" betty explained the transaction of the lots as mrs. peabody had explained it to her, and bob understood that the farmer, basing his reasoning on his own probable conduct under similar conditions, suspected him of intended blackmail. "how did you get away from him?" asked betty presently. "where did he shake you? couldn't you call a policeman?" "he wanted a policeman," said bob, chuckling. "he walked me about two blocks, hunting for a cop. then a crowd collected and i decided it was better to wriggle out, and i did, leaving the only coat i owned in his hands. but i never go out without looking up and down the street first. i don't want to be arrested, even if i didn't steal anything. besides, with peabody, i have a feeling that he might be able to prove whatever he wanted to prove." "you've bought a new suit," said betty irrelevantly. "you don't suppose mr. peabody will stay in washington, hunting for you, do you?" "if he doesn't have to pay too much for board he will," said bob. "that deed evidently means a lot to him. i wish i could find it, if only to send him back to the farm. i'll bet a cookie it's in some of his coat pockets this minute, and he hanging down here to nab me. sure, i bought a new suit--had to, before i could get a job. by the way, betty, if you need some cash--" he patted his pocket invitingly. "oh, i have enough," betty assured him hastily. "i'd feel better if the littells would only let me spend a little money. why, what's this?" for bob had put a small white envelope into her reluctant hands. "that's the loan," he said gravely. "i've carried it just like that for days, ready to give you the first time i saw you. you're a great little pal, betty. if it hadn't been for you, i never should have got to washington." betty put the money away in her purse, conscious that it meant self-denial on the lad's part, but knowing that she would hurt his pride irreparably did she refuse to take it. "have you written to mr. bender?" she prodded gently. "you promised to, bob." the police recorder had taken a warm interest in bob, and betty knew from his wife's letters that he was anxious to hear from him. "i will write," promised bob. "i'm tired at night, betty, and that's the truth. i never seem to get enough sleep. but i will write, perhaps this sunday." "well, folks, all talked out?" called bobby's gay voice, and she came smilingly up to them. "betty, mother and the girls are downstairs in the car. i met them on the way and they know all about our meeting with bob. mother wants him to come home to dinner." bob replied that while he appreciated mrs. littell's kindness, he could not come that night, and, as he followed bobby to the elevator, gave betty a significant glare which, correctly interpreted, read: "don't forget what i told you!" mrs. littell took to bob at once, and the bevy of girls, simple and friendly and delightfully free from selfconsciousness, adopted him at once as betty's friend and theirs. when the mother found that he could not be persuaded to come home with them that night--and betty loyally supported him, mindful of the collar--she would not be satisfied until she had arranged for him to spend the next saturday afternoon and sunday with them at "fairfields," promising to send the car in for him at noon, so that he might have lunch with them. "betty hasn't tried her riding habit on once," said mrs. littell when bob had promised to come. "perhaps when you come out the girls will find time to give her, her delayed riding lesson. they've been doing washington pretty thoroughly." this reminded betty of bobby's plan to visit the roof of the office building, and bob had the same thought. "couldn't you all come in to-morrow morning and let me take you up on the roof?" he asked them. "the view is really worth while, and i'm up there anyway half the morning looking after my employer's experiments. he is head of a dye house, and is always trying the effect of sunlight on new shades." so it was decided that the girls should come in again in the morning. then they drove away home, and bob went on his errand. luckily he had been told that he need not return to the office that afternoon after its completion, or he might have found himself involved in a maze of explanations and excuses for his lengthy absence. chapter xxi the accident "i'd like to live up here!" it was esther who spoke so enthusiastically, as she stood, with bob henderson and the four girls, on the roof of the building proudly pointed out as the tallest in washington. a soft breeze was blowing, and it was a cloudless day so that the city was clearly spread before them. "wouldn't i like to go up in an airplane!" exclaimed betty. "see, they're flying over the navy yard now. i'd give anything to know how it feels to fly." "if you go much nearer that edge you'll know how it feels all right," bob warned her. "come down here and i'll show you our drying racks. perhaps that will keep your mind off airplanes." the wooden racks held lengths of silk and cloth, weighted at the ends to keep them from blowing away. the materials were dyed in crude, vivid colors, and bob explained that they were brought from the factory after being dipped so that his employer might personally observe the changes they underwent after exposure to strong sunlight. "we only take orders and send out salesmen from the office downstairs," he said. "the factory is near georgetown and employs about two hundred hands." after they had made the circuit of the roof, picking out familiar landmarks and wrangling lazily over distances and geographical boundaries, they were ready to go down. bob must return to work, and the girls had planned a trip to the bureau of engraving and printing. "i tell you i was glad our office wasn't on the top floor this morning," bob casually remarked as they stood waiting for the elevator. "something was the matter, and everybody had to walk up. the fourth floor was plenty far enough up for us then." "mother always says we don't appreciate conveniences till we have to do without them," said bobby. "here comes the car." the grinning negro boy who operated the elevator smiled a wide smile as they filed into his car. "you-all get a nice view?" he asked sociably. they assured him that they had, and he seemed pleased, but his red light glowing at that moment, he gave all his attention to stopping at the next floor. two women got on and, at the next floor, two men. the gate had just closed after this last stop, and betty had opened her mouth to tell bobby that her hat was tipped crookedly when with a sickening speed the car began to drop! "we's slipping! i can't stop her! oh, good gracious, the brakes or nothin' don't work!" the frenzied wail of the negro who was working valiantly at his levers gave the first intimation of danger. betty saw bob spring to his aid, saw esther sink in a miserable little white heap to the floor, bobby put her hands up to her eyes as if to shut out the light, and louise mechanically try to defend herself from the strangle hold of the woman who stood next to her. it seemed minutes to betty that the car was falling, and she watched the others' behavior with a curious, semi-detached interest that was oddly impersonal. one of the men passengers began to claw at the gate frantically and the other kept muttering under his breath, softly and steadily, biting off his words crisply and quite unconscious of what he was saying. the woman who had clutched louise was silent at first, but her companion instantly screamed, and in a fraction of a second she, too, was screaming. now betty had never heard the sound of women in terror, and she was unprepared for the wild anguish of those shrill voices. the experience was terrifying, but it was all over very swiftly. the mechanism jammed between the third and second floors and the elevator came to a stop with a suddenness that jarred the teeth of the passengers. it had begun to fall after leaving the seventh floor. for a moment every one stared at every one else stupidly. bobby littell was the first to find her voice. "well, i guess we're all here," she observed matter-of-factly. "esther, are you hurt?" "no-o, i think not," said esther slowly. "wasn't it awful! let's get out of here, quick." a hasty investigation proved that no one was injured, and as one of the men said, shaken nerves could not be allowed to count. "that was a narrow escape, a mighty narrow escape!" said the other man. "i fully expected to be smashed in the wreck of the car when it struck the concrete well." "i'll never ride in another elevator, never!" ejaculated the woman who had seized louise. "why, i'll dream of this for weeks to come." the girls said nothing, though their lips were white and betty's knees were trembling. she was rather angry that she should feel this loss of control after everything was over, but it was natural. "how do we get out?" bob addressed the operator briskly. "can you open the doors? come on now, nothing is going to hurt you--the danger is over." the poor darky was actually gray with fright, and his face was bruised where he had been thrown against the grating when the car stopped. "i doan know how you-all kin get out, boss," he said tremulously. "we's stuck between the floors." "hello! hello you, down there! anybody hurt?" a friendly bellow came down to them from the grating of the floor above. a crowd had collected on each floor, having heard the screams, and all these people now ran downstairs to get as close to the stranded car as they could. they collected about the gate on the third floor, and many from the street, hearing that there had been an accident, crowded around the shaft on the second floor. they were advised that no one was hurt and what was needed was a way of escape from the brass cage. "knock a hole in the roof," some one advised cheerfully. "you can crawl out on the top of the car and then shinny your way up to us. or we'll let down a rope to you." "what'll we knock a hole in the roof with?" demanded bob, and when offers were made to drop an axe down to him he had difficulty in calming the woman who had so nearly strangled louise, and who had visions of being accidently decapitated. "i cain't get the doors open," announced the darky, after tinkering vainly with them. "i reckon the lock's done got jammed. if i could get 'em open the lil girl under the seat could shinny up the wall and that would be one out, 'tannyrate." attention thus focused upon her, libbie crawled from under the seat where she had dived, following an ostrich-like impulse to hide her head from coming danger. her confusion was increased by the tactless comment of the operator who, seeing her "full view" for the first time, exclaimed: "lawsy, missie, you couldn't shinny up no wall. you is too fat." many suggestions were forthcoming, all of them impractical, and the already frayed nerves of the passengers began to show evidence of reaching the snapping point. bob's employer was among those who had gathered in the corridor, and he decidedly favored the axe idea. the plan to chop their way out gained in favor, and a boy had been dispatched for one of the fire axes when the woman who had grasped louise created a diversion by going into hysterics and declaring that she would not have them dropping axes on her head. her companion tried in vain to soothe her, but she was in a highly nervous state and it was impossible to explain or reason with her. she began to scream again, and this was more than those imprisoned in the car with her could be expected to stand. "that settles it--call off the axe!" shouted the older man, exchanging a desperate glance with bob. "if this goes on much longer we'll be floated out on a river of salt tears. it's all right, madam, they are not going to send any axes down." the women continued to sob violently for a time, but at last they got her quieted and were free to consider other ways and means of escape. pat kelly, the genial engineer of the building, was sent down to the basement to see what he could do with the refractory machinery, for although the elevator people had been telephoned to, their men had not yet put in an appearance. pat's contribution was to create a horrible din by hammering on every pipe he came to, stopping at three-minute intervals to yell, "can ye be moving now?" "call that man off!" shouted the younger of the two men passengers. "what do you think this is--a boiler factory? about all the good he'll do will be to dislodge the car, and we'll fall the rest of the way." this was a bad suggestion, and only by hard work were two more cases of hysterics averted. "i think what we need is a drink of water," declared betty timidly. "do you think they could get some down to us? and, bob, why don't they send for the fire department?" "i suppose because we are not on fire," answered bob seriously. "what good could the firemen do?" "oh, i don't know," said betty vaguely. "only in pineville the firemen get people out of all sorts of scrapes. they can climb you know, and they have long ladders and ropes----" "by george, the girl is right!" the elder man looked at betty admiringly. "hey, some of you who want to help! go and 'phone the fire department. and say, send us down some water--we're dry as dust after this rumpus." half of the waiting crowd scattered to telephone to the fire department and the other half ran for the water coolers. their zeal outstripped their judgment in this latter service, and the result was an icy stream of water that poured into the car. chapter xxii being rescued the water struck the lady given to hysterics, and she promptly opened her mouth and shrieked again. "we're drowning!" she cried, her terrified mind picturing a broken water pipe. "i tell you, we're drowning!" "and i tell you we're not!" betty stifled a desire to laugh as one of the men contradicted her. "some idiot--" the crash of the water cooler against the top of the car as it slipped from the hands of the person holding it interrupted his assurance and weakened it hopelessly. a chorus of shrieks arose from those in the car. "well, there's your drink, betty," grinned bob, assisting the girls to crowd on to the one seat, for the floor was soaked with ice-cold water. "and here come your firemen--maybe they'll have better luck." some of the firemen went to the third floor and others obeyed orders to stay on the second. "i'd say knock 'er down," said the grizzled old fire chief after a careful inspection of the wedged car. "we'll fix it up to break the fall. and, anyway, a drop from the third to the basement would not be dangerous." but the occupants of the elevator protested vigorously against this plan. they made it quite clear that they had had all the "drop" they wanted for that day, and some of them intimated that they preferred to spend the night there rather than be experimented with. "women is like that," they heard the fire chief confide sadly to his lieutenant. "you can't reason with 'em. well, we'll have to dope out another scheme." after a consultation, it was proposed, via the chiefs voice which had a carrying quality that was famous throughout the city, to let a ladder down from the third floor, have a fireman chop a hole in the top of the car, and assist the prisoners up the ladder to safety. this plan met with the approval of all but the two rather prim and elderly women who flatly refused to walk up a ladder, even to get out of their present unpleasant predicament. "well, then, you'll have to stay here," announced the fire chief disgustedly. "the others are willing, and we can't hang around here all day. if there was a fire you wouldn't be consulted. a fireman would have you up or down a ladder before you could open your mouth to object. i ain't used to arguing with anybody." "there's another way that might work, chief," suggested his aide. "if we can fix ropes and rig up a windlass, we can maybe hoist the car up to the level of the gate." it was decided to try this plan, but the wily chief first extracted a promise from every one in the car that if the scheme failed, they would submit to a ladder rescue. "'cause i ain't saying this will work, and i don't aim to cook up a different plan every minute till you're all suited," he declared, with commendable precaution. "you all agree to the ladder if this ain't a go?" an unanimous chorus assured him that they did. it took some time to arrange the ropes, but at last, creakingly and slowly, the car began to make its ascent. "bless the lord!" ejaculated the darky operator fervently, "i done guess our troubles is ovah!" he changed his mind in a minute when it was discovered that the car gates were jammed. there the eleven imprisoned passengers stood, on a level with the third floor, a crowd gathered in the corridor as far as the eye could see, a thin iron grating separating them from escape. "i don't know but i'd just as lief stay here as to face that mob," murmured bob, but some one heard him. "you're among friends, bub," a man called. "keep up a stout heart." there was a general laugh, and some one was dispatched to get a file. ten minutes' work with this, and the stubborn catch was filed through, the gates slid back and those behind them found themselves once more on good solid mosaic tiling. bob's employer came up to him, and was presented to the girls. he was a pleasant, prosperous-looking man, middle-aged, and evidently fond of bob. he immediately offered him the rest of the day off, insisting that after such an experience he should rest quietly for a few hours. "by the way," he remarked _sotto voce_, "those two young men over there at the head of the stairs are newspaper reporters. one has a camera. i imagine they want to get a story on your morning's sensations." bob had not yet met mr. littell, but he had a lively idea of what that gentleman might say should he find his daughters' pictures spread over the first page of the evening papers, accompanied by a more or less accurate analysis of their emotions during the trying period through which they had just passed. "whisk us into your office, can't you, mr. derby?" he urged, "they're stopping people as they go down; they'll take no notice of us if we go on up to the fourth floor." the crowd, satisfied that no one had been killed or was likely to be, had drifted down the staircase, the two alert youths questioning each one in an effort to get the stories of those who had been in the stalled car. the negro operator had already furnished enough copy for a half-column of thrills. mr. derby managed to usher the girls and bob upstairs to his office without exciting suspicion, and once there the question of how to get to the street was considered. there were still enough people in the corridors to make a quick run down impossible, and the elevator was, of course, out of commission. "i'll tell you," said mr. derby suddenly. "go down the fire escape to the second floor and get in at the hall window. it's always open. i'll have to wait here for anderson, bob. he had an appointment at eleven, but telephoned he was delayed. but perhaps the nerves of the young ladies are not equal to a climb down the fire escape? in that case you could all remain here and i'll have lunch sent in." the girls, however, ridiculed the idea of nervousness. and indeed, with the elasticity of youth, they had already dismissed the accident from their minds except as an exciting story to tell at home that afternoon or evening. "i'll go first," said bob, stepping out on the fire escape. "all there is to do is to take it easy, don't hurry, and don't push. there's only two flights, so you can't get dizzy." "isn't this a lark!" chuckled bobby, as she and betty waited for the younger girls to go first after bob. "i never had so much fun in my life. what's bob stopping for?" bob was working with the window directly over the fire escape on the second floor. the girls caught up with him before he turned with a flushed face. "the blame thing's locked," he announced. "isn't that the worst luck! it's a rule of the building that all hall windows be left open unless there's a storm. well, i suppose we might as well go back. there's no window on the first floor." "we could climb in there," suggested betty, pointing to another window, half-opened. "see, bob, i can reach it easily." she drew herself up before bob could stop her, and, raising the window as high as it would go, scrambled over the sill. "it's fine--come on in," she laughed back at the others. "cunning office and no one in it. i suppose the owner has gone out to see us rescued." bob lifted up libbie, who was the shortest, and, one after the other, the girls climbed in, bob following last. it was a finely furnished office and one bob had never been in, though he had a speaking acquaintance with many of the tenants in the building. a pair of tiny scales and a little heap of yellow dust lay on the highly polished mahogany desk. the door into the corridor was partly open, and as they had to pass the desk to reach the door, it was natural that the group should draw nearer and glance curiously at the pair of scales. "no nearer are you to come!" snapped a sharp voice with the precision of a foreigner who is not sure enough of his english to speak hurriedly. "i warn you not to put a finger out." libbie squawked outright in terror, and the others fell back a step. a little man with very black eyes stood facing them, and at them he was leveling a small, businesslike looking revolver. the door had closed noiselessly, and he had evidently been behind it. "i saw you all to enter," he informed them sternly. "i, of all in the building, remembered that it is in excitement that sneak thieves do their best work. mr. matthews is trusting, but i--i stood on guard. it is well. you are not to move while i telephone to the police." "look here," said bob determinedly, almost overwhelmed with his responsibility and blaming himself for having placed the girls in such an awkward position. "we're no thieves. you can telephone upstairs to mr. derby and he'll vouch for us." "i know no mr. derby," said the little man stubbornly. "why should you pick out a jeweler's office and creep in through the window? answer me that! are there not stairs?" "well we wanted to avoid some--er--men," blurted bob. "yah--already the police seek you!" triumphed their captor. "well, they will not have long to seek." "they were not the police." betty found her voice and spoke earnestly. "they were reporters, and we didn't want to be interviewed. we came down the fire escape from the fourth floor, and found the hall window locked. this window was open, and we crawled in, intending to get out into the hall. that is the absolute truth." chapter xxiii another rescue the black eyes of the little man suddenly disappeared. they were so bright and glistening that their disappearance was noticeable. he had closed them tight and was laughing! as suddenly as he had laughed, his mirth stopped, and he stared sternly at the anxious betty. "you expect me to believe that?" he asked incredulously. "it is true," she said quietly. "true--bah!" the vehemence of his tone quite startled her. "true! when all you had to do to reach the first floor--had access to the street been your object--was to let down the folding flight to the ground." betty's jaw dropped. she and bob looked at each other helplessly. "we--we never thought of that!" she faltered. it was true. in her excitement she had not noticed the folding flight of steps that let down to the ground in an emergency, and for protection against sneak thieves was always drawn up except during fire drills. bob had been equally careless. as for the littell girls, like docile sheep, they had never thought to question their leaders. still keeping the revolver pointed at them, the little man took down the telephone receiver. "bob!" whispered betty. "oh, bob, this is dreadful! what will mrs. littell say? and those reporters! if they get hold of this, the elevator story will be nothing." bobby and louise and esther and libbie stood in a forlorn group, their gaze fixed trustingly on bob and betty, whom they trusted to get them out of this scrape somehow. as for bob, he was handicapped by numbers. he could easily have planned a way to get himself and one girl out of the room, but to hope to spirit away five substantial maidens under the black eyes fastened unwaveringly upon him, was too great a problem for quick solution. he did not fear trouble in establishing their innocence, but the notoriety accompanying such an episode could not be otherwise than distinctly unpleasant. "i suppose that's gold dust in the tray," thought bob wretchedly. "of all the poor luck, to pick out an office with gold dust floating around as free as air! why didn't the dub lock it up in his safe?" the little man was having trouble to get "central." he jiggled the hook frantically in flat defiance of all telephone rules, and he shouted loudly into the transmitter, as though enough noise could rouse the number he sought. just at this moment the outer door opened and a man entered. he was a man of middle age with a closely clipped gray moustache and kindly gray eyes. it was mr. matthews, the owner of the business. the little man, seeing him, flung the receiver into the hook with a bang and poured forth a volley of french, emphasized by wild gestures. after listening for a few moments, mr. matthews turned a wondering gaze on the group of subdued looking young people. his expression soon turned to one of amusement. after a word or two in french to the little man, evidently of thanks for his zeal, he said to bob and the girls: "won't you please tell me your side of the story? i find it hard to believe that you have set forth to rob and steal." the tale came out with a rush, bob, betty, and bobby taking turns or all talking together, the others, fortunately, being content to let the three tell the story. mr. matthews was sympathetic and apologetic, but he was also amused, and he laughed heartily. it seemed he knew mr. littell. the "robber band," as bobby afterwards named them, laughed with him; in fact, in their relief, laughing till the tears came. the black-eyed man, meanwhile, left the room, still, evidently, suspicious of them. "monsieur brissot," explained mr. matthews, "is a belgian diamond cutter who has just come to this country. he seems to be suspicious of everybody, and, i fear, does not always use judgment in his handling of such matters. i am grateful, however, for the interest he takes in my business, and trust you young people will overlook his excess of zeal." mr. matthews showed them to the door, and as by this time the reporters were well away intent on other affairs, they went out of the building in the regular way-a more seemly way than scuttling down fire escapes and breaking into jewelry shops, so betty declared. "well, good gracious!" observed bobby, when they were once outside. "if this hasn't been an exciting morning! first we get nearly killed, then we're rescued, and next we're almost arrested." they boarded a street car and went to the bureau of engraving and printing, where they spent an interesting afternoon touring the immense plant, the best equipped of its kind in the world. the recital of their adventures at the dinner table that night provoked mingled merriment and concern. "never mind, it will teach 'em self-reliance," mr. littell insisted, when his wife protested that the girls would have to be more closely chaperoned on subsequent trips. "falling into scrapes is the finest lesson-book ever opened to the heedless." sunday morning the girls and mrs. littell motored to washington and attended services in one of the fine old churches. there they had an excellent opportunity to observe the president of the united states and his wife, who, as libbie said disappointedly at dinner that day, "looked just like anybody." "i hope you didn't expect them to get up and make a speech?" teased her uncle. "however, i'm glad you saw them, my dear. a country where the head of the government 'looks just like anybody' and goes to church as simply and reverently as any one else is the finest in the world." early in the new week bobby announced that it was their duty, meaning the girl contingent, to go into the city and pay a call upon a friend of the littells' who was staying with an aunt at one of the large hotels. they had met them at church, and a tentative promise had been given, which bobby was determined should be kept. "if it wasn't for me this family would have no manners," she scolded. "now, i don't like ruth gladys royal a bit better than you do, louise; but i hope i know what is the right thing to do." mrs. littell, who was hopelessly unfashionable as far as conventions that were merely polite went, announced serenely that she was going to her sewing circle and that if the girls chose they might go calling. her engagement stood. "mother thinks ruth royal is snobbish," commented bobby, as her mother serenely departed for the little sewing circle of the country church in which she maintained a keen interest and which she virtually supported. "as far as that goes, i think she is. but louise told her we'd come and call on her, and i think a promise ought to be kept." "well, i'll go with you if betty will," said louise. "i don't see why you pick out a perfectly lovely afternoon to martyr us all in, but if it must be done, let's get it over with. esther and libbie have wheedled dad into taking them to the movies, and i suppose we can go in the car with them." the three ascended the stairs to put on their best bibs and tuckers and came down again to find mr. littell and the other two girls joyously arranged on the back seat, with carter having hard work to keep from smiling at their jokes and quips. "how elegant we look," jeered mr. littell, whose injured foot was still stiff but who began to talk about returning to his office. "i don't suppose you could be persuaded to go to see 'the rose-pink curtains' with us, and have a sundae afterward?" bobby shook her head sternly. "don't tempt us when we're having a hard time to do our duty," she admonished. "we have to go to see ruth royal; honestly we do. but we'll meet you for the sundae; won't we, girls?" it was arranged that they should meet at quarter to five, and then the three callers were set down before the ornate hotel entrance. just off the lobby was a pretty, richly furnished parlor where they decided to wait while they were being announced. "let's hope she isn't in," suggested the irrepressible louise. "then we'd still have time to see 'the rose-pink curtains.'" betty sat nearest the door and from her seat she could see a section of the lobby and one of the elevators. the boy who had taken their names came back in a few minutes with the information that miss royal and her aunt were out. "the clerk says they left word at the desk that they expect to be back about half-past seven to-night." "all right, that excuses us," declared bobby cheerfully, hardly waiting till the boy had left the room. "come on, girls, we'll go to the movies. betty, for mercy's sake, what are you staring at?" betty had risen and was peering through the velvet portieres. she turned and put a finger to her lips, then drew bobby close to her. "look out there in the corridor, over by the desk," she whispered. "see that man who is shouting at the clerk?" "i hear him," admitted bobby, screwing up her eyes and peeping through the curtains. "what do you suppose he is arguing about?" "that," announced betty, unintentionally dramatic, "is joseph peabody!" the girls had heard about joseph peabody, a little from betty, and more from bob, who had spoken freely to their father. they knew about his miserly nature and they were acquainted with the fact that he believed bob had stolen something that did not belong to him. the real story of the unrecorded deed both bob and betty had told only to mr. littell. it was characteristic of bobby's loyal nature that her first thought should be for betty. "you don't suppose he is down here after you, do you?" she whispered, clutching betty by the elbow in a sudden panic. "oh, betty, suppose he wanted to drag you back to bramble farm?" betty had to laugh, in spite of the anxiety she was feeling. "he has no authority over me," she explained. "besides, he would have no earthly use for me if my board wasn't paid in advance." her face clouded involuntarily as the thought of her missing uncle thus came to her mind. "no," she went on, "i'm terribly afraid that he is here looking for bob. you know he threatened to have him arrested that time bob managed to escape him. i wonder if i can't get to a 'phone booth without being seen and telephone to bob or mr. derby." louise rather impatiently pushed her sister aside that she might take a peep at the unconscious mr. peabody. as she put her eye to the crack between the curtains she uttered a little shriek that she tried to stifle with her hand. "betty!" she cried so shrilly that those in the lobby must have heard her if the harsh call of a siren outside had not sounded opportunely. "betty, here comes bob!" sure enough, in through the revolving door, neatly dressed and looking every inch the intelligent young junior clerk, came bob henderson, his eyes glued to a letter he had taken from his pocket. betty would have given even her hope of a letter from oklahoma to have been able to call a warning. instead, she had to stand helplessly by and watch the lad walk directly to the desk, where he put a question to the clerk. instantly joseph peabody whirled and had the boy by the collar. "got you at last, you young imp!" he chortled gleefully. "this time i don't calculate to let go of you till i land you where you're going--behind the bars. that is, unless you hand over what you've got of mine!" several people turned to stare curiously, and betty sympathized acutely with the crimson-faced bob, who was protesting hotly that he had nothing belonging to peabody. "you stay here," she ordered louise and bobby. "there's no need of you mixing in this. i'm going to see if i can help bob." she sped across the hall to the desk, followed by her two faithful shadows, who were determined to stand loyally by. "well, i swan, if it isn't betty!" ejaculated the farmer when he caught sight of her. chapter xxiv bob is cleared "betty, you stay out of this," commanded bob sternly. "if there's going to be a scene, two actors will be a-plenty. you go away and take the girls with you." the clerk who had been regarding them curiously over his ledger now took a hand. "if this argument is likely to be prolonged," he suggested sarcastically, "i'd advise you either to go up to your room, mr. peabody, or into that card room there. that's deserted in the day time." "yes, come on in here," said betty, anxious to get away from the gaze of the other guests. she led the way into the card room which opened off the lobby and was preferable to making a public journey in the elevator. "close the door, louise." mr. peabody kept his hold on bob's collar and from time to time he shook him vigorously, whether with the idea of shaking the stubbornness out of him or merely to indicate that he held the whip hand, betty was undecided. "you can let go of bob," she said heatedly, as soon as they were in the room with the door shut. "he isn't going to run away." "i'll see that he doesn't," was the grim reply. "you hand over that deed, young man, or i'll call a policeman in two minutes." "i tell you i haven't got it!" protested bob desperately. "i never saw the thing. what would i be doing with a paper of yours? i haven't got it, and that's all there is to it." "of course he hasn't!" for the life of her betty could not keep still, though perhaps caution dictated that she hold her tongue. "i know he hasn't that deed, mr. peabody. and having him arrested won't give you what he hasn't got." "how do you know he hasn't got it?" demanded the farmer. "deeds don't walk off and hide themselves, young lady. bob happens to know why i want that deed. and if he doesn't produce it, and that mighty quick, he'll find himself where they can shake the truth out of him with no fooling." bobby sprang to her feet from the leather chair where she had curled up to listen to the proceedings. "i'll telephone my father," she cried. "he'll help bob to sue you for false arrest. if you have some one arrested and it is found he didn't do what you said he did, he can sue you for damages. i've heard my father say so. don't you care, bob, daddy will find a way to beat this horrid old man." an unpleasant smile spread over the mean, shriveled face. "is that so?" queried joseph peabody. "well, i don't know who you are, miss, but you need a lesson on how to keep a civil tongue in your head. all the fine friends mister bob has picked up in washington won't stand by him long when they find out he's a poorhouse rat and a runaway at that. there'll be some explaining for you to do before the almshouse authorities are satisfied, young man." betty's anger flamed as the familiar odious phrase fell from the farmer's lips, and added to her anger was the crystallized fear that had been haunting her for weeks. she did not know whether bob could really be returned to the poor-house or whether it was another trick of peabody's, but she feared the worst and dreaded it. "you try to return bob to the poorhouse!" she cried, her cheeks blazing, her hands clenched. she took a step toward peabody and he fell back, dragging bob with him so that a chair stood between them and the furious girl. "you try to return bob to the poorhouse, and i'll tell every one what i know about that deed," flared betty. "i know all about the warren lots and the kind of sale you forced through. you--you--" to her distress and amazement, betty burst into tears. "don't cry, dear," whispered bobby, putting her arm around her. "daddy won't let them do anything to bob. you see if he does." joseph peabody was apparently impervious to verbal assaults and tears. "once more i ask you," he shook bob violently, "are you going to hand over that paper? yes, or no?" "i tell you i haven't got it," said bob doggedly. "shaking my teeth out won't help me get a paper i never saw in my life. as for having me arrested, you keep up this racket much longer and the hotel authorities will send for the police on their own responsibility." peabody picked up his hat. "all right, you come along with me," he said sourly. "you won't go before a soft-headed police recorder this time, either. you'll find out what it means to face a real judge." he was marching bob toward the door when a sharp rap sounded. louise, nearest the door, had the presence of mind to open it. a bellboy stood there with a telegram on a tray. "telegram for mr. joseph peabody," he announced impassively, his alert eyes darting about the room from which such angry voices had been coming for the last quarter of an hour. "all right--give it here." the farmer snatched the yellow envelope and shut the door in the boy's face without making a motion to tip him. his back against the door, to prevent bob's escape, joseph peabody slit the envelope and read the message. the others saw his jaw drop and a slow, painful flush creep over his face and neck. "i'm called back to bramble farm right away," he mumbled, refusing to meet their gaze. "being hurried, and having so much to tend to, i'm willing to drop the matter of having you arrested, bob. but let this be a lesson to you, to hoe a straight row." bob stared at the man stupidly, frankly bewildered. but betty's quick wit solved the sudden change of front. she had seen how quickly peabody folded up the telegram when he had read it. "isn't that a message from mrs. peabody?" she demanded crisply. "and doesn't she say she's found the deed? where was it--in one of your coat pockets?" the farmer was taken by surprise, and the truth was shocked out of him. "she's found it under the seat in the old market wagon," he blurted. "i recollect i put it there for safe-keeping, meaning to take it over to the deposit box the next day. well, i've wasted more time an' money in washington than i like to think of. got to go home and make up for it." without another word or glance, without the shadow of an apology to bob, he swung out of the room and strode over to the desk. in a moment they heard his harsh voice demanding the amount of his bill. bob looked at betty, who stared back. louise and bobby were equally silent. then betty snickered, and the tension was broken. peal after peal of laughter rang out, and they dropped helplessly into chairs and laughed till they could laugh no longer. "oh, dear!" betty sat up, wiping her eyes. "did you ever see anything like that? he never said good-by, or admitted that he'd made a mistake, or--or anything! what do you suppose people in the hotel must think of him?" that reminded bobby of the girl they had come to see and who was really responsible for their visit to the hotel. "the first kind thing ruth royal ever did for me," she declared frankly. "i wouldn't have missed seeing mr. peabody for worlds." "how did you ever happen to come here, bob?" asked betty, who had been wondering about this ever since she had seen bob walk right into the one man he most wished to avoid. "i brought a letter from mr. derby for one of the guests stopping here," explained bob. "that reminds me, i haven't delivered it yet. peabody threw me off the track. i'll turn it in, and then i'll have to hurry back to the office; they'll think i've been run over for sure." he went off, promising again to see them on saturday, and the girls, feeling too upset to settle down to the quietness of a motion picture house, went out to walk up and down in the sunshine of pennsylvania avenue until it was time to meet mr. littell and libbie and esther. of course they had much to tell them, and mr. littell in particular was a most appreciative listener. he was genuinely fond of bob and interested in him, and he got quite purple with wrath when he learned of the indignity he had suffered at the hands of the ill-bred farmer. "then he went off and never had the grace to ask the lad's pardon!" sputtered the builder when betty reached the end of her recital. "i wish i had him by the collar--just for three minutes. perhaps i wouldn't drive a little of the fear of justice into his narrow mind!" they had lingered over their ice-cream, and although carter drove at a good speed, they found that unless they hurried they would be late for dinner. it was one of mrs. littell's few unbreakable rules that the girls must change into simple, light frocks for the evening meal, and they went directly upstairs to take off their street clothes. when they came down dinner had been announced and they went directly to the table. they had so much to tell mrs. littell and she was so interested that it was not until they were leaving the table that she remembered what she had meant to ask betty as soon as the girl came in. "betty, darling," she said comfortably, "you found your letter on the hall table all right, didn't you?" "why, i never thought to look for mail," returned betty in surprise. "no, mrs. littell, i didn't stop in the hall. was there a letter for me?" mrs. littell nodded and swept her family across the hall into the living-room, saying something to her husband in a low voice. betty hurried to the console table where the mail was always laid on a beaten silver tray. the solitary letter lying there was addressed to her. and the postmark, she saw as she picked it up, was a town in oklahoma! chapter xxv future plans betty's first impulse was to run up to her room and close the door. then she sat down on the edge of the bed and tore open the envelope eagerly. she read the half dozen closely written sheets through twice, thrust them back into the envelope, and ran down to tell the littells the good news. "i've heard from uncle dick!" she cried radiantly, facing them as they turned at her entrance. betty's vivid personality often betrayed her mood without a word, and to-night she was vibrant with happiness so that she fairly glowed. "he has just got back to flame city, where he found the telegram and my letters. and he wants me to come out to him, as he expects to be there for the next few months. he's been on a long prospecting trip, and he can't get east till his company sends out another representative. you may read the letter!" she thrust it into mr. littell's hands and buried her head on mrs. littell's broad shoulder. "i'm so happy!" she choked, while the motherly hands smoothed her hair understandingly. "it's been so long, and i was afraid he might have died--like my mother. i don't think i could stand it if uncle dick should die--he's the only one who belongs to me." "why, betty, child!" mrs. littell gathered her into her lap and rocked her gently as though she had been a little child. "you're nervous and unstrung. we ought to have taken better care of you and not let this waiting wear you out so." "if you're going to cry, betty, so'll i," promised bobby, putting an awkward arm around betty's neck. bobby was as undemonstrative as a boy and rarely kissed any one. "what in the wide world are we going to do without you?" betty sat up and pushed the damp hair from her forehead. the four girls were regarding her dolorously. "i won't stay forever," she assured them. "uncle dick doesn't intend to live out there, you know. the company he represents will likely send him east this very winter." "well, that's a mighty interesting letter," commented mr. littell, folding up the missive and returning it to betty. "though you're going to leave a hole in this household, sister, when you set sail. you see, he's been out of sight and hearing of trains and post-offices for a long time. i'd like to be able to lose myself in the desert or a wilderness for a month or two. think of having no telephone bell to answer!" the next morning a letter came to mr. littell from mr. gordon, thanking him warmly for his kindness to betty, containing the assurance of the writer's lasting gratitude, and asking him if he and his wife would oversee her preparations for the journey, help her engage a berth, and start her on her way. a generous check was enclosed, and mrs. littell and the girls immediately set about helping betty do the necessary shopping, while mr. littell engaged her reservations on the western limited. she had decided to leave the following wednesday, and when bob came out to spend the week-end, he immediately announced his intention of going too. "i figure out flame city is the nearest station to my aunt's old place. i have enough money saved now, and there's no reason why i should stay on here. hurrah for oklahoma!" the preparations went forward merrily after that, and wednesday found betty on the western limited, bound for flame city. what happened to her there and her experience in the great oil fields will be told in another volume to be called, "betty gordon in the land of oil; or, the farm that was worth a fortune." bobby insisted that they make the week-end at fairfields a farewell celebration to be remembered, and the six young people managed to get the maximum of enjoyment out of every hour. bob had been brought out to saturday luncheon, and as soon as he had heard about the oklahoma trip and announced his own plans, louise insisted that betty was to have a lesson in riding. "of course you'll want to ride out west," she said. "they all do in pictures. come on out to the barn, and we'll get the ponies out." a stable boy brought out a gentle, coal-black pony, and betty mounted him trustingly. "why, it's lovely!" cried betty, enjoying the sensation to the full. "he goes like a rocking chair, bless his heart! i'm sure i can learn to ride." "of course you can!" bobby encouraged her swiftly. "you must try him at a slow canter in a minute. here comes esther with the camera." a picture of betty was taken, and then the lesson was resumed. at the close of the afternoon bobby announced that betty was in a fair way to become a good horsewoman. mr. and mrs. littell took them into washington to the theater that night, and to make up the hours of lost sleep all the young people slept late the next morning. instead of going into washington to church, they all went to the little country church that mrs. littell attended and loved, and after the service they spent a quiet, pleasant day about the house and grounds of fairfields. that evening the five girls and bob gathered on the spacious white steps of the house to watch the beautiful virginia sunset. "let's promise each other," suggested betty, her pretty face serious and thoughtful, "to meet five years from now, wherever we may be, and compare notes. we'll be almost grown up then and know what we're going to be." "no matter how often we meet, or how seldom, five years from to-day we'll promise to come together," agreed bobby. "here's my seal." she put out her hand and the hands of the six interlocked in a tower. "to our close friendship," murmured betty, as they unclasped. then, the sun having set, they went into the glow and welcome of the lighted lamps. the end the gilded age a tale of today by mark twain and charles dudley warner part . chapter xxviii. whatever may have been the language of harry's letter to the colonel, the information it conveyed was condensed or expanded, one or the other, from the following episode of his visit to new york: he called, with official importance in his mien, at no.-- wall street, where a great gilt sign betokened the presence of the head-quarters of the "columbus river slack-water navigation company." he entered and gave a dressy porter his card, and was requested to wait a moment in a sort of ante-room. the porter returned in a minute; and asked whom he would like to see? "the president of the company, of course." "he is busy with some gentlemen, sir; says he will be done with them directly." that a copper-plate card with "engineer-in-chief" on it should be received with such tranquility as this, annoyed mr. brierly not a little. but he had to submit. indeed his annoyance had time to augment a good deal; for he was allowed to cool his heels a frill half hour in the ante-room before those gentlemen emerged and he was ushered into the presence. he found a stately dignitary occupying a very official chair behind a long green morocco-covered table, in a room with sumptuously carpeted and furnished, and well garnished with pictures. "good morning, sir; take a seat--take a seat." "thank you sir," said harry, throwing as much chill into his manner as his ruffled dignity prompted. "we perceive by your reports and the reports of the chief superintendent, that you have been making gratifying progress with the work.--we are all very much pleased." "indeed? we did not discover it from your letters--which we have not received; nor by the treatment our drafts have met with--which were not honored; nor by the reception of any part of the appropriation, no part of it having come to hand." "why, my dear mr. brierly, there must be some mistake, i am sure we wrote you and also mr. sellers, recently--when my clerk comes he will show copies--letters informing you of the ten per cent. assessment." "oh, certainly, we got those letters. but what we wanted was money to carry on the work--money to pay the men." "certainly, certainly--true enough--but we credited you both for a large part of your assessments--i am sure that was in our letters." "of course that was in--i remember that." "ah, very well then. now we begin to understand each other." "well, i don't see that we do. there's two months' wages due the men, and----" "how? haven't you paid the men?" "paid them! how are we going to pay them when you don't honor our drafts?" "why, my dear sir, i cannot see how you can find any fault with us. i am sure we have acted in a perfectly straight forward business way.--now let us look at the thing a moment. you subscribed for shares of the capital stock, at $ , a share, i believe?" "yes, sir, i did." "and mr. sellers took a like amount?" "yes, sir." "very well. no concern can get along without money. we levied a ten per cent. assessment. it was the original understanding that you and mr. sellers were to have the positions you now hold, with salaries of $ a month each, while in active service. you were duly elected to these places, and you accepted them. am i right?" "certainly." "very well. you were given your instructions and put to work. by your reports it appears that you have expended the sum of $ , upon the said work. two months salary to you two officers amounts altogether to $ , --about one-eighth of your ten per cent. assessment, you see; which leaves you in debt to the company for the other seven-eighths of the assessment--viz, something over $ , apiece. now instead of requiring you to forward this aggregate of $ , or $ , to new york, the company voted unanimously to let you pay it over to the contractors, laborers from time to time, and give you credit on the books for it. and they did it without a murmur, too, for they were pleased with the progress you had made, and were glad to pay you that little compliment --and a very neat one it was, too, i am sure. the work you did fell short of $ , , a trifle. let me see--$ , from $ , salary $ ; added--ah yes, the balance due the company from yourself and mr. sellers is $ , , which i will take the responsibility of allowing to stand for the present, unless you prefer to draw a check now, and thus----" "confound it, do you mean to say that instead of the company owing us $ , , we owe the company $ , ?" "well, yes." "and that we owe the men and the contractors nearly ten thousand dollars besides?" "owe them! oh bless my soul, you can't mean that you have not paid these people?" "but i do mean it!" the president rose and walked the floor like a man in bodily pain. his brows contracted, he put his hand up and clasped his forehead, and kept saying, "oh, it is, too bad, too bad, too bad! oh, it is bound to be found out--nothing can prevent it--nothing!" then he threw himself into his chair and said: "my dear mr. brierson, this is dreadful--perfectly dreadful. it will be found out. it is bound to tarnish the good name of the company; our credit will be seriously, most seriously impaired. how could you be so thoughtless--the men ought to have been paid though it beggared us all!" "they ought, ought they? then why the devil--my name is not bryerson, by the way--why the mischief didn't the compa--why what in the nation ever became of the appropriation? where is that appropriation?--if a stockholder may make so bold as to ask." the appropriation?--that paltry $ , , do you mean?" "of course--but i didn't know that $ , was so very paltry. though i grant, of course, that it is not a large sum, strictly speaking. but where is it?" "my dear sir, you surprise me. you surely cannot have had a large acquaintance with this sort of thing. otherwise you would not have expected much of a result from a mere initial appropriation like that. it was never intended for anything but a mere nest egg for the future and real appropriations to cluster around." "indeed? well, was it a myth, or was it a reality? whatever become of it?" "why the--matter is simple enough. a congressional appropriation costs money. just reflect, for instance--a majority of the house committee, say $ , apiece--$ , ; a majority of the senate committee, the same each--say $ , ; a little extra to one or two chairman of one or two such committees, say $ , each--$ , ; and there's $ , of the money gone, to begin with. then, seven male lobbyists, at $ , each --$ , ; one female lobbyist, $ , ; a high moral congressman or senator here and there--the high moral ones cost more, because they. give tone to a measure--say ten of these at $ , each, is $ , ; then a lot of small-fry country members who won't vote for anything whatever without pay--say twenty at $ apiece, is $ , ; a lot of dinners to members--say $ , altogether; lot of jimcracks for congressmen's wives and children--those go a long way--you can't sped too much money in that line--well, those things cost in a lump, say $ , --along there somewhere; and then comes your printed documents--your maps, your tinted engravings, your pamphlets, your illuminated show cards, your advertisements in a hundred and fifty papers at ever so much a line --because you've got to keep the papers all light or you are gone up, you know. oh, my dear sir, printing bills are destruction itself. ours so far amount to--let me see-- ; ; ; ;--and then there's ; ; --well, never mind the details, the total in clean numbers foots up $ , . thus far!" "what!" "oh, yes indeed. printing's no bagatelle, i can tell you. and then there's your contributions, as a company, to chicago fires and boston fires, and orphan asylums and all that sort of thing--head the list, you see, with the company's full name and a thousand dollars set opposite --great card, sir--one of the finest advertisements in the world--the preachers mention it in the pulpit when it's a religious charity--one of the happiest advertisements in the world is your benevolent donation. ours have amounted to sixteen thousand dollars and some cents up to this time." "good heavens!" "oh, yes. perhaps the biggest thing we've done in the advertising line was to get an officer of the u. s. government, of perfectly himmalayan official altitude, to write up our little internal improvement for a religious paper of enormous circulation--i tell you that makes our bonds go handsomely among the pious poor. your religious paper is by far the best vehicle for a thing of this kind, because they'll 'lead' your article and put it right in the midst of the reading matter; and if it's got a few scripture quotations in it, and some temperance platitudes and a bit of gush here and there about sunday schools, and a sentimental snuffle now and then about 'god's precious ones, the honest hard-handed poor,' it works the nation like a charm, my dear sir, and never a man suspects that it is an advertisement; but your secular paper sticks you right into the advertising columns and of course you don't take a trick. give me a religious paper to advertise in, every time; and if you'll just look at their advertising pages, you'll observe that other people think a good deal as i do--especially people who have got little financial schemes to make everybody rich with. of course i mean your great big metropolitan religious papers that know how to serve god and make money at the same time--that's your sort, sir, that's your sort--a religious paper that isn't run to make money is no use to us, sir, as an advertising medium--no use to anybody--in our line of business. i guess our next best dodge was sending a pleasure trip of newspaper reporters out to napoleon. never paid them a cent; just filled them up with champagne and the fat of the land, put pen, ink and paper before them while they were red-hot, and bless your soul when you come to read their letters you'd have supposed they'd been to heaven. and if a sentimental squeamishness held one or two of them back from taking a less rosy view of napoleon, our hospitalities tied his tongue, at least, and he said nothing at all and so did us no harm. let me see--have i stated all the expenses i've been at? no, i was near forgetting one or two items. there's your official salaries--you can't get good men for nothing. salaries cost pretty lively. and then there's your big high-sounding millionaire names stuck into your advertisements as stockholders--another card, that--and they are stockholders, too, but you have to give them the stock and non-assessable at that--so they're an expensive lot. very, very expensive thing, take it all around, is a big internal improvement concern--but you see that yourself, mr. bryerman--you see that, yourself, sir." "but look here. i think you are a little mistaken about it's ever having cost anything for congressional votes. i happen to know something about that. i've let you say your say--now let me say mine. i don't wish to seem to throw any suspicion on anybody's statements, because we are all liable to be mistaken. but how would it strike you if i were to say that i was in washington all the time this bill was pending? and what if i added that i put the measure through myself? yes, sir, i did that little thing. and moreover, i never paid a dollar for any man's vote and never promised one. there are some ways of doing a thing that are as good as others which other people don't happen to think about, or don't have the knack of succeeding in, if they do happen to think of them. my dear sir, i am obliged to knock some of your expenses in the head--for never a cent was paid a congressman or senator on the part of this navigation company." the president smiled blandly, even sweetly, all through this harangue, and then said: "is that so?" "every word of it." "well it does seem to alter the complexion of things a little. you are acquainted with the members down there, of course, else you could not have worked to such advantage?" "i know them all, sir. i know their wives, their children, their babies --i even made it a point to be on good terms with their lackeys. i know every congressman well--even familiarly." "very good. do you know any of their signatures? do you know their handwriting?" "why i know their handwriting as well as i know my own--have had correspondence enough with them, i should think. and their signatures --why i can tell their initials, even." the president went to a private safe, unlocked it and got out some letters and certain slips of paper. then he said: "now here, for instance; do you believe that that is a genuine letter? do you know this signature here?--and this one? do you know who those initials represent--and are they forgeries?" harry was stupefied. there were things there that made his brain swim. presently, at the bottom of one of the letters he saw a signature that restored his equilibrium; it even brought the sunshine of a smile to his face. the president said: "that one amuses you. you never suspected him?" "of course i ought to have suspected him, but i don't believe it ever really occurred to me. well, well, well--how did you ever have the nerve to approach him, of all others?" "why my friend, we never think of accomplishing anything without his help. he is our mainstay. but how do those letters strike you?" "they strike me dumb! what a stone-blind idiot i have been!" "well, take it all around, i suppose you had a pleasant time in washington," said the president, gathering up the letters; "of course you must have had. very few men could go there and get a money bill through without buying a single" "come, now, mr. president, that's plenty of that! i take back everything i said on that head. i'm a wiser man to-day than i was yesterday, i can tell you." "i think you are. in fact i am satisfied you are. but now i showed you these things in confidence, you understand. mention facts as much as you want to, but don't mention names to anybody. i can depend on you for that, can't i?" "oh, of course. i understand the necessity of that. i will not betray the names. but to go back a bit, it begins to look as if you never saw any of that appropriation at all?" "we saw nearly ten thousand dollars of it--and that was all. several of us took turns at log-rolling in washington, and if we had charged anything for that service, none of that $ , would ever have reached new york." "if you hadn't levied the assessment you would have been in a close place i judge?" "close? have you figured up the total of the disbursements i told you of?" "no, i didn't think of that." "well, lets see: spent in washington, say, ........... $ , printing, advertising, etc., say .... $ , charity, say, ....................... $ , total, ............... $ , the money to do that with, comes from --appropriation, ...................... $ , ten per cent. assessment on capital of $ , , ..................... $ , total, ............... $ , "which leaves us in debt some $ , at this moment. salaries of home officers are still going on; also printing and advertising. next month will show a state of things!" "and then--burst up, i suppose?" "by no means. levy another assessment" "oh, i see. that's dismal." "by no means." "why isn't it? what's the road out?" "another appropriation, don't you see?" "bother the appropriations. they cost more than they come to." "not the next one. we'll call for half a million--get it and go for a million the very next month."--"yes, but the cost of it!" the president smiled, and patted his secret letters affectionately. he said: "all these people are in the next congress. we shan't have to pay them a cent. and what is more, they will work like beavers for us--perhaps it might be to their advantage." harry reflected profoundly a while. then he said: "we send many missionaries to lift up the benighted races of other lands. how much cheaper and better it would be if those people could only come here and drink of our civilization at its fountain head." "i perfectly agree with you, mr. beverly. must you go? well, good morning. look in, when you are passing; and whenever i can give you any information about our affairs and pro'spects, i shall be glad to do it." harry's letter was not a long one, but it contained at least the calamitous figures that came out in the above conversation. the colonel found himself in a rather uncomfortable place--no $ , salary forthcoming; and himself held responsible for half of the $ , due the workmen, to say nothing of being in debt to the company to the extent of nearly $ , . polly's heart was nearly broken; the "blues" returned in fearful force, and she had to go out of the room to hide the tears that nothing could keep back now. there was mourning in another quarter, too, for louise had a letter. washington had refused, at the last moment, to take $ , for the tennessee land, and had demanded $ , ! so the trade fell through, and now washington was wailing because he had been so foolish. but he wrote that his man might probably return to the city soon, and then he meant to sell to him, sure, even if he had to take $ , . louise had a good cry-several of them, indeed--and the family charitably forebore to make any comments that would increase her grief. spring blossomed, summer came, dragged its hot weeks by, and the colonel's spirits rose, day by day, for the railroad was making good progress. but by and by something happened. hawkeye had always declined to subscribe anything toward the railway, imagining that her large business would be a sufficient compulsory influence; but now hawkeye was frightened; and before col. sellers knew what he was about, hawkeye, in a panic, had rushed to the front and subscribed such a sum that napoleon's attractions suddenly sank into insignificance and the railroad concluded to follow a comparatively straight coarse instead of going miles out of its way to build up a metropolis in the muddy desert of stone's landing. the thunderbolt fell. after all the colonel's deep planning; after all his brain work and tongue work in drawing public attention to his pet project and enlisting interest in it; after all his faithful hard toil with his hands, and running hither and thither on his busy feet; after all his high hopes and splendid prophecies, the fates had turned their backs on him at last, and all in a moment his air-castles crumbled to ruins abort him. hawkeye rose from her fright triumphant and rejoicing, and down went stone's landing! one by one its meagre parcel of inhabitants packed up and moved away, as the summer waned and fall approached. town lots were no longer salable, traffic ceased, a deadly lethargy fell upon the place once more, the "weekly telegraph" faded into an early grave, the wary tadpole returned from exile, the bullfrog resumed his ancient song, the tranquil turtle sunned his back upon bank and log and drowsed his grateful life away as in the old sweet days of yore. chapter xxix. philip sterling was on his way to ilium, in the state of pennsylvania. ilium was the railway station nearest to the tract of wild land which mr. bolton had commissioned him to examine. on the last day of the journey as the railway train philip was on was leaving a large city, a lady timidly entered the drawing-room car, and hesitatingly took a chair that was at the moment unoccupied. philip saw from the window that a gentleman had put her upon the car just as it was starting. in a few moments the conductor entered, and without waiting an explanation, said roughly to the lady, "now you can't sit there. that seat's taken. go into the other car." "i did not intend to take the seat," said the lady rising, "i only sat down a moment till the conductor should come and give me a seat." "there aint any. car's full. you'll have to leave." "but, sir," said the lady, appealingly, "i thought--" "can't help what you thought--you must go into the other car." "the train is going very fast, let me stand here till we stop." "the lady can have my seat," cried philip, springing up. the conductor turned towards philip, and coolly and deliberately surveyed him from head to foot, with contempt in every line of his face, turned his back upon him without a word, and said to the lady, "come, i've got no time to talk. you must go now." the lady, entirely disconcerted by such rudeness, and frightened, moved towards the door, opened it and stepped out. the train was swinging along at a rapid rate, jarring from side to side; the step was a long one between the cars and there was no protecting grating. the lady attempted it, but lost her balance, in the wind and the motion of the car, and fell! she would inevitably have gone down under the wheels, if philip, who had swiftly followed her, had not caught her arm and drawn her up. he then assisted her across, found her a seat, received her bewildered thanks, and returned to his car. the conductor was still there, taking his tickets, and growling something about imposition. philip marched up to him, and burst out with, "you are a brute, an infernal brute, to treat a woman that way." "perhaps you'd like to make a fuss about it," sneered the conductor. philip's reply was a blow, given so suddenly and planted so squarely in the conductor's face, that it sent him reeling over a fat passenger, who was looking up in mild wonder that any one should dare to dispute with a conductor, and against the side of the car. he recovered himself, reached the bell rope, "damn you, i'll learn you," stepped to the door and called a couple of brakemen, and then, as the speed slackened; roared out, "get off this train." "i shall not get off. i have as much right here as you." "we'll see," said the conductor, advancing with the brakemen. the passengers protested, and some of them said to each other, "that's too bad," as they always do in such cases, but none of them offered to take a hand with philip. the men seized him, wrenched him from his seat, dragged him along the aisle, tearing his clothes, thrust him from the car, and, then flung his carpet-bag, overcoat and umbrella after him. and the train went on. the conductor, red in the face and puffing from his exertion, swaggered through the car, muttering "puppy, i'll learn him." the passengers, when he had gone, were loud in their indignation, and talked about signing a protest, but they did nothing more than talk. the next morning the hooverville patriot and clarion had this "item":-- slightually overboard. "we learn that as the down noon express was leaving h---- yesterday a lady! (god save the mark) attempted to force herself into the already full palatial car. conductor slum, who is too old a bird to be caught with chaff, courteously informed her that the car was full, and when she insisted on remaining, he persuaded her to go into the car where she belonged. thereupon a young sprig, from the east, blustered like a shanghai rooster, and began to sass the conductor with his chin music. that gentleman delivered the young aspirant for a muss one of his elegant little left-handers, which so astonished him that he began to feel for his shooter. whereupon mr. slum gently raised the youth, carried him forth, and set him down just outside the car to cool off. whether the young blood has yet made his way out of bascom's swamp, we have not learned. conductor slum is one of the most gentlemanly and efficient officers on the road; but he ain't trifled with, not much. we learn that the company have put a new engine on the seven o'clock train, and newly upholstered the drawing-room car throughout. it spares no effort for the comfort of the traveling public." philip never had been before in bascom's swamp, and there was nothing inviting in it to detain him. after the train got out of the way he crawled out of the briars and the mud, and got upon the track. he was somewhat bruised, but he was too angry to mind that. he plodded along over the ties in a very hot condition of mind and body. in the scuffle, his railway check had disappeared, and he grimly wondered, as he noticed the loss, if the company would permit him to walk over their track if they should know he hadn't a ticket. philip had to walk some five miles before he reached a little station, where he could wait for a train, and he had ample time for reflection. at first he was full of vengeance on the company. he would sue it. he would make it pay roundly. but then it occurred to him that he did not know the name of a witness he could summon, and that a personal fight against a railway corporation was about the most hopeless in the world. he then thought he would seek out that conductor, lie in wait for him at some station, and thrash him, or get thrashed himself. but as he got cooler, that did not seem to him a project worthy of a gentleman exactly. was it possible for a gentleman to get even with such a fellow as that conductor on the letter's own plane? and when he came to this point, he began to ask himself, if he had not acted very much like a fool. he didn't regret striking the fellow--he hoped he had left a mark on him. but, after all, was that the best way? here was he, philip sterling, calling himself a gentleman, in a brawl with a vulgar conductor, about a woman he had never seen before. why should he have put himself in such a ridiculous position? wasn't it enough to have offered the lady his seat, to have rescued her from an accident, perhaps from death? suppose he had simply said to the conductor, "sir, your conduct is brutal, i shall report you." the passengers, who saw the affair, might have joined in a report against the conductor, and he might really have accomplished something. and, now! philip looked at leis torn clothes, and thought with disgust of his haste in getting into a fight with such an autocrat. at the little station where philip waited for the next train, he met a man--who turned out to be a justice of the peace in that neighborhood, and told him his adventure. he was a kindly sort of man, and seemed very much interested. "dum 'em," said he, when he had heard the story. "do you think any thing can be done, sir?" "wal, i guess tain't no use. i hain't a mite of doubt of every word you say. but suin's no use. the railroad company owns all these people along here, and the judges on the bench too. spiled your clothes! wal, 'least said's soonest mended.' you haint no chance with the company." when next morning, he read the humorous account in the patriot and clarion, he saw still more clearly what chance he would have had before the public in a fight with the railroad company. still philip's conscience told him that it was his plain duty to carry the matter into the courts, even with the certainty of defeat. he confessed that neither he nor any citizen had a right to consult his own feelings or conscience in a case where a law of the land had been violated before his own eyes. he confessed that every citizen's first duty in such case is to put aside his own business and devote his time and his best efforts to seeing that the infraction is promptly punished; and he knew that no country can be well governed unless its citizens as a body keep religiously before their minds that they are the guardians of the law, and that the law officers are only the machinery for its execution, nothing more. as a finality he was obliged to confess that he was a bad citizen, and also that the general laxity of the time, and the absence of a sense of duty toward any part of the community but the individual himself were ingrained in him, am he was no better than the rest of the people. the result of this little adventure was that philip did not reach ilium till daylight the next morning, when he descended sleepy and sore, from a way train, and looked about him. ilium was in a narrow mountain gorge, through which a rapid stream ran. it consisted of the plank platform on which he stood, a wooden house, half painted, with a dirty piazza (unroofed) in front, and a sign board hung on a slanting pole--bearing the legend, "hotel. p. dusenheimer," a sawmill further down the stream, a blacksmith-shop, and a store, and three or four unpainted dwellings of the slab variety. as philip approached the hotel he saw what appeared to be a wild beast crouching on the piazza. it did not stir, however, and he soon found that it was only a stuffed skin. this cheerful invitation to the tavern was the remains of a huge panther which had been killed in the region a few weeks before. philip examined his ugly visage and strong crooked fore-arm, as he was waiting admittance, having pounded upon the door. "yait a bit. i'll shoost--put on my trowsers," shouted a voice from the window, and the door was soon opened by the yawning landlord. "morgen! didn't hear d' drain oncet. dem boys geeps me up zo spate. gom right in." philip was shown into a dirty bar-room. it was a small room, with a stove in the middle, set in a long shallow box of sand, for the benefit of the "spitters," a bar across one end--a mere counter with a sliding glass-case behind it containing a few bottles having ambitious labels, and a wash-sink in one corner. on the walls were the bright yellow and black handbills of a traveling circus, with pictures of acrobats in human pyramids, horses flying in long leaps through the air, and sylph-like women in a paradisaic costume, balancing themselves upon the tips of their toes on the bare backs of frantic and plunging steeds, and kissing their hands to the spectators meanwhile. as philip did not desire a room at that hour, he was invited to wash himself at the nasty sink, a feat somewhat easier than drying his face, for the towel that hung in a roller over the sink was evidently as much a fixture as the sink itself, and belonged, like the suspended brush and comb, to the traveling public. philip managed to complete his toilet by the use of his pocket-handkerchief, and declining the hospitality of the landlord, implied in the remark, "you won'd dake notin'?" he went into the open air to wait for breakfast. the country he saw was wild but not picturesque. the mountain before him might be eight hundred feet high, and was only a portion of a long unbroken range, savagely wooded, which followed the stream. behind the hotel, and across the brawling brook, was another level-topped, wooded range exactly like it. ilium itself, seen at a glance, was old enough to be dilapidated, and if it had gained anything by being made a wood and water station of the new railroad, it was only a new sort of grime and rawness. p. dusenheimer, standing in the door of his uninviting groggery, when the trains stopped for water; never received from the traveling public any patronage except facetious remarks upon his personal appearance. perhaps a thousand times he had heard the remark, "ilium fuit," followed in most instances by a hail to himself as "aeneas," with the inquiry "where is old anchises?" at first he had replied, "dere ain't no such man;" but irritated by its senseless repetition, he had latterly dropped into the formula of, "you be dam." philip was recalled from the contemplation of ilium by the rolling and growling of the gong within the hotel, the din and clamor increasing till the house was apparently unable to contain it; when it burst out of the front door and informed the world that breakfast was on the table. the dining room was long, low and narrow, and a narrow table extended its whole length. upon this was spread a cloth which from appearance might have been as long in use as the towel in the barroom. upon the table was the usual service, the heavy, much nicked stone ware, the row of plated and rusty castors, the sugar bowls with the zinc tea-spoons sticking up in them, the piles of yellow biscuits, the discouraged-looking plates of butter. the landlord waited, and philip was pleased to observe the change in his manner. in the barroom he was the conciliatory landlord. standing behind his guests at table, he had an air of peremptory patronage, and the voice in which he shot out the inquiry, as he seized philip's plate, "beefsteak or liver?" quite took away philip's power of choice. he begged for a glass of milk, after trying that green hued compound called coffee, and made his breakfast out of that and some hard crackers which seemed to have been imported into ilium before the introduction of the iron horse, and to have withstood a ten years siege of regular boarders, greeks and others. the land that philip had come to look at was at least five miles distant from ilium station. a corner of it touched the railroad, but the rest was pretty much an unbroken wilderness, eight or ten thousand acres of rough country, most of it such a mountain range as he saw at ilium. his first step was to hire three woodsmen to accompany him. by their help he built a log hut, and established a camp on the land, and then began his explorations, mapping down his survey as he went along, noting the timber, and the lay of the land, and making superficial observations as to the prospect of coal. the landlord at ilium endeavored to persuade philip to hire the services of a witch-hazel professor of that region, who could walk over the land with his wand and tell him infallibly whether it contained coal, and exactly where the strata ran. but philip preferred to trust to his own study of the country, and his knowledge of the geological formation. he spent a month in traveling over the land and making calculations; and made up his mind that a fine vein of coal ran through the mountain about a mile from the railroad, and that the place to run in a tunnel was half way towards its summit. acting with his usual promptness, philip, with the consent of mr. bolton, broke ground there at once, and, before snow came, had some rude buildings up, and was ready for active operations in the spring. it was true that there were no outcroppings of coal at the place, and the people at ilium said he "mought as well dig for plug terbaccer there;" but philip had great faith in the uniformity of nature's operations in ages past, and he had no doubt that he should strike at this spot the rich vein that had made the fortune of the golden briar company. chapter xxx. once more louise had good news from her washington--senator dilworthy was going to sell the tennessee land to the government! louise told laura in confidence. she had told her parents, too, and also several bosom friends; but all of these people had simply looked sad when they heard the news, except laura. laura's face suddenly brightened under it--only for an instant, it is true, but poor louise was grateful for even that fleeting ray of encouragement. when next laura was alone, she fell into a train of thought something like this: "if the senator has really taken hold of this matter, i may look for that invitation to his house at, any moment. i am perishing to go! i do long to know whether i am only simply a large-sized pigmy among these pigmies here, who tumble over so easily when one strikes them, or whether i am really--." her thoughts drifted into other channels, for a season. then she continued:-- "he said i could be useful in the great cause of philanthropy, and help in the blessed work of uplifting the poor and the ignorant, if he found it feasible to take hold of our land. well, that is neither here nor there; what i want, is to go to washington and find out what i am. i want money, too; and if one may judge by what she hears, there are chances there for a--." for a fascinating woman, she was going to say, perhaps, but she did not. along in the fall the invitation came, sure enough. it came officially through brother washington, the private secretary, who appended a postscript that was brimming with delight over the prospect of seeing the duchess again. he said it would be happiness enough to look upon her face once more--it would be almost too much happiness when to it was added the fact that she would bring messages with her that were fresh from louise's lips. in washington's letter were several important enclosures. for instance, there was the senator's check for $ , --"to buy suitable clothing in new york with!" it was a loan to be refunded when the land was sold. two thousand--this was fine indeed. louise's father was called rich, but laura doubted if louise had ever had $ worth of new clothing at one time in her life. with the check came two through tickets--good on the railroad from hawkeye to washington via new york--and they were "dead-head" tickets, too, which had been given to senator dilworthy by the railway companies. senators and representatives were paid thousands of dollars by the government for traveling expenses, but they always traveled "deadhead" both ways, and then did as any honorable, high-minded men would naturally do--declined to receive the mileage tendered them by the government. the senator had plenty of railway passes, and could. easily spare two to laura--one for herself and one for a male escort. washington suggested that she get some old friend of the family to come with her, and said the senator would "deadhead" him home again as soon as he had grown tired, of the sights of the capital. laura thought the thing over. at first she was pleased with the idea, but presently she began to feel differently about it. finally she said, "no, our staid, steady-going hawkeye friends' notions and mine differ about some things --they respect me, now, and i respect them--better leave it so--i will go alone; i am not afraid to travel by myself." and so communing with herself, she left the house for an afternoon walk. almost at the door she met col. sellers. she told him about her invitation to washington. "bless me!" said the colonel. "i have about made up my mind to go there myself. you see we've got to get another appropriation through, and the company want me to come east and put it through congress. harry's there, and he'll do what he can, of course; and harry's a good fellow and always does the very best he knows how, but then he's young--rather young for some parts of such work, you know--and besides he talks too much, talks a good deal too much; and sometimes he appears to be a little bit visionary, too, i think the worst thing in the world for a business man. a man like that always exposes his cards, sooner or later. this sort of thing wants an old, quiet, steady hand--wants an old cool head, you know, that knows men, through and through, and is used to large operations. i'm expecting my salary, and also some dividends from the company, and if they get along in time, i'll go along with you laura--take you under my wing--you mustn't travel alone. lord i wish i had the money right now. --but there'll be plenty soon--plenty." laura reasoned with herself that if the kindly, simple-hearted colonel was going anyhow, what could she gain by traveling alone and throwing away his company? so she told him she accepted his offer gladly, gratefully. she said it would be the greatest of favors if he would go with her and protect her--not at his own expense as far as railway fares were concerned, of course; she could not expect him to put himself to so much trouble for her and pay his fare besides. but he wouldn't hear of her paying his fare--it would be only a pleasure to him to serve her. laura insisted on furnishing the tickets; and finally, when argument failed, she said the tickets cost neither her nor any one else a cent --she had two of them--she needed but one--and if he would not take the other she would not go with him. that settled the matter. he took the ticket. laura was glad that she had the check for new clothing, for she felt very certain of being able to get the colonel to borrow a little of the money to pay hotel bills with, here and there. she wrote washington to look for her and col. sellers toward the end of november; and at about the time set the two travelers arrived safe in the capital of the nation, sure enough. chapter xxxi she the, gracious lady, yet no paines did spare to doe him ease, or doe him remedy: many restoratives of vertues rare and costly cordialles she did apply, to mitigate his stubborne malady. spenser's faerie queens. mr. henry brierly was exceedingly busy in new york, so he wrote col. sellers, but he would drop everything and go to washington. the colonel believed that harry was the prince of lobbyists, a little too sanguine, may be, and given to speculation, but, then, he knew everybody; the columbus river navigation scheme was, got through almost entirely by his aid. he was needed now to help through another scheme, a benevolent scheme in which col. sellers, through the hawkinses, had a deep interest. "i don't care, you know," he wrote to harry, "so much about the niggroes. but if the government will buy this land, it will set up the hawkins family--make laura an heiress--and i shouldn't wonder if beriah sellers would set up his carriage again. dilworthy looks at it different, of course. he's all for philanthropy, for benefiting the colored race. there's old balsam, was in the interior--used to be the rev. orson balsam of iowa--he's made the riffle on the injun; great injun pacificator and land dealer. balaam'a got the injun to himself, and i suppose that senator dilworthy feels that there is nothing left him but the colored man. i do reckon he is the best friend the colored man has got in washington." though harry was in a hurry to reach washington, he stopped in philadelphia; and prolonged his visit day after day, greatly to the detriment of his business both in new york and washington. the society at the bolton's might have been a valid excuse for neglecting business much more important than his. philip was there; he was a partner with mr. bolton now in the new coal venture, concerning which there was much to be arranged in preparation for the spring work, and philip lingered week after week in the hospitable house. alice was making a winter visit. ruth only went to town twice a week to attend lectures, and the household was quite to mr. bolton's taste, for he liked the cheer of company and something going on evenings. harry was cordially asked to bring his traveling-bag there, and he did not need urging to do so. not even the thought of seeing laura at the capital made him restless in the society of the two young ladies; two birds in hand are worth one in the bush certainly. philip was at home--he sometimes wished he were not so much so. he felt that too much or not enough was taken for granted. ruth had met him, when he first came, with a cordial frankness, and her manner continued entirely unrestrained. she neither sought his company nor avoided it, and this perfectly level treatment irritated him more than any other could have done. it was impossible to advance much in love-making with one who offered no obstacles, had no concealments and no embarrassments, and whom any approach to sentimentality would be quite likely to set into a fit of laughter. "why, phil," she would say, "what puts you in the dumps to day? you are as solemn as the upper bench in meeting. i shall have to call alice to raise your spirits; my presence seems to depress you." "it's not your presence, but your absence when you are present," began philip, dolefully, with the idea that he was saying a rather deep thing. "but you won't understand me." "no, i confess i cannot. if you really are so low, as to think i am absent when i am present, it's a frightful case of aberration; i shall ask father to bring out dr. jackson. does alice appear to be present when she is absent?" "alice has some human feeling, anyway. she cares for something besides musty books and dry bones. i think, ruth, when i die," said philip, intending to be very grim and sarcastic, "i'll leave you my skeleton. you might like that." "it might be more cheerful than you are at times," ruth replied with a laugh. "but you mustn't do it without consulting alice. she might not. like it." "i don't know why you should bring alice up on every occasion. do you think i am in love with her?" "bless you, no. it never entered my head. are you? the thought of philip sterling in love is too comical. i thought you were only in love with the ilium coal mine, which you and father talk about half the time." this is a specimen of philip's wooing. confound the girl, he would say to himself, why does she never tease harry and that young shepley who comes here? how differently alice treated him. she at least never mocked him, and it was a relief to talk with one who had some sympathy with him. and he did talk to her, by the hour, about ruth. the blundering fellow poured all his doubts and anxieties into her ear, as if she had been the impassive occupant of one of those little wooden confessionals in the cathedral on logan square. has, a confessor, if she is young and pretty, any feeling? does it mend the matter by calling her your sister? philip called alice his good sister, and talked to her about love and marriage, meaning ruth, as if sisters could by no possibility have any personal concern in such things. did ruth ever speak of him? did she think ruth cared for him? did ruth care for anybody at fallkill? did she care for anything except her profession? and so on. alice was loyal to ruth, and if she knew anything she did not betray her friend. she did not, at any rate, give philip too much encouragement. what woman, under the circumstances, would? "i can tell you one thing, philip," she said, "if ever ruth bolton loves, it will be with her whole soul, in a depth of passion that will sweep everything before it and surprise even herself." a remark that did not much console philip, who imagined that only some grand heroism could unlock the sweetness of such a heart; and philip feared that he wasn't a hero. he did not know out of what materials a woman can construct a hero, when she is in the creative mood. harry skipped into this society with his usual lightness and gaiety. his good nature was inexhaustible, and though he liked to relate his own exploits, he had a little tact in adapting himself to the tastes of his hearers. he was not long in finding out that alice liked to hear about philip, and harry launched out into the career of his friend in the west, with a prodigality of invention that would have astonished the chief actor. he was the most generous fellow in the world, and picturesque conversation was the one thing in which he never was bankrupt. with mr. bolton he was the serious man of business, enjoying the confidence of many of the monied men in new york, whom mr. bolton knew, and engaged with them in railway schemes and government contracts. philip, who had so long known harry, never could make up his mind that harry did not himself believe that he was a chief actor in all these large operations of which he talked so much. harry did not neglect to endeavor to make himself agreeable to mrs. bolton, by paying great attention to the children, and by professing the warmest interest in the friends' faith. it always seemed to him the most peaceful religion; he thought it must be much easier to live by an internal light than by a lot of outward rules; he had a dear quaker aunt in providence of whom mrs. bolton constantly reminded him. he insisted upon going with mrs. bolton and the children to the friends meeting on first day, when ruth and alice and philip, "world's people," went to a church in town, and he sat through the hour of silence with his hat on, in most exemplary patience. in short, this amazing actor succeeded so well with mrs. bolton, that she said to philip one day, "thy friend, henry brierly, appears to be a very worldly minded young man. does he believe in anything?" "oh, yes," said philip laughing, "he believes in more things than any other person i ever saw." to ruth, harry seemed to be very congenial. he was never moody for one thing, but lent himself with alacrity to whatever her fancy was. he was gay or grave as the need might be. no one apparently could enter more fully into her plans for an independent career. "my father," said harry, "was bred a physician, and practiced a little before he went into wall street. i always had a leaning to the study. there was a skeleton hanging in the closet of my father's study when i was a boy, that i used to dress up in old clothes. oh, i got quite familiar with the human frame." "you must have," said philip. "was that where you learned to play the bones? he is a master of those musical instruments, ruth; he plays well enough to go on the stage." "philip hates science of any kind, and steady application," retorted harry. he didn't fancy philip's banter, and when the latter had gone out, and ruth asked, "why don't you take up medicine, mr. brierly?" harry said, "i have it in mind. i believe i would begin attending lectures this winter if it weren't for being wanted in washington. but medicine is particularly women's province." "why so?" asked ruth, rather amused. "well, the treatment of disease is a good deal a matter of sympathy. a woman's intuition is better than a man's. nobody knows anything, really, you know, and a woman can guess a good deal nearer than a man." "you are very complimentary to my sex." "but," said harry frankly; "i should want to choose my doctor; an ugly woman would ruin me, the disease would be sure to strike in and kill me at sight of her. i think a pretty physician, with engaging manners, would coax a fellow to live through almost anything." "i am afraid you are a scoffer, mr. brierly." "on the contrary, i am quite sincere. wasn't it old what's his name? that said only the beautiful is useful?" whether ruth was anything more than diverted with harry's company; philip could not determine. he scorned at any rate to advance his own interest by any disparaging communications about harry, both because he could not help liking the fellow himself, and because he may have known that he could not more surely create a sympathy for him in ruth's mind. that ruth was in no danger of any serious impression he felt pretty sure, felt certain of it when he reflected upon her severe occupation with her profession. hang it, he would say to himself, she is nothing but pure intellect anyway. and he only felt uncertain of it when she was in one of her moods of raillery, with mocking mischief in her eyes. at such times she seemed to prefer harry's society to his. when philip was miserable about this, he always took refuge with alice, who was never moody, and who generally laughed him out of his sentimental nonsense. he felt at his ease with alice, and was never in want of something to talk about; and he could not account for the fact that he was so often dull with ruth, with whom, of all persons in the world, he wanted to appear at his best. harry was entirely satisfied with his own situation. a bird of passage is always at its ease, having no house to build, and no responsibility. he talked freely with philip about ruth, an almighty fine girl, he said, but what the deuce she wanted to study medicine for, he couldn't see. there was a concert one night at the musical fund hall and the four had arranged to go in and return by the germantown cars. it was philip's plan, who had engaged the seats, and promised himself an evening with ruth, walking with her, sitting by her in the hall, and enjoying the feeling of protecting that a man always has of a woman in a public place. he was fond of music, too, in a sympathetic way; at least, he knew that ruth's delight in it would be enough for him. perhaps he meant to take advantage of the occasion to say some very serious things. his love for ruth was no secret to mrs. bolton, and he felt almost sure that he should have no opposition in the family. mrs. bolton had been cautious in what she said, but philip inferred everything from her reply to his own questions, one day, "has thee ever spoken thy mind to ruth?" why shouldn't he speak his mind, and end his doubts? ruth had been more tricksy than usual that day, and in a flow of spirits quite inconsistent, it would seem, in a young lady devoted to grave studies. had ruth a premonition of philip's intention, in his manner? it may be, for when the girls came down stairs, ready to walk to the cars; and met philip and harry in the hall, ruth said, laughing, "the two tallest must walk together" and before philip knew how it happened ruth had taken harry's arm, and his evening was spoiled. he had too much politeness and good sense and kindness to show in his manner that he was hit. so he said to harry, "that's your disadvantage in being short." and he gave alice no reason to feel during the evening that she would not have been his first choice for the excursion. but he was none the less chagrined, and not a little angry at the turn the affair took. the hall was crowded with the fashion of the town. the concert was one of those fragmentary drearinesses that people endure because they are fashionable; tours de force on the piano, and fragments from operas, which have no meaning without the setting, with weary pauses of waiting between; there is the comic basso who is so amusing and on such familiar terms with the audience, and always sings the barber; the attitudinizing tenor, with his languishing "oh, summer night;" the soprano with her "batti batti," who warbles and trills and runs and fetches her breath, and ends with a noble scream that brings down a tempest of applause in the midst of which she backs off the stage smiling and bowing. it was this sort of concert, and philip was thinking that it was the most stupid one he ever sat through, when just as the soprano was in the midst of that touching ballad, "comin' thro' the rye" (the soprano always sings "comin' thro' the rye" on an encore)--the black swan used to make it irresistible, philip remembered, with her arch, "if a body kiss a body" there was a cry of "fire!" the hall is long and narrow, and there is only one place of egress. instantly the audience was on its feet, and a rush began for the door. men shouted, women screamed, and panic seized the swaying mass. a second's thought would have convinced every one that getting out was impossible, and that the only effect of a rush would be to crash people to death. but a second's thought was not given. a few cried: "sit down, sit down," but the mass was turned towards the door. women were down and trampled on in the aisles, and stout men, utterly lost to self-control, were mounting the benches, as if to run a race over the mass to the entrance. philip who had forced the girls to keep their seats saw, in a flash, the new danger, and sprang to avert it. in a second more those infuriated men would be over the benches and crushing ruth and alice under their boots. he leaped upon the bench in front of them and struck out before him with all his might, felling one man who was rushing on him, and checking for an instant the movement, or rather parting it, and causing it to flow on either side of him. but it was only for an instant; the pressure behind was too great, and, the next philip was dashed backwards over the seat. and yet that instant of arrest had probably saved the girls, for as philip fell, the orchestra struck up "yankee doodle" in the liveliest manner. the familiar tune caught the ear of the mass, which paused in wonder, and gave the conductor's voice a chance to be heard--"it's a false alarm!" the tumult was over in a minute, and the next, laughter was heard, and not a few said, "i knew it wasn't anything." "what fools people are at such a time." the concert was over, however. a good many people were hurt, some of them seriously, and among them philip sterling was found bent across the seat, insensible, with his left arm hanging limp and a bleeding wound on his head. when he was carried into the air he revived, and said it was nothing. a surgeon was called, and it was thought best to drive at once to the bolton's, the surgeon supporting philip, who did not speak the whole way. his arm was set and his head dressed, and the surgeon said he would come round all right in his mind by morning; he was very weak. alice who was not much frightened while the panic lasted in the hall, was very much unnerved by seeing philip so pale and bloody. ruth assisted the surgeon with the utmost coolness and with skillful hands helped to dress philip's wounds. and there was a certain intentness and fierce energy in what she did that might have revealed something to philip if he had been in his senses. but he was not, or he would not have murmured "let alice do it, she is not too tall." it was ruth's first case. chapter, xxxii. washington's delight in his beautiful sister was measureless. he said that she had always been the queenliest creature in the land, but that she was only commonplace before, compared to what she was now, so extraordinary was the improvement wrought by rich fashionable attire. "but your criticisms are too full of brotherly partiality to be depended on, washington. other people will judge differently." "indeed they won't. you'll see. there will never be a woman in washington that can compare with you. you'll be famous within a fortnight, laura. everybody will want to know you. you wait--you'll see." laura wished in her heart that the prophecy might come true; and privately she even believed it might--for she had brought all the women whom she had seen since she left home under sharp inspection, and the result had not been unsatisfactory to her. during a week or two washington drove about the city every day with her and familiarized her with all of its salient features. she was beginning to feel very much at home with the town itself, and she was also fast acquiring ease with the distinguished people she met at the dilworthy table, and losing what little of country timidity she had brought with her from hawkeye. she noticed with secret pleasure the little start of admiration that always manifested itself in the faces of the guests when she entered the drawing-room arrayed in evening costume: she took comforting note of the fact that these guests directed a very liberal share of their conversation toward her; she observed with surprise, that famous statesmen and soldiers did not talk like gods, as a general thing, but said rather commonplace things for the most part; and she was filled with gratification to discover that she, on the contrary, was making a good many shrewd speeches and now and then a really brilliant one, and furthermore, that they were beginning to be repeated in social circles about the town. congress began its sittings, and every day or two washington escorted her to the galleries set apart for lady members of the households of senators and representatives. here was a larger field and a wider competition, but still she saw that many eyes were uplifted toward her face, and that first one person and then another called a neighbor's attention to her; she was not too dull to perceive that the speeches of some of the younger statesmen were delivered about as much and perhaps more at her than to the presiding officer; and she was not sorry to see that the dapper young senator from iowa came at once and stood in the open space before the president's desk to exhibit his feet as soon as she entered the gallery, whereas she had early learned from common report that his usual custom was to prop them on his desk and enjoy them himself with a selfish disregard of other people's longings. invitations began to flow in upon her and soon she was fairly "in society." "the season" was now in full bloom, and the first select reception was at hand that is to say, a reception confined to invited guests. senator dilworthy had become well convinced; by this time, that his judgment of the country-bred missouri girl had not deceived him--it was plain that she was going to be a peerless missionary in the field of labor he designed her for, and therefore it would be perfectly safe and likewise judicious to send her forth well panoplied for her work.--so he had added new and still richer costumes to her wardrobe, and assisted their attractions with costly jewelry-loans on the future land sale. this first select reception took place at a cabinet minister's--or rather a cabinet secretary's mansion. when laura and the senator arrived, about half past nine or ten in the evening, the place was already pretty well crowded, and the white-gloved negro servant at the door was still receiving streams of guests.--the drawing-rooms were brilliant with gaslight, and as hot as ovens. the host and hostess stood just within the door of entrance; laura was presented, and then she passed on into the maelstrom of be-jeweled and richly attired low-necked ladies and white-kid-gloved and steel pen-coated gentlemen and wherever she moved she was followed by a buzz of admiration that was grateful to all her senses--so grateful, indeed, that her white face was tinged and its beauty heightened by a perceptible suffusion of color. she caught such remarks as, "who is she?" "superb woman!" "that is the new beauty from the west," etc., etc. whenever she halted, she was presently surrounded by ministers, generals, congressmen, and all manner of aristocratic, people. introductions followed, and then the usual original question, "how do you like washington, miss hawkins?" supplemented by that other usual original question, "is this your first visit?" these two exciting topics being exhausted, conversation generally drifted into calmer channels, only to be interrupted at frequent intervals by new introductions and new inquiries as to how laura liked the capital and whether it was her first visit or not. and thus for an hour or more the duchess moved through the crush in a rapture of happiness, for her doubts were dead and gone, now she knew she could conquer here. a familiar face appeared in the midst of the multitude and harry brierly fought his difficult way to her side, his eyes shouting their gratification, so to speak: "oh, this is a happiness! tell me, my dear miss hawkins--" "sh! i know what you are going to ask. i do like washington--i like it ever so much!" "no, but i was going to ask--" "yes, i am coming to it, coming to it as fast as i can. it is my first visit. i think you should know that yourself." and straightway a wave of the crowd swept her beyond his reach. "now what can the girl mean? of course she likes washington--i'm not such a dummy as to have to ask her that. and as to its being her first visit, why bang it, she knows that i knew it was. does she think i have turned idiot? curious girl, anyway. but how they do swarm about her! she is the reigning belle of washington after this night. she'll know five hundred of the heaviest guns in the town before this night's nonsense is over. and this isn't even the beginning. just as i used to say--she'll be a card in the matter of--yes sir! she shall turn the men's heads and i'll turn the women's! what a team that will be in politics here. i wouldn't take a quarter of a million for what i can do in this present session--no indeed i wouldn't. now, here--i don't altogether like this. that insignificant secretary of legation is--why, she's smiling on him as if he--and now on the admiral! now she's illuminating that, stuffy congressman from massachusetts--vulgar ungrammatcal shovel-maker--greasy knave of spades. i don't like this sort of thing. she doesn't appear to be much distressed about me--she hasn't looked this way once. all right, my bird of paradise, if it suits you, go on. but i think i know your sex. i'll go to smiling around a little, too, and see what effect that will have on you" and he did "smile around a little," and got as near to her as he could to watch the effect, but the scheme was a failure--he could not get her attention. she seemed wholly unconscious of him, and so he could not flirt with any spirit; he could only talk disjointedly; he could not keep his eyes on the charmers he talked to; he grew irritable, jealous, and very, unhappy. he gave up his enterprise, leaned his shoulder against a fluted pilaster and pouted while he kept watch upon laura's every movement. his other shoulder stole the bloom from many a lovely cheek that brushed him in the surging crush, but he noted it not. he was too busy cursing himself inwardly for being an egotistical imbecile. an hour ago he had thought to take this country lass under his protection and show her "life" and enjoy her wonder and delight--and here she was, immersed in the marvel up to her eyes, and just a trifle more at home in it than he was himself. and now his angry comments ran on again: "now she's sweetening old brother balaam; and he--well he is inviting her to the congressional prayer-meeting, no doubt--better let old dilworthy alone to see that she doesn't overlook that. and now its splurge, of new york; and now its batters of new hampshire--and now the vice president! well i may as well adjourn. i've got enough." but he hadn't. he got as far as the door--and then struggled back to take one more look, hating himself all the while for his weakness. toward midnight, when supper was announced, the crowd thronged to the supper room where a long table was decked out with what seemed a rare repast, but which consisted of things better calculated to feast the eye than the appetite. the ladies were soon seated in files along the wall, and in groups here and there, and the colored waiters filled the plates and glasses and the, male guests moved hither and thither conveying them to the privileged sex. harry took an ice and stood up by the table with other gentlemen, and listened to the buzz of conversation while he ate. from these remarks he learned a good deal about laura that was news to him. for instance, that she was of a distinguished western family; that she was highly educated; that she was very rich and a great landed heiress; that she was not a professor of religion, and yet was a christian in the truest and best sense of the word, for her whole heart was devoted to the accomplishment of a great and noble enterprise--none other than the sacrificing of her landed estates to the uplifting of the down-trodden negro and the turning of his erring feet into the way of light and righteousness. harry observed that as soon as one listener had absorbed the story, he turned about and delivered it to his next neighbor and the latter individual straightway passed it on. and thus he saw it travel the round of the gentlemen and overflow rearward among the ladies. he could not trace it backward to its fountain head, and so he could not tell who it was that started it. one thing annoyed harry a great deal; and that was the reflection that he might have been in washington days and days ago and thrown his fascinations about laura with permanent effect while she was new and strange to the capital, instead of dawdling in philadelphia to no purpose. he feared he had "missed a trick," as he expressed it. he only found one little opportunity of speaking again with laura before the evening's festivities ended, and then, for the first time in years, his airy self-complacency failed him, his tongue's easy confidence forsook it in a great measure, and he was conscious of an unheroic timidity. he was glad to get away and find a place where he could despise himself in private and try to grow his clipped plumes again. when laura reached home she was tired but exultant, and senator dilworthy was pleased and satisfied. he called laura "my daughter," next morning, and gave her some "pin money," as he termed it, and she sent a hundred and fifty dollars of it to her mother and loaned a trifle to col. sellers. then the senator had a long private conference with laura, and unfolded certain plans of his for the good of the country, and religion, and the poor, and temperance, and showed her how she could assist him in developing these worthy and noble enterprises. chapter xxxiii. laura soon discovered that there were three distinct aristocracies in washington. one of these, (nick-named the antiques,) consisted of cultivated, high-bred old families who looked back with pride upon an ancestry that had been always great in the nation's councils and its wars from the birth of the republic downward. into this select circle it was difficult to gain admission. no. was the aristocracy of the middle ground--of which, more anon. no. lay beyond; of it we will say a word here. we will call it the aristocracy of the parvenus--as, indeed, the general public did. official position, no matter how obtained, entitled a man to a place in it, and carried his family with him, no matter whence they sprang. great wealth gave a man a still higher and nobler place in it than did official position. if this wealth had been acquired by conspicuous ingenuity, with just a pleasant little spice of illegality about it, all the better. this aristocracy was "fast," and not averse to ostentation. the aristocracy of the antiques ignored the aristocracy of the parvenus; the parvenus laughed at the antiques, (and secretly envied them.) there were certain important "society" customs which one in laura's position needed to understand. for instance, when a lady of any prominence comes to one of our cities and takes up her residence, all the ladies of her grade favor her in turn with an initial call, giving their cards to the servant at the door by way of introduction. they come singly, sometimes; sometimes in couples; and always in elaborate full dress. they talk two minutes and a quarter and then go. if the lady receiving the call desires a further acquaintance, she must return the visit within two weeks; to neglect it beyond that time means "let the matter drop." but if she does return the visit within two weeks, it then becomes the other party's privilege to continue the acquaintance or drop it. she signifies her willingness to continue it by calling again any time within twelve-months; after that, if the parties go on calling upon each other once a year, in our large cities, that is sufficient, and the acquaintanceship holds good. the thing goes along smoothly, now. the annual visits are made and returned with peaceful regularity and bland satisfaction, although it is not necessary that the two ladies shall actually see each other oftener than once every few years. their cards preserve the intimacy and keep the acquaintanceship intact. for instance, mrs. a. pays her annual visit, sits in her carriage and sends in her card with the lower right hand corner turned down, which signifies that she has "called in person;" mrs. b: sends down word that she is "engaged" or "wishes to be excused"--or if she is a parvenu and low-bred, she perhaps sends word that she is "not at home." very good; mrs. a. drives, on happy and content. if mrs. a.'s daughter marries, or a child is born to the family, mrs. b. calls, sends in her card with the upper left hand corner turned down, and then goes along about her affairs--for that inverted corner means "congratulations." if mrs. b.'s husband falls downstairs and breaks his neck, mrs. a. calls, leaves her card with the upper right hand corner turned down, and then takes her departure; this corner means "condolence." it is very necessary to get the corners right, else one may unintentionally condole with a friend on a wedding or congratulate her upon a funeral. if either lady is about to leave the city, she goes to the other's house and leaves her card with "p. p. c." engraved under the name--which signifies, "pay parting call." but enough of etiquette. laura was early instructed in the mysteries of society life by a competent mentor, and thus was preserved from troublesome mistakes. the first fashionable call she received from a member of the ancient nobility, otherwise the antiques, was of a pattern with all she received from that limb of the aristocracy afterward. this call was paid by mrs. major-general fulke-fulkerson and daughter. they drove up at one in the afternoon in a rather antiquated vehicle with a faded coat of arms on the panels, an aged white-wooled negro coachman on the box and a younger darkey beside him--the footman. both of these servants were dressed in dull brown livery that had seen considerable service. the ladies entered the drawing-room in full character; that is to say, with elizabethan stateliness on the part of the dowager, and an easy grace and dignity on the part of the young lady that had a nameless something about it that suggested conscious superiority. the dresses of both ladies were exceedingly rich, as to material, but as notably modest as to color and ornament. all parties having seated themselves, the dowager delivered herself of a remark that was not unusual in its form, and yet it came from her lips with the impressiveness of scripture: "the weather has been unpropitious of late, miss hawkins." "it has indeed," said laura. "the climate seems to be variable." "it is its nature of old, here," said the daughter--stating it apparently as a fact, only, and by her manner waving aside all personal responsibility on account of it. "is it not so, mamma?" "quite so, my child. do you like winter, miss hawkins?" she said "like" as if she had, an idea that its dictionary meaning was "approve of." "not as well as summer--though i think all seasons have their charms." "it is a very just remark. the general held similar views. he considered snow in winter proper; sultriness in summer legitimate; frosts in the autumn the same, and rains in spring not objectionable. he was not an exacting man. and i call to mind now that he always admired thunder. you remember, child, your father always admired thunder?" "he adored it." "no doubt it reminded him of battle," said laura. "yes, i think perhaps it did. he had a great respect for nature. he often said there was something striking about the ocean. you remember his saying that, daughter?" "yes, often, mother. i remember it very well." "and hurricanes... he took a great interest in hurricanes. and animals. dogs, especially--hunting dogs. also comets. i think we all have our predilections. i think it is this that gives variety to our tastes." laura coincided with this view. "do you find it hard and lonely to be so far from your home and friends, miss hawkins?" "i do find it depressing sometimes, but then there is so much about me here that is novel and interesting that my days are made up more of sunshine than shadow." "washington is not a dull city in the season," said the young lady. "we have some very good society indeed, and one need not be at a loss for means to pass the time pleasantly. are you fond of watering-places, miss hawkins?" "i have really had no experience of them, but i have always felt a strong desire to see something of fashionable watering-place life." "we of washington are unfortunately situated in that respect," said the dowager. "it is a tedious distance to newport. but there is no help for it." laura said to herself, "long branch and cape may are nearer than newport; doubtless these places are low; i'll feel my way a little and see." then she said aloud: "why i thought that long branch--" there was no need to "feel" any further--there was that in both faces before her which made that truth apparent. the dowager said: "nobody goes there, miss hawkins--at least only persons of no position in society. and the president." she added that with tranquility. "newport is damp, and cold, and windy and excessively disagreeable," said the daughter, "but it is very select. one cannot be fastidious about minor matters when one has no choice." the visit had spun out nearly three minutes, now. both ladies rose with grave dignity, conferred upon laura a formal invitation to call, aid then retired from the conference. laura remained in the drawing-room and left them to pilot themselves out of the house--an inhospitable thing, it seemed to her, but then she was following her instructions. she stood, steeped in reverie, a while, and then she said: "i think i could always enjoy icebergs--as scenery but not as company." still, she knew these two people by reputation, and was aware that they were not ice-bergs when they were in their own waters and amid their legitimate surroundings, but on the contrary were people to be respected for their stainless characters and esteemed for their social virtues and their benevolent impulses. she thought it a pity that they had to be such changed and dreary creatures on occasions of state. the first call laura received from the other extremity of the washington aristocracy followed close upon the heels of the one we have just been describing. the callers this time were the hon. mrs. oliver higgins, the hon. mrs. patrique oreille (pronounced o-relay,) miss bridget (pronounced breezhay) oreille, mrs. peter gashly, miss gashly, and miss emmeline gashly. the three carriages arrived at the same moment from different directions. they were new and wonderfully shiny, and the brasses on the harness were highly polished and bore complicated monograms. there were showy coats of arms, too, with latin mottoes. the coachmen and footmen were clad in bright new livery, of striking colors, and they had black rosettes with shaving-brushes projecting above them, on the sides of their stove-pipe hats. when the visitors swept into the drawing-room they filled the place with a suffocating sweetness procured at the perfumer's. their costumes, as to architecture, were the latest fashion intensified; they were rainbow-hued; they were hung with jewels--chiefly diamonds. it would have been plain to any eye that it had cost something to upholster these women. the hon. mrs. oliver higgins was the wife of a delegate from a distant territory--a gentleman who had kept the principal "saloon," and sold the best whiskey in the principal village in his wilderness, and so, of course, was recognized as the first man of his commonwealth and its fittest representative. he was a man of paramount influence at home, for he was public spirited, he was chief of the fire department, he had an admirable command of profane language, and had killed several "parties." his shirt fronts were always immaculate; his boots daintily polished, and no man could lift a foot and fire a dead shot at a stray speck of dirt on it with a white handkerchief with a finer grace than he; his watch chain weighed a pound; the gold in his finger ring was worth forty five dollars; he wore a diamond cluster-pin and he parted his hair behind. he had always been, regarded as the most elegant gentleman in his territory, and it was conceded by all that no man thereabouts was anywhere near his equal in the telling of an obscene story except the venerable white-haired governor himself. the hon. higgins had not come to serve his country in washington for nothing. the appropriation which he had engineered through congress for the maintenance, of the indians in his territory would have made all those savages rich if it had ever got to them. the hon. mrs. higgins was a picturesque woman, and a fluent talker, and she held a tolerably high station among the parvenus. her english was fair enough, as a general thing--though, being of new york origin, she had the fashion peculiar to many natives of that city of pronouncing saw and law as if they were spelt sawr and lawr. petroleum was the agent that had suddenly transformed the gashlys from modest hard-working country village folk into "loud" aristocrats and ornaments of the city. the hon. patrique oreille was a wealthy frenchman from cork. not that he was wealthy when he first came from cork, but just the reverse. when he first landed in new york with his wife, he had only halted at castle garden for a few minutes to receive and exhibit papers showing that he had resided in this country two years--and then he voted the democratic ticket and went up town to hunt a house. he found one and then went to work as assistant to an architect and builder, carrying a hod all day and studying politics evenings. industry and economy soon enabled him to start a low rum shop in a foul locality, and this gave him political influence. in our country it is always our first care to see that our people have the opportunity of voting for their choice of men to represent and govern them--we do not permit our great officials to appoint the little officials. we prefer to have so tremendous a power as that in our own hands. we hold it safest to elect our judges and everybody else. in our cities, the ward meetings elect delegates to the nominating conventions and instruct them whom to nominate. the publicans and their retainers rule the ward meetings (for every body else hates the worry of politics and stays at home); the delegates from the ward meetings organize as a nominating convention and make up a list of candidates--one convention offering a democratic and another a republican list of incorruptibles; and then the great meek public come forward at the proper time and make unhampered choice and bless heaven that they live in a free land where no form of despotism can ever intrude. patrick o'riley (as his name then stood) created friends and influence very, fast, for he was always on hand at the police courts to give straw bail for his customers or establish an alibi for them in case they had been beating anybody to death on his premises. consequently he presently became a political leader, and was elected to a petty office under the city government. out of a meager salary he soon saved money enough to open quite a stylish liquor saloon higher up town, with a faro bank attached and plenty of capital to conduct it with. this gave him fame and great respectability. the position of alderman was forced upon him, and it was just the same as presenting him a gold mine. he had fine horses and carriages, now, and closed up his whiskey mill. by and by he became a large contractor for city work, and was a bosom friend of the great and good wm. m. weed himself, who had stolen $ , , from the city and was a man so envied, so honored,--so adored, indeed, that when the sheriff went to his office to arrest him as a felon, that sheriff blushed and apologized, and one of the illustrated papers made a picture of the scene and spoke of the matter in such a way as to show that the editor regretted that the offense of an arrest had been offered to so exalted a personage as mr. weed. mr. o'riley furnished shingle nails to, the new court house at three thousand dollars a keg, and eighteen gross of -cent thermometers at fifteen hundred dollars a dozen; the controller and the board of audit passed the bills, and a mayor, who was simply ignorant but not criminal, signed them. when they were paid, mr. o'riley's admirers gave him a solitaire diamond pin of the size of a filbert, in imitation of the liberality of mr. weed's friends, and then mr. o'riley retired from active service and amused himself with buying real estate at enormous figures and holding it in other people's names. by and by the newspapers came out with exposures and called weed and o'riley "thieves,"--whereupon the people rose as one man (voting repeatedly) and elected the two gentlemen to their proper theatre of action, the new york legislature. the newspapers clamored, and the courts proceeded to try the new legislators for their small irregularities. our admirable jury system enabled the persecuted ex-officials to secure a jury of nine gentlemen from a neighboring asylum and three graduates from sing-sing, and presently they walked forth with characters vindicated. the legislature was called upon to spew them forth--a thing which the legislature declined to do. it was like asking children to repudiate their own father. it was a legislature of the modern pattern. being now wealthy and distinguished, mr. o'riley, still bearing the legislative "hon." attached to his name (for titles never die in america, although we do take a republican pride in poking fun at such trifles), sailed for europe with his family. they traveled all about, turning their noses up at every thing, and not finding it a difficult thing to do, either, because nature had originally given those features a cast in that direction; and finally they established themselves in paris, that paradise of americans of their sort.--they staid there two years and learned to speak english with a foreign accent--not that it hadn't always had a foreign accent (which was indeed the case) but now the nature of it was changed. finally they returned home and became ultra fashionables. they landed here as the hon. patrique oreille and family, and so are known unto this day. laura provided seats for her visitors and they immediately launched forth into a breezy, sparkling conversation with that easy confidence which is to be found only among persons accustomed to high life. "i've been intending to call sooner, miss hawkins," said the hon. mrs. oreille, "but the weather's been so horrid. how do you like washington?" laura liked it very well indeed. mrs. gashly--"is it your first visit?" yea, it was her first. all--"indeed?" mrs. oreille--"i'm afraid you'll despise the weather, miss hawkins. it's perfectly awful. it always is. i tell mr. oreille i can't and i won't put up with any such a climate. if we were obliged to do it, i wouldn't mind it; but we are not obliged to, and so i don't see the use of it. sometimes its real pitiful the way the childern pine for parry --don't look so sad, bridget, 'ma chere'--poor child, she can't hear parry mentioned without getting the blues." mrs. gashly--"well i should think so, mrs. oreille. a body lives in paris, but a body, only stays here. i dote on paris; i'd druther scrimp along on ten thousand dollars a year there, than suffer and worry here on a real decent income." miss gashly--"well then, i wish you'd take us back, mother; i'm sure i hate this stoopid country enough, even if it is our dear native land." miss emmeline gashly--"what and leave poor johnny peterson behind?" [an airy genial laugh applauded this sally]. miss gashly--"sister, i should think you'd be ashamed of yourself!" miss emmeline--"oh, you needn't ruffle your feathers so: i was only joking. he don't mean anything by coming to, the house every evening --only comes to see mother. of course that's all!" [general laughter]. miss g. prettily confused--"emmeline, how can you!" mrs. g.--"let your sister alone, emmeline. i never saw such a tease!" mrs. oreille--"what lovely corals you have, miss hawkins! just look at them, bridget, dear. i've a great passion for corals--it's a pity they're getting a little common. i have some elegant ones--not as elegant as yours, though--but of course i don't wear them now." laura--"i suppose they are rather common, but still i have a great affection for these, because they were given to me by a dear old friend of our family named murphy. he was a very charming man, but very eccentric. we always supposed he was an irishman, but after be got rich he went abroad for a year or two, and when he came back you would have been amused to see how interested he was in a potato. he asked what it was! now you know that when providence shapes a mouth especially for the accommodation of a potato you can detect that fact at a glance when that mouth is in repose--foreign travel can never remove that sign. but he was a very delightful gentleman, and his little foible did not hurt him at all. we all have our shams--i suppose there is a sham somewhere about every individual, if we could manage to ferret it out. i would so like to go to france. i suppose our society here compares very favorably with french society does it not, mrs. oreille?" mrs. o.--"not by any means, miss hawkins! french society is much more elegant--much more so." laura--"i am sorry to hear that. i suppose ours has deteriorated of late." mrs. o.--"very much indeed. there are people in society here that have really no more money to live on than what some of us pay for servant hire. still i won't say but what some of them are very good people--and respectable, too." laura--"the old families seem to be holding themselves aloof, from what i hear. i suppose you seldom meet in society now, the people you used to be familiar with twelve or fifteen years ago?" mrs. o.--"oh, no-hardly ever." mr. o'riley kept his first rum-mill and protected his customers from the law in those days, and this turn of the conversation was rather uncomfortable to madame than otherwise. hon. mrs. higgins--"is francois' health good now, mrs. oreille?" mrs. o.--(thankful for the intervention)--"not very. a body couldn't expect it. he was always delicate--especially his lungs--and this odious climate tells on him strong, now, after parry, which is so mild." mrs. h:--"i should think so. husband says percy'll die if he don't have a change; and so i'm going to swap round a little and see what can be done. i saw a lady from florida last week, and she recommended key west. i told her percy couldn't abide winds, as he was threatened with a pulmonary affection, and then she said try st. augustine. it's an awful distance--ten or twelve hundred mile, they say but then in a case of this kind--a body can't stand back for trouble, you know." mrs. o.--"no, of course that's off. if francois don't get better soon we've got to look out for some other place, or else europe. we've thought some of the hot springs, but i don't know. it's a great responsibility and a body wants to go cautious. is hildebrand about again, mrs. gashly?" mrs. g.--"yes, but that's about all. it was indigestion, you know, and it looks as if it was chronic. and you know i do dread dyspepsia. we've all been worried a good deal about him. the doctor recommended baked apple and spoiled meat, and i think it done him good. it's about the only thing that will stay on his stomach now-a-days. we have dr. shovel now. who's your doctor, mrs. higgins?" mrs. h.--"well, we had dr. spooner a good while, but he runs so much to emetics, which i think are weakening, that we changed off and took dr. leathers. we like him very much. he has a fine european reputation, too. the first thing he suggested for percy was to have him taken out in the back yard for an airing, every afternoon, with nothing at all on." mrs. o. and mrs. g.--"what!" mrs. h.--"as true as i'm sitting here. and it actually helped him for two or three days; it did indeed. but after that the doctor said it seemed to be too severe and so he has fell back on hot foot-baths at night and cold showers in the morning. but i don't think there, can be any good sound help for him in such a climate as this. i believe we are going to lose him if we don't make a change." mrs. o. "i suppose you heard of the fright we had two weeks ago last saturday? no? why that is strange--but come to remember, you've all been away to richmond. francois tumbled from the sky light--in the second-story hall clean down to the first floor--" everybody--"mercy!" mrs. o.--"yes indeed--and broke two of his ribs--" everybody--"what!" mrs. o. "just as true as you live. first we thought he must be injured internally. it was fifteen minutes past in the evening. of course we were all distracted in a moment--everybody was flying everywhere, and nobody doing anything worth anything. by and by i flung out next door and dragged in dr. sprague; president of the medical university no time to go for our own doctor of course--and the minute he saw francois he said, 'send for your own physician, madam;' said it as cross as a bear, too, and turned right on his heel, and cleared out without doing a thing!" everybody--"the mean, contemptible brute!" mrs. o--"well you may say it. i was nearly out of my wits by this time. but we hurried off the servants after our own doctor and telegraphed mother--she was in new york and rushed down on the first train; and when the doctor got there, lo and behold you he found francois had broke one of his legs, too!" everybody--"goodness!" mrs. o.--"yes. so he set his leg and bandaged it up, and fixed his ribs and gave him a dose of something to quiet down his excitement and put him to sleep--poor thing he was trembling and frightened to death and it was pitiful to see him. we had him in my bed--mr. oreille slept in the guest room and i laid down beside francois--but not to sleep bless you no. bridget and i set up all night, and the doctor staid till two in the morning, bless his old heart.--when mother got there she was so used up with anxiety, that she had to go to bed and have the doctor; but when she found that francois was not in immediate danger she rallied, and by night she was able to take a watch herself. well for three days and nights we three never left that bedside only to take an hour's nap at a time. and then the doctor said francois was out of danger and if ever there was a thankful set, in this world, it was us." laura's respect for these, women had augmented during this conversation, naturally enough; affection and devotion are qualities that are able to adorn and render beautiful a character that is otherwise unattractive, and even repulsive. mrs. gashly--"i do believe i would a died if i had been in your place, mrs. oreille. the time hildebrand was so low with the pneumonia emmeline and me were all, alone with him most of the time and we never took a minute's sleep for as much as two days, and nights. it was at newport and we wouldn't trust hired nurses. one afternoon he had a fit, and jumped up and run out on the portico of the hotel with nothing in the world on and the wind a blowing liken ice and we after him scared to death; and when the ladies and gentlemen saw that he had a fit, every lady scattered for her room and not a gentleman lifted his hand to help, the wretches! well after that his life hung by a thread for as much as ten days, and the minute he was out of danger emmeline and me just went to bed sick and worn out. i never want to pass through such a time again. poor dear francois--which leg did he break, mrs. oreille!" mrs. o.--"it was his right hand hind leg. jump down, francois dear, and show the ladies what a cruel limp you've got yet." francois demurred, but being coaxed and delivered gently upon the floor, he performed very satisfactorily, with his "right hand hind leg" in the air. all were affected--even laura--but hers was an affection of the stomach. the country-bred girl had not suspected that the little whining ten-ounce black and tan reptile, clad in a red embroidered pigmy blanket and reposing in mrs. oreille's lap all through the visit was the individual whose sufferings had been stirring the dormant generosities of her nature. she said: "poor little creature! you might have lost him!" mrs. o.--"o pray don't mention it, miss hawkins--it gives me such a turn!" laura--"and hildebrand and percy--are they--are they like this one?" mrs. g.--"no, hilly has considerable skye blood in him, i believe." mrs. h.--"percy's the same, only he is two months and ten days older and has his ears cropped. his father, martin farquhar tupper, was sickly, and died young, but he was the sweetest disposition.--his mother had heart disease but was very gentle and resigned, and a wonderful ratter." --[** as impossible and exasperating as this conversation may sound to a person who is not an idiot, it is scarcely in any respect an exaggeration of one which one of us actually listened to in an american drawing room --otherwise we could not venture to put such a chapter into a book which, professes to deal with social possibilities.--the authors.] so carried away had the visitors become by their interest attaching to this discussion of family matters, that their stay had been prolonged to a very improper and unfashionable length; but they suddenly recollected themselves now and took their departure. laura's scorn was boundless. the more she thought of these people and their extraordinary talk, the more offensive they seemed to her; and yet she confessed that if one must choose between the two extreme aristocracies it might be best, on the whole, looking at things from a strictly business point of view, to herd with the parvenus; she was in washington solely to compass a certain matter and to do it at any cost, and these people might be useful to her, while it was plain that her purposes and her schemes for pushing them would not find favor in the eyes of the antiques. if it came to choice--and it might come to that, sooner or later--she believed she could come to a decision without much difficulty or many pangs. but the best aristocracy of the three washington castes, and really the most powerful, by far, was that of the middle ground: it was made up of the families of public men from nearly every state in the union--men who held positions in both the executive and legislative branches of the government, and whose characters had been for years blemishless, both at home and at the capital. these gentlemen and their households were unostentatious people; they were educated and refined; they troubled themselves but little about the two other orders of nobility, but moved serenely in their wide orbit, confident in their own strength and well aware of the potency of their influence. they had no troublesome appearances to keep up, no rivalries which they cared to distress themselves about, no jealousies to fret over. they could afford to mind their own affairs and leave other combinations to do the same or do otherwise, just as they chose. they were people who were beyond reproach, and that was sufficient. senator dilworthy never came into collision with any of these factions. he labored for them all and with them all. he said that all men were brethren and all were entitled to the honest unselfish help and countenance of a christian laborer in the public vineyard. laura concluded, after reflection, to let circumstances determine the course it might be best for her to pursue as regarded the several aristocracies. now it might occur to the reader that perhaps laura had been somewhat rudely suggestive in her remarks to mrs. oreille when the subject of corals was under discussion, but it did not occur to laura herself. she was not a person of exaggerated refinement; indeed, the society and the influences that had formed her character had not been of a nature calculated to make her so; she thought that "give and take was fair play," and that to parry an offensive thrust with a sarcasm was a neat and legitimate thing to do. she some times talked to people in a way which some ladies would consider, actually shocking; but laura rather prided herself upon some of her exploits of that character. we are sorry we cannot make her a faultless heroine; but we cannot, for the reason that she was human. she considered herself a superior conversationist. long ago, when the possibility had first been brought before her mind that some day she might move in washington society, she had recognized the fact that practiced conversational powers would be a necessary weapon in that field; she had also recognized the fact that since her dealings there must be mainly with men, and men whom she supposed to be exceptionally cultivated and able, she would need heavier shot in her magazine than mere brilliant "society" nothings; whereupon she had at once entered upon a tireless and elaborate course of reading, and had never since ceased to devote every unoccupied moment to this sort of preparation. having now acquired a happy smattering of various information, she used it with good effect--she passed for a singularly well informed woman in washington. the quality of her literary tastes had necessarily undergone constant improvement under this regimen, and as necessarily, also; the duality of her language had improved, though it cannot be denied that now and then her former condition of life betrayed itself in just perceptible inelegancies of expression and lapses of grammar. chapter xxxiv. when laura had been in washington three months, she was still the same person, in one respect, that she was when she first arrived there--that is to say, she still bore the name of laura hawkins. otherwise she was perceptibly changed.-- she had arrived in a state of grievous uncertainty as to what manner of woman she was, physically and intellectually, as compared with eastern women; she was well satisfied, now, that her beauty was confessed, her mind a grade above the average, and her powers of fascination rather extraordinary. so she, was at ease upon those points. when she arrived, she was possessed of habits of economy and not possessed of money; now she dressed elaborately, gave but little thought to the cost of things, and was very well fortified financially. she kept her mother and washington freely supplied with money, and did the same by col. sellers --who always insisted upon giving his note for loans--with interest; he was rigid upon that; she must take interest; and one of the colonel's greatest satisfactions was to go over his accounts and note what a handsome sum this accruing interest amounted to, and what a comfortable though modest support it would yield laura in case reverses should overtake her. in truth he could not help feeling that he was an efficient shield for her against poverty; and so, if her expensive ways ever troubled him for a brief moment, he presently dismissed the thought and said to himself, "let her go on--even if she loses everything she is still safe--this interest will always afford her a good easy income." laura was on excellent terms with a great many members of congress, and there was an undercurrent of suspicion in some quarters that she was one of that detested class known as "lobbyists;" but what belle could escape slander in such a city? fairminded people declined to condemn her on mere suspicion, and so the injurious talk made no very damaging headway. she was very gay, now, and very celebrated, and she might well expect to be assailed by many kinds of gossip. she was growing used to celebrity, and could already sit calm and seemingly unconscious, under the fire of fifty lorgnettes in a theatre, or even overhear the low voice "that's she!" as she passed along the street without betraying annoyance. the whole air was full of a vague vast scheme which was to eventuate in filling laura's pockets with millions of money; some had one idea of the scheme, and some another, but nobody had any exact knowledge upon the subject. all that any one felt sure about, was that laura's landed estates were princely in value and extent, and that the government was anxious to get hold of them for public purposes, and that laura was willing to make the sale but not at all anxious about the matter and not at all in a hurry. it was whispered that senator dilworthy was a stumbling block in the way of an immediate sale, because he was resolved that the government should not have the lands except with the understanding that they should be devoted to the uplifting of the negro race; laura did not care what they were devoted to, it was said, (a world of very different gossip to the contrary notwithstanding,) but there were several other heirs and they would be guided entirely by the senator's wishes; and finally, many people averred that while it would be easy to sell the lands to the government for the benefit of the negro, by resorting to the usual methods of influencing votes, senator dilworthy was unwilling to have so noble a charity sullied by any taint of corruption--he was resolved that not a vote should be bought. nobody could get anything definite from laura about these matters, and so gossip had to feed itself chiefly upon guesses. but the effect of it all was, that laura was considered to be very wealthy and likely to be vastly more so in a little while. consequently she was much courted and as much envied: her wealth attracted many suitors. perhaps they came to worship her riches, but they remained to worship her. some of the noblest men of the time succumbed to her fascinations. she frowned upon no lover when he made his first advances, but by and by when she was hopelessly enthralled, he learned from her own lips that she had formed a resolution never to marry. then he would go away hating and cursing the whole sex, and she would calmly add his scalp to her string, while she mused upon the bitter day that col. selby trampled her love and her pride in the dust. in time it came to be said that her way was paved with broken hearts. poor washington gradually woke up to the fact that he too was an intellectual marvel as well as his gifted sister. he could not conceive how it had come about (it did not occur to him that the gossip about his family's great wealth had any thing to do with it). he could not account for it by any process of reasoning, and was simply obliged to accept the fact and give up trying to solve the riddle. he found himself dragged into society and courted, wondered at and envied very much as if he were one of those foreign barbers who flit over here now and then with a self-conferred title of nobility and marry some rich fool's absurd daughter. sometimes at a dinner party or a reception he would find himself the centre of interest, and feel unutterably uncomfortable in the discovery. being obliged to say something, he would mine his brain and put in a blast and when the smoke and flying debris had cleared away the result would be what seemed to him but a poor little intellectual clod of dirt or two, and then he would be astonished to see everybody as lost in admiration as if he had brought up a ton or two of virgin gold. every remark he made delighted his hearers and compelled their applause; he overheard people say he was exceedingly bright--they were chiefly mammas and marriageable young ladies. he found that some of his good things were being repeated about the town. whenever he heard of an instance of this kind, he would keep that particular remark in mind and analyze it at home in private. at first he could not see that the remark was anything better than a parrot might originate; but by and by he began to feel that perhaps he underrated his powers; and after that he used to analyze his good things with a deal of comfort, and find in them a brilliancy which would have been unapparent to him in earlier days--and then he would make a note, of that good thing and say it again the first time he found himself in a new company. presently he had saved up quite a repertoire of brilliancies; and after that he confined himself to repeating these and ceased to originate any more, lest he might injure his reputation by an unlucky effort. he was constantly having young ladies thrust upon his notice at receptions, or left upon his hands at parties, and in time he began to feel that he was being deliberately persecuted in this way; and after that he could not enjoy society because of his constant dread of these female ambushes and surprises. he was distressed to find that nearly every time he showed a young lady a polite attention he was straightway reported to be engaged to her; and as some of these reports got into the newspapers occasionally, he had to keep writing to louise that they were lies and she must believe in him and not mind them or allow them to grieve her. washington was as much in the dark as anybody with regard to the great wealth that was hovering in the air and seemingly on the point of tumbling into the family pocket. laura would give him no satisfaction. all she would say, was: "wait. be patient. you will see." "but will it be soon, laura?" "it will not be very long, i think." "but what makes you think so?" "i have reasons--and good ones. just wait, and be patient." "but is it going to be as much as people say it is?" "what do they say it is?" "oh, ever so much. millions!" "yes, it will be a great sum." "but how great, laura? will it be millions?" "yes, you may call it that. yes, it will be millions. there, now--does that satisfy you?" "splendid! i can wait. i can wait patiently--ever so patiently. once i was near selling the land for twenty thousand dollars; once for thirty thousand dollars; once after that for seven thousand dollars; and once for forty thousand dollars--but something always told me not to do it. what a fool i would have been to sell it for such a beggarly trifle! it is the land that's to bring the money, isn't it laura? you can tell me that much, can't you?" "yes, i don't mind saying that much. it is the land. "but mind--don't ever hint that you got it from me. don't mention me in the matter at all, washington." "all right--i won't. millions! isn't it splendid! i mean to look around for a building lot; a lot with fine ornamental shrubbery and all that sort of thing. i will do it to-day. and i might as well see an architect, too, and get him to go to work at a plan for a house. i don't intend to spare and expense; i mean to have the noblest house that money can build." then after a pause--he did not notice laura's smiles "laura, would you lay the main hall in encaustic tiles, or just in fancy patterns of hard wood?" laura laughed a good old-fashioned laugh that had more of her former natural self about it than any sound that had issued from her mouth in many weeks. she said: "you don't change, washington. you still begin to squander a fortune right and left the instant you hear of it in the distance; you never wait till the foremost dollar of it arrives within a hundred miles of you," --and she kissed her brother good bye and left him weltering in his dreams, so to speak. he got up and walked the floor feverishly during two hours; and when he sat down he had married louise, built a house, reared a family, married them off, spent upwards of eight hundred thousand dollars on mere luxuries, and died worth twelve millions. chapter xxxv. laura went down stairs, knocked at/the study door, and entered, scarcely waiting for the response. senator dilworthy was alone--with an open bible in his hand, upside down. laura smiled, and said, forgetting her acquired correctness of speech, "it is only me." "ah, come in, sit down," and the senator closed the book and laid it down. "i wanted to see you. time to report progress from the committee of the whole," and the senator beamed with his own congressional wit. "in the committee of the whole things are working very well. we have made ever so much progress in a week. i believe that you and i together could run this government beautifully, uncle." the senator beamed again. he liked to be called "uncle" by this beautiful woman. "did you see hopperson last night after the congressional prayer meeting?" "yes. he came. he's a kind of--" "eh? he is one of my friends, laura. he's a fine man, a very fine man. i don't know any man in congress i'd sooner go to for help in any christian work. what did he say?" "oh, he beat around a little. he said he should like to help the negro, his heart went out to the negro, and all that--plenty of them say that but he was a little afraid of the tennessee land bill; if senator dilworthy wasn't in it, he should suspect there was a fraud on the government." "he said that, did he?" "yes. and he said he felt he couldn't vote for it. he was shy." "not shy, child, cautious. he's a very cautious man. i have been with him a great deal on conference committees. he wants reasons, good ones. didn't you show him he was in error about the bill?" "i did. i went over the whole thing. i had to tell him some of the side arrangements, some of the--" "you didn't mention me?" "oh, no. i told him you were daft about the negro and the philanthropy part of it, as you are." "daft is a little strong, laura. but you know that i wouldn't touch this bill if it were not for the public good, and for the good of the colored race; much as i am interested in the heirs of this property, and would like to have them succeed." laura looked a little incredulous, and the senator proceeded. "don't misunderstand me, i don't deny that it is for the interest of all of us that this bill should go through, and it will. i have no concealments from you. but i have one principle in my public life, which i should like you to keep in mind; it has always been my guide. i never push a private interest if it is not justified and ennobled by some larger public good. i doubt christian would be justified in working for his own salvation if it was not to aid in the salvation of his fellow men." the senator spoke with feeling, and then added, "i hope you showed hopperson that our motives were pure?" "yes, and he seemed to have a new light on the measure: i think will vote for it." "i hope so; his name will give tone and strength to it. i knew you would only have to show him that it was just and pure, in order to secure his cordial support." "i think i convinced him. yes, i am perfectly sure he will vote right now." "that's good, that's good," said the senator; smiling, and rubbing his hands. "is there anything more?" "you'll find some changes in that i guess," handing the senator a printed list of names. "those checked off are all right." "ah--'m--'m," running his eye down the list. "that's encouraging. what is the 'c' before some of the names, and the 'b. b.'?" "those are my private marks. that 'c' stands for 'convinced,' with argument. the 'b. b.' is a general sign for a relative. you see it stands before three of the hon. committee. i expect to see the chairman of the committee to-day, mr. buckstone." "so, you must, he ought to be seen without any delay. buckstone is a worldly sort of a fellow, but he has charitable impulses. if we secure him we shall have a favorable report by the committee, and it will be a great thing to be able to state that fact quietly where it will do good." "oh, i saw senator balloon" "he will help us, i suppose? balloon is a whole-hearted fellow. i can't help loving that man, for all his drollery and waggishness. he puts on an air of levity sometimes, but there aint a man in the senate knows the scriptures as he does. he did not make any objections?" "not exactly, he said--shall i tell you what he said?" asked laura glancing furtively at him. "certainly." "he said he had no doubt it was a good thing; if senator dilworthy was in it, it would pay to look into it." the senator laughed, but rather feebly, and said, "balloon is always full of his jokes." "i explained it to him. he said it was all right, he only wanted a word with you,", continued laura. "he is a handsome old gentleman, and he is gallant for an old man." "my daughter," said the senator, with a grave look, "i trust there was nothing free in his manner?" "free?" repeated laura, with indignation in her face. "with me!" "there, there, child. i meant nothing, balloon talks a little freely sometimes, with men. but he is right at heart. his term expires next year and i fear we shall lose him." "he seemed to be packing the day i was there. his rooms were full of dry goods boxes, into which his servant was crowding all manner of old clothes and stuff: i suppose he will paint 'pub. docs' on them and frank them home. that's good economy, isn't it?" "yes, yes, but child, all congressmen do that. it may not be strictly honest, indeed it is not unless he had some public documents mixed in with the clothes." "it's a funny world. good-bye, uncle. i'm going to see that chairman." and humming a cheery opera air, she departed to her room to dress for going out. before she did that, however, she took out her note book and was soon deep in its contents; marking, dashing, erasing, figuring, and talking to herself. "free! i wonder what dilworthy does think of me anyway? one . . . two. . .eight . . . seventeen . . . twenty-one,. . 'm'm . . . it takes a heap for a majority. wouldn't dilworthy open his eyes if he knew some of the things balloon did say to me. there. . . . hopperson's influence ought to count twenty . . . the sanctimonious old curmudgeon. son-in-law. . . . sinecure in the negro institution . . . .that about gauges him . . . the three committeemen . . . . sons-in-law. nothing like a son-in-law here in washington or a brother- in-law . . . and everybody has 'em . . . let's see: . . . sixty- one. . . . with places . . . twenty-five . . . persuaded--it is getting on; . . . . we'll have two-thirds of congress in time . . . dilworthy must surely know i understand him. uncle dilworthy . . . . uncle balloon!--tells very amusing stories . . . when ladies are not present . . . i should think so . . . .'m . . . 'm. eighty-five. there. i must find that chairman. queer. . . . buckstone acts . . seemed to be in love . . . . . i was sure of it. he promised to come here. . . and he hasn't. . . strange. very strange . . . . i must chance to meet him to-day." laura dressed and went out, thinking she was perhaps too early for mr. buckstone to come from the house, but as he lodged near the bookstore she would drop in there and keep a look out for him. while laura is on her errand to find mr. buckstone, it may not be out of the way to remark that she knew quite as much of washington life as senator dilworthy gave her credit for, and more than she thought proper to tell him. she was acquainted by this time with a good many of the young fellows of newspaper row; and exchanged gossip with them to their mutual advantage. they were always talking in the row, everlastingly gossiping, bantering and sarcastically praising things, and going on in a style which was a curious commingling of earnest and persiflage. col. sellers liked this talk amazingly, though he was sometimes a little at sea in it--and perhaps that didn't lessen the relish of the conversation to the correspondents. it seems that they had got hold of the dry-goods box packing story about balloon, one day, and were talking it over when the colonel came in. the colonel wanted to know all about it, and hicks told him. and then hicks went on, with a serious air, "colonel, if you register a letter, it means that it is of value, doesn't it? and if you pay fifteen cents for registering it, the government will have to take extra care of it and even pay you back its full value if it is lost. isn't that so?" "yes. i suppose it's so.". "well senator balloon put fifteen cents worth of stamps on each of those seven huge boxes of old clothes, and shipped that ton of second-hand rubbish, old boots and pantaloons and what not through the mails as registered matter! it was an ingenious thing and it had a genuine touch of humor about it, too. i think there is more real: talent among our public men of to-day than there was among those of old times--a far more fertile fancy, a much happier ingenuity. now, colonel, can you picture jefferson, or washington or john adams franking their wardrobes through the mails and adding the facetious idea of making the government responsible for the cargo for the sum of one dollar and five cents? statesmen were dull creatures in those days. i have a much greater admiration for senator balloon." "yes, balloon is a man of parts, there is no denying it" "i think so. he is spoken of for the post of minister to china, or austria, and i hope will be appointed. what we want abroad is good examples of the national character. "john jay and benjamin franklin were well enough in their day, but the nation has made progress since then. balloon is a man we know and can depend on to be true to himself." "yes, and balloon has had a good deal of public experience. he is an old friend of mine. he was governor of one of the territories a while, and was very satisfactory." "indeed he was. he was ex-officio indian agent, too. many a man would have taken the indian appropriation and devoted the money to feeding and clothing the helpless savages, whose land had been taken from them by the white man in the interests of civilization; but balloon knew their needs better. he built a government saw-mill on the reservation with the money, and the lumber sold for enormous prices--a relative of his did all the work free of charge--that is to say he charged nothing more than the lumber world bring." "but the poor injuns--not that i care much for injuns--what did he do for them?" "gave them the outside slabs to fence in the reservation with. governor balloon was nothing less than a father to the poor indians. but balloon is not alone, we have many truly noble statesmen in our country's service like balloon. the senate is full of them. don't you think so colonel?" "well, i dunno. i honor my country's public servants as much as any one can. i meet them, sir, every day, and the more i see of them the more i esteem them and the more grateful i am that our institutions give us the opportunity of securing their services. few lands are so blest." "that is true, colonel. to be sure you can buy now and then a senator or a representative but they do not know it is wrong, and so they are not ashamed of it. they are gentle, and confiding and childlike, and in my opinion these are qualities that ennoble them far more than any amount of sinful sagacity could. i quite agree with you, col. sellers." "well"--hesitated the, colonel--"i am afraid some of them do buy their seats--yes, i am afraid they do--but as senator dilworthy himself said to me, it is sinful,--it is very wrong--it is shameful; heaven protect me from such a charge. that is what dilworthy said. and yet when you come to look at it you cannot deny that we would have to go without the services of some of our ablest men, sir, if the country were opposed to --to--bribery. it is a harsh term. i do not like to use it." the colonel interrupted himself at this point to meet an engagement with the austrian minister, and took his leave with his usual courtly bow. chapter xxxvi. in due time laura alighted at the book store, and began to look at the titles of the handsome array of books on the counter. a dapper clerk of perhaps nineteen or twenty years, with hair accurately parted and surprisingly slick, came bustling up and leaned over with a pretty smile and an affable-- "can i--was there any particular book you wished to see?" "have you taine's england?" "beg pardon?" "taine's notes on england." the young gentleman scratched the side of his nose with a cedar pencil which he took down from its bracket on the side of his head, and reflected a moment: "ah--i see," [with a bright smile]--"train, you mean--not taine. george francis train. no, ma'm we--" "i mean taine--if i may take the liberty." the clerk reflected again--then: "taine . . . . taine . . . . is it hymns?" "no, it isn't hymns. it is a volume that is making a deal of talk just now, and is very widely known--except among parties who sell it." the clerk glanced at her face to see if a sarcasm might not lurk somewhere in that obscure speech, but the gentle simplicity of the beautiful eyes that met his, banished that suspicion. he went away and conferred with the proprietor. both appeared to be non-plussed. they thought and talked, and talked and thought by turns. then both came forward and the proprietor said: "is it an american book, ma'm?" "no, it is an american reprint of an english translation." "oh! yes--yes--i remember, now. we are expecting it every day. it isn't out yet." "i think you must be mistaken, because you advertised it a week ago." "why no--can that be so?" "yes, i am sure of it. and besides, here is the book itself, on the counter." she bought it and the proprietor retired from the field. then she asked the clerk for the autocrat of the breakfast table--and was pained to see the admiration her beauty had inspired in him fade out of his face. he said with cold dignity, that cook books were somewhat out of their line, but he would order it if she desired it. she said, no, never mind. then she fell to conning the titles again, finding a delight in the inspection of the hawthornes, the longfellows, the tennysons, and other favorites of her idle hours. meantime the clerk's eyes were busy, and no doubt his admiration was returning again--or may be he was only gauging her probable literary tastes by some sagacious system of admeasurement only known to his guild. now he began to "assist" her in making a selection; but his efforts met with no success--indeed they only annoyed her and unpleasantly interrupted her meditations. presently, while she was holding a copy of "venetian life" in her hand and running over a familiar passage here and there, the clerk said, briskly, snatching up a paper-covered volume and striking the counter a smart blow with it to dislodge the dust: "now here is a work that we've sold a lot of. everybody that's read it likes it"--and he intruded it under her nose; "it's a book that i can recommend--'the pirate's doom, or the last of the buccaneers.' i think it's one of the best things that's come out this season." laura pushed it gently aside her hand and went on and went on filching from "venetian life." "i believe i do not want it," she said. the clerk hunted around awhile, glancing at one title and then another, but apparently not finding what he wanted. however, he succeeded at last. said he: "have you ever read this, ma'm? i am sure you'll like it. it's by the author of 'the hooligans of hackensack.' it is full of love troubles and mysteries and all sorts of such things. the heroine strangles her own mother. just glance at the title please,--'gonderil the vampire, or the dance of death.' and here is 'the jokist's own treasury, or, the phunny phellow's bosom phriend.' the funniest thing!--i've read it four times, ma'm, and i can laugh at the very sight of it yet. and 'gonderil,' --i assure you it is the most splendid book i ever read. i know you will like these books, ma'm, because i've read them myself and i know what they are." "oh, i was perplexed--but i see how it is, now. you must have thought i asked you to tell me what sort of books i wanted--for i am apt to say things which i don't really mean, when i am absent minded. i suppose i did ask you, didn't i?" "no ma'm,--but i--" "yes, i must have done it, else you would not have offered your services, for fear it might be rude. but don't be troubled--it was all my fault. i ought not to have been so heedless--i ought not to have asked you." "but you didn't ask me, ma'm. we always help customers all we can. you see our experience--living right among books all the time--that sort of thing makes us able to help a customer make a selection, you know." "now does it, indeed? it is part of your business, then?" "yes'm, we always help." "how good it is of you. some people would think it rather obtrusive, perhaps, but i don't--i think it is real kindness--even charity. some people jump to conclusions without any thought--you have noticed that?" "o yes," said the clerk, a little perplexed as to whether to feel comfortable or the reverse; "oh yes, indeed, i've often noticed that, ma'm." "yes, they jump to conclusions with an absurd heedlessness. now some people would think it odd that because you, with the budding tastes and the innocent enthusiasms natural to your time of life, enjoyed the vampires and the volume of nursery jokes, you should imagine that an older person would delight in them too--but i do not think it odd at all. i think it natural--perfectly natural in you. and kind, too. you look like a person who not only finds a deep pleasure in any little thing in the way of literature that strikes you forcibly, but is willing and glad to share that pleasure with others--and that, i think, is noble and admirable--very noble and admirable. i think we ought all--to share our pleasures with others, and do what we can to make each other happy, do not you?" "oh, yes. oh, yes, indeed. yes, you are quite right, ma'm." but he was getting unmistakably uncomfortable, now, notwithstanding laura's confiding sociability and almost affectionate tone. "yes, indeed. many people would think that what a bookseller--or perhaps his clerk--knows about literature as literature, in contradistinction to its character as merchandise, would hardly, be of much assistance to a person--that is, to an adult, of course--in the selection of food for the mind--except of course wrapping paper, or twine, or wafers, or something like that--but i never feel that way. i feel that whatever service you offer me, you offer with a good heart, and i am as grateful for it as if it were the greatest boon to me. and it is useful to me--it is bound to be so. it cannot be otherwise. if you show me a book which you have read--not skimmed over or merely glanced at, but read--and you tell me that you enjoyed it and that you could read it three or four times, then i know what book i want--" "thank you!--th--" --"to avoid. yes indeed. i think that no information ever comes amiss in this world. once or twice i have traveled in the cars--and there you know, the peanut boy always measures you with his eye, and hands you out a book of murders if you are fond of theology; or tupper or a dictionary or t. s. arthur if you are fond of poetry; or he hands you a volume of distressing jokes or a copy of the american miscellany if you particularly dislike that sort of literary fatty degeneration of the heart--just for the world like a pleasant spoken well-meaning gentleman in any, bookstore. but here i am running on as if business men had nothing to do but listen to women talk. you must pardon me, for i was not thinking.--and you must let me thank you again for helping me. i read a good deal, and shall be in nearly every day and i would be sorry to have you think me a customer who talks too much and buys too little. might i ask you to give me the time? ah-two-twenty-two. thank you very much. i will set mine while i have the opportunity." but she could not get her watch open, apparently. she tried, and tried again. then the clerk, trembling at his own audacity, begged to be allowed to assist. she allowed him. he succeeded, and was radiant under the sweet influences of her pleased face and her seductively worded acknowledgements with gratification. then he gave her the exact time again, and anxiously watched her turn the hands slowly till they reached the precise spot without accident or loss of life, and then he looked as happy as a man who had helped a fellow being through a momentous undertaking, and was grateful to know that he had not lived in vain. laura thanked him once more. the words were music to his ear; but what were they compared to the ravishing smile with which she flooded his whole system? when she bowed her adieu and turned away, he was no longer suffering torture in the pillory where she had had him trussed up during so many distressing moments, but he belonged to the list of her conquests and was a flattered and happy thrall, with the dawn-light of love breaking over the eastern elevations of his heart. it was about the hour, now, for the chairman of the house committee on benevolent appropriations to make his appearance, and laura stepped to the door to reconnoiter. she glanced up the street, and sure enough-- transcriber's note: the digraphs "ae" and "oe" are spelled out for clarity. the chapter summaries in the table of contents are repeated in the book at the start of each chapter. at the end of each chapter is a facsimile autograph and a brief biography of the signer. the running page titles are omitted. vol. i, chap. xliii: "president's message or" changed to "president's message on" vol. ii, chap. ix: "lamar" changed to "lamon" a tabulation of the presidential vote totals has been added. the typographical fist is represented by the right guillamet (»). loc catalog number: e .p [frontispiece: perley.jpg] engr. by h. b. hall's sons, new york [signed] faithfully yours, ben: perley poore perley's reminiscences of sixty years in the national metropolis _illustrating the wit, humor, genius, eccentricities, jealousies, ambitions and intrigues of the brilliant statesmen, ladies, officers, diplomats, lobbyists and other noted celebrities of the world that gather at the centre of the nation; describing imposing inauguration ceremonies, gala day festivities, army reviews, &c., &c., &c._ by ben: perley poore. _the veteran journalist, clerk of the senate printing records, editor of the congressional directory, and author of various works._ illustrated. vol. i. hubbard brothers, publishers, philadelphia. boston, cincinnati, kansas city; w. a. houghton, new york; a. w. stolp, chicago; a. w. mills, tecumseh, mich.; e. holdoway & co., st. louis; l. s. varney & co., minneapolis; a. l. bancroft & co., san francisco. entered, according to act of congress, in the year , by ben: perley poore, in the office of the librarian of congress, at washington. notice to booksellers. this book is sold exclusively by subscription, all agents being strictly enjoined by contract from selling in any other way. any evasion of this plan of sale will be a trespass upon the copyright rights of the author. hubbard bros. preface. the public favor with which the journalistic writings of the subscriber have been received prompted the publication of these volumes. their object is to give personal details concerning prominent men and women in social and political life at the national metropolis since he has known it. he has especially endeavored to portray those who "in congress assembled" have enacted the laws, and those who have interpreted and enforced the provisions under which the united states has advanced, during the past sixty years, from comparative infancy into the vigor of mature manhood, and has successfully defended its own life against a vigorous attempt at its destruction. in chronicling what has transpired within his personal recollection at the national metropolis, he has gathered what "waifs" he has found floating on the sea of chat, in the whirlpools of gossip, or in the quiet havens of conversation. some of these may be personal --piquantly personal, perhaps--but the mighty public has had an appetite for gossipings about prominent men and measures ever since the time when the old athenians crowded to hear the plays of aristophanes. the subscriber is aware that some who write of prominent persons and political events indulge too much in sycophantic flattery, while others have their brains addled by brooding on some fancied wrong, or their minds have lost their even poise by dwelling on insane reforms or visionary projects. all this may have its use, but the subscriber has preferred to look at things in a more cheerful way, to pluck roses rather than nettles, and neither to throw filth nor to blow trumpets. while the republic has preserved with commendable pride the histories of her statesmen and her martial defenders, it is well that the memories of those of the gentler sex, who have from time to time taken prominent part in shaping the destinies of the nation, should also be remembered. this work will give, it is hoped, an idea of stirring events in both political and social life, of the great men and the fascinating women who have figured in washington during the past six decades. those who were too well acquainted with these personal details to think of recording them are fast passing away, and some account of them cannot but interest younger generations, while it will not fail to profit the older politicians, publicists, and journalists. the great difficulty in the compilation of the "reminiscences" has been the selection from the masses of material accumulated in diaries, autograph letters, and scrap-books containing published literary matter. to have given a connected political and social history of what has transpired at the national metropolis during the past sixty years would have required a dozen volumes, so the most conspicuous features only have been here and there selected. confident of the exact truthfulness of the sketches here given, this work is presented, without apologies, to a generous public as the result of very extensive observation. ben: perley poore. indian hill farm, near newburyport, mass. contents. chapter i. john quincy adams becomes president. the tenth presidential election--a political bargain--election of president--a scene in the house--inauguration of j. q. adams--the adams administration--the mistress of the white house--the president's private secretary--social life at the white house--president adams' daily life--henry clay as secretary of state--the rival candidates --the death of two ex-presidents. chapter ii. traveling in "ye olden time." travel by stage and steamboat--boston to providence--the old town of providence--the long island sound steamers--new york city--new york to philadelphia--philadelphia to washington--washington hotel life--expenses of living--the metropolis of the union--the national capital--works of art--the rotunda--free-masonry--the morgan excitement--theatrical--division of the friends' society. chapter iii. journalism in . old georgetown--the union tavern--a natal african salute--president george washington--major l'enfant--newspaper organs--the national intelligencer--the national journal--matthew l. davis--james gordon bennett--mordecai m. noah--other washington correspondents--a notable briton--gambling-houses--senatorial card playing--social games of whist. chapter iv. prominent senators of . the nineteenth congress--vice-president john c. calhoun--martin van buren--nathaniel macon, of north carolina--thomas hart benton --randolph, of roanoke--duel between clay and randolph--an offended virginian--a future president--prominent senators--senatorial control of society--the dancing assemblies--fashionable attire-- belles of the period--the code of honor. chapter v. prominent representatives of . the representatives' hall--admission of ladies--webster, of massachusetts--edward everett--mcduffie, of south carolina--rhode island's bald eagle--a bargain exposed--retrenchment and reform-- prominent representatives--the supreme court--chief justice marshall --mr. justice washington--the christmas holidays. chapter vi. the political machine. the tenth presidential campaign--election of general jackson--death of mrs. andrew jackson--the inauguration of "old hickory"--reception at the white house--an editorial phalanx--the civil service-- disciplining a postmaster general--a fortunate mail contractor-- the sunday mail crusade. chapter vii. the kitchen cabinet. jackson's first annual message--the kitchen cabinet--blair, of the globe--washington newspapers and news--the first lady-bird of the press--nathaniel p. willis--peter force--social enjoyments--mrs. trollope on washington society--attempt to oust a veteran from office--payment of the claims on france. chapter viii. battle of the giants. the great senatorial debate--attack on new england--webster's reply to hayne--nullification nipped in the bud--society in jackson's day--mrs. general eaton--a chivalrous president--theatricals--the great tragedian--minor amusements--executive charity--swartwouting --the star spangled banner. chapter ix. stamping out of nullification. rejection of martin van buren--the war against the united states bank--nick biddle, of the bank--re-election of general jackson-- financial debate in the senate--calhoun, of south carolina--secession stamped out--union proclamation--the expunging resolution--a senatorial scene--an appeal from the chair. chapter x. prominent men of jackson's time. harry of the west--tilt between clay and benton--rebuke of a revolutionary hero--apt oratorical illustration--daniel webster's wit--an excited visitor--the house of representatives--general houston reprimanded--eli moore, of new york--churchill c. cambreleng --crockett, of tennessee--embryo presidents--other distinguished representatives--a jackson democrat. chapter xi. society in jackson's time. the van ness mansion--a benefactress--a popular citizen--a much- talked-of lawsuit--a runaway nun--general jackson's diplomacy-- washington society--anecdotes told by mr. clay--maelzel's automata --condemned literature. chapter xii. jackson and his associates. democratic rejoicing--attempt at assassination--the political guillotine--the vicar of bray--daniel webster's memory--bayard, of delaware--the claytons--pearce, of maryland--the classical and the vernacular--boulanger's--location of the new treasury building-- hackett, the comedian--a jealous artist--sumner's first visit to washington--the supreme court and its justices. chapter xiii. jackson's last year in the white house. van buren as vice-president--henry clay as champion of the bank-- washington's ceremonial birthday--removal of his remains--the decapitation of general jackson--the president at the race-track-- an old-time cock fight--wedding at arlington--the public gardener --miss fanny kemble--cheese reception at the white house. chapter xiv. van buren's stormy administration. inauguration of van buren--his first reception--departure of jackson for the hermitage--van buren's embarrassments--the great financial debate--antagonism of clay and calhoun--an all night session-- morning excuses--the graves and cilley duel--a congressional comedian. chapter xv. commencement of the anti-slavery movement. the slavery agitation--early secession movements--webster on emancipation--his idea of the far west--franklin pierce's position --the foremost of orators--joseph holt--king, of alabama--the buckshot war--star routes--van buren's titles. chapter xvi. political intrigues and social movements. presidential hospitalities--social entertainments--a gifted adventuress--espy, the weather king--a foreign indorsement--van buren's re-election--the ogle speech--van buren's new year's reception. chapter xvii. log-cabins and hard cider. the harrison campaign--political songs--whig conventions--great paraders--corwin's reply to crary--crary's complete discomfiture-- the campaign paper--horace greeley--henry clay on the stump--amos kendall--the fall elections--pipe laying--the whigs triumphant. chapter xviii. enter whigs--exit democrats. the fourteenth presidential election--enter harrison--exit van buren--the harrison cabinet--attack upon mr. webster--"the salt boiler of the kanawha"--the other cabinet officers--harrison's inaugural message--the inauguration--the procession--scenes at the capitol--the inaugural address--president harrison's first reception --inauguration balls. chapter xix. harrison's one month of power. civil service reform--differences of opinion--difficulty between clay and king--washington correspondents--verbatim reports of debates--a popular british minister--other foreign diplomats-- quarrelsome carolinians--daniel webster's housekeeping--illness of president harrison--death--funeral--the last honors. chapter xx. the king is dead--long live the king. "le roi est mort; vive le roi"--extra session of congress--trouble in the whig camp--edward everett before the senate--thurlow weed-- dissensions among the whigs--cabinet troubles--congressional criticisms--cushing and adams, of massachusetts--wise, of virginia --bagby, of alabama. chapter xxi. diplomatic and social life of webster. the ashburton treaty--diplomatic negotiations--speech by daniel webster--webster's social life--mr. clay's nightcaps--administration organs--justice to john tyler. chapter xxii. the capitol and the drawing rooms. a stormy session--john quincy adams at bay--the code of honor--the supreme court--visit of charles dickens--the secretary of state's party--a reception at the white house--the president's ball for children--diplomatic hospitality--ole bull--a troublesome congressman. chapter xxiii. lights and shadows. the accidental president--virginia hospitality--second-hand style --the pathfinder's marriage--baron de bodisco, of russia--mr. fox, of great britain--the author of "sweet home"--the daguerreotype-- the electric telegraph--the new york tribune--resignation of mr. webster--reconstruction of the cabinet--fatal accident on the princeton--marriage of president tyler. chapter xxiv. how texas became a state. john c. calhoun, secretary of state--how tyler was managed--admission of texas--douglas, of illinois--an able house of representatives-- an exciting campaign--president tyler's programme--nomination of henry clay--the democratic ticket--surprise of george m. dallas-- the liberty party--exit john tyler. chapter xxv. president polk's administration. inauguration of polk--his personal appearance--inauguration balls --mrs. polk--secretary buchanan--governor marcy, of new york-- completion of the cabinet--the oregon difficulty--the mexican war --a change of organist. chapter xxvi. death of john quincy adams. washington society--an old whig supper--death of john quincy adams --abraham lincoln in the house--jefferson davis as a representative --the democratic nomination--lewis cass, of michigan--the whig convention--daniel webster and henry clay--nomination of general taylor--letter of acceptance--the free-soil movement--inception of the great conspiracy. chapter xxvii. making the most of power. president taylor and his secretary--selection of the taylor cabinet --the taylor family--jefferson davis--inauguration ceremonies-- office seekers--patronage and spoils--the galphin, gardiner, and other claims--the taylor administration--the white house. chapter xxviii. the great compromise debate. stormy scenes at the capitol--crimination and recrimination--taylor's only message--return of mr. clay to the senate--the great compromise debate--webster's seventh of march speech--the last days of calhoun --jefferson davis' leadership--john p. hale, of new hampshire. chapter xxix. prominent statesmen and diplomats. sam houston, of texas--seward, of new york--buchanan, of pennsylvania --agricultural donations--diplomatic representatives--social enjoyments--winthrop's farewell supper--fatal illness of general taylor--death of the president. chapter xxx. fillmore at the white house. president fillmore--funeral of general taylor--webster again secretary of state--the compromise measures--mrs. millard fillmore --a proud father--the capitol extension--the library of congress-- washington society--public amusements. chapter xxxi. arraignment of daniel webster. accusation against mr. webster--the "expounder of the constitution" sore at heart--belligerent mississippians--painting and sculpture at the capitol--overland explorations--a washington mob--a washington correspondent. chapter xxxii. foreign influence and know-nothingism. "filibustering"--the hulsemann letter--kossuth, of hungary--the know-nothings--boss tweed, of new york--butler, of south carolina --other prominent senators--exit clay--enter sumner--the officers of the house. chapter xxxiii. plotting for the presidency. president-making--political intrigues--the democratic convention-- nomination of general pierce--the whig candidates--rivalry between webster and fillmore--the last whig national convention--death of henry clay--general scott as a candidate--general frank pierce, of new hampshire--death of daniel webster--general pierce elected president. chapter xxxiv. pierce becomes president. inauguration of president pierce--vice-president king--the cabinet --popularity of the new president--pryor, of virginia--rare old wines--peale's portraits of washington--brady's portraits--visit of thackeray--a copyright victim--jullien's concerts. chapter xxxv. chivalry, at home and abroad. executive appointments--the ostend manifesto--mr. buchanan at london --the kansas-nebraska debate--spicy words between breckinridge and cutting--diplomatic card-playing--assistant-secretary thomas--the amoskeag veterans. chapter xxxvi. crystallization of the republican party. formation of the republican party--the election of speaker--mr. banks triumphant--division of the spoils--a protracted session-- assault on horace greeley--territorial delegates--the senate--the virginia senators--"hale," of new hampshire. chapter xxxvii. political storm and social sunrise. sumner, of massachusetts--the assault on sumner--troublous times-- congressional courtesies--senatorial wit--convention of old soldiers --social routine at the white house--society gatherings. chapter xxxviii. growth of the metropolis. the crampton difficulty--unsuccessful french mediation--the diplomatic corps--information for publication--mr. buchanan in england-- washington hotels--the new hall of the house. chapter xxxix. the northern champions. fessenden, of maine--the sterling claim--social festivities--marriage of judge douglas--congressional scenes--secretary of war davis-- art and literature--george w. childs--j. r. bartlett. chapter xl. exciting presidential contest. democratic candidates for the presidency--james buchanan--stephen a. douglas--delegates to the cincinnati convention--the struggle-- the disorganized democracy united--opposition nominations--the republican convention--election of mr. buchanan--counting the votes. chapter xli. miss lane in the white house. president-elect buchanan--miss harriet lane--the new cabinet and the message--the newspaper organs--inauguration of president buchanan --the inauguration ball--the dred scott decision--the minority decision. chapter xlii. diplomacy, society, and civil service. foreign relations--lord napier, the british minister--sir william gore ouseley--society in washington--a fashionable pretender--civil service--office seeking--choate's handwriting--the governors of kansas. chapter xliii. prelude to the rebellion. organization of the senate--john slidell, of louisiana--senator douglas opposes the administration--ben wade's bon mot--meeting of the house--election of speaker--investigation of the wolcott attempts at bribery--debates on the admission of kansas--nocturnal row in the house--the north victorious. chapter xliv. politicians, authors, and humorists. wade, of ohio--jefferson davis, of mississippi--johnson, of arkansas --anthony, of rhode island--trollope, of england--one of mike walsh's jokes--albert pike's wake--the sons of malta. list of illustrations [omitted] list of autographs andrew jackson john quincy adams william harris crawford edward everett henry clay john caldwell calhoun silas wright, jr. daniel webster thomas hart benton richard mentor johnson alexander hamilton stephens andrew stevenson william rufus king martin van buren tristram burgess william learned marcy thomas corwin william henry harrison thomas ewing franklin pierce rufus choate felix grundy caleb cushing stephen arnold douglas james knox polk henry stuart foote zachary taylor robert charles winthrop william henry seward millard fillmore robert james walker jefferson davis john jordan crittenden thaddeus stevens john tyler lewis cass george washington abbott lawrence nathaniel prentiss banks winfield scott john buchanan floyd peter force howell cobb george bancroft perley's reminiscences. vol. i. chapter i. john quincy adams becomes president. john quincy adams was elected president of the united states by the house of representatives on february th, . at the tenth popular election for president, during the previous autumn, there had been four candidates: andrew jackson, then a senator from tennessee, who received ninety-nine electoral votes; john quincy adams, of massachusetts, then secretary of state under president monroe, who received eighty-four electoral votes; william h. crawford, of georgia, then secretary of the treasury, who received forty-one electoral votes, and henry clay, of kentucky, then speaker of the house of representatives, who received thirty-seven electoral votes--in all two hundred and sixty-one electoral votes. as neither candidate had received the requisite majority of one hundred and thirty-one electoral votes, the election of a president devolved upon the house of representatives, in which body each state would have one vote. as the constitution required that the choice of the house be confined to the three highest candidates on the list of those voted for by the electors, and as mr. clay was not one of the three, he was excluded. exercising, as he did, great control over his supporters, it was within his power to transfer their strength to either adams or jackson, thus deciding the election. the legislature of his state, kentucky, had to a certain degree instructed him, by passing a joint resolution declaring its preference for jackson over adams, and jackson always believed that had he accepted overtures made to him, for the promise of the department of state to mr. clay, that would have insured his election. mr. clay decided, however, to request his friends to support mr. adams. to one of them he wrote: "mr. adams, you well know, i should never have selected if at liberty to draw from the whole mass of our citizens for a president. but there is no danger of his election now or in time to come. not so of his competitor, of whom i cannot believe that killing two thousand five hundred englishmen at new orleans qualifies for the various, difficult, and complicated duties of the chief magistracy." many believed, however, that a bargain was made between adams and clay by which the latter received, as a consideration for transferring to the former the votes of kentucky, ohio, and missouri, the position of secretary of state. the charge was distinctly made by mr. george kremer, a representative from pennsylvania, and as positively denied by mr. clay. general jackson wrote to major lewis: "so, you see, the judas of the west has closed the contract and will receive the thirty pieces of silver. his end will be the same. was there ever witnessed such a barefaced corruption in any country before?" when the senate and the house of representatives met in joint convention to count the electoral votes it was found (as every one present had known for months) that no one had received the requisite majority. this was formally announced by vice-president daniel d. tompkins, who also declared that john c. calhoun, of south carolina, had been elected vice-president. the senate, headed by the vice- president and its secretary, charles cutts, then retired, and the house proceeded to ballot for president. the election was by states. each state delegation appointed one of their number to act as chairman, collect their votes, and report the result. whoever in each delegation received the most votes was reported as the choice of that delegation to the tellers--one from each state--who sat in parties of twelve at two tables. daniel webster, the teller of massachusetts, was appointed by the tellers at one of the tables to announce the result of the ballot, and john randolph, the teller of virginia, was appointed to the same service at the other table. the votes of most of the states were matters of confident calculation, but those of others were in some degree doubtful, and there was intense interest manifested as their votes were counted. at last, when the twenty-four states had voted, mr. webster announced, in his deep voice, that thirteen states had voted for john quincy adams, seven states had voted for andrew jackson, and four states had voted for william h. crawford. mr. speaker clay then announced, in sonorous tones: "john quincy adams, having received a majority of the votes cast, is duly elected president of the united states for four years, from the th of march next ensuing." a shout arose from the occupants of the galleries, which mr. mcduffie promptly asked might be cleared. the vote was carried, and a young man, who was deputy sergeant-at-arms, mounting to the broad stone cornice, which ran around the hall outside of the floor of the galleries, but on a level with them, exclaimed, as he walked along: "the speaker orders the galleries to be cleared; all must retire. clear the galleries!" the command was obeyed, to the astonishment of some of the foreign ministers present, who had been accustomed to see armed guards at such assemblages, and often to witness their unsuccessful attempts to move the populace. the house soon afterward adjourned. that evening president monroe gave a public reception at the white house, which had just been rebuilt after having been burned by the british army--in . the two candidates, mr. adams, the elect, and general jackson, the defeated, accidentally met in the east room. general jackson, who was escorting a lady, promptly extended his hand, saying pleasantly: "how do you do, mr. adams? i give you my left hand, for the right, as you see, is devoted to the fair. i hope you are very well, sir." all this was gallantly and heartily said and done. mr. adams took the general's hand, and said, with chilling coldness: "very well, sir; i hope general jackson is well!" the military hero was genial and gracious, while the unamiable diplomat was as cold as an iceberg. the inauguration of mr. adams, on the th of march, , was the most imposing demonstration ever witnessed at washington up to that time. president monroe called for his successor and they rode together to the capitol, escorted by the district uniformed militia and by a cavalcade of citizens marshaled by daniel carroll, of duddington, general john mason, general walter smith, and general walter jones, four prominent residents. on reaching the capitol the president-elect was received with military honors by a battalion of the marine corps. he was then escorted by a committee of senators to the senate chamber, where the oath of office was administered to the vice-president-elect, john c. calhoun. the dignitaries present then moved in procession to the hall of the house of representatives, on the floor of which were the senators and representatives, the supreme court, the diplomatic corps, officers of the army and navy, and many prominent officials, while the galleries were filled with handsomely dressed ladies and gentlemen. mr. adams read his inaugural address from the speaker's desk, after which the oath of office was administered to him by chief justice marshall. salutes were fired from the navy yard and the arsenal, and the new president was escorted to his house, on f street, where he that evening received his friends, for whom generous supplies of punch and wines were hospitably provided. president adams, although at heart instigated by a puritan intolerance of those who had failed to conform with himself, was a true patriot, and as a public man was moved by the highest moral motives. he was a great statesman in so far as the comprehension of the principles of government and a mastery of a wide field of information were concerned, but he could not practically apply his knowledge. instead of harmonizing the personal feuds between the friends of those who had been candidates with him, he antagonized each one with his administration at the earliest possible moment, and before the expiration of his first year in the white house he had wrecked the republican party left by monroe, as completely as his father had wrecked the federal party established by washington. the president, when in london, had married miss louisa catherine johnson. her father was an american by birth, but just before the revolution he went to england, where he resided until after the independence of the colonies had been recognized. mrs. adams was well educated, highly accomplished, and well qualified to preside over the domestic affairs at the white house. she had four children --three sons and one daughter--of whom one only, mr. charles francis adams, survived her. it is related, as evidence of her good sense, that on one occasion mrs. mason, of analostan island, called, accompanied by two or three other ladies belonging to the first families of virginia, to enlist mrs. adams in behalf of her son-in- law, lieutenant cooper (afterward adjutant-general of the united states army, and subsequently of the confederate forces), who wanted to be detailed as an aide-de-camp on the staff of general macomb. mrs. adams heard their request and then replied: "truly, ladies, though madames maintenon and pompadour are said to have controlled the military appointments of their times, i do not think such matters appertain to women; but if they did and i had any influence with mr. adams, it should be given to mrs. scott, with whom i became acquainted while traveling last summer." &&& mr. adams' private secretary was his son, john adams, who soon made himself very obnoxious to the friends of general jackson. one evening mr. russell jarvis, who then edited the washington _telegraph_, a newspaper which advocated jackson's election, attended a "drawing room" at the white house, escorting his wife and a party of visiting relatives from boston. mr. jarvis introduced them courteously, and they then passed on into the east room. soon afterward they found themselves standing opposite to mr. john adams, who was conversing with the rev. mr. stetson. "who is that lady?" asked mr. stetson. "that," replied mr. john adams, in a tone so loud that the party heard it, "is the wife of one russell jarvis, and if he knew how contemptibly he is viewed in this house they would not be here." the bostonians at once paid their respects to mrs. adams and withdrew, mr. jarvis having first ascertained from mr. stetson that it was mr. john adams who had insulted them. a few days afterward mr. jarvis sent a note to mr. john adams, demanding an explanation, by a friend of his, mr. mclean. mr. adams told mr. mclean that he had no apology to make to mr. jarvis, and that he wished no correspondence with him. a week later mr. john adams went to the capitol to deliver messages from the president to each house of congress. having delivered that addressed to the speaker of the house of representatives, he was going through the rotunda toward the senate chamber, when he was overtaken by mr. jarvis, who pulled his nose and slapped his face. a scuffle ensued, but they were quickly parted by mr. dorsey, a representative from maryland. president adams notified congress in a special message of the occurrence, and the house appointed a select committee of investigation. witnesses were examined and elaborate reports were drawn up, but neither the majority nor the minority recommended that any punishment be inflicted upon mr. jarvis. mr. john adams was married, while his father occupied the white house, to his mother's niece, miss mary hellen, of washington. the ceremony was performed by rev. dr. hawley, of st. john's church, and general ramsey, who was one of the groomsmen, is authority for the statement that the president, usually so grave and unsocial, unbent for the nonce, and danced at the wedding ball in a virginia reel with great spirit. the foreign diplomats were recognized as leaders in washington society, and one of the secretaries of legation created a sensation by appearing on pennsylvania avenue mounted on a velocipede imported from london. pennsylvania avenue was then bordered with scraggy poplar trees, which had been planted under the direction of president jefferson. mr. adams found the furniture of the white house in a dilapidated condition. thirty thousand dollars had been appropriated by congress for the purchase of new furniture during the administration of mr. monroe; but his friend, colonel lane, commissioner of public buildings, to whom he had intrusted it, became insolvent, and died largely in debt to the government, having used the money for the payment of his debts, instead of procuring furniture. when a appropriation of fourteen thousand dollars was made, to be expended under the direction of mr. adams, for furniture, he took charge of it himself. this was severely criticised by the democratic press, as was the purchase of a billiard table for the white house, about which so much was said that mr. john adams finally paid the bill from his own pocket. mrs. adams won popularity at washington by the graceful manner in which she presided over the hospitalities of the white house. the stiff formalities of the "drawing-rooms" of mrs. washington and mrs. john adams, and the free-and-easy "receptions" of mr. jefferson's daughters, had been combined by mrs. madison into what she christened "levees", at which all ceremonious etiquette was banished. mrs. monroe, who had mingled in the fashionable circles of london and paris, as well as of her native city of new york, had continued these evening "levees," and mrs. adams, in turn, not only kept up the custom, but improved the quality of the refreshments, which were handed around on waiters by servants. mr. adams used to rise between four and six o'clock, according to the season, and either take a ride on horseback or walk to the potomac river, where he bathed, remaining in the water for an hour or more in the summer. returning to the white house, he read two chapters of the bible and then glanced over the morning papers until nine, when he breakfasted. from ten until four he remained in the executive office, presiding over cabinet meetings, receiving visitors, or considering questions of state. then, after a long walk, or a short ride on horseback, he would sit down to dine at half-past five, and after dinner resume his public duties. on one occasion mr. adams imperiled his life by attempting to cross the potomac in a small boat, accompanied by his son john and by his steward, michael antoine ginsta, who had entered his service at amsterdam in . intending to swim back, they had taken off nearly all of their clothes, which were in the boat. when about half-way across, a gust of wind came sweeping down the potomac, the boat filled with water, and they were forced to abandon it and swim for their lives to the virginia shore. by taking what garments each one had on, antoine managed to clothe himself decently, and started across the bridge to washington. during his absence, mr. adams and his son swam in the river, or walked to and fro on the shore. at last, after they had been about three hours undressed, antoine made his appearance with a carriage and clothing, so they were able to return to washington. mr. adams purchased that day a watch, which he gave antoine to replace one which he had lost in the boat and alluded to the adventure in his journal that night as "a humiliating lesson and a solemn warning not to trifle with danger." a few weeks later a revolutionary veteran named shoemaker, went in to bathe at mr. adams' favorite spot, the sycamores, was seized with cramp, and was drowned. the body was not recovered until the next morning while mr. adams was in the water; but the incident did not deter him from taking his solitary morning baths, which he regarded as indispensable to health. mr. adams took great interest in arboriculture, and was a constant reader of evelyn. he had planted in the grounds of the white house the acorns of the cork-oak, black walnuts, peach, plum, and cherry stones, apple and pear seeds, and he watched their germination and growth with great interest. a botanic garden was established under his patronage, and naval officers were instructed to bring home for distribution the seeds of such grains and vegetables as it might seem desirable to naturalize. the seeds thus collected were carefully distributed through members of congress, and several important varieties of vegetables were thus introduced. down to the present day the yearly distribution of seeds to rural communities is an important item of congressional duty. henry clay was the _premier_ and the most important member of mr. adams' cabinet. he evidently regarded the department of state as a stepping-stone to the executive mansion, and hoped that he would be in time promoted, as jefferson, madison, monroe, and john quincy adams. the foreign policy of the administration, which encouraged the appointment of a minister to represent the united states in the congress of american republics at panama, although in accordance with the "monroe doctrine," was denounced as federalism. mr. clay, who had never been a federalist, did not wish to be regarded as a restorer of the old federal party, and he accordingly began to create the whig party, of which he naturally became the leader. mr. clay made a good secretary of state, but his place was in congress, for he was formed by nature for a popular orator. he was tall and thin, with a rather small head, and gray eyes, which peered forth less luminously than would have been expected in one possessing such eminent control of language. his nose was straight, his upper lip long, and his under jaw light. his mouth, of generous width, straight when he was silent, and curving upward at the corners as he spoke or smiled, was singularly graceful, indicating more than any other feature the elastic play of his mind. when he enchained large audiences, his features were lighted up by a winning smile, the gestures of his long arms were graceful, and the gentle accents of his mellow voice were persuasive and winning. yet there has never been a more imperious despot in political affairs than mr. clay. he regarded himself as the head-centre of his party-- _l'état, c'est moi_--and he wanted everything utilized for his advancement. general jackson was meanwhile being brought before the public, under the direction of aaron burr, martin van buren, and edward livingston, as a "man of the people." they had persuaded him to resign his seat in the senate of the united states, where he might have made political mistakes, and retire to his farm in tennessee, while they flooded the country with accounts of his military exploits and his social good qualities. daniel webster told samuel breck, as the latter records in his diary, that he knew more than fifty members of congress who had expended and pledged all they were worth in setting up presses and employing other means to forward jackson's election. john adams and thomas jefferson, two of the three survivors of the signers of the declaration of independence, passed hence on the fourth of july, , the fiftieth anniversary of their signing the magna charta of our republic. their names had been inseparably connected in the minds and upon the lips of the people, as their labors were united in bringing about the events of the revolution and its final triumph. mr. jefferson was the writer, mr. adams the orator, of the congress of ' . the one penned the declaration of independence, the other was pronounced "the pillar of its support and its ablest advocate and defender." mr. jefferson called mr. adams "the colossus of the congress," the most earnest, laborious member of the body, and its animating spirit. for the loss of these men, though they fell as a ripe shock of corn falleth--both having arrived at an advanced age--mr. adams over ninety--the whole nation clothed itself in mourning. chapter ii. traveling in "ye olden time." the old stage route between boston and new york, before john quincy adams was president, passed through worcester, springfield, hartford, and norwalk. passengers paid ten dollars for a seat and were fifty- six hours or more on the road. this gave way about to the steamboat line via providence, which for five dollars carried passengers from boston to new york in twenty-four hours. stage books for the providence line were kept in boston at offices in different parts of the city, where those wishing to go the next day registered their names. these names were collected and brought to the central stage office in the marlboro hotel at ten o'clock each night, where they were arranged into stage-loads, each made up from those residing in the same part of the city. at four o'clock in the morning a man started from the stage office in a chaise to go about and wake up the passengers, that the stage need not be kept waiting. the large brass door knockers were vigorously plied, and sometimes quite a commotion was caused by "waking up the wrong passenger." in due time the stage made its appearance, with its four spirited horses, and the baggage was put on. trunks, which were diminutive in size compared with those now used, were put on the rack behind, securely strapped; valises and packages were consigned to the depths of a receptacle beneath the driver's seat, and bandboxes were put on the top. the back seat was generally given to ladies and elderly gentlemen, while young men usually sought a seat on top of the stage, by the side of the driver. when the passengers had been "picked up," the stages returned to the stage office, where they way-bills were perfected and handed to the drivers. as the old south clock was striking five, whips were cracked, and the coaches started at the rate of ten miles an hour, stopping for breakfast at timothy gay's tavern in dedham, where many of the passengers visited the bar to imbibe holland gin and sugar-house molasses--a popular morning beverage. breakfast over, away the stages went over the good turnpike road at a rapid pace. those who were fellow passengers, even if strangers to one another, gradually entered into conversation, and generally some one of them was able to impart information concerning the route. occasionally the stage would rattle into a village, the driver giving warning blasts upon his long tin horn that he claimed the right of way, and then dash up to a wayside inn, before which would be in waiting a fresh team of horses to take the place of those which had drawn the coach from the previous stopping-place. time was always afforded those passengers who desired to partake of libations at the tavern bar, and old travelers used to see that their luggage was safe. providence was in due time reached, and the procession of stages whirled along the narrow street beneath the bluff, swaying heavily with the irregularities of the road. the steamboats lay at india point, just below the town, where immense quantities of wood were piled up, for each boat consumed between thirty and forty cords on a trip through long island sound. the stages used to reach india point about half-past eleven o'clock, and the boat would start for new york precisely at twelve. there were no state-rooms, the passengers occupying berths, and at the dinner and supper the captain of the boat occupied the head of the table, having seated near him any distinguished passengers. occasionally there was an opposition line with sharp rivalries, and at one time a then rising new yorker, cornelius vanderbilt, carried passengers from new york to boston for one dollar. on arriving at new york, the passengers had to look out for their luggage, and either engage hacks or hand-cartmen, who for twenty- five cents would carry a trunk to any part of the city. the city then, be it remembered, did not reach up manhattan island above the vicinity of broome or spring streets, although there were beyond that the villages of greenwich, bloomingdale, yorkville, and harlem. the city hotel, on broadway, just above trinity churchyard, bunker's hotel, lower down, and the washington hotel, which occupied the site of the stewart building above the park, were the principal public houses. the boston stages stopped at hall's north american hotel, at the corner of bayard street and the bowery, and there were many boarding-houses where transient guests were accommodated. from new york, travelers southward went by steamboat to elizabethport, where they were transferred to stages, and crossed new jersey to bordentown on the delaware river, where a steamer was in waiting to transport them to philadelphia. this was a long and fatiguing day's journey, and a majority of travelers remained over a day in philadelphia, where the hotels were excellent and there were many objects of attraction. leaving philadelphia in a steamboat, passengers went down the delaware to new castle, whence they crossed in stages to frenchtown on the elk river, and there re-embarked on steamers, which took them down and around to baltimore, another long and fatiguing day's trip. at each change from boat to stage, or from stage to boat, passengers had to see that their luggage was transferred, and it was generally necessary to give a quarter to the porter. baggage checks and the checking of baggage were then unknown. between baltimore and washington there were opposition lines of stages and a good turnpike road. there had been, when i first went over the road, some daring robberies by "road agents," and the mail coaches were protected by a guard, who occupied a perch on the roof over the boot and was armed with a blunderbuss. this weapon had a funnel-shaped barrel, a flint lock, took about half a pint of buckshot for a charge, and was capable of destroying a whole band of robbers at once. in due time the flat, wide dome of the capitol, which resembled an inverted wash-bowl, was visible, and the stage was soon floundering through the broad expanse of mud or of dust known as pennsylvania avenue, taking passengers to the doors of the hotels or boarding-houses which they had previously indicated. when congress first met at washington there was but one hotel there and one in georgetown. others were, however, soon erected, and fifty-eight years ago there were half a dozen. the favorite establishment was the indian queen hotel, which occupied the site of the present metropolitan hotel and was designated by a large swinging sign upon which figured pocahontas, painted in glaring colors. the landlord, jesse brown, who used to come to the curbstone to "welcome the coming guests," was a native of havre-de-grace and had served his apprenticeship to tavern-keeping in hagerstown and in alexandria. a glance at the travelers as they alighted and were ushered by him into the house would enable him mentally to assign each one to a room, the advantages of which he would describe ere sending its destined occupant there under the pilotage of a colored servant. when the next meal was ready the newly arrived guest was met at the door of the dining-room by mr. brown, wearing a large white apron, who escorted him to a seat and then went to the head of the table, where he carved and helped the principal dish. the excellencies of this--fish or flesh or fowl--he would announce as he would invite those seated at the table to send up their plates for what he knew to be their favorite portions; and he would also invite attention to the dishes on other parts of the table, which were carved and helped by the guests who sat nearest them. "i have a delicious quarter of mutton from the valley of virginia," mr. brown would announce in a stentorian tone, which could be heard above the clatter of crockery and the din of steel knives and forks. "let me send you a rare slice, mr. a." "colonel b., will you not have a bone?" "mrs. c., send up your plate for a piece of the kidney." "mrs. d., there is a fat and tender mongrel goose at the other end of the table." "joe, pass around the sweet potatoes." "colonel e., will you help to that chicken-pie before you?" the expense of living at the indian queen was not great. the price of board was one dollar and seventy-five cents per day, ten dollars per week, or thirty-five dollars per month. transient guests were charged fifty cents for breakfast, the same for supper, and seventy- five cents for dinner. brandy and whisky were placed on the dinner- table in decanters, to be drink by the guests without additional charge therefor. a bottle of real old madeira imported into alexandria was supplied for three dollars; sherry, brandy, and gin were one dollar and a half per bottle, and jamaica rum one dollar. at the bar toddies were made with unadulterated liquor and lump sugar, and the charge was twelve and a half cents a drink. on the fourth of july, the d of february, and other holidays, landlord brown would concoct foaming egg-nogg in a mammoth punch- bowl once owned by washington, and the guests of the house were all invited to partake. the tavern-desk was behind the bar, with rows of large bells hanging by circular springs on the wall, each with a bullet-shaped tongue, which continued to vibrate for some minutes after being pulled, thus showing to which room it belonged. the barkeeper prepared the "drinks" called for, saw that the bells were answered, received and delivered letters and cards, and answered questions by the score. he was supposed to know everybody in washington, where they resided, and at what hour they could be seen. the city of washington had then been called by an observing foreigner "the city of magnificent distances," an appellation which was well merited. there was a group of small, shabby houses around the navy yard, another cluster on the river bank just above the arsenal, which was to have been the business centre of the metropolis, and pennsylvania avenue, from the capitol to georgetown, with the streets immediately adjacent, was lined with tenements--many of them with shops on the ground floor. the executive departments were located in four brick edifices on the corners of the square, in the centre of which was the white house. the imposing building now occupied by the department of the interior had not been begun nor had the general post-office replaced a large brick structure intended for a hotel, but which the pecuniary necessities of the projector forced him to dispose of in a lottery before it was completed. the fortunate ticket was held by minors, whose guardian could neither sell the building nor finish it, and it remained for many years in a dilapidated condition. the capitol was pronounced completed in . the two wings, which were the only portions of the building finished when the british occupied washington, were burned with their contents, including the congressional library and some works of art. when congress was convened in special session after the invasion, the two houses assembled in the unfinished hotel previously mentioned, but soon occupied a brick building erected for their temporary use, which was afterward known as the old capitol prison. the tympanum of the eastern pediment of the capitol was ornamented by a historical group which mr. john quincy adams designed when secretary of state. it was executed in marble by luigi persico, an italian sculptor, whose work gave such satisfaction to mr. adams that he secured for him an order for the two colossal statues which now flank the central doorway. war is represented by a stalwart gymnast with a profuse development of muscle and a benign expression of countenance, partially encased in ancient roman armor, while peace is a matronly dame, somewhat advanced in life and heavy in flesh, who carries an olive branch as if she desired to use it to keep off flies. the then recently completed _rotunda_ of the capitol--mr. gales took pains to have it called _rotundo_ in the _national intelligencer_ --was a hall of elegant proportions, ninety-six feet in diameter and ninety-six feet in height to the apex of its semicircular dome. it had been decorated with remarkable historical bas-reliefs by cappellano, gevelot, and causici, three italian artists--two of them pupils of canova. they undoubtedly possessed artistic ability and they doubtless desired to produce works of historical value. but they failed ignominiously. their respective productions were thus interpreted by grizzly bear, a menominee chief. turning to the eastern doorway, over which there is represented the landing of the pilgrims, he said: "there ingen give hungry white man corn." then turning to the northern doorway, over which is represented william penn making a treaty with the indians, he said: "there ingen give white man land." then turning to the western doorway, over which is represented pocahontas saving the life of captain smith, he said: "there ingen save white man's life." and then turning to the southern doorway, over which is represented daniel boone, the pioneer, plunging his hunting-knife into the heart of a red man while his foot rests on the dead body of another, he said: "and there white man kill ingen. ugh!" when congress was in session, the rotunda presented a busy and motley scene every morning prior to the convening of the two houses. it was a general rendezvous, and the newspaper correspondents were always in attendance to pick up the floating rumors of the day. the visit of general lafayette to washington gave a great impetus to free-masonry there. the corner-stone of a new masonic temple was laid, and many of the leading citizens had taken the degrees, when the rumored abduction of william morgan was made the basis of a political and religious anti-masonic crusade. it was asserted that morgan, who had written and printed a book which professed to reveal the secrets of free-masonry, had been kidnapped, taken to fort niagara, and then plunged into the river, "with all his imperfections on his head." many well-informed persons, however, are of the opinion that morgan was hired to go to smyrna, where he lived some years, and then died; but his real or supposed assassination awakened a profound popular indignation. some good men who belonged to the "mystic tie" felt it their duty to dissolve their connection with it, and the anti-masonic party was at once got up by a goodly number of hopeful political aspirants. as general jackson and mr. clay were both "free and accepted masons," mr. adams had at first some hopes that he might secure his own re-election as the anti- masonic candidate. a small theatre at washington was occasionally opened by a company of actors from philadelphia, who used to journey every winter as far south as savannah, performing in the intermediate cities as they went and returned. the jeffersons, the warrens, and the burkes belonged to this company, in which their children were trained for histrionic fame, and president adams first saw the elder booth when that tragedian accompanied one of these dramatic expeditions as its brightest star. on another occasion he saw edwin forrest, then unknown to fame, and enjoyed the finished acting of cooper, as charles surface, in the "school for scandal." the popular performance at that time was "tom and jerry, or life in london," and the flash sayings of corinthian tom and bob logic were quoted even in congressional debates. the friends, or quakers, as "the world's people" call them, had a society at washington formed principally by the clerks of that persuasion who had come from philadelphia when the seat of government was removed from there. their harmony was, however, disturbed in , when a number of the most influential among them left the "orthodox" or old belief and followed elias hicks, of new york, who founded what has since been known as hicksite friends. the friends believed in a free gospel ministry, and did not recognize either water-baptism or the ordinance of the lord's supper. at their meetings the elders and preachers occupied a platform at one end of the meeting-houses, the men sitting on unpainted benches on one side and the women on the other. the congregation would sit quietly, often for an hour, until the spirit moved some preacher, male or female, to speak or to offer prayer. there was no singing, and often long intervals of silence. marriages were solemnized at the monthly meetings, the ceremony consisting simply of a public acknowledgment by the man and woman, after due inquiry of their right to be united. after they had stood up in meeting and publicly taken one another to be man and wife, a certificate of the ceremony was publicly read by one of the elders, and then signed by the contracting parties and witnesses. [facsimile] john quincy adams john quincy adams--son of john adams--was born at braintree, massachusetts, july th, ; minister to the netherlands and prussia, - ; united states senator, - ; professor at harvard college, - ; minister to russia, - ; negotiating the treaty of ghent in ; secretary of state, - ; president, - ; representative in congress, , until stricken by death in the capitol, february d, . chapter iii. journalism in . georgetown, now called "west washington," was originally laid out as a town in , and settled by the scotch agents of english mercantile houses, whose vessels came annually to its wharves. they brought valuable freights of hardware, dry goods, and wines, and they carried back tobacco, raised in the surrounding country, and furs, brought down the potomac by indian traders. there were also lines of brigs and schooners running to new york, boston, salem, newburyport, and the west indies. two principal articles of import were sugar and molasses, which were sold at auction on the wharves. business in these staples has been entirely superseded by the coal and flour trade. the main street of georgetown was generally filled every week-day with the lumbering conestoga six-horse wagons, in which the farmers of maryland and central pennsylvania brought loads of wheat and of corn, taking back dry goods, groceries, salt, and, during the fishing season, fresh shad and herring. another source of trade was the potomac river, which was navigable above georgetown as far as cumberland in long, flat-bottomed boats, sharp at both ends, called "gondolas." these boats were poled down the potomac to the great falls, twelve miles above georgetown, where a canal with locks was constructed, running around the falls and back to the river. the same plan of avoiding the rapids was suggested by george washington, who was once president of the company. the canal was finished in , but it never yielded a sufficient revenue to pay expenses. the "gondolas" brought down considerable quantities of flour, corn, pork, and iron, much of which was shipped at georgetown to other ports. during the year several hundred hogsheads of louisiana sugar were brought by way of the mississippi, the ohio, and the potomac rivers to georgetown. this was a realization of washington's idea that the city which he founded and which bore his name would become an _entrepot_ for the products of the mississippi valley destined for shipment abroad. he displayed his faith in this belief by the purchase of wharf lots, which would not to-day bring what he paid for them. the union tavern at georgetown was a well-patronized and fashionable inn during the first quarter of the present century. among the distinguished men who were its guests were louis philippe, count volney, baron humboldt, fulton (the inventor), talleyrand, jerome bonaparte, washington irving, general st. clair, lorenzo dow (the eccentric preacher), francis s. key (author of the "star spangled banner"), with john randolph and scores of other congressmen, who used to ride to and from the capitol in a large stagecoach with seats on the top and called the "royal george." when my mother was born in georgetown, in , the neighbors were startled by the repeated firing of a heavily charged musket beneath the window of her mother's room. it was a welcome-into-the-world salute fired by "old yarrah," a very aged mahometan, who had been brought as a slave from guinea to georgetown, where my grandfather had shown him some kindness, which he thus acknowledged after the custom of his own people. general washington used to pass through georgetown on his journeys between the north and mount vernon, and i have heard my grandfather describe the interest which he took when the "federal city" was located. on one occasion he rode over to visit david burns, who owned a farm on which the executive mansion and the departments now stand. washington agreed with the commissioners that what is now lafayette square should be a reservation, but burns disliked to donate any more building lots for the public good. finally washington lost his temper and left, saying, as he crossed the porch: "had not the federal city been laid out here, you would have died a poor tobacco planter." "aye, mon!" retorted burns, in broad scotch, "an' had ye nae married the widow custis, wi' a' her nagurs, you would hae been a land surveyor to-day, an' a mighty poor ane at that." ultimately, however, the obstinate old fellow donated the desired square of ground. when major l'enfant came to georgetown to lay out the federal district he brought a letter of introduction to my grandfather, who had a great deal of trouble in endeavoring to adjust the difficulties between the fiery french officer and the commissioners appointed to govern the infant metropolis. the major, who was very imperious, claimed supreme authority, which the commissioners would not submit to. on one occasion, a mr. carroll had commenced the erection of a large brick house, which major l'enfant found encroached on one of the proposed streets. summoning his chain bearers and axmen, he demolished the trespassing structure and filled up the cellar, against mr. carroll's earnest protests. he was a favorite with washington, but jefferson disliked him on account of his connection with the society of the cincinnati, and availed himself of his difficulty with the commissioners to discharge him. the major then became an unsuccessful petitioner before congress for a redress of his real and fancied wrongs, and he was to be seen almost every day slowly pacing the rotunda of the capitol. he was a tall, thin man, who wore, toward the close of his life, a blue military surtout coat, buttoned quite to the throat, with a tall, black stock, but no visible signs of linen. his hair was plastered with pomatum close to his head, and he wore a napless high beaver bell-crowned hat. under his arm he generally carried a roll of papers relating to his claim upon the government, and in his right hand he swung a formidable hickory cane with a large silver head. a strict roman catholic, he received a home in the family of mr. digges, near washington, in whose garden his remains were interred when he died. newspaper "organs" formed an important feature of the early political machinery at washington. railroads, as well as the magnetic telegraph, were then unknown, and it took two days or more for the transmission of intelligence between the federal metropolis and new york, while it was a week or two in reaching portland, st. louis, new orleans, or savannah. this made it advisable for each successive administration to have a newspaper published at washington which would reliably inform the subordinate officials what was being done and keep alive a sympathy between them and the president. the _national intelligencer_ was never devoted to mr. adams, as its proprietor had a kind regard for mr. clay, but it was always hostile to the election of general jackson. mr. joseph giles, its editor, wrote ponderous leaders on the political questions of the day, and occasionally reported, in short-hand, the speeches of congressional magnates. his partner, colonel william winstead seaton, was by trade a printer, and his generous hand was ever ready to aid those of his fellow-craftsmen who were in destitute circumstances--indeed, the superannuated compositors of the _national intelligencer_ always received "half pay." coming here when washington was only just "staked out," he was honorably identified with the growth of washington city, and his administration as mayor is favorably spoken of by the citizens of all classes and parties. the _national intelligencer_ had been established as a catholic organ, with john agg, an englishman of great ability, as its editor, and richard houghton, afterward the popular editor of the boston _atlas_, as its congressional reporter. in the paper was purchased by peter force and became the "hand-organ" of all the elements of opposition to general jackson. such abusive articles and scurrilous remarks as the dignified _national intelligencer_ would not publish appeared in the _national journal_. some of these articles reflected upon mrs. jackson and gave great offense to her husband, who was persuaded that they were inspired by president adams. matthew l. davis, who was probably the most influential of washington correspondents, was a new york printer. he had entered political life in and joined the democratic party, which came into power by the election of jefferson as president and burr as vice-president. davis went to washington shortly afterward, and was boasting that the elevation of mr. jefferson was brought about solely by the management of tammany hall. mr. jefferson was a philosopher, and soon after caught a very large fly, calling the attention of mr. davis to the remarkable fact of the great disproportion in size of one portion of the insect to its body. mr. davis took the hint, and left the president, in doubt as to whether mr. jefferson intended the comparison to apply to new york or to him (davis) as an individual. mr. davis was at one time wealthy, having cleared over one hundred thousand dollars in the south american trade; but he became poor, and for many years he was the correspondent at washington of the _courier and enquirer_, of new york, under the signature of "the spy in washington." he was also the correspondent of the london _times_, under the signature of "the genevese traveler." on one occasion mr. davis was presented to the british minister at washington (lord ashburton) as the author of those letters in the _times_. "i am delighted to see you," said the envoy. "they are extraordinary letters. i have read them with great pleasure. i hope, sir, that you are well paid by the _times_. if not, sir, let me know it; i will take care that you are paid handsomely." mr. davis begged not to be misunderstood, and said that he was amply paid by the _times_. he received two guineas for each letter. james gordon bennett in , when in his thirtieth year, became the washington correspondent of the new york _enquirer_, which was then on the topmost round of the journalistic ladder. it is related of him that during his stay in this position he came across a copy of _walpole's letters_ and resolved to try the effect of a few letters written in a similar strain. the truth of this is doubtful. it is more probably that the natural talents of the man were now unfettered, and he wrote without fear of censorship and with all the ease which a sense of freedom inspires. he was naturally witty, sarcastic and sensible. these letters were lively, they abounded in personal allusions, and they described freely, not only senators, but the wives and daughters of senators, and they established mr. bennett's reputation as a light lance among the hosts of writers. major m. m. noah was for many years a leading new york journalist, who occasionally visited washington, where he was always welcome. major noah was born in philadelphia, where he was apprenticed, as he grew up, to learn the carver's trade, but he soon abandoned it for political pursuits. receiving the appointment of consul to tunis, he passed several years in northern africa, and on his return wrote a very clever book containing his souvenirs of travel. about the year he conceived the idea of collecting the scattered jews and of rebuilding jerusalem. grand island, in the niagara river, above niagara falls, was designated as the rendezvous, and major noah's proclamation, which he sent to all parts of the world, created quite a sensation among the children of israel. he subsequently was connected with the evening press of new york and was then appointed to a government office by president jackson. he was a man of fine personal appearance and great conversational powers. another new york journalist, just coming before the public, was thurlow weed, a tall man, with an altogether massive person. his large head was at that time covered with dark hair, and he had prominent features and gray eyes, which were watchful and overhung by shaggy eyebrows. he was a man of great natural strength of character, deep penetration as regards human nature, and a good sense, judgment, and cheerfulness in his own characteristics which conduced to respect and popularity. he was most happy in his intercourse with men, for he had, when a mere youth, a geniality and tact which drew all toward him, and it has been said that he never forgot a face or a fact. there has never been a better example of the good old stock of printer-editors, who seemed to have an intuitive capacity for public affairs, and never to love political success well enough to leave their newspapers in order to pursue the glittering attraction of public life. among the other newspaper men in washington were william hayden, congressional reporter for the _national intelligencer_, who afterward succeeded mr. houghton as editor of the boston _atlas_; lund washington, equally famed as a performer on the violin and writer of short-hand; samuel l. knapp, a graduate of dartmouth college, who abandoned the law for journalism and corresponded with the boston _gazette_, and james brooks, a graduate of waterville, afterward the founder of the new york _express_ and a representative in congress, who was the correspondent of the portland _advertiser_ and other papers. prominent as an adopted citizen of washington and as a personal friend of president adams was dr. william f. thornton, superintendent of the patent office, who had by personal appeals to his conquering countrymen, in , saved the models of patents from the general conflagration of the public buildings. he was also a devoted lover of horse-racing, and on one occasion, when he expected that a horse of his would win the cup, mr. adams walked out to the race-course to enjoy the doctor's triumph, but witnessed his defeat. after the death of dr. thornton and of his accomplished wife, it became known that she was the daughter of the unfortunate dr. dodd, of london, who was executed for forgery in . her mother emigrated to philadelphia soon afterward, under the name of brodeau, and brought her infant daughter with her. in philadelphia she opened a boarding-school, which was liberally patronized, as she had brought excellent letters of recommendation and displayed great ability as a teacher. the daughter grew up to be a lady remarkable for her beauty and accomplishments and married dr. thornton, who brought her to washington in . congress had placed on the statute-book stringent penal laws against gambling, but they were a dead letter, unless some poor dupe made a complaint of foul play, or some fleeced blackleg sought vengeance through the aid of the grand jury; then the matter was usually compounded by the repayment of the money. the northern sidewalks of pennsylvania avenue between the indian queen hotel and the capitol gate, was lined with faro banks, where good suppers were served and well-supplied sideboards were free to all comers. it was a tradition that in one of these rooms senator montford stokes, of north carolina, sat down one thursday afternoon to play a game of brag with mountjoy bailey, then the sergeant-at-arms of the senate. that body had adjourned over, as was then its custom, from thursday until monday, so the players were at liberty to keep on with their game, only stopping occasionally for refreshments. the game was continued friday night and saturday, through saturday night and all day sunday and sunday night, the players resting for a snatch of sleep as nature became exhausted. monday morning the game was in full blast, but at ten o'clock bailey moved an adjournment, alleging that his official duties required his presence in the senate chamber. stokes remonstrated, but the sergeant-at-arms persisted, and rose from the table, the senator grumbling and declaring that he had supposed that stokes would have thus prematurely broken up the game he would not have sat down to play with him. whist was regularly played at many of the "congressional messes," and at private parties a room was always devoted to whist-playing. once when the wife of henry clay was chaperoning a young lady from boston, at a party given by one of his associates in the cabinet, they passed through the card-room, where mr. clay and other gentlemen were playing whist. the young lady, in her puritan simplicity, inquired: "is card-playing a common practice here?" "yes," replied mrs. clay, "the gentlemen always play when they get together." "don't it distress you," said the boston maiden, "to have mr. clay gamble?" "oh! dear, no!" composedly replied the statesman's wife, "he 'most always wins." there were only a few billiard-rooms, mostly patronized by the members of the foreign legations or visiting young men from the northern cities. ten-pin alleys were abundant, and some of the muscular congressmen from the frontier would make a succession of "ten strikes" with great ease, using the heaviest balls. some of the english residents organized a cricket club, and used to play on a level spot in "the slashes," near where the british legation was afterward built, but the game was not popular, and no american offered to join the club. [facsimile] your obedt servt. william h. crawford william harris crawford was born in virginia, february th, ; was united states senator - ; minister to france, - ; secretary of war, - ; secretary of the treasury, - ; judge of the northern circuit court of georgia, , until he died at elberton, georgia, september th, . chapter iv. prominent senators of . the old senate chamber, now used by the supreme court, was admirably adapted for the deliberations of the forty-eight gentlemen who composed the upper house of the nineteenth congress. modeled after the theatres of ancient greece, it possessed excellent acoustic properties, and there was ample accommodation in the galleries for the few strangers who then visited washington. the senate used to meet at noon and generally conclude its day's work by three o'clock, while adjournments over from thursday until the following monday were frequent. john c. calhoun was vice-president of the united states, and consequently president of the senate--a position which was to him very irksome, as he was forced to sit and dumbly listen to debates in which he was eager to participate. he had been talked of by some of the best men in the country as a candidate during the then recent presidential election, but the north had not given him any substantial support. regarding each senator as an ambassador from a sovereign state, he did not believe that as vice-president he possessed the power to call them to order for words spoken in debate. senator john randolph abused this license, and one day commenced one of his tirades by saying: "_mr. speaker! i mean mr. president of the senate and would-be president of the united states, which god in his infinite mercy avert_," and then went on in his usual strain of calumny and abuse. mr. calhoun was tall, well-formed, without an ounce of superfluous flesh, with a serious expression of countenance rarely brightened by a smile, and with his black hair thrown back from his forehead, he looked like an arch-conspirator waiting for the time to come when he could strike the first blow. in his dress mr. calhoun affected a spartan simplicity, yet he used to have four horses harnessed to his carriage, and his entertainments at his residence on georgetown heights were very elegant. his private life was irreproachable, although when secretary of war under mr. monroe, he had suffered obloquy because of a profitable contract, which had been dishonestly awarded during his absence by his chief clerk to that official's brother-in-law. the prime mover of the senate of that day was martin van buren, of new york, who was beginning to reap the reward of years of subservient intrigues. making the friends of calhoun and of crawford believe that they had each been badly treated by the alliance between adams and clay, he united them in the support of general jackson, and yet no one suspected him. when mr. van buren had first been elected to congress, rufus king, of his state, had said to g. f. mercer, also a member, "within two weeks van buren will become perfectly acquainted with the views and feelings of every member, yet no man will know his." this prediction was verified, and mr. van buren soon became the directing spirit among the friends of general jackson, although no one was ever able to quote his views. taking aaron burr as his political model, but leading an irreproachable private life, he rose by his ability to plan and execute with consummate skill the most difficult political intrigues. he was rather under the medium height, with a high forehead, a quick eye, and pleasing features. he made attitude and deportment a study, and when, on his leaving the senate, his household furniture was sold at auction it was noticed that the carpet before a large looking-glass in his study was worn and threadbare. it was there that he had rehearsed his speeches. the "father of the senate" was nathaniel macon, of north carolina, who had served in the ranks during the revolution, and then in the senate of north carolina. he was elected to the second congress, taking his seat in october, , and after having been re-elected eleven times, generally without opposition, he was transferred to the senate in , and re-elected until he declined in , making thirty-seven years of continuous congressional service. at the very commencement of his congressional career he energetically opposed the financial schemes of alexander hamilton, then secretary of the treasury, and throughout his political career he was a "strict, severe, and stringent" democrat. personally mr. macon was a genial companion. he had none of that moroseness at the fireside which often accompanies political distinction, and it was said that at his home he was the kindest and most beloved of slave- masters. colonel thomas hart benton, who had earned the military title in the army during the war with great britain, was a large, heavily framed man, with black curly hair and whiskers, prominent features, and a stentorian voice. he wore the high, black-silk neck-stock and the double-breasted frock-coat of his youthful times during his thirty years' career in the senate, varying with the seasons the materials of which his pantaloons were made, but never the fashion in which they were cut. when in debate, outraging every customary propriety of language, he would rush forward with blunt fury upon every obstacle, like the huge, wild buffaloes then ranging the prairies of his adopted state, whose paths, he used to subsequently assert, would show the way through the passes of the rocky mountains. he was not a popular speaker, and when he took the floor occupants of the galleries invariably began to leave, while many senators devoted themselves to their correspondence. in private life colonel benton was gentleness and domestic affection personified, and a desire to have his children profit by the superior advantages for their education in the district of columbia kept him from his constituents in missouri, where a new generation of voters grew up who did not know him and who would not follow his political lead, while he was ignorant of their views on the question of slavery. senator randolph, of virginia, attracted the most attention on the part of strangers. he was at least six feet in height, with long limbs, an ill-proportioned body, and a small, round head. claiming descent from pocahontas, he wore his coarse, black hair long, parted in the middle, and combed down on either side of his sallow face. his small, black eyes were expressive in their rapid glances, especially when he was engaged in debate, and his high-toned and thin voice would ring through the senate chamber like the shrill scream of an angry vixen. he generally wore a full suit of heavy, drab-colored english broadcloth, the high, rolling collar of his surtout coat almost concealing his head, while the skirts hung in voluminous folds about his knee-breeches and the white leather tops of his boots. he used to enter the senate chamber wearing a pair of silver spurs, carrying a heavy riding-whip, and followed by a favorite hound, which crouched beneath his desk. he wrote, and occasionally spoke, in riding-gloves, and it was his favorite gesture to point the long index finger of his right hand at his opponent as he hurled forth tropes and figures of speech at him. every ten or fifteen minutes, while he occupied the floor, he would exclaim in a low voice, "tims, more porter!" and the assistant doorkeeper would hand him a foaming tumbler of potent malt liquor, which he would hurriedly drink, and then proceed with his remarks, often thus drinking three or four quarts in an afternoon. he was not choice in his selection of epithets, and as mr. calhoun took the ground that he did not have the power to call a senator to order, the irate virginian pronounced president adams "a traitor," daniel webster "a vile slanderer," john holmes "a dangerous fool," and edward livingston "the most contemptible and degraded of beings, whom no man ought to touch, unless with a pair of tongs." one day, while he was speaking with great freedom of abuse of mr. webster, then a member of the house, a senator informed him in an undertone that mrs. webster was in the gallery. he had not the delicacy to desist, however, until he had fully emptied the vials of his wrath. then he set upon mr. speaker taylor, and after abusing him soundly he turned sarcastically to the gentleman who had informed him of mrs. webster's presence, and asked, "is mrs. taylor present also?" henry clay was frequently the object of mr. randolph's denunciations, which he bore patiently until the "lord of roanoke" spoke, one day, of the reported alliance between the president and the secretary of state as the "coalition of bilfil and black george--the combination, unheard of till then, of the puritan and the blackleg." mr. clay at once wrote to know whether he had intended to call him a political gambler, or to attach the infamy of such epithets to his private life. mr. randolph declined to give any explanation, and a duel was fought without bloodshed. mr. randolph, on another occasion, deliberately insulted mr. james lloyd, one of "the solid men of boston," then a senator from massachusetts, who had, in accordance with the custom, introduced upon the floor of the senate one of his constituents, major benjamin russell, the editor of the _columbian sentinel_. the sight of a federal editor aroused mr. randolph's anger, and he at once insolently demanded that the floor of the senate be cleared, forcing major russell to retire. mr. lloyd took the first opportunity to express his opinion of this gratuitous insult, and declared, in very forcible language, that, as he had introduced major russell on the floor, he was responsible therefor. mr. randolph indulged in a little gasconade, in which he announced that his carriage was waiting at the door to convey him to baltimore, and at the conclusion of his remarks he left the senate chamber and the city. mr. calhoun, who had not attempted to check mr. randolph, lamented from the chair that anything should have happened to mar the harmony of the senate, and again declared that he had not power to call a senator to order, nor would he for ten thousand worlds look like a usurper. senator tazewell, mr. randolph's colleague, was a first-class virginia abstractionist and an avowed hater of new england. dining one day at the white house, he provoked the president by offensively asserting that he had "never known a unitarian who did not believe in the sea-serpent." soon afterward mr. tazewell spoke of the different kinds of wines, and declared that tokay and rhenish wine were alike in taste. "sir," said mr. adams, "i do not believe that you ever drank a drop of tokay in your life." for this remark the president subsequently sent an apology to mr. tazewell, but the virginia senator never forgot or forgave the remark. william henry harrison, a tall, spare, gray-haired gentleman, who had gone from his virginia home into the western wilderness as aid- de-camp to general anthony wayne, had been elected a senator from the state of ohio, but probably never dreamed that in years to come he would be elected president by an immense majority, with john tyler on the ticket as vice-president. colonel richard m. johnson, of kentucky, had, however, begun to electioneer for the democratic nomination for the vice-presidency, basing his claim upon his having shot tecumseh at the battle of the thames, and he was finally successful. he was of medium size, with large features, and light auburn hair, and his private life was attacked without mercy by his political opponents. john henry eaton, of tennessee, was general jackson's henchman, who had come to the senate that he might better electioneer for his old friend and commander. william hendricks, a senator from indiana, was the uncle of thomas a. hendricks, of a subsequent political generation. the new hampshire senators were levi woodbury and john bell, men of decided ability and moral worth. georgia supplied a polished and effective orator in j. mcpherson berrien. vermont was represented by portly and good-looking dudley chase, who was the uncle of chief justice chase, and by horatio seymour, of middlebury. maine's stalwart, blue-eyed senator, albion keith parris, was said to have filled more public offices than any other man of his age, and his colleague, john holmes, although rude in speech and at times vulgar, was the humorous champion of the north. ever on the watch for some unguarded expression by a southern senator, no sooner would one be uttered than he would pounce upon it and place the speaker in a most uncomfortable position. john tyler one day thought that he could annoy mr. holmes, and asked him what had become of that political firm once mentioned in debate by john randolph as "james madison, felix grundy, john holmes, and the devil." mr. holmes rose at once. "i will tell the gentleman," said he, "what has become of the firm. the first member is dead, the second has gone into retirement, the third now addresses you, and the last has gone over to the nullifiers, and is now electioneering among the gentleman's constituents. so the partnership is legally dissolved." the senators were rather exclusive, those from the south assuming the control of "good society," which was then very limited in its extent and simple in its habits. few senators and representatives brought their wives to cheer their congressional labors, and a parlor of ordinary size would contain all of those who were accustomed to attend social gatherings. the diplomats, with the officers of the army and navy stationed at headquarters, were accompanied by their wives, and there were generally a few visitors of social distinction. the washington assemblies were very ceremonious and exclusive. admission was obtained only by cards of invitation, issued after long consultations among the committeemen, and, once inside the exclusive ring, the beaux and belles bowed beneath the disciplinary rule of a master of ceremonies. no gentleman, whatever may have been his rank or calling, was permitted on the floor unless in full evening dress, with the adornment of pumps, silk stockings, and flowing cravat, unless he belonged to the army or the navy, in which case complete regimentals covered a multitude of sins. the ball, commencing with the stroke of eight precisely, opened with a rollicking country dance, and the lady selected for the honor of opening the festivities was subsequently toasted as the reigning divinity of fashion for the hour. the "_minuet de la cour_" and stately "quadrille," varied by the "basket dance," and, on exceptional occasions, the exhilarating "cheat," formed the staple for saltatorial performance, until the hour of eleven brought the concluding country dance, when a final squad of roysterers bobbed "up the middle and down again" to the airs of "sir roger de coverly" or "money musk." the music was furnished by colored performers on the violin, except on great occasions, when some of the marine band played an accompaniment on flutes and clarinets. the refreshments were iced lemonade, ice-cream, port wine negus, and small cakes, served in a room adjoining the dancing-hall, or brought in by the colored domestics, or by the cavalier in his own proper person, who ofttimes appeared upon the dancing-floor, elbowing his way to the lady of his adoration, in the one hand bearing well-filled glasses, and in the other sustaining a plate heaped up with cake. the costume of the ladies was classic in its scantiness, especially at balls and parties. the fashionable ball dress was of white india crape, and five breadths, each a quarter of a yard wide, were all that was asked for to make a skirt, which only came down to the ankles, and was elaborately trimmed with a dozen or more rows of narrow flounces. silk or cotton stockings were adorned with embroidered "clocks," and thin slippers were ornamented with silk rosettes and tiny buckles. those gentlemen who dressed fashionably wore "bolivar" frock-coats of some gay-colored cloth, blue or green or claret, with large lapels and gilded buttons. their linen was ruffled; their "cossack" trousers were voluminous in size, and were tucked into high "hessian" boots with gold tassels. they wore two and sometimes three waistcoats, each of different colors, and from their watch-pockets dangled a ribbon, with a bunch of large seals. when in full dress, gentlemen wore dress-coats with enormous collars and short waists, well-stuffed white cambric cravats, small-clothes, or tight-fitting pantaloons, silk stockings, and pumps. duels were very common, and a case of dueling pistols was a part of the outfit of the southern and western congressmen, who used to spend more or less time in practicing. imported pistols were highly prized, but the best weapons were made by a noted philadelphia gunsmith named derringer, who gave his name to a short pistol of his invention to be carried in the trouser's pocket for use in street fights. some of the dueling pistols were inlaid with gold, and they all had flint-locks, as percussion caps had not been invented, nor hair triggers. [facsimile] edward everett. edward everett. born in massachusetts april th, ; was a unitarian clergyman, and a professor at harvard college, until elected a representative from massachusetts, - ; governor of massachusetts, - ; minister to great britain, - ; president of harvard college, - ; secretary of state under president fillmore, - ; united states senator from massachusetts, - ; died at boston, january th, . chapter v. prominent representatives of . the hall of the house of representatives (now used as a national gallery of statuary) was a reproduction of the ancient theatre, magnificent in its effect, but so deficient in acoustic properties that it was unfit for legislative occupation. it was there that henry clay, then speaker of the house, had welcomed general lafayette as "the nation's guest." the contrast between the tall and graceful kentuckian, with his sunny smile and his silver-toned voice, and the good old marquis, with his auburn wig awry, must have been great. his reply appeared to come from a grateful heart, but it was asserted that the speaker had written both his own words of welcome and also lafayette's acknowledgment of them, and it became a subject of newspaper controversy, which was ended by the publication of a card signed "h. clay," in which he positively denied the authorship, although he admitted that he had suggested the most effective sentences. ladies had been excluded from the galleries of the house originally, in accordance with british precedent. but one night at a party a lady expressed her regret to hon. fisher ames, of massachusetts, that she could not hear the arguments, especially his speeches. mr. ames gallantly replied that he knew of no reason why ladies should not hear the debates. "then," said mrs. langdon, "if you will let me know when next you intend to speak, i will make up a party of ladies and we will go and hear you." the notice was given, the ladies went, and since then congressional orators have always had fair hearers--with others perhaps not very fair. the house was really occupied, during the administration of john quincy adams, in the selection of his successor. at first the political outlook was rather muddled, although keen eyes averred that they could perceive, moving restlessly to and fro, the indefinite forms of those shadows which coming events project. different seers interpreted the phantasmal appearances in different fashions, and either endeavored to form novel combinations, or joined in raking common sewers for filth wherewith to bespatter those who were the rivals of their favorite candidates. it was then that congressional investigating committees became a part of the political machinery of the day. the accounts of president adams when, in former years, he was serving the country in europe as a diplomatist; the summary execution of deserters by order of general jackson, when he commanded the army in florida; the bills for refurnishing the white house; the affidavits concerning the alleged bargain between the president and his secretary of state, and the marriage of general jackson to mrs. robards before she had been divorced from mr. robards, were, with many other scandals, paraded before the public. daniel webster had been recognized in advance as the leader of the house by his appointment as chairman of the committee to inform mr. adams that he had been elected president. this mr. webster did verbally, but mr. adams had prepared a written reply, which had been copied by a clerk and bore his autograph signature. mr. webster was at that period of his life the embodiment of health and good spirits. his stalwart frame, his massive head, crowned with a wealth of black hair, his heavy eye-brows, overhanging his great, expressive, and cavernous eyes, all distinguished him as one of the powers of the realm of the intellect--one of the few to whom divinity has accorded a royal share of the promethian fire of genius. his department was ceremonious, and he made a decided impression on strangers. when jenny lind first saw him, she was much impressed by his majestic appearance, and afterward exclaimed, "i have seen a man!" his swarthy complexion gained him the epithet of "black dan." he was very proud of his complexion, which he inherited from his grandmother, susannah bachelder (from whom the poet whittier also claimed descent), and he used to quote the compliment paid by general stark, the hero of bennington, to his father, colonel ebenezer webster: "he has the black bachelder complexion, which burnt gunpowder will not change." although majestic in appearance, mr. webster was not really a very large man; in height he was only about five feet ten inches. his head looked very large, but he wore a seven and five-eighth hat, as did mr. clay, whose head appeared much smaller. his shoulders were very broad and his chest was very full, but his hips and lower limbs were small. mr. webster had his first great sorrow then. his eldest, and at that time his only, daughter died at washington, and the next year her mother followed her to the grave. this estimable lady, whose maiden name was grace fletcher, was one year older than mr. webster, and was the daughter of a new hampshire clergyman. while on her way to washington with her husband, the december after he had been re-elected united states senator by a nearly two-thirds vote in each branch of the "general court" of massachusetts, she was taken fatally ill at the house of mr. webster's friend, dr. perkins, where they were guests. mr. webster had begun at that time to be disturbed about his money matters, although he should have been in a prosperous pecuniary condition. his professional income could not have been less than twenty thousand dollars a year, and he had just received seventy thousand dollars as his five per cent. fee as counsel for the claimants before the commissioners on spanish claims, but he had begun to purchase land and was almost always harassed for ready money. edward everett, who was a member of the massachusetts delegation in the house, had won early fame as a popular preacher of the gospel, as a professor at harvard college, and as the editor of the _north american review_. placed by his marriage above want, he became noted for his profound learning and persuasive eloquence. at times he was almost electrical in his utterances; his reasoning was logical and luminous, and his remarks always gave evidence of careful study. as a politician mr. everett was not successful. the personification of self-discipline and dignity, he was too much like an intellectual icicle to find favor with the masses, and he was deficient in courage when any bold step was to be taken. george mcduffie, who represented the edgefield district of south carolina, had been taken from labor in a blacksmith's shop by mr. calhoun and became the grateful champion of his patron in the house. he was a spare, grim-looking man, who was an admirer of milton, and who was never known to jest or to smile. as a debater he had few equals in the house, but he failed when, during the discussion of the panama mission question, he opened his batteries upon mr. webster. the "expounder of the constitution" retorted with great force, reminding the gentleman from south carolina that noisy declamation was not logic, and that he should not apply coarse epithets to the president, who could not reply to them. mr. webster then went on to say that he would furnish the gentleman from south carolina with high authority on the point to which he had objected, and quoted from a speech by mr. calhoun which effectively extinguished mr. mcduffie. tristram burgess, of rhode island, who had a snowy head and a roman nose, was called "the bald eagle of the house." although under fifty years of age, his white hair and bent form gave him a patriarchal look and added to the effect of his fervid eloquence and his withering sarcasm. a man of iron heart, he was ever anxious to meet his antagonists, haughty in his rude self-confidence, and exhaustive in the use of every expletive of abuse permitted by parliamentary usage. in debate he resembled one of the old soldiers who fought on foot or on horseback, with heavy or light arms, a battle-axe or a spear. the champion of the north, he divided the south and thrashed and slashed as did old horatius, when with his good sword he stood upon the bridge and with his single arm defended rome. george kremer, of pennsylvania, was probably the most unpopular man in the house. an anonymous letter had appeared just before the election of president [adams] by the representatives denouncing an "unholy coalition" between mr. adams and mr. clay, by which the support of the friends of the latter had been transferred to the former, "as the planter does his negroes, or the farmer his team and horses." mr. clay at once published a card, over his signature, in which he called the writer "a base and infamous calumniator, a dastard, and a liar." mr. kremer replied, admitting that he had written the letter, but in such a manner that his political friends were ashamed of his cowardice, while the admirers of mr. clay were very indignant--the more so as they suspected that mr. james buchanan had instigated the letter. mr. henry w. dwight, of massachusetts, a good specimen of "a sound mind in a sound body," gave great attention to the appropriation bills, and secured liberal sums for carrying on the various departments of the government. his most formidable antagonist was a self-styled reformer and physical giant, mr. thomas chilton, of kentucky, who had been at one period of his life a baptist preacher. he declared on the floor in debate that he was pledged to his constituents to endeavor to retrench the expenses of the general government, to diminish the army and navy, to abridge the number of civil and diplomatic officials, and, above all, to cut down the pay of congressmen. he made speeches in support of all these "reforms," but did not succeed in securing the discharge of a soldier, a sailor, a diplomatist, or a clerk, neither did he reduce the appropriations one single cent. the erratic mr. david crockett was then a member of the house, but had not attracted public attention, although the jackson men were angry because he, one of old hickory's officers in the creek war, was a devoted adherent of henry clay for the presidency. one of his colleagues in the tennessee delegation was mr. james k. polk, a rigid and uncompromising presbyterian, a political disciple of macon, and a man of incorruptible honesty. prominent among the representatives from the state of new york were messrs. gulian c. verplanck and thomas j. oakley, members of the legal profession, who were statesmen rather than politicians. mr. george c. washington, of maryland, was the great-nephew of "the father of his country," and had inherited a portion of the library at mount vernon, which he subsequently sold to the boston athenaeum. messrs. elisha whittlesey and samuel vinton, representatives from ohio, were afterwards for many years officers of the federal government and residents at washington. mr. jonathan hunt, of vermont, a lawyer of ability, and one of the companions chosen by mr. webster, was the father of that gifted artist, william morris hunt, whose recent death was so generally regretted. mr. silas wright, of new york, was then attracting attention in the democratic party, of which he became a great leader, and which would have elected him president had he not shortened his life by intemperance. he was a solid, square-built man, with an impassive, ruddy face. he claimed to be a good farmer, but no orator, yet he was noted for the compactness of his logic, which was unenlivened by a figure of speech or a flight of fancy. the supreme court then sat in the room in the basement of the capitol, now occupied as a law library. it has an arched ceiling supported by massive pillars that obstruct the view, and is very badly ventilated. but it is rich in traditions of hair-powder, queues, ruffled shirts, knee-breeches, and buckles. up to that time no justice had ever sat upon the bench in trousers, nor had any lawyer ventured to plead in boots or wearing whiskers. their honors, the chief justice and the associate justices, wearing silk judicial robes, were treated with the most profound respect. when mr. clay stopped, one day, in an argument, and advancing to the bench, took a pinch of snuff from judge washington's box, saying, "i perceive that your honor sticks to the scotch," and then proceeded with his case, it excited astonishment and admiration. "sir," said mr. justice story, in relating the circumstance to a friends, "i do not believe there is a man in the united states who could have done that but mr. clay." chief justice john marshall, who had then presided in the supreme court for more than a quarter of a century, was one of the last survivors of those officers of the revolutionary army who had entered into civil service. he was a tall, gaunt man, with a small head and bright black eyes. he used to wear an unbrushed long- skirted black coat, a badly fitting waistcoat, and knee-breeches, a voluminous white cambric cravat, generally soiled, and black worsted stockings, with low shoes and silver buckles. when upward of seventy years of age he still relished the pleasures of the quoit club or the whist table, and to the last his right hand never forgot its cunning with the billiard cue. nor did the chief justice ever lose his relish for a joke, even at his own expense. in the law library one day he fell from a step- ladder, bruising himself severely and scattering an armful of books in all directions. an attendant, full of alarm, ran to assist him, but his honor drily remarked, "that time i was completely floored." bushrod washington, who had been appointed to the supreme court by president john adams, was by inheritance the owner of mount vernon, where his remains now lie, near those of his illustrious uncle, george washington. he was a small, insignificant-looking man, deprived of the sight of one eye by excessive study, negligent of dress, and an immoderate snuff-taker. he was a rigid disciplinarian and a great stickler for etiquette, and on one occasion he sat for sixteen hours without leaving the bench. he was also a man of rare humor. christmas was the popular holiday season at washington sixty years ago, the descendants of the maryland catholics joining the descendants of the virginia episcopalians in celebrating the advent of their lord. the colored people enjoyed the festive season, and there was scarcely a house in washington in which there was not a well- filled punch bowl. in some antique silver bowls was "daniel webster punch," made of medford rum, brandy, champagne, arrack, menschino, strong green tea, lemon juice, and sugar; in other less expensive bowls was found a cheaper concoction. but punch abounded everywhere, and the bibulous found washington a rosy place, where jocund mirth and joyful recklessness went arm in arm to flout vile melancholy, and kick, with ardent fervor, dull care out of the window. christmas carols were sung in the streets by the young colored people, and yule logs were burned in the old houses where the fireplaces had not been bricked up. [facsimile] with great respect i am yrs. v. truly. [?] h. clay henry clay, born in virginia, april th, ; united states senator from kentucky, - , and again - ; representative from kentucky, - ; negotiator of the treaty of ghent, ; representative in congress, - , and - ; secretary of state under president adams, - ; united states senator from kentucky, - , and , until he died at washington city, june th, . chapter vi. the political machine. as the time for another presidential election approached, the friends of general jackson commenced active operations in his behalf. the prime mover in the campaign was general john henry eaton, then a senator from tennessee. he had published in a brief life of the hero of new orleans, which he enlarged in and published with the title, "the life of andrew jackson, major- general in the service of the united states, comprising a history of the war in the south from the commencement of the creek campaign to the termination of hostilities before new orleans." the facts in it were obtained from general jackson and his wife, but every incident of his life calculated to injure him in the public estimation was carefully suppressed. it was, however, the recognized text- book for democratic editors and stump speakers, and although entirely unreliable, it has formed the basis for the lives of general jackson since published. president adams enjoined neutrality upon his friends but some of them, acting with democrats who were opposed to the election of general jackson, had published and circulated, as an offset to general eaton's book, a thick pamphlet entitled, "reminiscences; or, an extract from the catalogue of general jackson's youthful indiscretions, between the age of twenty-three and sixty," which contained an account of jackson's fights, brawls, affrays, and duels, numbered from one to fourteen. broadsides, bordered with wood-cuts of coffins, and known as "coffin hand-bills," narrated the summary and unjust execution as deserters of a number of militiamen in the florida campaign whose legal term of service had expired. another handbill gave the account of general jackson's marriage to mrs. robards before she had been legally divorced from her husband. general jackson's friends also had printed and circulated large editions of campaign songs, the favorite being "the hunters of kentucky," which commenced: "you've heard, i s'pose of new orleans, 'tis famed for youth and beauty, there're girls of every hue, it seems, from snowy white to sooty, now packenham had made his brags, if he that day was lucky, he'd have those girls and cotton-bags in spite of old kentucky. but jackson, he was wide awake, and was not scared at trifles, for well he knew kentucky's boys, with their death-dealing rifles. he led them down to cypress swamp, the ground was low and mucky, there stood john bull in martial pomp, and here stood old kentucky. "oh! kentucky, the hunters of kentucky!" after a political campaign of unprecedented bitterness, general jackson was elected, receiving one hundred and seventy-eight electoral votes against eighty-three cast for john quincy adams, and so a new chapter was commenced in the social as well as the political chronicles of the national capital. those who had known the presidential successors of washington as educated and cultivated gentlemen, well versed in the courtesies of private life and of ceremonious statesmanship, saw them succeeded by a military chieftain, whose life had been "a battle and a march," thickly studded with personal difficulties and duels; who had given repeated evidences of his disregard of the laws when they stood in the way of his imperious will; and who, when a united states senator, had displayed no ability as a legislator. his election was notoriously the work of martin van buren, inspired by aaron burr, and with his inauguration was initiated a sordidly selfish political system entirely at variance with the broad views of washington and of hamilton. it was assumed that every citizen had his price; that neither virtue nor genius was proof against clever although selfish corruption; that political honestly was a farce; and that the only way of governing those knaves who elbowed their way up through the masses was to rule them by cunning more acute than their own and knavery more subtle and calculating than theirs. before leaving his rural home in tennessee, general jackson had been afflicted by the sudden death of his wife. "aunt rachel," as mrs. jackson was called by her husband's personal friends, had accompanied him to washington when he was there as a senator from tennessee. she was a short, stout, unattractive, and uneducated woman, though greatly endeared to general jackson. while he had been in the army she had carefully managed his plantation, his slaves, and his money matters, and her devotion to him knew no bounds. her happiness was centered in his, and it was her chief desire to smoke her corn-cob pipe in peace at his side. when told that he had been elected president of the united states, she replied, "well, for mr. jackson's sake i am glad of it, but for myself i am not." a few weeks later she was arrayed for the grave in a white satin costume which she had provided herself with to wear at the white house. after her funeral her sorrow-stricken husband came to washington with a stern determination to punish those who had maligned her during the preceding campaign. having been told that president adams had sanctioned the publication of the slanders, he did not call at the white house, in accordance with the usage, but paid daily visits to old friends in the war department. mr. adams, stung by this neglect, determined not to play the part of the conquered leader of the inauguration, and quietly removed to the house of commodore porter, in the suburbs, on the morning of the d of march. the weather on the th of march, , was serene and mild, and at an early hour pennsylvania avenue, then unpaved, with a double row of poplar trees along its centre, was filled with crowds of people, many of whom had journeyed immense distances on foot. the officials at washington, who were friends of mr. adams, had agreed not to participate in the inaugural ceremonies, and the only uniformed company of light infantry, commanded by colonel seaton, of the _national intelligencer_, had declined to offer its services as an escort. a number of old revolutionary officers, however, had hastily organized themselves, and waited on general jackson to solicit the honor of forming his escort to the capitol, an offer which was cordially accepted. the general rode in an open carriage which had been placed at his disposal, and was surrounded by these gallant veterans. the assembled thousands cheered lustily as their favorite passed along, every face radiant with defiant joy, and every voice shouting "hurrah for jackson!" after the installation of john c. calhoun as vice-president in the senate chamber, the assembled dignitaries moved in procession through the rotunda to the east front of the capitol. as the tall figure of the president-elect came out upon the portico and ascended the platform, uplifted hats and handkerchiefs waved a welcome, and shouts of "hurrah for jackson!" rent the air. looking around for a moment into ten thousand upturned and exultant human faces, the president-elect removed his hat, took the manuscript of his address from his pocket, and read it with great dignity. when he had finished, chief justice marshall administered the oath, and as the president, bending over the sacred book, touched it with his lips, there arose such a shout as was never before heard in washington, followed by the thunder of cannons, from two light batteries near by, echoed by the cannon at the navy yard and at the arsenal. the crowd surged toward the platform, and had it not been that a ship's cable had been stretched across the portico steps would have captured their beloved leader. as it was, he shook hands with hundreds, and it was with some difficulty that he could be escorted back to his carriage and along pennsylvania avenue to the white house. meanwhile mr. adams, who had refused to participate in the pageant, was taking his usual constitutional horseback exercise when the thunders of the cannon reached his ears and notified him that he was again a private citizen. the broad sidewalks of pennsylvania avenue were again packed as the procession returned from the capitol. "i never saw such a crowd," wrote daniel webster to a friend. "persons have come five hundred miles to see general jackson, and they really seem to think that the country is rescued from some dreadful danger." hunters of kentucky and indian fighters of tennessee, with sturdy frontiersmen from the northwest, were mingled in the throng with the more cultured dwellers on the atlantic slope. on their arrival at the white house, the motley crowd clamored for refreshments and soon drained the barrels of punch, which had been prepared, in drinking to the health of the new chief magistrate. a great deal of china and glassware was broken, and the east room was filled with a noisy mob. at one time general jackson, who had retreated until he stood with his back against the wall, was protected by a number of his friends, who formed a living barrier about him. such a scene had never before been witnessed at the white house, and the aristocratic old federalists saw, to their disgust, men whose boots were covered with the red mud of the unpaved streets standing on the damask satin-covered chairs to get a sight at the president of their choice. late in the afternoon president jackson sat down to dinner with vice-president calhoun and a party of his personal friends, the central dish on the table being a sirloin from a prize ox, sent to him by john merkle, a butcher of franklin market, new york. before retiring that night, the president wrote to the donor: "permit me, sir, to assure you of the gratification which i felt in being enabled to place on my table so fine a specimen of your market, and to offer you my sincere thanks for so acceptable a token of your regard for my character." this was the commencement of a series of presents which poured in on general jackson during the eight years of his administration. the democratic journalists of the country were also well represented at the inauguration, attracted by this semi-official declaration in the _telegraph_: "we know not what line of policy general jackson will adopt. we take it for granted, however, that he will reward his friends and punish his enemies." the leader of this editorial phalanx was amos kendall, a native of dunstable, massachusetts, who had by pluck and industry acquired an education and migrated westward in search of fame and fortune. accident made him an inmate of henry clay's house and the tutor of his children; but many months had not elapsed before the two became political foes, and kendall, who had become the conductor of a democratic newspaper, triumphed, bringing to washington the official vote of kentucky for andrew jackson. he found at the national metropolis other democratic editors, who, like himself, had labored to bring about the political revolution, and they used to meet daily in the house of a preacher-politician, rev. obadiah b. brown, who had strongly advocated jackson's election. mr. brown, who was a stout, robust man, with a great fund of anecdotes, was a clerk in the post office department during the week, while on sundays he performed his ministerial duties in the baptist church. organizing under the lead of amos kendall, whose lieutenants were the brilliant but vindictive isaac hill, of new hampshire; the scholarly nathaniel greene, of massachusetts; the conservative gideon welles, of connecticut; the jovial major mordecai m. noah, of new york, and the energetic dabney s. carr, of maryland, the allied editors claimed their rewards. they were not to be appeased by sops of government advertising, or by the appointment of publisher of the laws of the united states in the respective states, but they demanded some of the most lucrative public offices in their share of the spoils. no sooner did general jackson reach washington then they made a systematic attack upon him, introducing and praising one another, and reciprocally magnifying their faithful services during the canvass so successfully ended. the result was that soon after the inauguration nearly fifty of those editors who had advocated his election were appointed to official federal positions as rewards for political services rendered. up to that time the national elections in the united states had not been mere contests for the possession of federal offices--there was victory and there was defeat; but the quadrennial encounters affected only the heads of departments, and the results were matters of comparative indifference to the subordinate official drudges whose families depended on their pay for meat and bread. a few of these department clerks were revolutionary worthies; others had followed the federal government from new york or philadelphia; all had expected to hold their positions for life. some of these desk- slaves had originally been federalists, others democrats; and while there was always an alexander hamilton in every family of the one set, there was as invariably a thomas jefferson in every family of the other set. but no subordinate clerk had ever been troubled on account of his political faith by a change of the administration, and the sons generally succeeded their fathers when they died or resigned. ordinarily, these clerks were good penmen and skillful accountants, toiling industriously eight hours every week day without dreaming of demanding a month's vacation in the summer, or insisting upon their right to go to their homes to vote in the fall. national politics was to them a matter of profound indifference until, after the inauguration of general jackson, hundreds of them found themselves decapitated by the democratic guillotine, without qualifications for any other employment had the limited trade of washington afforded any. many of them were left in a pitiable condition, but when the _telegraph_ was asked what these men could do to ward off starvation, the insolent reply was, "root, hog, or die!" some of the new political brooms swept clean, and made a great show of reform, notably amos kendall, who was appointed fourth auditor of the treasury, and who soon after exulted over the discovery of a defalcation of a few hundred dollars in the accounts of his predecessor, dr. tobias watkins. postmaster-general mclean, of ohio, who had been avowedly a jackson man while he was a member of mr. adams' administration, rebelled against the removal of several of his most efficient subordinates, because of their political action during the preceding presidential campaign. at last he flatly told general jackson that if he must remove those postmasters who had taken an active part in politics, he should impartially turn out those who had worked to secure the election of general jackson, as well as those who had labored to re-elect mr. adams. to his general jackson at first made no reply, but rose from his seat, puffing away at his pipe; and after walking up and down the floor two or three times, he stopped in front of his rebellious postmaster-general, and said, "mr. mclean, will you accept a seat upon the bench of the supreme court?" the judicial position thus tendered was accepted with thanks, and the post-office department was placed under the direction of major barry, who was invited to take a seat in the cabinet (never occupied by his predecessors), and who not only made the desired removals and appointments, but soon plunged the finances of the department into a chaotic state of disorder. prominent among those "jackson men" who received lucrative mail contracts from postmaster-general barry, was "land admiral" reeside, an appellation he owed to the executive ability which he had displayed in organizing mail routes between distant cities. he was a very tall man, well formed, with florid complexion, red hair, and side whiskers. very obligingly, he once had a horse belonging to a senator taken from pittsburg to washington tied behind a stage, because the owner had affixed his "frank" to the animal's halter. he was the first mail contractor who ran his stages between philadelphia and the west, by night as well as by day, and mr. joseph r. chandler, of the united states _gazette_, said that "the admiral could leave philadelphia on a six-horse coach with a hot johnny-cake in his pocket and reach pittsburg before it could grow cold." he used to ridicule the locomotives when they were first introduced, and offer to bet a thousand dollars that no man could build a machine that would drag a stage from washington to baltimore quicker than his favorite team of iron-grays. mail robberies were not uncommon in those days, although the crime was punishable with imprisonment or death. one day one of reeside's coaches was stopped near philadelphia by three armed men, who ordered the nine passengers to alight and stand in a line. one of the robbers then mounted guard, while the other two made the terrified passengers deliver up their money and watches, and then rifled the mail bags. they were soon afterward arrested, tried, convicted, and one was sentenced to imprisonment in the penitentiary, while the other two were condemned to be hung. fortunately for one of the culprits, named wilson, he had some years previously, at a horse-race near nashville, tennessee, privately advised general jackson to withdraw his bets on a horse which he was backing, as the jockey had been ordered to lose the race. the general was very thankful for this information, which enabled him to escape a heavy loss, and he promised his informant that he would befriend him whenever an opportunity should offer. when reminded of this promise, after wilson had been sentenced to be hanged, jackson promptly commuted the sentence to ten years imprisonment in the penitentiary. when admiral reeside was carrying the mails between new york and washington, there arose a formidable organization in opposition to the sunday mail service. the members of several religious denominations were prominent in their demonstrations, and in philadelphia, chains, secured by padlocks, were stretched across the streets on sundays to prevent the passage of the mail-coaches. the subject was taken up by politicians, and finally came before the house of representatives, where it was referred to the committee on post-roads, of which richard m. johnson, of kentucky, was then the chairman. the rev. obadiah b. brown, who had meanwhile been promoted in the post-office department, wrote a report on the subject for colonel johnson, which gave "the killer of tecumseh" an extended reputation, and was the first step toward his election as vice-president, a few years later. [facsimile] j. c. calhoun john caldwell calhoun was born in south carolina, march th, : was a representative in congress, - ; secretary of war, - ; vice-president, - ; united states senator, - ; secretary of state, - ; united states senator from until his death at washington city, march st, . chapter vii. the kitchen cabinet. when the twenty-first congress assembled, on the th of december, , general jackson sent in his first annual message, which naturally attracted some attention. meeting his old and intimate friend, general armstrong, the next day, the president said, "well, bob, what do the people say of my message?" "they say," replied general armstrong, "that it is first-rate, but nobody believes that you wrote it." "well," good-naturedly replied old hickory, "don't i deserve just as much credit for picking out the man who could write it?" although the words of this and of the subsequent messages were not general jackson's, the ideas were, and he always insisted on having them clearly expressed. it was in his first message, by the way, that he invited the attention of congress to the fact that the charter of the united states bank would expire in , and asserted that it had "failed in the great end of establishing a uniform and sound currency." this was the beginning of that fierce political contest which resulted in the triumph of general jackson and the overthrow of the united states bank. general jackson rarely left the white house, where he passed the greater portion of his time in his office in the second story, smoking a corn-cob pipe with a long reed stem. he was at the commencement of his presidential term sixty-two years of age, tall, spare, with a high forehead, from which his gray hair was brushed back, a decisive nose, searching, keen eyes, and, when good-natured, an almost childlike expression about his mouth. a self-reliant, prejudiced, and often very irascible old man, it was a very difficult task to manage him. some of his cabinet advisers made it a point to be always with him, to prevent others from ingratiating themselves into his good will, and they were thus chronicled in a ballad of the time: "king andrew had five trusty 'squires, whom he held his bid to do; he also had three pilot-fish, to give the sharks their cue. there was mat and lou and jack and lev, and roger, of taney hue, and blair, the book, and kendall, chief cook, and isaac, surnamed the true." mat. van buren was secretary of state, lou. mclane secretary of the treasury, john branch was secretary of the navy, lev. woodbury was his successor, and roger b. taney was attorney-general. blair, kendall, and isaac hill were also known as "the kitchen cabinet." the confidential advisers of general jackson lost no time in establishing a daily newspaper which would speak his sentiments and sound a key-note for the guidance of his followers. the _washington globe_ was accordingly started on an immense paying basis, as it had the name of every federal office-holder whose salary exceeded one thousand dollars on its subscription list. the paper was sent them, and in due time the bill for a year. if a remittance was made, well and good; if payment was refused, the delinquent was told informally that he could pay his subscription to the _globe_, or be replaced by some one else who would pay it. it was owned and edited by blair & rives, rives attending to the business department of the establishment. mr. blair had been the partner of amos kendall in the publication of the frankfort _argus_, and they had both deserted henry clay when they enlisted in the movement which gave the electoral vote of kentucky to general jackson, and joined in the cry of "bargain and corruption" raised against their former friend. it is related that the first interview between clay and blair after this desertion was a very awkward one for the latter, who felt that he had behaved shabbily. clay had ridden over on horseback from lexington to frankfort, in the winter season, on legal business, and on alighting from his horse at the tavern door he found himself confronting blair, who was just leaving the house. "how do you do, mr. blair?" inquired the great commoner, in his silvery tones and blandest manner, at the same time extending his hand. blair mechanically took the tendered hand, but was evidently nonplussed, and at length said, with an evident effort, "pretty well, i thank you, sir. how did you find the roads from lexington to here?" "the roads are very bad, mr. blair," graciously replied clay, "very bad; and i wish, sir, that you would mend your ways." mr. blair made it a rule to defend in the columns of the _globe_ the acts of jackson's administration, right or wrong, and he waged merciless warfare against those who opposed them. when colonel william r. king, of alabama, once begged him to soften an attack upon an erring democrat, mr. blair replied, "no! let it tear his heart out." with all his political insolence, however, he possessed remarkable kindness, and a more indulgent father was never known in washington. the washington papers, up to this time, contained very little of what has since been known as local news. a parade, an inauguration, or the funeral of a distinguished person would receive brief mention, but the pleasant gossip of the day was entirely ignored. it was then necessary for the correspondent of a paper in a northern city to mail his letter at the post-office before twelve o'clock at night to insure its departure by the early morning's mail northward. letters written to new york did not, consequently, appear until the second day after they were written, while those sent to boston rarely appeared before the fourth day. the people then were better posted as to what transpired at the nation's capital than they are now, when dispatches can be sent in a few moments at any time of day or night. mrs. anne royall began an enterprise in personal literature. she managed to secure an old ramage printing-press and a font of battered long-primer type, with which, aided by runaway apprentices and tramping journeymen printers, she published, on capitol hill, for several years, a small weekly sheet called the _huntress_. every person of any distinction who visited washington received a call from mrs. royall, and if they subscribed for the _huntress_ they were described in the next number in a complimentary manner, but if they declined she abused them without mercy. when young she was a short, plump, and not bad-looking woman, but as she advanced in years her flesh disappeared, and her nose seemed to increase in size; but her piercing black eyes lost none of their fire, while her tongue wagged more abusively when her temper was roused. john quincy adams described her as going about "like a virago-errant in enchanted armor, redeeming herself from the cramps of indigence by the notoriety of her eccentricities and the forced currency they gave to her publications." mrs. royall's tongue at last became so unendurable that she was formally indicted by the grand jury as a common scold, and was tried in the circuit court before judge cranch. his honor charged the jury at length, reviewing the testimony and showing that, if found guilty, she must be ducked, in accordance with the english law in force in the district of columbia. the jury found her guilty, but her counsel begged his honor, the judge, to weigh the matter and not be the first to introduce a ducking-stool. the plea prevailed and she was let off with a fine. the first "society letters," as they were called, written from washington, were by nathaniel p. willis, to the new york _mirror_. willis was at that time a foppish, slender young man, with a profusion of curly, light hair, and was always dressed in the height of fashion. he had, while traveling in europe, mingled with the aristocratic classes, and he affected to look down upon the masses; but with all his snobbishness he had a wonderful faculty for endowing trifling occurrences with interest, and his letters have never been surpassed. he possessed a sunny nature, full of poetry, enthusiasm, and cheerfulness, and was always willing to say a pleasant word for those who treated him kindly, and never sought to retaliate on his enemies. willis first introduced steel pens at washington, having brought over from england some of those made by joseph gillott, at birmingham. before this goose-quill pens had been exclusively used, and there was in each house of congress and in each department a penmaker, who knew what degree of flexibility and breadth of point each writer desired. every gentleman had to carry a penknife, and to have in his desk a hone to sharpen it on, giving the finishing touches on one of his boots. another new invention of that epoch was the lucifer match-box, which superseded the large tin tinder-box with its flint and steel. the matches were in the upper portion of a pasteboard case about an inch in diameter and six inches in length and in a compartment beneath them was a bottle containing a chemical preparation, into which the brimstone-coated end of the match was dipped and thus ignited. the mayor of washington, during a portion of the jackson administration, was peter force, a noble specimen of those who, before the existence of trades unions, used to serve an apprenticeship to the "art preservative of arts," and graduate from the printing office qualified to fill any political position. fond of american history, mr. force, while printing the _biennial register_, better known as the blue book from the color of its binding, began to collect manuscripts, books, and pamphlets, many of which had been thrown away in the executive departments as rubbish, and were purchased by him from the dealers in waste paper. in he originated the idea of compiling and publishing a documentary history of the country, under the title of the _american archives_, and issued a number of large folio volumes, the profits going to the politicians who secured the necessary appropriations from congress. he was emphatically a gentleman--tall, stalwart, with bushy black hair, and large, expressive eyes, which would beam with joy whenever a friend brought him a rare autograph or pamphlet. assemblies were held once a week between christmas day and ash wednesday, to which all of the respectable ladies of the city who danced were invited. it was also customary for those of the cabinet officers and other high officials who kept house to give at least one evening party during each session of congress, invitations for which were issued. the guests at these parties used to assemble at about eight o'clock, and after taking off their wraps in an upper room they descended to the parlor, where the host and hostess received them. the older men then went to the punch-bowl to criticise the "brew" which it contained, while the young people found their way to the dining-room, almost invariably devoted to dancing. the music was a piano and two violins, and one of the musicians called the figures for the cotillions and contra-dances. those who did not dance elbowed their way through the crowd, conversing with acquaintances, the men frequently taking another glass of punch. at ten the guests were invited to the supper-table, which was often on the wide back porch which every washington house had in those days. the table was always loaded with evidences of the culinary skill of the lady of the house. there was a roast ham at one end, a saddle of venison or mutton at the other end, and some roasted poultry or wild ducks midway; a great variety of home-baked cake was a source of pride, and there was never any lack of punch, with decanters of madeira. the diplomats gave champagne, but it was seldom seen except at the legations. at eleven there was a general exodus, and after the usual scramble for hats, cloaks, and over-shoes the guests entered their carriages. sometimes a few intimate friends of the hostess lingered to enjoy a contra- dance or to take a parting drink of punch, but by midnight the last guest departed, and the servants began to blow out the candles with which the house had been illuminated. in jackson's first administration the country was shocked by the appearance of a book entitled, _the domestic manners of americans_, by mrs. frances trollope. she was a bright little englishwoman, who had come to this country and established a bazaar at cincinnati, which proved a failure. so she sought revenge and wealth by a caricature sketch of our pioneer life, founded on fact, but very unpalatable. expectoration was her pet abomination, and she was inclined to think that this "most vile and universal habit of chewing tobacco" was the cause of a remarkable peculiarity in the male physiognomy of americans, the almost uniform thinness and compression of their lips. so often did mrs. trollope recur to this habit that she managed to give one the impression that this country was in those days a sort of huge spittoon. mrs. trollope first called attention to the fact that american women did not consult the season in either the colors or style of their costumes, never wore boots, and walked in the middle of winter with their pretty little feet pinched into miniature slippers incapable of excluding as much moisture as might bedew a primrose. removals from office that places might be provided for jackson men were the order of the day, but president jackson was not disposed to displace any veteran soldier. among other victims designated for removal by the politicians was general solomon van rensselaer, whose gallant services against great britain in the war of had been rewarded by an election to the house of representatives, followed by his appointment as postmaster of albany. he was a decided federalist and the petition for his removal was headed by martin van buren and silas wright. visiting washington, general van rensselaer received a cordial greeting from general jackson at a public reception, and then, taking a seat in a corner, he waited until the room was cleared, when he again approached the president, saying: "general jackson, i have come here to talk to you about my office. the politicians want to take it from me, and they know i have nothing else to live on." the president made no reply, till the aged postmaster began to take off his coat in the most excited manner, when old hickory broke out with the inquiry: "what in heaven's name are you going to do? why do you take off your coat here?" "well, sir, i am going to show you my wounds, which i received in fighting for my country against the english!" "put it on at once, sir!" was the reply; "i am surprised that a man of your age should make such an exhibition of himself," and the eyes of the iron president were suffused with tears, as, without another word, he bade his ancient foe good evening. the next day messrs. van buren and wright called at the white house and were shown up into the president's room, where they found him smoking a clay pipe. mr. wright soon commenced to solicit the removal of general van rensselaer, asserting that he had been known as a very active advocate of john quincy adams; that he had literally forfeited his place by his earnest opposition to the jackson men, and that if he were not removed the new administration would be seriously injured. he had hardly finished the last sentence, when jackson sprang to his feet, flung his pipe into the fire, and exclaimed with great vehemence, "i take the consequences, sir; i take the consequences. by the eternal! i will not remove the old man--i cannot remove him. why, mr. wright, do you not know that he carries more than a pound of british lead in his body?" that settled the question, and general van rensselaer remained undisturbed as postmaster at albany through the jackson administration, although martin van buren, when he came into power, promptly "bounced" him. general jackson's defiant disposition was manifested when, in a message to congress, he recommended that a law be passed authorizing reprisals upon french property in case provision should not be made for the payment of the long-standing claims against france at the approaching session of the french chambers. some of his cabinet, having deemed this language too strong, had prevailed upon the president's private secretary, major donelson, to modify it, and to make it less irritating and menacing. no sooner was it discovered by general jackson than he flew into a great excitement, and when mr. rives entered his private office to obtain it for printing, he found the old general busily engaged in re-writing it according to the original copy. "i know them french," said he. "they won't pay unless they're made to." the french people were indignant when this message reached paris, and when the chamber of deputies finally provided for the payment of the claims, a proviso was inserted ordering the money to be withheld until the president of the united states had apologized for the language used. this general jackson flatly refused to do, and the "ancient allies" of the revolution were on the verge of hostilities, when both nations agreed to submit their differences to great britain. the affair was speedily arranged, and france paid five millions of dollars for french spoilations into the treasury of the united states, where it has since remained. [facsimile] silas wright jr. silas wright, jr., was born at amherst, massachusetts, may th, ; was a representative from new york in congress, - ; comptroller of new york, - ; united states senator, - ; governor of new york, - ; retired to his farm at canton, new york, and died there, august th, . chapter viii. battle of the giants. an unimportant resolution concerning the public lands, introduced into the senate early in by senator foote, of connecticut (the father of admiral foote), led to a general debate, which has been since known as "the battle of the giants." the discussion embraced all the partisan issues of the time, especially those of a sectional nature, including the alleged rights of a state to set the federal government at defiance. the state rights men in south carolina, instigated by mr. calhoun, had been active during the preceding summer in collecting material for this discussion, and they had taken especial pains to request a search for evidence that mr. webster had shown a willingness to have new england secede from the union during the second war with great britain. the vicinity of portsmouth, where he had resided when he entered public life, was, to use his own words, "searched as with a candle. new hampshire was explored from the mouth of the merrimack to the white hills." nor had mr. webster been idle. he was not an extemporaneous speaker, and he passed the summer in carefully studying, in his intervals of professional duties, the great constitutional question which he afterward so brilliantly discussed. a story is told at providence about a distinguished lawyer of that place--mr. john whipple--who was at washington when webster replied to hayne, but who did not hear the speech, as he was engaged in a case before the supreme court when it was delivered. when a report of what mr. webster had said appeared in print, mr. whipple read it, and was haunted by the idea that he had heard or read it before. meeting mr. webster soon afterward, he mentioned this idea to him and inquired whether it could possibly have any foundation in fact. "certainly it has," replied mr. webster. "don't you remember our conversations during the long walks we took together last summer at newport, while in attendance on story's court?" it flashed across mr. whipple's mind that mr. webster had then rehearsed the legal argument of his speech and had invited criticism. as the debate on the foote resolution progressed, it revealed an evident intention to attack new england, and especially massachusetts. this brought mr. webster into the arena, and he concluded a brief speech by declaring that, as a true representative of the state which had sent him into the senate, it was his duty and a duty which he should fulfill, to place her history and her conduct, her honor and her character, in their just and proper light. a few days later, mr. webster heard his state and himself mercilessly attacked by general hayne, of south carolina, no mean antagonist. the son of a revolutionary hero who had fallen a victim to british cruelty, highly educated, with a slender, graceful form, fascinating deportment, and a well-trained, mellifluous voice, the haughty south carolinian entered the lists of the political tournament like saladin to oppose the yankee coeur de lion. when mr. webster went to the senate chamber to reply to general hayne, on tuesday, january th, , he felt himself master of the situation. always careful about his personal appearance when he was to address an audience, he wore on that day the whig uniform, which had been copied by the revolutionary heroes--a blue dress- coat with bright buttons, a buff waistcoat, and a high, white cravat. neither was he insensible to the benefits to be derived from publicity, and he had sent a request to mr. gales to report what he was to say himself, rather than to send one of his stenographers. the most graphic account of the scene in the senate chamber during the delivery of the speech was subsequently written virtually from mr. webster's dictation. perhaps, like mr. healy's picture of the scene, it is rather high-colored. sheridan, after his forty days' preparation, did not commence his scathing impeachment of warren hastings with more confidence that was displayed by mr. webster when he stood up, in the pride of his manhood, and began to address the interested mass of talent, intelligence, and beauty around him. a man of commanding presence, with a well-knit, sturdy frame, swarthy features, a broad, thoughtful forehead, courageous eyes gleaming from beneath shaggy eyebrows, a quadrangular breadth of jawbone, and a mouth which bespoke strong will, he stood like a sturdy roundhead sentinel on guard before the gates of the constitution. holding in profound contempt what he termed spread-eagle oratory, his only gesticulations were up-and- down motions of his arm, as if he were beating out with sledge- hammers his forcible ideas. his peroration was sublime, and every loyal american heart has since echoed the last words, "liberty and union--now and forever--one and inseparable!" mr. webster's speech, carefully revised by himself, was not published until the d of february, and large editions of it were circulated throughout the northern states. the debate was continued, and it was the st of may before colonel benton, who had been the first defamer of new england, brought it to a close. the northern men claimed for mr. webster the superiority, but general jackson praised the speech of mr. hayne, and deemed his picture worthy to occupy a place in the white house, thus giving expression to the general sentiment among the southerners. this alarmed mr. van buren, who was quietly yet shrewdly at work to defeat the further advancement of mr. calhoun, and he lost no time in demonstrating to the imperious old soldier who occupied the presidential chair that the south carolina doctrine of nullification could but prove destructive to the union. mr. calhoun was not aware of this intrigue, and, in order to strengthen his state rights policy, he organized a public dinner on the anniversary of jefferson's birthday, april th, . when the toasts which were to be proposed were made public in advance, according to the custom, it was discovered that several of them were strongly anti-tariff and state rights in sentiment--so much so that a number of pennsylvania tariff democrats declined to attend, and got up a dinner of their own. general jackson attended the dinner, but he went late and retired early, leaving a volunteer toast, which he had carefully prepared at the white house, and which fell like a damper upon those at the dinner, while it electrified the north, "the federal union--it must and shall be maintained!" this toast, which could not be misunderstood, showed that general jackson would not permit himself to be placed in the attitude of a patron of doctrines which could lead only to a dissolution of the federal government. but the committee on arrangements toned it down, so that it appeared in the official report of the dinner, "our federal union--it must be preserved!" this was a severe blow to mr. calhoun, who had labored earnestly to break down mr. adams' administration, without respect to its measures, that a democratic party might be built up which would first elect general jackson, and then recognize calhoun as legitimate successor to the presidential chair. his discomfiture was soon completed by the publication of a letter from mr. crawford, which informed the president that calhoun, when in the cabinet of monroe, proposed that "general jackson should be punished in some form" for his high-handed military rule in florida. van buren secretly fanned the flames of general jackson's indignation, and adroitly availed himself of a "tempest in a tea-pot" to complete the downfall of his rival. the woman used as a tool by mr. van buren for the overthrow of mr. calhoun's political hopes was a picturesque and prominent figure in washington society then and during the next fifty years. the national metropolis in those days resembled, as has been well said, in recklessness and extravagance, the spirit of the english seventeenth century, so graphically portrayed in _thackeray's humorist_, rather than the dignified caste of the nineteenth cycle of christianity. laxity of morals and the coolest disregard possible characterized that period of our existence. mrs. general eaton ruled andrew jackson as completely as he ruled the democratic party. she was the daughter of william o'neill, a rollicking irishman, who was in his day the landlord of what was then the leading public house in washington city. among other congressmen who were guests here was andrew jackson, then a senator from tennessee. it was here he became interested in the landlord's brilliant daughter margaret, called by her friends "peg" o'neill. before she was sixteen years of age she married a handsome naval officer, john bowie timberlake. he died--some say that he committed suicide--at port mahon, in , leaving his accounts as purser in a very mixed condition. after the death of timberlake, commodore patterson ordered lieutenant randolph to take the purser's books and perform the duties of purser. on the return home of the constitution it was discovered that timberlake or randolph was a defaulter to the government to a very large amount. a court of inquiry was held on randolph and he was acquitted, but amos kendall, the fourth auditor of the treasury department, charged the defalcation to randolph. president jackson, notwithstanding the decision of the court, dismissed lieutenant randolph from the navy, and refused to give him a hearing. the lieutenant, infuriated by his disgrace and pecuniary ruin, in a state of excitement pulled the president's nose in the cabin of a steamboat at the alexandria wharf. he was immediately seized and thrust on shore, the president declaring that he was able to punish him. he charged that jackson dismissed him and sustained kendall's decision in order to save general eaton, who was timberlake's bondsman, from having to make good the defalcation. general eaton, who had boarded with his friend, general jackson, at o'neill's tavern, soon afterward married the widow timberlake, who was then one of those examples of that irish beauty, which, marked by good blood, so suggests both the greek and the spaniard, and yet at times presents a combination which transcends both. her form, of medium height, straight and delicate, was of perfect proportions. her skin was of that delicate white, tinged with red, which one often sees among even the poorer inhabitants of the green isle. her dark hair, very abundant, clustered in curls about her broad, expressive forehead. her perfect nose, of almost grecian proportions, and finely curved mouth, with a firm, round chin, completed a profile of faultless outlines. she was in washington city what aspasia was in athens--the cynosure by whose reflected radiance "beauty lent her smile to wit, and learning by her star was lit." general jackson had come to washington with a sad heart, breathing vengeance against those who had defamed his wife during the presidential canvass, thereby, as he thought, hastening her death. this made him the sworn and unyielding foe of all slanderers of women, and when some of the female tabbies of the capital began to drag the name of his old friend "peg," then the wife of general eaton, through the mire, he was naturally indignant, and showed his respect for her by having her a frequent guest at the white house. enchanting, ambitious, and unscrupulous, she soon held the old hero completely under her influence, and carried her griefs to him. mr. van buren adroitly seconded her, and the gallant old soldier swore "by the eternal" that the scandalmongers who had embittered the last years of his beloved wife, rachel, should not triumph over his "little friend peg." this was van buren's opportunity. he was a widower, keeping house at washington, and as secretary of state he was able to form an alliance with the bachelor ministers of great britain and russia, each of whom had spacious residences. a series of dinners, balls, and suppers was inaugurated at these three houses, and at each successive entertainment mrs. eaton was the honored guest, who led the contra-dance, and occupied the seat at table on the right of the host. some respectable ladies were so shocked by her audacity that they would leave a room when she entered it. she was openly denounced by clergymen, and she found herself in positions which would have covered almost any other woman in washington with shame. mrs. eaton, who apparently did not possess a scruple as to the propriety of her course, evidently enjoyed the situation, and used to visit general jackson every day with a fresh story of the insults paid her. yet she gave no evidences of diplomacy nor of political sagacity, but was a mere beautiful, passionate, impulsive puppet, held up by general jackson, while mr. van buren adroitly pulled the strings that directed her movements. mr. calhoun, whose wife was foremost among those ladies who positively refused to associate with mrs. eaton, said to a friend of general jackson's, who endeavored to effect a reconciliation, that "the quarrels of women, like those of the medes and persians, admitted of neither inquiry nor explanation." he knew well, however, that it was no women's quarrel, but a political game of chess played by men who were using women as their pawns, and he lost the game. van buren and eaton next tendered their resignations as cabinet officers, which general jackson refused to accept; whereupon the cabinet officers whose wives declined to call on mrs. eaton resigned, and their resignations were promptly accepted. the whole city was in a turmoil. angry men walked about with bludgeons, seeking "satisfaction;" duels were talked of; old friendships were severed; and every fresh indignity offered his "little friend peg" endeared her the more to general jackson, who was duly grateful to van buren for having espoused her cause. "it is odd enough," wrote daniel webster to a personal friend, "that the consequences of this dispute in the social and fashionable world are producing great political effects, and may very probably determine who shall be successor to the present chief magistrate." junius brutus booth was the delight of the washington playgoers in the jackson administration. his wonderful impersonations of richard iii., iago, king lear, othello, shylock, and sir giles overreach were as grand as his private life was intemperate and eccentric. he was a short, dumpy man, with features resembling those of the roman emperors, before his nose was broken in a quarrel, and his deportment on the stage was imperially grand. he had a farm in maryland, and at one time he undertook to supply a washington hotel with eggs, milk, and chickens, but he soon gave it up. his instant and tremendous concentration of passion in his delineations overwhelmed his audience and wrought it into such enthusiasm that it partook of the fever of inspiration surging through his own veins. he was not lacking in the power to comprehend and portray with marvelous and exquisite delicacy the subtle shades of character that shakespeare loved to paint, and his impersonations were a delight to the refined scholar as well as the uncultivated backwoodsmen who crowded to his performances. the washington theatre was not well patronized, but the strolling proprietors of minor amusements reaped rich harvests of small silver coins. the circus paid its annual visit, to the joy of the rural congressmen and the negroes, who congregated around its sawdust ring, applauding each successive act of horsemanship and laughing at the repetition of the clown's old jokes; a daring rope-dancer, named herr cline, performed his wonderful feats on the tight rope and on the slack wire; finn gave annual exhibitions of fancy glass- blowing; and every one went to see "the living skeleton," a tall, emaciated young fellow named calvin edson, compared with whom shakespeare's starved apothecary was fleshy. general jackson turned a deaf ear to the numerous applications made to him for charity. at one time when he was president a large number of irish immigrants were at work on the chesapeake and ohio canal in georgetown, and, the weather being very hot, many of them were prostrated by sunstroke and bilious diseases. they were without medical aid, the necessities of life, or any shelter except the shanties in which they were crowded. their deplorable condition led to the formation of a society of irish-americans, with the venerable mr. mcleod, a noted instructor, as president. a committee from this society waited on the president for aid, and mr. mcleod made known the object of their visit. general jackson interrupted him by saying that he "entirely disapproved of the society; that the fact of its existence would induce these fellows to come one hundred miles to get the benefit of it; that if the treasury of the united states were at his disposal it could not meet the demands that were daily made upon him, and he would not be driven from the white house by a beggar-man, like old jim monroe." colonel samuel swartwout, of hoboken, was an old personal friend of general jackson, and when "the hickory broom" began to sweep out the old office-holders, in obedience to the maxim, "to the victors belong the spoils," the colonel was an applicant for the then lucrative position of collector of the port of new york. van buren was against him, and used many arguments with jackson to prevent the appointment; but after a patient hearing, old hickory closed the case by bringing his fist down upon the table and exclaiming, "by the eternal! sam, swartwout _shall_ be collector of the port of new york!" he was appointed and became the prey of political swindlers, spending the public moneys right regally until his accounts were overhauled, and he "swartwouted" (to use a word coined at the time) to avoid a criminal prosecution. he remained abroad for many years, and i think died in europe. francis s. key was united states attorney for the district of washington during the jackson administration. he was a small, active man, having an earnest and even anxious expression of countenance, as if care sat heavily upon him. in composing the heroic song of the "star-spangled banner," after he had witnessed the unsuccessful night attack of the british on fort mchenry, he, in a measure, associated himself with the glory of his country. he was a man of very ardent religious character, and some of the most poetic and popular of the hymns used in religious worship were from his pen. [facsimile] danl webster daniel webster was born at salisbury, new hampshire, january th, ; was a representative from new hampshire in congress, - , and removing to boston, a representative from massachusetts, - ; united states senator, - ; secretary of state under presidents harrison and tyler, - ; united states senator, - ; secretary of state under president fillmore from until his death at marshfield, massachusetts, october th, . chapter ix. the stamping out of nullification. the rejection by the senate of the nomination of martin van buren as minister plenipotentiary to great britain, was an act of retributive justice, carried out on the very spot where, five years before, he had formed the combination which overthrew the administration of john quincy adams. john c. calhoun, who was the organizer of the rejection of mr. van buren, thought that he had obtained pledges of a sufficient number of votes; but just before the ayes and noes were called mr. webster left the senate chamber, and going down into the supreme court room remained there until the vote had been taken. mr. calhoun consequently found himself one vote short, and had to give the casting vote, as president of the senate, which rejected the nomination of his rival, who was already in england, where he had been received with marked attention. returning to the united states, mr. van buren was warmly welcomed at the white house as a victim of mr. calhoun's opposition to the president, and he was soon recognized by the democratic party as their heir-apparent to the presidency. his appearance at that time was impressive. he was short, solidly built, with a bald head, and with bushy side-whiskers, which framed his florid features. he added the grace and polish of aristocratic english society to his natural courtesy, and it was his evident aim never to provoke a controversy, while he used every exertion to win new friends and retain old ones. after he had been elected vice-president, he sat day after day in the chair of the senate, apparently indifferent alike to the keen thrusts of calhoun, the savage blows of webster, and the gibes of clay. he well knew that general jackson would regard every assault on him as aimed at the administration, and that his chances for the succession would thereby be strengthened. charges of political chicanery were brought against him in shapes more varied than that of proteus and thick as the leaves that strew the vale of valombrosa; but he invariably extricated himself by artifice and choice management, earning the sobriquet of "the little magician." he could not be provoked into a loss of temper, and he would not say a word while in the chair except as connected with his duties as presiding officer, when he spoke in gentle but persuasive tones, singularly effective from the clearness of his enunciation and his well-chosen emphasis. mr. van buren, who was then a widower, kept house on pennsylvania avenue, about half way between the white house and georgetown, where he not only gave dinner parties to his political friends, but entertained their wives and daughters at evening whist parties. gentlemen and ladies were alike used for the advancement of his schemes for the succession and for retaining his position in the estimation of general jackson. on one occasions he said to mrs. eaton that he had been reading much and thinking deeply on the characters of great men, and had come to the conclusion that general jackson was the greatest man that had ever lived--the only man among them all who was without a fault. "but," he added, "don't tell general jackson what i have said. i would not have him know it for all the world." of course, it was not long before mrs. eaton repeated the conversation to general jackson. "ah, madam!" said old hickory, the tears starting in his eyes, "that man loves me; he tries to conceal it, but there is always some way fixed by which i can tell my friends from my enemies." mr. van buren was noted for his willingness to sign applications for office, and he used to tell a good story illustrating his readiness to oblige those who solicited his aid. when governor of the state of new york, a lawyer called upon him to get a convict pardoned from the penitentiary, and stated the case, which was a clear one. "have you the papers?" he asked. "if so, i will sign them." "here they are," said the lawyer, producing a bulky document, and the governor indorsed them: "let pardon be granted. m. van buren." he then left for the office of the secretary of state, but soon returned. "governor," said he, "i made a mistake, and you indorsed the wrong paper." he had presented for the official indorsement the marriage settlement of an albany belle about to marry a spendthrift. to ingratiate himself further with general jackson, and to strengthen the democratic party, whose votes he relied upon to elevate him to the presidency, mr. van buren organized the war against the united states bank. general jackson was opposed to this institution before he became president, and it was not a difficult task to impress upon his mind that the bank was an unconstitutional monopoly, which defied the legislative acts of sovereign states, which was suborning the leading newspapers and public men of the country, and which was using every means that wealth, political chicanery, and legal cunning could devise to perpetuate its existence. all this the honest old soldier in time believed, and it was then not difficult to impress him with a desire to combat this "monster," as he called the bank, and to act as the champion of the people in killing the dragon which was endeavoring to consume their fortunes. when a committee of wealthy business men from boston, new york, and philadelphia waited on him with a remonstrance against his financial policy, he gave them such a reception that they felt very uncomfortable and were glad to get away. the democratic politicians and presses heartily seconded their chieftain in this war, promising the people "benton mint-drops instead of rag-money." jackson clubs were everywhere organized, having opposite to the tavern or hall used as their headquarters a hickory-tree, trimmed of all its foliage except a tuft at the top. torch-light processions, then organized for the first time, used to march through the streets of the city or village where they belonged, halting in front of the houses of prominent jackson men to cheer, while before the residences of leading whigs they would often tarry long enough to give six or nine groans. editors of newspapers which supported the administration were forced to advocate its most ultra measures and to denounce its opponents, or they were arraigned as traitors, and if satisfactory excuses could not be made, they were read out of the party. among these thus excommunicated was mr. james gordon bennett, who had edited the philadelphia _pennsylvanian_. nicholas biddle, its president, managed the affairs of the bank of the united states with consummate ability. his trials in the bitter contest waged against him and the institution which he represented were almost as manifold as those that tested the patience of job; and he bore them with equal meekness so far as temper was concerned, but when duty required he never failed to meet his opponents with decision and effect. the bank had to discount the worthless notes of a number of congressmen and editors, whose support, thus purchased, did more harm than good. mr. biddle had also incurred the hostility of isaac hill and other influential jackson men because he would not remove the non-partisan presidents and cashiers of the branches of the bank in their respective localities, and appoint in their places zealous henchmen of the administration. general jackson was triumphantly re-elected in november, , receiving two hundred and nineteen of the two hundred and eighty- eight electoral votes cast, while martin van buren received one hundred and eighty-nine electoral votes for vice-president. massachusetts, connecticut, rhode island, delaware, maryland, and kentucky cast forty-nine electoral votes for henry clay and john sargent. vermont gave her seven electoral votes for the anti- masonic candidates, william wirt and william ellmaker, while south carolina bestowed her eleven electoral votes on john floyd, of virginia, and henry lee, of massachusetts, neither of whom were nullifiers. some of the jackson newspapers, while rejoicing over his re-election, nominated him for a third term, and william wirt wrote: "my opinion is that he may be president for life if he chooses." the ordeal of re-election having been passed, president jackson and his supporters carried out the programme which had before been decided upon. the removal of the government deposits from the united states bank gave rise to stormy debates in congress, and the questionable exercise of executive authority met with a fierce, unrelenting opposition from the whigs. the debates in the senate on the bank and attendant financial questions were very interesting, but the audiences were necessarily small. the circumscribed accommodations of the senate chamber were insufficient, and while the ladies generally managed to secure seats, either in the galleries or on the floor, the gentlemen had to content themselves with uncomfortable positions, leaning against pillars or peeping through doorways. mr. van buren, as vice- president, presided with great dignity, and endeavored to conciliate those senators who were his rivals for the succession, but he had often to hear his political course mercilessly criticised by them. john c. calhoun, who resigned the position of vice-president that he might be elected a senator from south carolina, differed from his great contemporaries in the possession of a private character above reproach. whether this arose from the preponderance of the intellectual over the animal in his nature, or the subjection of his passions by discipline, was never determined by those who knew the gifted south carolinian best; but such was the fact. his enemies could find no opprobrious appellation for him but "catiline," instead of "caldwell," which was his middle name--no crime but ambition. he disregarded the unwritten laws of the senate, which required senators to appear in dress suits of black broadcloth, and asserted his state pride and state independence by wearing, when the weather was warm, a suit of nankeen, made from nankeen cotton grown in south carolina. mr. calhoun had a pale and attenuated look, as if in bad health; his long black hair was combed up from his forehead and fell over the back of his head, and his thin lips increased the effect of the acute look with which he always regarded those around him. his personal intercourse with friends was characterized by great gentleness of manner; he was an affectionate and a devoted husband and father, and webster truly remarked of him that "he had no recreations, and never seemed to feel the necessity of amusement." disappointed in his aspirations for the presidency of the united states, mr. calhoun conceived the idea of dissolving the union and establishing a southern confederacy, of which he would be the chief executive. one of his projects, fearing that the success of the main plot would be too long delayed for any benefit to inure to him, was a proposed amendment to the constitution, to make two presidents exist at the same time--one from the south and the other from the other sections--and no act in regard to the interests of the south was to be passed without the consent of the president for that section. of course, his plan was looked upon as puerile, if not mischievous, and failed to attract much attention. his whole soul was then bent on his main scheme, and he enlisted warm, ardent, and talented followers in behalf of it; but little headway was made in it outside of south carolina. president jackson knew well what was going on, and was determined that the law should be put into execution, not against misguided followers, but against calhoun, the chief conspirator. calhoun, hearing that jackson had resolved upon his prosecution and trial, and, if convicted, his execution for treason, sent letcher, of kentucky, to confer with him and to learn his real intentions. the president received letcher with his usual courtesy; but that mild blue eye, which at times would fill with tears like that of a woman, was kindled up that night with unwonted fire. he explained the situation to letcher, and concluded by telling him that if another step was taken, "by the eternal!" he would try calhoun for treason, and, if convicted, he would hang him on a gallows as high as haman. letcher saw that jackson was terribly in earnest, and hastened to the lodgings of calhoun, who had retired, but received him sitting up in bed with his cloak around him. letcher detailed all that had occurred, giving entire the conversation with jackson, and described the old hero as he took that oath. there sat calhoun, drinking in eagerly every word, and, as letcher proceeded, he turned pale as death, and, great as he was in intellect, trembled like an aspen leaf, not from fear or cowardice, but from the consciousness of guilt. he was the arch traitor, who like satan in paradise, "brought death into the world and all our woe." within one week he came into the senate and voted--voted for every section of mr. clay's bill--and president jackson was prevailed upon not to prosecute him for his crime. during the last days of general jackson at the hermitage, while slowly sinking under the ravages of consumption, he was one day speaking of his administration, and with glowing interest he inquired of the physician: "what act in my administration, in your opinion, will posterity condemn with the greatest severity?" the physician replied that he was unable to answer, that it might be the removal of the deposits. "oh! no," said the general. "then it may be the specie circular?" "not at all!" "what is it, then?" "i can tell you," said jackson, rising in his bed, his eyes kindling up--"i can tell you; posterity will condemn me more because i was persuaded not to hang john c. calhoun as a traitor than for any other act in my life." daniel webster's reply to hayne was made the key-note of the resistance by the administration to jefferson's assertion adopted by calhoun, "where powers have been assumed which have not been delegated, nullification is the rightful remedy." president jackson's proclamation against this doctrine of nullification--the germ of secession--was written by edward livingston, his secretary of state, and it has been said that it followed, throughout, the doctrine maintained by mr. webster in his reply to hayne, in . so remarkable was this adoption of mr. webster's argument, that popular opinion at that time regarded it as a manifest, but of course a very excusable, plagiarism. mr. webster, when the proclamation was issued, was on his way to washington, ignorant of what had occurred. at an inn in new jersey he met a traveler just from washington. neither of them was known to the other. mr. webster inquired the news. "sir," said the gentleman, "the president has issued a proclamation against the nullifiers, taken entirely from mr. webster's reply to hayne." in the course of the ensuing session, and not long after mr. webster reached the capital it became necessary for the administration to act. mr. webster was in the opposition, and, excepting in regard to the integrity of the union and the just power of the government, there was a wide gulf between the administration and him. he was absent from his seat for several days when the force bill was about to be introduced as an administration measure. a portion of general jackson's original supporters hung back from that issue. at this juncture there was much inquiry among the president's friends in the house as to where mr. webster was. at length a member of general jackson's cabinet went to mr. webster's rooms, told him the nature of the bill about to be introduced, and asked him, as a public duty, to go into the senate and defend the bill and the president. it is well known to the whole country that mr. webster did so; and it is known to me that general jackson personally thanked him for his powerful aid, that many of the president's best friends afterward sought to make a union between him and mr. webster, and that nothing continued to separate them but an irreconcilable difference of opinion about the questions relating to the currency. while mr. calhoun was undoubtedly the leading democrat in the senate, after his return to that body, mr. benton was the recognized leader of president jackson's adherents in that body. his fierce opposition to "biddle and the bank," with his prediction that the time would come when there would be no paper money, but when every laboring man would have a knit silk purse, through the meshes of which the gold coin within could be seen, obtained for him the sobriquet of "old bullion." his greatest triumph was the passage of a resolution by the senate "expunging" from its journal a resolution censuring general jackson for the removal of deposits from the bank of the united states. this expunging resolution was kept before the senate for nearly three years, and was then passed by only five majority. the closing debate was able and exhaustive, henry clay, john j. crittenden, thomas ewing, william c. rives, william hendricks, john m. niles, richard h. bayard, and others participating, while daniel webster read a protest signed by himself and his sturdy colleague, john davis. the democrats had provided a bountiful supply of refreshments in the room of the committee on finance, and several senators showed by their actions that they were not members of the then newly organized congressional temperance society, before which mr. webster had delivered a brief address. after the final vote--twenty-four years and nineteen nays--had been taken, mr. benton moved that the secretary carry into effect the order of the senate. then the secretary, mr. asbury dickens, opening the manuscript journal of , drew broad black lines around the obnoxious resolution and wrote across its face: "expunged by order of the senate, this th day of january, in the year of our lord ." no sooner had he concluded than hisses were heard, and mr. king, of alabama, who occupied the chair, ordered the galleries to be cleared, while mr. benton, in a towering rage, denounced the offenders and demanded their arrest. "here is one," said he, "just above me, that may be easily be identified--the bank ruffian." mr. king revoked his order to clear the galleries, but directed the arrest of the person pointed out by mr. benton, who was soon brought before the bar of the senate. it was mr. lloyd, a practicing lawyer in cleveland, ohio, who was not permitted to say a word in his own defense, but was soon discharged, after which the senate adjourned. [facsimile] thomas h. benton thomas hart benton was born near hillsborough, north carolina, march th, ; was united states senator from missouri, - ; a representative in congress from missouri, - ; was defeated as a candidate for re-election to congress in , and as candidate for governor of missouri in , and died at washington city, april th, . chapter x. prominent men of jackson's time. henry clay, after his return to the senate, was the recognized leader of the whig senators, for he would recognize no leader. his oratory was persuasive and spirit-stirring. the fire of his bright eyes and the sunny smile which lighted up his countenance added to the attractions of his unequaled voice, which was equally distinct and clear, whether at its highest key or lowest whisper-- rich, musical, captivating. his action was the spontaneous offspring of the passing thought. he gesticulated all over. the nodding of his head, hung on a long neck, his arms, hands, fingers, feet, and even his spectacles, his snuff-box, and his pocket-handkerchief, aided him in debate. he stepped forward and backward, and from the right to the left, with effect. every thought spoke; the whole body had its story to tell, and added to the attractions of his able arguments. but he was not a good listener, and he would often sit, while other senators were speaking, eating sticks of striped peppermint candy, and occasionally taking a pinch of snuff from a silver box that he carried, or from one that graced the table of the senate. occasionally, mr. clay was very imperious and displayed bad temper in debate. once he endeavored to browbeat colonel benton, bringing up "old bullion's" personal recontre with general jackson, and charging the former with having said that, should the latter be elected president, congress must guard itself with pistols and dirks. this colonel benton pronounced "an atrocious calumny." "what," retorted mr. clay, "can you look me in the face, sir, and say that you never used that language?" "i look," said colonel benton, "and repeat that it is an atrocious calumny, and i will pin it to him who repeats it here." mr. clay's face flushed with rage as he replied: "then i declare before the senate that you said the very words!" "false! false! false!" shouted colonel benton, and the senators interfered, mr. tazewell, who was in the chair, calling the belligerents to order. after some discussion of the questions of order, colonel benton said: "i apologize to the senate for the manner in which i have spoken--but not to the senator from kentucky." mr. clay promptly added: "to the senate i also offer an apology--to the senator from missouri, none!" half an hour afterwards they shook hands, as lawyers often do who have just before abused each other in court. on another occasion, general smith, of baltimore, a revolutionary hero upward of eighty years of age, who had been a member of congress almost forty years, was one day the object of henry clay's wrath. the old general, who had fought gallantly in the revolutionary struggle and taken up arms again in the war of , was offensively bullied by mr. clay, who said: "the honorable gentleman was in favor of manufactures in , but he has turned--i need not use the word--he has thus abandoned manufactures. thus "'old politicians chew on wisdom past and totter on, in blunders, to the last.'" the old general sprang to his feet. "the last allusion," said he, "is unworthy of a gentleman. totter, sir, i totter! though some twenty years older than the gentleman, i can yet stand firm, and am yet able to correct his errors. i could take a view of the gentleman's course, which would show how consistent he has been." mr. clay exclaimed, angrily: "take it, sir, take it--i dare you!" cries of "order." "no, sir," said mr. smith, "i will not take it. i will not so far disregard what is due to the dignity of the senate." while mr. clay was generally imperious in debate, and not overcautious in his choice of phrases and epithets, he was fond of a joke, and often indulged, in an undertone, in humorous comments on the remarks by other senators. sometimes he would be very happy in his illustrations, and make the most of some passing incident. one afternoon, when he was replaying to a somewhat heated opponent, a sudden squall came up and rattled the window curtain so as to produce a considerable noise. the orator stopped short in the midst of his remarks and inquired aloud, what was the matter; and then, as if divining the cause of the disturbance, he said: "storms seem to be coming in upon us from all sides." the observation, though trivial as related, was highly amusing under the circumstances which gave rise to it and from the manner in which it was uttered. when henry clay returned to the senate, daniel webster yielded to him the leadership of the whigs in that body, but in no way sacrificed his own independence. "the great expounder of the constitution," as he was called, was then in the prime of life, and had not began those indulgences which afterward exercised such injurious effects upon him. he would also occasionally indulge in a grim witticism. on one occasion, when a senator who was jeering another for some pedantry said, "the honorable gentleman may proceed to quote from crabbe's synonyms, from walker and webster"--"not from walker and webster," exclaimed the senator from massachusetts, "for the authorities may disagree!" at another time, when he was speaking on the new york fire bill, the senate clock suddenly began to strike, and after it had struck continuously for about fourteen or fifteen times, mr. webster stopped, and said to the presiding officer, "the clock is out of order, sir--i have the floor." the occupant of the chair looking rebukingly at the refractory time- piece, but in defiance of the officers and rules of the house, it struck about forty before the sergeant-at-arms could stop it, mr. webster standing silent, while every one else was laughing. on another occasion, while mr. webster was addressing the senate in presenting a memorial, a clerical-looking person in one of the galleries arose and shouted: "my friends, the country is on the brink of destruction! be sure that you act on correct principles. i warn you to act as your consciences may approve. god is looking down upon you, and if you act on correct principles you will get safely through." he then deliberately stepped back, and retired from the gallery before the officers of the senate could reach him. mr. webster was, of course, surprised at this extraordinary interruption; but when the shrill voice of the enthusiast had ceased, he coolly resumed his remarks, saying, "as the gentleman in the gallery has concluded, i will proceed." mr. cuthbert, of georgia, was much provoked, one day, by a scathing denunciation of his state by mr. clay for the manner in which she had treated the cherokee indians. as the eloquent kentuckian dwelt more in sorrow than in anger upon the wrongs and outrages perpetrated in georgia upon the unoffending aborigines within her borders, many of his hearers were affected to tears, and he himself was obviously deeply moved. no sooner did mr. clay resume his seat than mr. cuthbert sprang to his feet, and in an insolent tone alluded to what he called the theatrical manner of the speaker. "what new part will roscius next enact?" said the senator from georgia, coming forward from his desk and standing in the area of the hall. he was a man of about the ordinary height, with a round face pitted with the smallpox, small, dark eyes, and a full forehead. as he spoke he twirled his watch-key incessantly with his right hand, while his left was flung about in the most unmeaning and awkward gestures. he twisted his body right and left, forward and backward, as if he were a chinese mandarin going through a stated number of evolutions before his emperor; in fact, he had "all the contortions of the sybil, without her inspiration." to this display mr. clay seemed entirely oblivious, but after judge white, of tennessee, had discussed the pending question, mr. clay rose, saying, that he would reply to this gentleman's remarks as "they alone were worthy of notice." in the house of representatives, during the jackson administration, sectional topics were rife, sectional jealousies were high, and partisan warfare was unrelenting. andrew stevenson, of virginia, who was triumphantly re-elected as speaker for four successive terms, understood well how to keep down the boiling caldron, and to exercise stern authority, tempered with dignity and courtesy, over heated passions of the fiercest conflicting character. when he was transferred from the speaker's chair to the court of st. james, john bell, of tennessee, an old supporter of general jackson, became his successor for the remainder of that session, but at the commencement of the next congress mr. van buren secured the election of james k. polk. mr. bell, on his next visit to nashville, threw down the gauntlet, in an able speech, and nominated judge white. this was the foundation of the white party, which had, as its editorial henchman, the rev. mr. brownlow, known as "the fighting parson," who soon acquired a national reputation by his defiant personalities in debate and by his trenchant editorial articles in the newspapers of east tennessee. mr. brownlow was at that time a tall, spare man, with long, black hair, black eyes, and a sallow complexion. he was devoted to the methodist church and to the white--afterward the whig--party, and the denominational doctrines of immersion and the political dogmas of emancipation from slavery were objects of his intense hatred. while mr. stevenson was speaker, general samuel houston, who had been residing among the indians on the southwestern frontier for several years, came to washington. taking offense at some remarks made in debate by mr. vance, a representative from ohio, houston assaulted and severely pounded him. the house voted that houston should be brought before the bar and reprimanded by the speaker, which was done, although mr. stevenson's reprimand was really complimentary. that night a friend of general houston, with a bludgeon and a pistol, attacked mr. arnold, of tennessee, who had been active in securing the reprimand, but the latter soon got the best of the encounter. the first man elected to congress as a representative of the rights of the laboring classes was eli moore, a new york journeyman printer, who had organized trades unions and successfully engineered several strikes by mechanics against their employers. he was a thin, nervous man, with keen, dark hazel eyes, long black hair brushed back behind his ears, and a strong, clear voice which rang through the hall like the sound of a trumpet. he especially distinguished himself in a reply to general waddy thompson, of south carolina, who had denounced the mechanics of the north as willing tools of the abolitionists. with impetuous force and in tones tremulous with emotion, he denounced aristocracy and advocated the equality of all men. the house listened with attention, and a southern politician exclaimed to one of his old colleagues, "why, this is the high-priest of revolution singing his war song." what added to the effect of this remarkable speech was its dramatic termination. just as he had entered upon his peroration he grew deathly pale, his eyes closed, his outstretched hands clutched at vacancy, he reeled forward, and fell insensible. his friends rushed to his support, and his wife, who was in the gallery, screamed with terror. his physician positively prohibited his speaking again, and in subsequent years, when the democratic party was in power, he enjoyed the positions of indian agent under polk, and of land agent under pierce. ransom h. gillet, of the ogdensburgh district, was one of the old "jackson democratic war-horses." he was a man of commanding presence, a ready speaker, and a famous manipulator of opinion at conventions. by birth a north carolinian, churchill c. cambreleng was by adoption a new yorker, and by strict attention to business he had become one of the merchant princes of the commercial metropolis. thirty years of age, with a commanding presence, a good voice, a ready command of language, and a practical knowledge of financial matters, he made an excellent chairman of the committee on ways and means and leader of the jackson men in the house. he carried business habits into congress, and passed much of his time at his desk, laboriously answering every letter addressed to him by his constituents or others, or carefully examining papers referred to his committee. but he was always on the alert, and if in debate any political opponent let slip a word derogatory to the administration, mr. cambreleng was at once on his feet with a pertinent retort or a skillful explanation. he was noted for his liberality, and neither the district charities or his needy constituents ever appealed to him in vain. the whigs, during the jackson administration, made much of david crockett, of tennessee, who was a thorn in the sides of the democrats, and they succeeded in having him defeated for one congress, but he was successful at the next election. he was a true frontiersman, with a small dash of civilization and a great deal of shrewdness transplanted in political life. he was neither grammatical nor graceful, but no rudeness of language can disguise strong sense and shrewdness, and a "demonstration," as bulwer says, "will force its way through all perversions of grammar." some one undertook to publish his life, but he promptly denied the authenticity of the work, and had a true memoir of himself written and published. this was a successful literary venture, and he next published a burlesque life of van buren, "heir apparent to the government, and appointed successor of andrew jackson," which, in the mixture of truth, error, wit, sense, and nonsense in about equal parts, has certainly the merit even at this day of being entertaining. crockett's favorite expression was, "be sure you're right, then go ahead." when texas commenced its struggle for independence he went there, and was killed while gallantly fighting at san antonio. his son, john w. crockett, served two terms in congress, was attorney- general of tennessee, edited a paper at new orleans, and died at memphis in . among the other members of the house of representatives in jackson's time were several who afterward occupied high positions in the federal government. franklin pierce, a courteous gentleman, the son of a brave revolutionary soldier, had been sent from new hampshire by a large majority, and laid the foundation of personal friendships upon which he afterward entered the white house as president. millard fillmore, hale and hearty in personal appearance, represented his home at buffalo. he soon acquired a reputation for performing his committee work with scrupulous fidelity, and winning the confidence of his colleagues, while advancing on all proper occasions the interests of his constituents, who rejoiced when he became president after the death of taylor. james knox polk, of tennessee, a rigid presbyterian, an uncompromising democrat, and a zealous freemason, was another representative who subsequently became president. there were several other prominent men in the house: richard mentor johnson, a burly and slightly educated kentucky indian-fighter, who enjoyed the reputation of having killed tecumseh at the battle of the thames, was elected a few years later on the van buren ticket vice-president of the united states, but was defeated in the harrison campaign four years later; and john bell, a whig of commanding presence and great practical sagacity, who was afterward senator and secretary of war, and who was defeated when he ran on the presidential ticket of the constitutional union party, in . elisha whittlesey, of ohio, who after sixteen years of congressional service became an auditor, and was known as "the watch dog of the treasury." tom corwin, of the same state, with a portly figure, swarthy complexion, and wonderful facial expression, and an inexhaustible flow of wit, who was not a buffoon, but a gentleman whose humor was natural, racy, and chaste. gulian c. verplanck and thomas j. oakley, two members of the new york bar, who represented that city, were statesmen rather than politicians. john chambers, of kentucky, a gigantic economist, was ever ready to reform small expenditures and willing to overlook large ones. and then there was the ponderous dixon h. lewis, of alabama, the largest man who ever occupied a seat in congress--so large that chairs had to be made expressly for his use. general james findlay, who had served creditably in the war of , was a jackson democratic representative in the days of the contest between "old hickory" and "biddle's bank." he was a type of a gentleman of the old school, and he recalled washington irving's picture of the master of bracebridge hall. the bluff and hearty manner, the corpulent person, and the open countenance of the general, his dress of the aristocratic blue and buff, and his gold- headed cane, all tallied with the descriptions of the english country gentleman of the olden time. he was greatly beloved in ohio, and several anecdotes are told of his kindness in enforcing the claims of the united states, when he was receiver of the district land office, for lands sold on credit, as was the custom in those days. upon one occasion there had been a time of general tightness in money matters, and many farms in the region northeast of cincinnati but partly paid for were forfeited to the government. in the discharge of his official duty general findlay attended at the place of sale. he learned, soon after his arrival there, that many speculators were present prepared to purchase these lands. mounting a stump, he opened the sale. he designated the lands forfeited, and said that he was there to offer them to the highest bidder. he said that the original purchasers were honest men, but that in consequence of the hard times they had failed to meet their engagements. it was hard, thus to be forced from their homes already partly paid for. but the law was imperative, and the lands must be offered. "and now," continued he, "i trust that there is no gentleman--no, i will not say that, i hope there is no rascal-- here so mean as to buy his neighbor's home over his head. gentlemen, i offer this lot for sale. who bids?" there was no forfeited land sold that day. a spirited bronze statue of jefferson, by his admirer, the french sculptor, david d'angers, was presented to congress by lieutenant uriah p. levy, but congress declined to accept it, and denied it a position in the capitol. it was then reverentially taken in charge by two naturalized irish citizens, stanch democrats, and placed on a small pedestal in front of the white house. one of these worshipers of jefferson was the public gardener, jemmy maher, the other was john foy, keeper of the restaurant in the basement of the capitol, and famous for his witty sayings. prominent among his _bon mots_ was an encomium of representative dawson, of louisiana, who was noted for his intemperate habits, the elaborate ruffles of his shirts, and his pompous strut. "he came into me place," said foy, "and after ateing a few oysters he flung down a spanish dollar, saying, 'niver mind the change, mr. foy; kape it for yourself.' ah! there's a paycock of a gintleman for you." [facsimile] richard johnson richard mentor johnson was born at bryant's station, kentucky, october th, ; distinguished himself in the second war with great britain, and in the indian wars; was a representative in congress from kentucky, - ; was a united states senator, - ; was again a representative, - ; was vice-president, - ; died at frankfort, november th, . chapter xi. society in jackson's time. the most elegant estate in washington in jackson's time was the van ness mansion, built on the bank of the potomac, at the foot of seventeenth street. mr. john van ness, when a member of the house from the state of new york, had married marcia, the only child of david burns, one of the original proprietors of the land on which the federal city was located. at that time every able-bodied man between eighteen and forty-five (with a few exceptions) had to perform militia duty, and the district volunteers, organizing themselves into a battalion, complimented mr. van ness by electing him major. the president commissioned him, but so strict were the congressmen of those days that the house investigated his case, and declared that he had forfeited his seat as a representative by accepting a commission from the general government. for the empty honor of wearing a militia uniform three or four times a year, and paying a large share of the music assessments, major van ness lost his seat in congress. david burns died soon after his daughter's marriage, and she dutifully conveyed to her husband, through the intervention of a trustee, her paternal inheritance. with a portion of the fortune thus acquired, major van ness built near the old burns cottage a villa which cost thirty thousand dollars, and was a palace fit for a king. entertainments the most costly were inaugurated and maintained in it; wit and song were heard within it, and elegance and distinction assembled under its hospitable shelter. from its door-step one could see ships from europe moored to the docks of alexandria, while gliding by daily on the river beside it were merchantmen from the west indies, laden for the port of georgetown. major van ness and marcia burns lived very happily together and had one child, a daughter, who grew into womanhood, married, and died a year after her marriage, ere the flowers in her bridal wreath had faded. mrs. van ness loved her daughter with a love that was idolatry, and with her death she received a blow from which she never recovered. she abandoned all the gayeties of the world, and laid aside her sceptre and crown as queen of society. in the charity school and orphan-asylum, by the bedside of the sick and dying, and in the homes of poverty, relieving its wants, she was found to the day of her death. her last words to her grief-stricken husband and friends assembled about her bedside were: "heaven bless and protect you; never mind me." the mayor and city government passed appropriate resolutions, and attended her funeral. major van ness erected a mausoleum after the pattern of the temple of vesta, at a cost of thirty-four thousand dollars, and placed within it his wife's remains and those of her father and mother. the stately pile stood in a large inclosure for years on h street, beside the orphan asylum which mrs. van ness richly endowed. finally the march of improvement, needing all the space available within the city limits, necessitated the removal of the mausoleum to oak hill cemetery, in georgetown, where the remains of john howard payne were subsequently re-interred. major van ness himself enjoyed everything that worldly preferment could bestow. by turns he was president of a bank and mayor of washington, yet with his ample fortune he was always short of ready money. he was never pressed by suit, however, for his good nature was as irresistible as the man was fascinating; the dun who came with a bill and a frown went away with a smile and--his bill. he lived to be seventy-six years of age, when--like the patriarchs of old--he died, full of honor and greatness, and, leaving no direct issue, his property passed into the hands of collateral heirs. they were sensible heirs, who did not seek to intervention of courts and lawyers for a distribution of their interests, but wisely and amicably distributed them themselves. the law, however, was determined not to be entirely shunned. if the heirs would not go to law, the law was accommodating--it would come to them, and it came with a romance. one day, soon after the death of major van ness, a buxom, matronly looking dame, in heavy mourning and with tear-dimmed eyes, came upon the scene and claimed a share of the estate. they naturally inquired her name and address, and she modestly, but firmly, told them she was the widow of the deceased by virtue of a clandestine marriage which had occurred in philadelphia. the heirs mistook her modesty for an attempt at blackmail, and acted as defendants in the suit which she instituted. the trial is one of the celebrated cases of the district of columbia. it lasted upward of a month. eminent counsel were in it, and many witnesses came to prove the truth of opposite facts. there was no doubt that van ness had known the widow and had visited her, for love letters were read in court from him to her; there was no doubt that some ceremony, sanctioned by a minister's presence, had been performed and assisted at by both together, but the requisite formalities to constitute a valid marriage were not fully proven, and the jury disagreed. the matronly dame in heavy mourning did not murmur: luck was against her, and she accepted her luck. she left washington and never pressed her suit to a second trial, nor further harassed the heirs. miss ann g. wright, a cousin of mrs. van ness, created a great sensation in washington by coming to her house for a home. she was a runaway nun from the convent of the visitation in georgetown, and had been known in the community as sister gertrude. no one ever knew rightly the cause of her sudden departure from the convent. some said it was disappointed ambition in not being appointed superioress; others, that it was a case of love; but she never told, and the ladies of the convent were just as reticent. she became an inmate of the elegant van ness mansion and was a noted and brilliant women in society. it is said that she had written a book, exposing the inner life of the convent, to be published after her death, but i have never heard of its appearance. a few years after she left the convent she accompanied the family of the american minister to spain, and resided for some time at madrid, where she was a great favorite in court circles. general jackson was not cultured or accomplished, but he had a strong, well-balanced mind, and he would go through forests of sophistry and masses of legal opinions straight to the point. governor wise, who admired him greatly, used to tell a story illustrative of the rough bark of old hickory's character. during the administration of president monroe, general jackson, in command of some troops, invaded florida and captured arbuthnot and ambrister, two englishmen, who, it was charged incited the indians to depredations. he at once ordered a court-martial and had them hanged, with but little time to prepare for their future place of abode. he was arraigned for the offense before the cabinet of mr. monroe, and mr. adams, the secretary of state, defended him on the high ground of international law as expounded by grotius, vattel, and puffendorf. jackson, who had quarreled with mr. monroe, was disposed to regard the matter as entirely personal. "confound grotius! confound vattel! confound puffendorf!" said he; "this is a mere matter between jim monroe and me." having received a complimentary letter from president bustamente, of mexico, general jackson sent it to the department of state with this indorsement: "mr. van buren will reply to this letter of general bustamente with the frankness of a soldier." when this reached mr. van buren he laughed heartily, as he was neither a soldier nor remarkable for frankness, and the clerks could not keep a secret. although many old citizens, whose relatives and near friends had been turned out of their pleasant offices by the jackson administration, kept quite aloof from the white house, there was no lack of social enjoyments at washington. mr. forsyth, the secretary of state, gave a series of balls, and there were large parties at the residences of mr. dickerson, secretary of the navy, major-general macomb, general miller, and other prominent men, each one in numbers and guests almost a repetition of the other. mr. van buren was at all of them, shaking hands with everybody, glad to see everybody, asking about everybody's friends, and trusting that everybody was well. colonel richard m. johnson was also to be seen at all public gatherings, looking, in his scarlet waistcoat and ill-fitting coat, not as the killer of tecumseh, but as the veritable tecumseh himself. mr. webster was seldom seen at public parties, but messrs. clay and calhoun were generally present, with the foreign ministers and their suites, who were the only wearers of mustaches in those days. there were the magnates of the senate and the house, each one great in his own estimation, with the _chevaliers a'industrie_, who lived as by their wits, upon long credits and new debts, and there were strangers congregated from all sections of the country, some having business before congress, and others having come to see how the country was governed. every one, on his arrival, would take a carriage and leave cards for the heads of departments, foreign ministers, leading army and navy officers, and prominent members of congress. this would bring in return the cards of these magnates and invitations to their next party. mr. clay was a good _raconteur_, and always had a story to illustrate his opinions advanced in conversation. one day, when he had been complimented on his neat, precise handwriting, always free from blots, interlineations, and erasures, he spoke about the importance of writing legibly, and told an amusing story about a cincinnati grocery-man, who, finding the market short of cranberries, and under the impression that the fruit could be purchased cheaply at a little town in kentucky, wrote to a customer there acquainting him with the fact and requesting him to send "one hundred bushels per simmons" (the wagoner usually sent). the correspondent, a plain, uneducated man, had considerable difficulty in deciphering the fashionable scrawl common with merchants' clerks of late years, and the most important word, "cranberries," he failed to make out, but he did plainly and clearly read--one hundred bushels persimmons. as the article was growing all around him, all the boys in the neighborhood were set to gathering it, and the wagoner made his appearance in due time in cincinnati with eighty bushels, all that the wagon body would hold, and a line from the country merchant that the remainder would follow the next trip. an explanation soon ensued, but the customer insisted that the cincinnati house should have written _by_ simmons and not _per_ simmons. who paid the loss history doth not record. one more of mr. clay's stories which he used to tell with dramatic effect: as he was coming here one november the stage stopped for the passengers to get supper at a little town on the mountain side, where there had been a militia muster that afternoon. when the stage was ready to start, the colonel, in full regimentals, but somewhat inebriated, insisted on riding with the driver, thinking, doubtless, that the fresh air would restore him. it was not long, though, before he fell off into the mud. the coach stopped, of course, for the colonel to regain his seat. he soon gathered up, when the following colloquy ensued: "well, driver (hic), we've had quite a turn (hic) over, haint we?" "no, we have not turned over at all." "i say (hic) we have." "no, you are mistaken, you only fell off." "i say we (hic) _have;_ i'll leave it (hic) to the com-(hic)-pany. haven't we (hic) had a turn (hic) over, gentlemen?" being assured they had not, "well, driver (hic)," said he, "if i'd known that (hic) i wouldn't a got out." the automaton chess-player and other pieces of mechanism exhibited by monsieur maelzel were very popular at washington. the chess- player was the figure of a turk of the natural size, sitting behind a chest three feet and a-half in height, to which was attached the wooden seat on which the figure sat. on the top of the chest was an immovable chess-board, upon which the eyes of the figure were fixed. its right hand and arm were extended on the chest, and its left, somewhat raised, held a pipe. several doors in the chest and in the body of the figure having been opened, and a candle held within the cavities thus displayed, the doors were closed, the exhibitor wound up the works, placed a cushion under the arm of the figure, and challenged any individual of the company present to play. in playing, the automaton always made choice of the first move and the white pieces. it also played with the left arm--the inventor, as it was said, not having perceived the mistake till his work was too far advanced to alter it. the hand and fingers opened on touching the piece, which it grasped and conveyed to the proper square. after a move made by its antagonist, the automaton paused for a few moments, as if contemplating the game. on giving check to the king, it made a signal with its head. if a false move was made by its antagonist it tapped on the chest impatiently, replaced the piece, and claimed the move for itself as an advantage. if the antagonist delayed any considerable time the automaton tapped smartly on the chest with the right hand. at the close of the game the automaton moved the knight, with its proper motion, over each of the sixty-three squares of the board in turn, without missing one, and without a single return to the same square. although positive proof was wanting, it was generally believed that the movements of the figure were directed by a slender person adroitly concealed behind what was apparently a mass of machinery. this machinery was always exhibited when in a fixed state, but carefully excluded from view when in motion. it was noticed by anxious observers that no variation ever took place in the precise order in which the doors were opened, thus giving the concealed player an opportunity to change his position. in what was apparently the winding up of the machine the key always appeared limited to a certain number of revolutions, however different the number of moves in the preceding game might have been. on one occasion sixty- three moves were executed without winding up, and once it was observed that it was wound up without the intervention of a single move. monsieur maelzel also exhibited an automaton trumpeter, life size, attired in a full british uniform. it was rolled out before the audience and performed several marches and patriotic airs. a miniature rope-dancer performed some curious feats, and small figures, when their hands were shaken, ejaculated the words, "papa!" and "mamma!" in a life-like manner. but the crowning glory of monsieur maelzel's exhibition was a panorama, scenic and mechanical, of the "burning of moscow." the view of the russian capital, with its domes and minarets, was a real work of art. then the great bell of the kremlin began to toll, and the flames could be seen making their way from building to building. a bridge in the foreground was covered with figures, representing the flying citizens escaping with their household treasures. they were followed by a regiment of french infantry, headed by its band, and marching with the precision of veterans. meanwhile the flames had begun to ascend the spires and domes, and the deep tolling of the bells was echoed by the inspiring strains of martial music. at last, as the last platoon of frenchmen crossed the bridge, the kremlin was blown up with a loud explosion, and the curtain fell. mrs. alexander hamilton, the widow of the founder of our financial system, passed a good portion of the latter part of her life at washington, and finally died there. she was the first to introduce ice-cream at the national metropolis, and she used to relate with rare humor the delight displayed by president jackson when he first tasted it. he liked it much, and swore, "by the eternal!" that he would have ices at the white house. the guests at the next reception were agreeably surprised with this delicacy, especially those from the rural districts, who, after approaching it suspiciously, melting each spoonful with their breath before consuming it, expressed their satisfaction by eating all that could be provided. mrs. hamilton was very much troubled by the pamphlet which her husband had published when secretary of the treasury, in which he avowed an intrigue with the wife of one of his clerks, to exculpate himself from a charge that he had permitted this clerk to speculate on the action of the treasury department. mrs. hamilton for some years paid dealers in second-hand books five dollars a copy for every copy of this pamphlet which they brought her. one year the number presented was unusually large, and she accidentally ascertained that a cunning dealer in old books in new york had had the pamphlet reprinted, and was selling her copies at five dollars each which had cost him but about ten cents each. she possessed a good many souvenirs of her illustrious husband, one of which, now in the writer's possession, was the copper camp-kettle which general hamilton had while serving on the staff of the illustrious washington. [facsimile] alexander stephens alexander hamilton stephens was born in wilkes county, georgia, february th, ; was a member of the house of representatives, december th, to march d, ; was vice-president of the southern confederacy; was again a member of the united states congress, october th, , to january st, ; was governor of georgia, and died at crawfordsville, georgia, march th, . chapter xii. jackson and his associates. president jackson's friends celebrated the th of january, , by giving a grand banquet. it was not only the anniversary of the battle of new orleans, but on that day the last installment of the national debt had been paid. colonel benton presided, and when the cloth was removed he delivered an exulting speech. "the national debt," he exclaimed, "is paid! this month of january, , in the fifty-eighth year of the republic, andrew jackson being president, the national debt is paid! and the apparition, so long unseen on earth--a great nation without a national debt!--stands revealed to the astonished vision of a wondering world! gentlemen," he concluded, "my heart is in this double celebration, and i offer you a sentiment which, coming direct from my own bosom, will find its response in yours: 'president jackson: may the evening of his days be as tranquil and as happy for himself as their meridian has been resplendent, glorious, and beneficent for his country.'" a few weeks later, as president jackson was leaving the capitol, where he had been to attend the funeral of representative davis, of south carolina, a man advanced toward him from the crowd, leveled a pistol, and fired it. the percussion-cap exploded without discharging the pistol, and the man, dropping it, raised a second one, which also missed fire. general jackson's rage was roused by the explosion of the cap, and, lifting his cane, he rushed toward his assailant, who was knocked down by lieutenant gedney, of the navy, before jackson could reach him. the man was an english house- painter named lawrence, who had been for some months out of work, and who, having heard that the opposition of general jackson to the united states bank had paralyzed the industries of the country, had conceived the project of assassinating him. the president himself was not disposed to believe that the plot originated in the crazy brain of lawrence, whom he regarded as the tool of political opponents. a protracted examination, however, failed to afford the slightest proof of this theory, although general jackson never doubted it for a moment. he was fortified in this opinion by the receipt of anonymous letters, threatening assassination, all of which he briefly indorsed and sent to mr. blair for publication in the _globe_. the heads of the executive departments, believing that "to the victors belong the spoils," did not leave an acknowledged anti- jackson democrat in office, either in washington city or elsewhere, with a very few exceptions. one of these was general miller, collector of the port of salem, massachusetts. the leading jackson democrats in massachusetts petitioned the president for his removal as incompetent and a political opponent, and they presented the name of a stanch jackson democrat for the position. the appointment was made, and the name of the new collector was sent to the senate for confirmation. colonel benton, who had been made acquainted with the facts, requested that no action be taken until he could converse with the president. going to the white house the next morning, he said to general jackson, "do you know who is the collector of customs at salem, mr. president, whom you are about to remove?" "no, sir," replied general jackson; "i can't think of his name, but nat. green and ben. hallett have told me that he is an incompetent old new england hartford convention federalist." "mr. president," said colonel benton, "the man you propose to turn out is general miller, who fought so bravely at the battle of bridgewater." "what!" exclaimed general jackson, "not the brave miller who, when asked if he could take the british battery, exclaimed 'i'll try,'" "it is the same man, mr. president," responded benton. general jackson rang his bell, and when a servant appeared, said, "tell colonel donelson i want him, quick!" when the private secretary entered, the president said, "donelson, i want the name of the fellow i nominated for collector of salem withdrawn instantly. then write a letter to general miller and tell him that he shall be collector of salem as long as andrew jackson is president." learning that some of the pension agents had been withholding portions of the pensions due to revolutionary veterans, general jackson had the charges thoroughly investigated, and a list of the pensioners printed, showing what each one was entitled to receive. this disclosed the fact that some of the pension agents had been continuing to draw the pensions of deceased soldiers for years after their death, besides retaining portions of the pensions of others. robert temple, pension agent in vermont, on hearing of the proposed investigation, hastened to washington, where he endeavored to bribe a clerk to falsify the list made out for the printer. the clerk obtained from him a list of sixty names of deceased soldiers whose pensions he had continued to draw, and gave it to the secretary of war. temple, on learning this, committed suicide. there were a few veteran office-holders at washington, whose ancestors had been appointed under federal rule, but who had managed to veer around into jackson democracy. mr. webster, in speaking one day of a philadelphia family which had thus kept in place, said that they reminded him of simeon alleyn, vicar of bray, in old england, who steered his bark safely through four conflicting successive reigns. a bland gentleman, he was first a papist, then a protestant, next a papist, and lastly a protestant again. "he must have been at times," said mr. webster, "terribly confused between gowns and robes, and," continued the senator, "i can fancy him listening at his window to the ballad written on him, as trolled forth by some graceless varlets: "'to teach my flock i never missed; kings were by god appointed, and they are damned who dare resist or touch the lord's anointed; and this in law i will maintain until my dying day, sir, that whosoever king shall reign, i'll be the vicar of bray, sir.'" mr. webster was not only fond of repeating quotations from the old english poets, but also verses from the old sternhold and hopkins hymn-book, which he had studied in the salisbury meeting-house when a boy, and sometimes when alone he would sing, or rather chant, them in his deep voice, without a particle of melody. his favorite verses were the following translation of the xviiith psalm: "the lord descended from above, and bow'd the heavens high; and underneath his feet he cast the darkness of the sky. "on cherubs and on cherubims full royally he rode, and on the wings of all the winds came flying all abroad." late in the jackson administration, richard h. bayard came to washington as a senator from delaware, to fill a vacancy caused by the resignation of arnold naudain. he was the son of james asheton bayard, originally a stanch federalist, who had followed his father- in-law, richard bassett, as a senator from delaware, and whose vote had made thomas jefferson president of the united states instead of aaron burr. he had afterward been one of the commission which negotiated the treaty of ghent, and he educated his sons to succeed him in the senate, and in turn to qualify a grandson to represent his state in the upper branch of the national council. no one family has furnished so many united states senators, and they have all been inspired by the knightly courtesy of the bayard of the olden time, who was "without fear and without reproach." the democratic bayards were antagonized in jackson's time by the whig claytons, the other delaware chair in the united states senate having been occupied since by john middleton clayton. he was an accomplished lawyer, and one of the leaders of the whig party. under his direction delaware was a whig state, and had it been a larger one, mr. clayton would doubtless have been nominated to the vice-presidency, if not to the presidency. he was zealously devoted to his party, and when, later in life, a delegation waited on him to question some of his acts as not in accordance with whig principles, he rose, and drawing himself up to his full height, exclaimed: "what! unwhig me? me, who was a whig when you gentlemen were riding cornstalk horses in your fathers' barnyards?" the delegation asked his pardon for having doubted his party loyalty, and at once withdrew. james alfred pearce, of maryland, entered the house of representatives during the jackson administration, and was successively re-elected (with the exception of a single term) until he was transferred to the senate in , and served in that body until his death in . he was another "wheel horse" of the whig party, although he shrank from political controversy. his home friends, who were very proud of his reputation, brought him forward at one time as a candidate for the presidency. but he refused to permit his name to be used, on the ground that the burdens of the white house were too costly a price to pay for its honors. mr. pearce was a devoted friend of the congressional library, and during his long service on the committee having it in charge he selected the books purchased. in doing this he excluded all works calculated in his opinion to engender sectional differences, and when the _atlantic monthly_ was established he refused to order it for the library. he was the founder of the botanic garden, and the coast survey was another object of his especial attention and favor. mr. pearce's care in the choice of books was my no means a notion of his own. from the founding of the library it was the policy of many of its warmest friends to exclude every publication which would engender and foster sectional differences. they went on the principle of concealing difficulties, rather than of facing them squarely. very different is the broader policy now maintained in this great library, on whose shelves every copyrighted book of the united states now finds a place. mr. pearce was a type of the gentleman of the old school. tall, with a commanding figure, expressive features, blue eyes, and light hair, he was a brilliant conversationalist and a welcome guest at dinner. senator william c. preston, of south carolina, was not only one of the foremost orators in the senate, but a delightful conversationalist, with an inexhaustible fund of reminiscence and anecdote. one of his colleagues in the house of representatives, mr. warren r. davis, of the pendleton district, was equally famed as a story-teller, and when they met at a social board they monopolized the conversation, to the delight of the other guests, who listened with attention and with admiration. one evening--as the story is told--at a dinner-party, over the madeira and walnuts, which formed the invariable last course in those days, mr. preston launched forth in a eulogium on the extraordinary power of condensation, in both thought and expression, which characterized the ancient greek and latin languages, beyond anything of the kind in modern tongues. on it he literally "discoursed eloquent music," adorning it with frequent and apt illustration, and among other examples citing the celebrated admonition of the spartan mother to her warrior son on the eve of battle--"with your shield or upon it!" the whole party were delighted with the rich tones and the classic teachings of the gifted colloquist, except his equally gifted competitor for conversational laurels, who, notwithstanding his enforced admiration, sat uneasily under the prolonged disquisition, anxiously waiting for an opportunity to take his place in the picture. at length a titillation seizing the olfactory nerve of mr. preston, he paused to take a pinch of snuff, and mr. davis immediately filled up the _vacuum_, taking up the line of speech in this wise: "i have listened," said he, "with equal edification and pleasure to the classic discourse of our friend, sparkling with gems alike of intellect and fancy, but i differ from him _toto caelo_. he may say what he will as to the supreme vigor and condensation of thought and speech characteristic of classic greece and rome; but, for my part, i think there is nothing equal to our own _vernacular_ in these particulars, and i am fortunately able, although from a humble source, to give you a striking and conclusive example and illustration of the fact. "as i was returning home from congress, some years since, i approached a river in north carolina which had been swollen by a recent freshet, and observed a country girl fording it in a merry mood, and carrying a piggin of butter on her head. as i arrived at the river's edge the rustic naiad emerged from the watery element. 'my girl,' said i, 'how deep's the water and what's the price of butter?' 'up to your waist and nine pence,' was the prompt and significant response! let my learned friend beat that if he can, in brevity and force of expression, by aught to be found in all his treasury of classic lore!" a roar of laughter followed this humorous explosion, and a unanimous vote in favor of the _vernacular_ awarded the palm to the distinguished and successful wag over his classical but crest-fallen competitor. the first restaurant established in washington was by a frenchman named boulanger, who was a pupil of the famous chevet, of the palais royal at paris. his cozy establishment was on g street, just west of the war department, where he used to serve good cheer to general jackson, van buren, clay, sir charles vaughan, and other notables. his soups were gastronomic triumphs, and he was an adept in serving oysters, terrapin, reed-birds, quails, ortolan, and other delicacies in the first style of culinary perfection. his brandies, of his own importation, were of the choicest "bead and brand," and he obtained from alexandria some of the choice old madeira which had been imported before the revolution in return for cargoes of oak staves. boulanger did not cherish flattering recollections of general jackson's taste, but mr. van buren used to compliment his savory repasts and enjoy artistic cheer. the treasury department, which had been destroyed by fire, was rebuilt on a plan approved by president jackson. the eastern front, of virginia sandstone, was a colonnade copied from the temple of minerva pallas, at athens, three hundred and thirty-six feet long, with thirty ionic columns. the artist was robert mills, and he wished to set the building back some fifty feet from the line of the street, to give more effect to the architecture, but general jackson directed him to bring it forward to the building line of the street, and stuck his cane in the ground to show where this was. of course, he was obeyed. john quincy adams used to occasionally attend the theatre, and he was especially pleased with hackett as falstaff. hackett looked the fat knight well, and his face interpreted many of his remarks and situations explicitly. he delivered the soliloquy upon honor with fine effect, and the scenes at gad's hill with bardolph and his nose, with mrs. quickly, and with the prince when detected in his exaggeration, were very humorous and well pointed. when mr. hackett took his benefit it was announced that at the particular request of colonel david crockett, of tennessee, the comedian would appear on the boards in his favorite character of "nimrod wildfire," in the play called "the kentuckian; or, a trip to new york." this brought out a house full to overflowing. at seven o'clock the colonel was escorted by the manager through the crowd to a front seat reserved for him. as soon as he was recognized by the audience they made the very house shake with hurrahs for colonel crockett, "go ahead!" "i wish i may be shot!" "music! let us have crockett's march!" after some time the curtain rose, and hackett appeared in hunting costume, bowed to the audience, and then to colonel crockett. the compliment was reciprocated by the colonel, to the no small amusement and gratification of the spectators, and the play then went on. when hiram powers came to washington, on his way to italy, he was rather mortified by the remark of a jealous italian artist, who saw in him a rival: "when you have been ten years in italy, you may, perhaps, be able to chisel a little;" before, however, a fourth of that time had elapsed, powers had finished, from the rough marble block, the admirable bust of chief justice marshall which now graces the hall of the supreme court of the united states. among the visitors to washington early in was charles sumner, then a tall, slim, ungainly young man, twenty-three years of age, who was a student at law in boston, but not admitted to practice. he was introduced by his friend, mr. justice story, to chief justice marshall and justices thompson, duval, and mclean, and was invited to dine with them. it is not known whether justice story told him --as he told edmund quincy--that the court was so aesthetic that they denied themselves wine, except in wet weather. "but," added the commentator on the constitution, "what i say about wine, sir, gives you our rule, but it does sometimes happen that the chief justice will say to me, when the cloth is removed, 'brother story, step to the window and see if it does not look like rain.' if i tell him that the sun is shining, judge marshall will reply: 'all the better, for our jurisdiction extends over so large a territory that the doctrine of chances makes it certain that it must be raining somewhere, and it will be safe to take something.'" mr. sumner used to attend the sittings of the supreme court, which were commenced at eleven and generally lasted until half-past three. the senate and house of representatives met at noon and continued in session until four and sometimes five o'clock. the senate generally adjourned over from thursday until monday, and the house rarely sat on saturday. among those with whom young sumner became acquainted at washington was dr. francis lieber, a well-educated german, who had fought at waterloo. he was for more than twenty years a professor in the university of south carolina, vouched for as "sound on the slavery question," but he afterward became a bitter opponent of the south and of its "peculiar institution." he was a prolific contributor to the press, and he never hesitated about enlisting the services of friends and acquaintances when they could produce materials for his use. [facsimile] a. stevenson andrew stevenson was born in culpepper county, virginia, in ; was a representative from virginia in congress, - ; was minister to great britain, - ; died in albemarle county, virginia, january th, . chapter xiii. jackson's last year in the white house. mr. van buren, like his predecessor, mr. calhoun, suffered mental martyrdom while presiding over the senate as vice-president. his manner was bland, as he thumped with his mallet when the galleries were out of order, or declared that "the ayes have it," or, "the memorial is referred." he received his fusillade of snubs and sneers as the ghost of chreusa received the embraces of aeneas--he heeded them not. he leaned back his head, threw one leg upon the other, and sat as if he were a pleasant sculptured image, destined for that niche of his life. henry clay, then in his prime, was the champion of the united states bank in the senate. one day in debate he broke out in the most violent appeal to martin van buren, then presiding in the senate, to go to the president and represent to him the actual condition of the country. "tell him," said clay, "that in a single city more than sixty bankruptcies, involving a loss of upward of fifteen millions of dollars, have occurred. tell him of the alarming decline in the value of all property. tell him of the tears of helpless widows, no longer able to earn their bread, and of unclad and unfed orphans who have been driven by his policy out of the busy pursuits in which but yesterday they were gaining an honest livelihood." the centennial birthday of george washington was duly honored in the city which he had founded and which bore his name. divine services were performed at the capitol, and there was a dinner at brown's hotel, at which daniel webster prefaced the first toast in honor of the father of his country by an eloquent speech of an hour in length. in the evening there were two public balls--"one for the gentry at carusi's saloon, and the other for mechanics and tradesmen at the masonic temple." congress had proposed to pay signal homage to the memory of washington on the centennial anniversary of his birth by removing his remains to the crypt beneath the dome of the capitol. mr. custis, the grandson of mrs. washington, had given his assent, but john a. washington, then the owner of mount vernon, declined to permit the removal of the remains. congress purchased rembrandt peale's portrait of washington, and the house ordered a full length picture of him from vanderlyn, a celebrated new york artist. a commission was also given to horatio greenough for a colossal statue of washington in a sitting posture, to be placed on a high pedestal in the centre of the rotunda of the capitol. the washington national monument association, after consultation with men of acknowledged artistic taste, selected from among the numerous designs submitted a simple obelisk, five hundred feet in height, for the erection of which the american people began at once to contribute. when "the solid men of boston" ascertained that general jackson had actually signed the order for the removal of the deposits from the bank of the united states while enjoying their hospitalities they were very angry. not long afterward they learned that the united states frigate constitution, a boston-built vessel, which was being repaired at the charlestown navy yard, was to be ornamented with a full-length figure of general jackson as a figure-head. this was regarded as an insult, and the carver who was at work on the figure was requested to stop working on it. this he declined to do, and had his half-carved block of wood taken to the navy yard, where he completed his task under the protection of a guard of marines. when the figure-head was completed it was securely bolted to the cutwater of the constitution, which was then hauled out to her anchorage, and a vessel was stationed on either side of her. the bostonians grew more and more indignant, and finally a daring young mariner from cape cod, captain samuel dewey, determined that he would decapitate the obnoxious image. the night which he selected was eminently propitious, as a severe rain storm raged, accompanied by heavy thunder and sharp lightning. dewey sculled his boat with a muffled oar to the bow of the frigate, where he made it fast, and climbed up, protected by the head boards, only placed on the vessel the previous day. then, with a finely tempered saw, he cut off the head, and returned with it to boston, where a party of his friends were anxiously waiting for him at gallagher's hotel. he was at once made a lion of by the whigs, and commodore elliott was almost frantic with rage over the insult thus offered to his chief. dewey soon afterward went to washington, where he exhibited the grim features of the head to several leading whigs, and finally carried it, tied up in a bandana handkerchief, to the navy department. sending in his card to mr. mahlon dickerson, then the secretary of the navy, he obtained an audience. he was a short, chunky sailor- man, with resolute blue-gray eyes, which twinkled as he said, "have i the honor of addressing the secretary of the navy?" "you have," replied mr. dickerson, "and, as i am very busy, i will thank you to be brief." "mr. dickerson," said the captain, "i am the man who removed the figure-head from the constitution, and i have brought it here to restore it." secretary dickerson threw himself back in his chair and looked with astonishment at the man who had cast such an indignity on the administration. "well, sir," said he, in an angry tone, "you are the man who had the audacity to disfigure old ironsides?" "yes, sir, i took the responsibility." "well, sir, i will have you arrested immediately," and the secretary reached toward his bell to summon his messenger. "stop, mr. secretary," said captain dewey; "you, as a lawyer, know that there is no statute against defacing a ship-of-war, and all you can do is to sue me for trespass, and that in the county where the offense was committed. if you desire it, i will go back to middlesex county, massachusetts, and stand my trial." mr. dickerson reflected a moment and said: "you are right; and now tell me how you took away the head." dewey told his story, and the story goes that secretary dickerson asked him to wait while he stepped over to the white house, followed by a messenger carrying the head. when general jackson saw it, and heard the secretary's story, he burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. "why, that," he cried at length--"why, that is the most infernal graven image i ever saw. the fellow did perfectly right. you've got him, you say; well, give him a kick and my compliments, and tell him to saw it off again." dewey was after this frequently at washington, and he finally obtained the appointment of postmaster in a small virginia town. he used to have on his visiting cards the representation of a handsaw, under which was inscribed, "i came, i saw, i conquered." general jackson always liked the physical excitement of a horse- race, where a large assemblage thrills with but one thought from the word "go!" until the winning horse reaches the goal, and he was always to be seen at the races over the national course, just north of washington city. delegations of sporting men from the atlantic cities crowded into the metropolis during the race weeks; there were jockey-club dinners and jockey-club balls; and the course resounded to the footfalls of noted horses, especially boston, sir charles, emily, and blue dick. in general jackson had a filly of his own raising brought from the hermitage and entered for a race by major donelson, his private secretary. nor did he conceal his chagrin when the filly was beaten by an imported irish colt named langford, owned by captain stockton, of the navy, and he had to pay lost wagers amounting to nearly a thousand dollars, while mr. van buren and other devoted adherents who had bet on the filly were also losers. baillie peyton, of tennessee, used to narrate an amusing account of a visit which he made to the national race course with general jackson and a few others to witness the training of some horses for an approaching race. they went on horseback, general jackson riding his favorite gray horse, and wearing his high white fur hat with a broad band of black crape, which towered above the whole group. the general greatly enjoyed the trials of speed, until a horse named busiris began to rear and plunge. this stirred old hickory's mettle, and he rode forward to give some energetic advice to the jockey, but just then he saw that the vice-president was ambling along at his side on an easy-going nag. "mr. van buren," he exclaimed, "get behind me, sir! they will run over you, sir!" and the little magician, with his characteristic diplomacy, which never gave offense, gracefully retired to the rear of his chief, which, mr. peyton used to say, was his place. president jackson used to visit his stable every morning, until he became feeble, and he paid especial attention to the manner in which his horses were shod. he never, after he became president, played cards or billiards, nor did he read anything except the _daily globe_ and his private correspondence. when he received a letter that he desired one of his cabinet to read, he would indorse on the back "_sec. of_ ----, a. j." he used to smoke a great deal, using either a new clay pipe with a long stem, or a pipe made from a piece of corn-cob, with a reed stem. cock-fighting had been one of general jackson's favorite home amusements, and he had become the possessor of a breed of fowl that was invincible in tennessee. he had some of these pugnacious birds brought to washington, and one spring morning he rode out toward bladensburg, with a select party of friends, to see "a main" fought between the hermitage and the annapolis cocks. the birds were not only trained to fight, but were equipped for their bloody work. their heads and necks were plucked, their tail feathers were closely trimmed, and their natural spurs were cut off and replaced by "gaffs," or sharp blades of finely tempered steel. each bird had his trainer, ready to administer stimulants and to sponge the blood from the wounds inflicted by the gaffs. general jackson was very confident that his favorites would again be victorious, but there was no fight, to the great disappointment of all present, who doubtless possessed what has been called "the devil's nerve," which thrills with base enjoyment in the visible pain of man, beast, or bird. the long confinement in coops on the stages, or some other unknown cause, appeared to have deprived the hermitage birds of their wonted pluck, and the annapolis cocks crowed in triumph. there was a grand wedding at arlington in jackson's time, when lieutenant robert edward lee, fresh from west point, came up from fortress monroe to marry the heiress of the estate, mary custis. old mr. custis was delighted with his soldier son-in-law, whose father had said of washington that he was "first in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen." the marshalls, the carters, the fitzhughs, the taylors, and other "first families of virginia" were represented at the wedding, and the happy young couple went, after the ceremony, to old fortress monroe, where they resided for a while in a casement fitted up as officers' quarters. the next year lieutenant lee brought his bride back to arlington, which was their happy home until he was persuaded to enlist under the "stars and bars" of the southern confederacy. one of general jackson's favorites was jemmy maher, an irishman, whom he had appointed public gardener, a position of some responsibility in those days, when its holder had to look after the gardens at the white house, the capitol, and the departments. jemmy's father had been forced to flee to this country to avoid punishment for participation in the irish rebellion of ' , and the son regarded all englishmen as his foes. general jackson, who had "whipped the british" at new orleans, was the object of his especial adoration, especially as he used to forgive him when the superintendent of public buildings occasionally complained that he drank whisky rather too freely. "shure, mr. president," he would say, "i niver drink unless i am dry, and it would be mane in me not to invite me frinds to jine and take a drap with me." general jackson was not fond of the theatre, but he went to see the widely heralded performance of miss fanny kemble. the niece of mrs. siddons, and the daughter of charles kemble, she had been trained from early childhood to sustain the reputation of her distinguished theatrical family. a good-looking young woman, with large, dark eyes, a profusion of dark hair, a low forehead, and healthy strawberry-and-cream complexion, she was personally attractive, and wonderfully effective. every movement, gesture, and inflection of voice had been carefully studied, and when making an ordinary remark in conversation she would deliver her words with a deliberate attempt at stage effect. her juliet with her father's romeo, was her best character, but they failed signally as lady teazle and charles surface in the _school for scandal_. miss kemble did not remain long on the american stage, as she became the wife of mr. pierce butler, a wealthy slave-owner, in . the next year her _journal_ appeared, in which she criticised what she had seen and heard with a free hand, but "'twas pretty fanny's way," and no one got angry over her silly twaddle. one of the fair author's predictions concerning the fate of our polity yet awaits fulfillment. "it is my conviction," said she, "that america will be a monarchy before i am a skeleton." fifty years have passed since these words were written, and the prophetess has developed into a portly matron, anything but a skeleton, and very unlike the slender miss of jackson's time. when jefferson was president, the agricultural town of cheshire, in western massachusetts, which had been drilled by its democratic pastor, named leland, into the unanimous support of the sage of monticello, determined to present him with the biggest cheese that had ever been seen. so on a given day every cow-owner brought his quota of freshly made curd to a large cider-press, which had been converted into a cheese-press, and in which a cheese was pressed that weighted one thousand six hundred pounds. it was brought to washington in the following winter on a sled, under the charge of parson leland, and in the name of the people of cheshire, was formally presented to president jefferson in the then unfinished east room. jefferson, of course, returned thanks, and after having a great wedge cut from the cheese, to send back to the donors, he invited all present to help themselves. the cheese was variegated in appearance, owing to so many dairies having contributed the curd, but the flavor was pronounced the best ever tasted in washington. jackson's admirers thought that every honor which jefferson had ever received should be paid to him, so some of them, residing in a rural district of new york, got up, under the superintendence of a mr. meacham, a mammoth cheese for "old hickory." after having been exhibited at new york, philadelphia, and baltimore, it was kept for some time in the vestibule at the white house, and was finally cut at an afternoon reception on the d of february, . for hours did a crowd of men, women, and boys hack at the cheese, many taking large hunks of it away with them. when they commenced, the cheese weighted one thousand four hundred pounds, and only a small piece was saved for the president's use. the air was redolent with cheese, the carpet was slippery with cheese, and nothing else was talked about at washington that day. even the scandal about the wife of the president's secretary of war was forgotten in the tumultuous jubilation of that grand occasion. general jackson received that day for the last time at the white house, and was so feeble that he had to remain seated. mrs. donelson stood on one side, and on the other was van buren, who was inaugurated as president a fortnight later. [facsimile] your obt. sert. william r. king william rufus king was born in north carolina, april st, ; was a representative in congress from alabama from november th, , until he resigned to accompany william pinkney to russia as secretary of legation, april d, ; was united states senator from alabama from march th, , until he resigned to go as minister to france, april th, ; was again united states senator from december th, to march th, ; was elected vice- president on the pierce ticket in , as a democrat, receiving two hundred and fifty-four electoral votes, against forty-two electoral votes for w. r. graham, a whig; having gone to europe for his health, he took the oath of office near havana, march th, ; returning to his home at catawba, alabama, where he died, april th, , the day following his arrival. chapter xiv. van buren's stormy administration. while the electoral votes for the eighth president of the united states were being counted, in the presence of the two houses of congress, senator clay remarked to the vice-president van buren, with courteous significance, "it is a cloudy day, sir!" "the sun will shine on the th of march, sir!" was the little magician's confident reply. the prediction was fulfilled, for on van buren's inaugural morning, march th, , the sun shone brightly, and there was not a cloud to be seen. washington was crowded with strangers from all parts of the country, and in anticipation of the time set for the ceremony great numbers began to direct their way at an early hour to the capitol. congregating before the eastern portico of the capitol, the dense mass of humanity reminded those who had traveled abroad of the assembled multitude in front of st. peter's on easter sunday waiting to receive the papal blessing. president jackson and president-elect van buren were escorted from the white house to the capitol by a volunteer brigade of cavalry and infantry and by several democratic political organizations. general jackson and his successor rode in an elegant phaeton, constructed of oak from the original timber of the frigate constitution. it had been made at amherst, massachusetts, and was presented by sixty admirers. it had one seat, holding two persons, and a high box for the driver in front, bordered with a deep hammer- cloth. the unpainted wood was highly polished, and its fine grain was brought out by a coat of varnish, while on a panel on either side was a representation of "old ironsides" under full sail. the phaeton was drawn by general jackson's four iron-grey carriage- horses, with elaborate brass-mounted harness. arriving at the capitol, general jackson and mr. van buren went to the senate chamber, where they witnessed colonel johnson take his oath of office as vice-president. they then repaired to a platform erected over the steps of the eastern portico, followed by the diplomatic corps, the senators, and the principal executive officers. a cheer greeted the old hero, who had risen from a sick-bed, against the protest of his physician, that he might grace the scene, and a smile of satisfaction lit up his wan, stern features as he stood leaning on his cane with one hand and holding with the other his crape-bound white fur hat, while he acknowledged the compliment paid him by a succession of bows. mr. van buren then advanced to the front of the platform, and with impressive dignity read in a clear, distinct voice his inaugural address. his manner and emphasis were excellent, yet the effect upon the multitude was not what might have been expected from so great a collection of men devoted to his support. when he had concluded chief justice taney administered the oath of office, and no sooner had van buren kissed the bible, as a pledge of his assent, than general jackson advanced and shook him cordially by the hand. the other dignitaries on the platform followed with their congratulations, the populace cheered, and the bands played "hail to the chief!" president van buren and ex-president jackson were then escorted back to the white house, where for three hours a surging tide of humanity swept past the new chief magistrate, congratulating him on his inauguration. the assemblage was a promiscuous one, and the reception was as disorderly an affair as could well be imagined. at four o'clock in the afternoon the members of the diplomatic corps called in a body, wearing their court dresses, and don calderon de la barca, who was their dean, presented a congratulatory address. in his reply, mr. van buren made his only known _lapsus linguae_ by addressing them as the "democratic corps." it was not until after his attention had been called to the mistake that he corrected himself, and stated that he had intended to say "diplomatic corps." in that evening two inauguration balls were given. many strangers had been unable to find conveyances to take them away and could not obtain lodging places. it was interesting, toward nightfall, to witness the gathering anxiety in many a good citizen's countenance as he went from boarding-house to hotel, and from hotel to private residence, seeking lodgings in vain. money could indeed procure the most luxurious dishes and the rarest beverages; but while the palate could be gratified there was no rest for weary limbs. "beds! beds! beds!" was the general cry. hundreds slept in the market-house on bundles of hay, and a party of distinguished bostonians passed the night in the shaving-chairs of a barber's shop. general jackson soon left for tennessee, relieved from the cares of the presidential station, and exhibiting an unwonted gaiety of spirit. during the previous winter he had not expected to live until the conclusion of his term, and he could but feel buoyant and happy in finding himself sufficiently recovered to undertake the journey, with the prospect of enjoying some years at the hermitage, in the midst of the agricultural occupations of which he was so fond. president van buren was the first president who had not been born a british subject, yet he was at heart a monarchist, opposed to universal suffrage, and in favor of a strong central government, although he had reached his exalted position by loud professions of democracy. he endeavored to establish a personal intimacy with every one presented to him, and he ostensibly opened his heart for inspection. the tone of his voice was that of a thorough frankness, accompanied by a pleasant smile, but a fixed expression at the corners of his mouth and the searching look of his keen eyes showed that he believed, with talleyrand, that language was given to conceal thought. he found himself saddled at the commencement of his administration with national financial embarrassments, bequeathed as a legacy by his "illustrious predecessor," as he designated general jackson in one of his messages. the destruction of the united states bank had forced the transfer of the national funds, which it had held on deposit, to the state banks. they had loaned these funds on securities, often of doubtful value or worthless, and when the day of reckoning came general bankruptcy ensued. manufacturers were obliged to discharge their workmen; provisions were scarce and dear in the atlantic states, because funds could not be obtained for the removal eastward of the western crops; and there was much actual distress in the large cities on the sea coast. to quiet the popular clamor, president van buren convened congress in an extra session, and in his message to that body on its assembling he proposed the establishment of an independent treasury, with sub- treasuries in different cities, for the safe keeping of the public money, entirely separate from the banks. the whigs opposed this independent treasury scheme, but, to the surprise of those with whom he had of late been politically affiliated, it received the cordial support of mr. calhoun. when congress began to discuss this measure, he became its champion in the senate, and soon "locked horns" with mr. clay, who led its opponents. the debate was continued session after session, and in time messrs. clay and calhoun passed from their discussion of national finances into an acrimonious reciprocal review of the acts, votes, and motions of each other during the preceding thirty years. during the debate in the house on the bill authorizing the issue of treasury notes there was an all-night session. the democrats had determined in caucus to "sit out the bill," and whenever a whig moved to adjourn his motion was promptly negatived. as darkness came on the lamps were lighted and trimmed, candles were brought into the hall, and the older and feebler members "pairing off," took their cloaks and hats and left. the house being in committee of the whole, whenever they found no quorum voting, were obliged by the parliamentary usage to rise and report that fact to the house. when this was done, and the house was again in session as a house, behold, a quorum instantly appeared; and then, by the same law, they were obliged to return into committee again. this happened so often that at length gentlemen of the administration side became irritated, remonstrated, demanded that members should be counted in their seats, whether they had voted or no, and at length came to insist that individuals, by name, be compelled to vote. such a motion having been made in one case, a voice cried out in the confusion which filled the chamber: "how are you going to do it?" and the query was succeeded by shouts of laughter, mingled with sounds of vexation. as midnight approached it was curious to watch the various effects produced by the scene on different temperaments. some yawned fearfully; others cursed and swore; others shook their sides with merriment; others reasoned and remonstrated with their neighbors; some very composedly stretched themselves upon the sofas, having first borrowed chair-cushions enough to support their somnolent heads; other bivouacked on three chairs, while some, not finding a convenient couch, stretched themselves flat on the floor of the house, with, perhaps, a volume of the laws of the united states as their pillow. at half-past one a call of the house was ordered, the doors were closed, and one hundred and forty-nine members were found to be present. this house went into committee of the whole to come out of it again, and the yeas and nays were called until the clerk grew hoarse. thus rolled the hours away. candles burned down to their sockets, forming picturesque grottoes of spermaceti as they declined; lamps went out in suffocating fumes. some insisted on having a window up, others on having it down. when the morning light began to dawn through the large south windows of the representatives' hall, it contrasted strongly with the glare of lights, the smoke of the lamps, and all the crowded tumult within. at four o'clock the sergeant-at-arms arrived with corwin, giddings, and a dozen other captured absentees, who were, one by one, required to account for their absence by the speaker, who would say: "mr. a. b., you have absented yourself from the house during its sittings, contrary to law, and without leave of the house; what excuse have you to offer?" and then the unfortunate men made out the best story they could. some had been sick; others had a sick wife; others had got a bad headache from the late session; some had witnessed such night scenes on former occasions, and did not wish to see the like again; one had told the sergeant that he would come if he would send a hack for him, and no hack had been sent; while one very cavalierly informed the house that the reason why he had been absent was that he had not been there. many were excused altogether; others discharged from custody on paying their fines (about two dollars each to the sergeant for his fee of arrest). one batch having thus been disposed of, the officer was dispatched to make another haul, and in the meantime the old game was continued; and, as neither party would yield, the unprofitable contest was prolonged, not till broad daylight merely, but down to eleven o'clock, when, all propositions of compromise having been rejected, the debate was regularly renewed. finally, at a quarter before five o'clock, the house adjourned, quite fagged out. among other evidences of the bitter and ferocious spirit which characterized political contests in those days was the duel between representative cilley, of maine, and representative grimes, of kentucky, in which the former fell. mr. cilley, in a speech delivered in the house of representatives, criticised a charge of corruption brought against some unnamed congressman in a letter published in the new york _courier and enquirer_, over the signature of "a spy in washington," and indorsed in the editorial columns of that paper. mr. james watson webb, the editor of the _courier and enquirer_, immediately visited washington and sent a challenge to mr. cilley by mr. graves, with whom he had but a slight acquaintance. mr. cilley declined to receive the hostile communication from mr. graves, without making any reflection on the personal character of mr. webb. mr. graves then felt himself bound by the unwritten code of honor to espouse the cause of mr. webb, and challenged mr. cilley himself. this challenge was accepted, and the preliminaries were arranged between mr. henry a. wise, as the second of mr. graves, and mr. george w. jones, as the second of mr. cilley. rifles were selected as the weapons, and mr. graves found difficulty in obtaining one, but was finally supplied by his friend, mr. rives, of the _globe_. the parties met, the ground was measured, and the combatants were placed; on the fourth fire mr. cilley fell, shot through the body, and died almost instantly. mr. graves, on seeing his antagonist fall, expressed a desire to render him some assistance, but was told by mr. jones, "my friend is dead, sir!" mr. cilley, who left a wife and three young children, was a popular favorite, and his tragic end caused a great excitement all over the country. mr. wise was generally blamed for having instigated the encounter; certainly he did not endeavor to prevent it. the capitol had its comedies as well as its tragedies, and the leading comedian was thomas corwin, a representative from ohio, who was a type of early western culture and a born humorist. he was a middle-sized, somewhat stout man, with pleasing manners, a fine head, sparkling hazel eyes, and a complexion so dark that on several occasions--as he used to narrate with great glee--he was supposed to be of african descent. "there is no need of my working," said he, "for whenever i cannot support myself in ohio, all i should have to do would be to cross the river, give myself up to a kentucky negro-trader, be taken south, and sold for a field hand." he always had a story ready to illustrate a subject of conversation, and the dry manner in which he enlivened his speeches by pungent witticism, without a smile on his own stolid countenance, was irresistible. he was once addressing a whig mass meeting at marietta, ohio, and was taking especial pains not to say anything that could offend the abolitionists, who were beginning to throw a large vote. a sharp witted opponent, to draw him out asked: "shouldn't niggers be permitted to sit at the table with white folks, on steamboats and at hotels?" "fellow-citizens," exclaimed corwin, his swarthy features beaming with suppressed fun, "i ask you whether it is proper to ask such a question of a gentleman of my color?" the crowd cheered and the questioner was silenced. [facsimile] m. van buren martin van buren was born at kinderhook, new york, december th, ; was a united states senator from new york from december d, , to december th, , when he resigned to accept the office of governor of new york; this position he resigned on the th of march, , having been appointed by president jackson secretary of state of the united states; this position he resigned august st, , having been appointed by president jackson minister to great britain, but the senate rejected his nomination; was elected vice-president on the jackson ticket in ; was elected president in ; was defeated as the democratic candidate for president in ; was the candidate of the anti-slavery party for president in , and died at kinderhook, new york, july th, . chapter xv. commencement of the anti-slavery movement. it was during the administration of mr. van buren that the english abolitionists first began to propagate their doctrines in the northern states, where the nucleus of an anti-slavery party was soon formed. this alarmed the southerners, who, under the lead of mr. calhoun, threatened disunion if their "peculiar institution" was not let alone. the gifted south carolinian having in january, , paid a high compliment in debate to john randolph for his uncompromising hostility to the missouri compromise, mr. clay said: "i well remember the compromise act and the part taken in that discussion by the distinguished member from virginia, whose name has been mentioned, and whose death i most sincerely lament. at that time we were members of the other house. upon one occasion, during a night session, another member from virginia, through fatigue and the offensive exhalations from one of the surrounding lamps, fainted in his seat and was borne to the rear of the representatives' hall. calling some one to the speaker's chair, i left my place to learn the character and extent of his illness. returning to the desk, i was met in one of the aisles by mr. randolph, to whom i had not spoken for several weeks. 'ah, mr. speaker,' said he, 'i wish you would leave congress and go to kentucky. i will follow you there or anywhere else.' i well understood what he meant, for at that time a proposition had been made to the southern members, and the matter partly discussed by them, of leaving congress in the possession of the northern members and returning home, each to his respective constituents. i told mr. randolph that i could not then speak to him about the matter, and requested him to meet me in the speaker's room early the next morning. with his usual punctuality he came. we talked over the compromise act, he defending his favorite position and i defending mine. we were together an hour, but to no purpose. through the whole he was unyielding and uncompromising to the last. we parted, shook hands, and promised to be good friends, and i never met him again during the session. such," continued mr. clay, "was the part mr. randolph took in that discussion, and such were his uncompromising feelings of hostility to the north and all who did not believe with him. his acts came near shaking this union to the centre and desolating this fair land. the measures before us now, and the unyielding and uncompromising spirit are like then, and tend to the same sad and dangerous end--dissolution and desolation, disunion and ruin." on the same day, in , mr. webster gave in his opinion that congress had the power to abolish slavery in the district of columbia. that power, he said, was granted in the most express, explicit, and undoubted terms. it declared that congress should have "exclusive jurisdiction over all subjects whatsoever in the district of columbia." mr. webster said that he had searched and listened for some argument or some law to controvert this position. he had read and studied carefully the act of cession of the ten miles square from maryland and virginia, and he could find nothing there, and nowhere else, to gainsay the plain and express letter of the constitution. this inspired the abolitionists with hope that mr. webster would become the leader of the crusade against slavery that they had decided to inaugurate. at that time he unquestionably leaned toward emancipation, not only in the district of columbia, but everywhere in the united states. this was noticed by the southern leaders, who began to tempt him--with promises of support for the presidency--promises which were subsequently broken again and again that a more subservient and available tool might be placed in power. before allying himself with the south, mr. webster endeavored to identify himself with the west by investing largely in a city laid out on paper in a township in rock island county, illinois. it was at the mouth of rock river, and it was to have borne the name of rock island city. fletcher webster went out there and remained for a time, i think, accompanied by his friend, george curson. caleb cushing was also interested in the embryo city, but somehow it was not a success. mr. webster had, however, a very vague idea of the "great west" of his day. on one occasion when he was in the senate a proposition was before it to establish a mail-route from independence, mo., to the mouth of the columbia river, some three thousand miles, across plains and mountains, about the extent of which the public then knew no more than they did of the interior of tibet. mr. webster, after denouncing the measure generally, closed with a few remarks concerning the country at large. "what do we want?" he exclaimed, "with this vast, worthless area? this region of savages and wild beasts, of deserts of shifting sands and whirlwinds of dust, of cactus and prairie dogs? to what use could we ever hope to put these great deserts, of those endless mountain ranges, impenetrable and covered to their very base with eternal snow? what can we ever hope to do with the western coast, a coast of three thousand miles, rock-bound, cheerless, uninviting, and not a harbor on it? what use have we for this country?" franklin pierce, who had served two terms in the house of representatives, was then elected to the senate. he proved a valuable recruit for the southern ranks, as when in the house he had risen one day to a question of privilege, and warmly resented the reading by mr. calhoun in the senate of an article from the concord _herald of freedom_, which declared that the abolitionists in new hampshire were as one to thirty. this journal, mr. pierce said, "was too insignificant, too odious, in the eyes of his constituents, to be cited as authority. no age or country had ever been free from fanatics, and with equal justice might the whole people of new york be charged with being followers of matthias as the people of new hampshire for favoring the designs of the knapps and garrisons and thompsons." sergeant smith prentiss, who came to washington during the van buren administration to claim a seat in congress as a representative from mississippi, was the most eloquent speaker that i have ever heard. the lame and lisping boy from maine had ripened, under the southern sun, into a master orator. the original, ever-varying, and beautiful imagery with which he illustrated and enforced his arguments impressed webster, clay, everett, and even john quincy adams. but his forte lay in arraigning his political opponents, when his oratory was "terrible as an army with banners;" nothing could stand against the energy of his look, gesture, and impassioned logic, when once he was fairly under way, in denouncing the tricks and selfish cunning of mere party management. the printed reports of his speeches are mere skeletons, which give but a faint idea of them. even the few rhetorical passages that are retained have lost much of their original form and beauty. the professional stenographers confessed themselves utterly baffled in the attempt to report him, and he was quite as unfitted to report himself. indeed, he complained that he never could reproduce the best thoughts, still less the exact language, of his speeches. the principal antagonist of mr. prentiss, in the courts of mississippi, was joseph holt, a young kentucky lawyer, who had acquired a national reputation for oratory by a speech which he made in the national democratic convention of , when he advocated the nomination of colonel richard m. johnson in a speech of great beauty and power. his arguments were persuasive, the tones of his voice were melodious, and he insinuated himself and his cause into the hearts of his audience, rather than carried them by storm. devoted to the south and its peculiar institution, he was welcomed in the state of mississippi, and soon took a prominent position at the bar of its higher courts. william rufus king, of alabama, who was elected president _pro tempore_ of the senate while colonel johnson was vice-president, was a prim, spare bachelor, known among his friends as "miss nancy king." when a young man he had accompanied the minister to russia, william pinkney, to st. petersburg, as secretary of the legation of the united states. residing there for two years, he acquired the formal manners of the court of the emperor alexander, with a diplomatic craftiness which he always retained. he was a courteous presiding officer, as was thus oddly exemplified while he occupied the chair. the two senators from the state of arkansas pronounced the name of their state differently. mr. king punctiliously observed the difference, invariably recognizing one as "the gentleman from ar-kan-sas," and the other as "the gentleman from ark-an-sas." mr. van buren was much exercised by a difficulty in the pennsylvania legislature, which the state militia was called out to quell, and which it was thought might result in a demand for the intervention of united states troops. thaddeus stevens, then an ardent whig, was a leader in the attempt to force eleven illegally elected members into the house at the point of the bayonet, the troops having their muskets loaded with buckshot. when the enterprise collapsed, stevens jumped from a back window of the capitol and ran off to gettysburg, where he remained without claiming his seat for about a month, when he came in and offered to take the oath, but the house resolved, with great solemnity, that the seat was vacant, although others who had been out nearly as long were admitted without hesitation. a prominent young virginia lawyer, named william smith, who practiced at culpepper court-house, became interested in a mail-route between washington city and milledgeville, georgia, and he grew to be an extensive contractor. many of his mail-routes were but little more than bridle-paths, over which the mails were carried on horseback. with an eye to the main chance, and with a laudable desire to extend the mail facilities of virginia, mr. smith managed to secure a large number of "expeditions" through parson obadiah bruin brown, commonly called "parson obadiah bruin beeswax brown," the superintendent of the contract office of the post-office department. in place of the horseback system stage lines would be substituted, and this service would be frequently "expedited" without much of a view to "productiveness," from one trip to three or six trips per week. all of these "expeditions" were noted by stars (* *) at the bottom of smith's vouchers, which, interpreted, meant "extra allowance." so frequently did these stars appear in the virginia contractor's accounts that he soon came to be known in the post-office department as "extra billy" smith, and it adhered to him in after life, when he became a member of the house of representatives and afterward governor of virginia. he still lives at warrenton, a hale and hearty old man. mr. van buren had an abundance of political nicknames. he was "the sweet little fellow" of mr. ritchie of the _richmond inquirer_, and "the northern man with southern principles" of the _charleston courier;_ mr. clinton baptized him "the political grimalkin;" mr. calhoun, "the weazel;" while he helped himself to the still less flattering name of "the follower in the footsteps"--that is, the successor of his predecessor, a sort of masculine _madame blaize_, "who strove the neighborhood to please, with manners wondrous winning, and never followed wicked ways, except when she was sinning." who clad all the hungry and naked office-holders "that left a pledge behind" of supporting him; and, like that good dame, led the way to all those who came behind her. the southern nullifiers, who had been "squelched" by general jackson, began to revive under the more genial rule of mr. van buren, and they established an "organ" called the washington _chronicle_. it was edited by richard k. cralle, who came from leesburg, virginia. he was a well-educated gentleman, ultra in his opinions on free trade and southern rights; but those who were enthusiastic in their praises of his editorials did not subscribe to the _chronicle_, or if they did, never condescended to pay their subscriptions. so the paper ruined its printers and then gave up the ghost, mr. calhoun securing a department clerkship for mr. cralle. [facsimile] tristram burgess tristram burgess was born at rochester, massachusetts, february th, ; was a representative in congress from rhode island from december st, , until march d, ; was defeated as the whig candidate for congress, and afterward as the whig candidate for governor, and died at providence, rhode island, october th, . chapter xvi. social and political life at washington. president van buren's wife (by birth miss hannah hoes, of columbia county, new york) had been dead nineteen years when he took possession of the white house, accompanied by his four sons, and presided over the official receptions and dinner parties with his well-known tact and politeness. in the november following his inauguration, his eldest son and private secretary, colonel abraham van buren (who was a graduate of the military academy at west point, and who had served on the staff of general worth), was married to miss angelica singleton, a wealthy south carolina lady, who had been educated at philadelphia, and who had passed the preceding winter at washington in the family of her relative, senator preston. on the new year's day succeeding the wedding mrs. van buren, assisted by the wives of the cabinet officers, received with her father-in-law, the president. her rare accomplishments, superior education, beauty of face and figure, grace of manner, and vivacity in conversation insured social success. the white house was refurnished in the most expensive manner, and a code of etiquette was established which rivaled that of a german principality. the president endeavored to restore the good feeling between the administration and washington "society," which had been ruptured during the political rule of general jackson. he gave numerous entertainments at the white house, and used to attend those given by his cabinet, which was regarded as an innovation, as his predecessors had never accepted social invitations. ex-president adams, the widow of president madison, and the widow of alexander hamilton each formed the centre of a pleasant coterie, and the president was open in the expression of his desire that the members of his cabinet and their principal subordinates should each give a series of dinner-parties and evening receptions during the successive sessions of congress. the dinner-parties were very much alike, and those who were in succession guests at different houses often saw the same table ornaments, and were served by the same waiters, while the fare was prepared by the same cook. the guests used to assemble in the parlor, which was almost invariably connected with the dining-room by large folding doors. when the dinner was ready the doors were thrown open, and the table was revealed, laden with china and cut- glass ware. a watery compound called vegetable soup was invariably served, followed by boiled fish, overdone roast beef or mutton, roast fowl or game in season, and a great variety of puddings, pies, cakes, and ice-creams. the fish, meat, and fowl were carved and helped by the host, while the lady of the house distributed the vegetables, the pickles, and the dessert. champagne, without ice, was sparingly supplied in long, slender glasses, but there was no lack of sound claret, and with the dessert several bottles of old madeira were generally produced by the host, who succinctly gave the age and history of each. the best madeira was that labeled "the supreme court" as their honors, the justices, used to make a direct importation every year, and sip it as they consulted over the cases before them every day after dinner, when the cloth had been removed. some rare specimens of this wine can still be found in washington wine-cellars. at the evening parties the carpet was lifted from the room set apart for dancing, and to protect the dancers from slipping the floor was chalked, usually in colors. the music was almost invariably a first and second violin, with flute and harp accompaniments. light refreshments, such as water-ices, lemonade, negus, and small cakes were handed about on waiters between every two or three dances. the crowning glory of the entertainment, however, was the supper, prepared under the supervision of the hostess, aided by some of her intimate friends, who also loaned their china and silverware. the table was covered with _a la mode_ beef, cold roast turkey, duck, and chicken, fried and stewed oysters, blanc- mange, jellies, whips, floating islands, candied oranges, and numerous varieties of tarts and cakes. very often the older men would linger after the ladies had departed, and even reassemble with those, and discuss the wines _ad libitum_, if not _ad nauseam_, while the young men, after having escorted the ladies to their respective homes, would meet again at some oyster-house or go out on a lark, in imitation of the young english bloods in the favorite play of tom and jerry. singing, or rather shouting, they would break windows, wrench off knockers, call up doctors, and transpose sign-boards; nor was there a night watchman to interfere with their roistering. a decided sensation was created at washington during the van buren administration by the appearance there of a handsome and well- educated italian lady, who called herself america vespucci and claimed descent from the navigator who gave his name to this continent. ex-president adams and daniel webster became her especial friends, and she was soon a welcome guest in the best society. in a few weeks after her arrival she presented a petition to congress asking, first, to be admitted to the rights of citizenship; and, secondly, to be given "a corner of land" out of the public domain of the country which bore the name of her ancestor. an adverse report, which was soon made, is one of the curiosities of congressional literature. it eulogized the petitioner as "a young, dignified, and graceful lady, with a mind of the highest intellectual culture, and a heart beating with all our own enthusiasm in the cause of america and human liberty." the reasons why the prayer of the petitioner could not be granted were given, but she was commended to the generosity of the american people. "the name of america-- our country's name--should be honored, respected, and cherished in the person of the interesting exile from whose ancestor we derive the great and glorious title." a subscription was immediately opened by mr. haight, the sergeant- at-arms of the senate, and judges, congressmen, and citizens vied with one another in their contributions. just then it was whispered that madame vespucci had borne an unenviable reputation at florence and at paris, and had been induced by a pecuniary consideration to break off an intimacy with the duke of orleans, louis philippe's oldest son, and come to washington. soon afterward the duke's younger brother, the prince de joinville, came to this country, and refused to recognize her, which virtually excluded her from reputable society. for some years subsequently she resided in luxurious seclusion with a wealthy citizen of new york, in the interior of that state, and after his death she returned to paris. during the van buren administration james p. espy came to washington to initiate what has grown into the weather signal service. he was a pennsylvanian by birth, and so poor in early life that when seventeen years of age he had not been able to learn to read. he subsequently mastered the english language and the classics, and long before he knew why began to study the mystery of the moving clouds and to form his storm theories. at last he asked of congress an appropriation of five thousand dollars a year for five years, but he was met with jibes and ridicule. senator preston, of south carolina, said espy was a madman, too dangerous to be at large, and the senator would vote a special appropriation for a prison in which to confine him. espy was in the senate gallery at the time. wounded to the quick, he left the capital and went to new york, where he delivered a course of lectures with great success. they were repeated in boston, and he made money enough to enable him to visit europe. not long after reaching liverpool, january th, , a great storm occurred. he went to lloyd's, consulted the newspapers as they arrived, noted the direction of the wind as given at different places, and from these data constructed the first great storm map ever prepared, with the hour points marked. every line and curve and point exemplified his theory. he was at no loss now for audiences. he appeared before the british association of scientists at london, at which sir john herschel was present, an interested auditor. he crossed the channel to paris, and the academy of sciences appointed a committee, composed of the illustrious arago, "to report upon his observations and theory." the effect of this report, when it reached washington, was not much different from that which followed, afterward, the announcement of morse's first transmitted message over the wire from washington to baltimore. aided by general jackson and the "machinery" of the democratic party, engineered by amos kendall, mr. van buren secured for himself the re-nomination for the presidency. but he had great obstacles to contend with. the financial condition of the country, deranged by the absence of the controlling power of the united states bank, grew worse and worse. there was a total stagnation of business throughout the union, and from every section came tidings of embarrassment, bankruptcy, and ruin. there were no available funds for the purchase of western produce and its transportation to the atlantic markets, so it remained in the hands of the farmers, who could not dispose of it except at great sacrifice. in ohio, for example, pork was sold at three dollars a hundred pounds, and wheat at fifty cents per bushel, while the price of agricultural labor was but thirty-seven and a-half cents a day. the campaign was carried on with great bitterness in congress, where the leading whigs cordially united in a decisive warfare on the democrats. general harrison was eulogized as a second cincinnatus --plowman, citizen, and general--and the sneering remark that he resided in a log-cabin was adopted as a partisan watch-word. the most notable speech was by mr. ogle, of pennsylvania, who elaborately reviewed the expensive furniture, china, and glassware which had been imported for the white house by order of president van buren. he dwelt on the gorgeous splendor of the damask window curtains, the dazzling magnificence of the large mirrors, chandeliers, and candelabra; the centre-tables, with their tops of italian marble; the satin-covered chairs, tabourets, and divans; the imperial carpets and rugs, and, above all, the service of silver, including a set of what he called gold spoons, although they were of silver- gilt. these costly decorations of the white house were described in detail, with many humorous comments, and then contrasted with the log-cabins of the west, where the only ornamentation, generally speaking, was a string of speckled birds'-eggs festooned about a looking-glass measuring eight by ten inches, and a fringed window curtain of white cotton cloth. having described the furniture and the table service of the white house, as purchased by direction of the president, mr. ogle proceeded to sketch van buren's new year receptions. "instead," said he, "of weekly receptions, when all the people were at liberty to partake of the good cheer of the president's house, there had been substituted one cold, stiff, formal, and ceremonious assembly on the first day of every year. at this annual levee, notwithstanding its pomp and pageantry, no expense whatever is incurred by the president personally. no fruits, cake, wine, coffee, hard cider, or other refreshments of any kind are tendered to his guests. indeed, it would militate against all the rules of court etiquette, now established at the palace, to permit vulgar eating and drinking on this grand gala day. the marine band, however, is always ordered from the navy yard and stationed in the spacious front hall, from whence they swell the rich saloons of the palace with 'hail to the chief!' 'wha'll be king but charley?' and other humdrum airs, which ravish with delight the ears of warriors who have never smelt powder. as the people's cash, and not his own, pays for all the services of the marine band, its employment at the palace does not conflict with the peculiar views of the president in regard to the obvious difference between public and private economy. "at these 'annual state levees,' the great doors of the 'east room,' 'blue elliptical saloon,' 'green drawing room,' and 'yellow drawing room' are thrown open at twelve o'clock 'precisely' to the anxious feet of gayly appareled noblemen, honorable men, gentlemen, and ladies of all the nations and kingdoms of the earth, many of whom appear ambitiously intent upon securing an early recognition from the head of the mansion. the president, at the 'same instant of time,' assumes his station about four feet within the 'blue elliptical saloon,' and facing the door which looks out upon the spacious front hall, but is separated from it, as before remarked, by a screen of ionic columns. he is supported on the right and left by the marshal of the district of columbia and by one of the high officers of the government. the marine band having been assigned their position at the eastern end of the hall, with all their fine instruments in full tune, 'at the same identical moment' strike up one of our most admired 'national airs;' and forthwith a current of life flows in at the wide-spread outer door of the palace, and glides with the smoothness of music through the spacious hall by the ionic screen into the royal presence. here (to drop for a moment my liquid figure) each and every individual is presented and received with a gentle shake of the hand, and is greeted with that 'smile eternal' which plays over the soft features of mr. van buren, save when he calls to mind how confoundedly 'old tip' chased, caught, and licked proctor and tecumseh. immediately after the introduction or recognition the current sets toward the 'east room' and thus this stream of living men and women continues to flow and flow and flow, for about the space of three hours--the 'democratic president' being the only orb around which all this pomp, pride, and parade revolve. to him all these lesser planets turn, 'as the sunflower turns' to the sun, and feel their colors brightened when a ray of favor or a 'royal smile' falls upon them." [facsimile] w. l. marcy william learned marcy was born at sturbridge, massachusetts, december th, ; was united states senator from new york from december th, , to july, , when he resigned; was governor of the state of new york, - ; was secretary of war under president polk, march th, , to march d, ; was secretary of state under president pierce, march th, , to march th, , and died at ballston spa, new york, july th, . chapter xvii. the log cabin and hard cider campaign. the presidential campaign of surpassed in excitement and intensity of feeling all which had preceded it, and in these respects it has not since been equaled. it having been sneeringly remarked by a democratic writer that general harrison lived in a log cabin and had better remain there, the whigs adopted the log cabin as one of their emblems. log cabins were raised everywhere for whig headquarters, some of them of large size, and almost every voting precinct had its tippecanoe club with its choristers. for the first time in our land the power of song was invoked to aid a presidential candidate, and immense editions of log cabin song-books were sold. many of these songs were parodies on familiar ballads. one of the best compositions, the authorship of which was ascribed to george p. morris, the editor of the new york _mirror_, was a parody on the old oaken bucket. the first verse ran: "oh! dear to my soul are they days of our glory, the time-honored days of our national pride; when heroes and statesmen ennobled our story, and boldly the foes of our country defied; when victory hung o'er our flag, proudly waving, and the battle was fought by the valiant and true for our homes and our loved one, the enemies braving, oh! then stood the soldier of tippecanoe-- the iron-armed soldier, the true-hearted soldier the gallant old soldier of tippecanoe." mass conventions were held by the whigs in the larger cities and in the central towns at the great west. they were attended by thousands, who came from the plow, the forge, the counter, and the desk, at a sacrifice of personal convenience and often at considerable expense, to give a hearty utterance to their deep-felt opposition to the party in power. delegations to these conventions would often ride in carriages or on horseback twenty-five or thirty miles, camping out during the excursion. they carried banners, and often had a small log cabin mounted on wheels, in which was a barrel of hard cider, the beverage of the campaign. on the day of the convention, and before the speaking, there was always a procession, in which the delegations sang and cheered as they marched along, sometimes rolling balls on which were the names of the states, while the music of numerous bands aided in imparting enthusiasm. the speaking was from a platform, over which floated the national flag, and on which were seated the invited guests, the local political magnates, the clergymen of the place, and generally a few revolutionary soldiers, who were greeted with loud applause. the principal orators during the campaign were henry clay, daniel webster, william c. preston, henry a. wise, thomas corwin, thomas ewing, richard w. thompson, and scores of less noted names. general harrison took the stump himself at several of the western gatherings, and spoke for over an hour on each occasion. his demeanor was that of a well-bred, well-educated, venerable virginia gentleman, destitute of humor and fond of quoting from the classic authors. the favorite campaign document, of which hundreds of thousands were circulated through the mails under the franks of the whig congressmen, was the reply in the house of representatives by thomas corwin, of ohio, to an attack upon harrison's military record made by mr. isaac e. crary. a native of connecticut, mr. crary had migrated to michigan, and was the first and the only representative from that recently admitted state. anxious to distinguish himself, he undertook to criticise the military career of general harrison with great unfairness and partisan vigor. mr. corwin replied the next day in one of the most wonderful speeches ever delivered at washington. for vigorous argument and genuine wit the speech has rarely been equaled. those who heard it agree that his defense of harrison was overwhelming and the annihilation of crary complete. the house was convulsed with laughter at the richness and originality of the humor, and at times almost awed by the great dignity and profound arguments of the orator. the pages of history were ransacked for illustrations to sustain the speaker, and all were poured in rapid profusion upon the head of poor crary, who sat amazed and stupefied at the storm he had provoked. as corwin proceeded the members left their seats and clustered thickly about him, the reporters laid down their pens, and everybody gave themselves up to the enjoyment of the hour. as mr. corwin painted in mock heroic style the knowledge of military affairs which the lawyer member from michigan had acquired from reading _tidd's practice_ and _espinasse's nisi prius_, studies so happily adapted to the art of war, the house fairly roared with delight. he drew a mirth-provoking picture of crary in his capacity of a militia brigadier at the head of his legion on parade day, with his "crop-eared, bushy-tailed mare and sickle hams--the steed that laughs at the shaking of the spear, and whose neck was clothed with thunder," and likened crary to alexander the great with his war- horse, bucephalus, at the head of his macedonian phalanx. he traced all the characteristic exploits of the assembled throng on those old-time mustering occasions. the wretched diversity in height and build of the marshaled hosts; the wild assortment of accoutrements, from the ancient battle-ax to the modern broom-stick, the trooping boys, the slovenly girls, the mock enthusiasm of the spectators, all were painted with a master's hand. finally, after reciting crary's deeds of valor and labor during the training day, corwin left him and his exhausted troop at a corner grocery assuaging the fires of their souls with copious draughts of whisky drank from the shells of slaughtered watermelons. when mr. corwin came to give the history of general harrison and defend his military record, he rose to the height of pure eloquence, and spoke with convincing force and unanswerable logic. the fate of crary was sealed. probably no such personal discomfiture was ever known from the effect of a single speech. he never recovered from the blow, and was known at home and abroad as "the late general crary." even at home the farmers and the boys, in watermelon season, would always offer him the fruit with sly jests and jeers and a joke at his military career; but his public life and usefulness were at an end. in may, , there was received at washington the initial number of _the log cabin_, a campaign paper published at new york by horace greeley. it was printed at the office of the _new yorker_, then edited by mr. greeley, on a thin super-royal sheet, and the price for twenty-eight weekly issues was fifty cents for a single copy-- larger numbers much less. it contained a few illustrations bearing on the election, plans of general harrison's battle-grounds, and campaign songs set to music. mr. greeley's paper was recommended to leading whigs at washington by thurlow weed, and he obtained eighty thousand subscribers, the whig congressmen recommending the paper to their constituents. the _log cabin_ was the foundation of the _tribune_, and thenceforth until his death mr. greeley was well known at the national capital. he was a man of intense convictions and indomitable industry, and he wielded an incisive, ready pen, which went straight to the point without circumlocution or needless use of words. although he was a somewhat erratic champion of fourierism, vegetarianism, temperance, anti-hanging, and abolition, there was a "method in his madness," and his heretical views were evidently the honest convictions of his heart. often egotistical, dogmatic, and personal, no one could question his uprightness and thorough devotion to the noblest principles of progressive civilization. inspired by that true philanthropy that loves all mankind equally and every one of his neighbors better than himself, he was often victimized by those whose stories he believed and to whom he loaned his hard-earned savings. the breath of slander did not sully his reputation, and he never engaged in lobbying at washington for money, although friendship several times prompted him to advocate appropriations for questionable jobs--the renewal of patents which were monopolies, and the election of public printers who were notoriously corrupt. mr. clay "sulked in his tent" until august, when he went to nashville and addressed a whig convention. "look," said he, in conclusion, "at the position of tennessee and kentucky. they stood side by side, their sons fought side by side, at new orleans. kentuckians and tennesseans now fight another and a different kind of battle. but they are fighting now, as then, a band of mercenaries, the cohorts of power. they are fighting a band of office-holders, who call general harrison a coward, an imbecile, an old woman! "yes, general harrison is called a coward, but he fought more battles than any other general during the last war and never sustained a defeat. he is no statesman, and yet he has filled more civil offices of trust and importance than almost any other man in the union." a man in the crowd here cried out, "tell us of van buren's battles!" "ah!" said mr. clay, "i will have to use my colleague's language and tell you of mr. van buren's '_three_ great battles!' he says, that he fought general commerce and conquered him; that he fought general currency and conquered him, and that, with his cuban allies, he fought the seminoles and got conquered!" mr. kendall came to the aid of president van buren, and resigned the office of postmaster-general that he might sustain the administration with his powerful pen. he thus brought upon himself much malignant abuse, but in the many newspaper controversies in which he was engaged he never failed to vindicate himself and overwhelm his assailant with a clearness and vigor of argument and a power of style with which few pens could cope. he was not only assailed with the rudest violence of newspaper denunciation, but he was alluded to by whig speakers in scornful terms, while caricaturists represented him as the mephistopheles of the van buren administration, and log cabin clubs roared offensive campaign songs at midnight before his house, terrifying his children by the discharges of a small cannon. defeat stared him in the face, but he never quailed, but faced the storm of attack in every direction, and zealously defended the democratic banner. the whigs of maine led off by electing edward kent governor, and five of her eight congressmen, including william pitt fessenden and elisha h. allen, who afterward, when minister from the sandwich islands to the united states, fell dead at a new year's reception at the white house. delaware, maryland, and georgia soon afterward followed suit, electing whig congressmen and state officers. in october the ohio whigs elected thomas corwin governor, by a majority of nearly twenty thousand over wilson shannon, and it was evident that the triumphant election of harrison and tyler was inevitable. in new york william h. seward was re-elected governor, but he ran over seven thousand votes behind general harrison, owing to certain local issues. for some months before the election the democrats mysteriously intimated that at the last moment some powerful engine was to be put into operation against the whig cause. mr. van buren himself was reported as having assured an intimate friend, who condoled with him on his gloomy prospects, that he "had a card to play yet which neither party dreamed of." the attorney-general and the district attorneys of new york and philadelphia were as mysterious as delphic oracles, while other federal officers in those cities were profound and significant in their head-shakings and winks in reference to disclosures which were to be made just before the presidential election, and which were to blow the whigs "sky high." at last the magazine was exploded with due regard to dramatic effect. carefully prepared statements, supported by affidavits, were simultaneously published in different parts of the country, showing that a man named glentworth had been employed by some leading new york whigs in to procure illegal votes from philadelphia. the men were ostensibly engaged in laying pipe for the introduction of croton water. messrs. grinnell, blatchford, wetmore, draper, and other leading new york whigs implicated promptly published affidavits denying that they had ever employed glentworth to supply new york with whig voters from philadelphia. it was proven, however, that he had received money and had taken some thirty philadelphians to new york the day before the election. there was no evidence, however, that more than one of them had voted, and the only effect of the disclosure was to add the word "pipe-laying" to the political vocabulary. the whigs fought their battle to the end with confidence of success, and displayed an enthusiasm and harmony never witnessed in this country before or since. commencing with the harmonious selection of general harrison as their candidate, they enlisted clay and webster, his defeated rivals, in his support, and, having taken the lead, they kept it right through, really defeating the democrats in advance of the campaign. the south were not satisfied with mr. van buren's attitude on the admission of texas, which stood knocking for admission at the door of the union, and "the northern man with southern principles" was not the recipient of many southern votes: "then hurrah for the field where the bald eagle flew, in pride o'er the hero of tippecanoe!" [facsimile] tho. corwin thomas corwin was born in bourbon county, kentucky, july th, ; was a representative in congress from ohio from december th, , to , when he resigned and was elected governor of ohio; was defeated for governor of ohio in ; was a senator from ohio from december st, , to july d, , when he resigned, having been appointed secretary of the treasury by president taylor, and served until march d, ; was again a representative in congress from ohio, december th, , to march d, ; was minister to mexico, march d, , to september st, ; died suddenly at washington city, december th, . chapter xviii. enter whigs--exit democrats. in many of the states voted for presidential electors on different days, which rendered the contest more exciting as it approached its close. there was no telegraphic communication, and there were but few lines of railroad, so that it was some time after a large state had voted before its complete and correct returns could be received. at last all the back townships had been heard from and the exultant whigs were certain that they had elected their candidates by a popular majority of over one hundred thousand! twenty states had given harrison and tyler two hundred and thirty- four electoral votes, while van buren and johnson had received but sixty electoral votes in six states. the log cabins were the scenes of great rejoicing over this unparalleled political victory, and the jubilant whigs sang louder than before: "van, van, van is a used-up man." general william henry harrison was by birth and education a virginian. his father, benjamin harrison, a signer of the declaration of independence, was the largest man in the old congress of the confederation, and when john hancock was elected president of that body harrison seized him and bore him in his arms to the chair. on reaching manhood william henry harrison migrated to ohio, then the far west, and for forty years was prominently identified with the interests, the perils, and the hopes of that region. universally beloved in the walks of peace, and somewhat distinguished by the ability with which he had discharged the duties of a succession of offices which he had filled, yet he won his greatest renown in military service. but he had never abjured the political doctrines of the old dominion, and his published letters and speeches during the presidential campaign which resulted in his election showed that he was a believer in what the virginians called a strict construction of financial questions, internal improvements, the veto-power, and the protection of negro slavery. his intellect was enriched with classical reminiscences, which he was fond of quoting in writing or in conversation. when he left his residence on the bank of the ohio for the seat of government he compared his progress to the return of cicero to rome, congratulated and cheered as he passed on by the victorious cato and his admiring countrymen. on general harrison's arrival at washington, on a stormy afternoon in february, , he walked from the railroad station (then on pennsylvania avenue) to the city hall. he was a tall, thin, careworn old gentleman, with a martial bearing, carrying his hat in his hand, and bowing his acknowledgments for the cheers with which he was greeted by the citizens who lined the sidewalks. on reaching the city hall, the president-elect was formally addressed by the mayor, colonel w. w. seaton, of the _national intelligencer_, who supplemented his panegyric by a complimentary editorial article in his newspaper of the next morning. before coming east general harrison visited henry clay, at ashland, and tendered him the position of secretary of state, which mr. clay promptly declined, saying that he had fully determined not to hold office under the new administration, although he intended cordially to support it. general harrison thanked mr. clay for his frankness, expressing deep regret that he could not accept the portfolio of the department of state. he further said that if mr. clay had accepted this position it was his intention to offer the portfolio of the treasury department to mr. webster; but since mr. clay had declined a seat in the cabinet, he should not offer one to mr. webster. mr. clay objected to this conclusion, and remarked that while mr. webster was not peculiarly fitted for the control of the national finances, he was eminently qualified for the management of the foreign relations. besides, the appointment of mr. webster as secretary of state would inspire confidence in the administration abroad, which would be highly important, considering the existing critical relations with great britain. general harrison accepted the suggestion, and on his return to north bend wrote to mr. webster, offering him the department of state and asking his advice concerning the other members of the cabinet. the "solid men of boston," who had begun to entertain grave apprehensions of hostilities with great britain, urged mr. webster to accept, and pledged themselves to contribute liberally to his support. no sooner was it intimated that mr. webster was to be the premier of the incoming administration than the calhoun wing of the democratic party denounced him as having countenanced the abolition of slavery, and when his letter resigning his seat in the senate was read in that body, senator cuthbert, of georgia, attacked him. the georgian's declamation was delivered with clenched fist; he pounded his desk, gritted his teeth, and used profane language. messrs. clay, preston, and other senators defended mr. webster from the attack of the irate georgian, and his friends had printed at washington a large edition of a speech which he had made a few months before on the portico of the capitol at richmond before a vast assemblage. "beneath the light of an october sun, i say," he then declared, "there is no power, directly or indirectly, in congress or the general government, to interfere in the slightest degree with the institutions of the south." general harrison, to quiet the cry of "abolitionist," which had been raised against him as well as mr. webster, made a visit to richmond prior to his inauguration, during which he availed himself of every possible occasion to assert his devotion to the rights, privileges, and prejudices of the south concerning the existence of slavery. on his return he took a daily ride on the picturesque banks of rock creek, rehearsing portions of his inaugural address. the portfolio of the treasury department was given to thomas ewing, of ohio (familiarly known from his early avocation as "the salt boiler of the kanawha") who was physically and intellectually a great man. he was of medium height, very portly, his ruddy complexion setting off his bright, laughing eyes to the best advantage. on "the stump" he had but few equals, as in simple language and without apparent oratorical effort he breathed his own spirit into vast audiences, and swayed them with resistless power. he resided in a house built by count de menou, one of the french legations, and his daughter ellen, now the wife of general sherman, attended school at the academy attached to the convent of the sisters of the visitation, in georgetown. the coming secretary of war was john bell, of tennessee, a courtly jackson democrat in years past, who had preferred to support hugh l. white rather than martin van buren, and had thus drifted into the whig ranks. he had served as a representative in congress since , officiating during one term as speaker, and he was personally very popular. for secretary of the navy george e. badger, of north carolina, was selected. he had been graduated from yale college, but had never held other than local offices. his sailor-like figure and facetious physiognomy were very appropriate for the position, and he soon became a decided favorite at the washington "messes," where he was always ready to contribute freely from his fund of anecdotes. francis granger, of new york, who was to be postmaster-general, was also a graduate of yale college. he had been a member of the new york state legislature and of congress, and the unsuccessful whig candidate for vice-president in . he was a genial, rosy- faced gentleman, whose "silver gray" hair afterward gave its name to the party in new york which recognized him as its leader. the attorney-general was j. j. crittenden, a kentuckian, whose intellectual vigor, integrity of character, and legal ability had secured for him a nomination to the bench of the supreme court by president adams, which, however, the democratic senate failed to confirm. kept in the shade by henry clay, he became somewhat crabbed, but his was one of the noblest intellects of his generation. his persuasive eloquence, his sound judgment, his knowledge of the law, his lucid manner of stating facts, and his complete grasp of every case which he examined had made him a power in the senate and in the supreme court, as he was destined to be in the cabinet. the inaugural message had been prepared by general harrison in ohio, and he brought it with him to washington, written in his large hand on one side of sheets of foolscap paper. when it was submitted to mr. webster, he respectfully suggested the propriety of abridging it, and of striking from it some of the many classical allusions and quotations with which it abounded. he found, however, that general harrison was not disposed to receive advice, and that he was reluctant to part with any evidence of his classic scholarship. colonel seaton used to relate with great gusto how mr. webster once came late to a dinner party at his house, and said, as he entered the dining-room, when the soup was being served: "excuse my tardiness, but i have been able to dispose of two roman emperors and a pro-consul, which should be a sufficient excuse." general harrison was inaugurated on thursday, march th, . the city had filled up during the preceding night, and the roar of the morning salutes was echoed by the bands of the military as they marched to take their designated places. the sun was obscured, but the weather was mild, and the streets were perfectly dry. at ten o'clock a procession was formed, which escorted the president- elect from his temporary residence, by way of pennsylvania avenue, to the capitol. no regular troops were on parade, but the uniformed militia of the district of columbia, reinforced by others from philadelphia and baltimore, performed escort duty in a very creditable manner. a carriage presented by the whigs of baltimore, and drawn by four horses, had been provided for the president-elect, but he preferred to ride on horseback, as the roman emperors were wont to pass along the appian way. the old hero made a fine appearance, mounted, as he was, on a spirited white charger. at his right, slightly in the rear, rode major hurst, who had been his aid-de- camp at the battle of the thames; at his left, in a similar position, rode colonel todd, another aid-de-camp at the same battle. an escort of assistant marshals, finely mounted, followed. although the weather was chilly, the general refused to wear an overcoat, and he rode with his hat in his hand, gracefully bowing acknowledgments of cheers from the multitudes on the sidewalks, and of the waving of white handkerchiefs by ladies at the windows on either side. behind the president-elect came tippecanoe clubs and other political associations, with music, banners, and badges. the club from prince george county, maryland, had in its ranks a large platform on wheels, drawn by six white horses, on which was a power-loom from the laurel factory, with operatives at work. several of the clubs drew large log cabins on wheels, decked with suitable inscriptions, cider-barrels, 'coonskins, and other frontier articles. a feature of the procession was the students of the jesuits' college at georgetown, who appeared in uniform, headed by their faculty, and carrying a beautiful banner. an immense crowd had gathered at the capitol, and at ten o'clock ladies who had tickets were admitted into the gallery of the senate chamber, and were provided with comfortable seats. the east door leading to the senate gallery was soon opened, when at least five thousand persons rushed to that point. less than a thousand were enabled to reach the seats provided. soon after the galleries were filled, the foreign ambassadors, wearing the court dresses and insignia, were introduced on the floor. the members of the senate took their seats, after which the senate was called to order by the clerk, and senator king was chosen president _pro tem_. the newly elected senators were sworn, vice-president tyler, of virginia, entered arm-in-arm with ex-vice-president johnson, and after the oath of office had been administered to him he took the chair and called the senate to order. the president-elect was then ushered into the senate chamber by the committee, of which mr. preston was chairman. the judges of the supreme court, wearing their black silk robes, had taken their seats in front, below the speaker's chair. the president-elect shook hands cordially with a number of the senators and judges, and appeared much younger than many who were his juniors in years. at half-past twelve o'clock the signal was given, and the officers in the senate chamber formed in procession and proceeded to the eastern front of the capitol, where there was a platform some fifteen feet high and large enough to accommodate an immense crowd. the president-elect took his seat in front, chief justice taney and his associates by his side, the senators and ambassadors on the left, and the ladies at the sides. the large area below was filled with an immense multitude of probably not less than from forty to fifty thousand persons. general harrison, as "the observed of all observers," was greeted with prolonged cheers when he rose to deliver his address. when the uproar had subsided he advanced to the front of the platform, and there was a profound stillness as he read, in a loud and clear voice, his inaugural address. he stood bare-headed, without overcoat or gloves, facing the cold northeast wind, while those seated on the platform around him, although warmly wrapped, suffered from the piercing blasts. all were astonished at the power and compass of his voice. he spoke until two p. m.--one and a half hours--with a clearness that was truly surprising. so distinctly were his words heard that he was cheered at the closing of every sentiment, particularly where he said that he would carry out the pledge that he had made, that under no circumstances would he run for another term. just before the close of the inaugural he turned to chief justice taney, who held the bible, and in a clear and distinct voice repeated the oath required. it was a singular fact that when the president took the oath this multitude of spectators before him spontaneously uncovered their heads, while the pealing cannon announced to the country that it had a new chief magistrate. as soon as the ceremony was over the immense concourse turned their faces from the capitol, and filed down the various walks to pennsylvania avenue. the procession formed anew and marched to the white house, cheered as it passed by the waiting crowds. entering the white house, president harrison took his station in the reception-room, and the multitude entered the front portal, passed through the vestibule into the reception-room, where they had an opportunity to shake hands with the president, then passed down the rear steps and out through the garden. at night there were three inauguration balls, the prices of admission suiting different pockets. at one, where the tickets were ten dollars for gentlemen, the ladies being invited guests, there was a representation from almost every state in the union. president harrison, notwithstanding the fatigues of the day, remained over an hour, and was attended by several members of his cabinet. mr. webster was in excellent spirits, and chatted familiarly with mr. clay at the punch-bowl, where libations were drunk to the success of the new administration. thus the new administration was inaugurated. the democrats surrendered the power which they had so despotically wielded for twelve years, and their opponents, consolidated under the whig banner, took the reins of government. passing over webster and clay, their recognized leaders, they had elected harrison as a more available candidate, he having been a gallant soldier and having but few enemies. for vice-president they had elected john tyler, for the sole reason that his democratic affiliations would secure the electoral vote of virginia. [facsimile] wm h harrison william henry harrison was born in charles county, virginia, february th, ; was delegate in congress from the northwest territory, december d, , to march, ; was governor of indiana, - ; was a representative in congress from ohio, december d, , to march d, ; was united states senator, december th, , to may th, ; was minister to colombia, may th, , to september th, ; became president of the united states, march th, , and died in washington city, april th, . chapter xix. harrison's one month of power. government officials at washington, nearly all of whom had received their positions as rewards for political services, and many of whom had displaced worthy men whose only fault was that they belonged to a different party, were somewhat encouraged by the declarations of president harrison touching the position of office-holders. it was known from a speech of his at baltimore, prior to his inauguration, that he intended to protect the right of individual opinion from official interference, and in a few days after he became president his celebrated civil-service circular was issued by daniel webster, as secretary of state. it was addressed to the heads of the executive departments, and it commenced thus: "sir:--the president is of the opinion that it is a great abuse to bring the patronage of the general government into conflict with the freedom of elections; and that this abuse ought to be corrected wherever it may have been permitted to exist, and to be prevented for the future." it would have been fortunate for the country if these views of president harrison, so clearly stated by daniel webster in this circular, could have been honestly carried out; but the horde of hungry politicians that had congregated at washington, with racoon- tails in their hats and packages of recommendations in their pockets, clamored for the wholesale action of the political guillotine, that they might fill the vacancies thereby created. whigs and federalists, national republicans and strict constructionists, bank and anti- bank men had coalesced under the motto of "union of the whigs for the whigs for the sake of the union," but they had really united "for the sake of office." the administration found itself forced to make removals that places might be found for this hungry horde, and to disregard its high position on civil service. virginia was especially clamorous for places, and vice-president tyler became the champion of hundreds who belonged to the first families, but who were impecunious. direct conflict soon arose between the president and his cabinet, he asserting his right to make appointments and removals, while they took the ground that it was simply his duty to take such action as they chose to dictate. the cabinet were sustained by the opinion of attorney-general john c. crittenden, and they also under his advice claimed the right to review the president's nominations before they were sent to the senate. to the president, who had as governor and as general been in the habit of exercising autocratic command, these attempts to hamper his action were very annoying, and at times he "kicked over the traces." one day, after a rather stormy cabinet meeting, mr. webster asked the president to appoint one of his political supporters, general james wilson, of new hampshire, governor of the territory of iowa. president harrison replied that it would give him pleasure to do so had he not promised the place to colonel john chambers, of kentucky, his former aid-de-camp, who had been acting as his private secretary. the next day colonel chambers had occasion to visit the department of state, and mr. webster asked him if the president had offered to appoint him governor of iowa. "yes, sir," was the reply. "well, sir," said mr. webster with sour sternness, a cloud gathering on his massive brow, while his unfathomable eyes glowed with anger, "you must not take that position, for i have promised it to my friend, general wilson." colonel chambers, who had been a member of congress, and was older than mr. webster, was not intimidated, but replied, "mr. webster, i shall accept the place, and i tell you, sir, not to undertake to dragoon me!" he then left the room, and not long afterward mr. webster received from the president a peremptory order to commission john chambers, of kentucky, as governor of the territory of iowa, which was complied with. mr. clay undertook to insist upon some removals, that personal friends of his might be appointed to the offices thus vacated, and he used such dictatorial language that after he had left the white house president harrison wrote him a formal note, requesting that he would make any further suggestions he might desire to submit in writing. mr. clay was very much annoyed, and mr. king, of alabama, making some remarks in the senate soon afterward which might be construed as personally offensive, the great commoner opened his batteries upon him, saying in conclusion that the assertions of the senator from alabama were "false, untrue, and cowardly." mr. king immediately rose and left the senate chamber. mr. levin, of missouri, was called out, and soon returned, bringing a note, which he handed to mr. clay, who read it, and then handed it to mr. archer. messrs. levin and archer immediately engaged in an earnest conversation, and it was soon known that a challenge had passed, and they as seconds were endeavoring amicably to arrange the affair. after four days of negotiation, mr. preston, of south carolina, and other senators, acting as mediators, the affair was honorably adjusted. mr. king withdrew his challenge, mr. clay declared every epithet derogatory to the honor of the senator from alabama to be withdrawn, and mr. preston expressed his satisfaction at the happy termination of the misunderstanding between the senators. while mr. preston was speaking mr. clay rose, walked to the opposite side of the senate chamber, and stopping in front of the desk of the senator from alabama, said, in a pleasant tone, "king, give us a pinch of your snuff?" mr. king, springing to his feet, held out his hand, which was grasped by mr. clay and cordially shaken, the senators and spectators applauding the pacific demonstration. the leading washington correspondent at that time was dr. francis bacon, brother of the rev. dr. leonard bacon, of new haven, connecticut. he wrote for the new york _american_, then edited by charles king, signing his articles r. m. t. h.--regular member third house. dr. bacon wielded a powerful pen, and when he chose so to do could condense a column of denunciation, satire, and sarcasm in to a single paragraph. he was a fine scholar, fearless censor, and terse writer, giving his many readers a clear idea of what was transpiring at the federal metropolis. a new-comer among the correspondents during the harrison administration was mr. nathan sargent, whose correspondence to the philadelphia _united states gazette_, over the signature of "oliver oldschool," soon became noted. his carefully written letters gave a continuous narrative of important events as they occurred, and he was one who aided in making the whig party, like the federal party, which had preceded it, eminently respectable. washington correspondents, up to this time, had been the mediums through which a large portion of the citizens of the united states obtained their information concerning national affairs. the only reports of the debates in congress appeared in the washington newspapers often several weeks after their delivery. james gordon bennett, who had then become proprietor of the new york _herald_, after publishing president harrison's call for an extra session of congress in advance of his contemporaries, determined to have the proceedings and debates reported for and promptly published in his own columns. to superintend the reporting, he engaged robert sutton, who organized a corps of phonographers, which was the nucleus of the present able body of official reporters of the debates. sutton was a short, stout, pragmatical englishman, whose desire to obtain extra allowances prompted him to revise, correct, and polish up reports which should have been verbatim, and thus to take the initiative in depriving official reports of debates of a large share of their value. since then, senators and representatives address their constituents through the reports, instead of debating questions among themselves. the diplomatic representative of great britain, during the greater part of the jackson administration, was the right honorable charles richard vaughan, who was a great favorite among congressmen and citizens at washington, many of whom were his guests at the decatur mansion, then the british legation. he was a well-educated and well-informed gentleman, with the courteous manners of the old school. when recalled after ten years' service at washington, he was a jovial bachelor of fifty, fond of old madeira wine and a quiet rubber of whist. a good story is told of general roger weightman, when mayor of the city, who sent by mistake an invitation to sir charles vaughan to attend a fourth-of-july dinner, at which speeches were invariably made abusive of the british and their vandalism in the recent war. sir charles, who was a finished diplomat, might have construed the invitation into an insult, but he wrote a very polite response, saying that he thought he should be "indisposed" on the fourth of july. russia was then represented by the baron de krudener, who resided in a large house built by thomas swann, a wealthy baltimorean. amicable relations with "our ancient ally," france, had been interrupted by the brusque demand of general jackson for the payment of the indemnity. monsieur serruvier was recalled, leaving the legation in charge of alphonso pageot, the secretary. he also was recalled, but after the jackson administration was sent back as chargè. it was expected that the session of the twenty-sixth congress, which terminated on the day of the inauguration of general harrison, would have been followed by a duel between mr. edward stanley, of north carolina, and mr. francis w. pickens, of south carolina. mr. stanley had been criticised in debate by mr. pickens, and he retorted mercilessly. "the gentleman," said he, "compares my speech to the attempt of a 'savage shooting at the sun.' it may be so, sir. but the committee will remember that in the remarks i made i did not address myself to the gentleman who has so unnecessarily interposed in this debate. and why did i not, sir? not because i thought i should be as powerless as he describes me, but because i had seen him so often so unmercifully kicked and cuffed and knocked about, so often run over on this floor, that i thought he was beneath my notice, and utterly insignificant. sir, the gentleman says he is reminded by my speech of the 'nursery rhyme,' 'who shot cock robin? "i," said the sparrow, "with my bow and arrow, i shot cock robin."' well, sir, i am willing to be the sparrow for this cock robin, this chivalrous gentleman; and let me tell the gentleman, if he will not deem me vain, i feel fully able, with my bow and arrow, to run through a 'cowpen full' of such cock robins as he is. in conclusion, i have only to say, sir, to the gentleman from south carolina, that though my arm may be 'pigmy,' though i may be but a sparrow in the estimation of one 'born insensible to fear,' i am able, sir, anywhere, as a sparrow from north carolina, to put down a dozen such cock robins as he is. 'come one, come all,' ye south carolina cock robins, if you dare; i am ready for you." mr. pickens wrote a challenge, but friends interposed, and the difficulty was honorably arranged. when mr. webster became secretary of state, under president harrison, his friends in boston and new york raised a purse to enable him to purchase the swann house, facing lafayette square. mr. webster preferred, however, to purchase land at marshfield, and after he had occupied the house during the negotiations of the ashburton treaty, the property passed into the hands of mr. w. w. corcoran, who has since resided there. mr. webster was his own purveyor, and was a regular attendant at the marsh market on market mornings. he almost invariably wore a large, broad-brimmed, soft felt hat, with his favorite blue coat and bright buttons, a buff cassimere waistcoat, and black trousers. going from stall to stall, followed by a servant bearing a large basket in which purchases were carried home, he would joke with the butchers, fish-mongers, and green-grocers with a grave drollery of which his biographers, in their anxiety to deify him, have made no mention. he always liked to have a friend of two at his dinner- table, and in inviting them, _sans ceremonie_, he would say, in his deep, cheery voice, "come and dine with me to-morrow. i purchased a noble saddle of valley of virginia mutton in market last week, and i think you will enjoy it." or, "i received some fine cod-fish from boston to-day, sir; will you dine with me at five o'clock and taste them?" or, "i found a famous possum in market this morning, sir, and left orders with monica, my cook, to have it baked in the real old virginia style, with stuffing of chestnuts and surrounded by baked sweet potatoes. it will be a dish fit for the gods. come and taste it." president harrison, who was an early riser, used to go to market, and he invariably refused to wear an overcoat, although the spring was cold and stormy. one morning, having gone to the market thus thinly attired, he was overtaken by a slight shower and got wet, but refused to change his clothes. the following day he felt symptoms of indisposition, which were followed by pneumonia. at his ohio home he had lived plainly and enjoyed sleep, but at washington he had, while rising early, rarely retired before one o'clock in the morning, and his physical powers, enfeebled by age, had been overtaxed. at the same time, the president's mental powers had undergone a severe strain, as was evident when he became somewhat delirious. sometimes he would say, "my dear madam, i did not direct that your husband should be turned out. i did not know it. i tried to prevent it." on other occasions he would say, in broken sentences, "it is wrong--i won't consent--'tis unjust!" "these applications--will they never cease!" the last time that he spoke was about three hours before his death, when his physicians and attendants were standing over him. clearing his throat, as if desiring to speak audibly, and as though he fancied himself addressing his successor, or some official associate in the government, he said: "sir, i wish you to understand the true principles of the government. i wish them carried out. i ask nothing more." "one little month" after president harrison's inauguration multitudes again assembled to attend his funeral. minute-guns were fired during the day, flags were displayed at half staff, and washington was crowded with strangers at an early hour. the buildings of either side of pennsylvania avenue, with scarcely an exception, and many houses on the contiguous streets, were hung with festoons and streamers of black. almost every private dwelling had crape upon its door, and many of the very humblest abodes displayed some spontaneous signal of the general sorrow. the stores and places of business, even such as were too frequently seen open on the sabbath, were all closed. funeral services were performed in the executive mansion, which, for the first time, was shrouded in mourning. the coffin rested on a temporary catafalque in the centre of the east room. it was covered with black velvet, trimmed with gold lace, and over it was thrown a velvet pall with a deep golden fringe. on this lay the sword of justice and the sword of state, surmounted by the scroll of the constitution, bound together by a funeral wreath, formed of the yew and the cypress. around the coffin stood in a circle the new president, john tyler, the venerable ex-president, john quincy adams, secretary webster, and the other members of the cabinet. the next circle contained the diplomatic corps, in their richly decorated court-suits, with a number of members of both houses of congress, and the relatives of the deceased president. beyond this circle a vast assemblage of ladies and gentlemen filled up the room. silence, deep and undisturbed, even by a whisper, prevailed. when, at the appointed hour, the officiating clergyman said, "i am the resurrection and the life," the entire audience rose, and joined in the burial service of the episcopalian church. after the services the coffin was carried to a large funeral car drawn by six white horses, each having at its head a black groom dressed in white, with white turban and sash. outside of the grooms walked the pall-bearers, dressed in black, with black scarves. the contrast made by this slowly moving body of white and black, so opposite to the strong colors of the military around it, struck the eye even from the greatest distance. the funeral procession, with its military escort, was two miles in length, and eclipsed the inauguration pageant which had so recently preceded it. the remains were escorted to the congressional burying- ground, where they were temporarily deposited in the receiving- vault, to be taken subsequently to the banks of the ohio, and there placed in an unmarked and neglected grave. the troops present all fired their volleys in such a ludicrously straggling manner as to recall the dying request of robert burns that the awkward squad might not fire over his grave. then the drums and fifes struck up merry strains, the military marched away, and only the scene of the public bereavement remained. [facsimile] t. ewing thomas ewing was born near west liberty, virginia, december th, ; was united states senator from ohio, december th, , to march d, ; was secretary of the treasury under president harrison, march th, , to september th, ; was secretary of the interior under president taylor, march th, , to july th, ; was again senator from ohio, july th, , to march d, , and died at lancaster, ohio, october th, . chapter xx. the king is dead--long live the king. john tyler, having found that his position as vice-president gave him no voice in the distribution of patronage, had retired in disgust to his estate in prince william county, virginia, when mr. fletcher webster brought him a notification, from the secretary of state, to hasten to washington to assume the duties of the president. mr. webster reached richmond on sunday--the day following general harrison's death--chartered a steamboat, and arrived at mr. tyler's residence on monday at daybreak. soon afterward, mr. tyler, accompanied by his two sons, left with mr. webster, and arrived at washington early tuesday morning. the cabinet had arrived at the conclusion that mr. tyler should be officially styled, "vice-president of the united states, acting president," but he very promptly determined that he would enjoy all of the dignities and honors of the office which he had inherited under the constitution. chief justice taney was then absent, so mr. tyler summoned chief justice cranch, of the supreme court of the district of columbia, to his parlor at brown's indian queen hotel, and took the oath of office administered to previous presidents. the cabinet officers were soon made to understand that he was chief magistrate of the republic, and the whig magnates began to fear that their lease of power would soon terminate. in conversation with mr. nathan sargent, a prominent whig correspondent, soon after his arrival, mr. tyler significantly remarked: "if the democrats and myself ever come together, they must come to me; i shall never go to them." this showed that he regarded his connection with the whigs as precarious. the extra session of congress, which had been convened by general harrison before his death, was not acceptable to his successor, who saw that its legislation would be inspired and controlled by henry clay. when the two houses were organized, he sent them a brief message, in which the national bank question was dexterously handled, "with the caution and ambiguity of a talleyrand." mr. clay lost no time in presenting his programme for congressional action; and in a few days its first feature, the repeal of the sub- treasury act, was enacted. that night a thousand or more of the jubilant washington whigs marched in procession from capitol hill to the white house, with torches, music, transparencies, and fireworks, escorting a catafalque on which was a coffin labeled, "the sub-treasury." as the procession moved slowly along pennsylvania avenue, bonfires were kindled at the intersecting streets, many houses were illuminated, and there was general rejoicing. on the arrival of the procession at the executive mansion, president tyler came out and made a few remarks, while mr. webster and the other members of the cabinet bowed their thanks for the cheers given them. the hilarious crowd of mock-mourners then repaired to the house of mrs. brown, at the corner of seventh and d streets, where mr. clay boarded, and received his grateful acknowledgments for the demonstration. the next measure on mr. clay's programme, the bill for the distribution of the proceeds of the sales of the public lands among the states, was also promptly enacted and as promptly approved by the president. next came the national bankrupt act, which was stoutly opposed by the democrats, but it finally passed, and was approved by mr. tyler. when congress enacted a bill creating a national bank, however, and sent it to the president for his approval, he returned it with his veto. this created much discontent among the whigs, while the democrats were so rejoiced that a considerable number of their congressmen called at the executive mansion. the president received them cordially, and treated them to champagne, in which toasts were drunk not very complimentary to the whig party, or to its leader, mr. clay. the kentucky senator soon saw that it was of no use to temporize with his vacillating chieftain, who evidently desired to become his own successor, so he determined to force the administration into a hostile attitude toward the whigs, while he himself should step to the front as their recognized leader. haughty and imperious, mr. clay was nevertheless so fascinating in his manner when he chose to be that he held unlimited control over nearly every member of the party. he remembered, too, that tyler had been nominated for vice-president in pursuance of a bargain made by clay's own friends in the legislature of virginia, where they had joined the van buren members in electing mr. rives to the senate. this bargain mr. clay had hoped would secure for him the support of the state of virginia in the nominating convention, and although harrison received the nomination for president, clay's friends were none the less responsible for the nomination of tyler as vice-president. he was consequently very angry when he learned what had taken place at the white house, and he availed himself of the first opportunity to speak of the scene in the senate, portraying the principal personages present with adroit sarcasm. some of his descriptions were life-like, especially that of mr. calhoun, "tall, careworn, with fevered brow, haggard cheek, and eye intensely gazing, looking as if he were dissecting the last and newest abstraction which sprung from some metaphysician's brain, and muttering to himself, in half uttered words, 'this is indeed a crisis!'" the best word-portrait, however, was that of senator buchanan, whose manner and voice were humorously imitated while he was described as presenting his democratic associates to the president. mr. buchanan pleasantly retorted, describing in turn a caucus of disappointed whig congressmen, who discussed whether it would be best to make open war upon "captain tyler," or to resort to strategem, and, in the elegant language of mr. botts, "head him, or die." the mission to great britain had been tendered by president harrison to john sargent, a distinguished philadelphia lawyer, who had been the candidate for vice-president on the unsuccessful whig ticket headed by henry clay in . mr. sargent having declined, president harrison appointed edward everett, of massachusetts, who accepted and his name came before the senate for confirmation. mr. everett was among the most conservative of new england politicians, but he had once, in reply to inquiries from abolitionists, expressed the opinion that congress had power to abolish slavery in the district of columbia. when the nomination came before the senate, it was opposed by mr. buchanan and mr. king, of alabama, and advocated by mr. choate and henry clay. mr. king, who would have received the appointment had mr. everett's rejection created a vacancy, concluded a bitter speech by saying that if mr. everett, holding views in opposition to the south, was confirmed, the union would be dissolved! mr. clay sprang to his feet, and pointing his long arm and index finger at mr. king, said: "and i tell you, mr. president, that if a gentleman so pre-eminently qualified for the position of minister should be rejected by the senate, and for the reason given by the senator from alabama, this union is dissolved already." the nomination of mr. everett was confirmed by a vote of twenty- three to nineteen. every democrat who voted, and two southern whigs, voted against him, and several northern democrats dodged, among them pierce, of new hampshire, williams, of maine, and wright, of new york. the southern whigs who stood their ground for mr. everett were clay, morehead, berrien, clayton, mangum, merrick, graham, and rives. a second fiscal agent bill was prepared in accordance with the president's expressed views, and he said to mr. a. h. h. stuart, then a representative from virginia, holding him by the hand: "stuart, if you can be instrumental in getting this bill through congress, i shall esteem you as the best friend i have on earth." an attempt was made in the senate to amend it, which mr. choate, who was regarded as the mouth-piece of daniel webster, opposed. mr. clay endeavored to make him admit that some member of the administration had inspired him to assert that if the bill was amended it would be vetoed, but mr. choate had examined too many witnesses to be forced into any admission that he did not choose to make. persisting in his demand, mr. clay's manner and language became offensive. "sir," said mr. choate, "i insist on my right to explain what i did say in my own words." "but i want a direct answer," exclaimed mr. clay. "mr. president," said mr. choate, "the gentleman will have to take my answer as i choose to give it to him." here the two senators were called to order, and both of them were requested to take their seats. the next day mr. clay made an explanation, which was satisfactory to mr. choate. this second bank or fiscal agent bill was passed by congress without the change of a word or a letter, yet the president vetoed it. when the veto message was received in the senate there were some hisses in the gallery, which brought mr. benton to his feet. expressing his indignation, he asked that the "ruffians" be taken into custody, and one of those who had hissed was arrested, but, on penitently expressing his regret, he was discharged. tyler's cabinet first learned that he intended to veto this bank bill through the columns of a new york paper, and such was their indignation that all, with the exception of mr. webster, resigned. mr. ewing, who had been appointed secretary of the treasury by president harrison, and who had been continued in office by mr. tyler, published his letter of resignation, which gave all the facts in the case. the whig senators and representatives immediately met in caucus and adopted an address to the people. it was written by mr. john p. kennedy, of maryland, and it set forth in temperate language the differences between them and the president, his equivocations and tergiversations, and in conclusion they repudiated the administration. caleb cushing, of newburyport, massachusetts, then serving his fourth term in the house, espoused the cause of president tyler, and boldly opposed the intolerant action of his whig associates. years afterward franklin pierce told his most intimate friend, nathaniel hawthorne, that caleb cushing had such mental variety and activity that he could not, if left to himself, keep hold of one view of things, but needed the influence of a more stable judgment to keep him from divergency. his fickleness was intellectual, not moral. mr. cushing was at that time forty-one years of age, of medium height, with intellectual features, quick-glancing dark eyes, and an unmusical voice. he spoke with ease and fluency, but his speeches read better than they sounded. his knowledge was vast and various, and his style, tempered by foreign travel, was classical. he had mastered history, politics, law, jurisprudence, moral science, and almost every other branch of knowledge, which enabled him to display an erudition as marvelous in amount as it was varied in kind. the southern representatives, who had regarded mr. cushing with some apprehension as a possible leader of the coming struggle for the abolition of slavery, were well pleased when they saw him breaking away from his northern friends. when an attempt was made to depose john quincy adams from the chairmanship of the house committee on foreign affairs, because he had stood up manfully for the right of petition, the irate ex-president asserted in the house that the position had been offered to mr. cushing, who was also a member. this mr. cushing denied, but mr. adams, his bald head turning scarlet, exclaimed: "i had the information from the gentleman himself." in this debate, mr. adams went to some length into the history of his past life, his intercourse and friendship with washington, jefferson, madison, and monroe, during their successive presidential terms. he spoke of their confidence in himself, as manifested by the various important offices conferred upon him, alluding to important historical facts in this connection. he knew that they all abhorred slavery, and he could prove it, if it were desired, from the testimony of jefferson, madison, and washington themselves. there was not an abolitionist of the wildest character, the ex- president affirmed, but might find in the writings of jefferson, at the time of the declaration of independence, and during his whole life, down to its very last year, a justification for everything their party says on the subject of slavery, and a description of the horrors of slavery greater then they had power to express. henry a. wise had been mr. clay's instrument in securing the nomination of mr. tyler as vice-president, and was the most influential adviser at the white house. he was then in the prime of his early manhood, tall, spare, and upright, with large, lustreless, gray-blue eyes, high cheek bones, a large mouth, a complexion saffron-hued, from his inordinate use of tobacco, and coarse, long hair, brushed back from his low forehead. he was brilliant in conversation, and when he addressed an audience he was the incarnation of effective eloquence. no one has ever poured forth in the capitol of the united states such torrents of words, such erratic flights of fancy, such blasting insinuations, such solemn prayers, such blasphemous imprecations. like jeremiah of old, he felt the dark shadow of coming events; and he regarded the yankees as the inevitable foes of the old commonwealth of virginia. he had hoped that the caucus of whig representatives, at the commencement of the session, would have nominated him for speaker. but john white, of kentucky, had received the nomination, mr. clay having urged his friends to vote for him, and mr. wise, goaded on by disappointed ambition, sought revenge by endeavoring to destroy the whig party. he hoped to build on its ruins a new political organization composed of whigs and of such democrats as might be induced to enlist under the tyler banner by a lavish distribution of the "loaves and fishes." president tyler's vanity made it easy to secure him as a figure-head, and it was an easy task to array him in direct opposition to the clay whigs, when john m. botts wrote an insulting letter, in which he recommended his political associates to "head captain tyler, or die." as the close of the extra session approached, the breach between president tyler and the whig party was widened, and those who had elected him saw their hopes blasted, and the labors of the campaign lost, by his ambitious perfidy. nearly all of his nominations for office were promptly rejected, and those who for place had espoused his cause found themselves disappointed. a few days before the final adjournment, it was announced that senator bagby, of alabama, would the next afternoon expose the shortcomings of the whig party. he was a type of the old-school virginia lawyers, who had removed to the gulf states, and there acquired political position and fortune. he was a large man, with a bald head, a strong voice, and a watch-seal dangling from his waistband. the "corporal's guard" who sustained mr. tyler were all on hand and prominently seated to hear him abuse the whigs, and they evidently had great expectations that he might eulogize the president. upshur, cushing, wise, gilmer, with the president's sons, robert and john, were on the floor of the senate, and they were evidently delighted as the eloquent alabamian handled the whig party without gloves. he undertook to show that they were for and against a national bank, in favor of and opposed to a tariff, pro-slavery and anti-slavery, according to their location, but all united by a desire to secure the federal offices. proceeding in a strain of fervid eloquence, he all at once turned to senator smith, of indiana, who was sitting in front of him, and asked, in stentorian tones: "why don't you whigs keep your promises to the american people? i pause for an answer!" mr. smith promptly replied: "because _your_ president won't let us." mr. bagby stood still for a moment and then contemptuously exclaimed: "_our_ president! our president! do you think that we would go to the most corrupt party that was ever formed in the united states, and then take for our president the meanest renegade that ever left the party?" he then went on to castigate mr. tyler, while the "corporal's guard," sadly disappointed, one by one, "silently stole away," and had no more faith in mr. bagby. junius brutus booth still continued to be the leading star at the washington theatre, and president tyler used often to enjoy his marvelous renderings, especially his "sir giles overreach," "king lear," "shylock," "othello," and "richard the third." booth, at this time, was more than ever a slave to intoxicating drink, so much so that he would often disappoint his audiences, sometimes wholly failing to appear, yet his popularity remained unabated. [facsimile] franklin pierce franklin pierce was born at hillsborough, new hampshire, november d, ; was a representative from new hampshire, december d, , to march d, ; was united states senator from new hampshire, september th, - , when he resigned; declined the position of attorney-general, offered him by president polk in ; served in the mexican war as brigadier-general; was president of the united states, march th, , to march d, , and died at concord, new hampshire, october th, . chapter xxi. diplomatic and social life of webster. mr. webster's great work as secretary of state--indeed, he regarded it as the greatest achievement of his life--was the negotiation of a treaty with great britain adjusting all existing controversies. to secure this had prompted mr. webster to enter the cabinet of general harrison, and when mr. tyler became president mr. webster pledged himself to his wealthy friends in boston and new york not to resign until the troubles with the mother country had been amicably adjusted. his position soon became very unpleasant. on the one hand president tyler, whose great desire was the annexation of texas, wanted him to resign; on the other hand, many influential whigs began to regard him with distrust for remaining in the enemy's camp. but mr. webster kept on, regardless of what was said by friend or foe. the appointment of lord ashburton to represent the british government was especially gratifying to mr. webster, who had become personally acquainted with him when he visited england in . lord ashburton's family name was alex. baring. he had visited philadelphia when it was the seat of the federal government as the representative of his father's banking house. among those to whom he had letters of introduction was mr. john a. bingham, a wealthy merchant and united states senator, who lived in great style. miss maria matilda bingham, the senator's only daughter, who was but sixteen years of age, had just been persuaded by the count de tilly, a profligate french nobleman, to elope with him. they were married, but the count soon intimated that he did not care for the girl if he could obtain some of her prospective fortune. he finally accepted five thousand pounds in cash and an annuity of six hundred pounds, and left for france. a divorce was obtained, and senator bingham was well pleased soon afterward when young mr. baring wooed and won his daughter. with the fortune her father gave her he was enabled on his return to london to enter the house of baring brothers as a partner, and on retiring from business in he was created a baron, with the title of lord ashburton. when appointed on a special mission to washington lord ashburton wrote to mr. webster, asking him to rent a suitable house for the accommodation of himself and suite. mr. webster accordingly rented the spacious and thoroughly equipped mansion erected by matthew st. clair clarke, clerk of the house, in his prosperous days. the price paid was twelve thousand dollars rent for ten months, and an additional thousand dollars for damages. mr. webster, who had received full powers from president tyler to conduct the negotiations on the part of the united states, occupied the swann house, near that occupied by lord ashburton. much of the preliminary negotiation was carried on at the dinner-tables of the contracting parties, and congressional guests were alike charmed by the hospitable attentions of the "fine old english gentleman" and the yankee secretary of state. lord ashburton offered his guests the cream of culinary perfection and the gastronomic art, with the rarest wines, while at mr. webster's table american delicacies were served in american style. maine salmon, massachusetts mackerel, new jersey oysters, florida shad, kentucky beef, west virginia mutton, illinois prairie chickens, virginia terrapin, maryland crabs, delaware canvas-back ducks, and south carolina rice- birds were cooked by monica, and served in a style that made the banker diplomat admit their superiority to the potages, sauces, entremets, ragouts, and desserts of his parisian white-capped manipulator of casse-roles. lord ashburton was about five feet ten inches in height, and was heavily built, as mr. webster was. he had a large head, a high forehead, dark eyes, with heavy eyebrows, and a clear red and white complexion. his principal secretary and adviser was mr. frederick william adolphus bruce, then in the foreign office, who, after a brilliant diplomatic career, was appointed a knight commander of the bath, and came again to washington in as the british minister. another secretary was mr. stepping, a fair-complexioned little gentleman, who was a great wit, and who made a deal of sport for the congressional guests. the treaty, as finally agreed upon, settled a vexatious quarrel over our northeastern boundary, it overthrew the british claim to exercise the right of search, and it established the right of property in slaves on an american vessel driven by stress of weather into a british port. but the treaty did not settle the exasperating controversy over the fisheries on the north atlantic coast or the disputed northwestern boundary. when the treaty finally reached the senate, it was debated for several weeks in executive session, mr. benton leading a strong opposition to it. near the close of the debate mr. calhoun made a strong speech in favor of ratification, in which he praised both lord ashburton and mr. webster. this speech secured the ratification of the treaty. having concluded the ashburton treaty, mr. webster started for new england to enjoy the rural life so dear to him on his farm at franklin, new hampshire, and at marshfield, massachusetts. he announced, before he left washington, that on his arrival at boston he should address his friends in faneuil hall, and there was an intense desire to her what he might have to say on public affairs. the leaders of the whig party hoped that he would announce a resignation of his office as secretary of state, denounce the duplicity of president tyler, and come gracefully to the support of henry clay, who had imperiously demanded the presidential nomination. but mr. webster declined to accept the advice given him, and spoke his mind very freely and frankly. there was--said one who heard the speech--no sly insinuation of innuendo, but a straightforward, independent expression of truth, a copious outpouring of keen reproof, solemn admonition, and earnest entreaty. among those former home-friends whose behavior was very annoying to mr. webster at this time was mr. abbott lawrence, a boston merchant, who, having amassed a large fortune, coveted political honors, and was a liberal contributor to the campaign fund of his party. astute and observing, he imagined himself a representative of the merchant-princes of venice under the doges and england under the plantagenets, and he spoke in a measured, stately tone, advancing his ideas with a positiveness that would not brook contradiction. on several occasions he had been one of the "solid men of boston" who had contributed considerable sums for the pecuniary relief of mr. webster, and this emboldened him to assume a dictatorial tone in advising the secretary of state to resign after the ashburton treaty had been negotiated. the command was treated with sovereign contempt, and thenceforth mr. lawrence looked upon mr. webster as ungrateful, and as standing in the way of his own political advancement. but mr. webster defied the would-be cotton-lord, saying: "i am a whig--a faneuil hall whig--and if any one undertakes to turn me out of that communion, let him see to it who gets out first." while mr. webster had been negotiating the ashburton treaty, and after he had found rest at marshfield, he displayed the same sprightly humor and tender sweetness which so endeared him to those who were permitted to enjoy intimate social relations with him. he always rose with the sun, visiting his farm-yards at marshfield, and going to market at washington, before breakfast, with a visit at either place to the kitchen, where he would gravely discuss the culinary programme of the day with monica, a cook of african descent, whose freedom he had purchased. after breakfast, he would study or write or fish all day, dressing for a late dinner, after which he gave himself up to recreation; sometimes, as colonel seaton's daughter has pleasantly told us, singing hymns or songs, generally impartially to the same tune; or gravely essaying the steps of a _minuet de la cour_, which he had seen danced in the courtly madisonian era; or joining in the jests of the gay circle, magnificent teeth gleaming, his great, living coals of eyes--"sleeping furnaces," carlyle called them--soft as a woman's; or his rare, tender smile lighting up the dusky grandeur of his face. mr. webster was not, at that period of his life, an intemperate drinker, although, like many other gentlemen of that day, he often imbibed too freely at the dinner-table. an amusing account has been given of an after-dinner speech by mr. webster at a gathering of his political friends, when he had to be prompted by a friend who sat just behind him, and gave him successively phrases and topics. the speech proceeded somewhat after this fashion: prompter: "tariff." webster: "the tariff, gentlemen, is a subject requiring the profound attention of the statesman. american industry, gentlemen, must be ----" (nods a little). prompter: "national debt." webster: "and, gentlemen, there's the national debt--it should be paid (loud cheers, which rouse the speaker); yes, gentlemen, it should be paid (cheers), and i'll be hanged if it sha'n't be--(taking out his pocket-book)--i'll pay it myself! how much is it?" this last question was asked of a gentleman near him with drunken seriousness, and, coupled with the recollection of the well-known impecuniosity of webster's pocket- book it excited roars of laughter, amidst which the orator sank into his seat and was soon asleep. prominent among the whig senators was nathan f. dixon, of westerly, rhode island. he was one of the old school of political gentlemen. his snow-white hair was tied in a long queue, he had a high forehead, aquiline nose, wide mouth, and dark eyes, which gleamed thorough his glasses. respecting the body of which he was a member, he used to appear in a black coat and knee-breeches, with a ruffled shirt, white waistcoat, and white silk stockings. he was the chairman of the whig senatorial caucus, and on the last night of the extra session mr. clay had complimented him, in rather equivocal language, on the ability with which he had presided. when the laughter had subsided, senator dixon rose, and with inimitable humor thanked the senator from kentucky. "i am aware," said he, "that i never had but one equal as a presiding officer, and that was the senator from kentucky. some of you may have thought that he was not in earnest, but did you know him as well as i do, you would credit any remark he may make before ten o'clock at night--after that, owing to the strength of his night-caps, there may be doubts." roars of laughter followed, and the senate caucus adjourned, as the senate had done, _sine die_. president tyler had great faith in the power of the newspaper press, and he secured, at an early period of his administration, by a lavish distribution of the advertising patronage of the executive departments, an "organ" in nearly every state. the journals thus recompensed for their support of the administration were generally without political influence, but mr. tyler prized their support, and personally looked after their interests. alluding to them in a letter to a friend, he said: "their motives may be selfish, but if i reject them for that, who among the great mass of office- holders can be trusted? they give one all the aid in their power, and i do not stop to inquire into motives." in another letter he complains of an official at new orleans, saying: "i have felt no little surprise at the fact that he should have thrown into the _bee_ [a most abusive paper] advertisements of great value, and refused to give them to the _republican_, a paper zealous and able in the cause of the administration." the central "organ," from which the others were to take their cues, was the _madisonian_, originally established by thomas allen. he disposed of it after he married the handsome and wealthy miss russell, of missouri, whose tiara and necklace of diamonds had been the envy of all the ladies at washington. john b. johnson, the author of _wild western scenes_, then became the editor, and wrote ponderous editorials advocating "justice to john tyler," which the minor organs all over the country were expected to copy. [facsimile] rufus choate rufus choate was born at ipswich, massachusetts, october st, ; was a representative in congress from massachusetts, - ; was united states senator, - , and died at halifax, nova scotia, july th, . chapter xxii. the capitol and the drawing-room. when the twenty-seventh congress met in december, , it was evident that there could be no harmonious action between that body and the president, but he was not disposed to succumb. writing to a friend, he said the coming session was "likely to prove as turbulent and fractious as any since the days of adam. but [he added] i have a firm grip on the reins." in this he was mistaken, or, rather, he had been deceived by the sycophants around him. neither house paid any attention to the recommendations which he made in his messages, and only a few of his nominations were confirmed. the whigs, who had elected the president, repudiated all responsibility for his acts and treated him as a traitor, and the democrats, while they accepted offices from him, generally spoke of him with contempt. the senate contained at that time many able men. henry clay was in the pride of his political power, but uneasy and restive as a caged lion. john c. calhoun was in the full glory of his intellectual magnificence and purity of personal character. preston's flexible voice and graceful gestures invested his eloquence with resistless effect over those whom it was intended to persuade, to encourage, or to control. barrow, of louisiana, the handsomest man in the senate, spoke with great effect. phelps, of vermont, was a somewhat eccentric yet forcible debater. silas wright, levi woodbury, and robert j. walker were laboring for the restoration of the democrats to power. benton stood sturdily, like a gnarled oak-tree, defying all who offered to oppose him. allen, whose loud voice had gained for him the appellation of "the ohio gong," spoke with his usual vehemence. franklin pierce was demonstrating his devotion to the slave-power, while rufus choate poured forth his wealth of words in debate, his dark complexion corrugated by swollen veins, and his great, sorrowful eyes gazing earnestly at his listeners. in the house of representatives there were unusually brilliant and able men. john quincy adams, chairman of the committee on foreign affairs, was the recognized leader. mr. fillmore, of new york, a stalwart, pleasant-featured man, with a remarkably clear-toned voice, was chairman of the committee on ways and means. henry a. wise, chairman of the committee on naval affairs, was able to secure a large share of patronage for the norfolk navy yard. george n. briggs (afterward governor of massachusetts), who was an earnest advocate of temperance, was chairman of the postal committee. joshua r. giddings, who was a sturdy opponent of slavery at that early day, was chairman of the committee on claims. john p. kennedy, of maryland, an accomplished scholar and popular author, was chairman of the committee on commerce; edward stanley, of north carolina, was chairman of the committee on military affairs; leverett saltonstall, of the committee on manufactures; indeed, there was not a committee of the house that did not have a first-class man as its chairman. but the session soon became a scene of sectional strife. mr. adams, in offering his customary daily budget of petitions, presented one from several anti-slavery citizens of haverhill, massachusetts, praying for a dissolution of the union, which raised a tempest. the southern representatives met that night, in caucus, and the next morning mr. marshall, of kentucky, offered a series of resolutions deploring the presentation of the obnoxious petition and censuring mr. adams for having presented it. an excited and acrimonious debate, extending over several days, followed. the principal feature of this exciting scene was the venerable object of censure, then nearly four-score years of age, his limbs trembling with palsy, his bald head crimson with excitement, and tears dropping from his eyes, as he for four days stood defying the storm and hurling back defiantly the opprobrium with which his adversaries sought to stigmatize him. he was animated by the recollection that the slave-power had prevented the re-election of his father and of himself to the presidential chair, and he poured forth the hoarded wrath of half a century. lord morpeth, who was then in washington, and who occupied a seat in the floor of the house near mr. adams during the entire debate, said that "he put one in mind of a fine old game-cock, and occasionally showed great energy and power of sarcasm." mr. wise became the prosecutor of mr. adams, and asserted that both he and his father were in alliance with great britain against the south. mr. adams replied with great severity, his shrill voice ringing through the hall. "four or five years ago," said he, "there came to this house a man with his hands and face dripping with the blood of murder, the blotches of which are yet hanging upon him, and when it was proposed that he should be tried by this house for the crime i opposed it." after this allusion to the killing of mr. cilley in a duel, mr. adams proceeded to castigate mr. wise without mercy. at the spring races, in , over the washington course, mr. stanly, of north carolina, accidentally rode so close to the horse of mr. wise as to jostle that gentleman, who gave him several blows with a cane. mr. stanly at once sent a friend to mr. wise with an invitation to meet him at baltimore, that they might settle their difficulty, and then left for that city. mr. wise remained in washington, where he was arrested the next day, under the anti- dueling law, and placed under bonds to keep the peace. mr. stanly remained at baltimore for several days, expecting mr. wise. he was the guest of mr. reverdy johnson, under whose instruction he practiced with dueling-pistols, firing at a mark. one morning mr. johnson took a pistol himself and fired it, but the ball rebounded and struck him in the left eye, completely destroying it. mr. stanly returned the next day to washington, where mutual friends adjusted the difficulty between mr. wise and himself. the vaulted arches of the old supreme court room in the basement of the capitol (now the law library) used to echo in those days with the eloquence of clay, webster, choate, sargent, binney, atherton, kennedy, berrien, crittenden, phelps, and other able lawyers. their honors, the justices, were rather a jovial sort, especially judge story, who used to assert that every man should laugh at least an hour during each day, and who had himself a great fund of humorous anecdotes. one of them, that he loved to tell, was of jonathan mason, of whom he always spoke in high praise. it set forth that at the trial of a methodist preacher for the alleged murder of a young girl, the evidence was entirely circumstantial, and there was a wide difference of opinion concerning his guilt. one morning, just before the opening of the court, a brother preacher stepped up to mason and said: "sir, i had a dream last night, in which the angel gabriel appeared and told me that the prisoner was not guilty." "ah!" replied mason, "have him subpoenaed immediately." charles dickens first visited washington in . he was then a young man. the attentions showered upon the great progenitor of dick swiveller turned his head. the most prominent men in the country told him how they had ridden with him in the _markis of granby_, with old weller on the box and samivel on the dickey; how they had played cribbage with the marchioness and quaffed the rosy with dick swiveller; how they had known honest tim linkwater and angelic little nell, ending with the welcome words of sir john falstaff, "d'ye think we didn't know ye? we knew ye as well as him that made ye." mr. webster gave a party on the night of january th, , which was the crowning entertainment of the season. eight rooms of his commodious house were thrown open to the guests, and were most dazzlingly lighted. there had not been in two administrations so large and brilliant an assemblage of female beauty and political rank. among the more distinguished guests were the president, lord morpeth, mr. fox, the british minister, m. bacourt, the french minister, mr. bodisco, the russian minister, and most of the diplomatic corps attached to the several legations, besides several judges of the supreme court and many members of congress. the honorable secretary received his numerous guests with that dignity and courtesy which was characteristic of him, and seemed to be in excellent spirits. there no dancing, not even music. there was, however, plenty of lively conversation, promenades, eating of ices, and sipping of rich wines, with the usual spice of flirtation. president tyler's last reception of the season of , on the night of the th of march, gathered one of the greatest crowds ever assembled in the white house. there was every variety of the american citizen _et citoyenne_ present--those of every form, shape, length, breadth, complexion, and dress. there were old ladies decked in the finery of their youthful days, and children in their nurses' arms. "boz" was the lion of the evening, and he stood like patience on a monument. he totally eclipsed washington irving, who was then at washington to receive his instructions as minister to spain. the president's cabinet, foreign ministers, some of the judges of the supreme court, a sprinkling of senators, two or three scores of representatives, and fifteen hundred man, women, and children, in every costume, and from every nook and corner of the country, made up the remainder of the medley. a children's fancy ball was given at the white house by president tyler, in honor of the birthday of his eldest granddaughter. dressed as a fairy, with gossamer wings, a diamond star on her forehead, and a silver wand, she received her guests. prominent among the young people was the daughter of general almonte, the mexican minister, arrayed as an aztec princess. master schermerhorn, of new york, was beautifully dressed as an albanian boy, and ada cutts, as a flower-girl, gave promise of the intelligence and beauty which in later years led captive the "little giant" of the west. the boys and girls of henry a. wise were present, the youngest in the arms of its mother, and every state in the union was represented. after old baron bodisco's marriage to the young and beautiful miss williams, the russian legation at georgetown became the scene of brilliant weekly entertainments, given, it was asserted, by especial direction of the emperor nicholas, who had a special allowance made for table-money. at these entertainments there was dancing, an excellent supper, and a room devoted to whist. mr. webster, mr. clay, general scott, and several of the diplomatic corps were invariably to be seen handling "fifty-two pieces of printed pasteboard," while the old baron, though not a good player, as the host of the evening, was accustomed to take a hand. one night he sat down to play with those better acquainted with the game, and he lost over a thousand dollars. at the supper-table he made the following announcement, in a sad tone: "ladies and gentlemens: it is my disagreeable duty to make the announce that these receptions must have an end, and to declare them at an end for the present, because why? the fund for their expend, ladies and gentlemens, is exhaust, and they must discontinue." ole bull, the renowned violinist, then gave a concert at washington, which was largely and fashionably attended. in the midst of one of his most exquisite performances, while every breath was suspended, and every ear attentive to catch the sounds of his magical instrument, the silence was suddenly broken and the harmony harshly interrupted by the well-known voice of general felix grundy mcconnell, a representative from the talladega district of alabama, shouting, "none of your high-falutin, but give us hail columbia, and bear hard on the treble!" "turn him out," was shouted from every part of the house, and the police force in attendance undertook to remove him from the hall. "mac," as he was called, was not only one of the handsomest men in congress, but one of the most athletic, and it was a difficult task for the policemen to overpower him, although they used their clubs. after he was carried from the hall, some of his congressional friends interfered, and secured his release. the publication of verbatim reports of the proceedings of congress was systematically begun during polk's administration by john c. rives, in the _congressional globe_, established a few years previously as an offshoot from the old democratic organ. this unquestionably had a disastrous effect upon the eloquence of congress, which no longer hung upon the accents of its leading members, and rarely read what appeared in the report of the debates. imitating demosthenes and cicero, chatham and burke, mirabeau and lamartine, the congressmen of the first fifty years of the republic poured forth their breathing thoughts and burning words in polished and elegant language, and were listened to by their colleagues and by spectators so alive to the beauties of eloquence that they were entitled to the appellation of assemblages of trained critics. the publication of verbatim reports of the debates put an end to this, for senators and representatives addressed their respective constituents through the _congressional globe_. [facsimile] felix grundy felix grundy was born in berkeley county, virginia (now west virginia), september th, ; was a representative from tennessee, - ; was united states senator, - ; was attorney- general under president van buren, - ; was again elected senator in , and died at nashville, december th of the same year. chapter xxiii. lights and shadows. john tyler, who was fifty-one years of age when he took possession of the executive mansion, was somewhat above the medium height, and of slender figure, with long limbs and great activity of movement. his thin auburn hair turned white during his term of office, his nose was large and prominent, his eyes were of a bluish- gray, his lips were thin, and his cheeks sunken. his manners were those of the old school of virginia gentlemen, and he was very courteous to strangers. the ceremonious etiquette established at the white house by van buren vanished, and the president lived precisely as he had on his plantation, attended by his old family slaves. he invariably invited visitors with whom he was acquainted, or strangers who were introduced to him, to visit the family dining- room and "take something" from a sideboard well garnished with decanters of ardent spirits and wines, with a bowl of juleps in the summer and of egg-nog in the winter. he thus expended nearly all of his salary, and used to regret that it was not larger, that he might entertain his guests more liberally. one day president tyler joked mr. wise about his little one-horse carriage, which the president styled "a candle-box on wheels," to which the representative from the accomac district retorted by telling mr. tyler that he had been riding for a month in a second- hand carriage purchased at the sale of the effects of mr. paulding, the secretary of the navy under mr. van buren, and having the paulding coat-of-arms emblazoned on the door-panels. the president laughed at the sally, and gave orders at once to have the armorial bearings of the pauldings painted over. economy also prompted the purchase of some partly worn suits of livery at the sale of the effects of a foreign minister, and these were afterward worn by the colored waiters in state dinners. "beau" hickman, as he called himself, made his appearance at washington toward the close of the tyler administration. he was of middle size, with long hair, and an inoffensive, cadaverous countenance. it was his boast that he was born among the slashes of hanover county, virginia, and he was to be seen lounging about the hotels, fashionably, yet shabbily, dressed, generally wearing soiled white kid gloves and a white cravat. it was considered the proper thing to introduce strangers to the beau, who thereupon unblushingly demanded his initiation fee, and his impudence sometimes secured him a generous sum. he was always ready to pilot his victims to gambling-houses and other questionable resorts, and for a quarter of a century he lived on the blackmail thus levied upon strangers. one of the most agreeable homes in washington was that of colonel benton, the veteran senator from missouri, whose accomplished and graceful daughters had been thoroughly educated under his own supervision. he was not willing, however, that one of them, miss jessie, should receive the attentions of a young second lieutenant in the corps of the topographical engineers, mr. fremont, and the young couple, therefore, eloped and were married clandestinely. the colonel, although terribly angry at first, accepted the situation, and his powerful support in congress afterward enabled mr. fremont to explore, under the patronage of the general government, the vast central regions beyond the rocky mountains, and to plant the national flag on wind river peak, upward of thirteen thousand feet above the gulf of mexico. a very different wedding was that of baron alexander de bodisco, the russian minister plenipotentiary, and miss harriet williams, a daughter of the chief clerk in the office of the adjutant-general. the baron was nearly fifty years of age, with dyed hair, whiskers, and moustache, and she a blonde schoolgirl of "sweet sixteen," celebrated for her clear complexion and robust beauty. the ceremony was performed at her father's house on georgetown heights, and was a regular may and december affair throughout. there were eight groomsmen, six of whom were well advanced in life, and as many bridesmaids, all of them young girls from fourteen to sixteen years of age, wearing long dresses of white satin damask, donated by the bridegroom. the question of precedence gave the baron much trouble, as he could not determine whether mr. fox, then the british minister and dean of the diplomatic corps, or senator buchanan, who had been minister to russia, should be the first groomsman. this important question was settled by having the groomsmen and bridesmaids stand in couples, four on either side of the bridegroom and bride. the ceremony was witnessed at the bride's residence by a distinguished company, and the bridal party then went in carriages to the russian legation, where an elegant entertainment awaited them, and where some of the many guests got gloriously drunk in drinking the health of the happy couple. queen victoria's diplomatic representative at washington at that time, the honorable henry stephen fox, was a son of general fox, of the british army, who fought at the battle of lexington in , and a nephew of the eminent statesman, charles james fox. he had served in the british diplomatic corps for several years, and was thoroughly acquainted with his duties, but he held the least possible intercourse with the department of state and rarely entered a private house. he used to rise about three o'clock in the afternoon, and take his morning walk on pennsylvania avenue an hour or two later. miss seaton says that a gentleman on one occasion, meeting him at dusk in the capitol grounds, urged him to return with him to dinner, to which mr. fox replied that "he would willingly do so, but his people were waiting breakfast for him." on the occasion of the funeral of a member of the diplomatic corps, turning to the wife of the spanish minister, he said: "how very old we all look by daylight!" it being the first time he had seen his colleagues except by candle-light. he went to bed at daylight, after watering his plants, of which he was passionately fond. john howard payne visited washington to solicit from president tyler a foreign consulate. he was then in the prime of life, slightly built, and rather under the medium height. his finely developed head was bald on the top, but the sides were covered with light brown hair. his nose was large, his eyes were light blue, and he wore a full beard, consisting of side-whiskers and a moustache, which were always well-trimmed. he was scrupulously neat in his dress, and usually wore a dark brown frock coat and a black vest, while his neck was covered with a black satin scarf, which was arranged in graceful folds across his breast. despite his unpretending manner and his plain attire, there was something about his appearance which never failed to attract attention. his voice was low and musical, and when conversing on any subject in which he was deeply interested he spoke with a degree of earnestness that enchained the attention and touched the hearts of his listeners. after much solicitation by himself and his friends, he obtained the appointment of united states consul at tunis, and left for his post, where he died, his remains being finally brought to the capital and buried in oak hill cemetery. among the curiosities of washington about this time was the studio of messrs. moore & ward, in one of the committee-rooms at the capitol, where likenesses were taken--as the advertisement read-- "with the daguerreotype, or pencil of nature." the "likenesses, by diffused light, could be taken by them in any kind of weather during the daytime, and sitters were not subjected to the slightest inconvenience or unpleasant sensation." the new discovery gradually supplanted the painting of miniatures on ivory in water-colors, and the cutting of silhouettes from white paper, which were shown on a black ground. another novel invention was the electric, or, as it was then called, the magnetic telegraph. mr. morse had a model on exhibition at the capitol, and the beaux and belles used to hold brief conversations over the mysterious wire. at last the house considered a bill appropriating twenty-five thousand dollars, to be expended in a series of experiments with the new invention. in the brief debate on the bill, mr. cave johnson undertook to ridicule the discovery by proposing that one-half of the proposed appropriation be devoted to experiments with mesmerism, while mr. houghton thought that millerism (a religious craze then prevalent) should be included in the benefits of the appropriation. to those who thus ridiculed the telegraph it was a chimera, a visionary dream like mesmerism, rather to be a matter of merriment than seriously entertained. men of character, men of erudition, men who, in ordinary affairs, had foresight, were wholly unable to forecast the future of the telegraph. other motions disparaging to the invention were made, such as propositions to appropriate part of the sum to a telegraph to the moon. the majority of congress did not concur in this attempt to defeat the measure by ridicule, and the bill was passed by the close vote of eighty-nine to eighty- three. a change of three votes, however, would have consigned the invention to oblivion. another year witnessed the triumphant success of the test of its practicability. the invention vindicated its character as a substantial reality; it was no longer a chimera, a visionary scheme to extort money from the public coffers. mr. morse was no more subjected to the suspicion of lunacy, nor ridiculed in the halls of congress, but he had to give large shares of its profits to amos kendall and f. o. j. smith before he could make his discovery of practical value. the new york _tribune_ was first published during the tyler administration by horace greeley, who had very successfully edited the _log cabin_, a political newspaper, during the preceding presidential campaign. the _tribune_, like the new york _herald_ and _sun_ was then sold at one cent a copy, and was necessarily little more than a brief summary of the news of the day. but it was the germ of what its editor lived to see it become--a great newspaper. it soon had a good circulation at washington, where the eminently respectable _national intelligencer_ and the ponderous _globe_ failed to satisfy the reading community. mr. webster remained in the cabinet until the spring of , when the evident determination of president tyler to secure the annexation of texas made it very desirable that webster should leave, so he was "frozen out" by studied reserve and coldness. by remaining in the cabinet he had estranged many of his old political associates, and colonel seaton, anxious to bring about a reconciliation, gave one of his famous "stag" supper-parties, to which he invited a large number of senators and members of the house of representatives. the convivialities had just commenced when the dignified form of webster was seen entering the parlor, and as he advanced his big eyes surveyed the company, recognizing, doubtless, some of those who had become partially alienated from him. on the instant, up sprang a distinguished senator from one of the large southern states, who exclaimed: "gentlemen, i have a sentiment to propose --the health of our eminent citizen, the negotiator of the ashburton treaty." the company enthusiastically responded. webster instantly replied: "i have also a sentiment for you,--the senate of the united states, without which the ashburton treaty would have been nothing, and the negotiator of that treaty less than nothing." the quickness and fitness of this at once banished every doubtful or unfriendly feeling. the company clustered around the magnate, whose sprightly and edifying conversation never failed to excite admiration, and the remainder of the evening was spent in a manner most agreeable to all. immediately after the resignation of mr. webster the cabinet was reconstructed, but a few months later the bursting of a cannon on the war-steamer princeton, while returning from a pleasure excursion down the potomac, killed mr. upshur, the newly appointed secretary of state, mr. gilmer, secretary of the navy, with six others, while colonel benton narrowly escaped death and nine seamen were injured. the president had intended to witness the discharge of the gun, but was casually detained in the cabin, and so escaped harm. this shocking catastrophe cast a gloom over washington, and there was a general attendance, irrespective of party, at the funeral of the two cabinet officers, who were buried from the white house. one of those killed by the explosion on the princeton was mr. gardiner, a new york gentleman, whose ancestors were the owners of gardiner's island, in long island sound. his daughter julia, a young lady of fine presence, rare beauty, and varied accomplishments, had for some time been the object of marked attention from president tyler, although he was in his fifty-fifth year and she but about twenty. soon after she was deprived of her father they were quietly married in church at new york, and president tyler brought his young bride to the white house. mrs. lydia dickinson, wife of daniel f. dickinson, a senator from new york, was the recognized leader of washington society during the administration of president tyler. she was the daughter of dr. knapp, and, when a school girl, fell in love with dickinson, then a smart young wool-dresser, and discerning his talents, urged him to study law and to fit himself for a high political position in life. she was gratified by his unexampled advancement, and when he came here a united states senator, she soon took a prominent part in the social life of the metropolis. [facsimile] ccushing caleb cushing was born at salisbury, massachusetts, january th, ; was a representative in congress from massachusetts, - ; was commissioner to china, - ; served in the mexican war as colonel and brigadier-general, - ; was attorney- general of the united states under president pierce, - ; was counsel for the united states before the geneva tribunal of arbitration on the alabama claims, ; was minister to spain, - , and died at newburyport, massachusetts, january d, . chapter xxiv. how texas became a state. president tyler was encouraged in his desire to have texas admitted as a state of the union by henry a. wise, his favorite adviser, and by numerous holders of texan war scrip and bonds. before the victims of the princeton explosion were shrouded, mr. wise called upon mr. mcduffie, a member of the senate, who represented mr. calhoun's interests at washington, and informed him that the distinguished south carolinian would be appointed secretary of state. mr. wise urged the senator to write to mr. calhoun at once, begging him not to decline the position should he be nominated and confirmed. mr. mcduffie did not ask mr. wise if he spoke by mr. tyler's authority, but evidently believed that he was so authorized, and promised to write to mr. calhoun by that afternoon's mail. mr. wise then went to the executive mansion, where he found mr. tyler in the breakfast room, much affected by the account of the awful catastrophe of the previous day. mr. wise told him rather abruptly that it was no time for grief, as there were vacancies in the cabinet to be filled, in order that urgent matters then under his control might be disposed of. "what is to be done?" asked president tyler. mr. wise had an answer ready: "your most important work is the annexation of texas, and the man for that work is john c. calhoun, as secretary of state. send for him at once." "no, sir!" replied the president, rather coldly. "the annexation of texas is important, but mr. calhoun is not the man of my choice." this was rather a damper on mr. wise, but he resolutely insisted on mr. calhoun's appointment, and finally the president yielded. the nomination was sent to the senate and confirmed without opposition. mr. calhoun came to washington, and was soon installed as secretary of state. it took him only from february th to april th to conclude the negotiation which placed the "lone star" in the azure field of the ensign of the republic. the treaty of annexation was signed and sent to the senate for ratification, but after a protracted discussion it was rejected by a vote of sixteen yeas to thirty-five nays. stephen a. douglas, who had just entered congress as one of the seven representatives from illinois, came to the front at that time as the principal advocate for the remission of a fine which had been imposed upon general jackson by judge hall at new orleans twenty-five years before. this was the first move made by mr. douglas in his canvass for the presidency, but he was soon prominent in that class of candidates of whom senator william allen, of ohio, said, "sir! they are going about the country like dry-goods drummers, exhibiting samples of their wares." always on the alert to make new friends and to retain old ones, he was not only a vigorous hand-shaker, but he would throw his arms fondly around a man, as if that man held the first place in his heart. no statement was too chary of truth in its composition, no partisan manoeuvre was too openly dishonest, no political pathway was too dangerous, if it afforded an opportunity for making a point for douglas. he was industrious and sagacious, clothing his brilliant ideas in energetic and emphatic language, and standing like a lion at bay when opposed. he had a herculean frame, with the exception of his lower limbs, which were short and small, dwarfing what otherwise would have been a conspicuous figure, and he was popularly known as "the little giant." his large, round head surmounted a massive neck, and his features were symmetrical, although his small nose deprived them of dignity. his dark eyes, peering from beneath projecting brows, gleamed with energy, mixed with an expression of slyness and sagacity, and his full lips were generally stained at the corners of his mouth with tobacco juice. his voice was neither musical nor soft, and his gestures were not graceful. but he would speak for hours in clear, well-enunciated tones, and the sharp illinois attorney soon developed into the statesman at washington. the house of representatives, at that period, could boast of more ability than the senate. among the most prominent members were the accomplished robert c. winthrop, who so well sustained the reputation of his distinguished ancestors; hamilton fish, the representative knickerbocker from the state of new york; alexander ramsey, a worthy descendant of the pennsylvania dutchmen; the loquacious garrett davis, of kentucky; the emaciated alexander h. stephens of georgia, who apparently had not a month to live, yet who rivaled talleyrand in political intrigue; john wentworth, a tall son of new hampshire, transplanted to the prairies of illinois; andrew johnson, of tennessee, a born demagogue and self-constituted champion of the people; john slidell, of new orleans; robert dale owen, the visionary communist from indiana; howell cobb, of georgia, and jacob thompson, of mississippi, who were busily laying the foundations for the southern confederacy, "with slavery as its corner-stone;" the brilliant robert c. schenck, of ohio, and the genial isaac e. holmes, of south carolina, who softened the asperities of debate by many kindly comments made in an undertone. one of general schenck's stories was told by him to illustrate the "change of base" by those whigs who had enlisted in the tyler guard, yet declared that they had not shifted their position. "many years previous," he said, "when silk goods were scarce and dear, an old lady in ohio purchased a pair of black silk stockings. being very proud of this addition to her dress, she wore them frequently until they became quite worn out; as often, however, as a hole appeared in these choice articles, she very carefully darned it up; but for this purpose, having no silk, she was obliged to use white yarn. she usually appropriated saturday evenings to this exercise. finally, she had darned them so much that not a single particle of the original material or color remained. yet such was the force of habit with her that as often as saturday evening came she would say to her granddaughter, 'anny, bring me my black silk stockings.'" the presidential campaign of was very exciting. mr. van buren's friends did not entertain a shade of a doubt that he would be nominated, and his opponents in the democratic ranks had almost lost hope of defeating him in the nominating convention, when, at the suggestion of mr. calhoun, he was adroitly questioned on the annexation of texas in a letter written to him by mr. hamett, a representative from mississippi. mr. van buren was too sagacious a politician not to discover the pit thus dug for him, and he replied with great caution, avowing himself in favor of the annexation of texas when it could be brought about peacefully and honorably, but against it at that time, when it would certainly be followed by war with mexico. this was what the southern conspirators wanted, and their subsequent action was thus narrated in a letter written a few years afterward by john tyler, which is here published for the first time: "texas," wrote mr. tyler, "was the great theme that occupied me. the delegates to the democratic convention, or a very large majority of them, had been elected under implied pledges to sustain van buren. after his letter repudiating annexation, a revulsion had become obvious, but how far it was to operate it was not possible to say. a majority of the delegates at least were believed still to remain in his favor. if he was nominated the game to be played for texas was all over. what was to be done? "my friends," mr. tyler went on to say, "advised me to remain at rest, and take my chances in the democratic convention. it was impossible to do so. if i suffered my name to be used in that convention, then i became bound to sustain the nomination, even if mr. van buren was the nominee. this could not be. i chose to run no hazard, but to raise the banner of texas, and convoke my friends to sustain it. this was but a few weeks before the meeting of the convention. to my surprise, the notice which was thus issued brought together a thousand delegates, and from every state in the union. many called on me on their way to baltimore to receive my views. my instructions were, 'go to baltimore, make your nomination, then go home, and leave the thing to work its own results.' i said no more, and was obeyed. the democratic convention felt the move. a texan man or defeat was the choice left, and they took a texan man. my withdrawal at a suitable time took place, and the result was soon before the world. i acted to insure the success of a great measure, and i acted not altogether without effect. in so doing i kept my own secrets; to have divulged my purposes would have been to have defeated them." the national whig convention assembled at baltimore, and henry clay was nominated with great enthusiasm, ex-senator theodore frelinghuysen, of new jersey, being nominated as vice-president. the next day a hundred thousand whigs, from every section of the republic, met in mass convention at baltimore, with music, banners, and badges, to ratify the ticket. mr. webster, with true magnanimity, was one of the speakers, and advocated the election of clay and frelinghuysen with all the strength of his eloquence. the whigs were jubilant when their chosen leader again took the field, and the truants flocked back to the standard which they had deserted to support john tyler. harmony once more prevailed among the leaders and in the ranks, and the whig party was again in good working order. three weeks later the national democratic convention met in baltimore and remained in session three days. a majority of the delegates advocated the nomination of ex-president van buren, but he was defeated by permitting his opponents to pass the two-thirds rule, and on the third day james k. polk was nominated. silas wright was nominated as vice-president, but he positively declined, saying to his friends that he did not propose to ride behind on the black pony [slavery] at the funeral of his slaughtered friend, mr. van buren. mr. george m. dallas, of pennsylvania, was then nominated. governor fairfield, of maine, on his return from philadelphia on the first of june, , whither he had gone as chairman of a committee of the democratic convention to inform mr. dallas of his nomination as vice-president, gave an amusing account of the scene. the committee reached philadelphia about three o'clock in the morning, and were piloted to mr. dallas' house by his friend, senator robert j. walker. loud knocks at the door brought mr. dallas to his chamber window. recognizing mr. walker, and fearing that his daughter, who was in washington, was ill, he hastened down- stairs, half dressed and in slippers, when, to his utter amazement, in walked sixty or more gentlemen, two by two, with the tread of soldiers, passing him by and entering his front parlor, all maintaining the most absolute silence. mr. dallas, not having the slightest conception of their object, stood thunderstruck at the scene. mr. walker then led him into the back parlor. "my dear walker," said he, in amazement, "what is the matter?" "wait, one moment, if you please, dallas, wait one moment, if you please." in a few moments the folding-doors connecting the parlors were thrown back, and in the front parlor (which had meanwhile been lighted up) mr. dallas saw a semi-circle of gentlemen, who greeted him with applause. governor fairfield then stepped forward, and briefly informed mr. dallas what the action of the convention had been. the candidate for vice-president, who had recovered from his momentary surprise, eloquently acknowledged the compliment paid him, and promised to more formally reply by letter. he then opened his sideboard, and all joined in pledging "success to the ticket." mr. clay unfortunately wrote a texas letter, which fell like a wet blanket upon the whigs, and enabled the democratic managers to deprive him of the vote of new york by organizing the liberty party, which nominated james g. birney, of michigan, as president, and thomas morris, of ohio, as vice-president. this nomination received the support of the anti-slavery men, of many disappointed adherents of mr. van buren, and of the anti-masonic and anti-rent factions of the whig party of new york. the consequence was that over sixty thousand votes were thrown away on birney, nine-tenths of them being drawn from the whig ranks, thus securing a complete triumph for the democrats. at the "birthnight ball," on the d of february, , president tyler was accompanied by president-elect polk. mrs. madison also was present with mrs. alexander hamilton, and the members of the diplomatic corps wore their court uniforms. a few nights afterward president tyler gave a "parting ball" at the white house, his young and handsome wife receiving the guests with distinguished grace. mr. polk was prevented from attending by the indisposition of his wife, but the vice-president-elect, mr. dallas, with his splendid crown of white hair, towered above all other guests except general scott and "long john" wentworth. there was dancing in the east room, mrs. tyler leading off in the first set of quadrilles with mr. wilkins, the secretary of war, as her partner. this entertainment concluded the "cavalier" reign within the white house, which was soon ruled with puritan austerity by mr. polk. near the close of the session of congress with which the administration of john tyler terminated, a joint resolution legislating texas into the union was introduced. when it had been passed by the house after determined resistance, it was discussed, amended, and passed by the senate. it reached the president on the d of march, received his immediate approval, and the next day a messenger was started for texas, to have it accepted, and thus secure annexation. on the morning of the th of march, , mr. tyler left the white house, not caring to assist in the inauguration of his successor. as the potomac steamer was about to swing away from the wharf, which was crowded with people who were glad to see the ex-president depart, he came along with his family, a squadron of colored servants, and a great lot of luggage. as they alighted from their carriages at the head of the wharf the whistle sounded, the boat's bell rang, and she began slowly to move away. some one in the crowd sang out, "hello! hello! captain, hold on there, ex-president tyler is coming. hold on!" the captain, an old clay whig, standing near the stern of the boat on the upper deck, looked over the rail, saw the presidential crowd coming, but pulled his engine bell violently and shouted, "ex-president tyler be dashed! let him stay!" this scene was lithographed and copies hung for years in many of the saloons and public houses of washington. [facsimile] s. a. douglas stephen arnold douglas was born at brandon, vermont, april d, ; was a representative in congress from illinois, - ; was united states senator from until his death at chicago, june d, . chapter xxv. restoration of the democrats. james knox polk was inaugurated as the eleventh president of the united states on the th of march, , a rainy, unpleasant day. had any method of contesting a presidential election been provided by the constitution or the laws, the fraudulent means by which his election was secured, would have been brought forward to prevent his taking his seat. but the constitution had made no such provision, and congress had not been disposed to interfere; so mr. polk was duly inaugurated with great pomp, under the direction of the dominant party. a prominent place was assigned in the inaugural procession for the democratic associations of washington and other cities. the pugilistic empire club from new york, led by captain isaiah rynders, had with it a small cannon, which was fired at short intervals as the procession advanced. the chief marshal of the procession having issued orders that no carriages should enter the capitol grounds, the diplomats were forced to alight at a side gate in the rain, and to walk through the mud to the senate entrance, damaging their feathered chapeaux and their embroidered uniforms, to their great displeasure. conspicuous in the group around the president was vice-president dallas, tall, erect, and dignified, with long, snow-white hair falling over his shoulders. the president-elect read his inaugural, which few heard, and when he had concluded chief justice taney administered the oath of office. as mr. polk reverentially kissed the bible, the customary salutes boomed forth at the navy yard and at the arsenal. the new president was then escorted to the white house, the rain having made pennsylvania avenue so slippery with mud that not a few of the soldiers fell ingloriously on the march. the cry, "who is james k. polk?" raised by the whigs when he was nominated, was unwarranted, for he was not an unknown man. he had been a member of the house from to , speaker from to , and chairman of the committee of ways and means during a portion of his membership. he had been a jackson leader in the house, and as such he had manifested not only zeal and skill as a party manager, but also substantial qualities of a respectable order. it seems certain that polk was selected by the southern democracy some time before the convention met in , and that he was heartily in sympathy with the movement for conquering a portion of mexico to be made into slave states. polk entered heartily into this business, and worked harmoniously with the instigators of conquest, except that he became self-willed when his vanity was touched. president polk was a spare man, of unpretending appearance and middle stature, with a rather small head, a full, angular brow, penetrating dark gray eyes, and a firm mouth. his hair, which he wore long and brushed back behind his ears, was touched with silver when he entered the white house and was gray when he left it. he was a worthy and well-qualified member of the fraternity of the freemasons, and a believer in the creed of the methodists, although, out of deference to the religious opinions of his wife, he attended worship with her at the first presbyterian church. calm, cold, and intrepid in his moral character, he was ignorant of the beauty of moral uprightness in the conduct of public affairs, but was ambitious of power and successful in the pursuit of it. he was very methodical and remarkably industrious, always finding time to listen patiently to the stories of those who came to him as petitioners for patronage and place. but his arduous labors impaired his health and doubtless shortened his life. before his term of office had half expired his friends were pained to witness his shortened and enfeebled step, and the air of languor and exhaustion which sat upon him. there were two inauguration balls in honor of the new president's accession to power--one at ten dollars a ticket, and the other at two dollars. the ten-dollar ball was at carusi's saloon, and was attended by the leaders of washington society, the diplomatic corps, and many officers of the army and navy. madame de bodisco, wife of the russian minister, in a superb court dress, which she had worn while on her bridal visit to st. petersburg, attracted much attention and contrasted strongly with mrs. polk, whose attire was very plain. the ball at the national theatre was more democratic, and was attended by an immense crowd, whose fight for the supper was emblematical of the rush and scramble about to be made for the loaves and fishes of office. when the guests began to depart, it was found that the best hats, cloaks, and canes had been taken early in the evening, and there was great grumbling. commodore elliot had his pocket picked at the white house on inauguration day, the thief depriving him of his wallet, which contained several valued relics. one was a letter from general jackson, congratulating him on his restoration to his position in the service, and containing a lock of "old hickory's" hair; another was a letter from mrs. madison, inclosing a lock of mr. madison's hair. mrs. polk was a strict presbyterian, and she shunned what she regarded as "the vanities of the world" whenever it was possible for her to do so. she did not possess the queenly grace of mrs. madison or the warm-hearted hospitality of mrs. tyler, but she presided over the white house with great dignity. she was of medium height and size, with very black hair, dark eyes and complexion, and formal yet graceful deportment. at the inauguration of her husband she wore a black silk dress, a long black velvet cloak with a deep cape, trimmed with fringe and tassels, and a purple velvet bonnet, trimmed with satin ribbon. her usual style of dress was rich, but not showy. mrs. polk would not permit dancing at the white house, but she did all in her power to render the administration popular. one morning a lady found her reading. "i have many books presented to me by their writers," said she, "and i try to read them all; at present this is not possible; but this evening the author of this book dines with the president, and i could not be so unkind as to appeared wholly ignorant and unmindful of his gift." at one of her evening receptions a gentleman remarked, "madame, you have a very genteel assemblage to-night." "sir," replied mrs. polk, with perfect good humor, but very significantly, "i have never seen it otherwise." mr. james buchanan, the newly appointed secretary of state, was at this time in the prime of life, and his stalwart frame, fair complexion, light blue eyes, courtly manners, and scrupulously neat attire prompted an english visitor, mrs. maury, to say that he resembled a british nobleman of the past generation, when the grave and dignified bearing of men of power was regarded as an essential attribute of their office. although a bachelor, he kept house on f street next to the abode of john quincy adams, where his accomplished niece presided at his hospitable board. he faithfully carried out the foreign policy of president polk, but never let pass an opportunity for advancing, with refreshing humility, his own claims to the succession. in a letter written to a friend he alluded to a prediction that he would be the next president, and went on to say: "i or any other man may disappear from the political arena without producing a ripple upon the surface of the deep and strong current which is sweeping the country to its destiny. nothing has prevented me from removing myself from the list of future candidates for the presidency, except the injury this might do to the democratic cause in pennsylvania. on this subject i am resolved, and whenever it may be proper i shall make known my resolution. nothing on earth could induce me again to accept a cabinet appointment." yet never did a wily politician more industriously plot and plan to secure a nomination than mr. buchanan did, in his still-hunt for the presidency. william learned marcy, the secretary of war, was the "wheel-horse" of president polk's cabinet. heavily built, rather sluggish in his movements, and always absorbed with some subject, he was not what is generally termed "companionable," and neither bores nor office-seekers regarded him as an amiable man. he used to write his most important dispatches in the library of his own house. when thus engaged he would at once, after breakfast, begin his work and write till nearly noon, when he would go to the department, receive calls, and attend to the regular routine duties of his position. during hours of composition he was so completely engrossed with the subject that persons might enter, go out, or talk in the same room without in the least obtaining his notice. he usually sat in his dressing-gown, with an old red handkerchief on the table before him, and one could judge of the relative activity of his mind by the frequency of his application to the snuff-box. in truth, he was an inveterate snuff-taker, and his immoderate consumption of that article appeared to have injuriously affected his voice. president polk, anxious to placate his defeated rival, mr. van buren, tendered the appointment of secretary of the treasury to silas wright. he declined it, having been elected governor of the state of new york, but recommended for the position mr. a. c. flagg. governor marcy objected to the appointment of mr. flagg, then to the appointment of mr. george bancroft, the historian, and finally accepted himself the place of secretary of war. mr. robert j. walker, a pennsylvanian by birth and a mississippian by adoption, who had in the united states senate advocated the admission of texas and opposed the protection of american industries by a high tariff, was made secretary of the treasury. mr. george bancroft was appointed secretary of the navy, and cave johnson, of tennessee, postmaster-general. mr. john y. mason, who had been the secretary of the navy in tyler's cabinet, was retained by polk as his attorney-general, having made earnest appeals that he might not be disturbed. he wrote to an influential friend at washington that he desired to remain in office on account of his financial wants. "imprudence amounting to infatuation," he went on to say, "while in congress, embarrassed me, and i am barely recovering from it. the place is congenial to my feelings, and the salary will assist virginia land and negroes in educating six daughters. although i still own a large estate, and am perfectly temperate in my habits, i have felt that the folly of my conduct in another respect may have led to the report that i was a sot--an unfounded rumor, which originated with a richmond paper." governor marcy used to joke mr. mason a good deal on the forwardness of the old dominion, the mother of presidents, in urging the claims of her children for federal office--a propensity which was amusingly illustrated at a private dinner where they were both in attendance. "how strange it is, mason," said he, "that out of the thousands of fat appointments we have had to make, there is not one that virginia does not furnish a candidate for, and that every candidate is backed up by the strongest testimonials that he was expressly educated for that particular post!" mason bore the joke very well, contenting himself with the observation that the people of the united states seemed to know where to look for great men. mr. polk had been elected president on the platform of "the whole of oregon or none" and " ° ', or fight." but mr. mclean, who was sent to england, negotiated a treaty fixing the boundary at °, and " ° '" was abandoned without the promised fight. another troublesome legacy inherited by john tyler was not so easily arranged, and the mexican war was inaugurated. to the more intelligent portion of the northern whigs the contest was repulsive, and the manner in which it was used for the advancement of democratic politicians was revolting. but few forgot their allegiance to this country in the face of the enemy. congress, repeatedly appealed to by the president, voted men and money without stint to secure the national success and to maintain the national honor. whig states which, like massachusetts, had no sympathy for the war, contributed the bravest of their sons, many of whom, like a son of daniel webster, fell victims to mexican malaria or mexican bullets. while president polk endeavored to gratify each of the component factions of the democratic party in the composition of his cabinet, he ruthlessly deposed the veteran francis p. blair from the editorship of the _globe_ to gratify the chivalry of south carolina, who made it the condition upon which he could receive the electoral vote of their state, then in the hands of the general assembly, and controlled by the politicians. blair & rives had loaned ten thousand dollars to general jackson, who was very indignant when he learned that his old friends were to be shelved, but the nullifiers were inexorable. the _globe_ ceased to be the editorial organ of the administration, and "father ritchie," who had for many years edited the richmond _inquirer_, was invited to washington, where he established the _union_, which became the mouthpiece of president polk. "the _globe_," says colonel benton, "was sold and was paid for; it was paid for out of public money--the same fifty thousand dollars which were removed to the village bank at middletown, in the interior of pennsylvania. three annual installments made the payment, and the treasury did not reclaim the money for three years." the first congressional assembly attended by president polk was graced by the presence of general felix grundy mcconnell, of alabama, who appeared arrayed in a blue swallow-tailed coat, light cassimere pantaloons, and a scarlet waistcoat. his female acquaintances at washington not being very numerous, he had invited to accompany him two good-looking french milliner girls from a shop in the lower story of the house in which he boarded. the young women were dressed as near to the parisian style of ball dress as their means would permit, and the trio attracted much attention as they promenaded the hall. when the president arrived, the general marched directly to him, and exclaimed in his stentorian voice: "mr. polk, allow me the honor of introducing to you my beautiful young friend, mamselle--mamselle--mamselle--_parley vous francais_--whose name i have forgotten!" then, turning to the other lady, he asked, "will you introduce your friend?" the president, seeing general mac's embarrassment, relived him by shaking hands cordially with each of the young ladies. [facsimile] james k. polk james knox polk was born in mecklenburg county, north carolina, november d, ; was a representative in congress from tennessee, - ; was governor of tennessee, ; was president of the united states, - , and died at nashville, tennessee, june th, . chapter xxvi. death of john quincy adams. the metropolis was not very gay during the latter portion of mr. polk's administration. there were the usual receptions at the white house, and at several of the foreign legations the allowance of "table money" was judiciously expended, but there were not many large evening parties or balls. one notable social event was the marriage of colonel benton's daughter sarah to mr. jacob, of louisville. the bridegroom's family was related to the taylors and the clays, so henry clay, who had been re-elected to the senate, was present, and escorted the bride to the supper-table. there was a large attendance of congressmen, diplomats, and officials, but the absence of officers of the army and navy, generally so prominent at a washington entertainment, was noticeable. they were in mexico. another interesting entertainment was given by colonel seaton, at his mansion on e street, to the whig members of congress and the journalists. the first homage of nearly all, as they entered, was paid to john quincy adams, who sat upon a sofa, his form slightly bowed by time, his eyes weeping, and a calm seriousness in his expression. daniel webster was not present, having that day received intelligence of the death of his son edward, who was major of a massachusetts regiment, and died in mexico of camp-fever. henry clay, however, was there, with kind words and pleasant smiles for all his friends. crittenden, corwin, and other whig senatorial paladins were present, and mr. speaker winthrop, that perfect gentleman and able presiding officer, headed a host of talented representatives. commodore stockton and general jones represented the army and navy, while erastus brooks and charles lanman appeared for the press. there was a sumptuous collation, with much drinking of healths and many pledges to the success of the whig cause. the reunion at colonel seaton's was on friday night, february th, . the following sunday john quincy adams attended public worship at the capitol, and on monday, the st, he was, as usual, in his seat when the house was called to order. during the preliminary business he was engaged in copying a poetical invocation to the muse of history for one of the officials, and he appeared to be in ordinarily good health. a resolve of thanks to the generals of the mexican war came up, and the clerk had read, "resolved by the house that"--when he was arrested by the cry of "look to mr. adams!" mr. david fisher, of ohio, who occupied the desk on mr. adams' right, saw him rise as if he intended to speak; then clutch his desk with a convulsive effort, and sink back into his chair. mr. fisher caught him in his arms, and in an instant dr. fries and dr. nes, both members, were at his side. it was a solemn moment, for a cry went from more than one, "mr. adams is dying!" it was thought that, like pitt, he would give up the ghost "with harness on," on the spot which his eloquence had hallowed. "stand back!" "give him air!" "remove him!" every one seemed panic-stricken except mr. speaker winthrop, who quietly adjourned the house, and had his insensible colleague removed on a sofa--first into the rotunda, and then into the speaker's room. cupping, mustard poultices, and friction were resorted to, and about an hour after his attack mr. adams said, "this is the last of earth, but i am content." he then fell into a deep slumber, from which he never awoke. mrs. adams and other relatives were with him, and among the visitors was henry clay, who stood for some time with the old patriarch's hand clasped in his, and gazed intently on the calm but vacant countenance, his own eyes filled with tears. mr. adams lingered until the evening of the d of february, when he breathed his last. the funeral services were very imposing, and a committee of one from each state accompanied the remains to boston, where they lay in state at faneuil hall, and were then taken to quincy for interment. the committee returned to washington enthusiastic over the hospitalities extended to them while they were in massachusetts. abraham lincoln was a member of the last congress during the polk administration. he made no mark as a legislator, but he established his reputation as a story-teller, and he was to be found every morning in the post-office of the house charming a small audience with his quaint anecdotes. among other incidents of his own life which he used to narrate was his military service in the black hawk war, when he was a captain of volunteers. he was mustered into service by jefferson davis, then a lieutenant of dragoons, stationed at fort dixon, which was near the present town of dixon, illinois, and was under the command of colonel zachary taylor. mr. lincoln served only one term, and before its expiration he began to take steps for appointment as commissioner of the general land-office, two years afterward, should the whigs then come into power. a number of prominent whig senators and representatives indorsed his application, but he was not successful. jefferson davis was a representative from mississippi until he resigned to accept the command of a regiment of riflemen, with which he rendered gallant services at buena vista, under his father- in-law, general taylor, with whom he was not at that time on speaking terms. in appearance his erect bearing recalled his service as an officer of dragoons, while his square shoulders and muscular frame gave proof of a training at west point. his high forehead was shaded by masses of dark hair, in which the silvery threads began to show; his eyes were a bluish-gray, his cheekbones prominent, his nose aquiline, and he had a large, expressive mouth. he was an ardent supporter of state sovereignty and southern rights, and he was very severe on those congressmen from the slave-holding states, who were advocates of the union, especially mr. a. h. stephens, whom he denounced as "the little pale star from georgia." the democratic national convention met at baltimore on the d of may, . there was a prolonged contest over the rival claims of delegates from new york, terminated by the admission of the "hards." general james m. commander, the solitary delegate from south carolina, was authorized to cast the nine votes of that state. the two-thirds rule was adopted, and on the fourth day of the convention, lewis cass, of michigan, was nominated on the fourth ballot, defeating james buchanan and levi woodbury. having nominated a northern candidate, a southern platform was adopted, which covered the entire ground of non-interference with the rights of slave- holders, either in the states or territories. general cass was then in the sixty-sixth year of his age, and had passed forty years in the public service. his knowledge was ample but not profound. he was ignorant on no subject, and was deeply versed on none. the world to him was but a playhouse, and that drama with him was best which was best performed. when the whig national convention met at philadelphia, on the th of june, there was a bitter feeling between the respective friends of webster and clay, but they were all doomed to disappointment. the northern delegates to the whig national convention might have nominated either webster, clay, scott, or corwin, as they had a majority of fifty-six over the delegates from the southern states, and cast twenty-nine votes more than was necessary to choose a candidate. but they refused to unite on any one, and on the fourth ballot sixty-nine of them voted with the southern whigs and secured the nomination of zachary taylor. while the friends of mr. clay made a desperate rally in his behalf, knowing that it was his last chance, some of those who had smarted under the lash which he wielded so unsparingly in the senate rejoiced over his defeat. "thank providence!" exclaimed ex-senator archer, of virginia, "we have got rid of the old tyrant at last." as the whig national convention had adjourned without passing a single declaration of the party's principles, general taylor's letter of acceptance was awaited with intense interest. it was believed that he would outline some policy which would be accepted and which would unite the whig party. a month elapsed, and no letter of acceptance was received by governor morehead, who had presided over the convention, but the postmaster at baton rouge, where general taylor lived, addressed the postmaster-general a letter, saying that with the report for the current quarter from that office, two bundles of letters were forwarded for the dead- letter office, they having been declined on account of the non- payment of the postage by the senders. it was in the ten-cent and non-prepayment time. of the forty-eight letters thus forwarded to the dead-letter office, the baton rouge postmaster said a majority were addressed to general taylor, who had declined to pay the postage on them and take them out of the office, because his mail expenses had become burdensome. the general had since become aware that some of the letters were of importance, and asked for their return. in due course, the letters were sent back to baton rouge, and among them was governor morehead's letter notifying the general of the action of the philadelphia convention. general taylor's letter of acceptance was thus dated a month and five days after the letter of notification had been written. it was "short and sweet." he expressed his thanks for the nomination, said he did not seek it, and that he were elected president, for which position he did not think he possessed the requisite qualifications, he would do his best. he discussed nothing, laid down no principles, and gave no indications of the course he would pursue. thurlow weed was not satisfied with this letter, and sent the draft of another one, more explicit, and indorsed by mr. fillmore. this general taylor had copied, and signed it as a letter addressed to his kinsman, captain allison. in it he pledged himself fully to whig principles, and it was made the basis of an effective campaign. mr. webster, who at first denounced the nomination as one "not fit to be made," was induced, by the payment of a considerable sum of money, to make a speech in favor of the ticket. nathaniel p. willis wrote a stirring campaign song, and at the request of thurlow weed, the writer of these reminiscences wrote a campaign life of the general, large editions of which were published at boston and at albany for gratuitous distribution. it ignored the general's views on the anti-slavery question. meanwhile, the massachusetts abolitionists and ultra-webster men, with the barn-burner wing of the democratic party in new york, and several other disaffected factions, met in convention at buffalo. they there nominated martin van buren for president and mr. charles francis adams for vice- president, and adopted as a motto, "free speech, free soil, free labor, and free men." this party attracted enough votes from the democratic ticket in the state of new york to secure the triumph of the whigs, and martin van buren, who had been defeated by the southern democrats, had in return the satisfaction of effecting their defeat. mr. calhoun, soured by his successive failures, but not instructed by them, sought revenge. "the last days of mr. polk's administration," says colonel benton, "were witness to an ominous movement, nothing less than nightly meetings of large numbers of members from the slave states to consider the state of things between the north and the south, to show the aggressions and encroachments (as they were called) of the former upon the latter, to show the incompatibility of their union, and to devise measures for the defense and protection of the south." [facsimile] h. s. foote henry stuart foote was born in fauquier county, virginia, september th, ; commenced the practice of law at tuscumbia, alabama, and removed to mississippi; was united states senator, - ; was governor of mississippi, - , and died may th, . chapter xxvii. making the most of power. general zachary taylor was, of all who have filled the presidential chair by the choice of the people, the man least competent to perform its duties. he had been placed before his countrymen as a candidate in spite of his repeated avowals of incapacity, inexperience, and repugnance to all civil duties. although sixty- four years of age, he had never exercised the right of suffrage, and he was well aware that he was elected solely because of his military prowess. but no sooner did he learn that he had been chosen president than he displayed the same invincible courage, practical sense, and indomitable energy in the discharge of his new and arduous civil duties which had characterized his military career. the president-elect was fortunate in having as a companion, counselor, and friend colonel william wallace bliss, who had served as his chief of staff in the mexican campaign, and who became the husband of his favorite daughter, miss betty. colonel bliss was the son of captain bliss, of the regular army, and after having been reared in the state of new york he was graduated at west point, where he served afterward as acting professor of mathematics. on his way to washington from his louisiana plantation, general taylor visited frankfort, and personally invited mr. john j. crittenden, then governor of kentucky, to become his secretary of state. governor crittenden declined, and general taylor then telegraphed to mr. john m. clayton, of delaware, tendering him the position, which that gentleman promptly accepted. mr. abbott lawrence, of boston, solicited the appointment of the secretary of the treasury, and was offered the navy department, which he declined. mr. robert toombs, supported by representative stephens and senator dawson, succeeded in having mr. george w. crawford, of georgia, appointed secretary of war. mr. william m. meredith, of pennsylvania, was rather forced upon general taylor as secretary of the treasury by mr. clayton and other whigs, partly on account of his acknowledged talents, but chiefly to exclude objectionable pennsylvanians, among them mr. josiah randall, who, more than any other, had contributed to the nomination and election of the general. a contest between messrs. corwin and vinton, of ohio, for a seat in the cabinet was settled by the appointment of mr. thomas ewing, of that state, as secretary of the interior. mr. jacob collamer, of vermont, who had been an unsuccessful competitor with mr. upham for a seat in the senate, and had been recommended by the legislature of his state as attorney- general, was made postmaster-general. general taylor came to washington impressed with the idea that he was politically indebted to george lunt, of massachusetts, and william ballard preston, of virginia. he appointed mr. lunt district attorney for the district of massachusetts, and it was soon understood that he proposed to invite mr. preston to a seat in his cabinet as attorney-general. the whig senators remonstrated, urging preston's lack of great legal ability and learning, but all to no purpose. finally senator archer, of virginia, called and asked if there was any foundation for the report that his friend preston was to be made attorney-general. "yes!" answered general taylor, "i have determined on that appointment." "are you aware, general," said the senator, "that the attorney-general must represent the government in the supreme court?" "of course!" responded the general. "but did you know that he must there meet daniel webster, reverdy johnson, and other leading lawyers?" "certainly. what of it?" "nothing, general, except that they will make a blank fool of your attorney- general." the virginia senator then took his leave, and the next morning's papers contained the announcement that the president had decided to appoint mr. preston secretary of the navy, and mr. reverdy johnson attorney-general. mrs. taylor regretted the election of her husband, and came to washington with a heavy heart. she was a native of calvert county, maryland, and was born on the estate where the father of mrs. john quincy adams had formerly resided. her father, mr. walter smith, was a highly respectable farmer, and her brother, major richard smith, of the marine corps, was well remembered at washington for his gallant bearing and his social qualities. the eldest daughter of general taylor had married mr. jefferson davis. a second daughter was the wife of dr. wood, of the army, who was at that time stationed at baltimore, as was general taylor's brother, colonel taylor. mrs. taylor, with her younger daughter, mrs. bliss, went directly from louisiana to baltimore some weeks prior to the inauguration. they broke up housekeeping at baton rouge, and took with them william oldham, a faithful colored man, who had been the body- servant of general taylor for many years, the parade horse, "old whitey," which he had ridden in the mexican campaign, and a favorite dog. general taylor was inaugurated on monday, march th. he was escorted from willard's hotel by an imposing procession, headed by twelve volunteer companies. the president-elect rode in an open carriage drawn by four gray horses, and he was joined at the irving house by president polk, who sat at his right hand. one hundred young gentlemen, residents of the district of columbia, mounted on spirited horses, formed a body-guard, and kept the crowd from pressing around the president's carriage. then came the "rough-and-ready" clubs of washington, georgetown, alexandria, and baltimore, with banners, badges, and music, while the students of the georgetown college brought up the rear. the personal appearance of general taylor as he read his inaugural address from a platform erected in front of the eastern portico of the capitol was not imposing. his figure was somewhat portly, and his legs were short; his thin, gray hair was unbrushed; his whiskers were of the military cut then prescribed; his features were weather- bronzed and care-furrowed; and he read almost inaudibly. it was evident, however, that he was a popular favorite, and when he had concluded the vociferous cheering of the assembled thousands was answered by the firing of cannon and the music of the bands. his praises were on all lips, and his soubriquets of "rough and ready" and "old zach." were sounded with all honor. the inaugural message showed that general taylor regarded the union as in danger, and that he intended to use every possible exertion for its preservation. mr. calhoun had requested, through mr. clayton, that nothing should be said in the inaugural on this subject, which had prompted the addition of a paragraph, in which the incoming president declared that a dissolution of the union would be the greatest of calamities, and went on to say: "whatever dangers may threaten it, i shall stand by it, and maintain it in its integrity, to the full extent of the obligations imposed and the power conferred upon me by the constitution." in december, , when congress assembled, the president aroused the violent opposition of southern members by recommending, in his message, that california be admitted as a free state, and that the remaining territories be allowed to form constitutions to suit themselves. so indignant were some of the southerners that the dissolution of the union was openly threatened. to allay this agitation clay's compromise measures were proposed, but taylor did not live to see the bill passed. the horde of office-seekers which invaded washington after the inauguration of president taylor recalled the saying of john randolph, when it was asserted that the patronage of the federal government was overrated: "i know," said the sarcastic virginian, "that it may be overrated; i know that we cannot give to those who apply offices equal to their expectations; and i also know that with one bone i can call five hundred dogs." the democratic motto, that "to the victors belong the spoils," was adopted by the taylor administration. unexceptionable men were removed from office, that their places might be filled with officers of rough and ready clubs or partisan orators. veterans like general armstrong and even the gifted hawthorne, were "rotated" without mercy from the offices which they held. in the post-office department alone, where mr. fitz henry warren, as assistant postmaster-general, worked the political guillotine, there were three thousand four hundred and six removals during the first year of the taylor administration, besides many hundred clerks and employees in the post-offices of the larger cities. in the dispensation of "patronage" there was a display of shameless nepotism. a brother-in-law of senator webster was made navy agent at new york. sons of senators crittenden, clay, and davis received important appointments abroad, and the son-in-law of senator calhoun was retained in the diplomatic service. two sons-in-law of senator benton were offered high places. a nephew of senator truman smith was made one of the united states judges in minnesota, and a nephew of secretary clayton was made purser at the washington navy yard. the assurance of the president that he had "no friends to reward" was apparently forgotten, and he was hedged in by a little circle of executive councilors, who ruled all things. while the administration was profligate in this abuse of patronage, the conduct of several of the secretaries was such as to give the president great uneasiness as he became acquainted with what was going on. old claims were revived, approved by the secretaries, and paid. prominent among them was the galphin claim, the chickasaw claim, the de la francia claim, the gardiner claim, and many others. from the galphin claim mr. crawford, secretary of war, received as his share one hundred and fifteen thousand dollars. the lawyers in congress declared that the secretary acted professionally, but others censured him severely. judge cartter, then a representative from ohio, was severe in his comments on the monstrous corruption of the allowance of interest, the payment of which he said that he disliked "both as an exaction of the part of the capitalists, and on account of its origin with the jews, who killed the saviour." president taylor, although a southerner by birth and a slave-owner, took prompt steps to thwart the schemes of mr. calhoun and his fellow-conspirators. military officers were ordered to california, utah, and new mexico, which had no governments but lynch law; and the people of the last-named province, which had been settled two hundred years before texas asserted her independence, were assured that her domain would be guaranteed by the united states against the claim of the lone star state. socially, president taylor enjoyed himself, and he used to take morning walks through the streets of washington, wearing a high black silk hat perched on the back of his head, and a suit of black broadcloth, much too large for him, but made in obedience to his orders, that he might be comfortable. mrs. taylor used to sit patiently all day in her room, plying her knitting-needles, and occasionally, it was said, smoking her pipe. mrs. bliss was an excellent housekeeper, and the introduction of gas into the executive mansion, with new furniture and carpets, enabled her to give it a more creditable appearance. it was said that she did the honors of the establishment "with the artlessness of a rustic belle and the grace of a duchess." general taylor found it difficult to accustom himself to the etiquette and the restraint of his new position. one day when the bachelor ex-secretary of state called with a number of fair pennsylvania friends to present them to the president, general taylor remarked: "ah! mr. buchanan, you always pick out the prettiest ladies!" "why, mr. president," was the courtly reply, "i know that your taste and mine agree in this respect." "yes," said general taylor, "but i have been so long among indians and mexicans that i hardly know how to behave myself, surrounded by so many lovely women." [facsimile] ztaylor zachary taylor was born in orange county, virginia, november th, ; never cast a vote or held a civil office until he was inaugurated as president, march th, ; died at the white house, after a few days' illness, july th, . chapter xxviii. the great compromise debate. the thirty-first congress, which met on the first monday in the december following the inauguration of president taylor, contained many able statesmen of national prominence. the organization of the house was a difficult task, nine "free-soil" or anti-slavery whigs from the north and six "state-rights" or pro-slavery whigs from the south, refusing to vote for that accomplished gentleman, mr. robert c. winthrop, who was the whig candidate for speaker. on the first ballot, howell cobb, of georgia, had one hundred and three votes, against ninety-six votes for robert c. winthrop, eight votes for david wilmot, six votes for meredith p. gentry, two votes for horace mann, and a number of scattering votes. the tellers announced that these was no choice, and the balloting was continued day after day, amid great and increasing excitement. after the thirty-ninth ballot, mr. winthrop withdrew from the contest, expressing his belief that the peace and the safety of the union demanded that an organization of some sort should be effected without delay. the southern whigs who had opposed mr. winthrop were vehement and passionate in their denunciation of the north. "the time has come," said mr. toombs, his black, uncombed hair standing out from his massive head, as if charged with electricity, his eyes glowing like coals of fire, and his sentences rattling forth like volleys of musketry--"the time has come," said he, "when i shall not only utter my opinions, but make them the basis of my political action here. i do not, then, hesitate to avow before this house and the country, and in the presence of the living god, that if, by your legislation, you seek to drive us from the territories of california and new mexico, and to abolish slavery in the district of columbia, i am for disunion; and if my physical courage be equal to the maintenance of my convictions of right and duty, i will devote all i am and all i have on earth to its consummation." such inflammatory remarks provoked replies, and after a heated debate mr. duer, of new york, remarked that he "would never, under any circumstances, vote to put a man in the speaker's chair who would, in any event, advocate or sanction a dissolution of the union." this brought a dozen southerners to their feet, with angry exclamations, and mr. bayly, of virginia, who was near mr. duer, said "there are no disunionists." "there are!" exclaimed mr. duer. "name one!" shouted mr. bayly. at that moment mr. meade, of virginia, rose and passed directly before mr. duer, who pointed to him and shouted, "there's one!" "it is false!" replied mr. meade, angrily. "you lie, sir!" responded mr. duer, in tones which rang through the hall; and, drawing himself up, he stood unmoved, while his political friends and foes clustered angrily about him, every man of them talking and gesticulating most furiously. fortunately, mr. nathan sergeant (known as a newspaper correspondent over the signature of oliver oldschool), who was the sergeant-at- arms of the house, was in his seat at the speaker's right hand. seizing the "mace," which represents the roman fasces, or bundle of rods, bound by silver bands and surmounted by an eagle with outstretched wings, which is the symbol of the authority of the house, he hastened to mr. duer and stood at his side, as if to protect him. his official interposition was immediately respected by all concerned in the disorder, and even the most tumultuous began at once to subside, so that no forcible measures were needed to prevent further violence. quiet was restored, and the excited representatives, one by one, obeyed the sharp raps of the speaker's gavel, accompanied by the peremptory order, "gentlemen will take their seats." mr. duer, who had recovered his usual composure, then addressed the chair, and having been recognized, apologized to the house for having been provoked into the use of the unparliamentary expression, but justified himself by referring to a speech which mr. meade had just made and printed, which contained disunion sentiments. mr. meade promptly challenged mr. duer, who showed no indisposition to fight, but with some difficulty friends secured an amicable settlement of the quarrel. finally, after three weeks of angry recriminations, it was voted that a plurality should elect, and on the sixty-second ballot mr. howell cobb, of georgia, having received one hundred and two votes against one hundred votes for mr. winthrop, was declared the speaker of the house. he did not have that sense of personal dignity and importance which belonged to sir john falstaff by reason of his knighthood, but he displayed the same rich exuberance of animal enjoyment, the same roguish twinkle of the eye, and the same indolence which characterized the fat knight. president taylor's first and only message to congress was transmitted on the monday following the organization of the house, december th, and the printed copies first distributed contained the sentence, "we are at peace with all the nations of the world and the rest of mankind." a revised edition was soon printed, in which the corrected sentence read, "we are at peace with all the nations of the world, and seek to maintain our cherished relations of amity with them." the blunder caused much diversion among the democrats, and greatly annoyed colonel bliss, who, as the president's private secretary, had superintended the publication of the message. the message contained no allusion to the slavery question, but the president had declared himself in favor of the untrammeled admission of california into the union, while, on the other hand, he did not approve the "higher law" doctrine which mr. seward was advocating as a nucleus for a new political party in the north. meanwhile, henry clay had reappeared at washington as a senator from kentucky, and occupied his old quarters at the national hotel, a large stockholder in which, mr. calvert, of maryland, was one of clay's many friends. although in his seventy-third year, mr. clay was apparently hale and hearty, but showed his age. his head, bald on the top, was fringed with long, iron-gray hair, his cheeks were somewhat sunken, his nose had a pinched look, but his wide mouth was, as in years past, wreathed in genial smiles. he always was dressed in black, and from a high black satin stock, which enveloped his long neck, emerged a huge white shirt collar, which reached to his ears. he mingled in society, generally kissed the prettiest girls wherever he went, and enjoyed a quiet game of cards in his own room, with a glass of toddy made from bourbon county whisky. at the commencement of the session mr. clay requested that he might be excused from service on any of the standing committees of the senate, and his wish was granted. it was not long, however, before he evinced a desire to re-enter the arena of debate as a leader of the whig party, but not as a follower of president taylor. presenting a series of resolutions which would consolidate the settlement of the eight different questions involving slavery, then before congress, into what he expected would prove a lasting compromise, he moved their reference to a select committee of thirteen, with instructions to report them in one bill. the committee was authorized, but not without opposition, and mr. webster's vote secured for mr. clay the chairmanship. a general compromise bill was speedily prepared, and the "battle of the giants" was recommenced, clay, webster, and calhoun engaging for the last time in a gladitorial strife, which exhibited the off-hand genial eloquence of the kentuckian, the ponderous strength of the massachusetts senator, and the concentrated energies of south carolina's favorite son. mr. clay was the leader in the debate, which extended over seven months, and during that time he was ever on the alert, sometimes delivering a long argument, sometimes eloquently replying to other senators, and sometimes suggesting points to some one who was to speak on his side. indignant at the treatment which he had received from the whig party he stood unsubdued, and so far from retreating from those who had deserted him, he intended to make the taylor administration recall its pledges, break its promises, and become national, or pro-slavery, whigs. mr. webster was equally grieved and saddened by the faithlessness of massachusetts men who had in years past professed friendship for him, but of whose machinations against him he had obtained proof during the preceding autumn. he also ascertained that, to use the words of mr. choate, "the attention of the public mind began to be drawn a little more directly to the great question of human freedom and human slavery." if he responded to the beatings of the new england heart, and resisted the aggressions and usurpations of the slave power, he would have to follow the lead of the abolitionists, for whom he had always expressed a profound contempt. dejected and depressed, mr. webster would at that time have been glad to take the mission to england, and thus terminate his career of public service; but he was defeated by the claims of mr. abbott lawrence, who, having been recently disappointed in not receiving the appointment of secretary of the treasury, refused to be comforted unless he could be the successor of george bancroft at the court of st. james. thaddeus stevens and joshua r. giddings asserted, after the decease of mr. webster, that he prepared a speech, the manuscript of which they had read, which was a powerful exposition and vindication of northern sentiment upon the compromise measures, especially the fugitive-slave bill. if this was true, he was doubtless induced to "change front" by pledges of southern support for the presidency; but he is reported by theodore parker as having said to a fellow senator, on the morning of the th of march, "i have my doubts that the speech i am going to make will ruin me." he should have remembered that he himself said of the emperor napoleon, "his victories and his triumphs crumbled to atoms, and moldered to dry ashes in his grasp, because he violated the general sense of justice of mankind." at this time webster's far-seeing mind was doubtless troubled by the prospects of a bloody civil war, with the breaking up of the union he loved so well. he stood by the old compromises rather than bring on a sectional conflict, and in his opinion there was no sacrifice too great to avert a fratricidal contest. "i speak to-day," said he, "for the preservation of the union!" his words were in after years the key-notes of many appeals for the protection and the preservation of the united states. mr. calhoun's health had gradually failed, and at last he was supported into the senate chamber wrapped in flannels, like the great chatham, and requested that his friend, senator mason, might read some remarks which he had prepared. the request was, of course, granted, and while mr. mason read the defiant pronunciamento its author sat wrapped in his cloak, his eyes glowing with meteor- like brilliancy as he glanced at senators upon whom he desired to have certain passages make an impression. when mr. mason had concluded, mr. calhoun was supported from the senate and went back to his lodgings at mr. hill's boarding-house, afterward known as the old capitol, to die. mr. jefferson davis aspired to the leadership of the south after the death of mr. calhoun, and talked openly of disunion. "let the sections," said he, in the senate chamber, "part, like the patriarchs of old, and let peace and good-will subsist among their descendants. let no wound be inflicted which time cannot heal. let the flag of our union be folded up entire, the thirteen stripes recording the original size of our family, untorn by the unholy struggles of civil war, its constellation to remain undimmed, and speaking to those who come after us of the growth and prosperity of the family whilst it remained united. unmutilated, let it lie among the archives of the republic, until some future day, when wiser counsels shall prevail, when men shall have been sobered in the school of adversity, again to be unfurled over the continent-wide republic." senator hale, who, with salmon p. chase, was not named on any of the committees of the senate, was a constant target for the attacks of the southerners, but the keenest shafts of satire made no more impression upon him than musket-balls do upon the hide of a rhinoceros. one day when senator clemens had asserted that the union was virtually dissolved, mr. hale said, "if this is not a matter too serious for pleasant illustration, let me give you one. once in my life, in the capacity of justice of the peace--for i held that office before i was senator--i was called on to officiate in uniting a couple in the bonds of matrimony. they came up, and i made short work of it. i asked the man if he would take the woman whom he held by the hand to be his wedded wife; and he replied, 'to be sure i will. i came here to do that very thing.' i then put the question to the lady whether she would have the man for her husband. and when she answered in the affirmative, i told them they were man and wife then. she looked up with apparent astonishment and inquired, 'is that all?' 'yes,' said i, 'that is all.' 'well,' said she, 'it is not such a mighty affair as i expected it to be, after all!' if this union is already dissolved, it has produced less commotion in the act than i expected." [facsimile] robt. c. winthrop robert charles winthrop was born at boston, massachusetts, may th, ; was a representative in congress from massachusetts from december th, , to july th, , when, having been appointed a united states senator from massachusetts, he took his seat in the senate, serving until february th, ; was speaker of the house during the thirtieth congress, and a part of the thirty- first congress. chapter xxix. prominent statesmen and diplomats. a prominent figure at washington during the taylor administration was general sam houston, a large, imposing-looking man, who generally wore a waistcoat made from the skin of a panther, dressed with the hair on, and who generally occupied himself during the sessions of the senate in whittling small sticks of soft pine wood, which the sergeant-at-arms provided for him. his life had been one of romantic adventure. after having served with distinction under general jackson in the creek war, he had become a lawyer, and then governor of the state of tennessee. soon after his inauguration he had married an accomplished young lady, to whom he one day intimated, in jest, that she apparently cared more for a former lover than she did for him. "you are correct," said she, earnestly, "i love mr. nickerson's little finger better than i do your whole body." words ensued, and the next day houston resigned his governorship, went into the cherokee country, west of the arkansas river, adopted the indian costume, and became an indian trader. he was the best customer supplied from his own whisky barrel, until one day, after a prolonged debauch, he heard from a texas indian that the mexicans had taken up arms against their revolted province. a friend agreeing to accompany him, he cast off his indian attire, again dressing like a white man, and never drank a drop of any intoxicating beverage afterward. arriving in texas at a critical moment, his gallantry was soon conspicuous, and in due time he was sent to washington as united states senator. his strong points, however, were more conspicuous on the field than in the senate. william h. seward entered the senate when general taylor was inaugurated as president, and soon became the directing spirit of the administration, although colonel bullit, who had been brought from louisiana to edit the _republic_, president taylor's recognized organ, spoke of him only with supercilious contempt. senator foote sought reputation by insulting him in public, and was himself taunted by mr. calhoun with the inconsistent fact of intimacy with him in private. the newly elected senator from new york persisted in maintaining amicable relations with his revilers, and quietly controlled the immense patronage of his state, none of which was shared by the friends of vice-president fillmore. he was not at heart a reformer; he probably cared but little whether the negro was a slave or a freeman; but he sought his own political advancement by advocating in turn anti-masonry and abolitionism, and by politically coquetting with archbishop hughes, of the roman catholic church, and henry wilson, a leading know-nothing. personally he was honest, but he was always surrounded by intriguers and tricksters, some of whose nests he would aid in feathering. the most unscrupulous lobbyists that have ever haunted the capitol were well known as devoted adherents of william h. seward, and he swayed them as a sovereign. mr. james buchanan had not shed many tears over the defeat of his rival, general cass, and when the whigs came into power he retired from the department of state to his rural home, called wheatland, near lancaster, pa. he used to visit washington frequently, and was always welcomed in society, where he made an imposing appearance, although he had the awkward habit of carrying his head slightly to one side, like a poll-parrot. he always attempted to be facetious, especially when conversing with young ladies, but when any political question was discussed in his presence, he was either silent, or expressed himself with great circumspection. from his first entry into the house of representatives, in , he had entertained presidential aspirations, and had sought to cultivate friendships that would be of service to him in obtaining the object of his ambition, protesting all the while that he was indifferent on the subject. after his retreat to wheatland he began to secure strength for the coming national democratic convention of , industriously corresponding with politicians in different sections of the country, and he was especially attentive to mr. henry a. wise, with whose aid he hoped to secure the votes of the delegates from virginia in the next national democratic convention. mr. wise, recalling the time when he was a power behind the throne of john tyler, encouraged mr. buchanan to bid for southern support, and intimated a readiness to "coach" him so as to make him a favorite in the slave states. his counsels were kindly taken and in return mr. buchanan wrote to the fiery "lord of accomac," in his most precise handwriting: "acquire more character for prudence and moderation, and under the blessing of heaven you may be almost anything in this country which you desire. there is no man living whose success in public and in private life would afford me more sincere pleasure than your own. you have every advantage. all you have to do is to go straight ahead, without unnecessarily treading upon other people's toes. i know you will think, if you don't say, 'what impudence it is for this childless old bachelor of sixty years of age to undertake to give me advice! why don't he mind his own business?' general jackson once told me that he knew a man in tennessee who had got rich by minding his own business; but still i urged him, and at last with success, which he never regretted." the free distribution of plants and seeds to congressmen for their favored constituents has made it an equally easy matter for the commissioner of agriculture to obtain liberal appropriations for his department and the publication of enormous editions of his reports. indeed, the bureau of agriculture has grown under these fostering influences to one of immense magnitude, and its beautiful building, erected in lincoln's time, is one of the ornaments of the city. the first of the agricultural reports was issued by edmund burke, while he was commissioner of patents during the polk administration. on the incoming of the taylor administration mr. burke was succeeded by thomas ewbank, of new york city, and congress made an appropriation of three thousand five hundred dollars for the collection of agricultural statistics. when mr. ewbank's report appeared the southern congressmen were (to quote the words used by senator jefferson davis, in debate) amazed to find that it was preceded by what he termed "an introduction by horace greeley, a philosopher and philanthropist of the strong abolition type." "the simple fact," he continued, "that mr. greeley was employed to write the introduction is sufficient to damn the work with me, and render it worthless in my estimation." this view was held by many other southerners. notwithstanding this fierce denunciation, however, the public appreciated just such work as had been undertaken, and so rapid was the growth of interest in this direction that the department of agriculture was fully organized in . it has continued to issue immense numbers of reports, which are standing objects of jest and complaint, but the fact still remains that they contain splendid stores of valuable information. queen victoria accredited as her minister plenipotentiary to president tyler the right honorable sir henry lytton bulwer, an accomplished diplomat, slender, and apparently in ill health. he was afterward, for many years, the british minister at constantinople, where he defeated the machinations of russia, and held in cunning hand the tangled thread of that delicate puzzle, the eastern question. his private secretary while he was at washington was his nephew, mr. robert bulwer (a son of the novelist), who has since won renown as lord lytton, viceroy of india, and as the author --owen meredith. the bitter political discussions at the capitol during the first six months of prevented much social enjoyment. there were the customary receptions at the white house, and "hops" at the hotels, but few large parties were given. tea-parties were numerous, at which a succession of colored waiters carried trays heaped with different varieties of home-made cakes and tarts, from which the beaux supplied the belles, and at the same time ministered to their own wants, balancing a well-loaded plate on one knee, while they held a cup and saucer, replete with fragrant decoctions from the chinese plant "which cheers, but not inebriates." the reigning belles were the queen-like widow ashley, of missouri, who afterward married senator crittenden, and her beautiful daughter, who became the wife of mr. cabell, of florida. mrs. fremont and her sisters made the home of their father, colonel benton, very attractive; general cass's daughter, who afterward married the dutch minister, had returned from paris with many rare works of art, and the proscribed free-soilers met with a hearty welcome at the house of dr. bailey, editor of the _new era_, where miss dodge (gail hamilton), passed her first winter in washington. on the evening of the th of july, , a large reception was given by ex-speaker winthrop to his gentlemen friends, without distinction of party or locality. at the supper-table mr. winthrop had at his right hand vice-president fillmore, and at his left hand mr. speaker cobb. webster and foote, benton and horace mann, the members elect from california, with clingman and venable, who were trying to keep them out, were seen in genial companionship. most of the cabinet and the president's private secretary, colonel bliss, were there, side by side with those who proposed to impeach them. the only drawback to the general enjoyment of the occasion was the understanding that it was the farewell entertainment of mr. winthrop, who had given so many evidences of his unselfish patriotism and eminent ability, and whose large experience in public affairs should have entitled him to the continued confidence of the people of massachusetts. president taylor was absent, and colonel bliss apologized for his non-attendance, saying that he was somewhat indisposed. the old hero had that day sat in the sun at the washington monument during a long spread-eagle address by senator foote, with a tedious supplementary harangue by george washington parke custis. while thus exposed to the midsummer heat for nearly three hours, he had drank freely of ice-water, and on his return to the white house he had found a basket of cherries, of which he partook heartily, drinking at the same time several goblets of iced milk. after dinner he still further feasted on cherries and iced milk against the protestations of dr. witherspoon, who was his guest. when it was time to go to mr. winthrop's he felt ill, and soon afterward he was seized with a violent attack of cholera morbus. this was on thursday, but he did not consider himself dangerously ill until sunday, when he said to his physician, "in two days i shall be a dead man." eminent physicians were called in, but they could not arrest the bilious fever which supervened. his mind was clear, and on tuesday morning he said to one of the physicians at his bedside, "you have fought a good fight, but you cannot make a stand." soon afterward he murmured, "i have endeavored to do my duty," and peacefully breathed his last. his sudden death was immediately announced by the tolling of the bell in the department of state, and in a few moments the funereal knell was echoed from every church steeple in the district. [facsimile] william h. seward william h. seward was born at florida, new york, may th, ; was governor of new york, - ; was united states senator from new york from march th, , until he entered the cabinet of president lincoln as secretary of state, march th, ; remained secretary of state under president johnson until march d, ; traveled around the world in - , and died at auburn, new york, october th, . chapter xxx. fillmore at the white house. on the tenth of july, , the day after the death of general taylor, mr. fillmore appeared in the representatives' hall at the capitol, where both houses of congress had met in joint session, took the oath of office, and immediately left. the new president was then fifty years of age, of average height, florid features, white hair, shrewd, gray eyes, and dignified yet courteous manners. he had risen from the humble walks of life, by incessant toil, to the highest position in the republic. always animated by an indomitable spirit and by that industry and perseverance which are the sure guarantees of success, he was undoubtedly a man of ability, but his intellect seemed, like that of lord bacon, to lack to complement of heart. a blank in his nature, where loyalty to the public sentiment of the north should have been, made him a willing instrument to crush out the growing determination north of mason and dixon's line that freedom should be national, slavery sectional. mr. fillmore had given satisfaction to the senators by the impartial manner in which he had presided as vice-president over their deliberations. they had, by a unanimous vote, approved of his ruling, which reversed the decision of mr. calhoun, twenty-three years before, that the vice-president had no right to call a senator to order for words spoken in debate, and they had ordered his explanatory remarks to be entered upon the journal. by mr. seward and mr. weed, however, he was treated with marked contempt, and under their direction the taylor administration had given him the cold shoulder. even his requests that two of his personal friends should be appointed collector of the port and postmaster at buffalo had been formally refused, and the places had been given to partisans of mr. seward. the unexpected death of general taylor was an element which even mr. seward had never taken into account, and the first consequence was undisguised confusion among the supporters of the administration. the members of the cabinet promptly tendered their resignations, and it was plainly visible that the sudden removal of the president had checkmated the plans so carefully made, and forced the chief player to feel the bitterness of political death. mr. fillmore was known to be amiable in private life, but it was evident that he would show little regard for those who had snubbed and slighted him in his less powerful position. the remains of the deceased president lay in state for several days in the east room at the white house, and were then interred with great pomp. religious services were held at the white house, where the distinguished men of the nation were grouped around the coffin. at the funeral there was a large military escort of regulars and volunteers, commanded by general scott, who was mounted on a spirited horse and wore a richly embroidered uniform, with a high chapeau crowned with yellow plumes. the ponderous funeral car was drawn by eight white horses. behind the car was led "old whitey," the charger ridden by general taylor in mexico. he was a well-made horse, in good condition, and with head erect, as if inspired by the clang of martial music, he followed to the grave the remains of him whom he had so often borne to victory. when the artillery and infantry fired the parting salute at the cemetery, the old war- horse pricked up his ears and looked around for his rider. mr. fillmore tendered the secretary of state's portfolio to mr. webster, who promptly accepted it. he had been assured that if he would advocate the compromises he would create a wave of popular sentiment that would float him into the white house in , against all opposition, and that no democratic aspirant would stand in his way. believing all this, mr. webster had committed himself in his th of march speech, and had found that many of his life-long friends and constituents refused to follow his lead. faneuil hall had been closed to him, and he was glad to escape from the senate chamber into the department of state. jefferson, madison, monroe, john quincy adams, and martin van buren had found that department a convenient stepping-stone to the presidential chair, and why should not he? mr. webster was a great favorite in the department of state, for he made no removals, and his generous and considerate treatment of the clerks won their affection. his especial favorite was mr. george j. abbott, a native of new hampshire, who had been graduated at exeter and cambridge, and had then come to washington to take charge of a boys' school. he was an accomplished classical scholar, and he used to hunt up latin quotations applicable to the questions of the day, which mr. webster would commit to memory and use with effect. his private secretary was mr. charles lanman, a young gentleman of literary and artistic tastes, who was a devoted disciple of isaak walton. mr. webster and he would often leave the department of state for a day of piscatorial enjoyment at the great falls of the potomac, when the secretary would throw off public cares and personal pecuniary troubles to cast his lines with boyish glee, and to exult loudly when he succeeded in hooking a fish. another clerk in the department who enjoyed mr. webster's esteem was mr. zantzinger, the son of a purser in the navy, who possessed rare accomplishments. whenever mr. webster visited his estates in new hampshire or massachusetts, he was accompanied by one of these gentlemen, who had the charge of his correspondence, and who, while enjoying his fullest confidence, contributed largely to his personal enjoyment. mr. webster's washington home was a two-story brick house on louisiana avenue, next to the unitarian church. his dining-room was in the basement story, and it was seldom that he had not friends at his hospitable table. monica, the old colored woman, continued to be his favorite cook, and her soft-shell crabs, terrapin, fried oysters, and roasted canvas-back ducks have never been surpassed at washington, while she could make a regal cape cod chowder, or roast a rhode island turkey, or prepare the old-fashioned new hampshire "boiled dinner," which the "expounder of the constitution" loved so well. whenever he had to work at night, she used to make him a cup of tea in an old britannia metal teapot, which had been his mother's and he used to call this beverage his "ethiopian nectar." the teapot was purchased of monica after mr. webster's death by henry a. willard, esq., of washington, who presented it to the continental museum at indian hill farm, the author's residence. under the influence of the new administration, congress passed the several compromise measures in mr. clay's bill as separate acts. the debate on each one was marked by acrimony and strong sectional excitement, and each one was signed by president fillmore amid energetic protests from the northern abolitionists and the southern secessionists. the most important one, which provided for the rendition of fugitive slaves, he referred to attorney-general crittenden before signing it, and received his opinion that it was constitutional. when it was placed on the statute book, the union members of the house of representatives organized a serenade to president fillmore and his secretary of state, daniel webster. the president bowed his acknowledgments from a window of the executive mansion, but mr. webster came out on the broad doorstep of his home, with a friend on either side of him holding a candle, and, attired in a dressing gown, he commenced a brief speech by saying, "now is the summer--no! now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this son of york." this ended the speech also. the wife of president fillmore was the daughter of the rev. lemuel powers, a baptist clergyman. she was tall, spare, and graceful, with auburn hair, light blue eyes, and a fair complexion. before her marriage she had taught school, and she was remarkably well- informed, but somewhat reserved in her intercourse with strangers. she did not come to washington until after her husband became president, and her delicate health prevented her mingling in society, though she presided with queenly grace at the official dinner- parties. the president's father, "squire fillmore," as he was called, visited his son at the white house. he was a venerable-looking man, tall, and not much bowed by his eighty years, his full gray hair and intelligent face attracting much attention. when he was about to leave, a gentleman asked him why he would not remain a few days longer. "no, no!" said the old gentleman, "i will go. i don't like it here; it isn't a good place to live; it isn't a good place for millard; i wish he was at home in buffalo." the corner-stone of one of the "extensions" of the capitol was laid on the seventy-sixth anniversary of our national independence, july th, , by the fraternity of free masons in "due and ample form." president fillmore, the cabinet, the diplomatic corps, several governors of states, and other distinguished personages occupied seats on a temporary platform, which overlooked the place where the corner-stone was laid, major b. b. french, grand master of the masons of the district of columbia, officiating. mr. webster was the orator of the day, and delivered an eloquent, thoughtful, and patriotic address, although he was evidently somewhat feeble, and was forced to take sips of strong brandy and water to sustain him as he proceeded. among the vast audience were three gentlemen who had, fifty-eight years previously, seen general washington aid his brother free masons in laying the corner-stone of the original capitol. later in that year, the large hall which contained the library of congress, occupying the entire western side of the centre of the capitol, was destroyed by fire, with almost all of its valuable contents. the weather was intensely cold, and, had not the firemen and citizens (including president fillmore) worked hard, the entire capitol would have been destroyed. congress soon afterward made liberal appropriations, not only for reconstructing the library of cast-iron, but for the purchase of books, so that the library soon rose, phoenix-like, from its ashes. but the purchases were made on the old plan, under the direction of the congressional joint committee on the library, the chairman of which then, and for several previous and subsequent sessions, was senator pearce, of maryland, a graduate of princeton college. there was not in the library of congress a modern encyclopaedia, or a file of a new york daily newspaper, or of any newspaper except the venerable daily, _national intelligencer_, while _debow's review_ was the only american magazine taken, although the london _court journal_ was regularly received, and bound at the close of each successive year. jenny lind created a great sensation at washington, and at her first concert mr. webster, who had been dining out, rose majestically at the end of her first song and made an imposing bow, which was the signal for enthusiastic applause. lola montez danced in her peculiar style to an audience equally large, but containing no ladies. charlotte cushman appeared as _meg merrilies_, parodi and dempster sang in concerts, burton and brougham convulsed their hearers with laughter, booth gave evidence of the undiminished glow of his fiery genius by his masterly delineation of the "wayward and techy" _gloster_, and forrest ranted in _metamora_, to the delight of his admirers. colonel john w. forney told a good story about a visit which he paid with forrest to henry clay soon after the passage of the compromise measure. the colonal unguardedly complimented a speech made by senator soulé, which made clay's eyes flash, and he proceeded to criticise him very severely, ending by saying: "he is nothing but an actor, sir--a mere actor!" then, suddenly recollecting the presence of the tragedian, he dropped his tone, and turning toward mr. forrest, said, with a graceful gesture, "i mean, my dear sir, a mere french actor!" the visitors soon afterward took their leave, and as they descended the stairs, forrest turned toward forney and said, "mr. clay has proved by the skill with which he can change his manner, and the grace with which he can make an apology, that he is a better actor than soulé." [facsimile] millard fillmore millard fillmore was born at summer hill, new york, january th, ; was a representative in congress from new york, - ; was defeated as a whig candidate for governor of new york, ; was elected state comptroller, ; was elected vice-president on the whig ticket headed by z. taylor in , receiving one hundred and thirty-six electoral votes, against one hundred and twenty- seven electoral votes for w. o. butler; served as president of the united states from july th, to march d, ; was defeated as the national american candidate for president in ; and died at buffalo, new york, march th, . chapter xxxi. arraignment of daniel webster. mr. clayton, when secretary of state, had received a proposition from august belmont, as the agent of the rothschilds, to pay the mexican indemnity in drafts, for which four per cent. premium would be allowed. then mr. webster became secretary of state, and he entered into an agreement with an association of bankers, composed of the barings, corcoran & riggs, and howland & aspinwall, for the negotiation of the drafts by them at a premium of three and a-half per cent. the difference to the government was about forty thousand dollars, but the rival sets of bankers had large interests at stake, based on their respective purchases of mexican obligations at depreciated values, and a war of pamphlets and newspaper articles ensued. the dispute was carried into congress, and during a debate on it in the house, representative cartter, of ohio, afterward chief justice of the courts in the district of columbia, was very emphatic in his condemnation of all the bankers interested. "i want the house to understand," said he, with a slight impediment in his speech, "that i take no part with the house of rothschild, or of baring, or of corcoran & riggs. i look upon their scramble for money precisely as i would upon the contest of a set of blacklegs around a gaming-table over the last stake. they have all of them grown so large in gormandizing upon money that they have left the work of fleecing individuals, and taken to the enterprise of fleecing nations." mr. charles allen, of the worcester district of massachusetts, availed himself of the opportunity offered by this debate on the payment of the mexican indemnity to make a long-threatened malignant attack on daniel webster. he asserted that he would not intrust mr. webster with the making of arrangements to pay the three millions of mexican indemnity. he stated that it was notorious that when he was called to take the office of secretary of state he entered into a negotiation by which twenty-five thousand dollars was raised for him in state street, boston, and twenty-five thousand dollars in wall street, new york. mr. allen trusted that the democratic party had yet honor enough left to inquire into the matter, and that the whigs even, would not palliate it, if satisfied of the fact. mr. george ashmun, representative from the springfield district, retorted that mr. allen had eaten salt with mr. webster and received benefits from him, and that he was the only one who dared thus malignantly to assail him. mr. ashmun alluded to a letter from washington, some time previously published in the boston _atlas_, stating that a member of the house had facts in his possession upon which to found a resolution charging a high officer with "corruption and treason," and he traced a connection between that letter and mr. allen's insinuations. mr. henry w. hilliard, of alabama, followed mr. ashmun with a glowing eulogy of mr. webster, in which he declared that, although massachusetts might repudiate him, the country would take him up, for he stood before the eyes of mankind in a far more glorious position than he could have occupied but for the stand which he had taken in resisting the legions which were bearing down against the rights of the south. this elicited a bitter rejoinder from mr. allen, who alluded to the fact that mr. hilliard was a clergyman, and said that he had found out how to serve two masters. mr. ashmun, asking mr. allen if he had not published confidential letters addressed to him by mr. charles hudson, received as a reply, "no, sir! no, sir! you are a scoundrel if you say that i did!" the debate between messrs. ashmun and allen finally became so bitter that mr. stephens, of georgia, and other representatives objected to its continuance, and refused to hear another word from either of them. the next day mr. lewis, of philadelphia, improved an opportunity for eulogizing mr. webster, provoking a scathing reply from mr. joshua giddings. immediately after this debate, mr. ashmun wrote to mr. hudson to inquire whether the statement was true or false, and received the following telegraphic dispatch: "boston, march d, . "hon. george ashmun: i wrote a confidential letter to hon. charles allen just before the philadelphia convention in . he read the letter in a public meeting at worcester and published it in the worcester _spy_. (signed) charles hudson." mr. ashmun declared on the floor of the house, by the authority of mr. webster, that the statement of mr. allen was "false in all its length and breadth, and in all its details," but there was doubtless a foundation for the statement. the friends of mr. webster admitted that a voluntary contribution had been tendered him as a compensation for the sacrifices he had made in abandoning his profession to accept the office of secretary of state, and they justified his acceptance of the money on the ground that after having devoted the labors of a long life to his profession, and attained in it a high rank, which brought large fees, he should not be asked to relinquish those professional emoluments without, in justice to his obligations to his family, accepting an equivalent. without indorsing this state-street view of the case, it is to be regretted that the charges were made, to trouble mr. webster's spirit and sour his heart. mr. webster often sought consolation in his troubles from the grand old poetry of the hebrew bible, which awakened peaceful echoes in his own poetic soul. his chosen "crony" in his latter years, though much younger than himself, was charles marsh, a new hampshire man. well educated, polished by travel, and free from pecuniary hamper, marsh was a most delightful companion, and his wit, keen as saladin's cimeter, never wounded. fletcher webster was also a great favorite with his father, for he possessed what charles lever called "the lost art of conversation." sometimes, when mr. webster's path had been crossed, and he was black as night, marsh and fletcher would, by humorous repartees and witticisms, drive the clouds away, and gradually force him into a conversation, which would soon become enlivened by the "inextinguishable laughter of the gods." that mr. webster felt keenly the attacks upon him was undeniable, and atonement could not afterward be made by eulogizing him. it has been well said, that if charity is to be the veil to cover a multitude of sins in the dead as well as in the living, cant should not lift that veil to swear that those sins were virtues. mr. webster was sorely troubled by the attitude taken by many massachusetts men at a time when he needed their aid to secure the presidency, which he undoubtedly believed would be tendered him by the southern whigs, seconded by many southern democrats. he lost flesh, the color faded from his cheeks, the lids of his dark eyes were livid, and he was evidently debilitated and infirm. at times he would be apparently unconscious of those around him, then he would rally, and would display his wonderful conversational qualities. yet it was evident to those who knew him best that he was "stumbling down," as carlyle said of mirabeau, "like a mighty heathen and titan to his rest." one pleasant afternoon in march, mr. brown, of mississippi, delivered a long speech in the house upon the politics of that state, in which he defended the state rights party and ridiculed the union movement as un-necessary, no one then being in favor of either disunion or secession. this, one of his colleagues, mr. wilcox, denied. "do you mean," said mr. brown, "to assert that what i have said is false?" "if you say," bravely responded mr. wilcox, "that there was no party in mississippi at the recent election in favor of secession or disunion, you say what is false!" the last word was echoed by a ringing slap from brown's open hand on the right cheek of wilcox, who promptly returned the blow, and then the two men clinched each other in a fierce struggle. many of the members, leaving their seats, crowded around the combatants, while mr. seymour, of connecticut, who temporarily occupied the chair, pounded with his mallet, shouting at the top of his voice, "order! order!" the sergeant-at-arms was loudly called for, but he was absent, and before he could be found the parties had been separated. the speaker resumed the chair, and in a few moments the contestants, still flushed, apologized to the house--not to each other. a duel was regarded as inevitable, but mutual friends intervened, and the next day it was formally announced in the house that the difficulty "had been adjusted in a manner highly creditable to both parties, who again occupied the same position of friendship which had existed between them previous to the unpleasant affair of the day before." thus easily blew over the terrific tempests of honorable members. mr. leutze, a talented artist, petitioned congress to commission him to paint for the capitol copies of his works, "washington crossing the delaware," and "washington rallying his troops at monmouth," but without success. mr. healy was equally unsuccessful with his proposition to paint two large historical paintings for the stairways of the extension of the capitol, one representing the "destruction of the tea in boston harbor," and the other the "battle of bunker hill;" but subsequently he received an order to paint the portraits of the presidents which now grace the white house. mr. martin, a marine artist of recognized ability, also proposed in vain to paint two large pictures, one representing the famous action between the constitution and the guerriere, and the other the night combat between the bon homme richard and the serapis. indeed, there have been scores of meritorious works of art offered to and declined by committees of congress, which have expended large sums in the purchase of daubs disgraceful to the capitol of the nation. the recognition refused these painters at washington was freely accorded elsewhere, however. leutze's "columbus before the council at salamanca" is justly deemed one of the gems of the old world, and has given him an imperishable name. among the really great works of our own country is healy's painting, "webster's reply to hayne," now in faneuil hall. so with sculpture. hiram powers endeavored, without success, to obtain an order for his colossal statue of america, which was highly commended by competent judges, while mr. mills was liberally remunerated for his effigy of general jackson balancing himself on a brass rocking-horse. powers wrote: "i do not complain of anything, for i know how the world goes, as the saying is, and i try to take it calmly and patiently, holding out my net, like a fisherman, to catch salmon, shad, or pilchards, as they may come. if salmon, why, then, we can eat salmon; if shad, why, then, the shad are good; but if pilchards, why, then, we can eat them, and bless god that we have a dinner at all." the honors secured for colonel fremont by his father-in-law, mr. benton, for his path-findings across the rocky mountains, inspired other young officers of the army, and some civilians, with a desire to follow his example. returning to washington, each one had wonderful tales of adventure to relate. even the old travelers, who saw the phoenix expire in her odoriferous nest, whence the chick soon flew forth regenerated, or who found dead lions slain by the quills of some "fretful porcupine," or who knew that the stare of the basilisk was death--even those who saw unicorns graze and who heard mermaids sing--were veracious when compared with the explorers of railroad routes across the continent. senator jefferson davis did much to encourage them by having their reports published in quarto form, with expensive illustrations, and cornelius wendell laid the foundation of his fortune by printing them as "pub. docs." the _national era_, edited by dr. gamaliel bailey, was a source of great annoyance to the pro-slavery men, and one occasion they excited an attack on his house by a drunken mob. dr. bailey was a small, slender man, with a noble head, and a countenance on which the beautiful attributes of his character were written. taking his life in his hands, he went to his door-way, attended by his wife, and bravely faced the infuriated crowd. he denied that he had any agency in a recent attempt to secure the escape of a party of slaves to the north, and then called the attention of his hearers to the fact that at a public meeting of the citizens of washington, not very long before that night, resolutions had been passed denouncing the french government for having fettered the press, yet they were proposing to do in his case what their fellow-citizens had condemned when done by others. his remarks produced an effect, but the leaders of the mob raised the cry, "burn the _era_ office!" and a movement was made toward that building, when dan radcliffe, a well-known washington lawyer with southern sympathies, sprang upon dr. bailey's doorstep and made a eloquent appeal in behalf of a free press, concluding with a proposition that the assemblage go to the house of the mayor of washington and give him three cheers. this was done, radcliffe's good nature prevailing, and the mob dispersed peacefully. dr. bailey was, however, no novice in dealing with mobs. ten years before he came to washington he resided in cincinnati, where, in conjunction with james g. birney, he published _the philanthropist_, a red-hot anti-slavery sheet. during his first year in this enterprize his office was twice attacked by a mob, and in one of their raids the office was gutted and the press thrown into the river. these lively scenes induced a change of base and settled the good doctor in the national metropolis. the ablest newspaper correspondent at washington during the fillmore administration was mr. erastus s. brooks, one of the editors and proprietors of the new york _express_. he was then in the prime of life, rather under the average height, with a large, well-balanced head, bright black eyes, and a swarthy complexion. what he did not know about what was going on in political circles, before and behind the scenes, was not worth knowing. his industry was proverbial, and he was one of the first metropolitan correspondents to discard the didactic and pompous style which had been copied from the british essayists, and to write with a vigorous, graphic, and forcible pen. washington correspondents in those days were neither eaves-droppers nor interviewers, but gentlemen, who had a recognized position in society, which they never abused. [facsimile] r. j. walker robert j. walker was born at northumberland, pennsylvania, july th, ; removed to mississippi in , and commenced the practice of law; was united states senator from mississippi, - ; was secretary of the treasury under president polk, - ; was appointed, by president buchanan, governor of kansas in , but soon resigned, and died at washington city, november th, . chapter xxxii. foreign influence and know-nothingism. the forcible acquisition of territory was the means by which the pro-slavery leaders at the south hoped to increase their territory, and they defended this scheme in the halls of congress, in their pulpits, and at their public gatherings. going back into sacred and profane history, they would attempt to prove that moses, joshua, saul, and david were "filibusters," and so were william the conqueror, charlemagne, gustavus adolphus, and napoleon. walker simply followed their example, except that they wore crowns on their heads, while he, a new man, only carried a sword in his hand. was it right, they asked, when a brave american adventurer, invited by the despairing victims of tyranny in cuba or of anarchy in central america, threw himself boldly, with a handful of comrades, into their midst to sow the seeds of civilization and to reconstruct society--was it right for the citizens of the united states, themselves the degenerate sons of filibustering sires, to hurl at him as a reproach what was their ancestors' highest merit and glory? general walker, the "gray-eyed man of destiny," was the leading native filibuster, but foremost among the foreign adventurers--the dugald dalgettys of that epoch--who came here from unsuccessful revolutions abroad to seek employment for their swords, was general heningen. he had served with zumala-carreguy, in spain, with schamyl, in the caucasus, and with kossuth, in hungary, chronicling his exploits in works which won him the friendship of wellington and other notables. going to central america, he fought gallantly, but unsuccessfully, at grenada, and he then came to washington, where he was soon known as an envoy of "cuba libre." he married a cultivated woman, and his tall, soldier-like figure was to be seen striding along on the sunny sidewalk of pennsylvania avenue every pleasant morning, until in later years he went south to "live or die in dixie." president tyler having sent mr. dudley mann as a confidential agent to hungary to obtain reliable information concerning the true condition of affairs there, the austrian government instructed its diplomatic representative at washington, the chevalier hulsemann, to protest against this interference in its internal affairs, as offensive to the laws of propriety. this protest was communicated to mr. webster after he became secretary of state, and in due time the chevalier received an answer which completely extinguished him. it carefully reviewed the case, and in conclusion told the protesting chevalier in plain anglo-saxon that nothing would "deter either the government or the people of the united states from exercising, at their own discretion, the rights belonging to them as an independent nation, and of forming and expressing their own opinion freely and at all times upon the great political events which might transpire among the civilized nations of the earth." the paternity of this memorable letter was afterward ascribed to edward everett. it was not, however, written either by mr. webster or mr. everett, but by mr. william hunter, then the chief clerk of the department of state. meanwhile, kossuth had been released from his imprisonment within the dominion of the sublime porte, by request of the government of the united states, and taken to england in the war steamer mississippi. in due time the great behemoth of the magyar race arrived at washington, where he created a marked sensation. the distinguished revolutionist wore a military uniform, and the steel scabbard of his sword trailed on the ground as he walked. he was about five feet eight inches in height, with a slight and apparently not strongly built frame, and was a little round-shouldered. his face was rather oval; a pair of bluish-gray eyes gave an animated and intelligent look to his countenance. his forehead, high and broad, was deeply wrinkled, and time had just begun to grizzle a head of dark, straight hair, a heavy moustache, and whiskers which formed a beard beneath his chin. whether from his recent captivity or from constitutional causes, there was an air of lassitude in his look to which the fatigues of his voyage not improbably contributed. altogether, he gave one the idea of a visionary or theoretical enthusiast rather then of a great leader or soldier. kossuth was the guest of congress at brown's hotel, but those senators and representatives who called to pay their respects found members of his retinue on guard before the door of his apartments, armed with muskets and bayonets, while his anteroom was crowded with the members of his staff. they had evidently been reared in camps, as they caroused all day and then tumbled into their beds booted and spurred, furnishing items of liquors, wines, cigars, and damaged furniture for the long and large hotel bill which congress had to pay. mr. seward entertained the hungarian party at an evening reception, and a number of congressmen gave kossuth a subscription dinner at the national hotel, at which several of the known aspirants for the presidency spoke. mr. webster was, as became the secretary of state, carefully guarded in his remarks, and later in the evening, when the champagne had flowed freely, he indulged in what appeared to be his impromptu individual opinions, but he unluckily dropped at his seat a slip of paper on which his gushing sentences had been carefully written out. general houston managed to leave the table in time to avoid being called upon to speak, and general scott, who regarded kossuth as a gigantic humbug, had escaped to richmond. kossuth was invited to dine at the white house, and on new year's day he held a reception, but he failed in his attempt to secure congressional recognition or material aid. a number of the leading public men at washington were so disgusted by the assumption and arrogance displayed by kossuth, and by the toadyism manifested by many of those who humbled themselves before him, that they organized a banquet, at which senator crittenden was the principal speaker. "beware," said the eloquent kentuckian, in the words of washington, "of the introduction or exercise of a foreign influence among you! we are americans! the father of our country has taught us, and we have learned, to govern ourselves. if the rest of the world have not learned that lesson, how shall they teach us? we are the teachers, and yet they appear here with a new exposition of washington's farewell address. for one, i do not want this new doctrine. i want to stand _super antiquas vias_ --upon the old road that washington traveled, and that every president from washington to fillmore has traveled." the main effect of kossuth's visit to the united states was an extraordinary impetus given to "the order of united americans," from which was evolved that political phenomenon, the american, or know-nothing, party. the mysterious movements of this organization attracted the curiosity of the people, and members of the old political organizations eagerly desired to learn what was carefully concealed. secretly-held lodges, with their paraphernalia, pass- words, and degrees, grips, and signs, tickled the popular fancy, and the new organization became fashionable. men of all religions and political creeds fraternized beneath the "stars and stripes," and solemnly pledged themselves to the support of "our country, our whole country, and nothing but our country." the leaders of this know-nothing movement, who in the delirium of the hour were intrusted with dictatorial authority, were in no way calculated to exercise a permanent, healthful control. they were generally without education, without statesmanship, without knowledge of public affairs, and, to speak plainly, without the abilities or genius which might enable them to dispense with experience. losing sight of the cardinal principle of the american order, that only those identified with the republic by birth or permanent residence should manage its political affairs, these leaders fell back upon a bigoted hostility to the church of rome, to which many of their original members in louisiana and elsewhere belonged. the result was that the mighty organization had begun to decay before it attained its growth, and that the old political leaders became members that they might elbow the improvised chieftains from power when the effervescence of the movement should subside. a number of abolitionists, headed by henry wilson and anson burlingame, of massachusetts, sought admission into the lodges, knelt at the altars, pledged themselves by solemn oaths to support the "order," and then used it with great success for the destruction of the whig party. another noted person who visited washington early in the administration of mr. fillmore was william m. tweed, of new york, who came as foreman of the americus engine company, number six, a volunteer fire organization. visiting the white house, the company was ushered into the east room, where president fillmore soon appeared, and tweed, stepping out in front of his command, said: "these are big six's boys, mr. president!" he then walked along the line with mr. fillmore, and introduced each member individually. as they were leaving the room, a newspaper reporter asked tweed why he had not made a longer speech. "there was no necessity," replied the future pillager of the city treasury of new york, "for the company is as much grander than any other fire company in the world as niagara falls is grander than croton dam." two years afterward, tweed, profiting by a division in the whig ranks in the fifth district of new york, returned to washington as a representative in congress. he was a regular attendant, never participating in the debates, and always voting with the democrats. twice he read speeches which were written for him, and he obtained for a relative the contract for supplying the house with chairs for summer use, which were worthless and soon disappeared. senator andrew pickens butler was a prominent figure at the capitol and in washington society. he was a trifle larger round at the waistband than anywhere else, his long white hair stood out as if he were charged with electric fluid, and south carolina was legibly written on his rubicund countenance. the genial old patriarch would occasionally take too much wine in the "hole in the wall" or in some committee-room, and then go into the senate and attempt to bully chase or hale; but every one liked him, nevertheless. then there was senator slidell, of louisiana, a new yorker by birth, with a florid face, long gray hair, and prominent eyes, forming a striking contrast in personal appearance with his dapper little colleague, senator benjamin, whose features disclosed his jewish extraction. general taylor had wished to have mr. benjamin in his cabinet, but scandalous reports concerning mrs. benjamin had reached washington, and the general was informed that she would not be received in society. mr. benjamin then rented a house at washington, furnished it handsomely, and entertained with lavish hospitality. his gentlemen friends would eat his dinners, but they would not bring their wives or daughters to mrs. benjamin's evening parties, and she, deeply mortified, went to paris. on the first day of december, , henry clay spoke in the senate for the last time, and general cass presented the credentials of charles sumner, who had been elected by one of the coalitions between the anti-slavery know-nothings and the democrats, which gave the latter the local offices in new york, ohio, and massachusetts, and elected seward, chase, and sumner to the united states senate. soon after mr. sumner took his seat in the arena which had been made famous by the political champions of the north, the south, and the west, mr. benton said to him, with a patronizing air, "you have come upon the stage too late, sir. not only have our great men passed away, but the great issues have been settled also. the last of these was the national bank, and that has been overthrown forever. nothing is left you, sir, but puny sectional questions and petty strifes about slavery and fugitive-slave laws, involving no national interests." mr. sumner had but two coadjutors in opposing slavery and in advocating freedom when he entered the senate, but before he died he was the recognized leader of more than two-thirds of that body. he was denounced by a leading whig newspaper of boston when he left that city to take his seat as "an agitator," and he was refused a place on any committee of the senate, as being "outside of any healthy political organization," but he lived to exercise a controlling influence in massachusetts politics and to be chairman of the senate committee on foreign affairs. he had learned from judge story the value of systematic industry, and while preparing long speeches on the questions before the senate he also applied himself sedulously to the practical duties of a senator, taking especial pains to answer every letter addressed to him. mr. speaker linn boyd used to preside with great dignity, sitting on an elevated platform beneath a canopy of scarlet curtains. seated at his right hand, at the base of the platform beside the "mace," was andrew jackson glossbrenner, the sergeant-at-arms, and on the opposite side was mr. mcknew, the doorkeeper. mr. john w. forney officiated at the clerk's table, having been elected by a decided majority. his defeat two years previous had been very annoying to his democratic friends at the north, who were expected to aid the southern wing of the party with their votes, and yet were often deserted when they desired offices. "it is," said one of them, "paying us a great compliment for our principles, or great contempt for our pliancy." mr. buchanan wrote to a virginia democratic leader, "poor forney deserves a better fate than to be wounded 'in the house of his friends,' and to vote for a whig in preference to him was the unkindest cut of all. it will, i am confident, produce no change in his editorial course, but i dread its effect." mr. forney did not permit his desertion to influence his pen, and his loyalty to the party was rewarded by his election, two years after this defeat, as clerk of the house. [facsimile] [illegible] jefferson davis was born in christian county, kentucky, june d, ; graduated at west point in ; was an officer in the united states army, - ; was a representative from mississippi, december st, to june, , when he resigned to command the first regiment of mississippi riflemen in the war with mexico; was united states senator, december th, , to november ; was defeated as the secession candidate for governor of mississippi in by h. s. foote, union candidate; was secretary of war under president pierce, march th, , to march d, ; was again united states senator, march th, , until he withdrew, january st, ; was president of the confederate states; was captured by the united states troops, may th, , imprisoned two years at fortress monroe, and then released on bail. chapter xxxiii. plotting for the presidency. the first session of the thirty-second congress, which began on the st of august, , was characterized by sectional strife, and was devoted to president-making. president fillmore, who had traveled in the northern states during the preceding summer, felt confident that he would receive the whig nomination, and so did mr. webster, who "weighed him down"--so charles francis adams wrote henry wilson--"as the old man of the sea did sinbad." meanwhile mr. seward and his henchman, mr. weed, were very active, and the latter afterward acknowledged that he had himself intrigued with the democratic leaders for the nomination of governor marcy, who would be sure to carry the state of new york, and thus secure the defeat of the whig candidate. "holding president fillmore and his secretary of state, mr. webster, responsible for a temporary overthrow of the whig party," says mr. weed, "i desired to see those gentlemen left to reap what they had sown. in other words, i wanted either mr. fillmore or mr. webster to be nominated for president upon their own issues. i devoted several weeks to the removal of obstacles in the way of governor marcy's nomination for president by the democratic national convention." general cass, mr. douglas, and mr. buchanan were equally active in the democratic ranks, and their respective friends became so angry with each other that it was an easy matter to win the nomination with what the politicians call "a dark horse." the sessions of the national democratic convention were protracted and stormy, and on the thirty-fifth ballot the name of general franklin pierce was brought forward, for the first time, by the virginia delegation. several other states voted for the new hampshire brigadier, but it did not seem possible that he could be nominated, and the next day, on the forty-eighth ballot, virginia gave her vote for daniel s. dickinson, of new york. it was received with great applause, but mr. dickinson, who was a delegate pledged to the support of cass, was too honorable a man to accept what he thought belonged to his friend. receiving permission to address the convention, he eloquently withdrew his own name and pleaded so earnestly for the nomination of general cass, that he awakened the enthusiasm of the audience, and received a shower of bouquets from the ladies in the galleries, to which he gracefully alluded "as a rose-bud in the wreath of his political destiny." the convention at last, on the forty-ninth ballot, nominated general pierce (purse, his friends called him) a gentleman of courteous temper, highly agreeable manners, and convivial nature. he had served in the recent war with mexico; he had never given a vote or written a sentence that the straightest southern democrat could wish to blot; and he was identified with the slave-power, having denounced its enemies as the enemies of the constitution. william r. king, at the time president _pro tempore_ of the senate, was nominated for vice-president, receiving every vote except the eleven given by the delegation from illinois, which were for jefferson davis. cass and douglas were at first much provoked by the action of the convention, but buchanan gracefully accepted the situation. daniel webster felt and asserted that he was entitled to receive the whig nomination. more than thirty years of public service had made him the ablest and the most conspicuous member of his party then on the stage, and neither fillmore nor scott could compare with him in the amount and value of public services rendered. he had worked long, assiduously, and faithfully to deserve the honors of his party and to qualify himself for the highest distinction that party could bestow upon him. he must receive its nomination now or never, as he was then upward of sixty years of age, and his vigorous constitution had shown signs of decay. he engaged in the campaign, however, with the hope ad the vigor of youth, writing letters to his friends, circulating large pamphlet editions of his life and of his speeches, and entertaining at his table those through whose influence he hoped to receive the southern support necessary to secure his success. no statesman ever understood the value of printers' ink better than did mr. webster, and he always took care to have a record of what he did and said placed before the country. unfortunately for his printers, much of his last campaign work was done on credit, and never was paid for. president fillmore, meanwhile, was quietly but steadily using the patronage of the federal government to secure the election of delegates to the whig national convention friendly to his own nomination. mr. webster counted on the support of the president's friends, but he never received from mr. fillmore any pledges that it would be given. on the contrary, the leading office-holders asserted, weeks prior to the assembling of the convention, that the contest had already been narrowed down to a question between fillmore and scott. mr. seward's friends were of the same opinion, and urged the support of scott as the only way to defeat the nomination of fillmore. horace greeley wrote from washington to thurlow weed: "if fillmore and webster will only use each other up, we may possibly recover--but our chance is slim. there is a powerful interest working hard against douglas; buchanan will have to fight hard for his own state; if he gets it he may be nominated; cass is nowhere." the whig national convention, the last one held by that party, met in baltimore on wednesday, the th of june, . two days were spent in effecting an organization and in preparing a "platform," after which, on proceeding to ballot for a presidential candidate, general scott had one hundred and thirty-four votes, mr. fillmore one hundred and thirty-three, and mr. webster twenty-nine, every one of which was cast by a northern delegate. not a southern vote was given to him, despite all the promises made, but mr. fillmore received the entire southern strength. the balloting was continued until saturday afternoon without any change, and even the eloquence of rufus choate failed to secure the vote of a single southern delegate for his cherished friend. after the adjournment of the convention from saturday until monday, mr. choate visited washington, hoping to move mr. fillmore; but the president "made no sign," and mr. webster saw that the presidency, to which he had so long aspired, was to pass beyond his reach. he was saddened by the disappointment, and especially wounded when he was informed that mr. clay had advised the southern delegates to support mr. fillmore. a nomination was finally made on the fifty-third ballot, when twenty- eight delegates from pennsylvania changed their votes from fillmore to general scott. that evening a party of enthusiastic whigs at washington, after serenading president fillmore, marched to the residence of mr. webster. the band performed several patriotic airs, but some time elapsed before mr. webster appeared, wearing a long dressing-gown, and looking sad and weary. he said but a few words, making no allusion to general scott, and when, in conclusion, he said that, for one, he should sleep well and rise with the lark the next morning, and bade them good-night, the serenaders retired as if they had had a funeral sermon preached to them. thenceforth mr. webster was a disappointed, heart-stricken man, and he retired to marshfield profoundly disgusted with the insincerity of politicians. the noisy rejoicings by the whigs at washington over the nomination of general scott disturbed henry clay, who lay on his death-bed at the national hotel, attended only by one of his sons, thomas hart clay, and a negro servant. the "great commoner" was very feeble, and a few days later he breathed his last, as a christian philosopher should die. his hope continued to the end, though true and real, to be tremulous with humility rather than rapturous with assurance. on the evening previous to his departure, sitting an hour in silence by his side, the rev. dr. butler heard him, in the slight wanderings of his mind to other days and other scenes, murmuring the words, "my mother! mother! mother!" and saying "my dear wife," as if she were present. "broken with the storms of life," henry clay gave up the ghost, and his remains were escorted with high funeral honors to his own beloved commonwealth of kentucky, where they rest beneath an imposing monument. twice a candidate for the presidency, and twice defeated, his death was mourned by an immense number of attached personal friends, and generally regretted by the people of the united states. the whigs were greatly embarrassed by general scott, who persisted in making campaign speeches, some of which did him great harm. their mass meetings proved failures, notably one on the battleground of niagara, but they endeavored to atone for these discouraging events by a profuse distribution of popular literature. they circulated large editions of a tract by horace greeley, entitled, "why am i a whig?" and of campaign lives of "old chapultepec," published in english, french, and german. mr. buchanan was unusually active in his opposition to the whig ticket. "i should regard scott's election," he wrote to a friend, "as one of the greatest calamities which could befall the country. i know him well, and do not doubt either his patriotism or his integrity; but he is vain beyond any man i have ever known, and, what is remarkable in a vain man, he is obstinate and self-willed and unyielding. his judgment, except in conducting a campaign in the field, is perverse and unsound; and when, added to all this, we consider that, if elected at all, it will be under the auspices of seward and his abolition associates, i fear for the fate of this union." general scott was mercilessly abused by the democratic orators and writers also, who even ridiculed the establishment of the soldiers' home at washington, with the contribution levied on the city of mexico when captured by him, as the creation of an aristocratic body of military paupers. the democratic party, forgetting all previous differences, rallied to the support of their candidate. a campaign life of him was written by his old college friend, nathaniel hawthorne, and eloquent speakers extolled his statesmanship, his military services, and his devotion to the compromise measures which were to avert the threatened civil war. a good estimate of his character was told by the whig speakers, as having been given to an itinerant lecturer by the landlord of a new hampshire village inn. "what sort of a man is general pierce?" asked the traveler. "waal, up here, where everybody knows frank pierce," was the reply, "and where frank pierce knows everybody, he's a pretty considerable fellow, i tell you. but come to spread him out over this whole country, i'm afraid that he'll be dreadful thin in some places." the death of mr. webster aided the democratic candidate. the broken- down and disappointed statesman died at his loved rural home on the sea-shore, where, by his request, his cattle were driven beneath his window so that he could gaze on them once more before he left them forever. he wrestled with the great destroyer, showing a reluctance to abandon life, and looking into the future with apprehension rather than with hope. when dr. jeffries repeated to him the soothing words of sacred writ, "thy rod and thy staff they comfort me," the dying statesman exclaimed, "yes; that is what i want, thy rod; thy staff!" he was no hypocrite, and although he prayed often and earnestly, he did not pretend that he felt that peace "which passeth all understanding," but he did exhibit a devoted submission and a true reliance on almighty god. craving stimulants, he heard dr. jeffries tell an attendant, "give him a spoonful of brandy in fifteen minutes, another in half an hour, and another in three quarters of an hour, if he still lives." these directions were followed with exactness until the arrival of the time last mentioned, when the attendants were undecided about administering another dose. it was in the midst of their doubts that the dying statesman, who had been watching a clock in the room, partly raised his head and feebly remarked: "i still live." the brandy was given to him, and he sank into a state of tranquil unconsciousness, from which he never rallied. those who attended the funeral at marshfield saw mr. webster's remains lying in an open iron coffin, beneath the shade of a large elm tree before the house. the body was dressed in a blue coat with gilt buttons, white vest, cravat, pantaloons, gloves, and shoes with dark cloth gaiters. his hand rested upon his breast, and his features wore a sad smile familiar to those who had known him in his later years. the village pastor conducted the services, after which the upper half of the coffin was put on, and on a low platform car, drawn by two black horses, it was taken to the burial- ground on the estate. on either side of the remains walked the pall-bearers selected by the deceased--six sturdy, weather-bronzed farmer-fishermen, who lived in the vicinity--while general pierce, the mayor of boston, edward everett, rufus choate, and other distinguished personages followed as they best could. there were many evidences of grief among the thousands of mr. webster's friends present, and yet death was for him a happy escape from trouble. he was painfully aware that he had forfeited the political confidence of the people of massachusetts and gained nothing by so doing; he had found that he could not receive a nomination for the presidency, even from the party which he had so long served, and his pecuniary embarrassments were very annoying. neither could he, under the circumstances, have continued to hold office under mr. fillmore, who, after webster's funeral, appointed edward everett as his successor in the department of state. when the nineteenth presidential election was held, general scott received only the electoral votes of massachusetts, vermont, kentucky, and tennessee; pierce and king received two hundred and fifty-four votes against forty-two votes for scott and graham. [facsimile] jjcrittenden john jordan crittenden was born in woodford county, kentucky, september th, ; was united states senator from kentucky, december st, , to march d, , and again december th, , to march d, ; was attorney-general under president harrison, march th, , to september th, ; was again united states senator, march st, - ; was governor of kentucky, - ; was attorney-general under president fillmore, july th, , to march d, ; was again united states senator, december d, , to march d, ; was a representative in congress, july th, , to march d, , and died at frankfort, kentucky, july th, . chapter xxxiv. pierce at the helm. general pierce received a severe blow after his election, a railroad accident in massachusetts depriving him of his only child, a promising boy, to whom he was devotedly attached. a week before the inauguration he escorted his sorrow-stricken wife to baltimore, where he left her, and then went to washington, accompanied by his private secretary, mr. sidney webster. president fillmore invited them to dine socially at the white house, and in the evening they were present at a numerously attended public reception in the east room. the inauguration of general pierce attracted crowds from the cities on the atlantic coast, with some from the western slope of the alleghanies. it was a cold, raw day, and the president-elect rode in a carriage with president fillmore, surrounded by a body-guard of young gentlemen, mounted on fine horses, and serving for that day as deputy united states marshals. there was a military escort, composed of the marine corps, the uniformed militia of the district, and visiting companies from baltimore and alexandria. behind the president's carriage marched several political associations and the mechanics at the navy yard, with a full-rigged miniature vessel. as william r. king, the vice-president elect, was in cuba, hoping to benefit his health, the senate elected david j. atchison, of missouri, president _pro tempore_. the senate, accompanied by the diplomatic corps and officers of the army and of the navy, all in full uniform, then moved in procession to the east front of the capitol. when the cheers with which the president-elect was received had subsided, he advanced to the front of the platform and delivered his inaugural address, which he had committed to memory, although he held the manuscript in his hands. the personal appearance of general pierce was dignified and winning, if not imposing, although he was but five feet nine inches high, slenderly built, and without that depth of chest or breadth of shoulder which indicate vigorous constitutions. his complexion was pale and his features were thin and care-worn, but his deportment was graceful and authoritative. it was evident that he belonged to that active, wiry class of men capable of great endurance and physical fatigue. the inaugural was a plain, straightforward document, intensely national in tone, and it stirred the hearts of the vast audience which heard it like the clarion notes of a trumpet. the new president had an abiding confidence in the stability of our institutions. snow began to fall before he had concluded his address and taken the oath of office, which was administered by chief justice taney. william rufus king took the oath of office as vice-president on the th of march, , at a plantation on the highest of the hills that surround matanzas, with the luxuriant vegetation of cuba all around, the clear, blue sky of the tropics overhead, and a delicious sea breeze cooling the pure atmosphere. the oath was administered by united states consul rodney, and at the conclusion of the ceremonies the assembled creoles shouted, "_vaya vol con dios!_" (god will be with you), while the veteran politician appeared calm, as one who had fought the good fight and would soon lay hold of eternal light. reaching his home at cahaba, ala., on the th of april, he died the following day, and his remains were buried on his plantation, known as the "pine hills." president pierce formed a cabinet of remarkable ability. he had wanted caleb cushing as his secretary of state, but the old anti- slavery utterances of the massachusetts brigadier had not been forgotten, and pierce could make him only his attorney-general. governor marcy was placed at the head of the department of state, and he invited mr. george sumner, a brother of the senator, to become assistant secretary of state, but the invitation was declined. james guthrie, a stalwart, clear-headed kentuckian, was made secretary of the treasury, with peter g. washington, a veteran district politician, as assistant secretary. jefferson davis solicited and received the position of secretary of war, james c. dobbin, of north carolina, was made secretary of the navy; robert mcclelland, of michigan, was designated by general cass for secretary of the interior, and james campbell, of pennsylvania, was appointed postmaster-general, with thirty thousand subordinate places to be filled, its progressive improvements to be looked after, and a general desire on the part of the public for a reduction of postage. an abler cabinet never gathered around the council-table at the white house. jefferson davis, the secretary of war, entertained more than any of his associates. his dinner-parties, at which six guests sat down with the host and hostess, were very enjoyable, and his evening receptions, which were attended by the leading southerners and their northern allies, were brilliant affairs with one exception. on that occasion, owing, it was to said, to a defect in the gas meter, every light in the house suddenly ceased to burn. it was late, and with great difficulty lamps and candles were obtained to enable the guests to secure their wraps and make their departure. no other president ever won the affections of the people of washington so completely as did general pierce. such was the respect entertained for him by citizens of all political creeds, that when he took his customary "constitutional" walk down pennsylvania avenue to the capitol and back one could mark his progress by the uplifting of hats as he passed along. he and mrs. pierce, disregarding the etiquette of the white house, used to pay social visits to the families of new hampshire friends holding clerkships, and to have them as guests at their family dinner-table. the president's fascinating courtesy and kindness were irresistible. roger a. pryor first figured at washington in the spring of . he was an editorial contributor to the washington _union_, the democratic organ, and he wrote a scathing review of _the war of ormuzd and ahriman_, by henry winter davis, of baltimore, which set for the united states and russia as the respective champions of the principles of liberty and of despotism, and claimed to foresee in the distant future a mighty and decisive conflict between these persistent combatants. this mr. pryor pronounced impossible, asserting that "in every element of national strength and happiness russia is great and prosperous beyond any other country in europe," and that the united states and russia, instead of becoming enemies, "will consolidate and perpetuate their friendly relations by the same just and pacific policy which has regulated their intercourse in times past." this article was very distasteful to the democratic readers of the _union_, and the editor denounced it. mr. pryor came back at him in the _intelligencer_, declaring that he was not the eulogist of the russian empire, but setting forth at great length the good-will of russia toward the united states, and especially announcing that "in russia the maudlin, mock philanthropy of _uncle tom's cabin_ is an unknown disease." it was the general belief in washington that mr. pryor had been inspired by some one connected with the russian legation. old madeira wine has always been very popular in washington, especially on the tables of their honors the justices of the supreme court. for many years supplies were obtained from the old mercantile houses in alexandria, which had made direct importations prior to the revolution. during the fillmore administration many washington cellars were replenished at the sale of the private stock of wines and liquors of the late josiah lee, of baltimore. fifty demijohns of various brands of madeira were sold at prices ranging from twenty- four dollars to forty-nine dollars per gallon; and one lot of twenty- two bottles commanded the extreme price of fifteen dollars and fifty cents per bottle, which at five bottles to the gallon is at the rate of seventy-seven dollars and fifty cents per gallon. mr. brady came from new york and opened a "daguerrean saloon" at washington, and the dim portraits produced on burnished metal were regarded with silent astonishment. up to that time the metropolis had been visited every winter by portrait and miniature painters, but their work required long sittings and was expensive. the daguerreotypes, which could be produced in a few moments and at a comparatively small cost, became very popular, and brady's gallery was thronged every morning with distinguished visitors. mr. brady was a man of slight figure, well proportioned, with features somewhat resembling the portraits of vandyke. he possessed wonderful patience, artistic skill, and a thorough acquaintance with the mechanical and chemical features of sun-painting. for the next thirty years he took portraits of almost all the prominent persons who visited washington city, and in time his reminiscences of them became very interesting. the citizens of washington enjoyed a rare treat when thackeray came to deliver his lectures on the english essayists, wits, and humorists of the eighteenth century. accustomed to the spread-eagle style of oratory too prevalent at the capitol, they were delighted with the pleasing voice and easy manner of the burly, gray-haired, rosy- cheeked briton, who made no gestures, but stood most of the time with his hands in his pockets, as if he were talking with friends at a cozy fireside. he did not deal, like cervantes, with the ridiculous extravagance of a fantastic order, nor, like washington irving, with the faults and foibles of men, but he struck at the very heart of the social life of his countrymen's ancestors with caustic and relentless satire. some of the more puritanical objected to the moral tendencies of thackeray's lectures, and argued that the naughty scapegraces of the british court should not have been thus exhumed for the edification of an american audience. thackeray made himself at home among the working journalists at washington, and was always asking questions. he was especially interested in the trial of herbert, a california congressman, who had shot dead at a hotel table a waiter who had not promptly served him, and he appeared to study old major lane, a "hunter from kentucky," "half horse and half alligator," but gentlemanly in his manners, and partial to rye-whisky, ruffled shirts, gold-headed canes, and draw-poker. the major had fought--so he said--under jackson at new orleans, under houston at san jacinto, and under zach. taylor at buena vista, and he was then prosecuting a claim before congress for his services as an agent among the yazoo indians. it was better than a play to hear him talk, and to observe thackeray as he listened. rembrandt peale visited washington during the pierce administration, and greatly interested those who met him with his reminiscences. his birth took place while his father, charles wilson peale, was in camp at valley forge. after the war of the revolution, and while washington was a resident of philadelphia, charles wilson peale painted several portraits of him. young rembrandt used to pass much of his time in the studio, and in , when the best of the portraits was painted, he stood at the back of his father's chair watching the operation. in , when he was but seventeen years of age, he had himself become a good painter, and washington then honored him with three sittings of three hours each. the young artist, who was naturally timid and nervous in such a presence and at such a work, got his father to begin a portrait at the same time, and to keep the general in conversation while the work went on. the study of washington's head then painted by rembrandt peale served as the basis of the famous portrait of him which he afterward painted, and which was pronounced by contemporaries of washington his best likeness. it was exhibited to admiring crowds in europe and the united states, and in was purchased for two thousand dollars by the federal government, to be hung in the capitol. rev. charles w. upham, who represented the essex district of massachusetts in congress, was at one time a victim to our copyright laws. he had compiled with care a life of george washington, from his own letters, which was, therefore, in some sense, an autobiography. the holders of copyright in washington's letters, including, if i am not mistaken, judge washington and dr. sparks, considered the publication of this book by marsh, capen & lyons, of boston, who had no permission from them, as an infringement of their copyright. the curious question thus presented was tried before judge story, who held that it was an infringement, and granted an injunction against the sale of the book. the plates, thus becoming worthless here, were sold to an english house, which printed them. jullien, the great musician, gave two concerts at the national theatre, washington, in the fall of , with his large orchestra and a galaxy of glorious stars. the effect of many of their performances was overpowering, and the enraptured multitude often for a moment appeared to forget their accustomed restraints, and arose to wave their scarfs or hats in triumph, or blended their shouts of applause with the concluding strains of the "quadrille nationale," and other entrancing pieces. the solos were all magnificent and the entire performance was a triumphant success. [facsimile] thaddeus stevens thaddeus stevens was born at peacham, vermont, april th, ; was a representative from pennsyvlania, december d, , to march st, , and again december th, , to august th, , when he died at washington city. chapter xxxv. chivalry, at home and abroad. president pierce, seconded by secretary marcy, made his foreign appointments with great care. mr. buchanan was sent as minister to the court of st. james, a position for which he was well qualified, and john y. mason, of virginia, was accredited to france. the support given to the democratic party by the adopted citizens of the republic was acknowledged by the appointment of mr. soulé, a frenchman, who had been expelled from his native land as a revolutionist, as minister to spain; robert dale owen, an englishman, noted for his agrarian opinions, as minister to naples, and auguste belmont, austrian born, minister to the netherlands. the civil appointments, of every official grade, large in their number and extended in their influence upon various localities and interests, were made with distinguished ability and sagacity, and were received with general and widespread satisfaction. the president's thorough knowledge of men, his intimate acquaintance with the relations of sections heretofore temporarily separated from the great mass of the democracy, and his quick perception of the ability and character essential to the faithful performance of duty were active throughout, and he kept constantly in sight his avowed determination to unite the democratic party upon the principles by which he won his election. where so many distinguished names were presented for his consideration, and where disappointment was the inevitable fate of large numbers, a degree of complaint was unavoidable. but no sooner was the fund of executive patronage well-nigh exhausted than might be heard, "curses, not loud but deep." presently, as the number of disappointed place-hunters increased, the tide of indignation began to swell, and the chorus of discontent grew louder and louder, until the whole land was filled with the clamors of a multitudinous army of martyrs. for the first three months after the inauguration the democratic party was a model of decorum, harmony, and contentment. all was delight and enthusiasm. frank pierce was the man of the time; his cabinet was an aggregation of the wisdom of the country; his policy the very perfection of statesmanship. even the whigs did not utter one word of discontent. frank pierce was still president, his cabinet unchanged, his policy the same, but all else, how changed! but it was no fault of his. he had but fifty thousand offices to dispense, which, in the nature of things, could go but a short way to appease the hunger of two hundred thousand applicants. for every appointment there were two disappointments, for every friend secured he made two enemies. a state of universal satisfaction was succeeded by a state of violent discontent, and the administration, without any fault of its own, encountered the opposition of those who but a few weeks previously were loudest in its praise. in order to re-enlist public favor and to reunite the democratic party, messrs. buchanan, mason, and soulé, united states ministers respectively to england, france, and spain, were ordered by the president, through mr. marcy, to meet at ostend. there, after mature deliberations, and in obedience to instruction from washington, they prepared, signed, and issued a brief manifesto, declaring that the united states ought to purchase cuba with as little delay as possible. political, commercial, and geographical reasons therefor were given, and it was asserted in conclusion that "the union can never enjoy repose, nor possess reliable security, so long as cuba is not embraced within its boundaries." this was carrying out the views of mr. buchanan, who, when secretary of state, in june, , had, under the instructions of president polk, offered spain one hundred million of dollars for the island. mr. buchanan had accepted the mission to england, that he might from a distance pull every available wire to secure the nomination in , coyly denying all the time that he wanted to be president. in a heretofore unpublished letter of his, dated september th, , which is in my collection of autographs, he says: "you propounded a question to me before i left the united states which i have not answered. i shall now give it an answer in perfect sincerity, without the slightest mental reservation. i have neither the desire nor the intention again to become a candidate for the presidency. on the contrary, this mission is tolerable to me alone because it will enable me gracefully and gradually to retire from an active participation in party politics. should it please providence to prolong my days and restore me to my native land, i hope to pass the remnant of my life at wheatland, in comparative peace and tranquillity. this will be most suitable both to my age (now past sixty-two) and my inclinations. but whilst these are the genuine sentiments of my heart, i do not think i ought to say that in no imaginable state of circumstances would i consent to be nominated as a candidate." mr. buchanan was greatly exercised over the court costume which he was to wear, and finally compromised by adopting a black evening dress suit, with the addition of a small sword, which distinguished him from the servants at the royal palace. he had always been jealous of governor marcy, then secretary of state, and instead of addressing his despatches to the department of state, as is customary for foreign ministers, he used to send them directly to the president. it is said that general pierce rather enjoyed seeing his chief cabinet officer thus snubbed, and that he used to answer mr. buchanan's communications himself. the proposition to repeal the missouri compromise of , and to admit kansas and nebraska as states, with or without slavery, as their citizens might respectively elect, gave rise to exciting debates. the north was antagonistic to the south, and the champions of freedom looked defiantly at the defenders of slavery. one of the most exciting scenes in the house of representatives was between mr. john c. breckinridge, of kentucky, and mr. francis b. cutting, a new york lawyer, who had defeated mr. james brooks, who then was editor of the _express_. mr. cutting was advocating the passage of the senate bill, and complaining that the friends of the administration not only wanted to consign it to the committee of the whole--that tomb of the capulets--but they had encouraged attacks in their organs upon him and those who stood with him. mr. breckinridge interrupted him while he was speaking, to ask if a remark made was personal to himself, but mr. cutting said that it was not. mr. breckinridge, interrupting mr. cutting a second time, said that while he did not want to charge the gentleman from new york with having intentionally played the part of an assassin, he had said, and he could not now take it back, that the act, to all intents, was like throwing one arm around it in friendship, and stabbing it with the other--to kill the bill. as to a statement by the gentleman that in the hour of his greatest need the "hards" of new york had come to his assistance, he could not understand it, and asked for an explanation. "i will give it," replied mr. cutting. "when, during the last congressional canvass in kentucky, it was intimated that the friends of the honorable representative from the lexington district needed assistance to accomplish his election, my friends in new york made up a subscription of some fifteen hundred dollars and transmitted it to kentucky, to be employed for the benefit of the gentleman, who is now the peer of presidents and cabinets." "yes, sir!" exclaimed mr. breckinridge, springing to his feet, "and not only the peer of presidents and cabinets, but the peer of the gentleman from new york, fully and in every respect." a round of applause followed this assertion, and ere it had subsided the indomitable mike walsh availed himself of the opportunity to give his colleague a rap. "when [he said] we came here we protested against the administration interfering in the local affairs of the state of new york, and now my colleague states that a portion of his constituents have been guilty of the same interference in the affairs of the people of kentucky." "is that all," said mr. cutting, in a sneering tone, "that the gentleman from new york rose for?" "that's all," replied mr. walsh, "but i will by on hand by and by, though." mr. breckinridge, his eyes flashing fire, remarked in measured tones that the gentleman from new york should have known the truth of what he uttered before he pronounced it on the floor. he (mr. b.) was not aware that any intimations were sent from kentucky that funds were needed to aid in his election, nor was he aware that they were received. he did not undertake to say what the fact might be in regard to what the gentleman had said, but he had no information whatever of that fact. he (mr. b.) came to congress not by the aid of money, but against the use of money. the gentleman could not escape by any subtlety or by any ingenuity a thorough and complete exposure of any ingenious device to which he might resort for the purpose of putting gentlemen in a false position, and the sooner he stopped that game the better. mr. cutting, who was also very much excited, made an angry reply, in which he stated "that he had given the gentleman an opportunity of indulging in one of the most violent, inflammatory, and personal assaults that had ever been known upon this floor; and he would ask how could the gentleman disclaim any attack upon him. the whole tenor and scope of the speech of the gentleman from kentucky was an attack upon his motives in moving to commit the bill. it was in vain for the gentleman to attempt to escape it by disclaiming it; the fact was before the committee. but he would say to the gentleman that he scorned his imputation. how dare the gentleman undertake to assert that he had professed friendship for the measure with a view to kill it, to assassinate it by sending it to the bottom of the calendar? and then, when he said that the committee of the whole had under its control the house bill upon this identical subject, which the committee intended to take up, discuss, amend, and report to the house, the gentleman skulked behind the senate bill, which had been sent to the foot of the calendar!" "skulked!" hissed mr. breckinridge. "i ask the gentleman to withdraw that word!" "i withdraw nothing!" replied mr. cutting. "i have uttered what i have said in answer to one of the most violent and most personal attacks that has ever been witnessed upon this floor." "then," said mr. breckinridge, "when the gentleman says i skulked, he says what is false!" the southern members began to gather around the excited kentuckian, and the speaker, pounding with his gavel, pronounced the offensive remark out of order. "mr. chairman," quietly remarked mr. cutting, "i do not intend upon this floor to answer the remark which the gentleman from kentucky has thought proper to employ. it belongs to a different region. it is not ere that i will desecrate my lips with undertaking to retort in that manner." this settled the question, and a duel appeared to be inevitable. the usual correspondence followed, but president pierce and other potent friends of the would-be belligerents interfered, and the difficult was amicably adjusted, under "the code of honor," without recourse to weapons. governor marcy, president pierce's secretary of state, was a great card-player, and mr. labouchere tells a good story which happened when he was secretary of the british legation at washington. "i went," said he, "with the british minister, to a pleasant watering- place in virginia, where we were to meet mr. marcy, the then united states secretary of state, and a reciprocity treaty between canada and the united states was to be quietly discussed. mr. marcy, the most genial of men, was as cross as a bear. he would agree to nothing. 'what on earth is the matter with your chief?' i said to a secretary who accompanied him. 'he does not have his rubber of whist,' answered the secretary. after this every night the minister and i played at whist with mr. marcy and his secretary, and every night we lost. the stakes were very trifling, but mr. marcy felt flattered by beating the britishers at what he called their own game. his good humor returned, and every morning when the details of the treaty were being discussed we had our revenge, and scored a few points for canada." a true account of the money designedly lost at washington by diplomats, heads of departments, and congressmen would give a deep insight into the secret history of legislation. what representative could vote against the claim of a man whose money he had been winning, in small sums, it is true, all winter? general john a. thomas, of new york, who was assistant secretary of state during a part of president pierce's administration, was a fine, soldierly looking man, very gentlemanly in his deportment. he was a native of tennessee, and was for several years an officer in the united states army, commanding at one time the corps of cadets. he married a miss ronalds, who belonged to an old new york family, and he took her with him when he went abroad as solicitor to the board of commissioners appointed by the president to adjust the claims of american citizens upon the british government. mr. buchanan was the american minister at the court of st. james, and mr. sickles secretary of legation. mrs. thomas having expressed a wish to be presented at court, mr. buchanan assented, and, when the day for presentation arrived, requested mrs. thomas to place herself under the charge of mrs. sickles, who would accompany her to the palace of st. james. this arrangement mrs. thomas decidedly declined, and by so doing gave so much offense to mr. buchanan that she was never presented at court at all. nor did the matter end here. when mr. buchanan came to the presidency he found general thomas filling the office of assistant secretary of state. from this office he immediately ejected him, for the old grudge he bore mrs. thomas for refusing to go to court with mrs. sickles, as general thomas declared to his friends. mr. buchanan was always very fond of mr. sickles and his wife, and it was said that he narrowly escaped being in the sickles' house when barton key was shot down after coming from it. the amoskeag veterans, of manchester, new hampshire, a volunteer corps which wore the continental uniform and marched to the music of drums and fifes, came to washington to pay their respects to the president, who received them with lavish hospitality. they visited mount vernon under escort of a detachment of volunteer officers, and were escorted by the venerable g. w. p. custis around the old home of his illustrious relative. at a ball given in the evening the "old man eloquent" wore the epaulettes originally fastened on his shoulders by him who was "first in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen." the sword given him by general washington mr. custis had presented to his son-in- law, captain robert e. lee, of the engineer corps, during the mexican campaign. [facsimile] john tyler john tyler was born in charles county, virginia, march th, ; was a representative in congress from virginia, december th, , to march d, ; was united states senator from virginia, december d, , to february th, ; was elected vice-president on the harrison ticket in ; became president, after the death of president harrison, april th, ; was a delegate to the peace convention of , and its president; was a delegate to the provisional congress of the confederate states, which assembled at richmond in july, ; was elected a representative from virginia in the first confederate congress, but died at richmond, virginia, before taking his seat, january th, . chapter xxxvi. crystallization of the republican party. the repeal of the missouri compromise and the enactment of the fugitive slave law re-opened the flood-gates of sectional controversy. the native american organization was used at the north by the leading abolitionists for the disintegration of the whigs, and they founded a new political party, with freedom inscribed upon its banners. the free-soil democrats who had rebelled against southern rule, with the liberty whigs, and those who were more openly arrayed against slavery, united, and were victorious at the congressional elections in the northern states in the autumn of . "the moral idea became a practical force," and the "irrepressible conflict" was commenced. "as republicans," said charles sumner, "we go forth to encounter the oligarchs of slavery." the great contest was opened by a struggle in the house of representatives over the speakership. nathaniel prentiss banks, a democrat, who had joined the know-nothings, was the northern candidate, although horace greeley, with thurlow weed and william schouler as his aides-de-camp, endeavored to elect lewis d. campbell, an ohio american. the southern know-nothings voted at one time for henry m. fuller, of pennsylvania, but they dropped him like a hot potato when they learned that he had accepted a place on the republican committee of his state. william aiken, a large slaveholder in south carolina, was the favorite southern candidate, although the vote of the solid south was successively given to several others. meanwhile, as day after day passed, the president's message was withheld, and all legislation was at a dead-lock. the sergeant- at-arms, colonel glossbrenner, an ex-member of the house, obtained a loan of twenty thousand dollars from a bank in pennsylvania, which enabled him to make advances to impecunious members of both parties, and thus to insure his re-election. early in january an attempt was made to "sit it out," and all night the excited house seethed like a boiling cauldron; verdant novices were laughed down as they endeavored to make some telling point, while sly old stagers lay in ambush to spring out armed with "points of order." emasculate conservatives were snubbed by followers of new prophets; belligerent southrons glared fiercely at phlegmatic yankees; one or two intoxicated solons gabbled sillily upon every question, and sober clergymen gaped, as if sleepy and disgusted with political life. banks, unequaled in his deportment, was as cool as a summer cucumber; aiken, his principal opponent, was courteous and gentlemanlike to all; giddings wore a broad-brimmed hat to shield his eyes from the rays of the gas chandelier; stephens, of georgia, piped forth his shrill response, and senator wilson went busily about "whipping-in." soon after midnight the south americans began to relate their individual experience in true camp- meeting style, the old-line democrats were rampant, the few whigs were jubilant, and the bone of catholicism was pretty will picked by those who had been peeping at politics through dark-lanterns, and who were "know-nothings" about what they had done. in short, every imaginable topic of discussion, in order or out of order, was lugged in to kill time. meanwhile the supply of ham at the eating-counter below-stairs was exhausted, the oysters were soon after minus, and those who had brought no lunch had to mumble ginger-cakes. it was remarked by good judges that as the morning advanced the coffee grew weaker, suggesting a possibility that the caterer could not distinguish between cocoa and cold water, and only replenished his boiler with the latter. there were more questions of order, more backing people up to vote, and an increase of confusion. men declared that they would "stick," while they entreated others to shift, and as daylight streamed in upon the scene, the political gamesters had haggard and careworn countenances. the result of the night's work was no choice. at last, after nine long, tedious weeks, the agony was over, and massachusetts furnished the thirty-fourth congress with its speaker. although what was termed "americanism" played an important though concealed part in the struggle, the real battle was between the north and the south--the stake was the extension of slavery. when the decisive vote was reached the galleries were packed with ladies, who, like the gentle dames in the era of chivalry, sat interested lookers-on as the combating parties entered the arena. on the one side was mr. aiken, a representative from the chivalric, headstrong state of south carolina, the son of an irishman, the inheritor of an immense wealth, and the owner of eleven hundred slaves. opposed to him was mr. banks, of massachusetts, a state which was the very antipodes of south carolina in politics, who, by his own exertions, unaided by a lineage or wealth or anything save his own indomitable will, had conquered a position among an eminently conservative people. voting was commenced, and each minute seemed to be an age, as some members had to explain their votes, but at length the tellers began to "foot up." it had been agreed that the result should be announced by the teller belonging to the party of the successful candidate, and when the sheet was handed to mr. benson, of maine, the "beginning of the end" was known. radiant with joy, he announced that nathaniel p. banks, jr., had received one hundred and three votes; william aiken, one hundred; h. m. fuller, six; l. d. campbell, four; and daniel wells, jr., of wisconsin, one. the election was what a frenchman would call an "accomplished fact," and hearty cheers were heard on all sides. magnanimity is not a prominent ingredient in political character, and some factious objections were made, by mr. aiken soon put a stop to them. rising with that dignity peculiar to wealthy and portly gentlemen of ripe years, he requested permission to conduct the speaker-elect to the chair. this disarmed opposition, and after some formalities, he was authorized, by a large majority resolve, to perform the duty, accompanied by messrs. fuller and campbell. cheer after cheer, with waving of hats and ladies' handkerchiefs, announced that on the one hundred and thirty-third vote the speaker's chair was occupied. the mace, emblem of the speaker's authority, was brought from its resting-place and elevated at his side. the house was organized. the address of mr. banks, free from all cant, and delicately alluding to those american principles to which he owed his office, was happily conceived and admirably delivered. then old father giddings, standing beneath the large chandelier, with his silvery locks flowing picturesquely around his head, held up his hand and administered the oath of office. the authoritative gavel was handed up by colonel forney, who was thanked by a resolution complimenting him for the ability with which he had presided during the protracted contest, and then the house adjourned. it then became necessary to divide the spoils, and after an exciting contest, cornelius wendell, a democratic nominee, was elected printer of the house by republican votes, in consideration of certain percentages of his profits paid to designated parties. the house binding was given to mr. williams, editor of the toledo _blade_, a lawyer by profession, who had never bound a book in his life. mr. robert farnham paid him a considerable sum for his contract, and the work was done by mr. tretler, a practical bookbinder. mr. simon hanscomb, who had been efficient in bringing about the nomination of mr. banks, received a twelve-hundred dollar sinecure clerkship, and others who had aided in bringing about the result were cared for. one massachusetts representative had his young son appointed a page by the doorkeeper, but when speaker banks learned of it, he ordered the appointment to be canceled. luckily for the lad, the father was enabled to secure for him an appointment as a cadet at west point, and he became a gallant officer. the first session of the thirty-fourth congress was protracted until the th of august, , and it was distinguished by acrimonious debate. the most remarkable speaker was mr. stephens, of georgia, of whom it might be said, as of st. paul, "his bodily presence is weak," while his shrill, thin voice, issuing as it were by jerks from his narrow chest, recalled john randolph. contrasting widely in size was the burly humphrey marshall, of kentucky, who had won laurels in the mexican war, as had the gallant general quitman, a representative from mississippi. henry winter davis, of baltimore, and anson burlingame, of boston, were the most eloquent and enthusiastic of those who had been washed into congress by the know-nothing wave, and with them had come some ignorant and bigoted fellows. equally prominent, but better qualified, on the other side was john kelly, who had defeated the candidates brought out by "sam" and "sambo" to oppose him. the venerable joshua r. giddings, of ohio, who led the abolition forces, was as austerely bitter as cato was in ancient utica when he denounced the fugitive slave law, under the operations of which many runaway slaves were captured at the north and returned to their southern masters. the eloquence of mr. clingman, who represented north carolina, was alternately enlivened by epigrammatic wit or envenomed by scorching reply. mr. justin s. morrill, of vermont, was commencing a long and useful congressional career. mr. schuyler colfax, an editor- politician, represented an indiana district. the veteran mr. charles j. faulkner, with his choleric son-in-law, mr. thomas s. bocock, and the erratic and chivalrous judge caskie, represented virginia districts. mr. elihu b. washburne, of illinois, sat near his brother, israel d. washburne, of maine. mr. lyman trumbull, of illinois, was then an ardent republican, and so was mr. francis e. spinner, of new york, whose wonderful autograph afterward graced public securities. mr. albert rust, one of the representatives from arkansas, won some notoriety by attacking horace greeley at his hotel. the next day he was brought before justice morsell, and gave bonds to appear at the next session of the criminal court. he appeared to glory in what he had done. mr. greeley was evidently somewhat alarmed, and during the remainder of his sojourn at washington his more stalwart friends took care that he should not be unaccompanied by a defender when he appeared in public. the territory of utah was represented in the house by mr. john n. burnhisel, a small, dapper gentleman, who in deportment and tone of voice resembled robert j. walker. it was very rarely that he participated in debate, and his forte was evidently taciturnity. in private conversation he was fluent and agreeable, defending the peculiar domestic institutions of his people. the delegate from oregon was mr. joseph lane, who had served bravely in the mexican war, gone to oregon as its first governor, and been returned as its first territorial delegate. he was a keen-eyed, trimly built man, of limited education, but the possessor of great common sense. henry m. rice, the first delegate from the territory of minnesota, had been for years an indian trader in connection with the american fur company, and was thoroughly acquainted with the people he represented, and whose interests he faithfully served. new mexico, then a _terra incognita_, was represented by don josé manuel gallegos, a native of the territory, who had been educated in the catholic schools of mexico, and who was devoted to the democratic party. he had as a rival don miguel a. otero, also a native of new mexico, who had been educated at st. louis, and whose democracy was of the more liberal school. he successfully contested the seat of mr. gallegos in the thirty-fourth congress, and secured his re- election in the two ensuing ones. the senate was behind the house in entering into the "irrepressible conflict." the death of vice-president king having left the chair of the presiding officer vacant, it was filled _pro tempore_ by mr. jesse d. bright, of indiana. he was a man of fine presence, fair abilities, and a fluent speaker, thoroughly devoted to the democratic party as then controlled by the south. he regarded the anti-slavery movement as the offspring of a wanton desire to meddle with the affairs of other people, and to grasp political power, or --to use the words of one who became an ardent republican--as the product of hypocritical selfishness, assuming the mask and cant of philanthropy merely to rob the south and to enrich new england. the rulings of the chair, while it was occupied by senator bright, were all in favor of the south and of the compromises which had been entered into. the secretary of the senate, its sergeant-at- arms, its door-keepers, messengers, and even its little pages, were subservient to the south. mr. james murray mason, a type of the old patrician families of virginia, was one of the few remaining polished links between the statesmen of those days and of the past. his first ancestor in virginia, george mason, commanded a regiment of cavalry in the cavalier army of charles stuart (afterward charles ii) in the campaign against the roundhead troops of oliver cromwell. after the defeat of the royal forces at the battle of worcester, colonel mason escaped to virginia, and soon afterward established a plantation on the potomac, where his lineal descendants resided generation after generation. the future senator was educated at georgetown, in the then infant days of the federal city, and the society of such statesmen as then sat in the councils of the republic was in itself an education. he possessed a stalwart figure, a fine, imposing head covered with long gray hair, a pleasing countenance, and a keen eye. no senator had a greater reverence for the peculiar institutions of the south, or a more thorough contempt for the abolitionists of the north. his colleague, mr. robert m. t. hunter, was of less aristocratic lineage, but had received a more thorough education. he had served in the twenty-sixth congress as speaker of the house, and he was thoroughly acquainted with parliamentary law and usages. he had also paid great attention to finance and to the tariff questions. solidly built, with a massive head and a determined manner, he was very impressive in debate, and his speeches on financial questions were listened to with great attention. john p. hale was a prominent figure in the senate, and never failed to command attention. the keen shafts of the southerners, aimed at him, fell harmlessly to his feet, and his wonderful good nature disarmed malicious opposition. those who felt that he had gone far astray in his political opinions did not accuse him of selfish motives, sordid purposes, or degraded intrigues. his was the "chasseur" style of oratory--now skirmishing on the outskirts of an opponent's position, then rallying on some strange point, pouring in a rattling fire, standing firm against a charge, and ever displaying a perfect independence of action and a disregard of partisan drill. president pierce felt very unkindly toward mr. hale. at an evening reception, when the senator from new hampshire approached, escorting his wife and daughters, the president spoke to the ladies, but deliberately turned his back upon mr. hale. this action by one so courteous as was general pierce created much comment, and was the subject of earnest discussion in drawing-rooms as well as at the capitol. [facsimile] lewis cass lewis cass was born at exeter, new hampshire, october th, ; crossed the allegheny mountains on foot when seventeen years of age to ohio, where he commenced the practice of law; was colonel of the third ohio volunteers, which was a part of general hull's army, surrendered at detroit, august th, ; was governor of michigan territory, - ; was secretary of war under president jackson, - ; was minister to france, october th, , to november th, ; was united states senator from michigan, december st, , to may th, ; was defeated as the democratic candidate for president in the fall of ; was elected to fill the vacancy in the senate, occasioned by his own resignation, december d, , to march d, ; was secretary of state under president buchanan, march th, , to december th, , when he resigned; retired to detroit, michigan, where he died, june th, . chapter xxxvii. political storm and social sunshine. charles sumner had not spoken on the slavery question immediately on taking his seat in the senate, and some of his abolition friends in boston had began to fear that he, too, had been enchanted by the circe of the south. theodore parker said, in a public speech: "i wish he had spoken long ago, but it is for him to decide, not us. 'a fool's bolt is soon shot,' while a wise man often reserves his fire." but senator seward, who had been taught by experience how far a northern man could go in opposition to the slave-power, advised him that "retorted scorn" would be impolitic and perhaps unsafe. mr. sumner, however, soon began to occupy the floor of the senate chamber when he could get an opportunity. his speeches were able and exhaustive disquisitions, polished and repolished before their delivery, and arraigning the south in stately and measured sentences which contained stinging rebukes. the boldness of his language soon attracted public attention, and secured his recognition as the chosen champion of freedom. one afternoon, while he was speaking, senator douglas, walking up and down behind the president's chair in the old senate chamber and listening to him, remarked to a friend: "do you hear that man? he may be a fool, but i tell you that man has pluck. i wonder whether he knows himself what he is doing? i am not sure whether i should have the courage to say those things to the men who are scowling around him." mr. sumner was at that time strikingly prepossessing in his appearance: "not that his dress attracted vulgar eyes, with fashion's gewgaws flauntingly display'd; he had the bearing of the gentleman; and nobleness of mind illumined his mien, winning at once attention and respect." he was over six feet in stature, with a broad chest and graceful manners. his features, though not perhaps strictly regular, were classical, and naturally of an animated cast; his hazel eyes were somewhat inflamed by night-work; he wore no beard, except a small pair of side-whiskers, and his black hair lay in masses over his high forehead. i do not remember to have ever seen two finer- looking men in washington than charles sumner and salmon p. chase, as they came together to a dinner-party at the british legation, each wearing a blue broadcloth dress-coat with gilt buttons, a white waistcoat, and black trowsers. the conservative senators soon treated mr. sumner as a fanatic unfit to associate with them, and they refused him a place on any committee, as "outside of any political organization." this stimulated him in the preparation of a remarkable arraignment of the slave-power, which he called the "crime against kansas." it was confidentially printed before its delivery that advance copies might be sent to distant cities, and nearly every one permitted to read it, including mr. william h. seward, advised mr. sumner to tone down its offensive features. but he refused. he was not, as his friend carl schurz afterward remarked, "conscious of the stinging force of the language he frequently employed, . . . and he was not unfrequently surprised, greatly surprised, when others found his language offensive." he delivered the speech as it had been written and printed, occupying two days, and he provoked the southern senators and their friends beyond measure. preston s. brooks, a tall, fine-looking representative from south carolina, who had served gallantly in the mexican war, was incited to revenge certain phrases used by mr. sumner, which he was told reflected upon his uncle, senator butler. entering the senate chamber one day after the adjournment, he went up to mr. sumner, who sat writing at his desk, with his head down, and dealt him several severe blows in the back of his head with a stout gutta- percha cane as he would have cut at him right and left with a dragoon's broadsword. mr. sumner's long legs were stretched beneath his desk, so that he was pinioned when he tried to rise, and the blood from his wound on his head blinded him. in his struggle he wrenched the desk from the floor, to which it had been screwed, but before he could gain his feet his assailant had gratified his desire to punish him. several persons had witnessed this murderous assault without interfering, and when mr. sumner, stunned and bleeding, was led to a sofa in the anteroom, mr. brooks was congratulated on what he had done. for two years mr. sumner was a great sufferer, but the people of massachusetts, recognizing him as their champion, kept his empty chair in the senate ready for him to occupy again when he became convalescent. a chivalrous sympathy for him as he endured the cruel treatment prescribed by modern science contributed to his fame, and he became the leading champion of liberty in the impending conflict for freedom. mr. seward regarded the situation with a complacent optimism, mr. hale good-naturedly joked with the southern senators, and mr. chase drifted along with the current, all of them adorning but not in any way shaping the tide of events. with mr. sumner it was different, for he possessed that root of statesmanship --the power of forethought. although incapacitated for senatorial duties, his earnest words, like the blast of a trumpet, echoed through the north, and he was recognized as the martyr-leader of the republican party. the injury to his nervous system was great, but the effect of brooks' blows upon the slave-holding system was still more injurious. before mr. sumner had resumed his seat both senator butler and representative brooks had passed away. the debate in the house of representatives on a resolution censuring mr. brooks for his murderous attack (followed by his resignation and unanimous re-election) was marked by acrimonious altercations, with threats of personal violence by the excited southerners, who found themselves on the defensive. henry wilson and other northern congressmen went about armed with revolvers, and gave notice that while they would not fight duels, they would defend themselves if attacked. mr. anson burlingame, who had come from michigan to complete his studies at harvard college, married the daughter of a wealthy boston merchant, and had been elected to congress by the know-nothings and abolitionists, accepted a challenge from mr. brooks. he selected the clifton house, on the canadian shore of niagara falls, as the place of meeting, which the friends of mr. brooks declared was done that the duel could not take place, as mr. brooks could not pass through the northern states, where he was so universally hated. mr. lewis d. campbell, who was mr. burlingame's second, repelled this insinuation, and was confident that his principal "meant business." during the administration of president pierce, congress created the rank of lieutenant-general, and general scott received the appointment. he established his head-quarters at washington, and appeared on several occasions in full uniform riding a spirited charger. colonel jefferson davis, then secretary of war, and "old chapultepec," as scott was familiarly called by army officers, did not get along harmoniously, and the president invariably sided with his secretary of war. mr. seward, meanwhile, busily availed himself of the opportunity to alienate general scott from his southern friends. while the northern and southern politicians "bit their thumbs" at each other, the followers and the opponents of senator douglas in the democratic ranks became equally hostile, and in some instances belligerent. i was then the associate editor of the _evening star_, a lively local sheet owned and edited by mr. douglas wallach. walking along pennsylvania avenue one afternoon, i saw just before me mr. wallach engaged in an excited controversy with an elderly gentleman, who i afterward learned was mr. "extra billy" smith, an ex-representative in congress, who had grown rich by the extra allowances made to him as a mail contractor. each was calling the other hard names in a loud tone of voice, and as i reached them they clinched, wrestled for a moment, and then smith threw wallach heavily to the sidewalk. sitting on his prostrate foe, smith began to pummel him, but at the first blow wallach got one of his antagonist's thumbs into his mouth, where he held it as if it were in a vise. smith roared, "let go my thumb! you are eating it to the bone!" just then up came mr. keitt, of south carolina, and mr. bocock, of virginia, who went to the rescue of smith, keitt saying: "this is no way for gentlemen to settle their disputes," as he forced wallach's jaws apart, to release the "chawed-up" thumb. wallach was uninjured, but for several weeks he went heavily armed, expecting that smith would attack him. one day mr. mcmullen, of virginia, in advocating the passage of a bill, alluded to some previous remarks of the gentleman from ohio, not the one (mr. giddings) "who bellowed so loudly," he said, "but to his sleek-headed colleague" (mr. taylor). mr. taylor, who was entering the hall just as this allusion was made to him, replied that the would rather have a sleek head than a blockhead. mr. mcmullen then said: "i intended nothing personally offensive, which no one ought to have known better than the gentleman himself. i made use of the remark at which the gentleman exhibited an undue degree of excitement to produce a little levity; neither of us ought to complain of our heads. if united, there would not be more brains than enough for one common head." senator jones, of tennessee, generally called "lean jimmy jones," was the only democrat who ever tried to meet mr. john p. hale with his own weapons--ridicule and sarcasm. one day, after having been worsted in a verbal tilt, mr. jones sought revenge by telling a story as illustrating his opponent's adroitness. there was a kentuckian, he said, whose name was sam wilson, who settled on the margin of the mississippi river. he had to settle upon high lands, near swamps from ten to twenty miles wide. the swamps were filled with wild hogs, which were considered a species of public property that every man had a right to shoot, but they did not have a right thereby to shoot tame ones. sam had a very large family, and was known to entertain a mortal aversion to work. yet he always lived well and had plenty of meat. it was inquired how sam had always so much to eat? nobody saw him work. he used to hunt and walk about, and he had plenty of bacon constantly on hand. people began to suspect that sam was not only shooting wild hogs, but sometimes tame ones; so they watched him a good deal to see whether they could not catch him. sam, however, was too smart for them, and always evaded, just (said mr. jones) as the honorable senator from new hampshire does. finally, old man bailey was walking out one day looking after his hogs at the edge of the swamp, and he saw sam going along quietly with his gun on his shoulder. presently sam's rifle was fired. bailey walked on to the cane-brake, as he knew he had a very fine hog there, and looking over he found sam in the act of drawing out his knife to butcher it. old man bailey, slapping sam on the shoulder, said, "i have caught you at last." "caught thunder!" said sam; "i will shoot all your blasted hogs that come biting at me in this way." "that is the way," senator jones went on to say, "that the senator from new hampshire gets out of his scrapes." mrs. pierce came to the white house sorrow-stricken by the sad death of her only child, but she bravely determined not to let her private griefs prevent the customary entertainments. during the sessions of congress there was a state dinner once a week, to which thirty-six guests were invited, and on other week-days half-a-dozen guests partook of the family dinner, at which no wine was served. there was also a morning and an evening reception every week in the season, at which mrs. pierce, dressed in deep mourning, received with the president. the evening receptions, which were equivalent to the drawing-rooms of foreign courts, were looked forward to with great interest by strangers and the young people, taxing the busy fingers of mantua- makers, while anxious fathers reluctantly loosened their purse- strings. carriages and camelias were thenceforth in demand; white kid gloves were kept on the store counters; and hair-dressers wished that, like the fabulous monster, they could each have a hundred hands capable of wielding the curling-tongs. when the evening arrived, hundreds of carriages might be seen hastening toward the spacious portico of the white house, under which they drove and sat down their freights. in europe, it would have required at least a battalion of cavalry to have preserved order, but in washington the coaches quietly fell into the file, and patiently awaited their turn. at the door, the ladies turned into the private dining-room, used as a dressing-room, from whence they soon emerged, nearly all of them in the full glory of evening toilet and radiant with smiles. falling into line, the visitors passed into the parlors, where they were received by president pierce and his wife. between the president and the door stood district marshal hoover and one of his deputies, who inquired the name of each unknown person, and introduced each one successively to the president. the names of strangers were generally misunderstood, and they were re-baptized, to their annoyance, but president pierce, with winning cordiality, shook hands with each one, and put them directly at ease, chatting pleasantly until some one else came along, when he introduced them to his wife. leaving the presidential group and traversing the beautiful green drawing-room, the guests entered the famed east room, which was filled with the talent, beauty, and fashion of the metropolis. hundreds of either sex occupied the middle of the room or congregated around its walls, which enshrined a maelstrom of beauty, circling and ever changing, like the figures in a kaleidoscope. a prominent figure in these scenes was edward everett, cold-blooded and impassible, bright and lonely as the gilt weather-cock over the church in which he officiated ere he became a politician. john van buren--"prince john"--he was called--was another notable, his conversation having the double charm of seeming to be thoroughly enjoyed by the speaker and at the same time to delight the hearer. general scott, in full uniform, was the beau ideal of a military hero, and with him were other brave officers of the army and of the navy, each one having his history ashore or afloat. the members of the diplomatic corps were marked by the crosses and ribbons which they wore at their buttonholes. mr. crampton, who represented queen victoria, was a noble specimen of the fine old english gentleman, personally popular, although he did not get along well with secretary marcy. the count de sartiges, who had recently married miss thorndike, of boston, was an embodiment of french character, as baron von geroldt was of the prussian, and the little kingdom of belgium had its diplomatist in the august person of monsieur henri bosch spencer. senor don calderon de la barca, the spanish minister, was very popular, as was his gifted wife, so favorably known to american literature. as for the south american republics, their representatives were generally well dressed and able to put a partner through a polka in a manner gratifying to her and to her anxious mamma. then there were the office-seekers, restless, anxious, yet confident of obtaining some place of profit; the office-holders, many of whom saw in passing events the handwriting on the wall which announced their dismissal; the verdant visitors who had come to washington to see how the country was governed; and generally a score of indians with gay leggings, scarlet blankets, pouches worked with porcupine quills, and the full glory of war paint. the marine band discoursed sweet music, but no refreshments were offered, so, many of the gentlemen, after having escorted the ladies to their homes, repaired to the restaurants, where canvas-back ducks, wild turkeys, and venison steaks were discussed, with a running fire of champagne corks and comments on the evening. secretary mcclelland's series of evening receptions were thronged with the elite of the south, and at secretary guthrie's one could see the majestic belles of kentucky. the finest diplomatic entertainment was given by the brazilian minister, in honor of the birthday of his imperial master, and the evenings when madame calderon de la barca was "at home" always found her attractive drawing-rooms crowded. general almonte, the mexican minister, was noted for his breakfast-parties, as was senor marcoleta, of nicaragua, who was trying hard to have an interoceanic canal cut through his country. among the congressmen, governor aiken, of south carolina, gave the most elegant entertainments, at which the supper-table was ornamented with a silver service, "looted" in after years by soldiers, with the exception of a large solid silver waiter, which was found in a swamp, propped up on four stones, and with a fire under it, some deserters having used it to fry bacon in. a gloom was cast over this gay society, however, by the sad fate of the wife of mr. justice daniels, of the supreme court, whose clothes accidentally took fire, and burned her so terribly that she survived but a few hours. [facsimile] gº:washington george washington was born february d, , in westmoreland county, va.; was public surveyor when sixteen years of age; when nineteen was military inspector of one of the districts of virginia; participated in the french and indian war, ; commander-in-chief of the colonial forces in ; married mrs. martha custis, ; member of the continental congress, ; commander-in-chief of the continental forces, ; resigned command, december d, ; president of the united states, april th, , to march th, ; died at mount vernon, december th, . chapter xxxviii. growth of the metropolis. mr. cushing conceived the idea of getting up a difficulty with great britain, as likely to advance the prospects of president pierce for re-election, and to divert the attention of the people from the anti-slavery question. the pretext was the recruiting in the united states, under the direction of the british diplomatic and consular representatives of the crown, of men for the regiments engaged in the crimean war. mr. crampton, the british minister, was a large, well-built man, with white hair and side whiskers, courtly manners and great conversational powers. his father had been a celebrated surgeon in ireland, from whom he afterward inherited considerable property. he lived at carolina place, on georgetown heights, in good style, entertained liberally, rather cultivated the acquaintance of american artists and journalists, and was often seen going on an angling expedition to the great falls of the potomac. he undoubtedly directed the objectionable recruiting without the slightest diplomatic skill. he seemed to go to work in the roughest and rudest manner to violate our laws, as if he did not care a copper whether he was discovered or not, and to comment in coarse terms upon our institutions. mr. marcy, as secretary of state, sent all the facts to great britain, his dispatch closing with a peremptory demand for the recall of mr. crampton and the british consuls at new york, philadelphia, and cincinnati. accompanying the despatch was an elaborate opinion by attorney-general cushing, who cited numerous precedents, and declared that the demand for the recall of those who had been accomplices in the violation of municipal and international laws should not be taken as a cause of offense by great britain. monsieur de sartiges, the french minister, undertook to mediate between mr. crampton and secretary marcy. calling at the department of state, he represented that the continuance of peaceful relations between england and the united states was the earnest wish of his master, the emperor, who, after his accession to the throne of france, had personally, and through his representatives, evinced on every possible occasion a friendship to the union. mr. marcy expressed satisfaction at the assurance given, and remarked that it did not correspond with other official statements which the united states had received from parties of reputable standing in their own country. the minister promptly interposed and denied in the firmest manner the truth of any report adverse to the one which he had just made. the scene at this moment, according to representation, must have been one of interest, for mr. marcy, rising from his seat, excused his absence for a moment. he returned in a short time from an adjoining room with an original despatch in his hand, addressed to the secretary of war, mr. davis, which he opened, and by permission of m. sartiges, commenced reading extracts. "now," said mr. marcy, closing the document, "what i have just read to you is from a report of an army commission which was sent out by this government for the benefit of science, and am i to understand from the free assurance that you have given, that his majesty, the emperor, was ignorant of the language used by his war secretary to the officers of this mission, to whom he only declined extending the courtesies solicited, but added to the refusal an expression hoping 'that when they met it might be at the cannon's mouth'?" mr. marcy continued: "this language is further corroborated by a despatch to this department from our minister at paris." de sartiges took a hurried leave, but sought revenge by making himself generally disagreeable. he had a row with mr. barney, a venerable ex-member of the house and a gentleman of the old school. at evening parties before leaving he would enter the drawing-room where ladies and gentlemen were assembled, with his hat on and a cigar in his mouth, which he would light by the chandelier. he also persisted in firing at cats and rats from the back windows of his house, thus endangering the lives of persons in the adjacent back yards. mr. crampton was recalled and received a diplomatic promotion, going to st. petersburg as sir john crampton. while there, in , he married a young daughter of balfe, who afterward procured a divorce, after a curious suit at law, tried before "a jury of matrons." england was forced to admit that mr. crampton's conduct was "notoriously at war with the rights of neutrality and national honor." this was not altogether pleasant to some of the old nestors of the senate, who wanted once more to sound the war tocsin. general cass, who had had a bad fall on the outside steps of the department of the interior, was "eager for the fray;" the valiant clayton, of delaware, saw an opportunity to wipe out the stigma cast upon his treaty; and although the patriarchal butler (owner of men-servants and maid-servants, flocks and herds) displayed the lily flag of peace in the senatorial debate, it was as eccentric as were his weird-like white locks. lord clarendon had then his hands full, but his successors took their revenge in , when attempts were made to obtain recruits in ireland for the union army. mr. cushing's elaborate arguments against enlistments for a foreign power were copied and sent back to the department of state at washington. the diplomatic representatives of queen and czar, emperor and kaiser, were greatly troubled during the crimean and other european wars, and it would not answer for them to be seen in friendly relations with each other. these foreign diplomats delude themselves with the belief that they play an important political part at washington. so they do in the opinion of the marriageable damsels, who are flattered with their flirtations, and in the estimation of snobbish sojourners, who glory in writing home that they have shaken hands with a lord, had a baron to dine with them, or loaned an _attache_ a hundred dollars. but, in reality, they are the veriest supernumeraries in the political drama now being performed on the washington stage. should any difficulty arise with the foreign powers they represent, special ministers would be appointed to arrange it, and meanwhile the _corps diplomatique_ "give tone to society," and is a potent power--in its own estimation. the various legations all exhibit their national characteristics. the british attaches represent the belgravian of the london magazines; their hair parted just a line off the exact centre, their soft eye only one degree firmer than those of their sisters', while their beautiful, long side-whiskers are wonderful to behold. the spanish gentlemen one recognizes by their close-shorn black heads and smooth faces, all courtesy, inevitable pride and secretiveness, eyes that, like those of their women, betray a hundred intrigues, because they seek to conceal so much. the exquisite politeness of the south americans make you wonder if you rally can be dust and ashes after this perfect deference, and their manners are marked by more vivacity than those of the spanish people. the russian diplomatists have generally been on the most friendly terms with congressmen and citizens generally, while the prussians and the frenchmen have had several little difficulties with the department of state and with the residents of washington. although mr. marcy was unwilling to cater for the favor of the press to the extent which characterized the conduct of many other public men, he generally had a good word for the reporters and correspondents whom he met. "well, mr. ----," he would say, as he walked up the steps of his office in the morning, to some member of the press, who affected or had a great acquaintance with the secrets of state--"well, what is the news in the state department? you know i have always to go to the newspaper men to find out what is going on here." at another time he would suggest a paragraph which, he would quizzically intimate, might produce an alarm in political circles, improvising, for example, at a party of senator seward's, some story in the ordinary letter-writer style about seward and marcy being seen talking together, and ending with ominous speculations as to an approaching coalition, etc., in doing which he would happily hit off the writers for the press. mr. cushing was more accommodating. he would converse freely with those correspondents in whom he had confidence, and permit them to copy his opinions in advance of their delivery upon their pledges that they should not be printed before they were officially made public. he wrote a great many editorials, somewhat ponderous and verbose, for the washington _union_, and the elaborate statements on executive matters made by the correspondents who enjoyed his favor were often dictated by him. mr. buchanan, removed from the intrigues of home politics, kept up an active correspondence with his friends. "i expected," he wrote to mr. henry a. wise, "ere this to have heard from you. you ought to remember that i am now a stranger in a strange land, and that the letters of so valued a friend as yourself would be to me a source of peculiar pleasure. i never had any heart for this mission, and i know that i shall never enjoy it. still, i am an optimist in my philosophy, and shall endeavor to make my sojourn here as useful to my country and as agreeable to myself as possible. "i have been in london," mr. buchanan went on to say, "long enough to form an opinion that the english people generally are not friendly to the united states. they look upon us with jealous eyes, and the public journals generally, and especially the leviathan _times_, speak of us in terms of hostility. the _times_ is particularly malignant, and as it notoriously desires to be the echo of public opinion, its language is the more significant. from all i can learn, almost every person denounces what they are pleased to call the crime of american slavery, and ridicules the idea that we can be considered a free people whilst it shall exist. they know nothing of the nature and character of slavery in the united states, and have no desire to learn. should any public opportunity offer, i am fully prepared to say my say upon this subject, as i have already done privately in high quarters." the first hotel in the district of columbia was suter's tavern, a long, low wooden building in georgetown, kept by john suter. next came the union hotel there, kept by crawford. the national hotel in washington was for some years under the management of mr. gadsby, who had previously been a noted landlord in alexandria, and what was afterward the metropolitan hotel was the indian queen, kept by the browns, father and sons. another hotel was built nearer the white house by colonel john tayloe, and was inherited by his son, mr. b. ogle tayloe. it was not, however, pecuniarly successful, as it was thought to be too far up-town. mrs. tayloe, who was born at the north, used to visit her childhood's home every summer, and in traveling on one of those floating palaces, the day-boats on the hudson river, she was struck with the business energy and desire to please everybody manifested by the steward. on her return colonel tayloe mentioned the want of success which had attended his hotel, and she remarked that if he could get mr. willard, the steward of the albany steamer, as its landlord, there would be no fear as to its success. mr. tayloe wrote to mr. willard, a native of westminster, vermont, who came to washington, and was soon, in connection with his brother, f. d. willard, in charge of mr. tayloe's hotel, then called the city hotel. the willards gave to this establishment the same attention which had characterized their labors on board of the steamboat. they met their guests as they alighted from the stages in which they came to washington. they stood at the head of their dinner-tables, wearing white linen aprons, and carved the joints of meat, the turkeys, and the game. they were ever ready to courteously answer questions, and to do all in their power to make a sojourn at the city hotel homelike and agreeable. success crowned these efforts to please the public, and the city hotel soon took the first rank among the _caravanserais_ of the national metropolis. mr. e. d. willard retired, and mr. henry a. willard took into partnership with him mr. joseph c. willard, while another brother, mr. caleb c. willard, became the landlord of the popular ebbitt house. in time it was determined to rebuild the hotel, which was done under the superintendence of mr. henry willard, who was designed by nature for an architect. when the house was completed it was decided that it should be called henceforth willard's hotel, and about one hundred gentlemen were invited to a banquet given at its opening. after the cloth was removed, the health of the messrs. willard was proposed as the first toast, and then mr. edward everett was requested to make a reply. he spoke with his accustomed ease, saying that there are occasions when deeds speak louder than words, and this was one of them. instead of mr. willard returning thanks to the company present, it was the company that was under obligations to him. in fact, he thought that in paying their respects to mr. willard, they were but doing a duty, though certainly a duty most easily performed. "there are few duties in life," said mr. everett, "that require less nerve than to come together and eat a good dinner. there is very little self-denial in that. indeed, self-denial is not the principle which generally carries us to a hotel, although it sometimes happens that we have to practice it while there." mr. everett went on to say that under the roof which sheltered them he had passed a winter with john quincy adams, chief justice marshall, judge story, mr. calhoun, mr. clay, and mr. webster. these were all gone, but with them he could name another now living, and not unworthy to be associated with them, washington irving. "think of men like these gathered together at the same time around the festive board under this roof! that was, indeed, the feast of reason, not merely the flash of merriment, which set the table in a roar, but that gushing out of convivial eloquence; that cheerful interchange of friendly feeling in which the politician and the partisan are forgotten. yes, gentlemen," mr. everett went on to say, "there were giants in those days; giants in intellect, but in character and spirit they were gentlemen, and in their familiar intercourse with each other they had all the tenderness of brethren." the new hall of the house of representatives was finished about this time. it was throughout gayly decorated, and its ceiling glittered with gilding, but it was walled in from all direct communication with fresh air and sunlight. captain meigs, of the engineer corps, who had been intrusted by secretary davis with the erection of the wings, had added to the architect's plans an encircling row of committee-rooms and clerical offices. instead of ventilating the hall by windows, a system was adopted patterned after that tried in the english house of commons, of pumping in air heated in the winter and cooled in the summer, and captain meigs had thermometers made, each one bearing his name and rank, in which the mercury could only ascend to ninety degrees and only fall to twenty-four degrees above zero. he thought that by his system of artificial ventilation it would never be hotter or colder than their limits; but he was woefully mistaken, and immense sums have since been expended in endeavoring to remedy the deficient ventilation. the acoustic properties of the new hall were superior to those of the classic and grand old hall, but with that exception, the gaudily embellished new hall was less convenient, not so well lighted and ventilated, and far inferior in dignified appearance to the old one. [facsimile] abbott lawrence abbott lawrence was born at groton, massachusetts, december th, ; was a representative in congress from massachusetts, - , and - ; was minister to great britain, . chapter xxxix. the northern champions. the entrance of william pitt fessenden into the senate chamber was graphically sketched years afterward by charles sumner. "he came," said the senator from massachusetts, "in the midst of that terrible debate on the kansas and nebraska bill, by which the country was convulsed to its centre, and his arrival had the effect of a reinforcement on a field of battle. those who stood for freedom then were few in numbers--not more than fourteen--while thirty- seven senators in solid column voted to break the faith originally plighted to freedom, and to overturn a time-honored landmark, opening that vast mesopotamian region to the curse of slavery. those anxious days are with difficulty comprehended by a senate where freedom rules. one more in our small number was a sensible addition. we were no longer fourteen, but fifteen. his reputation at the bar, and his fame in the other house, gave assurance which was promptly sustained. he did not wait, but at once entered into the debate with all those resources which afterward became so famous. the scene that ensued exhibited his readiness and courage. while saying that the people of the north were fatigued with the threat of disunion, that they considered it as 'mere noise and nothing else,' he was interrupted by mr. butler, of south carolina, always ready to speak for slavery, exclaiming, 'if such sentiments as yours prevail i want a dissolution, right away'--a characteristic intrusion doubly out of order. to which the newcomer rejoined, 'do not delay it on my account; do not delay it on account of anybody at the north.' the effect was electric; but this incident was not alone. douglas, cass, and butler interrupted only to be worsted by one who had just ridden into the lists. the feelings on the other side were expressed by the senator from south carolina, who, after one of the flashes of debate which he had provoked, exclaimed: 'very well, go on; i have no hope of you!' all this will be found in the _globe_ precisely as i give it, but the _globe_ could not picture the exciting scene--the senator from maine, erect, firm, immovable as a jutting promontory, against which the waves of ocean tossed and broke in a dissolving spray. there he stood. not a senator, loving freedom, who did not feel on that day that a champion had come." a most extraordinary claim was presented at washington during the pierce administration by mr. francis b. hayes, a respectable attorney, who had reverdy johnson as his legal adviser. it was from the heirs of sir william alexander, the earl of stirling, who was regarded as the most brilliant man in the courts of james vi. and of charles i. he received from these monarchs grants of an immense domain in north america, including, in addition to nova scotia, new brunswick, prince edward's island, and canada, a considerable portion of maine, michigan, and wisconsin, together with a strip of land reaching from the headwaters of lake superior to the gulf of california, and "the lands and bounds adjacent to the said gulf on the west and south, whether they be found a part of the continent or mainland, or an island," as it was thought they were, which was commonly called and distinguished by the name of california. the immensity of this land-claim was sufficient to defeat it, and it was asserted that the claimant, whose father had established his title to the earldom of stirling in the scotch courts, was a pretender, and that the most important papers substantiating the claim were forgeries. just then there appeared in _blackwood's magazine_ an elaborate article of more than sixty pages, showing up the worthlessness of the claim, and the _north american review_ published a reply, in which it said: "if the present claimant is indeed (as we believe him to be) the legal representative of the first earl, there can be no doubt that he is, morally speaking, entitled to the principal and interest of the debt secured by royal bond to his ancestor, and that it would not be unworthy the magnanimity of both the british government and our own to tender him some honorable consideration for the entire loss to his family, through the fortunes of war, of revenue and benefit from the _bona fide_ and, for the times, immense outlay of his ancestor in the colonization of the western wilderness." no capitalists were found, however, who were willing to advance the funds for the prosecution of the claim, and lord stirling finally accepted a department clerkship, which he creditably filled. the last winter of president pierce's administration was a very gay one at washington. in addition to the official and public entertainments at the white house, secretaries mcclelland and davis, and several of the foreign ministers, gave elegant evening parties, the southern element predominating in them. senator seward and speaker banks also gave evening receptions, and the leading republicans generally congregated at the pleasant evening tea- parties at the residence of mr. bailey, the editor of the _era_, where miss dodge, afterward known in literature as "gail hamilton," enlivened the cozy parlors with her sparkling conversation. the wedding of judge douglas was a social event. his first wife had been miss martin, a north carolina lady, who was the mother of his two young sons, who inherited from her a plantation which had belonged to her father in lawrence county, mississippi, on which there were upward of a hundred slaves. the "little giant's" second wife was miss ada cutts, a washington belle, the daughter of richard cutts, who was for twelve years a representative from maine when it was a district of massachusetts, and afterward comptroller of the treasury. miss cutts was tall, very beautiful, and well qualified by education and deportment to advance her husband's political interests. she was a devout roman catholic, and they were married in a roman catholic church, where the bridegroom did not seem at home. she had no children, and after having been for some years a widow, she was married a second time to colonel williams, of the adjutant general's department of the army. the last session under the pierce administration was a stormy one. vice-president breckinridge delivered an eloquent address when the senate removed into its new chamber, which was followed by angry debates on the tariff, the pacific railroad, the fish bounties, the admission of minnesota, and the submarine telegraph to england. in the house mr. banks won laurels as speaker, displaying a thorough acquaintance with the intricacies of parliamentary rules and prompt action in those cases when excited representatives sought to set precedence at defiance. there was an investigation into a charge of bribery and corruption, made by mr. simonton, the correspondent of the new york _times_, and he was kept in the custody of the sergeant-at-arms for not giving the facts upon which he had based his charges. it was evident to all, however, that mr. simonton was correct when he stated that "a corrupt organization of congressmen and certain lobby-agents existed." with the exception of a few favored ones, the officers of the army were glad when the termination of the term of service of colonel jefferson davis as secretary of war approached. he had acted as though he was commander-in-chief, treating the heads of bureaus as if they were his orderlies, and directing everything, from a review down to the purchase of shoe-blacking. he also changed the patterns of uniforms, arms, and equipments several times, and it was after one of these changes that he received a communication from lieutenant derby, well known in literary circles as john phoenix, suggesting that each private have a stout iron hook projecting from a round plate, to be strongly sewed on the rear of his trousers. illustrations showed the uses to which this hook could be put. in one, a soldier was shown on the march, carrying his effects suspended from this hook; in another, a row of men were hung by their hooks on a fence, fast asleep; in a third, a company was shown advancing in line of battle, each man having a rope attached to his hook, the other end of which was held by an officer in the rear, who could restrain him if he advanced too rapidly, or haul him back if he was wounded. when secretary davis received this he was in a towering rage, and he announced that day at a cabinet meeting that he intended to have lieutenant derby tried before a court-martial "organized to convict" and summarily dismissed. but the other secretaries, who enjoyed the joke, convinced him that if the affair became public he would be laughed at, and he abandoned the prosecution of the daring artist- author. mr. healy came to washington in the last winter of the pierce administration, and painted several capital portraits. mr. ames, of boston, who exhibited a life-like portrait of daniel webster, and mr. powell also set up their easels, to execute orders. captain eastman, of the army, was at work on the sketches for the illustrations of schoolcraft's great work on the indians, and mr. charles lanman, the author-artist, added to his already well-filled portfolios of landscapes. mr. george west, known to fame as a painter of chinese life, was engaged by captain meigs to paint prominent naval events in spaces in the elaborate frescoing on the walls of the senate committee on naval affairs, but after he had completed two he refused to submit to the military rule of meigs, and stopped work. what he had done was then painted out. an italian fresco-painter, mr. brimidi, was more obedient to orders and willing to answer the roll-calls, so he was permitted to cover the interior walls of the new capitol with his work--allegorical, historical, diabolical, and mythological. president pierce was the most popular man personally that ever occupied the presidential chair. when, in , the orange and alexandria railroad was completed to culpepper court-house, virginia, john s. barbour, president of the road, invited a number of gentlemen to inspect it and partake of a barbecue. president pierce, mr. bodisco, the russian minister, and other distinguished officials were of the invited guests. the party went to alexandria by steamer, and on landing there found a train awaiting them, with a baggage- car fitted up as a lunch-room. the president was in excellent spirits, and when the excursionists reached the place where the barbecue was held, he enjoyed a succession of anecdotes told by the best story tellers of the party. the feast of barbecued meats was afterward enjoyed, and early in the afternoon the party again took the cars to return. on the return trip a gentleman with an enormous beard, having imbibed very freely, leaned his head on the back of the seat and went to sleep. a blind boy got in at one of the stations, and moving along the aisle of the car, his hand came in contact with the man's beard, which he mistook for a lap-dog, and began to pat, saying "pretty puppy, pretty puppy." this attention disturbed the sleeper, who gave a loud snort, when the boy jumped back and said, "you wouldn't bite a blind boy, would you?" president pierce was much amused with this occurrence, and often spoke of it when he met those who had witnessed it with him. mr. george w. childs, then a courteous and genial book publisher in philadelphia, endeavored to obtain from congress an order for an edition of dr. kane's work on the arctic regions. the house passed the requisite resolution, but the senate refused to concur, although it had ordered the publication of several expensive accounts of explorations at the far west. the congressional _imprimatur_ was also refused to the report of the hon. j. r. bartlett, who was the civilian member of the joint commission which had established the new boundary between the united states and mexico. he had refused to bow down and worship the "brass coats and blue buttons" of his military associates, so his valuable labors were ignored, while an enormous sum was expended in illustrating and publishing the work of major emory, the ranking army officer on the commission. [facsimile] nathl p. banks nathaniel prentiss banks was born at waltham, massachusetts, january th, ; was a representative in congress, december th, , to december th, , when he resigned, having served as speaker in the thirty-fourth congress; was governor of massachusetts, january , to january, ; served throughout the war as major- general of volunteers; was a representative in congress, december th, , to march d, , and again december th, , to march d, ; was appointed united states marshal for the district of massachusetts. chapter xl. exciting presidential contest. as the time for the presidential election of approached, the democrats, thoroughly alarmed by the situation, determined to make a last struggle for southern supremacy, and washington was agitated by the friends of the prominent candidates for the democratic nomination for months before the national convention at cincinnati. president pierce earnestly desired a renomination, and had distributed "executive patronage" over the country in a way which he hoped would secure him a majority of the delegates. he had done all in his power to promote the interests of the south, but success had not crowned his efforts, and he was ungratefully dropped, as daniel webster had been before him. james buchanan, then in the sixty-fifth year of his age, had started in public life as a federalist, and in had united in a call for a public meeting to protest against the admission of missouri as a slave state. but he had become converted to pro-slavery democracy, and although he had been defeated three times in democratic conventions as a candidate for the presidential nomination, he was regarded as the most "available" candidate by those who had been in past years identified with the whigs. his political views are summed up in the following extract from one of his speeches in congress: "if i know myself, i am a politician neither of the west nor the east, of the north nor of the south. i therefore shall forever avoid any expressions the direct tendency of which must be to create sectional jealousies, and at length disunion--that worst of all political calamities." that he endeavored in his future career to act in accordance with this uncertain policy no candid mind can doubt. stephen a. douglas' doctrine of "squatter sovereignty" was repudiated by the southern democrats with but few exceptions. bold, dashing, and energetic in all that he undertook, with almost superhuman powers of physical endurance, he even forced the admiration of men who did not agree with his opinions. no man ever lived in this country who could go before the masses "on the stump," and produce such a marked effect, and his personal magnetism won him many friends. one day the "little giant," going up to beverly tucker, a prominent virginia politician, threw his arm on his shoulder, and said, in his impulsive way, "bev., old boy, i love you." "douglas," says tucker, "will you _always_ love me?" "yes," says douglas, "i will." "but," persisted tucker, "will you love me when you get to be president?" "if i don't, may i be blanked!" says douglas. "what do you want me to do for you?" "well," says tucker, "when you get to be president, all i want you to do for me is to pick some public place, and put your arm around my neck, just as you are doing now, and _call me bev.!_" douglas was much amused, and used to relate the circumstance with great glee. general cass had a few faithful friends, and henry a. wise, of virginia, who was a blatant buchanan man, was not without hope that he himself might receive the nomination. many of the delegates to the cincinnati convention passed some time in washington city. massachusetts sent charles gordon greene, the veteran editor of the boston _post;_ benjamin f. butler, then known as a smart lowell lawyer, and the old anti-mason, ben. f. hallet, then united states district attorney. among the kentuckians were the gallant john c. breckinridge, the pugnacious charles a. wickliffe, j. w. stevenson, and t. c. mccreery, afterward governors and senators, and the courteous william c. preston, afterward minister to spain. from louisiana were senators slidell and benjamin, prominently connected with the rebellion a few years later, and pierre soulé. florida was to be represented by senator yulee, of israelitish extraction, who in early life spelled his name l-e-v-i. then there were vallandingham, of ohio; captain isaiah rynders, of new york; james s. green, of missouri; james a. bayard, of delaware, and other party magnates, who all expressed their desire to sink all personal grievances to secure victory. the democrats met in convention at cincinnati, where the friends of each candidate had their headquarters, that of mr. douglas being graced by dan sickles, tom hyer, isaiah rynders, and other new york politicians, while at a private house leased by mr. s. m. barlow, the claims of buchanan were urged by senators bayard, benjamin, bright, and slidell. general pierce had few friends beyond the holders of federal offices, and general cass received a cold support from a half-dozen old friends. the first two days were occupied in settling the claims of contestants to seats. the anti-benton delegates from missouri were admitted, and the new york wrangle was finally settled by adopting the minority report of the committee on credentials, which admitted both the "hards" and the "softs," giving each half a vote. on the first ballot, buchanan had one hundred and thirty-five votes, pierce one hundred and twenty-three, douglas thirty-three, and cass five. the balloting was continued during four days, when, on the sixteenth ballot (the name of pierce having been withdrawn), buchanan received one hundred and sixty-eight votes, douglas one hundred and twenty- one, and cass four and a half. mr. richardson, of illinois, then withdrew the name of mr. douglas, and mr. buchanan was unanimously nominated. the convention then balloted for a candidate for vice- president, and on the second ballot john c. breckinridge was nominated. the native americans and the republicans flattered themselves that the democratic party had been reduced to a mere association of men, whose only aim was the spoils of victory. indeed, mr. lewis d. campbell, of ohio, asserted in a public speech that "were president pierce to send out all his force of marshals and deputy marshals to find such a party, each one provided with a national search-warrant, they would fail to discover the fugitive! it, too, has departed! his marshals would have to make returns upon their writs similar to that of the kentucky constable. a kentucky fight once occurred at a tavern on 'bar grass!' one of the combatants broke a whisky bottle over the head of his antagonist. the result was a state's warrant. the defendant fled through a corn-field, over the creek, into a swamp, and there climbed a stump. seating himself in the fork, he drew his 'bowie,' and as the constable approached in pursuit, he addressed him: "'now, mr. constable, you want to take me, and i give you fair warning that if you attempt to climb this stump, by the eternal! i'll take you!' the constable, who had been about the court-house enough to learn some of the technical terms used in returning writs, went back to the 'squire's office, and indorsed upon the warrant: 'non est inventus! through fieldibus, across creekum, in swampum, up stumpum, non comeatibus!' so it is with the old jackson democratic party--'non comeatibus!'" the democratic party, however, was in a better condition than its opponents imagined. president pierce entered heartily into the campaign, jefferson davis and stephen a. douglas worked shoulder to shoulder, and mr. buchanan proved to be a model candidate. when his old friend, mr. nahum capen, of boston, sent to him a campaign life for his indorsement he declined, saying: "after reflection and consultation, i stated in my letter of acceptance substantially that i would make no issues beyond the platform, and have, therefore, avoided giving my sanction to any publications containing opinions with which i might be identified and prove unsatisfactory to some portions of the union. i must continue to stand on this ground." the governors of the southern states were satisfied with the nomination of mr. buchanan, although the leading secessionists avowed their intention to avail themselves of the opportunity for organizing a rebellion which they hoped would prove a revolution. officers of the army and navy, born at the south, or who had married southern wives, were appealed to stand by the states to which they first owed allegiance, and accessions to those willing to desert the union when their states called for their services were announced. prominent among those officers who intimated that their intention was to serve virginia rather than the federal government was colonel robert e. lee. a virginian by birth, he had married the only child of george washington parke custis, and when not on duty away from washington he resided at "arlington." on sundays he worshiped in christ church, at alexandria, occupying the family pew in which george washington used to sit. the national american convention had met at philadelphia on the th of february, and (after an exciting discussion of the slavery question, followed by the withdrawal of the abolitionists) nominated fillmore and donelson. this ticket was adopted at an eminently respectable convention of the whig leaders, then without followers, held at baltimore on the th of september. some of mr. seward's friends desired to have him nominated by the republicans at their national convention, to be held at philadelphia on the th of june, but thurlow weed saw that he could not receive as many votes as were cast for scott in , and advocated the nomination of john c. fremont, the "pathfinder," whose young and pretty daughter might be seen every pleasant afternoon riding on horseback on pennsylvania avenue with her old grandfather, colonel thomas h. benton. "old blair, of the _globe_," and his two sons, preston king, of new york, john van buren, and david wilmot, with other distinguished and disgruntled democrats, with several clever young journalists, created a great enthusiasm for colonel fremont. mr. bailey, of the washington _era_, with a few old whigs, advocated the nomination of judge mclean, while burlingame, at the head of the "young america," or know-nothing branch of the party, endeavored to get up enthusiasm for mr. speaker banks, "the bobbin-boy." when the republican national convention met there were self-styled delegates from delaware, kentucky, maryland, and virginia, but it was, in fact, a convention of nearly a thousand delegates from the free states. an informal ballot showed that fremont had a large majority and he was unanimously nominated. mr. dayton, of new jersey, was nominated as vice-president, defeating nathaniel p. banks, abraham lincoln, charles sumner, and david wilmot. the republicans endeavored to revive the excitements of the log cabin campaign, and a considerable zeal was manifested by the americans, the democrats, and the whigs, but mr. buchanan received the electoral votes of five large free states, and of every southern state with the exception of maryland, which gave its vote for mr. fillmore. colonel fremont received the vote of every northern state with the exception of california, illinois, indiana, new jersey, and pennsylvania. mr. buchanan was astonished at the large vote which he had received, and he regarded this as a proof that what he called "abolition fanaticism" had at last been checked. the electoral votes for president and vice-president were counted, in accordance with the established custom, in the hall of the house of representatives. the senators went there in procession, advanced up the middle aisle, and took seats provided for them in the area in front of the speaker's chair, the representatives receiving them "standing and in silence." mr. speaker banks handed his "gavel" to judge mason, president of the senate _pro tempore_, and the venerable old fogies took arm-chairs in the area before the table. senator bigler, of pennsylvania, with messrs. jones, of tennessee, and howard, of ohio duly appointed tellers, then took possession of the clerk's desk, and the proceedings commenced. state by state, the chairman took the packages, broke the seals, and handed the documents to the tellers, by one of whom they were read. maine led off with "fremont and dayton," and for awhile it was all that way. but the pathfinder stuck in the sands of new jersey, and then "old buck" began to make a showing, varied by the maryland vote for millard fillmore. everything went along "beautiful," and the vote had been announced by the tellers, when objection was made to the vote of wisconsin, which was one day late, owing to a snow storm. a regular scene of confusion ensued, in which their high mightinesses, the senators, became intensely aroused. the great michigander growled like an angry bear, and old judge butler became terribly excited, his long hair standing out in every direction, like that of a doll charged with electric fluid. at last he led the van, and the senators withdrew in great dudgeon, to cool off as they passed through the rotunda. in due time they returned, however, and after a little talk the vote was officially announced. the senate then retired, the house adjourned, and the country turned its expectant eyes toward the coming administration. [facsimile] winfield scott lieut genl u. s. winfield scott was born at petersburg, virginia, june th, ; received a liberal education; was admitted to the bar and practiced a few years; entered the army in as a captain of light artillery; commanded on the northern frontier and won the battles of chippewa and lundy's lane in ; defeated black hawk in ; commanded in the mexican campaign, which resulted in the capture of the city of mexico in september, ; was defeated as the whig candidate for president in ; was commissioned as lieutenant-general in , and died at new york, may th, . chapter xli. miss lane in the white house. after the election of mr. buchanan, his home at lancaster, "wheatland," was a political mecca, to which leading democrats from all sections made pilgrimages. mr. buchanan, who was experienced in public affairs, appointed his nephew, mr. j. buchanan henry, a well-informed young gentleman, recently admitted to the philadelphia bar, as his private secretary, and made him indorse brief statements of their contents on each of the numerous letters of recommendation for office which he received. a few weeks before his inauguration, mr. buchanan visited washington, that he might confer with his leading political friends. he entertained a large party of them at dinner at the national hotel, after which nearly all of those present suffered from the effects of poison taken into their systems from an impure water supply, and some of them never recovered. mr. buchanan was accompanied, when he left his home to be inaugurated, by miss harriet lane, his niece, a graceful blonde with auburn hair and violet eyes, who had passed a season in london when her uncle was the american minister there, and who was as discreet as she was handsome, amiable, and agreeable. with her, to aid in keeping house in the executive mansion, was "miss hetty" parker, who had for years presided over mr. buchanan's bachelor's-hall, and his private secretary, mr. j. buchanan henry. on his arrival at washington, mr. buchanan was taken to a suite of rooms prepared for him at the national hotel, but he soon after went to the house of mr. w. w. corcoran, the generous founder of the corcoran gallery of art, where he remained until his inauguration. on the morning after his arrival, the _national intelligencer_ gave the following as the probable composition of his cabinet: secretary of state, lewis cass, of michigan; secretary of the treasury, howell cobb, of georgia; secretary of war, john b. floyd, of virginia; secretary of the navy, aaron v. brown, of tennessee; secretary of the interior, j. thompson, of mississippi; postmaster-general, j. glancy jones, of pennsylvania; attorney-general, isaac toucey, of connecticut. it was also said that mr. jones had declined, and that the position of postmaster-general had been tendered to w. c. alexander, of new jersey. this programme, arranged by mr. buchanan before he had left his home, was but slightly changed. mr. toucey was made secretary of the navy, aaron v. brown, postmaster-general, and jere black was brought in as attorney-general. but these carefully made arrangements failed to beget confidence. republicans were defiant, as were men of the dominant party, and everywhere there were apprehensions. the inaugural message had been written at wheatland, where mr. j. buchanan henry had copied mr. buchanan's drafts and re-copied them with alterations and amendments, until the document was satisfactory. it met the approval of the selected cabinet when read to them at washington, the only change being the insertion of a clause shadowing the forthcoming dred scott decision by the supreme court as one that would dispose of a vexed and troublesome topic by the highest authority. it was also arranged that mr. buchanan's friend, mr. john appleton, who had represented the portland district in congress, and had served as minister to bolivia and as secretary of legation at paris, should edit the washington _union_, which was to be the "organ" of the new administration. mr. appleton's salary, with the other expenses of the paper above its receipts, were to be paid by mr. cornelius wendell, as a consideration for the printing and binding for the executive departments. major heiss, who had made sixty thousand dollars on the public printing, and then lost forty thousand dollars in publishing the new orleans _delta_, established a paper called _the states_, which was to be the organ of the filibusters and the secessionists. he was aided by major harris, a son-in-law of general armstrong, who had made his fortune while senate printer, other parties doing the work for about half of what was paid for it. mr. henri watterson, who had been born at washington, while his father represented a tennessee district in the house, commenced his brilliant editorial career as a reporter on _the states_. at midnight on the third of march, the fine band of p. s. gilmore, which had accompanied the charlestown city guard to washington, formed in front of mr. corcoran's house, beneath the windows of the chamber occupied by mr. buchanan, and played "hail to the chief," followed by the "star spangled banner" and "hail columbia." the city was filled that night with strangers, many of whom could not find sleeping-places. every hotel was crammed, every boarding- house was crowded, private houses were full, and even the circus tent was turned into a dormitory at fifty cents a head. congress was in session all night, and the capitol was crowded. just prior to the final adjournment of the house, the newspaper correspondents, who had received many courtesies from mr. speaker banks, united in writing him a letter of thanks. in his reply he said: "the industry and early intelligence which gave value to your labors are often the subject of commendation, and to this i am happy to add that, so far as i am able to judge, you have been guided as much by a desire to do justice to individuals as to promote the public weal." the sun rose in a fog and was greeted by a salute from the navy yard and the arsenal, while the rattling notes of the "reveille" were heard on all sides, and hundreds of large american flags were displayed from public and private buildings. the streets were filled with soldiers, firemen, badge-bedecked politicians, and delighted negroes. well-mounted staff officers and marshals galloped to and fro, directing military and civic organizations to their positions in the procession. the departments were closed, and the clerks were anxiously discussing the probability of a rotation in office which would force them to seek other employment. as noon approached, carriages conveyed the privileged few to the capitol, where, at "high twelve," the gallant and gifted john c. breckinridge solemnly swore to protect and defend the constitution. he then administered the same oath to jefferson davis and other new senators. meanwhile that gallant mexican war veteran, general quitman, who commanded the military, had been formally received, and had given the word "march!" colonel w. w. selden, the chief marshal, had at least thirty gentlemen as aides, all finely mounted and handsomely attired, with uniform sashes and saddlecloths, forming a gallant troop. at the head of the column was the light battery k, of the first regular artillery, commanded by major william h. french. next came a battalion of marines, headed by the full marine band, in their showy scarlet uniforms. twenty-four companies of volunteer militia followed, prominent among them the albany burgess corps, with dodworth's band; the charlestown city guard, with gilmore's band; the lancaster fencibles; the willard guard, from auburn, new york; the law grays, and a german rifle company, from baltimore. following the escort, in an open carriage drawn by two fine gray horses, sat president pierce and president-elect buchanan. flowers were thrown into the carriage as it passed along, and cheers drowned the music of the bands. the carriage was followed by political clubs from new york, philadelphia, baltimore, and lancaster, each having its band and banners. the washington democratic association had a decorated car, drawn by six horses, from which rose a liberty pole seventy feet high, carrying a large american flag. this and a full-rigged miniature ship-of-war were gotten up at the washington navy yard. on reaching the capitol, mr. buchanan was escorted to the senate chamber. mr. breckinridge had been sworn in as vice-president, and a procession was soon formed with him at its head, which moved to the platform erected in the usual place over the steps of the eastern portico. as he came out, dressed with his habitual precision in a suit of black, and towering above the surrounding throng, the thoughtful gravity of his features hushed the impatient crowd. there was a second of intense quiet, then cheer after cheer rent the air. soon he was surrounded by the magnates of the land, civil, military, and naval, with the diplomatic corps and a number of elegantly dressed ladies. advancing to the front of the platform he read his inaugural address from manuscript in a clear, distinct tone, and when he had concluded, reverentially took the oath of office, which, as with several of his predecessors, was administered by the venerable chief justice taney. the cheers of the multitude were echoed by a president's salute, fired by the light artillery near by, and repeated at the navy yard and at the arsenal. the procession was then re-formed and escorted the president to the white house, where he held an impromptu reception. as there was no hall in washington large enough to contain more than six hundred people, a temporary annex to the city hall was erected by the managers of the inauguration ball. the interior was decorated with the flags of all nations, and the ceiling was of white cloth, studded with golden stars, which twinkled as they were moved in unison with the measure of the dancers below, and reflected the blaze of light from large gas chandeliers. mr. buchanan arrived about eleven o'clock, accompanied by miss lane, and was received by major magruder, who very discreetly spared him the infliction of a speech. miss lane wore a white dress trimmed with artificial flowers, similar to those which ornamented her hair, and clasping her throat was a necklace of many strands of sea pearls. she was escorted by senator jones and the venerable general jessup in full uniform. the most beautiful among the many ladies present was the wife of senator douglas, who was dressed in bridal white, with a cluster of orange-blossoms on her classically formed head. senators cameron and dixon, with their wives, were the only republican members of the upper house present, but there was no lack of those from sunnier climes, with their ladies, among whom mrs. slidell, who was something of an oracle in political circles, was conspicuous. mrs. senator thompson, of new jersey, dressed in white, with silver ornaments, was much admired. the ladies of the diplomatic corps were elegantly attired, especially madame de sartiges, the wife of the french minister. president buchanan and suite were first admitted, with the committee, to the supper-table. dancing was kept up until daylight, and although the consumption of punch, wines, and liquors was great, there were no signs of intoxication. two days after mr. buchanan was inaugurated chief justice taney, of the supreme court, gave a decision in the dred scott case, in which he virtually declared that "negroes have no rights which white men are bound to respect." dred scott had been a slave in missouri, belonging to dr. emerson, a surgeon in the united states army, who had taken him, in the performance of his official duties, to illinois, and thence to minnesota. returning with him to missouri, dred scott was whipped, and claiming that he had secured his freedom by a residence in a free state and a free territory, he brought suit for assault and battery. meanwhile dr. emerson died, leaving to his widow and to his only daughter a considerable slave property, among them dred scott. mrs. emerson afterward married dr. calvin c. chaffee, who came into congress on the know- nothing wave and afterward became a republican. the suit brought by dred scott was defended by the administrator of the emerson estate, on behalf and with the consent of the wife of dr. chaffee and the daughter, who were the heirs-at-law. the final decision of the supreme court that dred scott was not a citizen of the united states and could not sue in the united states court remanded him and his family to the chattelhood of mrs. chaffee. this decision was a great victory for the south, as it not only reduced all persons of african descent to a level with inanimate property, but asserted that a slave-holder could go to any part of the country, taking his slaves and preserving his ownership in them. mr. justice b. r. curtis, who had been appointed by president fillmore on the recommendation of daniel webster, dissented. he furnished a copy of his dissenting opinion for publication in the newspapers, but the majority opinion was not forthcoming, and the clerk of the court said that the chief justice had forbidden its delivery. shortly afterward, judge curtis, having heard that extensive alterations had been made in the majority opinion, sent from boston to washington, being himself then in massachusetts, for a copy. he was refused. a long and bitter correspondence ensued between him and judge taney. he claimed the right, which he undoubtedly possessed, to consult the record for the further discharge of his official duties. judge taney denied the right, and obtained an order of court forbidding anybody to see the opinion before its official publication in the reports. the clerk of the court finally offered to supply manuscript copies of the decision at seven hundred and fifty dollars each, but the indefatigable cornelius wendell succeeded in obtaining a copy and printed a large edition in pamphlet form for gratuitous distribution. [facsimile] john b. floyd john buchanan floyd was born in montgomery county, va., in ; was governor of virginia, - ; was secretary of war under president buchanan, - ; was a confederate brigadier-general, - ; died at abingdon, va., august th, . chapter xlii. diplomacy, society, and civil service. president buchanan was virtually his own secretary of state, although he had courteously placed his defeated rival, general cass, at the head of the state department. nearly all of the important diplomatic correspondence, however, was dictated by mr. buchanan, who had, like jefferson and john quincy adams, served as secretary of state, and who was thoroughly versed in foreign relations. general thomas, the assistant secretary of state, was soon dismissed, and mr. john appleton was persuaded to leave the editorial chair of the washington _union_ and take his place. the british government, which had pleasant personal recollections of mr. buchanan, promptly sent lord napier as minister plenipotentiary, no successor to the dismissed sir john crampton having being accredited during the administration of president pierce. the new minister was a scotchman by birth, slender in figure, with light hair and blue eyes, and thoroughly trained in british diplomacy. he was an especial protégé of lord palmerston, and lord clarendon had placed the olive-branch in his hand with his instructions. the press of england proclaimed that he had instructions to render himself acceptable to the government and the people of the united states, and to do all in his power to promote kind feelings between the two countries. soon after he landed at new york he made a speech at the annual dinner of the st. george's society, in which he repudiated the previous distrustful and vexatious policy of the british foreign office towards the united states, and declared that the interests of the two countries were so completely identified that their policy should never be at variance. the claim by great britain of the right to search vessels belonging to the united states which her naval officers might suspect to be slave-traders, and the establishment of a british protectorate over the mosquito coast, in defiance of the monroe doctrine, were knotty questions. lord napier, evidently, was not capable of conducting the negotiations on them in a manner satisfactory to lord palmerston, who sent to washington as his adviser sir william gore ouseley, a veteran diplomat. he was not in any way accredited to the united states government, but was named special minister to central america, and stopped at washington on his way there, renting the madison house, on lafayette square, and entertaining there with great liberality. sir william gore ouseley, who was a knight commander of the bath, had resided at washington as an attaché to the british legation forty years previously, while mr. vaughan was minister, and had then entered personally into a treaty of permanent peace and amity with the united states by marrying the daughter of governor van ness, of vermont. miss van ness was a young lady of great beauty, residing at the metropolis with her uncle, general van ness, at one time the mayor of washington. sir william afterward visited persia as the historian of the embassy of his uncle, sir gore ouseley, and his published work contained much new information in relation to that then almost unknown portion of the world. he had afterward been connected with the british legations in spain, brazil, and buenos ayres, and his acquaintance with the spanish race, language, and literature was probably equal, if not superior, to that of any other englishman. he was the author of a valuable work on the united states, and also of an expensive and illustrated volume on the scenery of brazil. it was doubtless due to considerations such as there, the special acquaintanceship of this veteran diplomat with the character, circumstances, and views of the several nationalities involved in the difficulties to be arranged, which had prevailed over mere political affinities and induced his selection by lord palmerston for the errand on which he came to washington. his personal relations with lord napier were very friendly, and mr. buchanan was the friend of both, having known lady ouseley before her marriage. for some months the ouseleys were prominent in washington society. lady ouseley frequently had the honor of being escorted by the president in her afternoon walks, sometimes attended by her daughter, who wore the first crimson balmoral petticoat seen in washington. when president buchanan and miss lane took their summer flight for bedford springs, the ouseleys were their traveling companions, sharing their private table, and their entertainments at washington were numerous and expensive. at one of these, lady ouseley wore a rich, blue brocade trimmed with honiton lace, with a wreath of blue flowers upon her hair, fastened at each side by a diamond brooch; miss lane, the president's niece, wore a dress of black tulle, ornamented with bunches of gold leaves, and a head-dress of gold grapes; miss cass, the stately daughter of the premier of the administration, was magnificently attired in pearl-colored silk, with point-lace flounces but wore no jewelry of any kind; mrs. brown, the wife of the postmaster- general, wore a rich pink silk dress, with pink roses in her hair; mrs. thompson, the wife of the secretary of the interior, wore a pink silk dress with lace flounces, and a head-dress of pink flowers; madame sartiges, the wife of the french minister, wore a rich chene silk, and was accompanied with her niece, dressed in pink tarlatan; madame stoeckl, the wife of the russian minister, looked as stately as a queen and beautiful as a hebe in a dress of white silk, with black lace flounces, cherry-colored flowers, and gold beads; miss schambaugh, of philadelphia, who was called the handsomest woman in the united states, wore a white-flounced tarlatan dress trimmed with festoons of dark chenille, with a head-dress of red japonicas; mrs. pendleton, the wife of the representative from the cincinnati district, wore a white silk skirt with a blue tunic trimmed with bright colors; mrs. mcqueen, the wife of a south carolina representative, wore a rich black velvet, and mrs. boyce, from the same state, wore a lilac silk dress trimmed with black illusion; mrs. sickles, wife of the representative from new york, wore a blue silk dress, with rich point lace flowers, and was accompanied by her mother, who wore a lavender brocade dress, woven with gold and silver flowers, and miss woodbury, a daughter of the late judge woodbury, wore a black tarlatan dress over black silk, with a head- dress of gilt beads. among the gentlemen present were lord napier, edward everett, secretary thompson, senator mason, representatives keitt, miles, boyce, mcqueen, clingman, and ward; captains ringgold and goldsborough, of the navy; general harney and colonel hardee, of the army, and a number of others. the commencement of mr. buchanan's administration was distinguished by the number of social entertainments given in washington. it was then as in paris just before the revolution of , when talleyrand said to the crafty louis philippe, at one of his palais royal balls: "we are dancing on a volcano." the hidden fires of coming revolution were smoldering at the capitol; but in the drawing- rooms of the metropolis the topeka guelphs cordially fraternized with the lecompton ghibellines night after night, very much as the lawyers of western circuits who, after having abused each other all day in bad english, met at night in the judge's room to indulge in libations of bad liquor. even when lent came, instead of going to church, in obedience to the chimes of consecrated bells, society kept on with its entertainments. among the most prominent houses were those of the postmaster-general, mr. aaron v. brown, whose wife was assisted by the daughter of her first marriage, miss narcissa sanders. at secretary thompson's a full-length portrait of "old hickory," by sully, kept watch and ward of the refreshment table. the connected houses occupied by secretary cass, afterward the arlington hotel, were adorned with many rare works of art, brought by him from the old world. senators gwin, of california, thompson, of new jersey, and clay, of alabama, with governor aiken, of south carolina, also entertained frequently and generously. at the supper-tables wild turkeys, prairie-hens, partridges, quails, reed birds, chicken and lobster salads, terrapin, oysters, ice-creams and confectionery were furnished in profusion, while champagne, sherry, and punch were always abundant. among choice bits of scandal then afloat was one at the expense of a lady who prided herself on the exclusiveness of the society which graced her _salons_. a _double-distilled-f.-f.-v._, no one could obtain invitations to her parties whose _ecusson_ did not bear the quartering of some old family, and thus these entertainments were accused of resembling the tournaments of ancient times, to which the guests were led, not from any prospect of amusement, but merely to prove their right to _ennuyer_ themselves _en bonne compagnie_. foreigners, however, were always welcome, and one of the "pets," a romantic looking young frenchman, who was quite handsome and made a great sensation in fashionable society, avoided the legation as representing a usurper, and therefore quite unworthy the attention of one like himself, of the "vielle roche." the young man, enveloping himself somewhat in mystery, assumed the dignity of louis quatorze in his earlier days, and his decisions on all fashionable matters were law. where he lived no one exactly knew, as his letters were left in willard's card-basket, but his aristocratic protector persuaded gautier to let her look at the furnaces of his restaurant- kitchen, and there--must it be said?--she found m. le compte, in white apron and paper cap, constructing a _mayonnaise_. "this young man is my best cook," said gautier, but the lady did not wait to receive his salutation. the wild hunt after office was kept up during the summer and fall after mr. buchanan's inauguration, fortunate men occasionally drawing place-prizes in the government lottery. one of the best jokes about applicants for office was told at the expense of a bostonian, who presented, among other papers, a copy of a letter to mr. buchanan from rufus choate, with a note stating that he sent a copy because he knew that the president could never decipher the original, and he had left blanks for some words which he could not himself transcribe. governor geary had returned from kansas, disgusted with the condition of things there, and had been replaced as governor by robert j. walker, who was expected to play the part of "wrong's redresser," as the prince did in verona when called to settle the difficulties between the montagues and the capulets. [facsimile] peter force peter force was born at passaic falls, n. j., november th, ; became a printer and journalist at washington; collected and published many volumes of american documentary history; was mayor of washington, - ; died at washington, d. c., january d, . chapter xliii. prelude to the rebellion. general thomas j. rusk, united states senator from texas, who had fought bravely at the battle of san jacinto, had committed suicide during the summer. he had been elected president _pro tempore_ of the senate, and the senate elected as his successor senator fitzpatrick, of alabama, a tall, fine-looking man, whose wife was a great favorite in washington society. he received twenty-eight votes, mr. hamlin receiving nineteen votes, and voting himself for mr. seward, which showed the republican strength in the senate to be twenty. the leader of the southern forces in the senate was mr. john slidell, who was born in new york, but found his way, when young, to new orleans, where he soon identified himself with the creole population and became noted as a political manager. his organization of the colonization of plaquemine parish, by a steamboat load of roughs from new orleans, secured the defeat of henry clay in louisiana and virtually prevented his election as president. wealthy, and without conscientious scruples on political matters he was well- fitted for the leading position in the formation of the southern confederacy, which he obtained; but president davis took good care to send him abroad, knowing that if he could not rule the confederacy he would take the first occasion to ruin it. what he lacked in positive intellect he more than made up in prudence, industry, and energy. on the third day of the session mr. douglas gave notice that he would the next afternoon define his position on the kansas question. the announcement brought crowds to the senate chamber. every senator was in his seat; every past or present dignitary who could claim a right "to the floor" was there, and the galleries were packed with spectators, mrs. douglas prominent among the fairer portion of them. the "little giant" was neatly dressed in a full suit of black, and rose to speak at his seat, which was about in the middle of the desks on the right of the president's chair, where the democrats sat. he spoke boldly and decidedly, though with a studied courtesy toward the president. there was a great difference between the question of popular sovereignty as advocated by mr. douglas, and the great question of human freedom for which mr. sumner and other representatives of northern sentiments were stoutly battling. after mr. douglas had concluded, mr. brown, of mississippi, congratulated mr. henry wilson on the "new republican ally," and many other bitter things were said about him by the southrons, but the _bon mot_ of the day was by senator wade: "never," said he, "have i seen a slave insurrection before." there was a large attendance at the organization of the house, when the roll-call showed that two hundred and twenty-five were present. then mr. phelps gracefully moved that the house proceed to the election of a speaker, thereby showing that he was not a candidate. mr. jones nominated james l. orr of south carolina; governor banks nominated galusha a. grow; and h. w. davis was nominated but withdrawn. the election was then commenced _viva voce_, the clerk calling the roll. colonel orr had one hundred and twenty-eight votes, and was declared elected. governor banks and a. h. stephens were appointed a committee to conduct the speaker-elect to the chair. he then delivered a brief, sensible address, after which he was approached by the patriarchal giddings, who handed him a small bible and administered the oath of office, which duty devolves on the oldest representative. the sergeant-at-arms elevated his mace--that "bauble" of authority so distasteful to the puritans--and the speaker began to swear in the members state by state. among investigations ordered was one into an alleged attempt at bribery by lawrence, stone, & co., when the tariff bill was under consideration, which disclosed the fact that they had paid fifty- eight thousand dollars to colonel wolcott, who came to washington as a representative of the massachusetts manufacturers. colonel wolcott, when brought before the house, declined to make the desired revelations, and he was locked up in the washington jail--a miserable old building. those representatives who were believed to have received some of this money were naturally uneasy, and undertook to intimate that the colonel had pocketed the whole of it. he philosophically submitted to the decree of the house, occupying the jailer's sitting-room--a cheerful apartment, with a good fire, bright sunshine coming in at the windows. he had numerous visitors, his meals were sent him from a restaurant, and he certainly did not appear to suffer seriously from his martyrdom. in the exciting debates on the admission of kansas, senators sumner, wilson, fessenden, and seward were positive in their denunciation of the use of federal troops for the enforcement of the laws, which encouraged the southern senators in their belief that the secession of a state would not be forcibly opposed. "the senate," said henry wilson, "insists that the president shall uphold this usurpation-- these enactments--with the bayonet. let us examine the acts of these usurpers which senators will not repeal; which they insist shall be upheld and enforced by the sabres of the dragoons." said william h. seward: "when you hear me justify the despotism of the czar of russia over the oppressed poles, or the treachery by which louis napoleon rose to a throne over the ruins of the republic in france, on the ground that he preserves domestic peace among his subjects, then you may expect me to vote supplies of men and money to the president that he may keep the army in kansas." ben wade was equally severe on the use of the army, declaring "that the honorable business of a soldier had been perverted to act as a petty bailiff and constable to arrest and tyrannize over men." the racket in the house of representatives commenced with a struggle as to whether the president's message on the lecompton constitution of kansas should be referred to the democratic committee on territories or to a select committee of fifteen. the session was protracted into the night, and after midnight but few spectators remained in the galleries. those representatives who could secure sofas enjoyed naps between the roll-calls, while others visited committee-rooms, in which were private supplies of refreshments. about half-past-one, mr. grow, of pennsylvania, then standing on the democratic side of the house, objected to general quitman's making any remarks. "if you are going to object," shouted mr. keitt, of south carolina, "return to your own side of the hall." mr. grow responded: "this is a free hall, and every man has a right to be where he pleases." mr. keitt then came up to mr. grow and said: "i want to know what you mean by such an answer as that." mr. grow replied: "i mean just what i say; this is a free hall, and a man has the right to be where he pleases." "sir," said mr. keitt, "i will let you know that you are a black republican puppy." "never mind," retorted mr. grow, "i shall occupy such place in this hall as i please, and no negro-driver shall crack his whip over me." the two then rushed at each other with clinched fists. a dozen southerners at once hastened to the affray, while as many anti-lecompton men came to the rescue, and keitt received--not from grow, however, a blow that knocked him down. mr. potter, of wisconsin, a very athletic, compactly built man, bounded into the centre of the excited group, striking right and left with vigor. washburne, of illinois, and his brother, of wisconsin, also were prominent, and for a minute or two it seemed as though we were to have a kilkenny fight on a magnificent scale. barksdale had hold of grow, when potter stuck him a severe blow, supposing that he was hurting that gentleman. barksdale, turning around and supposing it was elihu washburne who struck him, dropped grow, and stuck out at the gentleman from illinois. cadwallader washburne, perceiving the attack upon his brother, also made a dash at mr. barksdale, and seized him by the hair, apparently from the purpose of drawing him "into chancery" and pommeling him to greater satisfaction. horrible to relate, mr. barksdale's wig came off in cadwallader's left hand, and his right fist expended itself with tremendous force against the unresisting air. this ludicrous incident unquestionably did much toward resorting good nature subsequently, and its effect was heightened not a little by the fact that in the excitement of the occasion barksdale restored his wig wrong-side foremost. the speaker shouted and rapped for order without effect. the sergeant-at-arms stalked to the scene of the battle, mace in hand, but his "american eagle" had no more effect than the speaker's gavel. owen lovejoy and lamar, of mississippi, were pawing each other at one point, each probably trying to persuade the other to be still. mr. mott, the gray-haired quaker representative from ohio, was seen going here and there in the crowd. reuben davis, of mississippi, got a severe but accidental blow from mr. grow, and various gentlemen sustained slight bruises and scratches. a virginia representative, who thought montgomery, of pennsylvania was about to "pitch in," laid his hand upon his arm, to restrain him, and was peremptorily ordered to desist or be knocked down. mr. covode, of pennsylvania, caught up a heavy stone-ware spittoon, with which to "brain" whoever might seem to deserve it, but fortunately did not get far enough into the excited crowd to find an appropriate subject for his vengeance; and all over the hall everybody was excited for the time. fortunately, it did not last long, and no weapons were openly displayed. when order was restored several gentlemen were found to present an excessively tumbled and disordered appearance, but there remained little else to recall the excitement. gentlemen of opposite parties crossed over to each other to explain their pacific dispositions, and that they got into a fight when their only purpose was to prevent a fight. mutual explanations and a hearty laugh at the ludicrous points of the drama were followed by quiet and a return to business. it was finally agreed, about half-past six o'clock on sunday morning, that the democrats would permit a vote to be taken on monday without further debate, delay, or dilatory motion. when mr. orr's mallet rapped the house to order at noon on monday, only six of the two hundred and thirty-four representatives were absent, and the galleries were packed like boxes of smyrna figs. rev. dr. sampson made a conciliatory prayer, the journal was read, two enrolled bills were presented, and then the speaker, in an unusually earnest tone, stated the question. tellers had been ordered, and he appointed messrs. buffington, of massachusetts, and craige, of north carolina. "is the demand for the previous question seconded?" the imposing form of buffington was soon seen making his way down to the area before the speaker's table, where craige met him. the two shook hands, and there was then a quick obedience to the speaker's request that gentlemen in favor of the motion would pass between the tellers. father giddings, crowned with silvery locks, led the republican host down to be counted. burlingame followed, and among others who filed along were henry winter davis, general spinner, john sherman, general bingham, frank blair, the trio of washburnes, gooch, schuyler colfax, john covode, governor fenton, senator cragin, and burly humphrey marshall. when all had passed between the tellers buffington wheeled about and reported to the speaker, who announced the result rather hesitatingly: "one hundred and ten in the affirmative. those opposed will now pass between the tellers." then the southern democrats, with their northern allies, came trooping down, headed by the attenuated stephens. dan sickles and john cochrane, who were afterward generals in the union armies, were then allied with zollicoffer, keitt, and others, who fell in the confederate ranks, and there were so many of them that the result appeared doubtful. at last it was mr. craige's turn to report, and then all was silent as the grave. the speaker's usually loud, clear voice hesitated as he at last announced: "one hundred and four in the negative. the ayes have it, and the demand for the previous question is seconded. shall the main question be now put?" the main question was next put, and the vote by ayes and nays on a reference of the kansas question to the committee on territories, was ayes, ; nays, . then came the vote on the reference to a select committee of fifteen, and speaker orr had to announce the result, ayes, ; nays . the north was at last victorious. [facsimile] howell cobb howell cobb was born at cherry hill, ga., september th, ; graduated at franklin college, ; was representative from georgia, - and - ; was chosen speaker, ; was governor of georgia, ; was president of the confederate congress, ; died in new york city, october th, . chapter xliv. politicians, authors, and humorists. bluff ben wade, a senator from ohio, was the champion of the north in the upper house during the prolonged debates on the kansas- nebraska bill. dueling had long been regarded as a lost art in the northern states, but mr. wade determined that he would accept a challenge should one be sent him, or defend himself should he be attacked. but no one either assaulted or challenged him, although he gave his tongue free license. one day senator badger spoke plaintively of slavery from a southern point of view. in his childhood, he said, he was nursed by an old negro woman, and he grew to manhood under her care. he loved his "old black mammy," and she loved him. but if the opponents of the kansas-nebraska bill were triumphant, and he wished to go to either of those territories, he could not take his "old black mammy" with him. turning to mr. wade, he exclaimed: "surely, you will not prevent me from taking my old black mammy with me?" "it is not," remarked the senator from ohio, dryly, "that he cannot take his old black mammy with him that troubles the mind of the senator, but that if we make the territories free, he cannot sell the old black mammy when he gets her there." the future leader of the great rebellion, senator jefferson davis, had then assumed the leadership of the southern senators and their northern allies. his best friends were forced to admit that his bearing, even toward them, had become haughty, and his manners imperious. his thin, spare figure, his almost sorrowful cast of countenance, composed, however, in an invariable expression of dignity, gave the idea of a body worn by the action of the mind, an intellect supporting in its prison of flesh the pains of constitutional disease, and triumphing over physical confinement and affliction. his carriage was erect--there was a soldierly affectation, of which, indeed, the hero of buena vista gave evidence through his life, having the singular conceit that his genius was military and fitter for arms than for the council. he had a precise manner, and an austerity that was at first forbidding; but his voice was always clear and firm. although not a scholar in the pedantic sense of the term, and making no pretensions to the doubtful reputation of the sciolist, his reading was classical and varied, his fund of illustration large, and his resources of imagery plentiful and always apposite. senator robert w. johnson--"bob johnson," every one called him-- had made many friends while a member of the house, and was one of the most popular senators. he was a man of generous feeling, honorable impulses, and a cheerful humor, which had endeared him to the homely backwoodsmen of his state. he was a fine speaker, pouring forth fact and argument with an earnestness that riveted attention, and lighting up the dull path of logic with the glow of his captivating fancy, while he spiced his remarks with the idiosyncrasies of frontier oratory, familiar and quaint illustrations, and blunt truth. at heart he loved the union, but he could not stand up against the public sentiment of his state. henry bowen anthony was the first republican senator who had not been identified with the abolitionists. before he had been a week in the senate, he was graciously informed that the southern senators recognized him as a gentleman, and proposed to invite him to their houses. "i can enter no door," sturdily replied the man of quaker ancestry, "which is closed against any northern senator." mr. anthony was at that time a very handsome man, with jet black hair, blue eyes, and a singularly sweet expression of countenance. his editorial labors on the providence _journal_ had given him a rare insight into men and politics, which qualified him for senatorial life. he was soon a favorite in washington society, wit and general information embellishing his brilliant conversation, while his social virtues gave to his life a daily beauty. ostensibly to negotiate a postal treaty, but really to see what could be done about an international copyright between great britain and the united states, came anthony trollope, esq. he was a short, stout old gentleman, with a round, rosy face and snow-white hair, who loved to talk, and who talked well. his mother, mrs. frances trollope, had written a cruelly sarcastic book on the manners and customs of americans in , and he was somewhat dogmatic in his criticisms of what he saw and heard. he shone especially at gentlemen's evening parties, at which he narrated anecdotes about macaulay, dickens, and thackeray, and of his own exploits in "'unting," which he regarded as the noblest of all pastimes. mike walsh was not only a demagogue, but an incorrigible joker. he used frequently to visit washington after the expiration of his congressional term, and was in the city after the close of the summer session of the thirty-fifth congress. judge douglas was also there, busily engaged in advancing his presidential prospects. one evening, as walsh was sitting in front of the kirkwood house, he remarked that the weather looked threatening, but that he hoped it would prove good on account of the serenade that was to be given to judge douglas that night. the thing took at once, and he visited all the hotels, and in casual conversations broached the serenade, and the fact that the marine band had been engaged for the occasion. when ten o'clock p. m. came there were not less than six or seven hundred people in front of judge douglas's new residence; and as the streets had been newly opened and were still unpaved, the mud was ankle deep. there were also some thirty or forty hacks and a number of private carriages; and as the judge and his beautiful and accomplished wife had heard of the intended ovation, they had prepared for the emergency by taking up the parlor carpets and setting out a collation for the sovereigns. but, alas! no marine band appeared; and as eleven o'clock came and no music, the crowd began slowly to thin out, until at last it got whispered around that mike walsh had something to do with the getting up of the serenade, when, amid curses and loud guffaws, there was a general stampede of the crowd. in the midst of the stormy debates at the capitol, there was an entertainment where men of both sections fraternized. it was a "wake" at the house of mr. john coyle, the cashier of the _national intelligencer_, whose milesian blood had prompted him to pay hibernian honors to the memory of one who had often been his guest. the funereal banquet had been postponed, however, in true irish style, when it had been ascertained that the deceased was not dead, and in due time the guests were again invited, to honor him whom they had mourned--albert pike, of arkansas. there he was, with stalwart form, noble features, waving hair, and a patriarchal beard --at once the kit north and the körner of america. after a neat welcome by the host, uprose the erudite dignitary of the state department, and he read, in deep, full tones, an obituary sketch of the supposed deceased, which he had prepared upon the receipt of the sad news. pike's remarks, in reply, were touchingly beautiful, especially when he expressed his delight at having read kind notices of himself from those whom he had feared were his enemies, and his hopes that all enmity between him and his fellow- men might remain buried in that tomb to which he had been consigned. jack savage then sang a song (to the tune of "benny havens, o!"), describing a forced visit of "the fine arkansas gentleman" to the stygian shore, where he craved permission of pluto to return to earth for one night at coyle's: "'are you not dead?' the king then said. 'well, what of that? said he, 'if i am dead, i've not been waked, and buried dacently.' 'and why,' the monarch cried, 'desire again to share life's toils?' 'for the sake of one good frolic more, 'even at johnny coyle's.' one spree at johnny coyle's; one spree at johnny coyle's; and who would not be glad to join a spree at johnny coyle's?" pluto then enumerated the good cheer and good company, and "horace and anacreon in vain would have him stay." but the gentleman from arkansas demonstrated that they were all surpassed at johnny coyle's. the recital of the genial qualities of various gentlemen named enlisted proserpine, who urged pluto to let him go, that he might return, bringing his friends with him. "and so the queen at last prevailed, as women always do, and thus it comes that once again this gentleman's with you; he's under promise to return, but that he means to brake, and many another spree to have besides the present wake. one spree at johnny coyle's, etc." this song was followed by a story, and that story by a song, and it was nearly daylight in the morning before the guests separated. the sons of malta, a secret order which sprang into existence during mr. buchanan's administration, was a remarkable institution. the original object of the organization was the capture of cuba, and many prominent military men of the south were the leading spirits in the movement; but the filibustering was soon abandoned, and a newspaper man, who had been initiated, conceived the idea of making "some fun for the boys." the whole business of initiation, etc., was transformed into a series of the most stupendous practical jokes and outrageously comical proceedings ever dreamed of. the order spread rapidly all over the union. at washington the lodge fitted up marini's hall in luxurious style, with carpets, cushioned seats, and an expensive paraphernalia. many senators and representatives who had been initiated at their respective homes were regular attendants, and there was no lack of candidates, until a sedate citizen, enraged by the disclosure of his domestic infidelity, denounced the whole affair as a gigantic "sell." while the order was on the high tide of prosperity mr. buchanan was asked if he would receive a delegation of the sons of malta, representing twenty different states. mr. buchanan was a zealous freemason--having gone up into the royal arch degree--and thinking that the institution resembled freemasonry, he named an hour for the visit. the members of the delegation were promptly on hand, and after they had taken their position along one side of the east room, mr. buchanan entered. the spokesman addressed him in a short speech, in which he eulogized the order as composed of union-loving citizens, associated for charitable purposes. mr. buchanan listened attentively, and said in reply: "gentlemen of the sons of malta, i feel grateful for the honor you have done me in making this visit. i do not know much about the order, but i have no doubt of its charitable objects and its patriotism. in your praiseworthy object of charity i would say, god speed you in so noble an enterprise. we are told that faith, hope, and charity are the links that bind us together in social union. faith and hope may pass away, but charity endures forever. i do not feel that there is any danger of the dissolution of the union by the oppression of one portion of our country upon another; for should that period unhappily arrive, the people, who made it, will preserve it. again, allow me cordially to thank you for this visit, and i would be most happy to take each one of you by the hand as representatives of the sons of malta from all parts of the union." so solemn was the scene that several portly delegates were evidently convulsed with emotion (or secret laughter), and the union was regarded as safe. owners of ships, stocks, states, and the order took courage. [facsimile] geo. bancroft george bancroft was born at worcester, mass., october d, ; graduated at harvard college, ; was secretary of the navy under president polk, - ; was minister to great britain, - ; to prussia, - ; to germany, - . [frontispiece missing] perley's reminiscences of sixty years in the national metropolis _illustrating the wit, humor, genius, eccentricities, jealousies, ambitions and intrigues of the brilliant statesmen, ladies, officers, diplomats, lobbyists and other noted celebrities of the world that gather at the centre of the nation; describing imposing inauguration ceremonies, gala day festivities, army reviews, &c., &c., &c._ by ben: perley poore, _the veteran journalist, clerk of the senate printing records, editor of the congressional directory, and author of various works._ illustrated. vol. ii. hubbard brothers, publishers, philadelphia, pa. boston, kansas city; w. a. houghton, new york; a. w. mills, tecumseh, mich.; a. w. stolp, chicago, ill.; a. l. bancroft & co., san francisco, cal.; e. holdoway & co., st. louis, mo.; a. p. foster & co., dallas, texas. entered, according to act of congress, in the year , by ben: perley poore, in the office of the librarian of congress, at washington. notice to booksellers. this book is sold exclusively by subscription, all agents being strictly enjoined by contract from selling in any other way. any evasion of this plan will be a trespass upon the copyright rights of the author. hubbard bros. contents. chapter i. foreign complications and domestic intrigue. the central american imbroglio--the napier ball--washington society --fanny kemble butler--democratic revelers--the trial of sickles-- the key family--robert ould--edwin m. stanton--other lawyers-- verdict of acquittal--anson burlingame. chapter ii. visits from distinguished foreigners. the japanese embassy--its reception by president buchanan--caricatures --visit of the prince of wales--the heir to the british throne at mount vernon--effect produced on queen victoria--life at the white house--how mr. buchanan lived. chapter iii. the gathering tempest. threatening aspect of affairs--john brown's raid--pendleton's gambling-house neutral ground--the games and the gamblers--honors to the deceased king of cards--vice-president breckinridge--south carolina chivalry--the slave trade re-opened--lady lobbyists-- ellsworth's zouaves--owen lovejoy. chapter iv. lincoln's election inaugurates rebellion. election of a republican president--northern willingness to let the south secede--senator seward as a partisan leader--his great speech--farewell of jefferson davis to the senate--hale's reply to clingman--the peace commission--twenty-second of february parade-- the electoral vote--hostilities commenced. chapter v. mr. lincoln at the helm. unexpected arrival of mr. lincoln--sumner compared to a bishop-- interviews of the president-elect with prominent men--remarkable memory--southern commissioners--the inaugural message lost and found--the new cabinet--the inauguration. chapter vi. the storm bursts. robert e. lee joins the confederacy--sumter fired upon--the uprising of the loyal north--the first troops to arrive--nick biddle, the first man wounded--arrival of the massachusetts sixth--the censorship of the press--general butler re-opens communication with the north --the massachusetts eighth--ellsworth's fire zouaves--alexandria occupied--a confederate flag captured--colonel ellsworth killed by its owner and promptly avenged. chapter vii. "on to richmond." meeting of congress--march of the grand army of the union--the first battle of bull run--disgraceful rout--appeal of senator breckinridge--patriotic reply of colonel baker--war preparations-- general mcclellan placed in command--general scott's advice to him --surrender of mason and slidell--disastrous engagement at ball's bluff. chapter viii. washington a vast garrison. rejection by the president of anti-slavery views--vacant seats at either end of the capitol--fessenden, the financier--sumner, the diplomatist--wilson, the military director--other prominent senators --the rule of thaddeus stevens--notable representatives--democratic opposition to the administration--congressional committee on the conduct of the war. chapter ix. the metropolis in time of war. president lincoln's first new year's reception--the pennsylvania lancers--discontent of the abolitionists--president lincoln favoring colonization--appointment of e. m. stanton as secretary of war-- espionage--the secret service--female confederate spies--capture by one of them of a union general. chapter x. fashion, literature and art. washington society disgruntled--president lincoln's first reception --who were present--a famous supper--criticisms of the discontented --secret sadness of president lincoln and his wife--death of little willie lincoln--camp followers--literati in government employ-- lectures at the smithsonian institution--commissioner newton, of the agricultural department. chapter xi. the fortunes of war. war correspondents--a precarious position--the washington press-- colonel john w. forney and his two daily papers--fourth of july celebration at washington--raising colored troops discouraged-- successful recruiting of whites for union armies--war on general mcclellan, and his deposition--defeat of general pope--recall of general mcclellan to command--victory at antietam--general burnside in command--his failures at fredericksburg--his resignation. chapter xii. social life of president lincoln. meeting of congress--proclamation of emancipation--new year's day at the white house--growlings by count gurowski--the army of the potomac--christmas at the hospitals--henry wikoff in trouble-- president lincoln ill with the varioloid--defeat of general hooker at chancellorsville--victory of general grant at vicksburg--sublime speech of president lincoln at gettysburg. chapter xiii. civil and military intrigues. war legislators--medal voted to general grant--new year's receptions at the white house and at the residences of officials--general grant promoted to the rank of lieutenant-general--he leads the army of the potomac through terrific battles to victory--resignation of mr. chase as secretary of the treasury--his appointment as chief- justice--presidential scheming. chapter xiv. events both sad and joyous. election of andrew johnson as vice-president--second inauguration of lincoln--disgraceful intoxication of vice-president johnson-- inauguration ball at the interior department--successful military movements directed by general grant--lincoln's fondness for theatricals--the martyr-president's last speech to the people-- capture of dixie. chapter xv. plunged into sorrow. jubilant over victory--president lincoln at the theatre--his assassination by wilkes booth--a night of terror--death of abraham lincoln--the assassin--funeral honors paid the dead president-- ceremonies at the white house--procession along pennsylvania avenue --the remains rest in state in the rotunda of the capitol--their removal to illinois. chapter xvi. the conspiracy trial--the grand reviews. andrew johnson sworn in as president--visit of a massachusetts delegation--what he thought about traitors and treason--arrest of booth and his accomplices--the confederates had supplied the funds --mrs. surratt on trial--the male prisoners--execution of some conspirators and imprisonment of others--grand review of the union armies--general meade and the army of the potomac--the reviewing stand--general sherman and the division of the mississippi--rebuff given by general sherman to secretary stanton--sherman's bummers. chapter xvii. president johnson surrenders. concessions to the confederates--daily life of president johnson-- jefferson davis in prison and manacled--exciting scene in a casemate --john pierpont's eightieth birthday--the bread and butter convention --swinging round the circle--marriage of senator sumner--his bright hopes soon disappointed--female influence at the white house-- impeacher ashley commences operations--important decision by the supreme court. chapter xviii. washington celebrities. president johnson's wife and daughters--representative roscoe conkling, of new york--senator oliver p. morton, indiana's war governor--senator george f. edmunds, of vermont--senator zach. chandler, of michigan--senator anthony, of rhode island--jovial senator nye, of nevada--representative elihu b. washburne, the father of the house--speaker colfax as a presiding officer-- representative james g. blaine, of maine, and his tilt with tucker, of virginia--representative fernando wood, of new york. chapter xix. ceremonials at the metropolis. new year's reception at the white house--who was there and what was worn--george bancroft's eulogy on abraham lincoln--scene in the house of representatives--distinguished persons present--the memorial address--great britain snubbed and russia complimented-- a penitential apology by senator mcdougall, of california. chapter xx. the great impeachment. widening gulf between president johnson and congress--deposition and restoration of secretary stanton--life and death of sir frederick bruce--mrs. lincoln's sale of effects--thurlow weed's criticism-- impeachment of president johnson--general thomas appointed secretary of war--the high court of impeachment, chief-justice chase presiding --elaborate argument by mr. evarts--his review of republican assertions--the verdict--close of the administration. chapter xxi. a new presidential contest. four ohio presidential candidates, grant, chase, stanton and wade --chief-justice chase before the democratic convention--care taken by general grant that all confederate officers should be paroled-- extension of the treasury department--senator ben. wade and the restaurant keeper--senator sumner's great speech on alaska--happy hours of general grant at washington--one of his evening receptions --sam. ward, the bon vivant--charles dickens. chapter xxii. general grant in the white house. the inauguration procession--proceedings at the capitol--delivery of the inaugural address--ball in the treasury department--formation of the cabinet--secretary of state, fish--appointment of a. t. stewart, secretary of the treasury--the politicians troubled, but successful--other cabinet officers--army habits in the white house --president grant's daily life. chapter xxiii. reconstruction of the metropolis. alexander r. shepherd, the "boss" regenerator of washington--expense of the improvements, and who profited thereby--supervising-architect mullett--the state, war, and navy building--official speculators-- the story of black friday--general grant's financial views--the credit mobilier scandal--honest oakes ames made a scapegoat. chapter xxiv. restoration of the union. northern politicians and southern brigadiers--the old flag and an appropriation--outrages by the ku-klux klan--the joint high commission --seizure of canada--intrigues of russian minister de catacazy-- visit of the grand duke alexis--a female spy--charles sumner's house and his heart trouble--misunderstanding between general grant and senator sumner on san domingo--senator sumner forced into hostility toward general grant. chapter xxv. intrigues and intriguers. the solider not a statesman--how to beat grant--horace greeley a presidential candidate--re-nomination of general grant, with henry wilson for vice-president--defeat of colfax--new year's reception at the white house--return of senator sumner--inscription of union victories on regimental colors--death of senator sumner. chapter xxvi. a new term begun. second inauguration of general grant--an arctic wave--the procession --scene at the capitol--the inaugural address--a frozen-out ball-- death of chief-justice chase--refusal of the position by roscoe conkling--appointment of attorney-general williams--nomination of caleb cushing--an unfortunate letter--cushing asserts his loyalty --edwin m. stanton appointed a justice of the supreme court--marriage of general grant's daughter. chapter xxvii. corruption in official life. fifty congressional drag-nets at work--female jealousy--a nantucket story--impeachment of general belknap, after his resignation-- beautiful mrs. belknap--the whisky ring--revenge of senator henderson, of missouri--trial of general babcock, and his acquittal. chapter xxviii. the centennial glory. observance of the centennial at washington--entertainment of dom pedro, of brazil, at the british legation--the national republican convention at cincinnati--illness of mr. blaine at washington--how blaine was defeated and hayes nominated--contest for the returns in doubtful states--cipher telegrams--examination of colonel pelton --threats of revolution--intimations of bargains. chapter xxix. the electoral commission. the commission changed by the substitution of judge bradley for judge davis--debate in the senate on the bill--great speech by roscoe conkling--counting the electoral vote--decision by the commission--general grant's administration not a political success. chapter xxx. inauguration of president hayes. lack of congressional notification--arrival of governor hayes at washington--political consultations--the oath taken privately--the procession--the inauguration--safely in the white house--the new cabinet--judge key's eventful history--fun at cabinet meetings-- unfortunate selection of a private secretary. chapter xxxi. a new era in society. president hayes and his wife--the ohio idea of total abstinence and its evasion--social life at the white house--a new era in washington society--the president's silver wedding--reunion of old friends--petition of ex-senator christiancy for a divorce--dissolute young diplomats. chapter xxxii. leaders and measures. overthrow of the republicans--the hayes policy--thurman, of ohio-- bayard, of delaware--beck, of kentucky--cockrell, of missouri-- bruce, of mississippi--logan, of illinois--anthony, of rhode island --hamlin, of maine--edmunds, of vermont--conkling, of new york-- carpenter, of wisconsin--ingalls, of kansas--dawes, of massachusetts --blaine, of maine--randall, of pennsylvania--republican representatives --stopping supplies--presidential vetoes--"pinafore." chapter xxxiii. tilts in congress. celebration of the king of spain's marriage--criminations and recriminations at the capitol--tilt between carpenter and blaine-- altercation between conkling and gordon--sharp words between mahone and voorhees--new set of china for the white house. chapter xxxiv. struggle for the presidential nomination. general grant's friends in the field--the inter-oceanic ship canal --personal popularity of senator blaine--john sherman supported by general garfield--political double-dealing--garfield's speech at chicago--nomination of garfield and arthur--visit of general grant to washington--a cold new year's day--reception at the white house --official presentations--appointment of mr. blaine as secretary of state. chapter xxxv. the garfield inauguration. washington city crowded--the weather inclement--military and civic procession--crowds in the senate chamber--general garfield's mother, wife, and daughter--hancock, the superb--plucky phil sheridan-- decorated diplomats--installation of vice-president arthur--majestic scene in front of the capitol--the inaugural and the oath of office --grand review--inauguration ball. chapter xxxvi. changes and dissensions. republicans deprived of their majority in the senate--rival new york factions--declaration of hostility against senator conkling-- contest over the confirmation of the collector of new york-- resignation of senators conkling and platt--significant speech by senator mahone--a defiant challenge--inauguration of the statue of farragut--president garfield at the college for deaf mutes. chapter xxxvii. the assassination. garfield's domestic felicity--his masonic and literary relations-- the garfield family at the white house--perplexities environing the administration--mrs. garfield the first lady in the land--her illness--the assassination--the long agony--death of president garfield--funeral ceremonies at washington--interment at cleveland --trial of guiteau--his conviction and execution. chapter xxxviii. vice president arthur becomes president. the deplorable calamity--mental anguish of vice-president arthur-- he takes the oath at new york, and repeats it at washington-- individual preferences subordinated to public welfare--principles of the new administration--executive vetoes--changes in the senate --leading senators--mr. bayard president _pro tempore_ one day-- senator david davis chosen to preside _pro tempore_. chapter xxxix. the centennial of yorktown. president arthur's appearance--reception of french and german officers at washington--their presentation to president arthur at the capitol--display of fireworks--the yorktown celebration-- secretary blaine's entertainment to the nation's guests--fete at the french legation. chapter xl. president arthur's administration. the republicans again in power--a new cabinet--mr. conkling appointed a justice of the supreme court--the garfield memorial services at the capitol--mr. blaine's eulogy on the deceased president--attacks on the administration--daily life of the president--the star-route trials. chapter xli. gay and festive scenes. president arthur's new year's reception--dr. mary walker--senator hoar's welcome dinner to mr. justice gray--president arthur's dinner in honor of general and mrs. grant--the guests and what the ladies wore--mr. blaine's new home--marriage of colonel coppinger to miss blaine. chapter xlii. the washington national monument. senator anthony's fifth term--his election as president _pro tempore_, and declination--officers of the senate--democratic tidal wave in the house--speaker john g. carlisle--a gay washington season --good dinners--improvement of the metropolis--procession and addresses at the completion of the washington monument--an exciting presidential campaign--the result--departure of general arthur from the white house. chapter xliii. president cleveland. the metropolis crowded--the procession--vice-president hendricks sworn in--the inaugural--the president's oath--inauguration ball-- the cabinet--secretaries bayard, manning, endicott, whitney, and lamar--postmaster-general vilas--attorney-general garland--the council table. chapter xliv. official and social life. executive work--general reception--office-seekers--miss rose elizabeth cleveland--a state dinner at the white house--the guests --toilets of the ladies--sad death of mrs. and miss bayard--mrs. secretary whitney--death of vice-president hendricks. chapter xlv. the forty-ninth congress. john sherman president _pro tem._--the fitz john porter debate-- unpleasantness between kansas and south carolina--senator gorman, of maryland--senator kenna, of west virginia--general manderson, of nebraska--senator spooner, of wisconsin--wedding present to secretary mccook--mr. speaker carlisle--representative breckinridge, of kentucky--drawing of seats--prominent representatives--the lobby, male and female. chapter xlvi. the president's wedding floral decorations--the bride's attire--the ceremony--the marriage supper--departure of the wedded couple--receptions at the white house--the diplomats and their ladies--dinner parties--the leader of society--congress and the president--vetoes--office-seekers-- summer recreations. chapter xlvii. a summing up of sixty years. phenomenal progress of washington--growth of the united states-- proud position of the republic--improvements at the national capital --tone of society--war demoralization--plunderers and impudent lobbyists--tone of political newspapers--congressional claimants-- southern influence--shoddy and veneer--a literary and scientific centre--the smithsonian institution, the national museum, the fish commission, and other scientific collections--the cosmos club-- l'envoi. list of illustrations [omitted] list of autographs john adams james buchanan thomas jefferson john p. hale abraham lincoln e. e. ellsworth hannibal hamlin benjamin f. wade simon cameron salmon p. chase a. e. burnside george g. meade joseph hooker robert e. lee andrew johnson john a. logan edwin m. stanton henry b. anthony winfield s. hancock jeremiah s. black charles sumner u. s. grant james monroe schuyler colfax henry wilson morrison r. waite matthew h. carpenter james g. blaine francis e. spinner rutherford b. hayes william m. evarts roscoe conkling john sherman elihu b. washburne james a. garfield david davis phil. h. sheridan chester a. arthur william t. sherman david d. porter robert t. lincoln w. w. corcoran grover cleveland thomas a. hendricks fred. t. frelinghuysen byron sunderland perley's reminiscences. vol. ii. chapter i. foreign complications and domestic troubles. while president buchanan was anxiously awaiting information from central america, he received from mr. dallas, the minister at london, notes of a conversation between himself and the earl of malmesbury, in which the english minister said: "lord napier has communicated to the president the treaty negotiated by sir william gore ouseley with the minister from nicaragua." it was believed that no objection had been expressed to its provisions. one of its objects was to terminate the mosquito protectorate. now, this was virtually the relinquishment on the part of england of her construction of the clayton-bulwer treaty, and, of course, was very desirable news to mr. buchanan, yet lord napier had withheld it. he either was disgusted at this settlement of the long-talked-of difficulty without his aid, or his devotion to a fair southern widow had made him stupidly inattentive to what was going on. a hint to the english government was thereupon given by mr. buchanan that his lordship had better be transferred to some other post, and he was transferred accordingly. mr. seward had endeavored to introduce lord napier into republican society instead of that which southerners had made so agreeable, and when he was recalled was mainly instrumental in getting up a subscription ball in his honor. it was given at willard's hotel, in the long dining-room, which had been decorated for the occasion with flags of all nations, mirrors, and chandeliers. at one end of the room, beneath full-length portraits of general washington and queen victoria, was a raised dais, on which lord and lady napier received the company. he wore a blue dress-coat with gilt diplomatic buttons, white waistcoat, and blue trousers, and looked the "canny" scotchman and napier that he was. lady napier wore a white silk ball-dress, with three flounces of white tulle, puffed and trimmed with black brussels lace, a corsage, and a head-dress of scarlet velvet with pearls and white ostrich feathers. after the presentations the ball was opened with a quadrille, in which lord napier danced with madame limburgh, a daughter of general cass, mr. ledyard and mrs. seward, jr., being their vis-a-vis. in the same quadrille was senator seward and the beautiful mrs. conrad, of georgia, having as their vis-a-vis mr. danby seymour, m. p., and the niece of senator dixon, of connecticut. supper was served at eleven o'clock. mr. speaker orr escorted lady napier to the table, followed by lord napier escorting the countess de sartiges. it was a bountiful repast, with a profusion of champagne. dancing was kept up until a late hour. a few days afterward lord napier embarked on an english war-steamer for his home. elegant entertainments were given during mr. buchanan's administration by the members of his cabinet, the receptions at the house of postmaster-general brown, graced by his daughter-in-law, miss narcissa sanders, surpassing all others in elegance. mrs. gwin's fancy ball was far above any similar entertainment ever given at washington. charles francis adams, then a representative from massachusetts, entertained very hospitably; mr. seward gave numerous dinner-parties, and his parlors were open every friday evening to all who chose to visit him; the blairs kept open house for the new republican party; mr. john cochrane gave a great dinner-party to the correspondents of the leading newspapers; mrs. fanny kemble butler had fashionable audiences to hear her readings, and was much made of in society, but she terrified the waiters at her hotel by her imperious manners. on all sides gayety abounded. a large party of democrats, after enjoying a dinner on the anniversary of the battle of new orleans, went, at past eleven o'clock, to the white house to honor the president. they evidently disturbed him from his sleep, for he appeared in a dressing-gown, and as if he had just arisen from his bed. mr. buchanan was an exceedingly amiable and courteous politician, and showed it on this occasion by getting up at that unseemly hour to address these gentlemen, who were full of supper, wine, and patriotism. he, however, naively remarked to them, in concluding his remarks, "that in bidding them good-night he hoped they would retire to rest, and that to-morrow all of them would be better prepared for the discharge of their respective duties." evidently mr. buchanan, while appreciating the motive and feelings of these gentlemen, manifested a little characteristic waggishness about their going to rest and getting up refreshed for their duties. the murder, one bright sunday morning in february, of philip barton key, the district attorney of the district of columbia, by mr. daniel e. sickles, a member of the house of representatives from new york, created a great sensation. mr. sickles, although a young man, had been for some years prominently connected with new york politics. he had taken from her boarding-school and married the handsome young daughter of madame bagioli, who had, with her husband, acquired some celebrity in new york as italian music teachers. soon after the marriage mr. sickles had received the appointment of secretary of legation at london (mr. appleton having been unable to accompany mr. buchanan), and mrs. sickles thus made her _debut_ as the presiding lady of the bachelor minister's establishment. in mr. sickles entered congress, and rented the "woodbury house," on lafayette square, where he lived in elegant style. his coaches, dinners, and parties were irreproachable, and mrs. sickles was noted for her magnificent jewelry and beautiful toilettes. mr. buchanan was a frequent visitor at their house, and was to have been godfather at the christening of mr. sickles' infant daughter, with mrs. slidell as godmother, but an attack of whooping-cough postponed the ceremony. prominent among gentlemen "in society" at that time was district attorney key. his father, in years past, had been a leading member of the maryland bar, practicing in georgetown, and the family had always been highly respected. it was, however, as the author of the "star spangled banner" that the elder mr. key acquired a national fame. one of his daughters, mrs. ellen key blunt, inherited her father's poetical genius, and had, since her widowhood, become prominent as a reader in public. another daughter married mr. george pendleton, then a representative from ohio. daniel, a son, was killed in a duel by a mr. may; and philip barton, having become somewhat popular as a politician and a lawyer, received from franklin pierce the appointment of district attorney. about that time he was appointed captain of the "montgomery guards" also, and looked gallantly in his green and gold uniform. he married miss swann, of baltimore, who died a few years afterward, leaving young children, and from that time mr. key's health had been very feeble. the previous winter (mr. buchanan having guaranteed him against rotation) he went to cuba, but was not at all benefitted. tall, slender, with rather a sad yet handsome face, he was just the man to win a woman's heart. he was somewhat foppish, too, in his attire, riding on horseback in white leather tights and high boots. about an hour before mr. key was shot, he said to a young lady, whom he joined on her way home from church: "i am despondent about my health, and very desperate. indeed, i have half a mind to go out on the prairies and try buffalo hunting. the excursion would either cure me or kill me, and, really, i don't care much which." soon afterward, he saw, from the windows of his club-house, a signal displayed at the window of the residence of mr. sickles, across the square, which informed him that mrs. sickles desired to see him. he had hardly left the club-house, however, when he was met by mr. sickles, who, without warning, drew a pistol and shot him down like a dog. he was taken into the club-house, which he had so recently left, and died in a few moments. mr. sickles surrendered himself at once and was imprisoned in the jail, where he enjoyed the comforts of the keeper's room, and received the visits of many friends. mr. sickles' trial came off in a few weeks before judge crawford, an old gentleman, whose intellect appeared to be somewhat clouded, but who endeavored to conceal a lack of capacity by a testy, querulous manner not especially imposing. the prosecution was conducted by district attorney ould, prominent afterward in the confederate service as having the charge of the exchange of prisoners. he was educated for the baptist ministry, and spoke with a somewhat clerical air. it was not to be supposed that he would show ingratitude to mr. buchanan for his appointment by over-exerting himself to secure the punishment of one who was known to be a favorite at the white house. mr. carlisle, retained soon after the murder by mr. key's friends to aid in the prosecution, was by many regarded as the choate of the district bar. nervous in manner, yet cold at heart, crammed with the tricks of the law, and gifted with a flow of language wherewith to cloak them, he brought with equal felicity the favorable points of his client's case into prominence, and showed great acuteness in suppressing or glossing over whatever might be prejudicial to his interest. he was not, however, permitted to use much evidence touching the morality of the prisoner and the manner in which the victim had been lured to his tomb. the defense was conducted by edwin m. stanton, previously known at washington as a patent lawyer, and as having concluded successfully an important california land case for the government. he had a head which titian would have loved to paint, so massive were its proportions, and so sweeping were its long locks and beard. he stood like a sturdy sentinel on guard before his client, pleading the "higher law" in justification, and mercilessly attacking the counsel on the other side whenever they sought to introduce damaging evidence. he had as his aids-de-camp messrs. phillips, chilton, and radcliff, of the district bar, each knowing well his honor the judge and the rest of the court. then there were david r. graham and james t. brady, prominent new york lawyers, who brought their eloquence to bear upon the jury, and were aided by t. f. meagher, a glorious specimen of a rollicking irish barrister. mr. sickles sat in the dock, which was for all the world like the old-fashioned, square, high church pews. he looked exactly as one would imagine a successful new york city politician would look-- apparently affable, yet bent on success, and unrelenting in his opposition to those who sought to impede his progress. when the verdict of acquittal came, there was a scene of tumultuous disorder in the court-room. mr. stanton called in a loud tone for cheers, and rounds of them were given again and again. president buchanan was delighted with the acquittal of "dan," as he familiarly called him, and his friends gave him a round of supper-parties. anson burlingame, who was prominent in political and social circles at that eventful epoch, had transplanted the western style of oratory to massachusetts, where he had married the daughter of a leading whig, and entered political life through the "know-nothing" door. he did not have much to say on the floor of the house, but he was an indefatigable organizer, and rendered the republican party great service as, what is called in the english house of commons, a "whipper-in." he prided himself on being recognized as a man who would chivalrously defend himself if attacked, but he showed no desire for fighting when hostilities became inevitable. he then went abroad in a diplomatic capacity. [facsimile] john adams. john adams was born at braintree, now quincy, mass., october th, ; removed to boston, ; was delegate to first congressional congress, september, ; assisted in the treaty of peace, january, ; was united states minister to england, - ; was vice- president with washington, - ; was president of the united states, - ; died july th, . chapter ii. visits from distinguished foreigners. the japanese embassy arrived in washington on the th of may, , in the steamer philadelphia, which brought them up the potomac from the united states frigate roanoke, on which they had come from japan. they were received at the navy yard with high honors, and escorted by the district militia to their quarters at willard's hotel. the entire party numbered seventy-one. the three ambassadors were rather tall and thin in form, with long and sharp faces. they had jet-black hair, so far as any was left by the barber. in dressing the hair the men expended as much care as women, and took as much pride and pleasure in its neat and fashionable adjustment. it was shaved off to the very skin, except around the temples and low down in the back of the neck, from which it was brought up on all sides to the top of the head and fastened by a string. it was then carried forward, well stiffened with pomatum, in a queue about four inches long, and of the size of one's finger, and pointed over the front part of the head, which was left completely denuded of all hair. they dressed in silk robes, and wore two swords at their sides, according to universal usage with the higher classes of their land. when they went in state to see the president they had little hats tied on the tops of their heads, and some of them had water-proof hats along, but they generally went bare-headed, carrying fans to keep the sun's rays away from their eyes. when not using these fans they stuck them down back of their necks into their robes. they used the folds of cotton cloth swathed around them in place of pockets. president buchanan entertained the eight highest dignitaries of the embassy at a dinner-party, at which ladies were present, and they attended evening parties given by mrs. slidell and by madame von limburg, arriving at eight and leaving at nine. they paid one visit to the capitol, where they went in on the floor of the senate by virtue of their diplomatic position, and after a short stay crossed the rotunda to the house, where they took seats in the gallery set apart for the diplomatic corps. a special committee, with john sherman as chairman, waited upon the three ambassadors and invited them to take seats on the floor. on the way they stopped to pay their respects to mr. speaker, in his gorgeous apartment, where they took a glass of champagne with him. they then went on the floor and took seats at the right of the speaker's platform, where the members crowded around them. some children attracted their attention, and master dawes was taken on the knee of the japanese chief ambassador while he was a guest of the house. the principal object of the mission of the embassy was to get an english copy of the treaty between japan and the united states, signed by the president. the original was burned in the great fire at jeddo in . the copy in japanese was saved. this they brought with them, and a copy of it not signed, and a letter from the tycoon to the president. the box containing these documents was looked upon by them as almost sacred. it was called the "treaty box," and was never allowed to be out of their sight. it was a box three feet long, twenty-six inches in depth, and eighteen inches wide, covered with red morocco leather, and neatly sewed around the edges. there were three japanned boxes placed together, and then covered. around the box was a light framework, and when carried was borne on a pole which rested on the shoulders of two stalwart policemen, closely followed by a japanese with two swords in his girdle. some of the caricatures sketched by the japanese were excellent, and there was no mistaking mr. buchanan as they portrayed him. they would not, however, sell one of these productions, even when fabulous prices were offered, replying: "_mi sogo miphon_"--i will take it to japan. when president buchanan learned that the prince of wales intended to visit canada, he hastened to write to queen victoria, tendering to her son a cordial welcome should he extend his visit to the united states. the invitation was accepted, and the prince, who traveled under the name of lord renfrew, with the gentlemen of his suite, became the guests of mr. buchanan at the white house. the heir-apparent, who was then rather stout and phlegmatic, appeared, like sir charles coldstream, to be "used up," but he philosophically went the rounds of the public buildings and was the honored guest at a public reception and at a diplomatic dinner. he apparently enjoyed a visit, with miss lane, to a fashionable boarding-school for young ladies, where he rolled several games of nine-pins with the pupils, but he could not be induced to remain on the white house balcony at night in a drizzling rain watching fire-works that would not always ignite. indeed, it was rumored that his lordship had slipped away from his guardian and visited some of the haunts of metropolitan dissipation. the british party was taken to mount vernon on the revenue cutter "harriet lane," accompanied by president buchanan, miss lane, nearly all of the diplomatic corps, and the leading army, navy, and civil- service officials. president buchanan escorted his guests to washington's tomb, and the great-grandson of george iii. planted a tree near the grave of the arch-rebel against that monarch's rule. that evening the prince dined at the british legation, where lord lyons had invited the diplomatic corps to meet him, and the next morning he left for richmond. when president buchanan learned that the expenses of the trip to mount vernon were to be paid from a contingent fund at the treasury department, he objected, and wished to pay the bills himself, but secretary cobb finally paid them. mr. buchanan's courteous civility toward the prince of wales, and the demonstrations made toward him in the northern states, evidently made a deep impression on queen victoria and the prince consort, who also doubtless felt chagrined by the inhospitable manner in which the young traveler was treated in virginia. in the darkest hours of the civil war which followed, when so many leading british statesmen espoused the cause of the confederates, queen victoria and prince albert were always friends of the union. their restraining influence, at a period when there were many causes of alienation, undoubtedly prevented a recognition of the belligerent rights of the confederate states, which would have been followed by an alliance with them as an established government. commercially this would have been desirable for great britain, as it would have enabled her merchants to have obtained possession of the cotton crop, and to have paid for it with manufactured articles--british shipping enjoying the carrying trade. president buchanan was very industrious, and gave personal attention to his official duties. rising early, he breakfasted, read the newspapers, and was in his office every week-day morning at eight o'clock. there mr. j. buchanan henry, his private secretary, laid before him the letters received by that morning's mail, filed and briefed with the date, the writer's name, and a condensed statement of the contents. letters of a purely personal nature the president answered himself, and he gave mr. henry instructions as to the reply to, or the reference of the others. an entry was made in a book of the brief on each letter, and the disposition of it if it was referred to a department. this system enabled the president to ascertain what had been done with any letter addressed to him by reference to mr. henry's books. president buchanan remained in his office, receiving such visitors as called, until one o'clock, when he went to luncheon. returning to his desk, he rarely left it before five o'clock, when, with few exceptions, he took a hour's walk. he did not use his carriage a dozen times a year, except when he resided, during the summer, at the soldiers' home, and drove in to the white house in the morning and back in the afternoon. on his return from his daily "constitutional" walk, mr. buchanan dined, at six o'clock, with the members of his household. he kept up the established etiquette of not accepting dinner invitations, and rarely attended evening parties or receptions, on the ground that universal acceptance would have been impossible, and any discrimination would have given offense. once a week some of the members of the cabinet, accompanied by their wives, dined at the white house "en famille," and, as there was no ceremony these were regarded as pleasant entertainments. a series of state dinners was given during each session of congress, the table in the large dining-room accommodating forty guests. the first of these dinners, annually, was given to the justices of the supreme court and the law officers, the next to the diplomatic corps, and then to the senators and representatives in turn, according to official seniority, except in a very few cases where individuals had by discourtesy rendered such an invitation improper. miss lane and mr. henry issued the invitations and assigned seats to those who accepted them in order of precedence, which was rather a delicate task. mr. henry had also, in the short interval between the arrival of the guests in the parlor and procession into the dining-room, to ascertain the name of each gentleman and tell him what lady he was to take in--probably introducing then to each other. it was, he used to say, a very _mauvais quart d'heure_ to him, as he was pretty sure to find at the last moment, when the president was leading the procession to the table, that some male guest, perhaps not accustomed to such matters, had strayed away from his intended partner, leaving the lady standing alone and much embarrassed. he had then to give them a fresh start. mr. henry, as private secretary, was charged with the expenditure of the library fund, the payment of the steward, messengers, and also with the expenditures of the household, which were paid out of the president's private purse. these latter expenditures generally exceeded the president's salary in the winter months, because president buchanan enjoyed entertaining and entertained liberally from inclination. in summer, the social entertaining being much less, and the president being at the soldiers' home, the expenses were much less. the president's annual salary, then twenty-five thousand dollars, did not defray the actual household expenses of the executive mansion. other presidents had saved a considerable part of their salaries, but mr. buchanan had to draw upon his private means, not only for his expenses, but for his generous charities. he also made it a rule, which other presidents had neglected, not to accept presents of any value, even from his most intimate friends or political supporters, and it was a part of the duty of his private secretary, mr. henry, to return any gifts at once with the thanks of the president. [facsimile] james buchanan james buchanan was born in franklin county, pa., april d, ; entered the legislature of pennsylvania when twenty-three years of age; was elected to congress, , where he served five terms; was minister to st. petersburg, - ; was united states senator, - ; was secretary of state under polk, - ; was minister to england, - ; was president of the united states, - ; died june st, . chapter iii. the gathering tempest. the clouds which had long been hovering portentously in our skies now began to spread and to blacken all around the heavens. this was greatly intensified on all sides by the daring raid of john brown, of ossawattomie, kansas. locating on a farm near harper's ferry, va., he organized a movement looking toward a general slave insurrection. seizing the armory of the united states arsenal buildings, all of which were destroyed during the war, he inaugurated his scheme, and for a few hours had things his own way. but troops were rapidly concentrated; brown's outside workers were captured or shot; the arsenal building was fired into; one of his sons was killed, another mortally wounded, and when the doors were forced brown was found kneeling between their bodies. his arrest, trial, and execution were speedily accomplished, but all the thunders of a coming storm henceforth rolled all around the heavens. at the south, the leaders used the excitement created by this affair to consolidate public opinion in their section and to cast opprobrium on the republicans at the north. they saw that their ascendancy in the national councils was hastening to a close, and that if they were to carry out their cherished plans for a dissolution of the union, and for the establishment of a southern confederacy, they must strike the blow during the administration of mr. buchanan. meanwhile washington ran riot with costly entertainments in society and secret suppers, at which the abolitionists of the north and the secessionists of the south, respectively, plotted and planned for the commencement of hostilities. one of the neutral grounds, where men of both parties met in peace, was the superbly furnished gambling-house of pendleton, on pennsylvania avenue, known to its frequenters as "the hall of the bleeding heart," though he preferred the appellation, "the palace of fortune." pendleton belonged to one of the first families of virginia, and his wife, a most estimable lady, was the daughter of robert mills, the architect of the treasury. his rooms were hung with meritorious pictures, and the art of wood-carving was carried to great perfection in the side-boards, secretaries, and tables, which served the various purposes of the establishment. the dining and supper tables were loaded with plate of pure metal. the cooking would not have shamed the genius of soyer, and it was universally admitted that the wines were such as could have been selected only by a connoisseur. this incomparable provider had ten thousand dollars invested in his cellar and his closet. the people who nightly assembled to see and to take part in the entertainments of the house consisted of candidates for the presidency, senators and representatives, members of the cabinet, editors and journalists, and the master workmen of the third house, the lobby. pendleton's, in its palmiest days, might have been called the vestibule of the lobby. its most distinguished professors might be found there. they lent money to their clients when the "animal scratched too roughly," that is to say, when the play ran against them, and they became "broke," as they sometimes did. pendleton himself was an operator in the lobby. his professional position gave him great facilities. he assisted in the passage of many useful bills of a private nature, involving considerable sums of money. a broker in parliamentary notes is an inevitable retainer of broker votes. in the outer parlors, as midnight approached, might have been seen leading members of congress, quietly discussing the day's proceedings, the prospects of parties, and the character of public men. a few officers of the army added to the number and variety of the groups which occupied this apartment. here all were drinking, smoking, and talking, generally in a bright and jocose vein. servants were gliding about with cigars, toddies, cocktails, and "whisky-straights" on little silver trays. among them were two "old virginny" darkies, very obliging and popular, who picked up many quarters and halves, and not a few "white fish," representing one dollar each. but the third room was the haunt of the tiger! the company around the faro table would be playing mostly with counters of red, circular pieces of ivory, called fish, or chips, each of which represented five dollars. a few who were nearly "broke" would be using the white ones of one-fifth the value. the players were silent as the grave, because some of them were "in great luck," and large piles of red chips were standing upon different cards to abide the event of the deal, but, alas! the close of the deal was unfavorable, and before the little silver box, from which the cards were drawn, yielded the last of the pack, the most of the red piles had been drawn to the bank side. but some of them had doubled, and the owners drew them down as capital for the chances of the next deal. if one had great good fortune and some prudence, while possessor of the red piles before named, he would leave the house with his few hundreds or thousands of dollars; but the chances were that between midnight and dawn the gamesters would all retire minus the money they had brought into the place, and all they had been able to borrow from friends. there were, however, exceptions. the largest amount ever won from the proprietor at pendleton's was twelve hundred dollars, for a stake of one hundred dollars. when humphrey marshall was appointed minister to china by president pierce, in , he lost his "outfit" and six months' pay, and was forced to accept a loan from pendleton to enable him to reach the scene of his diplomatic labors. when pendleton died, mr. buchanan attended his funeral, and several leading democratic congressmen were among his pall-bearers. his effects, including the furniture of his gambling-house, were sold at auction, attracting crowds of the most fashionable people in washington, and probably for the first time since the descent of proserpine, the gates of hades were passed by troops of the fair sex. vice-president breckinridge turned his back on the union with marked regret. one night, as a supper-party at colonel forney's, mr. keitt, of south carolina, undertook to ridicule the kentucky horse raisers. breckinridge stood it for awhile, but keitt persisted in returning to the blue-grass region for a location to his stories, and finally breckinridge retorted. he described a recent visit to south carolina, and his meeting there with several of the original secessionists. one of them, who was a militia officer in keitt's own district, had just returned from a muster arrayed in faded regimentals of blue jeans, with a dragoon's sword trailing at his side and a huge fore-and-aft chapeau surmounted with a long feather. he was full of enthusiasm for the cause and descanted with particular eloquence upon what he called the wrongs of the south. "'i tell you, sah,' said he," continued breckinridge, "'we cannot stand it any longer; we intend to fight; we are preparing to fight; it is impossible, sah, that we should submit, sah, not for a single hour, sah.' i asked him, 'what are you suffering from?' and he replied: 'why, sah, we are suffering under the oppression of the federal government. we have been suffering under it for twenty-five years and more, and we will stand it no longer.'" breckinridge then turned toward keitt, and continued, "i advise my young friend here from south carolina to visit some of his constituents before undertaking to go to war with the north, and advise them to go through the northern states to learn what an almighty big country they will have to whip before they get through." breckinridge was sincere in this remark, yet not many months had elapsed before he was forced into secession by the agitators. the re-opening of the slave-trade, by which negroes could be imported and sold for very low prices, was one of the allurements held out to the poor whites of the south. a cargo was actually brought in a yacht called the wanderer, commanded by captain corrie, who obtained the requisite capital for the enterprise by obtaining the passage of a large claim for the military services of a south carolina organization in the war of . marshal rynders suspected the destination of the wanderer when she was about to leave new york, but he was persuaded to let her go. a few months later she landed near brunswick, in georgia, three hundred and fifty negroes, who were speedily distributed over the gulf states. one or two were seized by united states marshals, but they were soon taken from them. the experiment was a success. while the two house of congress were convulsed by sectional strife there was no cessation in the presentation of jobs, some of which were disgraceful schemes for plundering the treasury. the most active advocates of these swindles, and of some more meritorious legislation which they were paid to advocate, were the lady lobbyists. some of them were the widows of officers of the army or navy, others the daughters of congressmen, and others had drifted from home localities where they had found themselves the subjects of scandalous comments. the parlors of some of these dames were exquisitely furnished with works of art and bric-a-brac, donated by admirers. every evening they received, and in the winter their blazing wood fires were surrounded by a distinguished circle. some would treat favored guests to a game of euchre, and as midnight approached there was always an adjournment to the dining-room, where a choice supper was served. a cold duck, a venison pie, broiled oysters, or some other exquisitely cooked dish with salads and cheese, generally constituted the repast, with iced champagne or burgundy at blood-heat. who could blame the congressman for leaving the bad cooking of his hotel or boarding-house, with an absence of all home comforts, to walk into the parlor web which the adroit spider lobbyist had cunningly woven for him. washington was enlivened during the recess of congress by a visit from the "chicago zouaves," a volunteer organization which had been carefully trained by its young commander, captain e. e. ellsworth, in a novel drill based on the quick movements of the moors. the staid old military organizations were magnetized by the rapid, theatrical manner in which the zouaves executed the manual and several gymnastic company movements. their uniform was loose scarlet trousers, gaiter boots, and buff-leather leggings, a blue jacket trimmed with orange-colored braid, and a red cap with orange trimmings; their scarlet blankets were rolled on the top of their knapsacks. they drilled as light infantry, and moved like electric clocks. the entire drill lasted nearly three hours, including stoppages for rest, a few moments each time, and, although performed under a scorching sun on the hot sand, and comprising a series of vigorous exercises, the men stood it well, and attended strictly to their business. the step of the zouaves was in itself a peculiarity and strongly suggestive of thorough pedestrian and gymnastic preparation. the diminutive stature of the men and their precision in accomplishing the allotted length of the step, gave to it something of a steady _loping_ movement, but yet so firm and springy that the effect was most animated. another feature in the general excellence of the zouaves was noted in their method of handling their arms, which, instead of the inanimate and gingerly treatment so observable even among finely drilled companies when executing the manual, were grasped with a nervous energy of action and shifted with a spirit which was thrillingly suggestive of a will, as well as the power, to act. the visitors were quite boyish in appearance, and mostly of small stature, falling even below the ordinary size of short men in our cities. captain ellsworth was in appearance the most youthful of his corps, but he had a finely marked countenance and a self-reliant manner. the corps visited mount vernon, and was received at the white house by president buchanan and miss lane. after witnessing an exhibition of their performance, the president made a patriotic and prophetic little speech to captain ellsworth, concluding by the remark: "we wish you prosperity and happiness in peace--should war come, i know where you will be." within a short year the gallant officer lay in a soldier's grave. owen lovejoy, a representative from illinois, was one of the prominent republican orators. he was a man of considerable brains and a good deal of body, and his style of utterance was of the hyper-intense school. on one occasion he begun his speech at the top of a voice of most prodigious compass, and kept on in the same strain, which, mildly described, might be characterized as a roar. when some waggish member on the southern side cried, "louder!" the effect upon the audience was convulsing. there stood lovejoy, with his coat off and his collar open, his big, bushy head thrown back like a lion at bay, and brandishing his arms aloft, while his whole body rocked and quivered with excitement, hurling his denunciations not at the slave-power this time, but at the secessionists. his tremendous voice rang through the hall like the peal of a trumpet, and when he described the insults to the old flag he was truly eloquent. the southern conspirators endeavored to secure the co-operation of the indians, and delegations from several tribes were successively brought to washington, where they "went the grand rounds" of the haunts of dissipation. they were dirty, disgusting-looking fellows, without one particle of the romance about them with which cooper has invested the indian character. several tribes joined the southern confederacy, and fought desperately against the union, which had for years before paid them liberal annuities. [facsimile] th. jefferson thomas jefferson was born at shadwell, albemarle county, va., april d, ; was a member of the virginia legislature, ; was delegate to the continental congress, ; re-entered the virginia legislature, ; was member of congress, ; was secretary of state under washington, - ; was vice-president with adams, - ; was president of the united states, - ; died july th, . chapter iv. lincoln's election inaugurates rebellion. abraham lincoln was elected president by the people on the th of november, . three days afterward, horace greeley wrote to the _tribune_ as follows: "if the cotton states shall become satisfied that they can do better out of the union than in it, we insist on letting them go in peace." less than a week after the election mr. yancey said, in a public address, in montgomery, his home, "i have good reason to believe that the action of any state will be peaceable--will not be resisted--under the present or any probable prospective condition of federal affairs." when congress met, the senate occupied its new chamber. the southern conspirators in both houses were outspoken and truculent, while the abolitionists were defiant and exasperating. the message of president buchanan was a non-committal document, showing that he was perplexed and overwhelmed by what he had not the courage to control. encouraged by his declaration that the executive possessed no constitutional power to use the army and navy for the preservation of the life of the republic, the southern senators at washington, who directed the movements of the secessionists, were emboldened to direct them to withdraw from the union and organize a confederacy. meanwhile some of them were to remain in congress to defeat all hostile legislation. senator seward, who assumed the leadership of the republicans in congress, had been correctly described by henry clay as "a man of no convictions." he had not that magnetic mind which could subordinate others, or the mental courage to take the helm in the hour of victory, but he relied upon the pecuniary operations of an unscrupulous lobby, which had followed him from albany, and sought to fill its military chest with the spoils of the public printing and binding. after long announcement the senate chamber was crowded to hear what he would have to say on the political situation. political friends and political foes, the most conservative and the most ultra, the abolitionist from vermont and the fire-eater from mississippi, all looked upon that pale, slight figure in a gray frock coat--so calm, so self-possessed, so good-natured--as the man who had but to speak the word and the country would be saved. the speech had been carefully composed and elaborated, as was everything which emanated from that source. it was in type before it was pronounced. the manuscript lay before the speaker on the desk, but it was delivered almost entirely through the power of his wonderful memory. senators gathered closely around him, and anxiously caught every syllable as it fell from his lips. the speaker seemed the only tranquil senator there. it appeared incredible that any man could present an exterior of such coolness and quietude, and apparently smiling unconcern, amid anxiety and excitement so deep and intense. mr. seward was not a graceful orator, but there was a certain impressive manner corresponding with the importance of what he had to say which arrested the hearer's regard, and when he was evolving some weighty maxim of political philosophy, and particularly during his vivid delineations of the grandeur and power of the union, and of the calamities which might follow its dissolution, every eye was fixed upon him. there were several quite dramatic passages in the speech which roused the orator to more than usual animation. such were the allusions to the gray-headed clerk of the senate, the contrast of the man-of-war entering a foreign port before and after the dissolution of the union, and the episode, where, enumerating by name the great men who had added glory to the republic, he said: "after all these have performed their majestic parts, let the curtain fall." the speech was an ingenious piece of literary composition, which had been foreshadowed by a series of able editorials in the albany _evening journal_, published as feelers of public opinion, and to prepare the way for this speech. it was the hand of weed, writing, but the ideas were from the brain of seward. the southern states soon began to secede, and their senators and representatives to leave the capital. jefferson davis made a long farewell speech, at the commencement of which he said: "tears are now trickling down the stern face of man, and those who have bled for the flag of their country and are willing now to die for it, stand powerless." as he proceeded he referred to the possession of fort sumter, and said that he had heard it said, by a gallant gentleman, that the great objection to withdrawing the garrison was an unwillingness to lower the flag. "can there," said he with dramatic effect, "be a point of pride against laying upon that sacred soil to-day the flag for which our fathers died? my pride, senators, is different. my pride is that that flag shall not set between contending brothers; and that, when it shall no longer be the common flag of the country, it shall be folded up and laid away, like a vesture no longer used; that is shall be kept as a sacred memento of the past, to which each of us can make a pilgrimage and remember the glorious days in which we were born." in concluding his remarks, mr. davis invoked the senators so to act that "the angel of peace might spread her wings, through it be over divided states; and the sons of the sires of the revolution might still go on in the friendly intercourse with each other, ever renewing the memories of a common origin; the sections by the diversity of their products and habits, acting and reacting beneficially, the commerce of each might swell the prosperity of both, and the happiness of all be still interwoven together. if there cannot be peace," he said, "mississippi's gallant sons will stand like a wall of fire around their state, and i go hence, not in hostility to you, but in love and allegiance to her, to take my place among her sons, be it for good or for evil." senator clingman, of north carolina, who was one of the last to leave, compared the seceders to representative of the "ten tribes of israel!" senator hale, that genial hard-hitter, replied: "ten tribes," said he, "did go out from the kingdom of israel, but the ark of the living god remained with the tribe of judah!" this was loudly applauded by the republicans in the senate galleries, and the presiding officer had to pound lustily with his mallet to secure order. then mr. hale proceeded: "i think the galleries ought to be excused for applauding a reference made to the scriptures. i say, there is where the ark of the covenant remained. what became of the ten tribes? they have gone, god only knows where, and nobody else. it is a matter of speculation, what became of them--whether they constitute the pottawatomies or some other tribe of savages. but the suggestion of the senator from north carolina is full of meaning. there were ten tribes went out, and remember, they went out wandering. they left the ark and the empire behind them. they went, as i said before, god only knows where. but, sir, i do hope and pray that this comparison, so eloquent and instructive, suggested by the honorable senator, may not be illustrated in the fate of these other tribes that are going out from the household of israel." late in january, , the legislature of virginia proposed the appointment of commissioners, by each state, to meet at washington on the th day of february, and devise, if practicable, a plan for settling the pending difficulties between the slave-holding and non-slave-holding states. this was at first met with a howl of opposition from the northern abolitionists, who feared that it might lead to another compromise, but they soon changed front, and urged the governors of their respective states to send pronounced anti-slavery delegations. twenty-one states were represented by gentlemen who had nearly all filled high political stations, and who possessed ripe experience, wisdom, dignity, and weight of character. john tyler was elected president, and the "peace congress," as the organization styled itself, sat with great formality in the old presbyterian church, which had been converted into a hall attached to willard's hotel. a long series of resolutions was discussed and adopted, but they were not of as much value as the paper on which they were written. meanwhile, captain stone, on the staff of general scott, had organized the militia of the district of columbia, and as the birthday of washington approached, they made arrangements for a parade, with two batteries of light artillery stationed at the arsenal. against this parade mr. tyler protested, and wrote a letter to the president, sharply rebuking him for having permitted the parade. mr. buchanan excused himself, saying that he "found it impossible to prevent two or three companies of regulars from joining in the procession with the volunteers without giving offense to the tens of thousands of people who had assembled to witness the parade." mr. seward adroitly availed himself of the reverence for the "old flag" which had been awakened by daniel webster in his speeches in defense of the union, and, in accordance with his suggestion, the "stars and stripes" were freely displayed, evoking that love of country which is so vital a principle in the american heart. after the withdrawal of the southern members of the cabinet had compelled mr. buchanan to fill their places, general john a. dix, the new secretary of the treasury, sent mr. w. hemphill jones, a amiable old clerk, who wore a sandy wig, to new orleans, with instructions to secure, if possible, the bullion in the united states mint there. soon after mr. jones had arrived at new orleans, he informed the secretary that captain brushwood, who commanded the united states revenue cutter there, had refused to obey his orders as a special agent of the department, and mediated going over to the secessionists. whereupon the secretary telegraphed to jones to take possession of the revenue cutter, adding, "if any one attempts to haul down the american flag, shoot him on the spot." this message never reached new orleans, but it was made public, and received by the northern people as an assurance that the union would be defended. to those who knew the estimable old gentleman to whom the message was sent, the idea of his shooting down captain brushwood, or any one else, was simply ridiculous. indeed, he thanked his stars that he was able to get back to washington unharmed. the electoral votes for president and vice-president were counted in the hall of the house on wednesday, the th of february, . vice-president breckinridge presided over the two houses "in congress assembled," and announced the result. as the year advanced the alienation of the sections increased, and the spirit of fraternity was so far extinguished as to close the minds and hearts of the people at the north and at the south to the admission of any adjustment which would be honorable and satisfactory to all conservative citizens. the government of the confederate states was formally inaugurated at montgomery, alabama, with jefferson davis as its president, and alexander h. stephens as its vice-president. throughout the old south the new flag was flung to the breeze, and the old flag was as generally rejected. the state sovereignty, about which so much had been said, thenceforth stood in abeyance to the supreme authority of the new government, which was clothed with all the powers of peace and war and of civil administration. hostilities had virtually been declared, for, as the states seceded, the confederates had seized the arsenals, the navy yards, the mints, the custom-houses, and the post-offices, while many officials--civil, military, and naval--had unceremoniously left the service of the united states to enter that of the confederate states. [facsimile] john phale john parker hale was born at rochester, new hampshire, march st, ; was a representative from new hampshire - ; was united states senator, - , and again, - ; was minister to spain, - ; and died at dover, new hampshire, november th, . chapter v. mr. lincoln at the helm. the unexpected arrival of mr. lincoln at willard's hotel early on the morning of saturday, february d, , created quite a sensation when it became known in washington. it was not true, as asserted, that he came in disguise, although he wore a traveling cap and shawl which had been loaned him, and which very materially changed his appearance. mr. lincoln felt confident that an attempt was to have been made to assassinate him as he passed through baltimore. among other statements which confirmed him in this opinion was one by mr. chittenden, of vermont, afterward register of the treasury. mr. chittenden was a delegate from the state of vermont to the peace congress, then in session, one of the leading southern members of which expressed great surprise on learning of mr. lincoln's arrival, and said, "how in the mischief did he get through baltimore?" senator sumner was also one those who believed that the president- elect was in danger of assassination, and he wrote him after his arrival, cautioning him about going out at night. "sumner," said mr. lincoln, "declined to stand up with me, back to back, to see which was the taller man, and made a fine speech about this being the time for uniting our fronts against the enemy and not our backs. but i guess he was afraid to measure, though he is a good piece of a man. i have never had much to do with bishops where i live, but, do you know, sumner is my idea of a bishop." mr. lincoln, after eating his breakfast, made a formal call on president buchanan at the white house, accompanied by mr. seward. he then received the members of the peace congress, who had formed in procession in the hall where they met, and moved to the reception parlor of the hotel. ex-president tyler and governor chase led the van. the latter did the honors, first introducing mr. tyler. mr. lincoln received him with all the respect due to his position. the several delegates were then presented by governor chase in the usual manner. the greatest curiosity was manifested to witness this, mr. lincoln's first reception in washington. the most noticeable thing that occurred was the manifestation by mr. lincoln of a most wonderful memory. it will be remembered that the convention was composed of many men, who, although distinguished in their time, had not of late been very much known. each member was introduced by his surname, but in nine cases out of ten, mr. lincoln would promptly recall their entire name, no matter how many initials it contained. in several instances he recited the historical reminiscences of families. when the tall general doniphan, of missouri, was introduced, mr. lincoln had to look up to catch doniphan's eye. he immediately inquired: "is this doniphan, who made that splendid march across the plains and swept the swift comanches before him?" "i commanded the expedition across the plains," modestly replied the general. "then you have come up to the standard of my expectation," rejoined mr. lincoln. when mr. rives, of virginia, was introduced, mr. lincoln said: "i always had an idea that you were a much taller man." he received james b. clay, son of the kentucky statesman, with marked attention, saying to him: "i was a friend of your father." the interchange of greetings with mr. barringer, of north carolina, who was his colleague in congress, was very cordial. when reverdy johnson was presented, he expressed great rejoicing, remarking to him: "i had to bid you good-bye just at the time when our intimacy had ripened to a point for me to tell you my stories." the southern commissioners freely expressed their gratification at his affability and easy manner, and all joined in expressing agreeable disappointment at his good looks in contrast to his pictures. nothing was said to any one in regard to the condition of the country or the national troubles. after the reception of the peace congress was concluded, a large number of citizens were presented. a large number of ladies then passed in review, each being introduced by the gentleman who accompanied her, and mr. lincoln underwent the new ordeal with much good humor. all that day the hotel was crowded with members of congress and others, anxious to see the president-elect, of whom they had heard so much, and among them were several newspaper corespondents, who had known him while he was a member of the house of representatives. one of the correspondents who talked with him about his forthcoming message received, confidentially, the following account of it: mr. lincoln had written his message at his springfield home, and had had it put in type by his friend, the local printer. a number of sentences had been re-constructed several times before they were entirely satisfactory, and then four copies had been printed on foolscap paper. these copies had been locked up in what mr. lincoln called a "grip-sack," and intrusted to his oldest son, robert. "when we reached harrisburg," said mr. lincoln, "and had washed up, i asked bob where the message was, and was taken aback by his confession that in the excitement caused by the enthusiastic reception he believed he had let a waiter take the grip-sack. my heart went up into my mouth, and i started down-stairs, where i was told that if a waiter had taken the article i should probably find it in the baggage-room. hastening to that apartment, i saw an immense pile of grip-sacks and other baggage and thought that i had discovered mine. the key fitted it, but on opening there was nothing inside but a few paper collars and a flask of whisky. tumbling the baggage right and left, in a few moments i espied my lost treasure, and in it the all-important document, all right; and now i will show it to you--on your honor, mind!" the inaugural was printed in a clear-sized type, and wherever mr. lincoln had thought that a paragraph would make an impression upon his audience, he had preceded it with a typographical fist--». one copy of this printed draft of the inaugural message was given to mr. seward, and another to the venerable franics p. blair, with the request that they would read and criticise. a few unimportant changes were made, and mr. nicolay, who was to be the president's private secretary, made the corrected copy in a fair hand, which mr. lincoln was to read. mr. nicolay corrected another copy, which was furnished to the press for publication and is now in my possession. mr. seward had, from the moment that his offered services as secretary of state were accepted, acted as chief of the incoming administration, and undertook to have a voice in the appointment of his associates. mr. lincoln, however, was determined to make his own selections. the great contest was for the treasury department, the pennsylvania republicans urging the appointment of simon cameron, while eastern and new york republicans preferred salmon p. chase. ohio was not united in the support of mr. chase, but he finally received the appointment, mr. cameron going into the war department, and mr. gideon welles, of connecticut, receiving the navy department on the recommendation of vice-president hannibal hamlin, who was requested to select some one for that position. the blair interest was recognized by the appointment of montgomery blair as postmaster-general, while edward bates, of missouri, whose name had been mentioned as the presidential candidate in opposition to mr. lincoln, was made attorney-general. the interior department was given to caleb w. smith, of indiana. the preparations for the inauguration of mr. lincoln were of an unusual character. many believed that an attempt would be made on that day by the secessionists to obtain possession of the government, and great precautions against this were taken, the ostensible director was general scott, who had his head-quarters at a restaurant near the war department, and who rode about the city in a low coupé drawn by a powerful horse. but the real director of the military operations was colonel stone, of the regular army, who had been organizing the military of the district, and who had a very respectable force at his command. he had a battalion of the united states engineer corps directly in the rear of the president's carriage, and sharp-shooters belonging to a german company were posted on buildings all along the route, with orders to keep a vigilant watch as the president's carriage approached, and to fire at any one who might aim a weapon at the president. there was also a large force of detectives stationed along the route and at the capitol. the procession was a very creditable one, the united states troops and the district militia making a fine show, with the albany burgess corps, and a few organizations from a distance. mr. lincoln rode with president buchanan, and, on arriving at the capitol, entered the senate chamber leaning on the old gentleman's arm. after mr. hamlin had taken his oath of office as vice-president, and several new senators had been sworn in, a procession was formed, as usual, which repaired to the platform erected over the steps of the eastern portico of the capitol. when mr. lincoln came out he was easily distinguished as his tall, gaunt figure rose above those around him. his personal friend, senator baker, of oregon, introduced him to the assemblage, and as he bowed acknowledgments of the somewhat faint cheers which greeted him the usual genial smile lit up his angular countenance. he was evidently somewhat perplexed, just then, to know what to do with his new silk hat and a large gold- headed cane. the cane he put under the table, but the hat appeared to be too good to place on the rough boards. senator douglas saw the embarrassment of his old friend, and, rising, took the shining hat from its bothered owner and held it during the delivery of the inaugural address. mr. lincoln was listened to with great eagerness. he evidently desired to convince the multitude before him rather than to bewilder or dazzle them. it was evident that he honestly believed every word that he spoke, especially the concluding paragraphs, one of which i copy from the original print: "»i am loth to close. we are not enemies, but friends. we must not be enemies. though passion may be strained, it must not break our bonds of affection. »the mystic chords of memory which stretch from every battle-field and patriot grave to every loved heart and hearthstone, all over our broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the union when again touched, as they surely will be, by the better angels of our nature." having closed his address, mr. lincoln was escorted to the white house, where he received the public for an hour, after which the doors were closed. the new administration was thus successfully launched, and the secretaries went to work to see what remained in the national coffers, arsenals, navy yards, and armories. the most important public measures were decided by mr. lincoln and one or two of his cabinet officers without consultation with the others. indeed, as hostilities approached, each member of the cabinet was too busily engaged with his own official duties to discuss those of his colleagues, and mr. seward never wanted any criticism on his management of diplomatic affairs, any more than mr. cameron or mr. welles tolerated interference with the conduct of the war. [facsimile] your friend as ever a. lincoln abraham lincoln was born in hardin county, kentucky, february th, ; was in early life a farmer, a boatman, and a land surveyor, after which he studied law and practiced at springfield, illinois; was a representative from illinois to congress, - ; was an unsuccessful candidate for united states senator, in opposition to stephen a. douglas, in ; was elected president of the united states in as a republican, and was inaugurated march th, ; issued the first call for troops april th, , and the proclamation of emancipation january st, ; was re-elected president in , and was again inaugurated march th, ; was assassinated april th, and died april th, ; he was buried at springfield, illinois. chapter vi. the storm bursts. washington city presented a strange spectacle during the first month after the inauguration of mr. lincoln. many of the southern sojourners had gone to their respective states, while others, some of them holding important civil, military, and naval positions, remained, truculent and defiant, to place every obstacle in the way of coercion by the federal government. the north sent an army of office-seekers to the metropolis, and mr. lincoln was forced to listen to the demands of men who had made political speeches, or who had commanded companies of "wide-awakes," and who now demanded lucrative offices in return. among other officers of the army who resigned their commissions was colonel robert e. lee, who was sent for by general scott, and asked point-blank whether he intended to resign with those officers who proposed to take part with their respective states, or to remain in the service of the union. colonel lee made no reply, whereupon "old chapultepec" came directly to the point, saying, "i suppose you will go with the rest. if your purpose is to resign, it is proper you should do so at once. your present attitude is an equivocal one." "general," colonel lee then answered, "the property belonging to my children, all that they possess, lies in virginia. they will be ruined if they do not go with their state. i cannot raise my hand against my children." general scott then signified that he had nothing further to say. colonel lee, with a respectful bow, withdrew, and the next morning tendered his resignation, which was accepted five days afterward. between the interview and the acceptance of colonel lee's resignation, general shiras was sitting in the room of adjutant-general lorenzo thomas, when colonel lee came in and walked up to the side of the table opposite to that at which general thomas was sitting, saying: "general thomas, i am told you said i was a traitor." general thomas arose, and looking him in the eye, replied, "i have said so; do you wish to know on what authority?" "yes," said colonel lee. "well, on the authority of general scott." colonel lee muttered, "there must be some mistake," turned on his heel, and left the room. the long expected crisis came at last. seven thousand armed confederates attacked the seventy union soldiers who garrisoned fort sumter, and forced them to haul down the stars and stripes on the th of april, . four days afterward president lincoln issued his proclamation, calling for seventy-five thousand militiamen, "to maintain the honor, the integrity, and the existence of our national government, and to redress wrongs already long enough endured." this proclamation was flashed over the wires throughout the northern states, like the fiery cross of rhoderick dhu, which summoned his clansmen to their rendezvous, and it was everywhere received with the beating of drums and the ringing notes of the bugle, calling the defenders of the capital to their colors. every city and hamlet had its flag-raising, while its enthusiasm was unbounded. here and there a newspaper ventured to apologize for the south, but the editor would soon be forced by a mob to display the stars and stripes, amid the cheers and the shouts of those assembled. the north proved itself ready for the emergency. the arguments of daniel webster against the right of secession, which, when delivered by him, were regarded by many as mere topics for the display of political eloquence, had fixed the opinion of the north, and there was a general uprising for the defense of the capital and the old flag. even the abolitionists, who had denounced the union, the constitution, the national ensign, and its martial defenders, seriously entered into the military movements, as they saw in the exercise of the war power the long desired panacea for the faults of slavery. those who had jeered at the southern threats of disunion as empty bluster, and at the northern conservatives as cowardly doughfaces, became zealous union men, although it must be confessed that very few of them took their lives in their hands and actually went to the front. the raising of troops went forward with a bound, and the wildest excitement and enthusiasm attended the departure of regiments for the seat of war. the seriousness of the emergency was not overlooked, but high above that consideration rose the tide of patriotic feeling, and swept all obstacles before it. the first troops to arrive at the national capital were four companies of unarmed and ununiformed pennsylvanians, who came from the mining districts, expecting to find uniforms, arms, and equipments on their arrival at washington. stones were thrown at them as they marched through baltimore to take the cars for washington, where they were received at the station by captain mcdowell, of the adjutant-general's department, who escorted them to the capitol, where arrangements had been made for quartering them temporarily in the hall of the house of representatives. the sun was just setting over the virginia hills as the little column ascended the broad steps of the eastern portico and entered the rotunda, through which they marched. with one of the companies was the customary colored attendant, whose duty it was on parade to carry the target or a pail of ice-water. he had been struck on the head in baltimore, and had received a scalp wound, over which he had placed his handkerchief, and then drawn his cap down tight over it. when nick biddle (for that was his name), entered the rotunda, he appeared to think he was safe, and took off his cap, with the handkerchief saturated with blood, which dripped from it and marked his path into the hall of the house of representatives. it was the first blood of the war. the next day came the old massachusetts sixth, which had been shot at and stoned as it passed through baltimore, and which returned the fire with fatal effect. the sixth was quartered in the senate wing of the capitol. colonel jones occupied the vice-president's chair in the senate chamber, his colors hanging over his head from the reporters' gallery. at the clerk's desk before him, adjutant farr and paymaster plaisted were busy with their evening reports, while major watson, with quartermaster munroe were seeing that the companies were distributed in the various corridors and obtaining their rations. after a four-and-twenty hours' fast the men had each one ration of bacon, bread, and coffee, which they had to prepare at the furnace fires in the basements. the moment hunger was appeased the cushioned seats in the galleries were occupied by those fortunate enough to obtain such luxurious sleeping accommodations, while others "bunked" on the tile floors, with their knapsacks for pillows, and wrapped in their blankets. stationery was provided from the committee-rooms, and every senator's desk was occupied by a "bould sojer boy," inditing an epistle to his friends. that night the censorship of the press was exercised for the first time at the telegraph office. colonel stone had seized the steamers which ran between washington and aquia creek, and another steamer, the st. nicholas, which had been loaded with flour and other stores, ostensibly for norfolk, but which he believed would have gone no further down the river than alexandria, where they would have been turned over to the confederate quartermaster's department. colonel stone, believing that this seizure should be kept quiet, obtained from secretary cameron an order to seize the telegraph and to prevent the transmission of any messages which were not of a strictly private nature. when the correspondents wished to telegraph the lists of the dead and wounded of the massachusetts sixth they found a squad of the national rifles in possession of the office, with orders to permit the transmission of no messages. hastening to head-quarters, they found colonel stone, but he told them that he had no discretion in the matter. the correspondents then drove to the house of secretary seward. the secretary of state received them very cordially, and would neither admit nor deny that he had advised the censorship of the press. he said, however, in his semi-jocular way, "the affair at baltimore to-day was only a local outbreak, for which the regimental officers, who had ridden through the city in a car, leaving some of the companies to follow on foot without a commander, were responsible. to send your accounts of the killed and wounded," said mr. seward, "would only influence public sentiment, and be an obstacle in the path of reconciliation." then, having offered his visitors refreshments, which were declined, he bowed them out. they returned to the telegraph office, where their wrath was mollified by learning that the wires had all been cut in baltimore. it was nearly a week before telegraphic communication was re- established between washington and the loyal north, but thenceforth, until the close of the war, a censorship of press dispatches was kept up, at once exasperating and of little real use. meanwhile a general uprising was going on. young ellsworth, who had accompanied mr. lincoln from springfield, in the hope of being placed at the head of a bureau of militia in the war department, had gone to new york and raised, in an incredibly small space of time, a regiment composed almost exclusively of the members of the volunteer fire department, which stimulated the organization of other commands. rhode island sent a regiment, under the command of colonel burnside, composed of skilled mechanics, gentlemen possessing independent fortunes, and active business men, all wearing plain service uniforms. communication with washington was re-opened by general butler, who, finding that the bridges between the susquehanna river and the city of baltimore had been burned, went on the steam ferry-boat from havre de grace around to annapolis at the head of the massachusetts eighth. on their arrival at annapolis it was found that the sympathizers with secession had partially destroyed the railroad leading to washington, and had taken away every locomotive with the exception of one, which they had dismantled. it so happened that a young mechanic, who had aided in building this very engine, was in the ranks of the massachusetts eighth, and he soon had it in running order, while the regiment, advancing on the railroad, fished up from the ditches on either side the rails which had been thrown there, and restored them to their places. they thus rebuilt the road and provided it with an engine, so that when the new york seventh arrived it was a comparative easy matter for it to proceed to the national metropolis. meanwhile, washington city had been for several days without hearing from the loyal north. at night the camp-fires of the confederates, who were assembling in force, could be seen on the southern bank of the potomac, and it was not uncommon to meet on pennsylvania avenue a defiant southerner openly wearing a large virginia or south carolina secession badge. the exodus of clerks from the department continued, and they would not say good-bye, but _au revoir_, as they confidently expected that they would be back again triumphant within a month. an eloquent clergyman, who was among those who went to richmond, left behind him, in the cellar of his house, a favorite cat, with what he judged would be a three weeks' supply of water and provisions, so confident was he that president davis would, within that time, occupy the white house. one of the largest, the best equipped, and the best drilled of the volunteer regiments that came pouring into washington when the communication was re-opened was the new york fire zouaves, commanded by colonel ellsworth. a hardy set of fellows, trained to fight fire, they professed great anxiety to meet the confederates in hostile array, and they were very proud of their boyish commander. president lincoln took a great interest in colonel ellsworth, and when virginia formally seceded, he obtained from secretary cameron an order for the new york fire zouaves and the first michigan infantry to occupy alexandria. they went on the ferry-boats, very early in the morning on friday, may th, escorted by the war steamer pawnee, and occupied the old borough without opposition. no sooner were the troops on shore, than colonel ellsworth, taking half a dozen of his men, went to the marshall house, over the roof of which floated a large confederate flag, which had been visible with a glass from the window of mr. lincoln's private office. entering the public room of the hotel, he inquired of a man there whether he was the proprietor, and being answered in the negative, he took one private with him, and ran up-stairs. going out on the roof, ellsworth secured the flag, and as he was descending, james william jackson, the proprietor of the hotel, came from his room, armed with a double-barreled shot-gun. "i have the first prize," said ellsworth, to which jackson responded, "and i the second," at the same time firing at him with fatal effect. before he could fire the second barrel, private brownell shot him dead, and as he fell, pinned him to the floor with the sword-bayonet on his rifle. colonel ellsworth's remains were taken to washington, where president lincoln visited them, exclaiming, as he gazed on the lifeless features: "my boy! my boy! was it necessary this sacrifice should be made!" [facsimile] e. e. ellsworth ephraim elmer ellsworth, born at mechanicsville, saratoga county, new york, in ; removed to chicago before he was of age, and studied law; in , organized his zouave corps, noted for the excellence of its discipline, and gave exhibition drills in the chief eastern cities. on the opening of hostilities, raised a regiment, known as the new york fire zouaves; was sent to alexandria on friday morning, may th, , when he was killed in the marshall house. he was buried in the cemetery of his native place. chapter vii. "on to richmond." mr. lincoln having called a special session of congress, the two houses met on the th of july, . there were many vacant seats, but some of those who sympathized with the south lingered that they might throw obstacles before any attempt at coercion. meanwhile the abolitionists, who feared a compromise and a reconciliation, echoed the shout "on to richmond!" the "grand army of the union," hastily organized into brigades and divisions, was placed under the command of general irwin mcdowell, a gallant soldier, entirely destitute in the experience of handling large bodies of men. the troops thus brigaded had never even been manoeuvred together, nor had their commander any personal knowledge of many of the officers or men. but the politicians at the capitol insisted on an immediate advance. they saw with admiration the gallant appearance of the well-equipped regiments that were to compose the advancing column, and they believed, or professed to believe, that it could easily march "on to richmond!" on sunday, july st, , the "grand army of the union" began its forward march. the sun rose in a cloudless sky, and the advancing columns of union soldiers, with glistening bayonets and gay flags, moved with measured tread through the primeval forests of the old dominion, apparently as resistless as the sweep of destiny. meanwhile there drove out from washington to general mcdowell's headquarters a crowd of congressmen, correspondents, contractors, and camp-followers, who had come in a variety of vehicles to witness the fight, as they would have gone to see a horse-race or to witness a fourth of july procession. the congressmen did not hesitate to intrude themselves upon general mcdowell, and to offer him their advice. others, unpacking baskets of provisions, enjoyed their lunches after the cannonading had commenced. there was brave fighting on both sides in the bull run valley, which became like a boiling crater, from which arose dense clouds of dust and smoke. at one time general bee, well-nigh overwhelmed, greeted general thomas j. jackson with the exclamation, "general, they are beating us back!" to which the latter replied promptly, "sir, we will give them the bayonet." general bee immediately rallied his over-tasked troops, saying "there is jackson with his virginians, standing like a stone wall. let us determine to die here, and we will conquer." from that day general jackson was known by the soldiers on both sides as "stonewall" jackson. the arrival of the force commanded by general joe johnston, which general patterson had failed to hold in check, and the presence of president jefferson davis, inspired the confederate troops with superhuman courage, while the union regiments, badly officered, followed the example of the new york zouaves, and fled in wild disorder. the panic became general, and disorder soon degenerated into a disgraceful retreat. the confederates, however, found themselves in no condition to follow up the victory which they had gained, and to press on to washington. the rout of bull run, while it was a severe rebuke to the politicians who had forced it, secured the support of every loyal man in the northern states for the union cause, whatever his previous political convictions might have been. practical issues were presented, and every man able to bear arms or to contribute money was animated by the sentiment uttered by stephen a. douglas in his last public speech, when he said: "the conspiracy is now known; armies have been raised; war is levied to accomplish it. there are only two sides to the question: every man must be for the united states or against it. there can be no neutrals in this war--only republicans or traitors." the week after the battle of bull run, senator breckinridge, who had retained his seat, made an appeal for the cessation of hostilities, speaking eloquently of the horrors of war, the cost of maintaining armies, the dangers of military despotism, and the impossibility of ever subjugating the south. he pleaded for peace with the rebels, and from the event of the great battle near manassas he drew an augury of defeat to the cause of the government on future battlefields. senator baker was on the floor of the senate for the first time in many days, having just come to washington with his california regiment, whom he had been busily engaged in organizing in philadelphia and elsewhere, and at whose head he fell. the white-haired but vigorous and active senator listened attentively to the sentiments and predictions of breckinridge, pacing the senate floor back and forth with his eyes fastened on him, and now and then chafing with visible impatience to reply. at length breckinridge ceased, and baker took the floor, and proceeded, with a skillful and unsparing hand, to dissect the sophistry and falsehood of the treason that had just been uttered. "sir," said he in conclusion, "it is not a question of men or of money. all the money, all the men, are, in our judgment, well bestowed in such a cause. knowing their value well, we give them with the more pride and the more joy. but how could we retreat? how could we make peace? upon what terms? where is to be your boundary line? where the end of the principles we shall have to give up? what will become of public liberties? what of past glories? what of future hopes? shall we sink into the insignificance of the grave--a degraded, defeated, emasculated people, frightened by the results of one battle, and scared at the vision raised by the imagination of the senator from kentucky upon the floor? no, sir! a thousand times, no, sir! we will rally the people--the loyal people of the whole country. they will pour forth their treasure, their money, their men, without stint, without measure. shall one battle determine the fate of empire, or a dozen--the loss of one thousand men or twenty thousand, or one hundred million or five hundred millions of dollars? in a year's peace--in ten years, at most, of peaceful progress--we can restore them all. there will be some graves reeking with blood, watered by the tears of affection. there will be some privation; there will be some loss of luxury; there will be somewhat more need for labor to procure the necessaries of life. when that is said, all is said. if we have the country, the whole country, the union, the constitution--free government-- with these there will return all the blessings of well-ordered civilization; the path of the country will be a career of greatness and of glory, such as, in the olden time, our fathers saw in the dim visions of years yet to come, and such as would have been ours now, to-day, if it had not been for the treason for which the senator too often seeks to apologize." the orator took his seat after this lofty and impassioned appeal, little dreaming that he would be one of the first to fulfill his own prophecy. preparations for the war were now made in good earnest. regiments were recruited for three years, and, on their arrival at washington, were carefully inspected and organized into brigades and divisions, and officered by men of ability and military experience. other forces were organized at the west, and the administration of president lincoln displayed remarkable energy in equipping the armies which were to act in different sections of the country, and in raising money for their support. general george b. mcclellan, when he assumed command of the army of the potomac, was the beau ideal of a dragoon leader. his legs, like those of general taylor, were short in proportion to his body, so that he appeared to be small in stature when on foot, but, when mounted on his favorite charger, he looked as tall, if not taller, than those around him. he possessed a good head, firmly planted on a sturdy neck, upon ample shoulders. he wore his hair cut short and his cheeks and massive jaw-bones shaven clean, while a well- shapen moustache gave dignity to his features. his complexion was ruddy, his eyes blue, and the lines of his mouth indicated good- humor and firmness in about equal proportions. his dress was plain, with the least possible insignia of rank, and his headquarters at the residence of commodore wilkes, long occupied by mrs. madison, was always thronged with visitors. his confidential aides were regular officers trained in many a hard campaign, and he had at his side, in his father-in-law, colonel r. b. marcy, of the army, an experienced military counselor. when lieutenant-general scott, after having resigned his command, was about to leave washington for west point, his young successor called upon him to say good-bye, and they had a long conference. at its conclusion the old hero of three wars, said: "general, do not allow yourself to be entangled by men who do not comprehend this question. carry out your own ideas, act upon your own judgment, and you will conquer, and the government will be vindicated. god bless you!" general mcclellan, who was then eulogized as a second napoleon, soon found himself "embarrassed" by men who feared that he might become president if he conquered peace. he was also impressed with this presidential idea by pretended friends who had fastened themselves upon him, and "between two stools he fell to the ground." the surrender of mason and slidell to the english government, after their capture by one of our war vessels, was a sad sacrifice, and many at washington were of the opinion that they should have been retained at every hazard. some suggested an international arbitration, but president lincoln, fortified by the advice of charles sumner and caleb cushing, saw plainly that the submission of the case to arbitration would be equivalent to a surrender. secretary seward, in his communication to lord lyons, the british minister, which the president revised before it was sent, said, in the most emphatic terms, that international law, particularly the american intent of it, as recorded in all our policy that has become historic, was against us. he said: "this government could not deny the justice of the claim presented. we are asked to do by the british nation just what we have always insisted of nations before to do to us." mr. sumner came gallantly to mr. seward's rescue, and made a long speech in the senate before crowded galleries, showing that the seizure of mason and slidell on board of a neutral ship could not be justified according to our best american precedents. "mr. president," said he, in his deep-toned voice, "let the rebels go. two wicked men, ungrateful to their country, are let loose with the brand of cain upon their foreheads. prison doors are opened, but principles are established which will help to free other men, and to open the gates of the sea. amidst all present excitement," said mr. sumner, in conclusion, "amidst all present trials, it only remains for us to uphold the constant policy of the republic, and stand fast on the ancient ways." meanwhile general mcclellan was organizing the large forces sent for the defense of washington, and several distinguished foreigners, who in turn visited the metropolis, expressed great surprise and admiration at the wonderful rapidity with which so many men and so much _materiel_ had been collected, affording striking evidence of the martial capabilities of the american people. the unfortunate engagement at ball's bluff, where colonel baker and many brave union officers and soldiers were killed, while others were sent as prisoners to richmond, had rather a dispiriting effect on the president. mr. lincoln and colonel baker had attended the same school, joined in the same boyish sports, and when they had grown to manhood their intimacy had ripened into ardent friendship. mr. lincoln had watched with admiration the success of his friend baker at the illinois bar, as a whig representative in congress, as an officer in the mexican war, and then--transplanted to the pacific coast--as a deliverer of a panegyric over the body of the murdered broderick, that was one of the greatest exhibitions of fervid eloquence ever seen or heard on this continent. coming to washington as united states senator from oregon, colonel baker gave a powerful support to the union cause and to the lincoln administration. he was one of the first northern politicians to take the field, and he was promised by president lincoln a high military command if he could, by winning a victory, demonstrate his ability as a general. he entered upon his new military career with his characteristic energy, but mr. lincoln, instead of promoting him, was soon called upon to mourn his untimely death. [facsimile] h hamlin hannibal hamlin was born at paris, maine, august th, ; was a representative from maine, - ; was united states senator, - , when he resigned to act as governor; was again united states senator, - , when he resigned, having been elected vice-president on the ticket with abraham lincoln; was collector of the port of boston, - , when he resigned; was again united states senator, - . chapter viii. washington a vast garrison. when congress met on the first monday in december, , washington was a vast citadel. a cordon of forts completely encircled it on the commanding heights, each one armed, provisioned, and garrisoned. on the large plain east of the capitol and on the south side of the potomac were encamped large bodies of troops. regiments were constantly on the march through the city. long wagon trains laden with provisions or ammunition were dragged through the mud of the then unpaved streets. mounted orderlies galloped to and fro, bearing returns, requisitions, and despatches. the old flag was hoisted in every direction at sunrise, and lowered when the evening gun was fired, while the music of bands and the shrill notes of drums and fifes rang forth the "music of the union." an amusing sight was frequently enjoyed when newly formed regiments arrived. they usually came with the glowing colors of new equipments, and the vigorous zeal of newly organized drum and fife corps, if not, indeed, of a full band. a richly dressed drum-major generally marched at the head of these displays, and his gaudy uniform, bearskin shako with its plume, glittering baton, with its incessant twirling and rhythmical movement, excited the greatest enthusiasm and admiration among the throngs of observing negroes. to them the _tambour major_ was by far the greatest soldier of the day. for miles in every direction the country was picketed, and martial law was rigidly enforced. all persons going toward the front must be provided with passes, which were very closely scrutinized at every picket-post. in times of special peril those moving northward underwent the same ordeal. war, with all its severities and horrors, was continually at the doors of those who dwelt in washington. congress, for the first time since the seat of government was removed to washington from philadelphia, occupied an entirely subordinate position, and it might well be said the "_inter arma silent leges_"--laws are silent in the midst of armies. it was not long, however, before the senators and representatives reasserted their authority. simon cameron's report as secretary of war, as originally prepared, printed, and sent over the country for publication, took advanced ground on the slavery question. he advocated the emancipation of the slaves in the rebel states, the conversion to the use of the national government of all property, whether slave or otherwise, belonging to the rebels, and the resort to every military means of suppressing the rebellion, even the employment of armed negroes. president lincoln, at the instance of secretary seward and general mcclellan, declined to accept these anti-slavery views from his subordinate, and ordered the return of the advance copies distributed for revision and amendment. it happened, however, that several newspapers had published the report as originally written. when they republished it, as modified, the public had the benefit of both versions. the president struck out all that secretary cameron had written on the slavery question, and substituted a single paragraph which was self-evidently from the presidential pen. the speculations of the secretary as to the propriety of arming the negroes were canceled, and we were simply told that it would be impolitic for the escaped slaves of rebels to be returned again to be used against us. secretary chase sustained secretary cameron, but secretary seward, the former champion of higher law and abolitionism, was so conservative at this crisis of the great struggle between freedom and slavery, as to disgruntle many ardent supporters of the principles of which he had once assumed to be the champion. when congress assembled there were many vacant seats at either end of the capitol. in the senate chamber ten states of the thirty- six were unrepresented, and the virginia nominally represented was that portion of the old dominion within the range of union cannon. vice-president hamlin, who presided, was one of the democrats who had gone into the republican camp. of medium height, with a massive head, dark complexion, cleanly shaven face, he was ever prompt and diligent in the transaction of business. at all seasons of the year he wore a suit of black, with a dress-coat, and could never be persuaded to wear an overcoat, even in the coldest weather. he was noted for his fidelity to political friends, and at washington he always had their interests at heart. william pitt fessenden, chairman of the senate committee on finance, was really the leader of the republican party in the upper house. he was a statesman of great power and comprehensiveness, who possessed mental energies of the very highest order, and whose logic in debate was like a chain, which his hearers often hated to be confined with, yet knew not how to break. to courage and power in debate he united profound legal knowledge and a very extraordinary aptitude for public business. originally an ardent whig, his whole political life had been spent in earnestly opposing the men and measures of the democratic party, nor did he possess that adaptability of opinion so characteristic of modern politicians. born and reared in the days when the "giants of the republic" were living, and to some extent, a contemporary actor in the leading events of the times, he had learned to think for himself, and prefer the individuality of conscientious conviction to the questionable subservience of partisan policy. senator sumner regarded his position as chairman of the committee on foreign relations as superior to all others in congress, while he was unquestionably the leader of the abolition wing of the republican party. having been abroad himself, he knew the necessity for having, especially at that time, the country represented by educated gentlemen, and mr. seward often found it a difficult matter to persuade him to consent to the appointment of some rural politician to a place of diplomatic importance. objection was made to one nomination, on the ground that the person was a drunkard, and a leading senator came one morning before the committee to refute the charge. he made quite an argument, closing by saying: "no, gentlemen, he is not a drunkard. he may, occasionally, as i do myself, take a glass of wine, but i assure you, on the honor of a gentleman, he never gets drunk." upon this representation the appointment was favorably reported upon and confirmed by the senate, but it was soon evident that the person was an incorrigible sot, and when it became absolutely necessary to remove him, it leaked out that he had retained and paid the senator for vouching for his temperate habits. senator wilson, who wielded enormous power as chairman of the committee on military affairs, had been, before the war, a brigadier- general of militia in massachusetts. he had raised a three-years' regiment, which he had brought to washington, but not wishing to take the field, he had resigned the command, and had solicited from general mcclellan a position on his staff. when he reported for duty he was ordered to appear the next morning mounted, and accompanied by two other staff officers, in a tour of inspection around the fortifications. unaccustomed to horsemanship, the ride of thirty miles was too much for the senator, who kept his bed for a week, and then resigned his staff position. he performed herculean labors on his committee, and examined personally the recommendations upon which thousands of appointments had been made. that at times he was prejudiced against those who were opposed to emancipation could not be denied, but he honestly endeavored to have the union army well officered, well fed, and promptly paid. the chairman of the naval committee was mr. grimes, of iowa, who mastered the wants and became acquainted with the welfare of that branch of the service, and who urged liberal appropriations for it in a lucid, comprehensive, and vigorous manner. an enemy of all shams, he was a tower of strength for the administration in the senate. then there was bluff ben wade, of ohio, whose honestly was strongly tinged by ambition, and who looked at the contest with the merciless eyes of a gladiator about to close in a death-grip. john sherman had just been transplanted from the house, secretary chase having urged him to remain in the senate, rather than resign and take the field, as he had wished to. nye, of nevada, who sat next to mr. sumner, was a native wit of "infinite jest" and most "excellent fancy," who enlivened the senate with his _bon mots_ and genial humor. trumbull, harlan, pomeroy, lot morrill, zach. chandler, daniel clark, ira harris, jacob collamer, solomon foote, lafayette s. foster, and david wilmot were all men of ability. indeed, the republican senators, as a whole, were men of remarkable intelligence, while the fourteen or fifteen democratic senators, deprived of their associates who had seceded, found it difficult to make a respectable showing of legislation. the house, where there were also many vacant seats, elected galusha a. grow, of pennsylvania, speaker. he was a thorough politician and a good presiding officer, possessing the tact, the quickness of perception, and the decision acquired by editorial experience. thaddeus stevens was the despotic ruler of the house. no republican was permitted by "old thad" to oppose his imperious will without receiving a tongue-lashing that terrified others if it did not bring the refractory representative back into party harness. rising by degrees, as a telescope is pulled out, until he stood in a most ungraceful attitude, his heavy black hair falling down over his cavernous brows, and his cold little eyes twinkling with anger, he would make some ludicrous remark, and then, reaching to his full height, he would lecture the offender against party discipline, sweeping at him with his large, bony right hand, in uncouth gestures, as if he would clutch him and shake him. he would often use invectives, which he took care should never appear printed in the official reports, and john randolph in his braggart prime was never so imperiously insulting as was mr. stevens toward those whose political action he controlled. he was firm believer in the old maxim ascribed to the jesuits, "the end justifies the means," and, while he set morality at defiance, he was an early and a zealous champion of the equality of the black and the white races. there were many able men among the republican representatives. dawes, of massachusetts, had acquired a deserved reputation for honesty, sincerity, and untiring industry. elihu b. washburne was an experienced politician and a practical legislator. sam hooper was a noble specimen of the boston merchant, who had always preserved his reputation for exact dealings, and whose liberal charities eclipsed his generous hospitalities. roscoe conkling, who had just entered upon the theatre of his future fame, commanded attention by his superb choice of words in debate and by his wonderful felicity of expression and epigrammatic style. alexander h. rice reflected honor upon his boston constituents. john b. alley was a true representative of the industrial interests and anti-slavery sentiments of old essex. william d. kelley was on the threshold of a long career of parliamentary usefulness, and edward mcpherson, a man of facts and figures, blindly devoted to his party, was ever ready to spring some ingenious parliamentary trap for the discomfiture of its opponents. the democratic opposition was not strong. among kentucky's representatives were the veteran john j. crittenden, who had so long been kept under the shadow of the representation of henry clay, and charles a. wickliffe, portly in figure and florid in features, who clung to the ruffled-bosom shirt of his boyhood. daniel voorhees, the "tall sycamore of the wabash," would occasionally launch out in a bold strain of defiance and invective against the measures for the restoration of the union, in which he would be seconded by clement l. vallandingham, of ohio, and by the facetious s. s. cox, who then represented an ohio district. the congressional committee on the conduct of the war was a mischievous organization, which assumed dictatorial powers. summoning generals before them, and having a phonographer to record every word uttered, they would propound very comprehensive questions. the first question put by them was generally about identical with that which the militia captain, who fell into the cellar-way after an arduous attempt to drill his company, asked a benevolent quaker lady who rushed forward to express her sympathy, as he struggled to extricate himself: "what do you know about war?" if the general in hand was a political brigadier or major-general, who had been in the habit before the war of saving his country on the stump, he would proceed to discuss the origin and cure of the rebellion, greatly to the satisfaction of the committee, and they would ascertain at once that so far as his principles were concerned, the ought to have commanded the army of the potomac. if the general called and questioned happened to be one of the numerous class who had formed the acquaintance of the green-eyed monster, he entertained the committee with shocking stories of his superior officers. he scolded and carped and criticised and caviled, told half truths and solid lies, and the august and astute committee listened with open ears, and the phonographer dotted down every word. so the meanest gossip and slang of the camp was raked into a heap and preserved in official form. [facsimile] benjwade benjamin f. wade was born at feeding hills parish, near springfield, massachusetts, october th, ; removed to ohio; was united states senator, - , and died at jefferson, ohio, march d, . chapter ix. the metropolis in time of war. president lincoln had a bright, spring-like day for his first new year's reception, and the dignitaries who in turn paid their respects found such a crowd around the door of the white house that they experienced some little inconvenience in reaching the interior. lord lyons, of england, and m. mercier, of france, were prominent among the diplomats, and general mcdowell headed the army officers, general mcclellan being ill. at noon the public were admitted, order being maintained by the police, who appeared for the first time in uniform. passing on to the reception-room, the people met and shook hands with the president, near whom stood mrs. lincoln, who was attended by the united states marshal of the district, colonel lamon, captain darling, chief of the capitol police, and the president's secretaries. the visitors thence passed to the great east room, where it was apparent they were unusually numerous, more strangers being present in washington at the time, perhaps, than ever before. the crowd, indeed, as looked upon by old residents, appeared to present new faces almost entirely. the general scene was brilliant and animating, and the whole was enlivened, as usual, by strains of the marine band, which was stationed in the vestibule. by two o'clock the promenaders generally had departed by means of a platform for egress, constructed through one of the large windows at the front of the mansion. the abolitionists were greatly disappointed because there had not been any insurrectionary movements among the slaves at the south, which had been looked for at the christmas holidays, and they then increased their exertions to make mr. lincoln issue a proclamation abolishing slavery. at the twenty-ninth annual meeting of the massachusetts anti-slavery society, held at boston, in january, , wendell phillips, with a sneer, expressed himself thus: "mr. seward had predicted that the war would be over in ninety days, but he didn't believe, as things were going, it would be over in ninety years. he believed lincoln was honest, but as a pint-pot may be full, and yet not be so full as a quart, so there is a vast difference between the honesty of a small man and the honesty of a statesman." there was an imposing parade through the streets of a new arm of the military service, a battalion or regiment of mounted lancers. the men carried lances about twelve feet long, held upright as they rode, and having black staffs and bright spear heads, something like the sword bayonet, though only about half as long. this corps was under the command of colonel rush, of pennsylvania. each horseman bore a small red flag on the top of his lance, and the novelty of the display attracted much attention, though the spectators, not greatly impressed with the effectiveness of the weapon with which the corps was armed, gave them the sobriquet "turkey drivers," which stuck to them ever afterward. president lincoln had a pet scheme during the war for establishing a colony of contrabands at the chiriqui lagoon, with a new transit route across the isthmus to the harbor of golfito, on the pacific. the first company of emigrants, composed of freeborn negroes and liberated slaves, was organized, under president lincoln's personal supervision, by senator pomeroy, of kansas, and would have started, but the diplomatic representative of costa rica protested. negro settlers, he said, would be welcomed in the province of chiriqui, but such a colony as it was proposed to establish would necessarily be under the protection of the united states, and grave difficulties might ensue. besides, such a colony would almost invite an attack from the confederates, then quite powerful, who would seek their slaves, and who would regard a negro colony with especial aversion. mr. lincoln regretted this fiasco, as negro colonization was his favorite panacea for the national troubles. he again and again declared that the continuance of the african race in the united states could but be injurious to both blacks and whites, and that the expatriation and colonization of the negro was a political necessity. those who had zealously opposed slavery and who had regarded the war as securing the freedom of the negroes, combated the president's scheme. they insisted that the blacks had a right to remain in the land of their birth, and declared that expatriation, as a measure of political economy, would be fatal to the prosperity of the country, for it would drive away a large amount of productive labor. a colony was subsequently taken to one of the west india islands, but it was a miserable failure, and the colonists, after great suffering, were brought back. the scandals concerning army contracts enabled the abolitionists to secure the transfer of simon cameron from the war department to the russian mission, and the appointment of edwin m. stanton in his place. it should not be forgotten that mr. cameron is entitled to great credit for the energy and skill with which he managed the war office from march, , until february, . he laid the foundation of that military organization which eventually, under the leadership of grant and sherman, crushed the rebellion and restored the union. one of the regiments which came to washington from new york, the seventy-ninth highlanders, becoming wretchedly disorganized, he detailed his brother, colonel james cameron, to command it. this settled all differences, the scotchmen remembering the proverb that "the camerons of lochiel never proved false to a friend or a foe." in a few weeks, however, colonel cameron was killed at the battle of bull run while bravely leading his men against the enemy. the weight of this great calamity fell upon secretary cameron at a time when the utmost powers of his mind were being exerted to save washington from capture. for a brief period it crushed him, but the dangers then surrounding the national cause were too numerous and too threatening to admit of anything but redoubled exertions to avert them. summoning, therefore, all his fortitude and energy, he for the moment suppressed his intense grief and recommenced his labors. new armies were organized as if by magic, and washington was saved. mr. stanton's strong will was relied upon by the abolitionists for the control of general mcclellan, who had given some indications of his willingness to restore the union "as it was," with slavery legalized and protected. while "little mac" had become the idol of the rank and file of the army of the potomac, which he had thoroughly organized and equipped, he had also provoked the opposition of those in his rear from whom he should have received encouragement and support. naturally cautious, he hesitated about moving when he knew that if successful he would immediately be crippled by the withdrawal of a portion of his command. a prominent politician, more outspoken than some of them around him, is quoted by general custer as having said: "it is not on our books that mcclellan should take richmond." mr. stanton had witnessed so much treason while he was a member of buchanan's cabinet, that he determined to know exactly what was done by every officer of the army, and one of his first acts was to have news sent over the wires pass through the war department. every wire in the country was "tapped" and its contents made a matter of record. every telegram sent by president lincoln or the members of his cabinet to the generals in the field, or received by them from those generals, was put on record at washington, as were all cipher despatches, deciphered by general eckert. on one occasion a despatch from general rufus ingalls to senator nesmith puzzled every one at the war department except quartermaster-general meigs, who was positive that it was bohemian. finally an officer who had served on the pacific coast recognized it as "chinook," a compound of the english, chinese, and indian languages used by the whites in trading with the chinook indians. the despatch was a harmless request from general ingalls to his old friend "nes." to come and witness an impeding engagement. a detective system of espionage had been organized by mr. seward for the protection of the united states government against the adherents of the confederate cause. the reports made by this corps of detectives to the department of state showed the daring acts of the southern sympathizers, several of whom were ladies of wealth and fashion. how they watched and waited at official doors till they had bagged the important secret of state they wanted; how they stole military maps from the war department; how they took copies of official documents; how they smuggled the news of the government's strength in the linings of honest-looking coats; and how they hid army secrets in the meshes of unsuspected crinoline--all these became familiar facts, almost ceasing to excite remark or surprise. the head of this branch of the service was general lafayette s. baker. of this band of active and useful plotters, who were constantly engaged playing into the hands of the confederates under the very shadow of the capitol, some of the women of washington were the busiest. the intriguing nature of these dames appears to have found especial delight in forwarding the schemes of the leaders in the movement to overthrow the washington government. it mattered not that most of them owed all they possessed of fortune and position to that federal government, and to the patronage which, directly or indirectly, they had received from it. this very fact lent a spice of daring to the deed, while an irresistible attraction was furnished in the fact that they were plotting the ruin of a government which had fallen into the hands of that northern majority whom, with all the lofty scorn of "patrician" blood, they despised and detested. mrs. rose o. h. greenhow was the most adroit of the confederate emissaries. the sister of mrs. cutts, mother of mrs. douglas, and the widow of a clerk in the state department, who had written a valuable work on oregon, her social position gave her remarkable facilities for obtaining information. just before the battle of bull run she contrived to convey to the enemy news obtained from a new england senator with regard to the intended movements of the federals. this communication, in her own opinion, decided the battle. in return she received this despatch from the confederate adjutant-general: "our president and our general direct me to thank you. we rely upon you for further information. the confederacy owes you a debt." mrs. greenhow's house was finally used as a prison for female spies. the windows looking on the street were boarded up, and a special military guard occupied tents pitched in the garden. mrs. greenhow and her pretty daughter rose were the presiding deities. then there was mrs. phillips, daughter of j. c. levy, of charleston, s. c., where she married philip phillips, who afterward removed to mobile and was elected thence to the thirty-third congress. declining a re-election, he remained at washington city, where he had a lucrative practice before the supreme court. mrs. phillips, although the mother of nine children, found time to obtain and transmit information to general beauregard, and after having been closely guarded for awhile, she was permitted to go south on her parole and that of her father, that she would not give "aid or comfort to the enemy." mrs. baxley, mrs. hasler, miss lilly a. mackel, mrs. levy, and other lady prisoners had all been more or less prominent in southern society at washington, and had made trips over the underground railroad between alexandria and richmond. also an english lady, mrs. ellena low, who had been arrested at boston, with her son, who had crossed the ocean bearing a commission in the confederate army. miss e. m. poole, alias stewart, had been very successful in carrying contraband information and funds between the two camps, and when arrested the last time there were found concealed on her person seven thousand five hundred dollars of unexpended funds. another devoted friend of the confederates, who resided just outside of the union lines in virginia, managed to fascinate general stoughton, a young west point cavalry officer, and one evening while he was enjoying her society, during a serenade by a regimental band, he, with his band and orderlies, was surprised and captured, and they were sent as prisoners-of-war to richmond. "i do not mind losing the brigadier," said mr. lincoln, in talking about the capture, "for they are easily made, but there were some twenty horses taken, and they cost one hundred and twenty-five dollars apiece." [facsimile] simoncameron simon cameron was born at waynesborough, pennsylvania, march d, ; learned the art of printing; was secretary of war under president lincoln, in , resigning when appointed minister plenipotentiary to russia, in ; was united states senator from pennsylvania, - , - , and - , when he resigned, and was succeeded by his son. chapter x. fashion, literature, and art. washington "society" refused to be comforted. those within its charmed circle would not visit the white house, or have any intercourse with the members of the administration. this gave great annoyance to mr. seward, who used diplomatic and consular appointments, commissions, and contracts unsparingly for the purchase of a friendly feeling. at his urgent solicitation the president consented to an evening reception at the white house, by invitation. "i don't fancy this pass business," said the president, good- naturedly, but the metropolitan practicians could not refrain from applying for them. the evening of february th, , found the court-yard of the white house filled with carriages and ambulances bringing "fair women and brave men." the president and mrs. lincoln received their guests in the east room, where he towered above all around him, and had a pleasant word for those he knew. mrs. lincoln was dressed in a white satin dress with a low neck and short sleeves. it was trimmed with black lace flounces, which were looped up with knots of ribbon, and she wore a floral head-dress, which was not very becoming. near her was her eldest son, mr. robert lincoln (known as the prince of rails), and mr. john hay, the president's intellectual private secretary. in addition to the east room, the red, green, and blue parlors (so named from the color of their paper-hangings and the furniture) were open, and were ornamented with a profusion of rare exotics, while the marine band, stationed in the corridor, discoursed fine music. mr. seward was in his element, escorting, as in duty bound, the ladies of the diplomatic corps. mr. chase, the dignified and statesman-like secretary of the treasury, seemed to have forgotten for the moment that his coffers were "short." mr. stanton, vigorous and thoughtful, was the object of much attention, and the patriarchal locks and beard of the not over-scintillant secretary of the navy were, of course, a feature. the other members of the cabinet were present, as were justices clifford, wayne, and grier, of the supreme court. senator sumner, as chairman of the committee on foreign relations, was the centre of a diplomatic circle, where all of the "great powers," and some of the smaller ones, were represented. ladies from the rural districts were disappointed in not seeing the gorgeous court costumes, having forgotten that our court-dress is the undertaker-like suit of black broadcloth so generally worn. but they gazed with admiration upon the broad ribbons and jeweled badges worn on the breasts of the chevaliers of the legion of honor, knights of the bath, etc., "with distinguished consideration." vice-president hamlin might have called the senate to order and had more than a quorum of members present, who, like himself, had their wives here to cheer their labors. mr. speaker grow could not see around him so large a proportion of the "lower house," but there was--so a kentucky lady said--"a right smart chance of representatives." general mcclellan, in full uniform, looked finely. among his staff officers were the french princes, each wearing a captain's uniform. the comte de paris was tall and very handsome, while the duc du chartres was taller, thinner, less handsome than his brother. both were remarkably cordial and affable, and, as they spoke english perfectly, they enjoyed the gay scene. general fremont, in a plain undress suit, seemed rather downcast, although his devoted wife, "jessie," more than made up for his moodiness by her animated and vivacious conversation. there were, besides generals mcdowell, stone, heintzelman, blenker, hancock, hooker, keyes, doubleday, casey, shields, and marcy, with captain dahlgren and the prince salm-salm. of those present many fought, and some fell, on the various fields of the next three dreadful years. there were others who were destined to do their duty and yet be mistaken and defrauded of their just inheritance of glory. such was the fortune of war. an incident of the evening was the presentation of general fremont to general mcclellan by president lincoln. general fremont was in the hall, evidently about to leave, as mrs. fremont had her shawl on, and senator sumner was escorting her toward the door, when the president went after them, and soon turned toward the east room, with the pathfinder at his side, senator sumner and mrs. fremont following. the presentation was made, and a few remarks were exchanged by the generals, two men who were destined to exert a marked influence on the future destiny of the nation. a magnificent supper had been provided in the state dining-room by maillard, of new york, but when the hour of eleven came, and the door should have been opened, the flustered steward had lost the key, so that there was a hungry crowd waiting anxiously outside the unyielding portal. then the irrepressible humor of the american people broke forth--that grim humor which carried them through the subsequent misery. "i am in favor of a forward movement!" one would exclaim. "an advance to the front is only retarded by the imbecility of commanders," said another, quoting a speech just made in congress. to all this general mcclellan, himself modestly struggling with the crowd, laughed as heartily as anybody. finally the key was found, the door opened, and the crowd fed. the table was decorated with large pieces of ornamental confectionery, the centre object representing the steamer "union," armed and bearing the "stars and stripes." on a side table was a model of fort sumter, also in sugar, and provisioned with game. after supper promenading was resumed, and it was three o'clock ere the guests departed. the entertainment was pronounced a decided success, but it was compared to the ball given by the duchess of richmond, at brussels, the night before waterloo. people parted there never to meet again. many a poor fellow took his leave that night of festivity forever, the band playing, as he left, "the girl i left behind me." the abolitionists throughout the country were merciless in their criticisms of the president and mrs. lincoln for giving this reception when the soldiers of the union were in cheerless bivouacs or comfortless hospitals, and a philadelphia poet wrote a scandalous ode on the occasion, entitled "the queen must dance." there was no dancing, nor was it generally known that after the invitations had been issued mrs. lincoln's children sickened, and she had been up the two nights previous to the reception watching with them. both the president and mrs. lincoln left the gay throng several times to go up and see their darling willie, who passed away a fortnight afterward. he was a fine-looking lad, eleven years of age, whose intelligence and vivacity made him a general favorite. some of his exercises in literary composition had been so creditable that his father had permitted their publication. this bereavement made mr. lincoln and his wife very indulgent toward their youngest son, who thenceforth imperiously ruled at the white house. washington city profited by its encircling garrison of one hundred and fifty thousand men, and its population of civilians increased wonderfully. previously the crowds of people who had flooded washington at inauguration ceremonies, or during the sessions of congress, had been of the quick-come, quick-go character almost exclusively. they had added nothing to the general business of the city, stopping altogether at hotels, and making no investments in the way of purchases. even congressmen had latterly very seldom brought their families to the federal capital. but the representatives of the military power formed another class of citizens entirely. unlike the representatives of the legislative power, who had treated their quarters in washington as mere "tents of a night," the army had taken all the vacant houses in washington. the fears of a bombardment by the rebels on the potomac had the effect of keeping up prices of provisions and everything else. the residents of washington experienced the evils of living in a non-manufacturing and non-producing country. the single-track railway to baltimore was over-loaded by the army, and the freight depot in the city was crammed and piled with stuff of every description that it presented the appearance of about five hundred noah's arks suddenly tumbled into a conglomerated heap. with the army and its camp-followers, there came a number of _literati_ to accept clerical positions in the departments. at the treasury one could see the veteran dr. pierpont, george wood, o'connor, piatt, chilton, and dr. elder, all hopefully engaged in signing, cutting, or recording government notes and bonds. entering the library of the state department, one saw j. c. derby, so long in the front rank of new york publishers, then mr. seward's librarian. on pennsylvania avenue was fred cozzens' store, to which mr. sparrowgrass had transported his catawbas and cabanas. at the white house one would perhaps meet n. p. willis in the reception- room, and in mr. nicolay's up-stairs sanctum was john hay, whose _atlantic_ papers were written with such purity of style and feeling at his desk as under-secretary to the president. then, among women writers, there were mesdames don piatt, squier, olmstead, and kirkland. the vermont sculptor, larkin meade, had his "green mountain boy" on exhibition at a popular bookstore on the avenue. with this importation of northern brains came a desire to hear lectures from prominent men, and professor henry was reluctantly induced to grant the use of the lecture hall of the smithsonian institution, with a promise that it should be announced that the institution was not to be held responsible for what might be said. when the first lecture was given, the rev. john pierpont, after introducing the lecturer, added: "i am requested by professor henry, to announce that the smithsonian institution is not responsible for this course of lectures. i do so with pleasure, and desire to add that the washington lecture association is not responsible for the smithsonian institution." the satire was appreciated and received with applause. throughout the course mr. pierpont repeated his announcement before each weekly lecture, and no sooner would he say, "i am requested," then the large audience would applaud. isaac newton, of philadelphia, was placed at the head of the agricultural bureau of the patent office, by president lincoln, and in due time he became the head of the newly created department of agriculture. he was an ignorant, credulous old gentleman, quite rotund around the waistband, with snow-white hair and a mild blue eye. educated a quaker, he had accumulated some property by keeping an ice-cream saloon in philadelphia, and he then established a farm, from which he obtained his supplies of cream. at washington he was known as "sir isaac," and many anecdotes were told at his expense. one year, when the expenditures of his department had been very great, and the chairman of the committee on agriculture called on him to ascertain how he had used up so much money, sir isaac spluttered and talked learnedly, and at last concluded by saying: "yes, sir; the expenses have been very great, exorbitant; indeed, sir, they have exceeded my most sanguine expectations." the chairman was not satisfied. looking over sir isaac's estimate for the year, it was found he had made requisition for five thousand dollars to purchase two hydraulic rams. "them, gentlemen," said sir isaac, "are said to be the best sheep in europe. i have seen a gentleman who knows all about them, and we should by all means secure the breed." some wag had been selling sir isaac, and, much to his disgust, the committee struck out the five-thousand-dollar item. [facsimile] s.p.chase salmon portland chase was born at cornish, new hampshire, january th, ; graduated at dartmouth college in ; studied law at washington with william wirt, supporting himself by teaching school; commenced practice at cincinnati in ; was united states senator from ohio, - ; was governor of ohio, - ; was again united states senator, march th, , and resigned the next day to become secretary of the treasury under president lincoln, which position he held until he resigned in september, ; was appointed chief justice of the supreme court, december th, ; presided at the impeachment trial of president johnson in , and died at new york, may th, . chapter xi. the fortunes of war. with the war came the army correspondents. dickens had previously introduced martin chuzzlewit to "our war correspondent, sir, mr. jefferson brick," several years previously, but the warlike experiences of the redoubtable mr. brick were of a purely sedentary character, and his epistles were written at the home office. but washington was now invaded by a corps of quick-witted, plucky young fellows, able to endure fatigue, brave enough to be under fire, and sufficiently well educated to enable them to dash off a grammatical and picturesque description of a skirmish. occasionally, one of them, by eulogizing a general in command, was enabled to go to the front as a gentleman, but generally they were proscribed and hunted out from camps like spies. secretary stanton bullied them, established a censorship at washington, and occasionally imprisoned one, or stopped the publication of the paper with which he corresponded. halleck denounced them as "unauthorized hangers- on," who should be compelled to work on the entrenchments if they did not leave his lines. general meade was unnecessarily severe in his treatment of correspondents whose letters were not agreeable to him, although they contained "the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth." the result was that the correspondents were forced to hover around the rear of the armies, gathering up such information as they could, and then ride in haste to the nearest available telegraph station to send off their news. there were honorable and talented exceptions, but the majority of those who called themselves "war correspondents" were mere news- scavengers. the washington press was despotically governed during the war. the established censorship was under the direction of men wholly unqualified, and on several occasions the printed editions of influential journals--republican or democratic--were seized by secretary stanton for having published intelligence which he thought should have been suppressed. bulletins were issued by the war department, but they were often incorrect. it was known that the washington papers, full of military information, were forwarded through the lines daily, yet the censors would not permit paragraphs clipped from those papers to be telegraphed to boston or chicago, where they could not appear sooner than they did in the richmond papers. the declaration, "i am a newspaper correspondent," which had in former years carried with it the imposing force of the famous, "i am a roman citizen," no longer entitled one to the same proud prerogatives, and journalists were regarded as spies and sneaks. colonel john w. forney, secretary of the united states senate and editor of the philadelphia _press_, established the _sunday chronicle_ at washington, and in time made it the _daily chronicle_. when in washington, he was constantly dictating letters for the _press_ and editorials for the _chronicle_. when in philadelphia, he dictated editorials for the _press_ and letters for the _chronicle_. each paper copied his letters from the other. when in new york, he dictated editorial letters to his papers alternately, and they were signed "j. w. f." his washington letters to the _press_ and his philadelphia letters to the _chronicle_ were signed, "occasional," though the most remarkable thing about them was their regularity. the washington _chronicle_ received editorial and other contributions from some of the ablest writers in the country. editorials on foreign topics were supplied by dr. r. shelton mackenzie, of the philadelphia _press_. robert j. walker wrote a series of powerful articles on the desirableness of secretary seward's pet project, the acquisition of alaska, and caleb cushing was a frequent editorial contributor. it had a large circulation, the army of the potomac taking ten thousand copies a day, and the lucrative advertising of the department was given to it. independence day, , was not joyously celebrated at washington. the martial pageant with which the day had been glorified in years past had been replaced by the stern realities of war, and the hospitals were crowded with the sick, the wounded, and the dying. the week previous general mcclellan, after a campaign of great severity in the peninsula, and having been in sight of richmond, had been so crippled by the failure of secretary stanton to send him more troops that he had been forced to retreat from chickahominy, and seek the shelter of the gunboats on the river james. the president, at the request of the governors of the loyal states, promptly called into the service an additional force of three hundred thousand men. those who had advocated the arming of the negroes availed themselves of the occasion to urge their enlistment; but the secretary of war, in conversation with conservatives, opposed it. mr. mallory, of kentucky, stated on the floor of the house (and his statement was never contradicted) that, having business at the war department, mr. stanton called him back, and, folding over the date and signature of a letter, showed him that an officer had asked authority to raise a regiment of blacks. the secretary inquired what answer ought to be given, to which he (mallory) replied, "if you allow me to dictate an answer, i would say, emphatically, no!" the secretary rejoined that he had not only done that, but had ordered the officer's arrest. the people responded gloriously to the demand for more troops, and by the middle of august, , they were pouring into washington at the rate of a brigade a day. the regiments, on their arrival, were marched past the white house, singing, "we are coming, father abraham, three hundred thousand more." and "father abraham" often kindled their highest enthusiasm by coming to the front entrance and in person reviewing the passing hosts. the troops then crossed the potomac, where the hills were whitened with the tents of camps of instruction, where an army of reserves was soon produced. mr. greeley, however, was not satisfied with the military preparations, and he published an insolent letter to president lincoln, in which he charged him with being "disastrously remiss in enforcing the laws." mr. lincoln replied, calmly but positively: "i would save the union. i would save it in the shortest way, under the constitution. if i could save the union without freeing any slaves i would do it, and if i could save it by freeing all the slaves i would do it, and if i could save it by freeing some and leaving others alone i would also do that. what i do about slavery and the colored race, i do because i believe it helps to save the union, and what i forbear, i forbear because i do not believe it would help to save the union. i shall do less whenever i shall believe that what i am doing hurts the cause, and i shall do more whenever i believe doing more will help the cause. i shall try to correct errors when shown to be errors, and i shall adopt new views so fast as they shall appear to be true views." president lincoln finally found that he could not sustain general mcclellan any longer, and offered general burnside the command of the army of the potomac, which was promptly and peremptorily declined. general mcclellan was soon virtually deposed, and general halleck placed in command, while a large portion of the army of the potomac was organized as the army of virginia, and placed under the command of major-general john pope, who boasted that he was fresh from a campaign in the west, where he had "seen only the backs of rebels." the result was that the new commander was not cordially supported, and the army of virginia was wrecked beyond compare, and driven back upon washington, which was threatened by the victorious confederates. general burnside was, for the second time, invited to take command, but he refused, urging president lincoln to restore general mcclellan. this was undoubtedly the wish of a large majority of the surviving officers and soldiers, and of many leading members of congress and journalists. the recall of general mcclellan to command, and his victory at antietam, were like a romance. sitting one day in his tent near alexandria, with only his body-guard of a hundred men under his command, he was called to save the capital from the vast hosts of enemies that were pouring on it in resistless columns. to save his native state from the invasion that threatened it, and maryland from the grasp of a soldiery that would wrest it from the union, he was offered an army shattered by disaster, and legions of new recruits who had never handled a musket or heard the sound of a hostile cannon. the responsibility was greater than had ever been reposed on the shoulders of one man since the days of washington. with a rapidity never equaled in history, he gathered together the army, arranged its forces, made up his corps, chose his generals, and sent them in vigorous pursuit, through washington and on northward. the enemy had crossed into maryland, and were having a triumphant march through that state toward the pennsylvania line. they issued a sounding proclamation to the people, offering them what they called liberty from oppression, and they acted out the theory of their mad invasion, which was that they were victors and had come to reap, on loyal grounds, the fruit of their victories. on sunday the gallant men of the union army were on them. they were swept over the south mountains with the besom of destruction. on monday, astonished to meet mcclellan, when they had expected to meet those whom they less feared, they called their hosts over the potomac and prepared for battle. mcclellan had previously arranged his strategic plans, and these undoubtedly would have resulted differently but for the inexplicable surrender of harper's ferry, leaving our army with little hope of cutting off the retreat of the enemy. on tuesday and wednesday mcclellan engaged them in a long and furious contest, the night of wednesday closing in on them defeated, dispirited, and broken; and when thursday morning showed the disposition of our army, and the inevitable defeat that awaited them, they left the field, abandoned their wounded, and fled into virginia, pursued and routed by the army of the union. having gloriously performed this great work, general mcclellan's stubborn inaction returned, and president lincoln determined to place general burnside in command of the army of the potomac. general burnside reluctantly accepted the command when it was for the third time tendered him, and lost no time in putting its divisions in motion for a rapid advance upon fredericksburg. had he found the pontoon train there, as he had expected, he could have thrown a heavy force across the rappahannock before the enemy could have concentrated to resist his crossing, and he then could have commenced an active, vigorous campaign against richmond. but before the pontoons had arrived the confederates had strengthened their forces, and the result was two unsuccessful attacks, with a large loss of men. the country howled with wrath against the washington officials, who had delayed sending the pontoons, but general burnside stood up squarely and said, in his open, honest manner, "for the failure in the attack i am responsible." learning that generals hooker, newton, franklin, cochrane, and others had been intriguing against him and urging his dismissal, general burnside promptly issued an order dismissing them from the service of the union. president lincoln would not consent to this and permit the dismissal of these demoralized officers, whose partisan prejudices had overshadowed their loyalty to their commander. general burnside then resigned, general hooker was appointed his successor, and the army of the potomac went into winter quarters on the north bank of the rappahannock. [facsimile] a.e.burnside ambrose everett burnside was born at liberty, indiana, may d, ; graduated at west point in ; served in the mexican and indian wars, and in the war for the suppression of the rebellion; was governor of rhode island, - ; was united states senator from march th, , until his death at his residence in bristol, rhode island, september th, . chapter xii. social life of president lincoln. when congress met in december, , many republicans were despondent. the administration ticket had been defeated in the elections of the preceding month in new york, new jersey, pennsylvania, indiana, and illinois, while in other loyal states the majorities had fallen off--the total returns showing the election of fifty-nine republican representatives against forty democratic representatives. this encouraged the abolitionists to urge the emancipation of the slaves, while the conservatives protested against it, but mr. lincoln contented himself by saying: "you must not expect me to give up the government without playing my last card." the proclamation of emancipation, issued by president lincoln on the st of january, , marked an era in the history, not only of the war, but of the republic and the civilized world. four millions of human beings, who had been kept in slavery under the protection of the federal government, were promised their freedom by the commander-in-chief of the army, as a "military necessity," and the pledge was gloriously redeemed. in commemoration of this event the colossal group entitled "emancipation," located in lincoln park, was erected by contributions solely from emancipated persons, and was dedicated april th, , frederick douglass being the orator of the occasion. the entire work is twenty-two feet high, and the bronze work alone cost seventeen thousand dollars. new year's day was fair and the walking dry, which made it an agreeable task to keep up the knickerbocker practice of calling on officials and lady friends. the president, members of the cabinet, and other government functionaries received a large number of visitors during the day. at eleven o'clock all officers of the army in the city assembled at the war department, and, headed by adjutant-general thomas and general halleck, proceeded to the white house, where they were severally introduced to the president. the officers of the navy assembled at the navy department at the same time, and, headed by secretary welles and admiral foote, also proceeded to the president's. the display of general officers in brilliant uniforms was an imposing sight, and attracted large crowds. the foreign ministers, in accordance with the usual custom, also called on the president, and at twelve o'clock the doors were opened to the public, who marched through the hall and shook hands with mr. lincoln, to the music of the marine band, for two or three hours. mrs. lincoln also received ladies in the same parlor with the president. with the emancipation proclamation washington was treated to a volume of the published diary of count gurowski, who had been employed as a translator in the department of state and as a purveyor of news for mr. greeley. his book was one prolonged growl from beginning to end. even those whom its author seemed inclined to worship at the commencement found their share of abuse before they finished. introducing the blairs, of missouri, with frequent complimentary allusions in his opening chapters, about the middle of his work gurowski packed them off to hades with the rest, and left the reader in despair at the prospects of a nation governed by such a set of imbeciles and rogues as our public men were represented to be by the amiable pole. as he assailed everybody, those who read the book were sure to find the particular object of their individual dislike soundly rated with the rest. the author of this production was a singular-looking old man, small in stature, stout of figure, ugly in feature, and disfigured by a pair of green goggles. gurowski was unsparing in his criticisms. he set down seward as writing too much; sumner as a pompous, verbose talker; burnside as a swaggering west pointer, and hooker as a casual hero. he became so offensive to mr. sumner that one morning, after listening to a torrent of his abuse, the senator arose from his desk, went to the door of his library, opened it, and said to the astonished pole, "go!" in vain were apologies proffered. mr. sumner, thoroughly incensed, simply repeated the word "go!" and at last the astute gurowski went. the army of the potomac, in comfortable quarters on the north bank of the rappahannock, received generous contributions of holiday cheer. the marching hosts of israel were jubilant over a supply of quails, but the army of the potomac had showered upon it (by express, paid) a deluge of turkeys, geese, ducks, mince-pies, pickles, and preserves. of course, the inexorable provost marshal seized all spirituous liquors, but there were ways and means by which this maine law was evaded. in many a tent there were cylindrical glass vessels, the contents of which would have been pronounced whisky were not that fluid "contraband," with many a quaintly shaped flask of rhenish wines. nor was it forgotten that there was encircling the metropolis a score of hospitals, in which thousands and thousands who had fought the good fight were being nursed into health, or lay tossing on beds of pain, sooner or later to fall into that sleep that knows no waking. these brave patients were not forgotten. the same spirit which prompted the wise men of the east to carry at christmas- tide present of "gold, frankincense, and myrrh" to the infant jesus, "god's best gift to humanity," inspired the union men and women at washington with a desire to gladden the hearts of the maimed and scarred and emaciated men who had periled their lives that the republic might live. not only did "maidens fair and matrons grave" toil that the hospital patients might enjoy holiday cheer, but senator sumner and other leading republicans used to go from hospital to hospital, from ward to ward, from bedside to bedside, encouraging by kind words those who were the martyrs of the war. in the campbell hospital, under the charge of surgeon j. h. baxter, of vermont, there was a theatre, in which performances were given every night to cheer those who were convalescent. henry wikoff, having admitted before a committee of the house of representatives that he had filed at the telegraph office, for transmission to the new york _herald_, portions of the president's message, he was asked how he obtained it. this he declined to state, saying that he was "under an obligation of strict secrecy." the house accordingly directed the sergeant-at-arms to hold wikoff in close custody, and he was locked up in a room hastily furnished for his accommodation. it was generally believed that mrs. lincoln had permitted wikoff to copy those portions of the message that he had published, and this opinion was confirmed when general sickles appeared as his counsel. the general vibrated between wikoff's place of imprisonment, the white house, and the residence of mrs. lincoln's gardener, named watt. the committee finally summoned the general before them, and put some home questions to him. he replied sharply, and for a few minutes a war of words raged. he narrowly escaped wikoff's fate, but finally, after consulting numerous books of evidence, the committee concluded not to go to extremities. while the examination was pending, the sergeant-at- arms appeared with watt. he testified that he saw the message in the library, and, being of a literary turn of mind, perused it; that, however, he did not make a copy, but, having a tenacious memory, carried portions of it in his mind, and the next day repeated them word for word to wikoff. meanwhile, mr. lincoln had visited the capitol and urged the republicans on the committee to spare him disgrace, so watt's improbable story was received and wikoff was liberated. president lincoln, when a congressman came to bore him for an appointment or with a grievance, had a pleasant way of telling a succession of stories, which left his visitor no chance to state his case. one day, a representative, who had been thus silenced, stated from experience as follows: "i've been trying for the last four days to get an audience with the president. i have gone to the white house every morning and waited till dark, but could not get a chance to speak to him until to-day, when i was admitted to his presence. i told him what i wanted, and supposed i was going to get a direct answer, when, what do you think? why, he started off with, 'do you know, i heard a good thing yesterday about the difference between an amsterdam dutchman and any other "dam" dutchman.' and then he commenced telling his stories. i was mad enough to knock the old fellow down. but the worst of the whole thing was that just as he got through with the last story in came secretary seward, who said he must have a private conference with him immediately. mr. lincoln cooly turned to me and said, 'mr. ----, can you call again?' bother his impudence, i say, to keep me listening to his jokes for two hours, and then ask me to call again!" president lincoln was quite ill that winter, and was not inclined to listen to all the bores who called at the white house. one day, just as one of these pests had seated himself for a long interview, the president's physician happened to enter the room, and mr. lincoln said, holding out his hands: "doctor, what are these blotches?" "that's varioloid, or mild small-pox," said the doctor. "they're all over me. it is contagious, i believe?" said mr. lincoln. "very contagious, indeed," replied the esculapian attendant. "well, i can't stop, mr. lincoln; i just called to see how you were," said the visitor. "oh! don't be in a hurry, sir," placidly remarked the executive. "thank you, sir; i'll call again," replied the visitor, executing a masterly retreat from a fearful contagion. "do, sir," said the president. "some people said they could not take very well to my proclamation, but now, i am happy to say, i have something that everybody can take." by this time the visitor was making a desperate break for pennsylvania avenue, which he reached on the double-quick and quite out of breath. on the d and d of may, , general hooker was most disastrously defeated at chancellorsville. several weeks later, when general lee had moved northward into pennsylvania, exacting contributions from towns, and destroying manufacturing establishments, and when the army of the potomac had hurried across maryland to attack him, general hooker resigned almost on the eve of the battle of gettysburg. general meade was placed in command, and his gallant conduct on that occasion gave great satisfaction to president lincoln, although he was sadly disappointed that the invaders had not been followed and annihilated. meanwhile general grant was besieging vicksburg, which had been well called "the gibraltar of the mississippi," and the people, who had become heart-sick of military engineering, began to lose courage. at one time president lincoln actually determined to supersede general grant by general banks, but the latter, on arriving at the scene of hostilities, saw that everything had been done that could be done, and that the end was near at hand. on the th of july, general pemberton asked for a proposition of terms, and general grant replied: "unconditional surrender." on the th of november, , president lincoln, accompanied by his cabinet, vice-president hamlin, the governors of several states, and a brilliant staff of officers, attended the dedication of the national cemetery at gettysburg. the address was delivered by edward everett, whose head was whitened with the snows of seventy winters, but whose form was as erect, his complexion as clear, and his voice as musical as it was when he had been a representative in congress years before. he had then said that he would buckle on his knapsack in defense of slavery; now he eulogized those who had laid down their lives in the work of its destruction. but his well memorized and finely rounded sentences were eclipsed by president lincoln's few words, read in an unmusical treble voice, and concluding with the sublime assertion, "that the nation shall, under god, have a new birth of freedom, and that governments of the people, by the people, and for the people shall not perish from the earth." [facsimile] geo. g. meade george gordon meade, born december th, , at cadiz, spain, where his father was located in the united states service; graduated at west point in ; entered the artillery service and was engaged in the seminole and mexican wars, and in august , was made brigadier-general of volunteers; major-general, ; commander-in- chief of the army of the potomac, june th, ; won the battle of gettysburg, july - , ; continued to command the army of the potomac until the close of the war. died at philadelphia, november th, . chapter xiii. civil and military intrigues. schuyler colfax was elected speaker of the house of representatives. when congress met on the th of december, , among the new members sworn in were generals garfield and schenck, of ohio, and deming, of connecticut, who had seen service; mr. james g. blaine, who had been the editor of the portland _advertiser_, and mr. james g. brooks, who had for many years edited the new york _express_, with brutus j. clay, of kentucky; george s. boutwell and oakes ames, of massachusetts, and other prominent men. one of the first acts of congress was to vote a medal of thanks to general grant for the victories which he had won at missionary ridge and at chattanooga. on one side of this medal was his profile, surrounded by a wreath of laurel, with his name, the date and authority of the presentation, and, on the encircling work, a star for each state. on the reverse was a figure of fame, seated in the heavens with emblems of prosperity and power; while upon various parts of the work the names of grant's chief victories were inscribed. at the new year's reception mr. lincoln was in excellent spirits, giving each passer-by a cordial greeting and a warm shake of the hand, while for some there was a quiet joke. mrs. lincoln stood at his right hand, wearing a purple silk dress trimmed with black velvet and lace, with a lace necktie fastened with a pearl pin; her head-dress was ornamented with a white plume. secretary seward was there, sphinx-like and impassible. governor chase seemed somewhat perplexed, balancing, perhaps, between the succession to the presidency or the chief justiceship; secretary wells' patriarchal form towered above the crowd, and there were a few senators and representatives, a majority of either house being, _on dit_, enjoying the hospitalities of new york. but the army officers, as they came in from the war department, headed by general halleck, presented an imposing display, some with epaulettes and feathers, but a majority in battle attire. the naval officers, headed by admiral davis, also presented a fine appearance. at twelve o'clock, the portals were thrown open, and in poured the people in a continuous stream. for two hours did they pass steadily along, a living tide, which swept in, eddied around the president and his wife, and then surged into the east room, which was a maelstrom of humanity, uniforms, black coats, gay female attire, and citizens generally. vice-president hamlin kept open house at his residence on f street, and the secretaries were all at their homes. at governor seward's, mrs. fred seward did the honors, assisted by miss seward and a friend from auburn, while at governor chase's his recently married daughter, mrs. senator sprague, and miss chase welcomed many friends. mayor wallach entertained his visitors with old virginia hospitality, and at many private residences there were the traditionary bowls of egg-nog and of apple-toddy. the friends of general grant in congress urged the passage of a bill to revive the grade of lieutenant-general of the army. it met with some opposition, especially from general garfield, who opposed the bill mainly on the ground that it would be improper at that stage of the war to determine and award the greatest prize of the conflict in the way of military preferment to any one of the distinguished generals of the army. it would, he thought, be far more fitting for congress to wait until war was over, and see whose head towered above the rest in the army, and then give this crown to the one whose head had risen highest. notwithstanding this opposition, the bill was passed by both houses, approved by the president on the st day of march, , and the next day he sent to the senate the nomination of ulysses s. grant, which was confirmed immediately, and general grant was summoned to washington in person. he wore a plain, undress uniform and a felt hat of the regulation pattern, the sides of the top crushed together. he generally stood or walked with his left hand in his trousers pocket, and had in his mouth an unlighted cigar, the end of which he chewed restlessly. his square-cut features, when at rest, appeared as if carved from mahogany, and his firmly set under-jaw indicated the unyielding tenacity of a bulldog, while the kind glances of his gray eyes showed that he possessed the softer traits. he always appeared intensely preoccupied, and would gaze at any one who approached him with an inquiring air, followed by a glance of recollection and a grave nod of recognition. it was not long after his arrival before secretary stanton realized that he was no longer supreme, and the army of the potomac, which had virtually dictated to its successive commanders, found that the time had come when obedience was imperative, no matter what the loss of life might be. when general grant called on the president, he met with a hearty reception, and mr. lincoln, taking him into a private room, repeated to him a story from a comic article by orpheus c. kerr, satirically criticising the conduct of the war. it was a story about captain bob shorty and the mackerel brigade and the anaconda policy-- something about generals in the field being hampered by a flood of orders. when he had finished his story, he told general grant that he did not care to know what he wanted to do, only to know what was wanted. he wished him to beat lee. how he did it was his own lookout. he said he did not wish to know his plans or exercise any scrutiny over his operations. so long as he beat the rebel army he was satisfied. the formal presentation of the new commission as lieutenant-general was made in the presence of cabinet officers and other distinguished guests, and was in all respects a notable historic scene. on the th of march, general grant ordered a forward movement, and general meade crossed the rappahannock with the army of the potomac one hundred and seventeen thousand strong. it was understood that soon after the forward movement was commenced, general meade hesitated about crossing the stream, under a heavy fire, but general grant peremptorily ordered him to move forward. this was alluded to in a letter sent to a philadelphia newspaper by mr. edward crapsey, a native of cincinnati, who had been reputably connected with several leading journals. he said in his correspondence: "history will record, but newspapers cannot, that on one eventful night during the present campaign grant's presence saved the army and the nation, too. not that general meade was on the point of committing a great blunder, unwittingly, but his devotion to his country made him loath to lose her last army of what he deemed a last chance. grant assumed the responsibility, and we are still 'on to richmond!'" when the newspaper containing this paragraph reached the army of the potomac, general meade issued an order that mr. crapsey be arrested, paraded through the lines of the army, with a placard marked "libeler of the press," and then be put without the lines and not be permitted to return. this humiliating punishment was carried out in the most offensive manner possible, and mr. crapsey, after having been escorted through the camp on horseback, bearing the offensive label, was sent back to washington. the terrific battle of the wilderness followed, and general grant telegraphed for recruits, saying, "we have ended this sixth day of very heavy fighting. the result at this time is very much in our favor. our losses have been heavy, as well as those of the enemy. i propose to fight it out on this line if it takes all summer." general lee, wishing to force general grant back to the defense of washington, ordered a corps under general early to attack the union capital, which was thought to be guarded only by a few regiments of heavy artillery and by a home brigade of quartermasters' clerks, improvised by quartermaster-general meigs. on the th of july, , the advance-guard of the confederates, commanded by general breckinridge, came within the defenses of washington, where they were, to their great surprise, confronted by the veteran sixth corps, under general wright, and after a few volleys had been exchanged they precipitously retreated, and hurriedly recrossed the potomac. this brief engagement was witnessed from the parapet of fort stevens by president lincoln, who would not retire until an officer was shot down within a few feet of him, when he reluctantly stepped below. sheltered from the sharp-shooters' fire, cabinet officers and a group of society ladies watched the fortunes of the fight. it was no mock-battle that they witnessed on the outskirts of the national metropolis. stretchers soon conveyed the dying and wounded to the hospital in the rear of the fort, and the graves remain there of those who fought and fell, with the president of the united states and his competitor at the preceding election on opposite sides, interested spectators of the scene. meanwhile mr. chase, provoked because the president overruled him, had resigned his position as secretary of the treasury, and mr. fessenden had been appointed in his place. mr. chase desired the presidential nomination, and an organization was formed with senator pomeroy, of kansas, at its head to secure the election of chase delegates to the next national republican convention. meanwhile chief justice taney died in october, , and mr. sumner immediately urged the president to appoint mr. chase as his successor. there was then much dissatisfaction with mr. lincoln's administration, and the friends of mr. chase were openly and secretly urging his nomination. when mr. sumner came to washington he renewed his request that mr. chase be appointed, and he had several interviews with mr. lincoln on the subject. one day mr. lincoln proposed to send for mr. chase and frankly tell him that he wanted to nominate him as chief justice, that he would make the greatest and best chief justice the country had ever had, and that he would do so if he would only give up all idea of being elected president. mr. sumner replied that such a statement, however frank it might be, would never answer, as it would not only expose the president to criticism as attempting to purchase an opponent, but it would be offensive to mr. chase, as an attempt to extort from him a pledge that he would never be a candidate for the presidency. mr. lincoln, who was quick-witted, saw the force of mr. sumner's argument, and pleasantly said: "well, take this card and write on it the name of the man you desire to have appointed." mr. sumner wrote "salmon p. chase," and salmon p. chase was promptly nominated on the th of december, . mr. sumner urged the immediate confirmation of the appointment, and having carried it, hastened from the senate chamber to congratulate the new chief justice. as he came out of the room in which he conveyed the news he met mrs. kate sprague, who shook her index finger at him and said: "and you, too, mr. sumner? are you in the business of shelving papa? but never mind, i will defeat you all!" mr. sumner used to relate this incident as showing how he had been rewarded for what he regarded as one of the most praiseworthy acts of his life. besides, mr. lincoln was not the only candidate for the presidential chair who would lose a rival by the appointment of judge chase. mr. sumner had strong aspirations in that direction, but i doubt if he regarded the bench of the supreme court as a stepping-stone to the white house. had the senate found mr. johnson guilty on the impeachment charges, and had ben wade thus become president, mr. sumner would have been his secretary of state, and i am not sure that this did not influence mr. fessenden in his vote of "not guilty." had general grant offered mr. sumner the same position it would have been accepted with the understanding that he was to direct the foreign policy of the country untrammeled. [facsimile] joseph hooker joseph hooker, born at hadley, mass., november th, ; graduated at west point, ; served in the mexican war; resigned, but re- entered the service as brigadier-general, may, ; major-general, ; corps commander, september, ; division commander, december, ; commander of the army of the potomac, january, ; transferred to the west and served from lookout mountain to atlanta; commanded the northern department, september, , to july, ; retired october th, ; died, . chapter xiv. events both sad and joyous. to gratify mr. seward, andrew johnson, of tennessee, had been placed on the republican ticket and elected vice-president. mr. lincoln's re-inauguration took place under circumstances widely different from those which attended his inauguration in . then seven states had seceded from the union, and the president had taken the oath of office surrounded by enemies whose disposition to assassinate was stronger than their courage to execute. at the re-inauguration the federal government was a substance as well as a name, controlling great armies and navies, and having nearly conquered the confederacy. the th of march, , was rainy and unpleasant, while the streets and sidewalks were encrusted with from two to ten inches of muddy paste, through which men and horses plodded wearily. the procession was a very creditable one, including the model of a monitor on wheels, and drawn by four white horses. it had a revolving turret containing a small cannon, which was frequently fired as the procession moved. there was a large delegation of philadelphia firemen, the washington city fire department, the colored grand lodge of odd fellows, and the typographical society, with a press on a car from which a programme was printed and distributed. many other civic bodies joined the demonstration, and added to its immensity and impressiveness. in the senate chamber there was the usual attendance of the diplomatic corps, the supreme court, those officers of the army and navy who had received the thanks of congress, and a number of prominent citizens. mr. lincoln, on his arrival at the capitol, was shown to the president's room, where, as is customary during the closing hour of a session, he signed several bills. mr. johnson was escorted to the vice-president's room opposite, where he was welcomed by mr. hamlin, the retiring vice-president. there was nothing unusual in his appearance, except that he did not seem in robust health. the usual courtesies being exchanged, the conversation proceeded on ordinary topics for a few moments, when mr. johnson asked mr. hamlin if he had any liquor in his room, stating that he was sick and nervous. he was told that there was none, but it could be sent for. brandy being indicated, a bottle was brought from the senate restaurant by one of the pages. it was opened, a tumbler provided, and mr. johnson poured it about two-thirds full. mr. hamlin said, in telling it, that if mr. johnson ordinarily took such drinks as that he must be able to stand a great deal. after a few minutes the bottle was placed in one of the book-cases out of sight. when, near twelve o'clock, the sergeant-at-arms, mr. brown, came to the door and suggested that the gentlemen get ready to enter the senate chamber, mr. hamlin arose, moved to the door, near which the sergeant- at-arms stood, and suggested to mr. johnson to come also. the latter got up and walked nearly to the door, when, turning to mr. hamlin, he said: "excuse me a moment," and walked back hastily to where the bottle was deposited. mr. hamlin saw him take it out, pour as large a quantity as before into the glass, and drink it down like water. they then went into the senate chamber. to the surprise of everybody, the vice-president, when called on to take the oath of office, made a maudlin, drunken speech. he addressed the diplomatic corps and the heads of departments in the most incoherent, and in some instances offensive, manner. the republican senators were horror-stricken, and colonel forney vainly endeavored to make him conclude his harangue; but he would not be stopped; the brandy had made him crazily drunk, and the mortifying scene was prolonged until he was told that it was necessary to go with the president to the eastern front of the capitol. mr. lincoln's inaugural was delivered before the assembled multitude in front of the capitol in a full, clear tone of voice. he went on to say: "both parties deprecated war, but one of them would _make_ war rather than let the nation survive; and the other would _accept_ war rather than let it perish. and the war came." then there arose a deafening shout, for the people felt that the case had been well stated, and they were all disposed to _accept_ war rather than let the nation perish. as the president closed his address chief justice chase arose and stood facing him. the oath of office was then administered, mr. lincoln exhibiting by his manner and gestures the full concurrence of mind and heart with the intent of the obligation. as he concluded the ceremony by taking from the chief justice the bible upon which he had been sworn, and reverently pressing his lips to it, there was a marked sensation through the vast audience, followed by a responsive cheer. then the cannon near by thundered forth the announcement that the president of the people's choice had been inaugurated, the bands struck up the national airs, and there were hearty rounds of cheers. the ball on the evening of mr. lincoln's re-inauguration was held in a large hall of the department of the interior, which had just been completed. it was brilliantly lighted and dressed with flags. mr. lincoln and speaker colfax entered together, followed by mrs. lincoln upon the arm of charles sumner. mr. lincoln wore a full black suit, with white kid gloves, and mrs. lincoln was attired in white silk, with a splendid overdress of rich lace, point lace bertha and puffs of silk, white fan and gloves. her hair was brushed back smoothly, falling in curls upon the neck, while a wreath of jasmines and violets encircled her head. her ornaments were of pearl. having promenaded the entire length of the room, they mounted the few steps leading to the seats placed for them upon the dais, while the crowd gathered densely in front of them. the army and navy were well represented, adding greatly to the beauty of the scene in the bright uniforms that everywhere flashed before the eyes. admiral farragut, general banks, and general hooker shone conspicuously, as did also general halleck, who stood, smiling and happy, to receive greetings from his friends. the members of the cabinet assumed the seats upon the dais reserved for them, and up to twelve o'clock the crowd continued to pour into the room. at twelve o'clock the door was opened for supper, and the crowd which had been gathered about it for half an hour rushed forward. such a crush and scramble as there was! little screams, broken exclamations, and hurried protestations against the rush were heard upon all sides, but no one heeded or cared for anything but to find a place at the table, at one end of which stood the president, mrs. lincoln, and their suite. the supper scene was one never to be forgotten. aside from its luxury and splendor, there was so much that was ridiculously laughable connected with it, one naturally looks back upon it in keen amusement. the tables having been instantly filled up, all the spaces between the large glass cases containing the office property were soon crowded to their utmost capacity. many a fair creature dropped upon the benches with exclamations of delight, while their attendants sought to supply them from the table, to which they had to fight their way. those who could not get seats stood around in groups, or sank down upon the floor in utter abandonment from fatigue. it was curious to sit and watch the crowd, to hear the gay laugh, the busy hum of conversation, and the jingle of plates, spoons, and glasses; to see hands uplifted, bearing aloft huge dishes of salads and creams, loaves of cake and stores of candies, not infrequently losing plentiful portions on the way. many an elegant dress received its donation of cream, many a tiny slipper bore away crushed sweets and meats, and lay among fragments of glass and plates upon the floor. meanwhile, it was "thundering all around the heavens," and every night general grant, in his humble headquarters at city point, knew exactly what had been done. in his midnight despatches to president lincoln which were telegraphed all over the loyal states, he narrated the day's success, giving full credit, when necessary, to the original genius of sherman, the daring pluck of sheridan, the cool determination of thomas, the military ability of terry, and the sagacious gallantry of schofield, but never alluding to himself as having directed these subordinates on their respective paths to victory. general lee and his brave army saw that the end was at hand. they could no longer be deceived by the verbose platitudes of politicians about foreign intervention or strategic purposes, and they saw the stars and stripes approaching on every hand. for four long years they had fought for their hearths and homes with a bravery that had elicited the admiration of their opponents, but steady, ceaseless fighting had thinned their ranks and there were no more men to take their places. they had been out-manoeuvred, out-marched, and out- generaled, while hard knocks and repeated blows were daily diminishing their commands. at length, richmond was captured, and general lee formally surrendered at appomattox court-house, ending the greatest civil war recorded in history. as the union armies advanced, thousands of unemployed and impecunious colored people sought refuge in the district of columbia. gathering up their scanty chattels, they made their way from the houses of their masters to washington, the mecca of their imaginations, with a firm belief that they would there find freedom and plenty. it was a leap in the dark, but they imagined it a leap from darkness into light, and when they reached the national metropolis, with its public buildings and its busy throng, they believed that at last they had entered the promised land. free from care at the first, they loitered and lounged and slept and laughed in sunny places. but no feast was offered them; they were invited to no hospitable homes; the men were no longer offered a few new treasury notes of small value if they would enlist, and be counted on the quota of some northern town, which would pay the agents five hundred or six hundred dollars for each recruit thus obtained. they were strangers in a strange land, despised by their own people who were residents, and crowded into stable lofts and rude hovels, where many of them, before they had fairly tasted the blessings of freedom, sickened and suffered and died. on the night of thursday, the th of april, , mr. lincoln made his last address to the people who loved him so well. richmond had fallen, davis had fled, lee had surrendered, and on the previous day the formal laying down of arms had taken place. the white house was illuminated, as were the other public buildings, and deafening shouts arose from the crowds assembled outside, jubilant over the glorious victories. mr. lincoln had written out some remarks, knowing well that great importance would be attached to whatever he said. these he read to the rejoicing throng from loose sheets, holding a candle in his hand as he read. as he finished each page he would throw it to the ground, where it was picked up by master thad, who was at his father's side, and who occasionally shouted, "give me another paper!" when mr. lincoln had concluded his speech, he said: "now i am about to call upon the band for a tune that our adversaries over the way have endeavored to appropriate. but we fairly captured it yesterday and the attorney-general gave me his legal opinion that it is now our property. so i ask the band to play 'dixie!'" [facsimile] your obtservt r elee robert edward lee, born at stratford, westmoreland county, virginia, january th, ; graduated with first honors at west point in ; served in the mexican war; resigned in , and was, early in , appointed commander of the armies about richmond; early in was made commander-in-chief of all the confederate forces; surrendered at appomattox, april th, ; became president of washington college at lexington, virginia, where he died october th, . chapter xv. plunged into sorrow. washington city was delirious with gladness when general grant "came marching home," and the telegraph wires from every part of the country recently in rebellion vibrated with the tidings of victory and submission. orders from the war department went out over the loyal north proclaiming the absolute overthrow of the rebellion, the return of peace, the stopping of recruiting, the raising of the blockade, the reduction of national expenditures, and the removal of all military restrictions upon trade and commerce, so far as might be consistent with public safety. drafting had been one of the most grievous burdens of the war, but it had been rigorously pressed in all states which had not otherwise furnished their quotas of troops. when the surrender occurred, the dread wheel was in operation in many places, and drawn men were in custody of the proper officials preparing to go to the front. but all this was stopped, and none were happier than those who involuntarily had been held thus for military duty, but who now became free. the th of april was a day of general rejoicing at the metropolis. the stars and stripes waved over the public and many of the private buildings, business was suspended, and men went about in groups indulging in libations to the return of peace. as night came on the departments and many private houses were illuminated, bonfires blazed in the streets, and fireworks lit up the sky. in the forts and camps around the city blazed huge bonfires, while the heavy siege guns thundered their joyful approval of peace. it was announced in the newspapers of that day that president lincoln, accompanied by general grant, would attend ford's theatre the next night. the president did extend an invitation to his victorious commander to accompany him, but general grant, always adverse to public demonstrations, declined, that he might go at once to burlington, new jersey, with mrs. grant, to "see the children." the presidential party consequently was only four in number--president lincoln, his wife, miss harris, and major rathbone. only one of the two stage-boxes which had been decorated for the party was occupied. when the president appeared, about a quarter before nine o'clock, the play was stopped, the orchestra played "hail to the chief," and the crowded audience gave a succession of vociferous cheers. the play proceeded. mr. lincoln and his party were in fine spirits, intently watching the performance, when a pistol-shot was heard, and the first impression of every one was that it was fired on the stage. so thought major rathbone, until, looking around, he saw smoke and a man with a drawn dagger in his hand. the truth indistinctly flashed into his mind; he arose and seized the unknown man with both hands. a momentary scuffle ensued, in which the assassin made a thrust at the major, grazing his breast and piercing his left arm near the shoulder. something seemed to give way about the man's coat collar, and he disappeared. the smoke prevented the major or miss harris from getting a fair view of the fellow, and mrs. lincoln did not see him until he leaped out of the box. her first impression was that it was her husband who leaped out. meantime the assassin appeared on the edge of the box, crying "_sic semper tyrannis!_" and flourishing a dagger, he leaped to the stage. he crossed the stage rapidly, exclaiming, "revenge!" and, again flourishing his dagger, disappeared, saying "i have done it!" though quickly pursued, it was too late. leaving the theatre by a back door, he mounted his horse in waiting there and was gone. the president was seen to turn in his seat, and persons leaped upon the stage and clambered up to the box. his clothes were stripped from his shoulders but no wound was at first found. he was entirely insensible. further search revealed the fact that he had been shot in the head, and he was carried to the nearest house, immediately opposite. mrs. lincoln, in a frantic condition, was assisted in crossing the street with the president, at the same time uttering heart-rending shrieks. surgeons were soon in attendance, but it was evident that the wound was mortal. it was a night of terror. the long roll was beaten in the distant camps, and the soldiers throughout the encircling fortifications stood to their arms; mounted men patrolled the streets in every direction; the tolling of the church-bells fell heavily on the ear and entered deep into all hearts, and it was not only president lincoln, but it was reported that mr. seward and other members of the cabinet had been assassinated. mr. seward was indeed murderously assaulted upon his sick-bed, but he escaped with his life. amid these terrors the sleepless citizens fell from their heights of joy to the depths of gloom. with the morning came the president's death at an early hour. as the bells tolled his departure, the bloom of the national colors was shrouded in black, and the weather was cheerless, cold, and damp. if ever nature sympathized with man since the time when the sun was darkened and the dead walked the streets of jerusalem, it certainly seemed to do so on the memorable th of april, which ushered in the saddest news that ever fell upon the ears of the american people. it was known, beyond a doubt, before mr. lincoln breathed his last, that his assassin was john wilkes booth, a son of the great tragedian, then twenty-seven years of age. he had played stock parts at washington and other southern and western cities, where he had given unmistakable evidence of genuine dramatic talent. he had, added to his native genius, the advantage of a voice musically full and rich; a face almost classic in outline; features highly intellectual; a piercing, black eye, capable of expressing the fiercest and the tenderest passion and emotion, and a commanding figure and impressive stage address. in his transition from the quiet and reflective passages of a part to fierce and violent outbreaks of passion, his sudden and impetuous manner had in it something of that electrical force and power which made the elder booth so celebrated, and called up afresh to the memory of men of the preceding generation the presence, voice, and manner of his father. convivial in his habits, sprightly and genial in conversation, john wilkes booth made many friends among the young men of his own age, and he was a favorite among the ladies at the national hotel, where he boarded. the funeral honors paid to president lincoln at washington, on the th of april, were a fitting tribute to the illustrious dead. the dawn that was ushered in by the heavy booms of salutes of minute- guns from the fortifications surrounding the city never broke purer or brighter or clearer than on this morning. the day that followed was the loveliest of the season. the heavens were undimmed by even one passing cloud. at a very early hour people began to assemble in the vicinity of the executive mansion, which was almost entirely draped in crape, as were also the buildings, public and private, in the neighborhood. all over the city public houses and private residences were closed. at twelve o'clock the ceremonies commenced in the east room, whose ceilings were draped, and whose resplendent mirrors were hung on the borders with emblems of mourning and white drapery, which gave the room a dim light that was adapted to the solemnity of the mournful scene. all that remained of abraham lincoln, sixteenth president of the united states, lay on the grand and gloomy catafalque, which was relieved, however, by choice flowers. the spectators of the sorrowful scene were not merely the representatives of our people in congress and of state, but the executive officers and cabinet ministers, the chief justice of the united states and his associates on the bench of that venerated tribunal, chieftains who protected our homes by service in the field and on the ocean, the clergy, and multitudes in various positions in the affairs of state and from private life, and an imposing array of ambassadors, with their less elevated attachés, with gorgeous decorations. perhaps the most touching grief, and the one which moved all present, was that of little thaddeus lincoln, a favorite son. he and his elder brother, robert, were the only mourners of the family present. during the service president johnson stood beside the remains of his predecessor, and during the oration, general grant sat at the head of the corpse. the rev. dr. l. hall, rector of the church of the epiphany, rose and read portions of the service for the burial of the dead. bishop simpson offered a prayer, in which he fervently alluded to the emancipation and other deeds performed by president lincoln. the rev. dr. gurley then read a funeral oration. at two p. m. the funeral procession started, all of the bells in the city tolling, and minute-guns firing from all the forts. pennsylvania avenue, from the treasury to the capitol, was entirely clear from curb to curb. preceding the hearse was the military escort, over one mile long, the arms of each officer and man being draped with black. at short intervals bands discoursed dirges and drums beat muffled sounds. after the artillery came the civic procession, headed by marshal lamon, the surgeon-general, and physicians who attended the president. at this point the hearse appeared, and the thousands, as it passed, uncovered their heads. the funeral car was large. the lower base was fourteen feet long and seven feet wide, and eight feet from the ground. the upper base, upon which the coffin rested, was eleven feet long and five feet below the top of the canopy. the canopy was surmounted by a gilt eagle, covered with crape. the hearse was entirely covered with cloth, velvet, crape, and alpaca. the seat was covered with cloth, and on each side was a splendid lamp. the car was fifteen feet high, and the coffin was so placed as to afford a full view to all spectators. it was drawn by six gray horses, each attended by a groom. the pall-bearers were, on the part of the senate, foster, of connecticut; morgan, of new york; johnson, of maryland; yates, of illinois; wade, of ohio, and conness, of california. on the part of the house, davis, of massachusetts; coffroth, of pennsylvania; smith, of kentucky; colfax, of indiana; worthington, of nevada, and washburne, of illinois. on the part of the army, lieutenant- general grant, major-general halleck, and brigadier-general nichols. on the part of the navy, vice-admiral farragut, rear-admiral shubrick, and colonel jacob ziellen, of the marine corps. civilians, o. h. browning, george p. ashmun, thomas corwin, and simon cameron. after the hearse came the family, consisting only of robert lincoln and his little brother and their relatives. mrs. lincoln did not go out. next was president johnson, riding in a carriage with general auger on the right, and general slough on the left, mounted. following him were the cabinet, chief justice chase and the supreme bench, and the diplomatic corps, who were then succeeded by senators and representatives. the procession then reached two miles more, and was composed of public officers, delegations from various cities and members of civic societies, together with another large display of military. some five thousand colored men were a prominent feature toward the end. the procession was two hours and ten minutes in passing a given point, and was about three miles long. the centre of it had reached the capitol and was returning before the rear had left willard's. in one single detachment were over six thousand civil employees of the government. arriving at the capitol, the remains were placed in the centre of the rotunda, beneath the mighty dome, which had been draped in mourning inside and out. the rev. dr. gurley, in the presence of hundreds, impressively pronounced the burial service. president lincoln's remains were taken from the rotunda at six o'clock on the morning of april st, and escorted to the train which was to convey them to springfield. the remains of little willie lincoln, who died in february, , and which had been placed in the vault at oak hill cemetery, were removed to the depot about the same time, and placed in the same car with the remains of his lamented father. [facsimile] andrew johnson andrew johnson was born at raleigh, north carolina, december th, ; was a representative in congress from tennessee, - ; was governor of tennessee, - ; was a united states senator from tennessee from december th, , until he was appointed military governor of that state; was elected vice-president of the united states on the republican ticket with abraham lincoln and was inaugurated march th, ; became president after the assassination of president lincoln, april th, ; was impeached and acquitted, may th, ; was again elected united states senator from tennessee, serving at the special session of , and died in carter county, tennessee, july st, . chapter xvi. the conspiracy trial--the grand reviews. andrew johnson took the oath of office as president of the united states, administered to him by chief justice chase, at his room in the kirkwood house. he sent word to mrs. lincoln to occupy the white house so long as might be agreeable to her, and he accepted the hospitality of mr. sam hooper, a merchant prince, who then represented a boston district in the house of representatives, and occupied his own comfortable house at the corner of fourteenth and h streets. every morning president johnson went to the treasury department, where he received scores of delegations, and his speeches to them foreshadowed a reconstruction policy which would deal severely with the leading secessionists. in response to governor andrew, who called at the head of a delegation of citizen of massachusetts, and assured him of the support of the old bay state, he made a long speech, he defined crimes, saying: "it is time the american people should be taught to understand that treason is a crime--not in revenge, not in anger--but that treason is a crime, and should be esteemed as such, and punished as such." mr. johnson went on to say that he wished "to discriminate between criminals guilty of treason. there are," he said, "well educated, intelligent traitors, who concert schemes of treason and urge others to force numbers of ignorant people to carry them." money was lavishly expended in securing the arrest of those who had conspired with booth to assassinate president lincoln, vice- president johnson, secretary seward, and general grant. in a fortnight the prisoners had been arrested (with the exception of booth, who having been tracked to a barn, and refusing to come out, had been shot) and a military commission had been organized for their trial in the old penitentiary near the arsenal, where they were confined. it was clearly shown before the commission, of which general david hunter was president and general joseph holt the judge advocate, that leading secessionists in canada had supplied booth with funds for the abduction of president lincoln, but there was no proof that they were privy to the assassination. booth squandered the money received by him in coal-oil speculations, and in his attention to an estimable young lady, whose photograph was found in his pocket-book after his death, but whose name was honorably kept a secret. mrs. surratt naturally attracted the most attention as she entered the room where the military commission was held every morning, the iron which connected her ankles clanking as she walked. she was rather a buxom-looking woman, dressed in deep black, with feline gray eyes, which watched the whole proceedings. the evidence showed that she had been fully aware of the plot. her house was used by booth, payne, atzerott, and harold as a meeting place. her son went to richmond and then to canada with information, and he had only returned immediately before the assassination. he was in washington that day and night, and four days later had reached montreal. she took the arms to surrattsville, to the tavern which she owned, and the day of the assassination rode out with a team booth had furnished money to hire, to say that the arms she had left and the field-glass she took would be wanted that night. payne, after attacking secretary seward, and vainly attempting to escape, had called at her house in the night, and sought admittance, but an officer was in charge, and payne, not having a plausible explanation of his unseasonable call, was arrested. mrs. surratt was clearly shown to have been an actor in the plot, but many doubted whether she should have been hung, and regretted that neither her confessor nor her daughter was permitted to see president johnson and ask his clemency. the male prisoners, heavily ironed, were seated side by side in a dock interspersed with officers. sam arnold was of respectable appearance, about thirty years of age, with dark hair and beard and a good countenance. spangler, the stage-carpenter, was a chunky, light-haired, rather bloated and whisky-soaked looking man. atzerott had a decided lager beer look, with heavy blue eyes, light hair, and sallow complexion. o'laughlin might have been taken for native of cuba, short and slender, with luxuriant black locks, a delicate moustache and whiskers, and vivacious black eyes. payne was the incarnation of a roman gladiator, tall, muscular, defiant, with a low forehead, large blue eyes, thin lips, and black, straight hair, with much of the animal and little of the intellectual. dave harold was what the ladies call a pretty little man, with cherry cheeks, pouting lips, an incipient beard, dark hazel eyes, and dark, long hair. last on the bench was dr. mudd, whose ankles and wrists were joined by chains instead of the unyielding bars which joined the bracelets and anklets of the others. he was about sixty years of age, with a blonde complexion, reddish face, and blue eyes. the prisoners were allowed counsel and such witnesses as they desired to have summoned. the commission concluded its labors on the th of june. on the th of july the president approved the finding and sentence, and ordered the hanging of mrs. surratt, harold, atzerott, and payne to take place on the th. the sentence of execution was carried into effect, and arnold, mudd, spangler, and o'laughlin were sent to the military prison on the dry tortugas. meanwhile the victorious armies of the union had been congregated at washington, where they passed in review before president johnson and general grant, and then marched home and into history. on the d of may the "army of the potomac," and on the th the "division of the mississippi," swept through the metropolis for hours, the successive waves of humanity crested with gleaming sabres and burnished bayonets, while hundreds of bands made the air ring with patriotic music. loyal voices cheered and loyal hands applauded as the heroic guardians of the national ark of constitutional liberty passed along. neither did the legions of imperial rome, returning in triumph along the appian way, or the conquering hosts of napoleon the great, when welcomed back from their italian campaign by the parisians, or the british guards, when they returned from the crimea, receive a more heartfelt ovation than was awarded to the laurel-crowned "boys in blue." great expectation concerning this review was indulged throughout the nation. this home-coming of the "boys in blue" was a matter interesting every hamlet of the north and almost every home. but more than the welcome was clustering about the scene. these grand armies and their famous leaders had become historic, and worthily so, for they had endured and achieved, and victory now was theirs. the newspapers proclaimed the grandeur of the coming event; the railroads extended their best accommodations to travelers, and the people responded in immense numbers. with the soldiery and the civilians, washington was densely packed, but cheerful enthusiasm appeared on every side. two hundred thousand veteran troops, trained on a hundred battlefields, and commanded by the leading generals of the service, were there to be reviewed by the lieutenant-general who commanded them all, by the president of the united states, by his cabinet, by the dignitaries of our own and other nations, and by the innumerable throng of private citizens whose homes had been saved, and whose hearts now beat with grateful joy. in those proud columns were to march the army of the potomac, the army of the james, the army of georgia, the army of the tennessee, and the cavalry led by the indomitable phil. sheridan. to behold such a spectacle men came from every portion of the north; fathers brought their sons to see this historic pageant, while historians, poets, novelists, and painters thronged to see the unparalleled sight and there to gather material and inspiration for their future works. in that great display were to march heroes whose names will live while history endures. the night before the review of the army of the potomac was wet and dreary enough, but as day dawned the clouds disappeared, and the scene in maryland avenue, between the long bridge and the capitol, and on the large plain east of that building, was warlike and interesting. brigades marching at route step, bivouac fires, around which groups were eating their breakfast, orderly sergeants insisting in very naughty yet impressive language on the use of sand paper on muskets already bright, musicians rehearsing some new march, little boys bracing up drums half as high as themselves, important adjutants riding to and fro to hurry up the formation of their respective regiments, elegantly attired aides-de-camp galloping like mad and endeavoring to avoid mud puddles, batteries thundering along, as if eager to unlimber and fire at some enemy--in short, it was fifty acres, more or less, of uniforms, horses, flags, and bayonets, in apparently inextricable confusion. yet one man ran the machine. a few words from him reduced confusion to order, and the apparent snarl of humanity and horses began to be unraveled in a single, unbroken line, when general meade gave the single word, "forward!" exactly as the watches marked nine the head of the column moved from the capitol toward the reviewing stand along pennsylvania avenue. the reviewing stand, erected on the sidewalk in front of the white house, was a long pavilion, with a tight roof, decorated with flags and bearing the names of the principal victories won. in this pavilion were seated the assistant secretaries and heads of bureaus and diplomatic corps. president johnson occupied the central chair in a projection from the centre of the front, with lieutenant- general grant, major-general sherman, and the members of the cabinet at his right and left hand. the reviewing pavilion was flanked by two long stands, occupied by officials, ladies, and wounded soldiers. opposite the reviewing pavilion was another on the north sidewalk for congressional and state officials, and on the flanks of this pavilion were others, erected at private expense, for the families of officers on parade and for the citizens of ohio, new jersey, connecticut, and massachusetts. the army of the potomac was six hours in passing the reviewing stand. as each brigade commander saluted, president johnson would rise and lift his hat. general grant sat during the whole time immovable, except that he would occasionally make some commendatory comment as a gallant officer or brave regiment passed. the foreign ministers appeared deeply impressed by the spectacle. it was the subject of general regret in the army of the potomac that president lincoln was not there to review those who idolized him. for four long years they had guarded him at the federal metropolis, often fighting desperately under generals whose ability to command was doubtful. meanwhile the dandies of mcclellan's force had become veteran campaigners, accustomed to the exposure of the bivouac, the fatigue of the march, the poor comfort of hard- tack, the storm of battle, and the suffering of sickness and wounds. they had watched on many a picket line the movements of a wily foe; they paced their weary rounds on guard on many a wet and cheerless night; they had gone through the smoke and breasted the shock and turned the tide of many a hard-fought field. the division of the mississippi, which had swept like a cyclone "from atlanta to the sea," was reviewed the next day. general sherman, by granting amnesty to joe johnson's army, had incurred the displeasure of secretary stanton, who had intended that he should not have headed his victorious legions; but he was not to be separated from his "boys." as he passed along pennsylvania avenue the multitude of spectators sent up shouts that must have made his heart leap, and the enthusiasm increased as he approached the presidential stand. he "rode up with the light of battle in his face," holding his hat and his bridle-rein in his left hand, and saluting with the good sword in his right hand, his eyes fixed upon his commander-in-chief. his horse, decked with flowers, seemed to be inspired with the spirit of the occasion, and appeared anxious to "keep step to the music of the union." after passing the president, general sherman wheeled to the left, dismounted, and joined the reviewing party, where he was greeted by governor dennison. he shook hands cordially with president johnson and general grant, but when secretary stanton advanced with outstretched hand he remarked, "i do not care to shake hands with clerks," and turned away. never was there a more complete "cut direct" than was given by the central figure of that grand pageant, whose brain and hand had guided this vast multitude of stalwart braves, leading them to victory, glory, and final triumph. the troops displayed a fine physique, and had apparently profited from their foraging among the fat turkeys of georgia. their faces were finely bronzed, and they marched with a firm, elastic step that seemed capable of carrying them straight to canada, or by a flank movement to mexico, in a short space of time. any representation of sherman's army would have been incomplete which omitted the notorious "bummers." at the end of each corps appeared the strangest huddle of animation, equine, canine, bovine, and human, that ever civilian beheld--mules, asses, horses, colts, cows, sheep, pigs, goats, raccoons, chickens, and dogs led by negroes blacker then erebus. every beast of burden was loaded to its capacity with tents, baggage, knapsacks, hampers, panniers, boxes, valises, kettles, pots, pans, dishes, demijohns, bird-cages, cradles, mirrors, fiddles, clothing, pickaninnies, and an occasional black woman. in effect sherman gave a sample of his army as it appeared on the march through the carolinas. some of the negroes appeared to have three days' rations in their ample pouches, and ten days' more on the animals they led. the fraternity was complete; the goats, dogs, mules, and horses were already veterans in the field, and trudged along as if the brute world were nothing but a vast march with a daily camp. thus were we shown how sherman was enabled to live upon the enemy. [facsimile] yours truly john a. logan john a. logan was born in jackson county, illinois, february th, ; studied and practiced law; was a member of the state legislature; was a representative from illinois, - ; was commissioned in september, , colonel of the thirty-first illinois volunteers; was promoted to brigadier-general in , and major-general in , especially distinguishing himself at belmont, fort donelson, pittsburgh landing, vicksburg, chattanooga, atlanta, and as commander of the army of the tennessee; was congressman-at-large from illinois, - ; was united states senator from illinois, - , again in , and was re-elected in , for six years. chapter xvii. president johnson surrenders. president johnson was by nature and temperament squarely disposed toward justice and the right, but he could not resist the concerted appeals made to him by the dominant whites at the south. early in may, rules were issued governing trade with the states lately in rebellion, but in june these restrictions were removed, and there rapidly followed executive orders restoring virginia to her federal relations, establishing provisional governments in the southern states, and granting a general amnesty to all persons engaged in the rebellion, except certain classes, who could receive pardon by special application. these acts speedily alienated the president from the party whose votes elected him, but he was always "sure he was right, even in his errors." andrew johnson's daily life as president was a very simple one. he arose promptly at six o'clock in the morning, read the newspapers, and breakfasted with his family at eight. going into the executive office at nine, he remained there until four in the afternoon, devoting himself to conferences with cabinet officers, his official correspondence, and the reception of visitors when he had leisure. at four o'clock he went into his family sitting-room, dined at five, and after dinner took a walk or a carriage-drive. from nine until eleven he received visitors, and then retired for the night. he had a few favorites who went into his room without being announced. prominent among them was mr. s. p. hanscom, of massachusetts, who had been in early life a prominent abolitionist and temperance lecturer. during the johnson administration mr. hanscom edited the washington _republican_, and obtained office for applicants for a pecuniary consideration. when mr. buffington refused to pay the stipulated fee for his appointment, mr. hanscom published a handbill, in which he unblushingly related the circumstances and denounced the ex-congressman for breach of faith. mr. hanscom spent the large income which he received for office brokerage very freely. he was kind to the poor and a generous friend, but he died a few years afterward in reduced circumstances. jefferson davis, the leader of the conquered confederacy, had been brought from georgia, where he was captured, and imprisoned at fortress monroe. he occupied the inner apartment of a casemate, with a guard in the outer apartment and sentries posted on the outside at the porthole and at the door. he became naturally somewhat irascible, and orders having been sent to put him in irons if he gave any provocation, he one day gave it by throwing a tin plate of food which he did not fancy into the face of the soldier who had served him. captain titlow, who was especially charged with the custody of mr. davis, and who is the authority for this statement, was accordingly ordered by the commandant of the fort to place his prisoner in irons. summoning a blacksmith who was in the habit of riveting irons on soldiers sentenced by court-martial to wear them, the captain went to the casemate, accompanied by the blacksmith carrying the fetters and his tools. they found mr. davis seated on his cot, there being no other furniture besides but a stool and a few articles of tinware. when he glanced at the blacksmith and comprehended the situation, he exclaimed: "my god! this indignity to be put on me! not while i have life." at first he pleaded for opportunity to inquire of secretary stanton. then his excitement rose to fury as he walked the cell, venting himself in almost incoherent ravings. the captain at length calmly reminded him that as a soldier he must be aware that however disagreeable the duty assigned, it must be performed, and that, as in duty bound, he should perform it. "none but a dog would obey such orders," replied mr. davis, emphasizing his determination never to be manacled alive by grasping the stool and aiming a very vicious blow. the sentries rushed forward to disarm him, but were ordered back into their places. captain titlow explained that such demonstrations of self-defense were foolish and useless, and that it would be much better for mr. davis to submit to the inevitable necessity. but while receiving this advice, davis took the opportunity of grasping the musket of one of the sentries, and in the furious endeavor to wrest it from him, quite a scuffle ensued. that ended, the captain took the precaution of clapping his hand on his sword-hilt, as he perceived mr. davis' eye was upon it, and at once ordered the corporal of the guard to send into the casemate four of his strongest men without side arms, as he feared they might get into the wrong possession and cause damage. they were ordered to take the prisoner as gently as possible, and, using no unnecessary force, to lay him upon the cot and there hold him down. it proved about as much as four men could do, the writhings and upheavings of the infuriated man developing the strength of a maniac, until it culminated in sheer exhaustion. when the unhappy task was done mr. davis, after lying still for awhile, raised himself and sat on the side of the bed. as his feet touched the floor and the chain clanked he was utterly overcome; the tears burst out in a flood. when he became calm he apologized in a manly way to the captain for the needless trouble he had caused him, and they afterward maintained mutual relations of personal esteem and friendliness. the indignity had, however, such an effect upon mr. davis that the physician called in insisted on the removal of the irons. permission to do this was reluctantly obtained from washington, and the same man who had put on the fetters took them off. this act did much to restore the deposed leader of the rebellion to the foremost place, which he had forfeited, in the hearts of those who had rebelled. the imperious manner in which mr. davis had dictated the military operations of the confederacy, placing his personal favorites in command, and his inglorious flight from richmond, which was burned and plundered by the confederates, while the fugitive "president" carried away a large sum in gold, had increased the feeling of dissatisfaction which had always existed in "dixie" with mr. davis. but when he was ironed and otherwise subjected to harsh treatment, the southern heart was touched, and every white man, woman, and child felt that they were, through him, thus harshly dealt with. the manacling of mr. davis delayed the work of reconstruction for years, and did much to restore the feeling of sectional hatred which fair fighting had overcome. john pierpont, the veteran parson-poet, came to washington as the chaplain to henry wilson's regiment, but he found himself unable to endure the hardships of camp life, and senator sherman obtained a clerkship in the treasury for him. when he reached his eightieth birthday, in , he was told in the evening that a few friends had called, and on entering the parlor to greet them he was entirely surprised. one presented him with a gold watch, another with a valuable cane, and another with a large photograph-album containing the portraits of old boston friends and parishioners. but the most valuable gift was a large portfolio filled with autograph letters of congratulation in poetry and prose from sumner, wilson, mr. sigourney, whittier, wood, dana, holmes, whipple, and other prominent authors, with other letters signed moses williams, gardner brewer, william w. clapp, and other "solid men of boston." all old differences of opinion were forgotten and due honor was paid to the poet, the priest, the emancipationist, and the temperance reformer of "auld lang syne." those who were encouraging the president in his opposition to the reconstruction policy of congress, with others who had received or who expected to obtain federal offices, got up at philadelphia what was known as the "bread and butter convention," at which the union "as it was" was advocated. soon afterward, president johnson with secretaries seward and welles, with general grant and others, set out for chicago to attend the ceremonies of laying the corner-stone of the monument to stephen a. douglas. it was this political pilgrimage that gave rise to the well-known expression, "swinging round the circle." the president spoke very freely of his policy in the different places on the route, openly denouncing congress and saying many things that were decidedly inconsistent with the dignity of his position, and unquestionably injurious to him. senator sumner was married at boston on the th of october, , by bishop eastman, to mrs. alice hooper, a daughter of jonathan mason and the widow of samuel sturges hooper, only son of representative sam hooper. mr. sumner was then in the fifty-sixth year of his age, and had never before been a victim to the tender passion. almost every day through the preceding session mrs. hooper had occupied a seat in the gallery directly behind him, and had appeared engrossed in his words and actions. they saw a good deal of each other at mrs. hooper's, where mr. sumner became a daily visitor, and on the last day of the session he announced his engagement to his friends. the newly married couple passed their honeymoon at newport, accompanied by the bride's young daughter. he finished a letter there to a friend by quoting from the _spectator_, and saying: "i shall endeavor to live hereafter suitably to a man in my station, as a prudent head of a family, a good husband, a careful father (when it shall so happen), and as your most sincere friend, c. sumner." the bridegroom little thought that these dreams of domestic happiness would never be realized, and that in a few months his life would be embittered by his great family trouble, which the world never guessed, much less knew, but which turned his love for his wife into hatred, and his hopes for handing his name to posterity into unforgiving anger. senator and mrs. sumner, when they came to washington after their marriage, occupied a handsomely furnished house on i street. mrs. sumner at once manifested a fondness for "society," often insisting on remaining at receptions until a late hour, when he had unfinished senatorial work on his desk that would have to be completed on his return home. president johnson suffered by his undue kindness to pardon-brokers, prominent among whom as a good-looking young woman named mrs. cobb. she was a constant visitor at the white house, and boasted that she could obtain pardons in six hours for a proper pecuniary consideration. detective baker worked up a fictitious case for the purpose of entrapping her. she agreed, in writing, for three hundred dollars, to obtain the pardon of a captain hine, receiving one hundred dollars cash down, the rest to be paid when the pardon was delivered. after the pardon was signed by president johnson, detective baker laid the papers before him, upon which the president grew very angry, and finally ordered detective baker from the white house. mrs. cobb and her friends insisted that it was a "put-up" job, and the grand jury indicted detective baker, but the case was never brought to trial. when congress met in december, , representative james m. ashley, of the toledo district of ohio, commenced operations as chief impeacher of president johnson. he had begun life at an early age as a clerk on a trading-boat on the ohio and mississippi rivers, driving sharp bargains with the plantation darkies on the banks, in the exchange of cheap jewelry and gay calicoes for cotton and eggs. next he undertook to learn the art and mystery of printing, studying law meanwhile, and finally located at toledo as the editor of a democratic paper. he was not a success as an editor, and went from the sanctum into a drug-store, where he put up prescriptions "at all hours of the night." joining the republican party in its infancy, he obtained an election to congress, but failed to create any sensation until he mounted the hobby of impeachment, which enabled him to advertise himself extensively, and without expense. he was a rather short, fat man, with a clean-shaven face, and a large shock of bushy, light hair, which he kept hanging over his forehead like a frowsy bang threatening to obstruct his vision. he passed much of his time in perambulating the aisles of the house, holding short conferences with leading republicans, and casting frequent glances into the ladies' gallery. a man of the lightest mental calibre and most insufficient capacity, he constituted himself the chief impeacher, and assumed a position that should have been held by a strong-nerved, deep-sighted, able man. the supreme court, on the last day of , presented to the radicals an unacceptable new year's present in the shape of a decision on the legality of military commissions. the case was that of lamden p. milligan, who had been sentenced to death, and on whose appeal for setting aside his trial there had been a division of opinion between the judges of the circuit court of the united states for the district of indiana. the supreme court was unanimous in deciding that no authority existed in the state of indiana for the trial of milligan by a military commission, and that he was entitled to the discharge prayed for in his petition, his case coming within the strict letter of the law of congress, passed in , authorizing the suspension of the writ of _habeas corpus_. on the question whether congress had a right to legalize military commissions in states where the authority and action of the established courts was unimpeded for the trial of civilians, there was a disagreement. five of the judges held the affirmative, and four the negative. this decision made the leading radicals very angry, and thad. stevens undertook to prepare a bill to remodel the court. public opinion generally rejoiced at the suppression of unjust tribunals "organized to convict." [facsimile] edwin mstanton secofwar edwin mcmasters stanton was born at steubenville, ohio, december th, ; was graduated at kenyon college in ; practiced law at steubenville and afterward at pittsburg; was attorney-general under president buchanan, december, - march, ; was secretary of war under president lincoln and johnson, january, - may, ; was appointed associate justice of the supreme court by president grant, and the appointment was promptly confirmed by the senate, but before the commission was issued he died, december th, . chapter xviii. washington celebrities. when president johnson occupied the white house he was joined by the ladies of his family. mrs. johnson had been an invalid for twenty years, and although she could not go into society on account of her ill-health, her pride was amply gratified in the advancement of her husband, whom she had taught to read when he was a village tailor and had won her heart. her only appearance in public at the white house was at a party given to her grand-children. she then remained seated, and as the young guests were presented to her she would say, "my dears, i am an invalid," which was fully proven by her careworn, pale face, and her sunken eyes. mrs. patterson, the president's eldest daughter, was the wife of david t. patterson, who was elected united states senator from tennessee soon after mr. johnson became president. she had been educated where so many daughters of the south have been, at the academy of the visitation in georgetown, and while her father was in the senate she had remained there, spending her weekly holidays with president polk's family in the white house. there she met mrs. madison, the blairs, lees, and other old families of washington, many of whom, in later years, gladly welcomed her return to washington. she was thus early introduced into washington social life, and the people who imagined that andrew johnson's family were to prove a millstone about his neck forgot that martha patterson was his daughter. when some of the leaders of washington society undertook to call at the white house and tender their patronage, mrs. patterson quietly remarked to them: "we are a plain people from the mountains of east tennessee, called here for a short time by a national calamity, but we know our position and shall maintain it." mrs. storer was president johnson's other daughter, and the widowed mother of young children. a son, robert johnson was very dear to his father, but mrs. patterson was his favorite child, as she possessed his mental characteristics. in the great struggle which ensued between the president and congress, the senate was really under the leadership of roscoe conkling, although sumner, fessenden, and wade, each regarded himself as the head of the republicans in the upper house. mr. conkling was at that time a type of manly beauty. tall, well made, with broad shoulders and compact chest and an erect carriage, he was always dressed with scrupulous neatness, wearing a dark frock- coat, light-colored vest and trousers, with gaiters buttoned over his shoes. his nose was large and prominent, his eyes of a bluish- gray hue, surmounted by heavy dark auburn eyebrows, his side whiskers curled closely, and his hair ran down with a sharp point into the middle of his broad, bald forehead, where it rose in a curl. his language was elegant, and when he spoke on the floor every word was clearly enunciated, while slow and deliberate gestures lent effect to what he said. at times, when his features would light up with animation, his deep nostrils would quiver and lengthen into the expression of scorn, which would often lash an opponent into fury. his manner toward strangers was at times dictatorial, but his personal friends worshiped him, and they have never thrown off their allegiance. oliver p. morton, the "war governor" of indiana, entered the senate in time to take a prominent part in resisting the arrogant claims of president johnson. he had found it difficult to ascend from the vale of poverty, but with indomitable energy he had overcome all obstacles. the promptness, the vigor, and thorough manner with which he discussed every question upon which he took hold soon won him the respect of his associates, to which was added their sympathy, caused by his physical condition. possessed of an extraordinary physique and an iron constitution, he gradually lost the use of his lower limbs without a murmur, and after he was hopelessly crippled he moved about on his canes with a herculean effort. he spoke with great power, his penetrating eyes flashing with patriotism as he plead the cause of the emancipated, or flashing with anger as with withering denunciation and sarcasm he denounced their oppressors. his mind was especially utilitarian and his speeches were more remarkable for common sense than for the flowers of rhetoric or the brilliancy or oratory. with indomitable perseverance and pluck he possessed a large heart, and his charities were freely given. george f. edmunds, of vermont, was another senator who took his seat in time to participate in the great contest with president johnson, in which the fruits of the war were at stake. he was not a college graduate, yet few men have acquired a broader culture from contact with men and the study of books. tall and spare in figure, his bald head and flowing white beard gave him a resemblance to the classic portrait of st. jerome, but, unlike that portrait, his head is dome-shaped, symmetrical, while his temples are wide apart and full between. he debates a question in a clear, half- conversational manner, occasionally indulging in a dash of sarcasm which makes those senators who are the objects of it wince. what he says goes into the _congressional record_ without any revision or correction, although many other members of congress pass a deal of time in revising, polishing, and correcting the reports of their remarks. invaluable in opposition and almost irresistible in assault, senator edmunds has always been regarded by the republicans in the senate as their "tower of strength" when the political horizon was overcast. zach chandler, the merchant-senator from michigan, who was attaining high rank in the republican councils, was justly proud of his business standing as a dry-goods dealer in detroit, and he used to narrate how, when almost every business man there failed, in , he could not see his way clear to the settlement of his own liabilities. he made a statement of his affairs, and, taking what money he could raise, went to new york and proposed to his creditors there to make an assignment. his principal creditor said to him: "you are too straightforward a man and too honest and enterprising a merchant to go under. you can take your own time for payment, and we will furnish you with a new stock of goods." the young merchant accepted the extension of time, and, going home, went to work again and was soon able to pay all his debts in full. senator anthony, of rhode island, was a model senator. endowed by nature with a gracious presence, integrity, and good sense, what he had to say on any question was always listened to with attention on both sides of the senate chamber. he excelled in the felicitous eulogies which he was called upon to deliver over departed associates. "the shaft of death, mr. president," said he on one of these occasions, "has been buried in this chamber of late with fearful frequency, sparing neither eminence nor usefulness nor length of service. no one can predict where it will next strike, whose seat will next be vacated. with our faces to the setting sun, we tread the declining path of life, and the shadows lengthen and darken behind us. the good, the wise, the brave fall before our eyes, but the republic survives. the stream of events flows steadily on, and the agencies that seemed to direct and control its current, to impel or to restrain its force, sink beneath its surface, which they disturb scarcely by a ripple." senator nye, of nevada--jim nye--sat for years at the right hand of charles sumner in the united states senate, and used to delight in making comments on what transpired in language that was not agreeable to the fastidious senator from massachusetts, who would listen in a stately embarrassment which was delightful to nye to witness, not wishing to show any offense, and yet thoroughly disgusted. nye wasn't particularly witty in debate, and the speeches of proctor knott, mccreery, or sam cox were funnier than his; neither had he any senatorial dignity whatever. he had, in its place, a vast store of humor and genial humanity--better articles, that brought him in love all that he lost in respect. he had more humor than wit, although many of his good things possessed the sharp scintillations of the last-mentioned article, as when horace greeley sat down on the senator's new hat, and nye, picking up the crushed stove-pipe, said, gravely, "i could have told you it wouldn't fit before trying it on." he had little or no literary culture, read few books, and never troubled others with his convictions, if he had any, which was doubtful. he was a falstaff of the nineteenth century, and it could be said of him, as prince hal said of his boon companion, "we could better spare a better man." mr. elihu b. washburne was the "father of the house," and the man who had brought forward general grant at a time when the republic was sorely in need of such a man. thad stevens ruled the weak- kneed republicans with a rod of iron, and never hesitated about engaging in a political intrigue that would benefit the party, as he understood its mission. benjamin f. butler was another power in the house, who delighted to engage in a debate, with copious invective interlinings, and who was more feared on the republican side of the house than on the democratic. and then there was oakes ames, a blunt, honest man, whose perceptions of right and wrong were not cloaked, but who placed his "credit mobilier" shares "where they would do the most good." in the house of representatives, mr. speaker colfax presided in rather a slap-dash-knock-'em-down-auctioneer style, greatly at variance with the decorous dignity of his predecessors, and he was ever having an eye to the nomination for vice-president in . the most popular man in the house was unquestionably james g. blaine, who exercised a fascination over all, and whose occasional speeches were marked by their purity of style, their terseness, and the strength of their arguments. his then graceful as well as powerful figure, his strong features, glowing with health, and his hearty, honest manner, made him an attractive speaker and an esteemed friend. whatever might be said about some of his railroad speculations, no one ever lisped a syllable against his private character, nor was there in washington a more devoted husband, a more affectionate father, or a kinder friend. once, when mr. tucker, of virginia, was addressing the house, mr. blaine rose and questioned him concerning the accuracy of his statements. mr. tucker's reply implied that he doubted mr. blaine's ability to pass correct judgment on legal subjects, as that gentleman was not a lawyer. blaine's memory enabled him to rejoin by reminding the distinguished member from virginia of some egregious blunder committed by mr. tucker when filling the attorney-generalship of the old dominion, and he concluded by saying that if the commission of such a mistake was the result of being a lawyer, he, at least, congratulated himself on not belonging to the legal fraternity. mr. tucker thereupon said that his honorable friend from maine reminded him of the pharisee in the parable, apparently thanking his deity for having created him unlike--"you," broke in mr. blaine, who had seated himself in the semicircle immediately in front of mr. tucker's desk. this telling interruption was greeted with roars of laughter, which completely drowned further remarks from the virginian, most noted as a constitutional lawyer and as a wit. a high tribute to mr. blaine's personal ability and popularity was paid in his election as speaker of three successive congresses, covering a period from march th, , to march th, . on the latter date, when by party changes it had become evident that a democratic speaker would succeed him, mr. blaine made a neat valedictory in adjourning the session, and as he declared the adjournment and dropped his gavel, a scene of tumultuous enthusiasm ensued. the crowded assemblage, floor and galleries, rose and greeted him with repeated salvos of applause, running in waves from side to side, with almost delirious cheering, clapping of hands, and waving of handkerchiefs. fully five minutes, it seemed, he was detained, bowing and acknowledging with emotion, this tribute to the record he had made, and for full half an hour afterward there poured toward his standing place, at the clerk's desk, a constant stream of members and citizens anxious to press his hand and express in words the admiration already shown in signs. none who were there can forget the impression made by this scene. fernando wood, of new york, was the best known man on the democratic side of the house, nor was there a bureau official in the war department who had such a military deportment. tall, spare, erect, with clothes of faultless fit and closely buttoned to the chin, his hair cut short and his face cleanly shaven, with the exception of a heavy white moustache, he was the beau ideal of a colonel of the old guard. his manners were as courtly as were those of lord chesterfield, while his features were as immovable and emotionless as were those of talleyrand. in his earlier days "fernandy wud" was identified with the lowest element of new york politics, and his political reputation was so unsavory that his own party twice, when opportunity offered, refused to elect him speaker, a place to which he was entitled by seniority. on several occasions he was denounced virulently in debate, but he stood up "like a little man" and faced his assailants with features as imperturbable as if they were carved from marble. mr. wood's ambition was to be chosen speaker when the revolutions of fortune's wheel would again give the democratic party the ascendency. this prompted him to entertain very liberally, and he used to receive many promises of support, but when the caucus was held, he never received over half a dozen votes. [facsimile] hbanthony henry bowen anthony was born at coventry, rhode island, april st, ; was editor of _the providence journal_; was governor of rhode island, - ; was united states senator, , until his death at providence, rhode island, september d, . chapter xix. ceremonials at the metropolis. the new year's reception at the white house, at the opening of , was marked by the absence of volunteer officers in uniform, who had, since the breaking out of the war, always been present in large numbers. the east room was not thrown open, but the suite of drawing-rooms, which had been re-decorated and newly furnished, were much admired. the traditional colors of scarlet, blue, and green had been preserved, but the walls had been painted with gilt moldings, and the furniture was far more elegant than was that which it had replaced. there was also a profusion of rare flowers from the conservatory. the president received in the blue drawing-room, and it was a subject of general remark that age and official perplexities were evidently leaving their traces on his features, but he had lost none of his determined, defiant looks. during the more ceremonious part of the reception his two daughters stood near him. mrs. stover wore a rich black silk dress, with a basque of the same material, both being embroidered with violet-colored wreaths and trimmed with bugles. mrs. patterson wore a similar dress and basque, embroidered in white. both ladies wore lace collars and had natural flowers in their hair. the privileged guests began to arrive at eleven o'clock, the diplomatic corps taking precedence. they wore the official costumes of their respective courts, with the exception of mr. de romero, the mexican envoy, who was attired in a plain black suit. sir frederick bruce and mr. de berthemy, the bachelor representatives of great britain and of france, were naturally objects of attraction to the ladies. m. tassara, the spanish minister, and baron von geroldt, the prussian minister, were accompanied by their wives, as was young m. de bodisco, who represented russia as chargè d'affaires. the south americans were famously bedizened with embroideries, and nearly all of the ministers, secretaries, and attaches wore the broad ribbons of some order of merit across their right shoulders, or crosses upon their breasts. some of them sported at least a dozen of these honorary decorations. the cabinet officers with their ladies next entered, and after them came the commanding figure of chief justice chase, followed by the justices of the supreme court and the local judges. members of congress came next in order, but there were not many present. assistant secretaries, heads of bureaus, and chief clerks followed; and then, the band striking up the "red, white, and blue," admiral radford entered with a large party of naval officers, among them admirals davis and stribling, with colonel ziellen and the other officers of marines stationed in washington, all in full uniform. "hail to the chief" announced general grant, who was attended by adjutant-general thomas, quartermaster-general meigs, paymaster- general brice, surgeon-general barnes, and some fifty or sixty officers of lower grade, all in full uniform, and many of them who only performed bureau duty were arrayed in epaulettes and embroidery of the most stunning description. this comprised the official presentations, and many of those above named were accompanied by ladies, elegantly attired in full morning costumes, some of which, worn by the ladies of the diplomatic corps, were very elegant. at twelve o'clock the officials took their leave, and the people were admitted. for two hours did a living tide of humanity surge through the rooms, each man, woman, and child being presented and shaking hands with the president as they passed him. there was almost every conceivable variety of dress, and every part of the country, with many foreign lands, was represented. a more promiscuous company had never yet attended a white house reception, than that which gathered on this occasion. but one colored man sought an introduction to the "moses" of his race, and he was civilly treated by the president and those in attendance. the reception at the house of general grant was crowded. among the other visitors was hon. sam hooper, the merchant representative from boston, who handed the general a letter signed by himself and forty-nine other "solid men of boston," presenting a library of well-selected books, which had cost five thousand dollars. george bancroft's eulogy on abraham lincoln attracted crowds to the hall of the house of representatives. the occasion was indeed a memorable one, equaled only by the exercises in the old hall on the last day of , when that "old man eloquent" of massachusetts, john quincy adams, occupied nearly three hours in the delivery of his grand oration on lafayette, which covered the history of the preceding half century. henry clay, who was on that occasion chairman of the joint committee of arrangements on the part of the senate, had ten years before, as speaker of the house, welcomed lafayette as the nation's guest. mr. adams, in eloquently alluding to this impressive scene, said that few of those who received lafayette were alive to shed the tear of sorrow upon his departure from this earthly scene. neither was there a member of congress who joined in the memorial exercises to lafayette to pay a farewell to lincoln. there were a few present who heard the orator eulogize jackson, and a few more who were present at the impressive funeral services of john quincy adams, who had fallen at his post in that glorious old hall, in which his voice, like that of john the baptist, had proclaimed "the coming of the glory of the lord." an incessant rain did not detract in the least from an immense attendance at the capitol, although no one was admitted without a ticket. notwithstanding the precautions taken, over three hundred tickets were issued beyond the utmost capacity of the house galleries, which were literally packed long before the ceremonies commenced. the audience, seemingly, was as select as it was large, and the attendance of many ladies gave to the occasion as brilliant and fascinating an interest as did the distinguished guests on the floor of the house. the hall was appropriately draped in mourning over the speaker's chair and at other points. prominent on the front seats of the ladies' gallery were mrs. general grant, mrs. patterson and mrs. stover (the president's daughters), mrs. daniel webster, mrs. admiral dahlgren, and others equally famed in society. the floor of the house was divided into sections for the reception of the distinguished guests. all of the dignitaries were duly announced by the sergeant-at-arms as they appeared in a body at the main door of the hall. the house rose in compliment as they entered, and remained standing until the guests were duly seated. the diplomatic corps, with the exception of the french minister and the mexican minister, were present in full force. sir frederick bruce, the spanish minister, and the russian minister, occupied the front row of seats of the section assigned to the diplomatic corps. lieutenant-general grant sat in company with admiral shubrick, in front of the large delegation from the army and navy. there was a buzz in the hall and a quiet laugh as general butler entered and unconsciously took a seat immediately behind general grant; neither greeted the other. in the rear of general butler general john a. logan was sandwiched with general holt and john minor botts. at noon sergeant-at-arms ordway entered bearing the official mace, and he was followed by mr. speaker colfax. a rap from the speaker's gavel brought the assembly to order, and a solemn and very appropriate prayer was offered by mr. chaplain boynton. the journal of the last day's session was then read, followed by a letter from secretary seward apologizing for his absence. the hum of conversation again echoed around the galleries, with the craning of fair necks and the peering of bright, curious eyes as the ladies sought to see who were there and what was worn. at ten minutes after twelve the doorkeeper announced the senate of the united states. mr. speaker colfax repeated the announcement with the familiar raps of the gavel, which on this occasion brought all on the floor to their feet. sergeant-at-arms brown led the way, then came mr. foster, president _pro tempore_, with chief clerk mcdonald, and then came the senators, two and two, who took seats on either side of the main aisle. the inner half-circle of chairs was as yet unoccupied. president foster, receiving the gavel from speaker colfax, said: "please be seated," and a rap was again obeyed. a few moments elapsed, during which the occupants of the galleries had time to scan the countenances of the eloquent guardians of the union and champions of freedom, whose voices had been and might again be heard as a battle-cry in the dark days of our eventful history. the president of the united states was announced, and the audience rose to receive the chief magistrate. he was attired in simple black, and as he passed between the senators down to the front seat reserved for him, escorted by senator foote, he reminded one of webster and of douglas, so immovable was the expression of his massive, resolute, determined features. the president took his seat directly opposite the speaker, and the seats at his right hand were occupied by secretaries mcculloch, stanton, welles, harlan, postmaster-general dennison, and attorney-general speed. secretary seward's health was so precarious that it did not permit him to be present. mr. bancroft entered with the president and was escorted to the clerk's table, on which a reading-desk had been placed for his use. before taking his seat he shook hands with president foster and mr. speaker colfax, who sat side by side at the speaker's table, directly behind the orator. the supreme court was next announced, and all rose to pay homage to the majesties of the law. they wore their silk robes and took the front row of seats on the president's left hand in the following order: chief justice chase, justices wayne, nelson, clifford, swayne, miller, davis, and fields. justice grier's recent family bereavement kept him away. just after the supreme court was seated the president and justice clifford rose, advanced toward each other, and cordially shook hands. this made it twenty minutes past twelve, and, as all were present, major french, the commissioner of public buildings, gave a signal, and the marine band performed, with impressive effect, the _miserere_, from the opera "il trovatore." the chaplain of the house, rev. dr. boynton, made a most orthodox and righteous introductory prayer, after with hon. lafayette s. foster, in a brief but eloquent address, introduced the orator of the day. mr. bancroft was received, on rising, with hearty applause, and he commenced the delivery of his address in a clear, loud, and distinct tone of voice, heard in every part of the hall. he held his printed address in his left hand, and his sincerity and ability compensated for the absence of oratorical grace. his was the simplicity of faith rather than the simplicity of art, and by easy and rapid transitions it occasionally rose to bold and manly enthusiasm. the oration occupied two hours and thirty minutes, and at certain points was most rapturously applauded. the allusions by the orator to great britain's harboring rebel vessels during the war, and to the insignificance of palmerston in comparison to lincoln, did not seem to be well received by the british minister, and his uneasiness was very manifest when the house thundered with repeated applause at the mention of the names of john bright and richard cobden. on the other hand, the russian minister blushed at the continued applause and the thousands of eyes bent on him as bancroft alluded to the unwavering sympathy of russia with the united states during the late war. baron stoeckel congratulated the orator after the ceremonies were over. when mr. bancroft had concluded, and the president and the senate, with other invited guests, had retired, mr. washburne offered a joint resolution of thanks to mr. bancroft, copied almost _verbatim_ from that passed when john quincy adams delivered the oration on lafayette. when the address was printed mr. bancroft insisted on having the title-page state that it had been delivered before "the congress of america," instead of "the congress of the united states of america." [facsimile] winfd s. hancock winfield scott hancock, born near norristown, pa., february th, ; graduated at west point in ; served on the frontier, in the mexican and florida wars, and in california; brigadier-general of volunteers, september d, ; major-general of volunteers, november th, ; commander of second corps, may, ; wounded at gettysburg, july d, ; returned to his command and fought to the end of the war; major-general of the regular army, july, ; commanded various military divisions; candidate for presidency of the united states, ; died at governor's island, new york, february th, . chapter xx. the great impeachment. the gulf between president johnson and congress gradually widened after the reconstruction bill was passed over his veto, although his friends announced that while he opposed the act and had resisted its passage, it was the law of the land, and he would fairly execute it. he appointed generals sheridan, sickles, and pope to carry out its provisions, and he was regarded as an obstinate man patriotically performing an unpleasant duty. then he began to doubt, and attorney-general stanbery, aided by judge jere black, declared that the reconstruction act was not legal, and that the military commanders at the south were merely policemen. congress met in midsummer and made the act more stringent in its provisions. the president's advisers then counseled him to change those who were executing the provisions of the act at the south. stanton was removed from the war department and grant appointed in his place, sheridan was replaced by hancock, and sickles and pope were relieved from duty. when the senate met, it overruled the deposition of mr. stanton, and general grant gracefully retired that the "war secretary" might assume the duties of his office. this made president johnson very angry. he had wanted to use general grant as a cat's-paw for keeping stanton out of the war department, and had hoped at the same time to injure grant in the estimation of the people. he raised a question of veracity with the general commanding, but congress and the people speedily decided between the soldier, whose reputation for veracity was untarnished, and the president, who had broken his promises and had betrayed his friends. sir frederick bruce, the british minister to the united states, died suddenly at a hotel in boston, on the th of september, . he had been attacked with diphtheria at narragansett pier, and had gone to boston for medical advice, but he arrived too late. he recognized senator sumner, who hastened to his bedside, but was unable to speak to him. sir frederick was the younger brother of lord elgin. he was born in , was educated at christ's church college, oxford, and subsequently was called to the bar at lincoln's inn. educated for the diplomatic service, he began his career in lord ashburton's suite, when he came to washington in , on his special mission regarding the north-eastern boundary question. at this time rufus choate said of him that he was "the corinthian part of the british legation." he was then employed in the diplomatic service until he was appointed in to succeed lord lyons as british minister in washington, and was presented to president johnson immediately after the funeral of president lincoln. while in china his official relations with the hon. anson burlingame ripened into personal intimacy, and on the visit of the latter home there were reciprocated between these gentlemen the most cordial expressions of respect and friendship. he lived in excellent style in washington, was very hospitable to his acquaintances and friends, whom he frequently entertained at his well-spread table, and was noted for that love of horses which has almost become a passion with englishmen. to the public in general the deceased wore that stiff and formal appearance which characterizes the class of his countrymen to which he belonged, but in private life he is said to have been very social, conversational, and entertaining. mrs. lincoln created an excitement in the autumn of by offering for sale, in a small up-stairs room on broadway, in new york, what purported to be her wardrobe while she was at the white house. ladies who inspected it said that the object of this exhibition could not have been to realize money from the sale of the collection. with the exception of some lace and camel's-hair shawls, and a few diamond rings, there was nothing which any lady could wear, or which would not have been a disgrace to a second-hand clothes shop; the dresses--those that had been made up and worn--were crushed, old-fashioned, and trimmed without taste. the skirts were too short for any but a very short person, and of the commonest muslins, grenadines, and bareges; all were made extremely low in the neck, and could not be available for any purpose. there were some brocaded silk skirts in large, heavy patterns, which had been made but not worn, but these were unaccompanied by any waists, while the price put upon them and the other articles was exorbitant. the opinion was that the exhibition was intended to stimulate congress to make mrs. lincoln a large appropriation. those republicans who had subscribed to the fund of one hundred thousand dollars paid to mrs. lincoln after the death of her lamented husband were very angry. the general opinion was that the exhibition was an advertising dodge which some of mrs. lincoln's indiscreet friends had persuaded her to adopt. thurlow weed created a decided sensation by taking up the cudgels in defense of his party, and published a letter stating that the republicans, through congress, "would have made proper arrangements for the maintenance of mrs. lincoln had she so deported herself as to inspire respect." he further intimated "that no president's wife ever before accumulated such valuable effects, and that those accumulations are suggestive of 'fat contracts and corrupt disposal of patronage.'" he continued, that "eleven of mr. lincoln's new linen shirts were sold" almost before the remains, which were shrouded in the twelfth, had started "for the bourne from whence no traveler returns." not only was mr. weed censured in this country, but in england. the london _telegraph_ said: "to attack mrs. lincoln is to insult the illustrious memory of abraham lincoln, and to slander a gentle lady. far and wide she has been known as an admirable and charitable woman, an irreproachable wife, and a devoted mother. she is entitled to more than 'respect' from the american people. they owe her reverence for her very name's sake. if fifty thousand swords were to have leapt from their scabbards to avenge the slightest insult offered to marie antoinette, a million of american hearts and hands would be quick to relieve the wants of the widow of the emancipator; and if this deplorable tale could be true, which we decline to believe, the american public wants no stimulus from abroad to take such an incident at once from the evil atmosphere of electioneering, and to deal with the necessities of abraham lincoln's family in a manner befitting the national dignity." the impeachment of president johnson was loudly demanded by wade, butler, thad. stevens, and other ultra radicals when congress met in december, . "why," said mr. stevens, "i'll take that man's record, his speeches, and his acts before any impartial jury you can get together, and i'll make them pronounce him either a knave or a fool, without the least trouble." he continued: "my own impression is that we had better put it on the ground of insanity or whisky or something of that kind. i don't want to hurt the man's feelings by telling him that he is a rascal. i'd rather put it mildly, and say he hasn't got off that inauguration drunk yet, and just let him retire to get sobered." president johnson, with an equally unfortunate want of reticence, denounced congress, and finally again issued an order removing mr. stanton and appointing adjutant-general thomas secretary of war. senator sumner at once telegraphed to mr. stanton, "stick," and many believed that a scene of violence would soon be witnessed at the war department. what did occur, however, was simply ludicrous. general thomas went to mr. stanton's office, we are told by adjutant-general townsend, and formally announced that he was secretary of war, to which mr. stanton replied, "you will attempt to act as secretary of war at your peril." general thomas then went into general shriver's room, and mr. stanton soon followed him there. resuming the colloquy, mr. stanton said, in a laughing tone, to general thomas: "so you claim to be here as secretary of war, and refuse to obey my orders, do you?" general thomas replied, seriously, "i do so claim. i shall require the mails of the war department to be delivered to me, and shall transact all the business of the department." seeing that the general looked as if he had had no rest the night before, mr. stanton, playfully running his fingers up through the general's hair, as he wearily leaned back in his chair, said: "well, old fellow, have you had any breakfast this morning?" "no," said thomas, good-naturedly. "nor anything to drink?" "no." "then you are as badly off as i am, for i have had neither." mr. stanton then sent out for some refreshments, and while the two were sharing the refection they engaged in very pleasant conversation, in the course of which, however, mr. stanton suddenly and with seeming carelessness inquired when general thomas was going to give him the report of an inspection, which he had lately made, of the newly completed national cemeteries. mr. stanton said if it was not soon rendered it would be too late for the printers, and he was anxious to have it go forth as a credible work of the department. the question had apparently no especial point, and general thomas evidently saw none, for he answered, pleasantly, that he would work at the report that night and give it to the secretary. "this struck me," said general townsend, "as a lawyer's _ruse_ to make thomas acknowledge stanton's authority as secretary of war, and that thomas was caught by it. i some time after asked mr. stanton if that was his design. he made no reply, but looked at me with a mock expression of surprise at my conceiving such a thing." the senate at once declared that the president had exceeded his authority, and the house of representatives passed a resolution-- yeas to nays--that he be impeached for high crimes and misdemeanors. the house agreed to the articles of impeachment march d, , and the senate received them two days later. they specified his removal of secretary stanton, his publicly expressed contempt for the thirty-ninth congress, and his hindrances to the execution of its measures, as acts calling for his impeachment. the trial began in the senate, sitting as a high court of impeachment, on march d. the managers of the trial on the part of the accusation were thaddeus stevens, b. f. butler, john h. bingham, george s. boutwell, j. f. wilson, t. williams, and john a. logan, all members of the house; for the president, appeared attorney-general henry stanbery, benjamin r. curtis, jeremiah s. black, william m. evarts, and thomas a. r. nelson. the formulated charges were eleven in number, but only three were voted upon, two of these concerning that one item of secretary stanton's attempted removal and the other concerning the president's expressed contempt of congress. the latter charge was based on language used by mr. johnson in a public speech in which congress was characterized as a congress of only part of the states, and not a constitutional congress, with intent, as was charged, of denying that its legislation was obligatory upon him, or that it had any power to propose amendments to the constitution. the trial from its very inception to a great extent assumed a party character, the republican party having strongly condemned the action and utterances complained of, while the democratic party approved and defended them. on the final issue, however, seven of the republican senators refused to vote for conviction, and an acquittal followed. a question of importance on the trial was, whether the president _pro tem._ of the senate, who in the event of a conviction would become president, had a right to vote; but he claimed and exercised the right. many members, however, handled the entire subject very delicately, feeling that the precedents were not very safe and sure. chief justice chase presided with great dignity, but the senators retained their comfortable arm-chairs, instead of being ranged on a judicial bench, and were often engaged in letter-writing during the arguments. the managers occupied seats at a table on one side of the area before the table of the presiding officer, and the accused's counsel had a table on the other side. seats were provided for the representatives in the rear of the senators. the most noticeable argument on either side was that of mr. evarts, one of the counsel retained by the president's friends, who raised a large sum of money by subscription to secure his acquittal. mr. evarts was then fifty years of age, and his three days' speech was an oration rather than an argument. tall, slender, with a high, round head, expressive eyes, and long, slender arms, he spoke without any emotion, continually indulging in fearfully long sentences. even his review of mr. manager boutwell's astronomical proposition of a "hole in the sky," though it provoked shouts of laughter, was overdone. the subject was so good that he kept piling sentence upon sentence on it, and his phrase, "the honorable and astronomical manager," never failed to excite merriment. boutwell bore it well, though disturbed. like other men of logical habit of mind, when proposing to ornament his production with something imaginative, he struck upon the extravagant, and, feeling that he was doing a fantastic thing, gave rein to fancy. an amusing feature of mr. evarts' argument was his illustration of "the proprieties of speech, as shown by the official report of the debates." he read from the _congressional globe_ that senator sumner had called andrew johnson an "enemy of his country," and had been called to order. senator anthony, in the chair, said that it was usual and proper to call the president an enemy of his country, and senator sherman scouted the idea that senator sumner was out of order, saying that he had heard such language in the senate fifty times. senators were a good deal amused at this exhibition of their record. then mr. evarts turned to the record of the house as to the propriety of speech, and there was a general stir and smile, as if to say, "here's richness." the celebrated passage between bingham and butler, about murdering mrs. surratt, and fort fisher, and the bottle and spoons, was recited, and there was almost universal merriment. bingham smiled and squirmed, looking, when his remarks about butler were given, both puzzled and pleased. butler had fixed himself in an easy position, his right elbow upon the manager's table, and his head leaning upon his hand, and he was as still as a wooden image until evarts was through with the matter of decorum. members of the house who were present, seemed greatly edified, and garfield and colfax talked it over, laughing heartily. at last came the verdict. the votes on the two articles were taken may th and th, standing, in each case, thirty-five guilty and nineteen not guilty, which acquitted the president, as a two-thirds vote is required to convict. mr. stanton at once resigned, and general schofield was made secretary of war. the fact that had mr. johnson been found guilty mr. wade would have been president of the united states doubtless had great weight with several senators who voted "not guilty." within thirty minutes after the first vote was taken, which resulted in acquittal, a congressional committee of inquiry was instituted by republicans in regard to the conduct of the disagreeing members of the senate. witnesses were summoned, and volumes of testimony were taken and ingeniously exhausted in the vain endeavor to fix a stain upon a single senator, but the committee had to give up the matter in disgust, being quite unable to accomplish the ends they so zealously pursued. the remainder of mr. johnson's presidential career was not especially noteworthy. on the th of december, , he issued a full pardon to everybody who had taken part in the rebellion. [facsimile] j. s. black jeremiah sullivan black, born in the glades, somerset county, pa., june th, ; studied law and was admitted to the bar in ; in was chosen judge of the supreme court of the state, and became its chief justice; was attorney-general under president buchanan, - ; resumed private practice at law; defended president johnson in the impeachment trial; died near york, pa., august th, . chapter xxi. a new presidential contest. as the time approached for the selection of a candidate by the republicans, ohio presented four names. general grant, the conqueror of the rebellion, who was without experience, qualifications, or capacity as a civil ruler, was evidently the choice of the loyal people of the north. the old abolitionists and the national banks favored chief justice chase, who possessed brains, personal dignity, and ability to perform the duties of the executive. stanton was the martyr-candidate of the contractors, an unscrupulous man of action and decision, bold, audacious, and unshrinking; and the western reserve brought forward bluff ben wade, feigning fanaticism and stoical virtue, but a mere mouther of strong words and profane epithets. a few spoke of a fifth ohio candidate for the nomination in general sheridan, but, "like a little man," he promptly sat down on every demonstration in his behalf. it soon became evident that general grant would be nominated. state republican conventions, union clubs, and newspapers of all political shades declared their preferences for him, the new york _herald_ finally coming out for the "conqueror of the rebellion," with these lines, by general halpine (miles o'reilly), as a text. they afterward became historic: "so, boys, a final bumper, while we all in chorus chant, for next president we nominate our own ulysses grant. "and if asked what state he hails from, this our sole reply shall be, from near appomattox court-house, and its famous apple tree. "for 'twas there to our ulysses that lee gave up the fight; now, boys, to grant for president, and god defend the right." chief justice chase was treated with less favor by another poet, who thus described his visit to ohio to rally his followers: "says salmon p. chase, says he, 'i'll fish, by jupiter ammon!' he went to ohio, and threw in his fly--oh! but never a sign of a salmon." the chief justice was a prominent candidate for the democratic nomination. his eldest daughter, mrs. kate chase sprague, was in new york when the democratic convention was held there, and her parlor was the head-quarters of her father's friends. mr. frederick aiken, a lawyer-journalist, who had appeared at the trial of the conspirators as the defender of mrs. surratt, was her master of ceremonies, and introduced the delegates from the rural districts to mrs. sprague, but she failed to capture a majority. the chief justice saw plainly that the star of grant was in the ascendant, and that his life-cherished hope of being president was doomed to disappointment. general grant was very positive in demanding that all officers of the confederate army should enjoy their liberty. among those of them who had been imprisoned by order of the secretary of war was general clement c. clay, an ex-united states senator from alabama. he was taken ill in prison with asthma, and his wife came to washington to solicit his release. she went to president johnson, and he gave her the necessary order, which she took back to secretary stanton. stanton read the order, and, looking her in the face, tore it up without a word and pitched it into his waste-basket. the lady arose and retired without speaking; nor did stanton speak to her. she was filled with despair. she saw her husband, in whom her life was wrapped up, dying in prison, and she was unable to help him. soon afterward she was advised to call on general grant, who ascertained by consulting his roster of the confederate army that her husband was a brigadier-general, and then wrote an order directing his release, under the appomattox parole, on giving the required bond, and added: "i shall see that this order is carried out." having signed the order, he gave it to mrs. clay, who the next day presented it to the secretary of war. mr. stanton read it, then touched his bell, and when an officer appeared, handed him the order, saying, "have that man discharged." the extensions of the treasury department were completed during the administration of president johnson under the efficient direction of mr. a. b. mullett, supervising architect. the entire building is four hundred and sixty feet long and two hundred and sixty-four feet wide. the new portions are constructed of granite, and the entire cost of this elegantly finished structure was about eight million dollars. senator ben wade, of ohio, as president _pro tempore_ of the senate, enjoyed the privilege of appointing the keeper of the senate restaurant. that establishment, elegantly fitted up in the basement story of the senate wing of the capitol, brilliantly lighted and supplied with coal and ice, was enjoyed rent free by the person fortunate enough to obtain it. it was customary, however, for him to send a good lunch every day to the vice-president's room without charge. one day the restauranteur, hearing that he was to be superseded by a caterer from cincinnati, called on mr. wade and said obsequiously, "i am the keeper of the senate restaurant, senator." "oh! yes," replied mr. wade, "you run the cook-shop down-stairs, don't you?" "yes, sir," was the reply, with a low bow. "well," said mr. wade, "what can i do for you? what do you want?" "i have called to express my wish, sir, that i may continue to keep the restaurant, and anything you want, sir, you have only to send a page down-stairs and it shall be furnished quick as a flash, without costing you a cent, sir." just then mr. wade appeared to recollect something, and looking the man directly in the eye, said: "oh! i don't want you to feed me; when i do i will pay you for what i eat, like other people. but, listen: complaint has been made to me that you don't treat the little pages fairly or kindly. they complain that they can't get anything to eat except expensive things, for which they have to pay a large price. now, sir, just remember that these pages are our boys, and you had better overcharge senators, who are able to pay, than these little chaps, who want to save all of their wages that they can for their mothers. you must be civil and kind to these pages, sir, or i'll have you moved out of your cook-shop and put in some one there who will treat the boys well." the restauranteur promised that he would do so, and bowed his way out. mr. wade after this made inquiry of the pages from time to time, and found that they were civilly treated, and that lunches of reasonable cost were provided for them. mr. sumner's enemies circulated a statement that his great speech on alaska was prepared at the department of state, and there published at government expense. this was an unmitigated falsehood. mr. sumner obtained the materials for his speech by a careful examination of all the available works in the congressional and other libraries at washington in which reference is made to alaska, and by conversing with officers of the navy and of the smithsonian institution who had been there. everything supplied from the department of state was a brief correspondence between mr. stoeckel and secretary seward, which made a quarter of a printed page. mr. sumner's speech, written in his own hand, made nearly one hundred foolscap pages, and the manuscript, which he gave me, is now in my collection of autographs. he had it printed at the _congressional globe_ office at his own expense, and an expensive job it was. subsequently mr. seward asked and received permission to have a small extra edition struck off, before the type was distributed, for the use of the department of state, and with these copies was bound a coast survey chart, for which mr. sumner had supplied much information. general grant, although at times annoyed by his relations with the president, passed the happiest period of his eventful life at washington during the johnson administration. he occupied a large house which had been built by judge douglas, in what was known as minnesota row. a devoted wife, mrs. grant was also an affectionate mother, and the happy pair enjoyed the society of their children as they grew up. fred, the eldest son, who had shared some of his father's later campaigns, was being prepared for admission to west point. the general's pet was his only daughter, nellie, who was bright and beautiful, and whose girlish prattle was far more attractive to him than the compliments of congressmen or the praises of politicians. general grant used generally to walk to and from his "head-quarters," which were in a two-story house on seventeenth street, opposite the war department, and he was often seen trudging along on a stormy day, his only protection from the rain being an army cloak and a slouch hat. there was nothing to indicate that he was the commander- in-chief of the army, and he was always alone in the morning when he went to the department. his route was through i street to massachusetts and new york avenues, to fifteenth street, and thence by the broad-flagged pavement on pennsylvania avenue to the war department. even the children along this route knew general grant, and would frequently salute him as he passed, silently smoking his cigar. general grant was very fond of walking about washington, and even after he became president nothing was more agreeable to him than a stroll down pennsylvania avenue. frequently in these walks he would meet going in an opposite direction sir edward thornton, then the british minister. sir edward was a good pedestrian, and took long strolls every day, and would go springing along like a boy out for a holiday. on the other hand, general grant walked slowly and deliberately, and would invariably return every salutation, no matter how humble the person saluting might be. general grant's evening receptions at his house on minnesota row were the social feature of washington. cabinet officers, diplomatists, judges, congressmen, officers of the army and navy, residents, and the strangers within their gates made up the throng that good- humoredly jostled and crowded each other in futile attempts to move through the parlors and hall. when general grant had issued cards of invitation to his first reception, hundreds who had received none went, all the same, so he afterward announced through the newspapers that he would be "happy to see his friends." general grant received all those who could get near him in his usual stoical manner, his eyes lighting up when he took an old friend or comrade by the hand. he wore his undress uniform, with the four golden stars glistening on his shoulder-straps, while mrs. grant, who stood at his side, wore a plain, high-necked, long- sleeved, pink silk gown, with a honiton black lace shawl thrown over her shoulders. the wives of senators chandler and morgan vied with each other in the richness of their toilets and the splendor of their diamonds, but the observed of all observers was mrs. charles sumner, on the senator's arm, wearing a becoming dress of black velvet, with a white lace shawl, and a flexible golden serpent woven among her dark tresses. secretary seward hovered around the host nearly all the evening, anxious to conciliate him and to secure his support of "our administration." mr. speaker colfax was in excellent spirits, and so were the scores of congressmen and placemen present, each one anxious to say a word to the next president. lieutenant-general sherman was grim and epigrammatic, while generals sheridan and ord appeared delighted at their deliverance from the troublesome duties of reconstruction, and there was much soldier-talk among the many brave men present who had stood shoulder to shoulder on hard-fought fields. receptions were given by president johnson, speaker colfax, chief justice chase, governor morgan, admiral dalhgren, and other dignitaries, but those at the house of general grant eclipsed them all. mr. sam ward began to operate in the lobby at washington toward the close of the war. he was a short, compactly built, round-headed gentleman, well educated, with an inexhaustible fund of anecdote and great gastronomic knowledge, which enabled him to give marvelously good dinners. besides all this, he was a "good witness," and consequently a reliable friend. he said of himself, just after being examined by general butler, during the andrew johnson impeachment investigation, that he had "been before that d----d strabismal inquisition, and that his evidence wasn't worth half his mileage." it should be known that his mileage was twenty cents, ten cents per mile each way from willard's hotel to the capitol, and that, as his street-car fare only cost him twelve, he sent eight cents to the treasury as conscience money. so powerful a legislative manipulator was mr. ward that he claimed for himself the title, "king of the lobby," nor was his claim seriously disputed. charles dickens again came to washington to lecture during president johnson's last official winter. he had rooms at welcker's restaurant on fifteenth street. he used to walk out every fine day, accompanied by his friend and adviser, mr. osgood, the boston publisher, and mr. dolby, his financial agent. they would often tramp eight or ten miles before dinner. simon hanscom, the journalist, secured him an interview with president johnson, who impressed him, as he afterward wrote, as "a man of very remarkable appearance--indeed, of tremendous firmness of purpose, not to be trifled with." the only invitation to dine that he accepted was one from senator sumner, on a sunday afternoon, when secretary stanton was in the party. in washington, as elsewhere, mr. dickens' lectures and readings were to him a mine of pecuniary profit, and to hundreds of the most intelligent and cultured citizens of the metropolis they furnished a treat of the highest intellectual character. his audiences were such as must have highly flattered him, and his entertainments were such as greatly delighted him. [facsimile] charles sumner charles sumner was born at boston, massachusetts, january th, ; received a classical education, graduating at the cambridge law school in ; practiced in boston; traveled in europe - ; was united states senator from massachusetts from december st, , until his death at washington city, march th, . chapter xxii. general grant in the white house. general grant, having been elected president by a majority of nearly one million and a-half of votes, was inaugurated on thursday, the th of march, . the national metropolis was crowded with those who had come to witness the historic event, many of them veterans who rejoiced in the elevation of their old commander to the highest civic office in the gift of the american people. the military escort was composed of regulars and volunteers, several companies of the latter being colored men. then came president johnson and the president-elect in an open landau, drawn by four white horses, mr. johnson looking soured and sad, while general grant, displaying no signs of elation, waved his hat in response to the cheers with which he was greeted all the way from the white house to the capitol. next came the vice-president-elect, mr. colfax, in a carriage with a member of the senatorial committee of arrangements, and the civic associations followed. there were the tanners, the invincibles, the wide awakes, the grant and colfax clubs, and the colored republicans, each organization with its band, its banners, and its badges. the washington fire department, their brightly polished engines drawn by spirited horses, brought up the rear. on arriving at the capitol, the president and president-elect and the vice-president-elect were escorted to the senate chamber, where, four years previously, mr. johnson had disgraced himself by his drunken harangue. the supreme court was already there, with the diplomatic corps, gorgeously arrayed in their court costumes, and a number of prominent army and navy officers in full uniform. in the galleries were ladies gayly dressed, whose opera-glasses had been turned on the distinguished personages below as they had successively entered, and who kept up such a buzzing chat that it was almost impossible for the senators to transact the closing business of the expiring session. at twelve o'clock mr. colfax was sworn in as vice-president, and afterward administered the oath to the new senators. some of those applying, however, had served in the confederate army, and were not able to take what was known as the "iron-clad oath." a procession was then formed of those present on the floor of the senate, which moved through the rotunda to the east front of the capitol, where the president-elect was hailed by hearty cheers. he advanced to the front of the platform, and the oath of office was administered by chief justice chase, followed by an artillery salute from a light battery near by, while the whistles of the steam fire-engines joined in the clangor, the band played, and thousands of voices cheered. when silence was restored, president grant drew from his coat pocket six or seven pages of foolscap, adjusted his glasses, and with great deliberation read in a conversational tone his message to the citizens of the republic and to the world, a plain, practical, common-sense document, in which he declared that he should on all subjects have a policy of his own to recommend, but none to enforce against the will of the people. soon after he began to read his message his little daughter, somewhat alarmed by the clamor and the throng, ran from her mother to his side, and took hold of his hand, which she held until a chair was placed for her, when she sat down, seemingly assured that no harm could reach her. when the president had concluded he shook hands with his wife, and afterward received the congratulations of many official and unofficial persons, who crowded around and greeted him, before he could return to his carriage and start, escorted as when he came, to the white house. the interest taken in this occasion by the president's old comrades in arms was something wonderful. every soldier hailed his election as a compliment to the army. that night general grant and wife attended the inauguration ball, which was held in the north wing of the new treasury department, then just completed. there was a great crowd, and the single flight of stairs proved insufficient for those who wished to pass up or down, causing great dissatisfaction, especially on the part of horace greeley and others, who found that the best hats and coats had been taken from the improvised cloak-rooms early in the evening. general grant had kept the formation of his cabinet a profound secret, and their names were not known until he sent their nominations to the senate on the day after his inauguration. the nomination of elihu b. washburne, of illinois, as secretary of state, created some surprise, as it had been understood that he was to be sent to france as minister plenipotentiary. it was soon known, however, that mr. washburne only desired to preside over the department of state for a few days, ostensibly for the prestige it would give him in diplomatic circles abroad, but really that he might appoint some of his political henchmen to profitable consulates. at the end of six days' service, mr. hamilton fish was nominated and confirmed as his successor. mr. fish was of orthodox knickerbocker stock, and the services of his father, colonel nicholas fish, gave him a hereditary right to belong to the society of the cincinnati, over the central organization of which he presided as captain- general. he had served acceptably in the united states senate and house of representatives, and as a war governor of the state of new york he had displayed considerable executive talent. he was rather a large, british-looking man, with leg-of-mutton side- whiskers, a stout nose, and a pleasant expression of countenance, especially when he was chuckling over his success in humbugging some verdant news-gatherer on diplomatic matters. it was the especial social duty of secretary fish to entertain the foreign diplomats in washington, to settle their little disputes on questions of etiquette, and to make them reasonably happy. every winter he dined and wined them, and, although his dining-room in the morgan house was of goodly size, he was forced to make a three days' job of it. so on monday he had the envoys extraordinary, on tuesday the ministers resident, and on wednesday the chargè d'affaires, with a few personal friends to fill up the gaps. the senate and house foreign committees were next entertained at dinner, and then the leading members of either house expected to put their congressional legs under the fish mahogany. meanwhile mrs. and miss fish had to go the grand rounds to leave their cards on the wives and daughters of senators and representatives, and to be "at home" every wednesday to receive visits from them and the rest of society in turn. the secretary of state is considered the "premier" of the administration, but general grant regarded the secretaryship of the treasury as the most important position in his cabinet. the republic was at peace with other nations, and the military and naval forces, which had grown to such enormous proportions during the war, had been economically reduced, but the treasury was an immense, overgrown organization, with its collections of customs and of internal revenue duties, its issues of interest-bearing bonds and of national bank-notes, the coinage of money, the revenue marine service, the coast survey, and the life-saving stations, all of which had been expanded during the war until the clerks and employees were numbered by thousands. general grant wished to place at the head of this establishment a business man who could prune off its excrescences and reform its abuses. the place was offered to the millionaire merchant, mr. a. t. stewart, of new york, who accepted it with pleasure, and at once had a suite of rooms in the ebbitt house, with a private entrance, fitted up for his occupancy until he could go to housekeeping. a few days before the th of march he came to washington and occupied these rooms, with judge hilton as his companion and adviser. on the day after the inauguration mr. stewart was nominated by general grant, but senator sumner, who had not been consulted as to the formation of the cabinet, interposed his objection to the immediate consideration of mr. stewart's nomination. late in the afternoon of that day a rumor got abroad that there was a law, understood really to have been written by alexander hamilton while secretary of the treasury, prohibiting an importer in active business from holding the position of secretary of the treasury. a newspaper correspondent obtained this law and carried to general butterfield, who conveyed it to mr. stewart and his legal adviser, judge hilton. they consulted chief justice chase, and he confirmed the view which had been taken of the law by those who first brought it to mr. stewart's attention. mr. stewart then proposed to retire from business and devote the entire profits that might accrue during the time that he should hold the office of secretary of the treasury to charitable objects. but this was decided to be something which would not be proper either for him to carry out or for the government to accept. immediately after seeing chief justice chase, mr. stewart and judge hilton drove to the white house, and laid the facts and the opinions before the president, who, on the next day, wrote a message to the senate asking that the law of be set aside so as to enable the candidate to hold the office. this the senate declined to do. it was a very natural ambition for a man of mr. stewart's tastes and training to desire to be at the head of the treasury, and it is not unlikely that the disappointment was a very severe one. this was the beginning of the "unpleasantness" between president grant and senator sumner, which finally resulted in open rupture. disappointed in not having the services of mr. stewart, general grant appointed george s. boutwell, ex-governor of massachusetts, who had had great legislative experience, as secretary of the treasury; general john a. rawlins, who had been his chief of staff and military adviser, was made secretary of war; adolph e. borie, a retired philadelphia merchant, secretary of the navy; j. d. cox, an ohio lawyer, with a good military record, secretary of the interior; john a. j. creswell, an ex-senator from maryland, postmaster- general, and ebenezer rockwood hoar, a gifted massachusetts lawyer, endowed with keen wit, but possessed of most unpopular manners, attorney-general. the cabinet was regarded as a strong one. in congress, vice- president colfax presided over the senate, and james g. blaine was speaker of the house. every state was again represented, and the republican administration had the support of a decided majority at either end of the capitol. it was hoped by the republicans that their party was about to enter upon a new career of usefulness. general grant carried with him into the white house his army habits of regularity and two of his staff officers, generals porter and babcock. he used to rise in the morning about seven o'clock, read the washington papers, and breakfast at half-past eight with his family. he would then light a cigar and take a short stroll, walking slowly, with his left hand behind him, and sometimes holding his cigar in his right hand. ten o'clock found him in his office, ready for the reception of visitors and the transaction of executive business. on thursdays and fridays the cabinet met, and members of congress always had precedence over other visitors. he would listen attentively to all that was said to him by those who called, but he was silent or non-committal in his replies. as the day advanced his secretaries would bring him letters which required answers, and would receive instructions as to what replies should be made. at three o'clock the official business of the day was ended, and general grant almost invariably visited the white house stables, for he was very fond of his horses. among them were "cincinnatus," his dark bay charger; "st. louis" and "egypt," two carriage-horses of fine action; a buggy horse named "julia;" master jesse's shetland ponies, "billy button" and "reb;" "jeff davis," a natural pacer; "mary," miss nellie's saddle-horse; "jennie," a brood mare, and three hambletonian colts. five vehicles were in the carriage house --a landau, a barouche, a light road-wagon, a top-buggy, and a pony- phaeton for the children. from the stable, if the weather was pleasant and the walking good, general grant would often take a stroll along the north sidewalk of pennsylvania avenue, occasionally stopping to exchange a few words with an old comrade. he returned all salutations, as had been his custom before becoming chief magistrate, and always lifted his hat when bowing to lady acquaintances. dinner was served at the white house promptly at five o'clock, and every member of the family was expected to be punctual. general grant's favorite dishes were rare roast beef, boiled hominy, and wheaten bread, but he was always a light eater. pleasant chat enlivened the meal, with master jesse as the humorist, while grandpa dent would occasionally indulge in some conservative growls against the progress being made by the colored race. after coffee, the general would light another cigar and smoke while he glanced over the new york papers. about nine o'clock, a few chosen friends would often call, sometimes by appointment, but business matters were generally forbidden, and offices were not to be mentioned. the children retired at nine o'clock, mrs. grant followed them about ten, and between ten and eleven general grant sought his pillow. [facsimile] u. s. grant ulysses s. grant was born at point pleasant, clermont county, ohio, april th, ; graduated from the military academy at west point in , and was commissioned as a brevet second lieutenant in the fourth united states infantry; served in the mexican war, receiving the brevets of first lieutenant and captain; resigned his commission in ; carried on a farm near st. louis; was commissioned colonel of the twenty-first regiment of illinois volunteers, june th, ; was promoted to the rank of brigadier-general, may th, ; of major-general, february th, ; of lieutenant-general, march st, , and as commander of the armies of the united states, march th, ; received the surrender of general lee at appomattox court-house, april th, ; was inaugurated as president of the united states, march th, ; was again inaugurated march th, ; traveled around the world with his family, may th, - december th, ; died at mount mcgregor, july d, , and was buried in the city of new york. chapter xxiii. reconstruction of the metropolis. general grant, soon after his election to the presidential chair, turned his attention to the improvement of the national capital, which was then unworthy of the american people. the streets generally were wagon tracks, muddy in the winter and dusty in the summer, while the numerous public reservations were commons overgrown with weeds. the growth of the city had been slow and labored, the real estate being generally in the hands of a few old fogies who manifested no disposition to improve or to sell. for many years the metropolis had been petted and spoiled by the general government, which had doled out small annual appropriations, and the residents had been exempted from many of the ordinary burdens of municipal government and local improvement. general grant, with his great knowledge of men, found the right person to place at the head of the regeneration of the city. it was alexander r. shepherd, a native of washington, born poor and without friends, who went from the public schools into the shop of a gas-fitter and plumber, where he learned the trade and became, in a short time, by honesty, industry, and ability, a leading business man. the territorial government was organized with henry d. cooke, the banker, as governor, a legislature, and delegate to represent the district in congress. shepherd, as chairman of the board of public works, commenced with his immense energy and invincible determination, to transform a slovenly and comfortless sleepy old town into the great and beautiful metropolis which l'enfant had planned and which washington approved before it received his name. the grandest systems of municipal improvement ever conceived were carried out regardless of expense. the whole city was placed upon an even and regular grade, the low places filled up, and the elevations cut down. some ninety miles of the three hundred miles of half-made streets and avenues were graded and paved, some with wood and others with asphaltum. the public grounds and parks were made and ornamented with grass plats, shrubbery, and fountains, the sewerage and drainage were made perfect, and health, beauty, and comfort were permanently secured. washington, thanks to governor shepherd (he having in time succeeded governor cooke) became a metropolis worthy of the republic. by reducing the width of the streets a front yard was given to each house, planted with trees or flowers, and where the old canal yawned through the heart of the city, a muddy receptacle for dead dogs and filth, arose a broad avenue, while the small reservations dotted over the city were graded and ornamented with trees, fountains, and flowers. all of this cost a great deal of money. congress appropriated five million dollars in cash, and several millions more were raised on bonds. much of this money was disbursed by governor shepherd, and he undoubtedly was disposed to give profitable contracts to his friends, and to the henchmen of those members of congress whose votes secured him liberal appropriations. newspaper correspondents received in several instances contracts for paving, which they disposed of to those engaged in that business, and realized handsome sums, but close investigation failed to show that governor shepherd had enriched himself or had added to the value of his own property as distinguished from the property of others. his ambition was more than a merely selfish one, and it was shown clearly that his ability was equaled by his honesty. a few years later he became financially embarrassed, and was forced to exile himself to mexico, hoping to repair in its silver mines his shattered fortune. general grant never lost confidence in him, and as his improvements became perfected, alexander r. shepherd was regarded as the regenerator of the national metropolis. another man who did much for the ornamentation of washington city was a. b. mullett, the supervising architect of the treasury. after having finished that magnificent structure, the extended treasury building, he planned and commenced the great state, war, and navy building, the cost of which is about twelve millions of dollars. his professional advice was followed by governor shepherd, and it is not altogether creditable to our institutions that after having honestly disbursed millions on the public buildings in almost every section of the country, as well as on those at washington city, mr. mullett was removed from his position on political grounds, and was obliged, after having given the best years of his life to his country, to commence anew the practice of his profession for a livelihood. general grant was much embarrassed early in his presidential career by the attempts of some of those around him to engage in speculations for their private benefit. always willing to bestow offices, or to dispense profitable favors to his numerous relatives by blood and by marriage, and to advance the interests of those who had served him faithfully during the war, he could not understand the desperate intrigues which speculation had led some of them into. among his protégés was abel r. corbin, who had been known at washington as the clerk of a house committee, a correspondent, and a lobbyist, and who had afterward removed to new york, where he had added to his means by successful speculation. marrying general grant's sister, who was somewhat advanced in years, he conceived the idea of using his brother-in-law for a gigantic speculation in gold, and in order to obtain the requisite capital entered into a partnership with jay gould and james fisk, jr. by adroit management, these operators held on the first of september, , "calls" for one hundred million dollars of gold, and as there were not more than fifteen millions of the precious metal in new york outside of the sub-treasury, they were masters of the situation. the only obstacle in the way of their triumphant success would be the sale of gold from the sub-treasury at a moderate price, by direction of general grant. corbin assured his co-conspirators that he could prevent this interference, and wrote a letter to the president urging him not to order or permit sales from the sub-treasury. he ostensibly sent this letter by special messenger, but, in fact, substituted for it an ordinary letter on family matters. general grant's suspicions were aroused by the receipt of this unimportant epistle, and at his request mrs. grant wrote to mrs. corbin, saying that the general had learned with regret that her husband was engaged in gold speculations, and he had better give them up. general grant returned to washington on the d of september, . the next day, "black friday," the conspirators put up the price of gold, and a wild panic ensured. leading men of all parties in the city of new york telegraphed the president and the secretary of the treasury, urging their interference as the only way of preventing a financial crash, which would have extended over the whole country. about eleven o'clock secretary boutwell went to the white house, and after a brief conference general grant expressed his wish that the desired relief should be given, and secretary boutwell promptly telegraphed to sub-treasurer butterfield, at new york, to give notice that he would sell four millions of gold. this collapsed the speculation. "i knew," said jim fisk, afterward, "that somebody had run a sword right into us." it was not without difficulty that corbin, gould, and fisk escaped from the fury of their victims. the conspiracy was subsequently investigated by a committee of the house of representatives, and a report was made by james a. garfield, completely exonerating general grant, and declaring that by laying the strong hand of government upon the conspirators and breaking their power he had treated them as enemies of the credit and business of the union. general grant was known to advocate the speediest practical return to specie payment, but the supreme court of the united states changed the current of financial operations by declaring that the act of congress of , making "greenback" notes a legal tender, was unconstitutional. it is a curious fact, that while the community every now and then is thrown into a condition of great excitement about political rights and duties, and about who shall be president and who member of congress, nine elderly gentlemen, wearing silk gowns, sitting in a quiet room in the capitol, are deciding questions of direct and immediate political concern, taking laws from the statute books, and nullifying the action of the executive and legislative departments of the government, yet not one in a thousand of the busy, restless citizens of the country knows or cares what the decisions of this arch-tribunal are. this high tribunal holds its sessions in the chamber of the capitol which was originally constructed for and occupied by the senate of the united states. the supreme court began its sessions here in . the court is in session from the second monday in october to early in may of each year. it usually sits five days each week, reserving saturday for consultations on the cases in hand. positions on this bench are deemed eminently desirable, as they are for life, or "during good behavior." the salaries are not to be despised either, being ten thousand dollars each per annum, with an additional five hundred dollars to the chief justice. the credit mobilier made a deal of talk, although comparatively few people knew what it really was. under various acts of congress granting aid to the union pacific railroad, that corporation was to receive twelve thousand eight hundred acres of land to the mile, or about twelve million acres in all, and government six per cent. bonds to the amount of twelve thousand dollars per mile for one portion of the road, thirty-two thousand dollars per mile for another portion, and forty-eight thousand dollars per mile for another. in addition to these subsidies, the company was authorized to issue its own first mortgage bonds to an amount equal to the government bonds, and to organize with a capital stock not to exceed one hundred million dollars. all this constituted a magnificent fund, and it soon became evident that the road could be built for at least twenty million dollars less than the resources thus furnished. of course, the honest way would have been to build the road as economically as possible, and give the government the benefit of the saving, but this was not thought of. the directors set themselves at work to concoct a plan by which they could appropriate the whole amount, and, after building the road, divide the large surplus among themselves. the plan hit upon was for the directors to become contractors, in other words, to hire themselves to build the road. to consummate this fraud without exciting public attention, and to cover all traces of the transaction, was no easy matter, but the directors employed an eminent attorney skilled in the intricacies of railroad fraud, and with his aid and advice the machinery for the transaction was finally arranged to the satisfaction of all concerned. this attorney was samuel j. tilden. in order to avoid personal liability and give their movement the semblance of legality, the directors purchased the charter of the "pennsylvania fiscal agency," and changed its name to the "credit mobilier of america." at this time ( ) two million dollars of stock had been subscribed to the railroad company, and two hundred and eighteen thousand dollars paid in. samuel j. tilden had subscribed twenty thousand dollars. the first thing the credit mobilier did was to buy in all of this stock and bring the railroad company and credit mobilier under one management and the same set of officers. then the directors of the railroad company, through certain middle-men, awarded the contract for building the road to the credit mobilier, in other words, to themselves, for from twenty thousand dollars to thirty thousand dollars per mile more than it was worth. evidence which afterward came to light in the congressional investigations showed that the credit mobilier made a cash profit in the transaction of over twenty-three million dollars, besides gobbling up the stock of the road at thirty cents on the dollar, when the law plainly provided that it should not be issued at less than par. oakes ames, a sturdy massachusetts mechanic, who had acquired a fortune by the manufacture of shovels, had been persuaded to embark in the construction of the pacific railroad. finding legislation necessary, and knowing how difficult it was to secure the attention of congressmen to schemes which did not benefit them or their constituents, he distributed shares of this credit mobilier, to use his own words, "where it would do the most good." some of the recipients kept it and pocketed the profits, while others endeavored to get rid of it when public attention was called to it, and they ungratefully tried to make mr. ames their scapegoat. [facsimile] james monroe james monroe was born in westmoreland county, va., april th, ; served honorably in the revolution; entered the virginia legislature when twenty-three years of age; entered congress when twenty-four; chosen united states senator, ; was minister to france, - ; was governor of virginia, - ; re-elected governor in ; resigned and became secretary of state under madison, - ; was president of the united states, - ; died july th, , in new york. chapter xxiv. restoration of the union. the southern states had again returned to their allegiance, and in the third session of the forty-first congress every state in the union was represented. vice-president colfax presided over sixty- one republican and thirteen democratic senators, and speaker blaine over one hundred and seventy-two republican and seventy-one democratic representatives. the republican party had preserved the union, conquered peace, and was at the height of its power. the "carpet- baggers" from the south were gradually being replaced by ante-bellum politicians and "southern brigadiers." many northern men regretted that the north had not sent more of its heroes to congress, feeling that men who had honorably faced each other on hard-fought battle- fields would have a mutual respect and a mutual desire to co-operate together for the national welfare. it soon became evident, however, that the southern democrats were about to exercise an important influence in national politics, that they possessed in common some very clearly defined purposes, and that they were not likely to permit their allegiance to their party to interfere with their efforts to obtain what they called "justice for the south." they went in without reserve for the old flag, but they also went in for an appropriation--in fact, several appropriations. they honestly thought that they were only asking simple justice in demanding that the government should spend nearly as much for the development of their material resources as it did for the suppression of the rebellion. all their cherished ideas of state rights vanished when money was to be expended at the south, and the honesty of their intentions made their influence far more to be dreaded than that of adepts in legislative corruption, who are always distrusted. the number of southern representatives was greatly increased by that change in the constitution which abolished the fractional representation of colored people and made all men equal. it soon became evident, too, that the whites were determined, by a well- disciplined legion, known as the ku-klux klan, whose members pretended to be the ghosts of the confederate dead, to intimidate the colored voters, and intimidation was often supplemented by violence and murder. the grossest outrages by this secret body went unpunished and congress finally passed a law which enabled the president to eradicate the evil. the "joint high commission," for the adjustment of all causes of difference between the united states and great britain, including the depredations of rebel cruisers fitted out in british ports and the disputed fisheries in north american waters, assembled in washington in the spring of . the "high joints," as they were familiarly termed, took the furnished house of mr. philp, on franklin square, where they gave a series of dinner-parties, with several evening entertainments. in return numerous entertainments were given to them, including a banquet by the leading freemasons in washington, some of them members of congress, to the earl de gray (then grand master of masons in england), and lord tenterden, who was also a prominent member of the fraternity. there are good reasons for believing that the british were induced to gracefully make the concessions involved in the alabama treaty by the knowledge that general grant had taken into consideration the expediency of seizing canada as a compensation for damages inflicted upon the united states ships by confederate cruisers fitted out in english ports. this was a favorite idea of general john a. rawlins, who was the brain of general grant's staff and his secretary of war until death removed him. general rawlins was in full accord with the hope that stephen a. douglas's aspirations for an ocean-bound republic might be realized, and it was understood that he was warmly seconded by general pryor, of virginia, ex- lieutenant governor reynolds, of missouri, and others. the treaty was indirectly opposed by monsieur de catacazy, the minister plenipotentiary of the emperor of russia to the united states, who endeavored to prejudice senators against its ratification, and inspired the correspondent of a new york paper to write against it. this prompted secretary fish to request the minister's recall, and there was also much scandal circulated by madame de catacazy, a beautiful woman, who had been at washington--so the gossips say --fifteen years before, when she had eloped from her husband under the protection of monsieur de catacazy, then secretary of the russian legation. the emperor of russia, on receiving complaint against his envoy, directed the minister of foreign affairs to ask in his name that the president "would tolerate monsieur de catacazy until the coming visit of his third son, the grand duke alexis, was concluded." to this personal appeal general grant assented. the grand duke soon afterward arrived at washington, and was welcomed at the russian legation by madame de catacazy, who wore a dress of gold-colored silk, with a flowing train, elaborately trimmed with gold-colored satin. on her right arm she wore a double bracelet, one band being on the wrist and the other above the elbow, the two joined together by elaborately wrought chains. her other ornaments were of plain gold, and above them was a wealth of golden hair. as the grand duke entered the legation, madame de catacazy carried a silver salver, on which was placed a round loaf of plain black bread, on the top of which was imbedded a golden salt-cellar. the prince took the uninviting loaf, broke and tasted of it, in accordance with the old russian custom. the grand duke was cordially welcomed at the white house, but monsieur de catacazy was treated with studied coolness. it was openly intimated that there was a little frenchwoman at washington, young, sprightly, and accomplished, who had won the way into the catacazy's household through the sympathies of its handsome mistress. she was made a companion of, advised with, and intrusted with whatever the house or legation contained, confidential and otherwise. all the public or private letters, papers, and despatches passed under they eyes of this bright little woman, all that was said went into her sharp ears, and every day she made a written report of what she had heard and seen, which was privately sent to the department of state, and for which she was handsomely remunerated from the secret service fund. charles sumner purchased (before it was completed) an elegant dwelling-house between the arlington hotel and lafayette square, but when he occupied it at the commencement of the next session, he was alone. the energetic reporters at once began to intimate that the senator's marriage had not been a happy one, and from that time until the great senator passed over the dark river this painful subject was, as it were, a base of supplies from which a great variety of theories were drawn and sustained. one was sure that the attentions of a diplomat had troubled the senator, another declared that he was too arrogant, another that he was too exacting --in short, there was not an editorial paragraphist who did not sooner or later give a conjectural solution of mr. sumner's domestic infelicity. they were divorced, and he lived alone for several years in his sumptuous house, which he adorned with superb works of art. here he hospitably entertained personal friends and distinguished strangers. unforgiving and implacable, his smile grew sadder, the furrows on his face deepened, and he lost his former _bonhomie_. he was a prometheus vinctus, bound to the desolate rock of a wrecked life, but heroically refraining from revenging his great wrong by attacking a woman. general grant's difficulty with mr. sumner began when the president did not consult the senator about the formation of his cabinet. the breach was gradually widened, and thorough it the senator finally became completely estranged from his old friend and associate in the senate, secretary fish. when mr. motley was removed from the english mission, mr. sumner insisted upon regarding it as a personal insult, which he sought to repay by opposition to the acquisition of san domingo. general grant endeavored to appease the offended senator, and on the evening of the day on which the san domingo treaty was to be sent to the senate he called at mr. sumner's house. general grant found the senator at his dinner- table with colonel forney and the writer, and was invited to take a seat with them. after some preliminary conversation, general grant began to talk about san domingo, but he did not have the treaty or any memorandum of it with him. he dwelt especially upon the expenditures of general babcock at san domingo of a large sum taken from the secret service fund for promoting intercourse with the west india islands, which mr. seward, when secretary of state, had prevailed on representative thad stevens to have inserted in an appropriation bill during the war. the president impressed mr. sumner with the idea that he looked for an attack in congress on the manner in which much of that money had been spent. mr. sumner unquestionably thought that general grant had come to enlist his services in defending the expenditure by general babcock of one hundred thousand dollars in cash, and fifty thousand dollars for a light battery purchased at new york. the president meant, as colonel forney and the writer thought, the treaty for the acquisition of the dominican republic. the president and the senator misunderstood each other. after awhile general grant promised to send general babcock to the senator the next day with copies of the papers, and then left. while escorting the president to the door, mr. sumner assured him that he was a republican and a supporter of the republican administration, and that he should sustain the administration in this case if he possibly could, after he had examined the papers. he meant the expenditure of general babcock, but the president meant the treaty. the next morning general babcock called on senator sumner with a copy of the treaty, which he began to read, but he had not gotten beyond the preamble, in which babcock was styled "aid-de-camp of his excellency general ulysses s. grant," before mr. sumner showed signs of disapprobation. when general babcock proceeded and read the stipulation that "his excellency general grant, president of the united states, promises perfectly to use all his influence in order that the idea of annexing the dominican republic to the united states may acquire such a degree of popularity among the members of congress as will be necessary for its accomplishment," senator sumner became the enemy of the whole scheme. he did not believe that the president of the united states should be made a lobbyist to bring about annexation by congress. some of mr. sumner's friends used to tell him that he should have gone at once to general grant and have told him of his purpose to oppose the treaty, and that he had declared his hostility to it to general babcock in unmistakable terms. this was the time when well-meaning friends of both of these great men might have secured satisfactory mutual explanation, although no living power could have made senator sumner a supporter of the acquisition of the port of samana in san domingo. in the senate sycophants who "carried water on both shoulders," and men who always delight in fomenting quarrels, embittered mr. sumner against the president. one had served his country well in the camp, while the other had performed equally valuable services in the senate; one was a statesman, the other was a soldier. what did not appear to be wrong to the general, the senator regarded as criminal. conscious of the value of his services in saving the union, general grant accepted with gratitude the voluntary offerings of grateful citizens; but senator sumner, who had seen so much of political life and of politicians, knew too well that those who make gifts to public men expect favors in return, and that every public man should be inflexibly opposed to the reception of presents. remarks by him about the president, and remarks by the president about him were carried to and fro by mischief-makers, like the shuttle of a loom, and mr. sumner directly found himself placed at the head of a clique of disappointed republicans, who were determined to prevent, if possible, the re-election of general grant to the presidency. henry wilson, when vice-president of the united states, endeavored to restore harmony, and said, in a letter to general grant: "your administration is menaced by great opposition, and it must needs possess a unity among the people and in congress. the head of a great party, the president of the united states has much to forget and forgive, but he can afford to be magnanimous and forgiving. i want to see the president and congress in harmony and the republican party united and victorious. to accomplish this, we must all be just, charitable, and forgiving." [facsimile] schuylercolfax schuyler colfax was born at new york city march d, ; was a representative from indiana, - , serving as speaker of the house of representatives six years; was elected vice-president of the united states on the ticket with general grant, serving - , and died at mankato, minnesota, january th, . chapter xxv. intrigues and intriguers. general grant, when elected president of the united states, had endeavored to elevate his views beyond the narrow sphere of party influences, and had consolidated in his own mind a scheme of policy which he had before shadowed out for the complete reconstruction of the union, and for the reform of abuses which had crept into the federal government during the war. the qualities which insured his success as a soldier had not enabled him to succeed as a statesman, but he displayed the same fortitude under apparent disaster and courage at unexpected crises when he found himself again passing "the wilderness," darkened, not with the smoke of battle, but with detraction and denunciation. again, in the old spirit he exclaimed, "i will fight it out on this line if it takes all summer." the opposition to general grant's re-election was hydra-headed, and no less than seven candidates were in the field against him. the contest of had been called "the scrub-race for the presidency," and to that of was given the name of "go as you please." the watchword of the factions was "anything to beat grant;" their points of union were the greed of office and the thirst for revenge. the only serious opposition to general grant was that of the combined liberal republican and democratic parties, which nominated as their candidate horace greeley. it was deeply to be regretted that political ambition tempted the only equal of "benjamin franklin, journeyman printer," to become a politician. better informed than any other man on american politics, courageous, free from small vices, and the embodiment of common sense and justice, with a kind and charitable heart, he was a man of the people and for the people. he was made supremely ridiculous by nast's caricatures, and by his own record as collated from the files of the great newspaper which he had founded and continued to edit. mr. greeley, after his double nomination at cincinnati and at baltimore, showed that he was not content with being a "good printer, a respectable publisher, and an honest editor," which he had previously avowed was the height of his ambition. the unnatural political alliance with those whom he had denounced for a quarter of a century led him into all sorts of inconsistencies and contradictions, and displayed his insatiable thirst for public office. all the sympathies of the democratic party had been his antipathies, all their hates his loves, and many of their leaders spoke of him publicly with contempt. indeed, his campaign would have been a farce had not his untimely death made it a tragedy. ridicule killed him politically, and his political failure was the immediate cause of his sad physical death. senator sumner, endeavoring with the aid of senator schurz to connect general grant or some of the officers near him with the french "arms scandal," prepared with great care, and read in the senate on the st of may, , a fierce philippic against the president. ancient and modern history had been ransacked for precedents, which were quoted and then applied to general grant, to show his unworthiness, his incompetency, his nepotism, and his ambition. the long tirade was an erudite exhibition of most intense partisanship, having as a motto from shakespeare, "we will have rings and things and fine array." a few weeks later mr. sumner sailed for europe, and did not return until after the election. at the republican national convention, which was held at philadelphia, on wednesday, the th of june, , general grant was renominated by acclamation as president and henry wilson as vice-president. the defeat of mr. colfax for renomination was attributable to the bitter hostility of some of the washington newspaper correspondents, and to the free use of money among the delegates from the southern states, under the pretense that it was to be used for the establishment of newspapers and for campaign expenses. mr. wilson had sent from washington all the money that he could raise, and he had been liberally aided by mr. buffington, of massachusetts. mr. colfax was badly served by his own immediate friends and advocates. the indiana delegation were at first quite immoderate in their mode of demanding their favorite statesman's renomination. one gentleman, himself an editor, was especially bitter at the activity of mr. wilson's newspaper friends, and declared he would mark them all in his paper. such declarations made what begun in good feeling toward mr. wilson, and a considerable share of a fun- loving spirit, a strong and determined contest. then in the new york and other delegations there were gentlemen who represented large employing and moneyed interests, as mr. orton, of the western union telegraph company, mr. shoemaker, of adams express, and mr. franchot, familiarly known as "goat island dick," the principal attorney of the california central pacific for legislative favors from congress. these and other gentlemen identified with great corporate interests were at first even bitterly hostile to mr. wilson's candidacy, and to the last urged that of mr. colfax. there was considerable fun in the conflict, which was, in the main, conducted with good-nature on both sides. mr. colfax was by no means without newspaper friends. mr. bowles, though a greeley man, did him quiet but continuous service. messrs. jones and jennings, of the new york _times_, were present, and were understood to have exerted themselves for the vice-president's renomination. mr. holloway, of the indianapolis _journal_, was very active. colonel forney pronounced for mr. colfax through the _press_, though his son, the managing editor, shared in the good feeling of the washington correspondents toward the senator. the campaign was a very earnest one, and every citizen had to listen to campaign speeches, attend ward meetings and conventions, subscribe for the expenses of torchlight processions, if he did not march therein, and thus fortify his intellect and strengthen his conscience for the quadrennial tilt with his friends over the relative merits of candidates and the proper elucidation of issues involved. for the first time civil-service reform was advocated by the republicans, in accordance with the recommendations of general grant in his message, and was opposed by those who (to paraphrase brinsley sheridan) believed that "there is no more conscience in politics than in gallantry." when congress met in december, , general grant made the gratifying announcement that the differences between the united states and great britain had been settled by the tribunal of arbitration, which had met at geneva, in a manner entirely satisfactory to the government of the united states. he also congratulated the country on the coming centennial celebration at philadelphia, the completion of the ninth census, the successful working of the bureau of education, the operations of the department of agriculture, and the civil-service reform which congress had been so reluctant to consider. the new year's reception at the commencement of was a crowded affair. mrs. grant wore a dress of pearl-gray silk, flounced and trimmed with silk of a darker hue and with point lace. mrs. fish wore an elaborately trimmed dress of nile-green silk, and was accompanied by her young daughter, in blue silk. mrs. boutwell wore a black velvet dress trimmed with white lace, and her daughter a pale-blue silk dress trimmed with black lace, and mrs. attorney- general williams wore a dress of nile-green silk, trimmed with valenciennes lace. lady thornton wore a dress of royal purple velvet, elegantly trimmed, and the bride of the minister from ecuador wore a dress of sage-green silk, with a sleeveless velvet jacket, and a velvet hat of the same shade. the army, the navy, the diplomatic corps, and the judiciary were out in full force. there were nice people, questionable people, and people who were not nice at all in the crowd. every state, every age, every social class, both sexes, and all human colors were represented. there were wealthy bankers, and a poor, blind, black beggar led by a boy; men in broadcloth and men in homespun; men with beards and men without beards; members of the press and of the lobby; contractors and claim agents; office-holders and office-seekers; there were ladies from paris in elegant attire, and ladies from the interior in calico; ladies whose cheeks were tinged with rouge, and others whose faces were weather-bronzed by out-door work; ladies as lovely as eve, and others as naughty as mary magdalene; ladies in diamonds, and others in dollar jewelry; chambermaids elbowed countesses, and all enjoyed themselves. after the official reception at the white house the secretaries and other dignitaries hurried to their respective homes, there in their turn to receive visits. the foreign diplomats did not receive, but with the army and navy men and the citizens "generally" went "the grand rounds." the older citizens had hospitable spreads, including hot canvas-back ducks, terrapin, and well-filled punch-bowls, and veteran callers got in the work as ususal, but at most houses intoxicating drinks were dispensed with, and there were no such exhibitions of drunkenness as had disgraced former years. senator sumner, who had left the presidential contest and gone to europe returned to his senatorial duties and "accepted the situation." early in the session he introduced a bill prohibiting the future publication of names of union victories in the army register or their inscription on the regimental colors of the army. this step toward an oblivion of past difficulties was highly acceptable to general grant, who conveyed to mr. sumner his appreciation of the olive branch thus extended. others were not disposed to regard his movement with a friendly eye, and the legislature of massachusetts passed a resolution censuring him. mr. sumner survived a few months only, when, after a very brief illness, he died at his house in washington. when he was gone, men of all political parties joined heartily in eulogizing the deceased statesman. a mourning nation paid homage to his pure heart, to his sense of duty and right, to his courageous willingness to bear obloquy, to his unwearied industry--in short, to that rare union of qualities which impart such grandeur to his memory. even the jealousies and schemes of the living were restrained, as the second-rate heroes of ancient days postponed their contest for the armor of achilles until last honors had been paid to the memory of the illustrious departed. in doric hall in the state house at boston his remains finally lay in state amid a lavish display of floral tokens, which were sent from all classes and localities, massachusetts thus emphatically indorsing her son, whom she had so lately censured. senator sumner left behind him a few printed copies of a speech which he had prepared for delivery in the senate before the then recent presidential election, each copy inscribed in his own handwriting, "private and confidential." he had written it when inspired with the belief that with the administration he was a proscribed man; but his friends convinced him that it would not be best for him to throw down this gauntlet of defiance. he had, therefore, decided not to make public the indictment which he had prepared, and the few copies of it which had been given to friends was not, as was asserted, the report of a "posthumous speech." its publication after his death by those to whom copies had been intrusted in confidence was an unpardonable breach of trust. the great massachusetts senator had for years stood before the country with a strong individuality which had separated him from the machine politicians, and placed him among the statesmen of the republic. before the roll of the northern drums was heard in the south, he had defiantly denounced the slave-holders in the capitol, and when the thunder of artillery drowned the voice of oratory, he earnestly labored to have the war overthrow and eradicate slavery. just as his hopes were realized, and as he was battling for civil rights for the enfranchised race, his life, for which his friends anticipated a long twilight, was unexpectedly brought to a close. yet there is something so melancholy in the slow decline of great mental powers, that those who loved him the best felt a sort of relief that he had suddenly thrown off his load of domestic sorrow and passed across the dark stream into the unknown land while still in the possession of his energies. [facsimile] yours truly h. wilson henry wilson, born at framington, n. h., february th, ; member massachusetts house of representatives, , and served four years in the state senate, being twice its presiding officer; united states senator, - ; vice-president, march th, - november d, , when he died. chapter xxvi. a new term begun. general grant's second inauguration on tuesday, march th, , was shorn of its splendor by the intense cold weather. the wind blew in a perfect gale from the southwest, sweeping away the flags and other decorations from private houses and making it very disagreeable for the, nevertheless, large crowds of spectators. when the procession started from the white house, so intense was the cold that the breath of the musicians condensed in the valves of their instruments, rendering it impossible for them to play, and many of the cadets and soldiers had to leave the ranks half frozen, while the customary crowds of civilians were completely routed by the cutting blasts. the procession was headed by the regulars, followed by a battalion of half frozen west point cadets in their light gray parade uniforms, and another of midshipmen from the annapolis naval school in dark blue. a division of gayly uniformed citizen-soldiers followed, including the boston lancers in their scarlet coats, with pennons fluttering from their lances, and the first troop of the philadelphia city cavalry, which had escorted almost every preceding president, and which carried its historic flag, which was the first bearing thirteen stripes, and which was presented to the troop in . general grant, with a member of the congressional committee, rode in his own open barouche, drawn by four bay horses. in the next carriage was henry wilson, vice-president, escorted by another member of the committee, and the president's family followed. after the military came political clubs in citizens' attire, with bands and banners, the washington fire department bringing up the rear. meanwhile the senate had closed the labors of the forty-second congress, and chairs were placed in the chamber for the dignitaries, who soon began to arrive. the members of the diplomatic corps wore their court dresses and were resplendent with gold lace and embroidery. chief justice chase, who came in at the head of the supreme court, looked well, although strangely changed by his full gray beard, which concealed all the lines of his face. general sherman had been persuaded by his staff to appear in the new uniform of his rank, but, to their disgust, he wore with it a pair of bright yellow kid gloves. there were other high officers of the army and navy, with the heads of the executive departments, on the floor of the senate, and the members of the defunct house of representatives, who came trooping in after their adjournment, formed a background for the scene. at twelve o'clock, vice-president colfax delivered a brief valedictory address, and then henry wilson, vice-president-elect, delivered his salutatory, took the prescribed oath, and swore in the senators- elect. a procession was then formed, which slowly wended its way through the rotunda to the customary platform over the steps of the eastern portico. when general grant appeared hearty cheers were given by the vast crowd, estimated at not less then twenty thousand in number, packed behind the military escort on the plaza before the capitol. chief justice chase again administered the oath of office, and the president advanced, uncovered, to the front of the platform, and read his re-inaugural address. the wind blew a tempest at times, nearly wrenching the manuscript from his hands. no sooner had he finished reading than the salute from a neighboring light battery was echoed by the guns in the navy yard, the arsenal, and at two or three forts on the virginia side of the potomac, which had not yet been dismantled. before the echoes of the salutes had fairly died away, the procession started to escort president grant back to the white house, the bleak wind making nearly every one tremble and shiver. the city was illuminated in the early evening, and the new wooden pavement on pennsylvania avenue, cleared of all vehicles by the police, was covered by the throng of shivering men, women, and children. the light in the tholus over the great dome of the capitol shone like a beacon far above the rows of colored lanterns which were hung in festoons from the trees among the sidewalks. calcium lights added to the brilliancy of the scene, and many private houses and stores were illuminated with gas or candles. at nine o'clock there was a display of fireworks on the park south of the white house, the rockets shooting comet-like across the clear, star-dotted sky, dropping showers of colored fire in their flight. all the while the wind blew fiercely, and the cold was intensified, but the crowd seemed oblivious to the wintry blast. at the inauguration ball, held in an immense temporary building, which had no heating apparatus, the ladies were compelled to wear their wrappings, and the gentlemen kept on their overcoats and hats as they endeavored to keep warm by vigorous dancing. mrs. grant, who wore a white silk dress trimmed with black chantilly lace, shivered as she stood by the side of her husband on the dais, and the members and the ladies of the diplomatic corps remained but a few moments. the supper, which had been prepared at a large expense, was emphatically a cold repast. the ornamental devices in ice- cream were frozen into solid chunks, and the champagne and punch were forsaken for hot coffee and chocolate, the only things warm in the building. the guests, each one of whom had paid twenty dollars for a ticket, were frozen out before midnight. chief justice chase never appeared in public after this inauguration, but died on the th of may following. an effort was made to have justice miller promoted, but president grant positively declined doing so, on the ground that to raise any associate justice over his brothers would be to deepen jealousies not wholly invisible there, so he tendered the important position to roscoe conkling, then a united states senator from new york, whose great intellectual powers especially qualified him to be the successor of marshall and of taney. some of mr. conkling's friends urged him to accept the place, while others, who desired to see him president of the united states, prevailed on him to remain in political life and to decline the president's offer. general grant then nominated as chief justice his attorney-general, george h. williams, of oregon, but this awakened the jealousies of justice miller, whose son-in- law, colonel corkhill, commenced a vigorous attack upon the nomination in the washington _chronicle_, which he then edited. there were also some grave scandals in washington society about a number of anonymous letters which had been written, it was intimated, by mrs. williams. when the senate met it soon became apparent that the nomination of mr. williams could not be confirmed, and it was withdrawn at his own request. having come to him without his own agency, he lost nothing in letting it go except some unpleasant experiences. the president then nominated caleb cushing, who was more objectionable to the court than mr. williams had been. the _chronicle_ boiled with rage, and other journals admitted that even if mr. cushing had caught the spirit of the age and taken a long stride out of his old errors of opinion, he was not a man to be placed on the bench of the supreme court, when full civil rights had not been accorded to the negro and many important questions connected with the war had not been settled. on the other hand, senators sumner and boutwell, of massachusetts, vouched for mr. cushing's republican record, and his loyalty and soundness on the measures of the war and reconstruction. he would have been confirmed beyond doubt had it not been for a letter written by him at the breaking out of the rebellion, to jefferson davis, commending a clerk in the attorney- general's office, who considered it his duty to join his relatives at the south, for a position in the confederate civil service. the publication of this letter, which really contained nothing objectionable beyond the fact that mr. cushing had recommended a faithful clerk to an old personal friend as an honest and industrious man, was made the most of. it was published by colonel corkhill in large type with flaming headlines, as evidence of a secret understanding between mr. cushing and the leader of the rebellion. senator sargent, who was hostile to mr. cushing, his townsman, read this letter in a republican caucus, and it fell upon the senators assembled like a heavy clap of thunder, while senator brownlow (more extensively known as parson brownlow) keenly said that he thought the caucus had better adjourn, convene the senate in open session, and remove mr. cushing's political disabilities. mr. cushing, learning what had transpired, immediately wrote a letter to the president requesting him to withdraw his nomination. in this letter he reviewed his acts since the commencement of the war and declared, in conclusion, that whatever might have been said, either honestly or maliciously, to his prejudice, it was his right to reaffirm that he had "never done an act, uttered a word, or conceived a thought of disloyalty to the constitution or the union." the president next nominated morrison r. waite, of ohio, who had been connected with the alabama claims conference at geneva, and who was a men of eminent legal abilities, conscientious, and of great purity of character. no objection could be offered to the confirmation of his nomination, and it was unanimously made. mr. edwin m. stanton had previously been appointed a justice of the supreme court through the exertions of senator wade, of ohio. "the war secretary" had left the department over which he had energetically presided, and was suffering from heart disease. he deemed himself a neglected man and rapidly sunk into a listless condition, with no action in it, but with occasional spells of energetic sickness. mr. wade came on from ohio about this time, and went to see his friend. just then there was considerable talk that associate justice grier was about to retire from the supreme court. mr. wade deemed his friend neglected, and also thought it unintentional on the part of the president. it conversation he drew from mr. stanton the admission that he would like to be appointed to the supreme bench. just before leaving wade said he meant to ask grant for the position, in the event of grier's retirement. mr. stanton forbade the action, but wade declined to be as modest as was the organizer of victorious armies and their administration. he went direct to the white house, and at the door found the president going for a drive in his phaeton. he was invited to go along, and at once availed himself of the opportunity. during the ride he spoke about mr. stanton. the president listened carefully and said he had promised to consider mr. strong's name, and had supposed mr. stanton would not take the position even if offered to him. mr. wade gave the conversation he had had with mr. stanton. there the matter ended. mr. wade went home. mr. stanton remained quietly at his home. finally judge grier resigned, and, to the surprise of most persons, edwin m. stanton was tendered and accepted the position. he qualified by taking the oath of office, but never sat in that high tribunal to try a case. one cannot help wondering what might have resulted from his presence there. but he never had the opportunity of proving that the man who was so fierce and implacable as a war minister could have been as calm and judicially impartial on the bench as story himself. there are many at washington who believe that mr. stanton committed suicide by cutting his throat with a razor. caleb cushing was positive that he did, and investigated the matter so far as he could, but hon. e. d. mcpherson, of pennsylvania, for years the efficient clerk of the house of representatives, procured from the attendant physician a statement that it was not so, but that mr. stanton died a natural death. the marriage of general grant's only and much-loved daughter, ellen wrenshall grant, to algernon charles frederic sartoris, at the white house, on the st of may, , was a social event in washington. it was no secret that general grant had not approved of the engagement between his daughter, not then nineteen years of age, and the young englishman who had enlisted her affection on the steamer while she was returning from abroad. but when the fond father found that her heart was set on the match he yielded, although it was a hard struggle to have her leave home and go abroad among strangers. the ceremony was performed in the east room by the rev. dr. o. h. tiffany. there were eight bridesmaids, and colonel fred grant was the bridegroom's best man. the bride wore a white satin dress, trimmed with point lace, a bridal veil which completely enveloped her, with a wreath of white flowers and green leaves interspersed with orange blossoms. the eight bridesmaids wore dresses of white corded silk, alike in every particular, with overdresses of white illusion, sashes of white silk arranged in a succession of loops from the waist downward, forming graceful drapery. mrs. grant, who was in mourning, wore a mauve-colored silk dress, trimmed with a deeper shade of the same, with ruffles and puffs of black illusion, lavender-colored ribbon, and bunches of pansies. the banquet was served in the state dining-room, with the bride's cake in the centre of the elaborately decorated table. [facsimile] m. r. waite chief justice morrison remich waite was born at lynn, connecticut, december th, ; was graduated at yale college when twenty-two years of age; studied law; went to ohio in , and was there admitted to the bar in ; settled at toledo; was a member of the state legislature in ; was defeated as a republican candidate for congress in ; was counsel for the united states before the geneva award commission in , and was presiding over the state constitutional convention of ohio when he was appointed chief justice of the united states, in january, . chapter xxvii. corruption in official life. the democrats, having secured possession of the house of representatives, organized upward of fifty committees of investigation, which cast their drag-nets over every branch of the administration, hoping to find some evidence of corruption in which the president had shared; but he most searching investigation failed to connect the name or fame of general grant with any of this traditional "picking and stealing." witnesses were summoned by the score, reams of paper were covered with short-hand notes of testimony, and some of the committees traveled far and wide in search of the evidence they desired. they found nothing, but they reminded massachusetts men of old captain starbuck, of nantucket, a philosophical old sea-dog, who never permitted bad luck to dampen his faith or his good spirits. returning home from a three years' whaling voyage, with an empty hold, he was boarded by the pilot, an old acquaintance, who asked: "waal, cap'n starbuck, how many bar'ls? had a good v'yage?" "not 'zackly," responded the captain, "i haint got a bar'l of ile aboard, but i'll tell ye, i've had a mighty good sail." just as they were about to give up in despair, a jealous woman revealed the fact that caleb p. marsh, of new york, had received the appointment of post-trader at fort sill through the endeavors of his wife with the wife of the secretary of war, general belknap. marsh made a contract with the trader already there, permitting him to continue, in consideration of twelve thousand dollars of the annual profits, divided in quarterly installments. the money thus received was divided with the secretary of war for two years by remittances to mrs. belknap, but subsequently a reduced amount of six thousand dollars a year, agreed on with the post-trader, was similarly divided by remittances direct to the secretary. when general belknap was transplanted from a revenue collector's office in iowa to the department of war, he brought his wife with him to washington, and they occupied the house just before vacated by secretary seward. other cabinet officers gave parties, and so did the belknaps, but they had been too liberal with their invitations, especially to the young officers just fresh from army life, and there was a great deal of disorder, with accompanying damage to curtains, carpets, and furnishings. the result was that the belknaps were either obliged to retire from society and inhabit a cheap boarding-house, or replenish the family coffers. alas! the tempting marsh appeared on the stage, and the temptation could not be resisted. mrs. belknap died not long afterward, but her sister, the widow of colonel bowers, of the confederate service, inherited her "spoils of war," was a mother to her child, and in due time became the wife of her husband. in the interval of time required by decorum mrs. bowers traveled in europe, accompanied by mrs. marsh and escorted by george h. pendleton, of ohio. returning home, mrs. bowers was married to general belknap on the th of december, , mr. pendleton giving the bride away. a handsomer or an apparently happier couple never came to washington in their honeymoon, and they were at once recognized among the leaders of society. her dresses and jewels were among the favorite themes of the industrious lady journalists who get up marvelous accounts of washington entertainment, and they were worthy of comment. i well remember having seen her one night wearing one of worth's dresses, of alternate stripes of white satin embroidered with ivy leaves, and green satin embroidered with golden ears of wheat, with a sweeping train of green satin bordered with a heavy embroidered garland of ivy and wheat. a cluster of these in gold and emerald was in her black hair, and she wore a full set of large emeralds, set in etruscan gold. the costume was faultless, and fitted to adorn the queenlike woman. no one who had seen mrs. belknap wondered at the fascination she exercised over her husband, or thought it strange that he who seemed so sternly scrupulous about the expenditure of public money, should have sacrificed his reputation that she might be known as the best- dressed woman in washington society. perhaps, too, it was remembered that he had brought from the camp one of its legacies. few post commanders refused the original delicacies for the mess-table at head-quarters from the post sutler who desired to keep on the right side of those in authority. why, then, could not the secretary of war permit his wife to receive a _douceur_ from one of those cormorants, who always grow rich, and who may without harm be made to lay down a fraction of their extortionate gains? mrs. lincoln, it was well known, had accepted a shawl worth one thousand dollars from a. t. stewart when he was supplying large amounts of clothing and blankets to the arms, and she had also been liberally remembered by those who had sold a steamer at an exorbitant price to the government. general grant had been the recipient of many presents, and the epoch had been styled by charles sumner one of "gift enterprises." general belknap had promptly resigned, but it became politically necessary that he should be impeached. he had as his counsel three able lawyers whose personal appearance was very dissimilar. ex- senator carpenter, who was leading counsel, was a man of very elegant presence, though his short neck and high shoulders made it impossible for him to be classed as a handsome man. his fine head, with abundant iron-gray hair, tossed carelessly back from his forehead, his keen eyes and expressive mouth, shaded by a black moustache, made up a very noticeable portrait, and his voice was so musical and penetrating that it lent a charm to the merest trifle that he uttered. judge jeremiah s. black was a tall, broad-shouldered man, with a clean-shaven, rugged face, a bright-brown wig, and a sharp pair of eyes that flashed from under snow-white brows, which made the brown wig seem still more brown. he chewed tobacco constantly, and the restless motion of his jaws, combined with the equally restless motion of his eyes made his a remarkable countenance. montgomery blair was a plain-looking man, as "lean as a racer," and evidently as eager for the work before him, though his manner was very quiet, and his bearing had none of the keen intentness that characterized his associates. the trio carried general belknap safely through his troubles. the evidence was very remarkable and gave a curious picture of "vanity fair." the bargain made by marsh with the first wife; the huckstering and business matters growing out of it, talked about and discussed over her coffin; the marriage of the secretary soon after with the sister of the then dead wife; the frequent and enormous sums paid by marsh to him; the ominous hints whispered about the mysterious interviews at the arlington; the hurried exposure; the frantic efforts to avoid it; the malignant gratification shown by the marshses, "we built the foundation on which they grew; we'll hurl them from it into a quicksand from which they will never emerge;" the admissions of guilt made by the unhappy secretary at a moment when, as it had been suggested, he was contemplating suicide; the imprisonment in his own house; their style of living; the fact of their appearance at a large dinner- party at the freeman mansion, adjoining the arlington, where, the very day after the testimony of the marshes had been taken, their haggard looks and nervous manner excited general comment, which was not entirely silenced by their early departure on the plea of indisposition; the first effort of manliness on the part of the fallen secretary, begging that the women might be spared, and he alone be allowed to assume the responsibility; his appearance one day at a cabinet meeting and the next day held as a prisoner in the dock of the police court, waiting for five long hours the appearance of friends to bail him out;--all these presented elements of such a character as to give the case a singular and sad peculiarity which we look for in vain in that of any other known to our records of criminal jurisprudence. nor was all this palliated in any way by the conduct and manner of the alleged criminal. he saw the point and smiled sympathetically at every effort of his counsel to be witty and amusing, while another party at home claimed sympathy from her friends by the strange announcement that "it was such a shame that the politicians should be allowed to prosecute such a man as general b. in such a manner; the president ought to interfere and prevent it." the "whisky ring" was the creation of cornelius wendell and other noted washington lobbyists. it became necessary to raise money at the time of the impeachment of andrew johnson, and the revenue officers, having been called on to contribute, conceived the idea of making the distillers pay a percentage on their ill-gotten gains. secretary bristow's efforts to break up these fraudulent and unlawful transactions showed the immensity of the combination of capital and ingenuity employed in cheating the government. the weekly payments to the ring amounted to millions, and for some years some of the participants pocketed four or five hundred dollars a week as their share. senator henderson, of missouri, who had become provoked against president grant, having been retained as counsel for the prosecution of some of the missouri distillers, reported that general o. e. babcock, who had served on general grant's staff during the closing years of the war, and had since been one of the private secretaries at the white house, was deeply implicated. the result was that general babcock was tried before the united states court for the eastern district of missouri. the trial showed that general babcock had had more intimate relations with the whisky ring in st. louis than any political necessity could justify, and the correspondence revealed an almost culpable indiscretion in one occupying a high position near the president. the trial occupied fourteen days. no portion of the evidence was kept back from the jury, and the verdict of "not guilty" under such circumstances was as complete an exoneration from the charge of conspiring to defraud the government as the most ardent friends of general babcock could have desired. [facsimile] matt h.carpenter matthew h. carpenter was born at moretown, vermont, in ; was at the military academy, at west point, - ; studied law with rufus choate; was admitted to the bar, and commenced practice at milwaukee, wisconsin, in ; was a united states senator from wisconsin, march th, - march d, , and again march th, , until his death at washington city, february th, . chapter xxviii. the centennial glory. the centennial year of the republic was ushered in at washington with unusual rejoicings, although the weather was damp and foggy. there were nocturnal services in several of the episcopal churches and watch meetings at the methodist churches. several of the temperance organizations continued in session until after midnight, and there was much social visiting. just before twelve o'clock, the chime of bells of the metropolitan methodist church played "pleyel's hymn." the fire-alarm bells then stuck - - - a few moments later, and as the observatory clock sounded the hour of twelve, the fire-alarm bells struck - - - ; at the same moment the brilliant light in the tholus which surmounts the dome of the capitol was lighted by electricity, casting its beams over the entire metropolis. a battery of light artillery, stationed on the armory lot, thundered forth a national salute of thirty-seven guns. the metropolitan bells chimed a national centennial march, introducing the favorite tunes of this and other nations, and there was general ringing of bells, large and small, with firing of pistols and blowing of horns. there were similar demonstrations at alexandria and at georgetown, and the ceremonies at the white house were in accordance with time-honored usage. the first entertainment ever given in washington to an emperor and empress was at the british legation, early in june, , when sir edward and lady thornton entertained dom pedro and donna teresa, of brazil. the spacious hall, the grand staircase, and the drawing- rooms of the legation were profusely ornamented with flowers, a life-sized portrait of victoria i, empress of india and queen of england, which faced the staircase, apparently welcoming the guests. many of those invited had been on an excursion to mount vernon and did not arrive until eleven o'clock. the ladies' dresses were very elaborate. the empress wore a vert d'eau silk trained skirt and basque high at the back and cut v- shape in front, the sleeves long; the rarest point lace nearly covered both skirt and basque, set on in successive rows, headed with plaits of the material; a broad black velvet ribbon, from which depended a pendant thickly studded with large diamonds, encircled her throat. she wore large diamond ear-rings, and her light-brown hair was combed down on her face, parted through the middle, and covering her ears, a grecian knot confining her hair at the back of her head. lady thornton wore a white satin trained skirt and basque, trimmed with puffings of tulle, held in place by bands and bows of the darkest shade of ruby velvet, interspersed with fine white flowers. the misses thornton wore charming gowns of paris muslin and valenciennes lace, relieved with bows of pink gros grain ribbons. mme. borges, the wife of the brazilian minister, wore a mauve silk gown, trimmed with lace, and very large diamonds. countess hayas, the wife of the austrian minister, wore paris muslin and valenciennes lace over pale blue silk, which was very becoming to her blonde complexion and youthful face and form, and a profusion of diamonds. the lately arrived minister from sweden, count lewenhaupt, was present with his wife, whose dress of the thickest, most lustrous satin of a peach-blossom tint, covered with deep falls of point lace, was very elegant. mrs. franklin kinney wore a rich mauve satin beneath point applique lace. mme. berghmann wore black silk, embroidered in wreaths of invisible purple, and trimmed with brussels lace. mrs. field wore a very becoming vert d'eau silk, handsomely made and trimmed. mrs. willis, the wife of the new york representative, wore white muslin and valenciennes lace. her sister, mrs. godfrey, wore a similar toilet, and the two ladies attracted universal attention by their beauty and grace. mrs. sharpe was very becomingly dressed in white muslin, trimmed with valenciennes lace and worn over a colored silk. miss dodge (gail hamilton), over ivory-tinted silk wore the same tint of damasquine. supper was served at midnight, and afterward many of the guests were presented to dom pedro and donna teresa in an informal manner, for the emperor was, according to his usual custom, wandering about talking to whom he pleased, and the empress, not being very strong, sat upon a sofa and talked pleasantly with all who were introduced to her. the imperial party had rooms at the arlington hotel, and the emperor proved himself to be an indefatigable sight-seer, keeping on the move from morning until night. he would not permit his dinner to be served in courses, but had everything put on the table at the same time, as he could devote only thirty minutes to his repast. the proceedings of the national republican convention, at cincinnati, had naturally been regarded with deep interest at washington, and the excitement was intense when, on the sunday prior to the meeting, it was announced that mr. blaine had been stricken by illness on his way to church. he became unconscious, and on being carried home was for some hours in an apparently critical condition, at times hardly able to breathe and unable to take the restoratives administered by his physicians. his condition was pronounced one of simple cerebral depression, produced primarily by great mental strain, and, secondarily, by the action of excessive heat. there was no apoplectic congestion or effusion, nor any symptoms of paralysis. the news of mr. blaine's illness was telegraphed to cincinnati, and undoubtedly had an unfavorable effect upon the convention. mr. blaine, nevertheless, had gradually gained votes, until on the second day of the convention he was within a few votes of the coveted prize. the shadows were settling down on the excited crowd, the tellers found it getting too dark to do their work, and gas was demanded. the blaine men, in an ungovernable frenzy, were determined to resist every effort at adjournment, while the combined opposition were equally bent on postponement in order to kill off blaine. then it was that a well-known citizen of cincinnati sprang to the platform, waved his hat at the chairman, and during a moment's lull in the fearful suspense made the crushing statement that the building was not supplied with gas. candles were asked for, but the anti-blainites had received their cue, and before the blaine lines could be reformed they carried an adjournment by stampede. political lies in this country are presumably white lies, but they are seldom followed with such tremendous results. delay enabled the opposition to mass its forces against the favorite, and hayes, instead of blaine, passed the next four years in the white house. nothing could have been more certain in this world than the nomination of blaine on that eventful evening, if the same gas which burned brightly enough twenty-four hours later for a hayes' jubilee meeting had not been choked off at a more critical time. washington was wild with excitement immediately after the presidential election. the returns received late on tuesday night indicated the election of mr. tilden, and even the republican newspapers announced on the following morning the result as doubtful. senator chandler, who was at new york, was the only confident republican, and he telegraphed to the capitol, "hayes has one hundred and eighty- five votes and is elected." he also telegraphed to general grant recommending the concentration of united states troops at the southern capitals to insure a fair count. general grant at once ordered general sherman to instruct the commanding generals in louisiana and florida to be vigilant with the forces at their command to preserve peace and good order, and to see that the proper and legal boards of canvassers were unmolested in the performance of their duties. "should there be," said he, "any grounds of suspicion of fraudulent count on either side, it should be reported and denounced at once. no man worthy of the office of president should be willing to hold it if counted in or placed there by fraud. either party can afford to be disappointed by the result. the country cannot afford to have the result tainted by the suspicion of illegal or false returns." some were disposed to wait, with as much patience and good-humor as they could command, the news from the pivotal states, while others shouted frantically about fraud. a number of leading politicians were sent by each party to the state capitals, where the national interest was concentrated, and the telegraph wires vibrated with political despatches, many of them in cipher. senator morrill was requested by the rothschilds to telegraph them who was elected president at as early a time as was convenient. he replied on wednesday that the canvass was close, with the chances in favor of tilden; but on friday he telegraphed again that hayes was probably elected. the political telegrams sent over the western union wires during the tilden-hayes campaign were subsequently surrendered by president orton, of that company, to the senate committee on privileges and elections. it was asserted that those likely to prove prejudicial to republicans were destroyed, and those damaging to democrats were clandestinely conveyed to a new york paper for publication. these political telegrams showed that the intimate friends of mr. tilden were guilty of an attempt to secure the presidential elections in several states by the use of money. the translation of these cryptogramic messages by a working journalist, and their publication in the new york _tribune_, was a great success, as it made clear what had previously been unintelligible. when a committee of the house of representatives undertook to investigate these cipher telegrams, the principal witness was colonel pelton, the nephew and private secretary of mr. tilden. his testimony was given in an apparently frank and straightforward manner, though he occasionally seemed perplexed, pondered, and hesitated. he had a loud, hard, and rather grating voice, and delivered his answers with a quick, jerky, nervous utterance, which often jumbled his words so as to render them partially inaudible. colonel pelton's tone in reply to the questions propounded to him during the examination-in-chief was loud and emphatic, as though he wanted all the world to understand that he was perfectly ready to answer every question put by the committee. he sat easily, either throwing one leg over the other, facing the chairman, or picking his teeth, or blinking his eyes hard, which was one of his peculiar habits, as he kept examining the photo-lithographed copies of the cipher telegrams and the _tribune_ compilation before him. sometimes colonel pelton's blunt confessions were of such astounding frankness as to elicit an audible whisper and commotion, what the french call a "sensation," among the listeners. colonel pelton's loud voice sank very low, and his easy, nonchalant attitude changed very perceptibly, when messrs. reed and hiscock, the republican members, took him in hand and subjected him to one of the most merciless cross-examinations ever heard in a committee room. the two keen cross-questioners evidently started out with the determined purpose to tear colonel pelton's testimony to pieces, and to literally not leave a shred behind worthy of credibility. the respective "points" scored by the republicans and the democratic members of the committee elicited such loud applause on the part of the auditors as to turn for the time the cross-examination into a regular theatrical exhibition. the cipher despatches confirmed the opinion at washington that mr. tilden spent a great deal of money to secure his nomination, and much more during and after the campaign. disappointed politicians and place-hunters among the democrats talked wildly about inaugurating mr. tilden by force, while some republicans declared that general grant would assume to hold over until a new election could be ordered. general grant made no secret of his conviction that mr. hayes had been lawfully elected, and he would undoubtedly have put down any revolutionary movement against his assuming the chief magistracy on the th of march, but there is no evidence that he intended to hold over. neither did the republican leaders in the senate and house intend that he should hold over, in any contingency. there were republican congressmen, however, who intended to elect senator morton president _pro tempore_ of the senate, and, in the event of a failure to have a formal declaration of mr. hayes' election in the joint convention, to have had senator morton declared president of the united states. meanwhile, it was positively asserted, and never authoritatively denied, that a compact had been entered into between representatives of southern congressmen and the authorized friends of mr. hayes at wormley's hotel, in washington, by which it was agreed that the union troops were to be withdrawn from the south in consideration of the neutrality of the southern vote in congress on all questions involving the inauguration of mr. hayes as president of the united states. [facsimile] jamesgblaine james gillespie blaine was born in washington county, pennsylvania, january st, ; adopted the editorial profession; was a member of the maine legislature, - ; was a representative from maine, - ; was united states senator from maine, - ; was secretary of state under presidents garfield and arthur, march th, - december th, ; was nominated for president by the republican convention, at chicago, june d- th, , and was defeated. chapter xxix. the electoral commission. the electoral commission was a cunningly devised plan for declaring mr. hayes legally elected president. in the then feverish condition of parties at the capitol, with no previously arranged plan for adjusting controverted questions, it was evident that some plan should be devised for a peaceful solution of the difficulty. republicans conceived the idea of an electoral commission, to be composed of five senators, five representatives, and five associate justices of the supreme court. no sooner had mr. tilden and his conservative friends agreed to the commission, in which he would have had one majority, than judge david davis, of the supreme court, was elected a united states senator. this made it necessary to select judge bradley as the man who was to hold the balance of power. the debate in the senate on the bill establishing the electoral commission was deeply interesting, as several of those who participated were prominent candidates for the presidency. there was an especial desire to hear senator conkling, who had "sulked in his tent" since the cincinnati convention, and the galleries were crowded with noted men and women, diplomats, politicians, soldiers and journalists from all sections of the republic. mr. conkling took the floor late in the afternoon. tall, well proportioned, with his vest opening down to the waist and displaying his full chest and broad shoulders to the best advantage, his hair tossed back from his massive brow with studied carelessness, his white and slender hands set off by spotless linen, he looked every inch a senator. before him, on the desk, were his notes, daintily inscribed on gilt-edged, cream-tinted paper; but he did not refer to them, having committed his remarks so thoroughly that many believed them to have been extemporaneous. his speech was pronounced by good judges as the greatest specimen of "the art which conceals art" that has ever been delivered in this country. with apparent candor, good nature, and disinterested statesmanship, he adroitly stated his side of the case, reviewing what had been done at previous presidential elections, and showing that he had given the subject careful study. as dinner-time approached, senator edmunds stated that mr. conkling was not physically able to finish his speech, and moved that the senate go into the consideration of executive business. the next day the senator from new york was not present, and after a recess had been taken for ten minutes, in the hope that he would arrive, senator sargent, of california, took the floor. mr. conkling finally came in, and when he began to speak, appeared to be in better health than on the day previous, and he again uttered his well-rounded sentences as if without premeditation. once he forgot himself, when, to give additional emphasis to a remark, he advanced across the aisle toward senator morton. the senator from indiana retreating, mr. conkling exclaimed, in the most dramatic tone, "i see that the senator retreats before what i say!" "yes," replied senator morton, in his blunt way, "i retreated as far as i could from the false doctrine taught by the gentleman from new york." "mr. president," said senator conkling, evidently disconcerted, "the honorable senator observes that he has retreated as far as he could. that is the command laid on him by the common law. he is bound to retreat to the wall before turning and rending an adversary." when mr. dawes reminded the senator that the commission should be made as exact as it would in the state of massachusetts, he replied that it would not be possible. "the queen of sheba," said mr. conkling, "said that she never realized the glory of solomon until she entered the inner temple. the idea that the representatives of other states could breathe the upper air, or tread the milky way, never entered into the wildest and most presumptuous flight of the imagination. oh! no, mr. president. whenever the thirty- seven other states attain to the stature of the grand old commonwealth, the time will come when no problem remains to be solved, and when even contested presidential votes will count themselves. then, in every sphere and orbit, everything will move harmoniously, by undeviating and automatic processes." the debate was prolonged into the night, and it was after midnight before senator morton spoke, pale, trembling in every limb, and with his forehead beaded with great drops of perspiration. he spoke sitting in his chair, and for upward of an hour hurled argument after argument at the bill, evidently speaking from deep conviction. mr. blaine, who had been sworn in the day previous, followed mr. morton, and created quite a sensation by opposing the bill. the night dragged on, and it was seven o'clock ere the final vote on the passage of the bill was reached. it was passed by a vote of forty-seven ayes against seventeen nays, ten senators being absent at the time. the house of representatives, after a somewhat stormy session, which lasted seven hours, passed the electoral commission bill by one hundred and ninety-one ayes against eighty-six nays. five- sixths of those voting in favor of the bill were democrats, and four-fifths of those voting against it were republicans. the electoral commission, which commenced its sessions on wednesday, january st, was a grand legal exhibition. it occupied the supreme court room, which had been made historic when the senate chamber by the great debates in which webster, clay, calhoun, and other famous statesmen had participated. the fifteen commissioners, sitting on the lengthened bench of the supreme court, listened in turn to the intricate propositions of constitutional law presented by mr. evarts, with his acuteness and dispassionate eloquence; to the partisan harangues of charles o'conor, who had risen like one from the grave; to the tirades of david dudley field; to the ponderous yet effective reasoning of joseph mcdonald; to the ingenious reasoning of senator howe; to the forcible style and flippant wit of matt. carpenter; to the polished sentences of mr. stoughton; to the graceful and powerful argument of the venerable judge campbell, of louisiana, who had in ' gone south from the bench of the supreme court, with a number of others. the counting of the electoral vote on the d of february, , attracted crowds to the house of representatives. even the diplomats came out in force, and for once their gallery was full. on the floor of the house were many distinguished men, including george bancroft, mr. stoughton, of new york, crowned with a mass of white hair; general sherman, william m. evarts, jere. black, and lyman trumbull. at one o'clock the senate came over in solemn procession, preceded by the veteran captain basset, who had in charge two mahogany boxes, in which were locked the votes upon which the fate of the nation depended. next came president _pro tem._ ferry and secretary gorham, followed by the paired senators. roscoe conkling, tall and distinguished in appearance, was arm in arm with aaron sargent, the california printer; bruce, the colored mississippian, was with conover, the florida carpet-bagger; the fair anglo-saxon cheeks of jones, of nevada, contrasted strongly with the indian features of general logan, and finally along came oliver p. morton, of indiana. president _pro tem._ ferry, in a theatrical bass voice, called the convention to order, and, after stating what it was convened for, opened one of the boxes and handed an envelope to senator allison, with a duplicate to mr. stone. it was from the state of alabama, and on being opened, ten votes were recorded for samuel j. tilden, of new york. state after state was thus counted until florida was reached, when the majestic dudley field arose and objected to the counting thereof. a brief discussion ensued, and the vote of florida was turned over to the electoral commission. the senate then returned to its chamber, preceded by the locked boxes, then nearly empty. it was asserted by those who should have known that judge bradley, who had been substituted for judge davis, came near, in the discussion on the florida votes, turning the result in favor of tilden. after the argument upon the florida case before the commission, judge bradley wrote out his opinion and read it to judge clifford and judge field, who were likewise members of the commission. it contained, first, an argument, and, secondly, a conclusion. the argument was precisely the same as that which appears in the public document; but judge bradley's conclusion was that the votes of the tilden electors in florida were the only votes which ought to be counted as coming from the state. this was the character of the paper when judge bradley finished it and when he communicated it to his colleagues. during the whole of that night judge bradley's house in washington was surrounded by the carriages of republican visitors, who came to see him apparently about the decision of the electoral commission, which was to be announced next day. these visitors included leading republicans, as well as persons deeply interested in the texas pacific railroad scheme. when the commission assembled the next morning, and when the judgment was declared, judge bradley gave his voice in favor of counting the votes of the hayes electors in florida! the argument he did not deliver at the time; but when it came to be printed subsequently, it was found to be precisely the same as the argument which he had originally drawn up, and on which he had based his first conclusion in favor of the tilden electors. disputed state after disputed state was disposed of, and washington was stirred with feverish excitement. every day or two some rumor was started, and those who heard it were elated or depressed, as they happened to hope. but the great mass listened with many grains of allowance, knowing how easy it is at all times for all sorts of stories, utterly without foundation, to get into the public mouth. the obstructionists found that they could not accomplish their purpose to defeat the final announcement, but their persistence was wonderful. they were desperate, reckless, and relentless. fernando wood headed, in opposition to them, the party of settlement and peace, his followers being composed in about equal parts of republicans and of ex-confederates who turned their backs on the democratic filibusters. finally the count was ended, and president _pro tem._ ferry announced one hundred and eighty-four votes for samuel j. tilden and one hundred and eighty-five votes for rutherford b. hayes. few personages in washington during this period were more sought after by visitors than francis e. spinner, who, under lincoln, johnson, and grant, held the office of treasurer of the united states for fourteen successive years. whether the verdant visitors supposed that his high office enabled him to distribute greenbacks at pleasure to all who came, or whether his remarkable signature, which all the land knew, made him seem a remarkable man, matters little; the fact remains that he was flooded with callers, whom he received with genial cordiality, making all feel that they too had an interest in the money makers of the land. general grant, having passed eight years in the army and eight more in the white house, retired to private life without regret. his form had become more rotund while he was president, his weight had increased from one hundred and fifty to one hundred and eighty-five pounds, his reddish-brown hair and beard had become speckled with gray, and he had to use eye-glasses in reading. his features had softened, perhaps, in their determined expression, but his square, massive jaws always gave him a resolute look. he loved to listen better than to talk, but when with friends he would always take part in the conversation, often spicing his sententious remarks with humorous comments. his sentences, at times epigrammatic, were those of "a plain, blunt soldier," but his vigorous economy of words lent additional force to what he said, and he would not only hold his own in a discussion with senators learned in the law, but would convince his opponents by merely saying his say, and meaning what he said. he was never known while in washington to tell an indelicate story or to use a profane word, although when slightly excited he would sometimes say, "dog on it!" to give emphasis to his assertion. general grant's administration was not an unalloyed success. the strength of the republican party, which might, with a careful, economical, and strictly honest administration, have been maintained for a generation, was frittered away and its voters alienated by causes that need not be recapitulated here. the once noble party, which had its genesis twenty years previous in the great principle of the restriction of human slavery, which had gone from triumph to triumph until slavery was not only restricted but utterly destroyed, the party which had added the salvation of the union to its fame as the emancipator of a race, had sunk under the combined effects of political money making, inflated currency, whisky rings, revenue frauds, indian supply steals, and pension swindles. general grant, though himself honest, appeared unable to discern dishonesty in others, and suffered for the sins of henchmen who contrived to attach to the republican party an odium which should have attached wholly to themselves. "it was my fortune or misfortune," said general grant in his last and eighth annual message to congress, "to be called to the office of the chief executive without any previous political training." a great and successful soldier, he knew absolutely nothing of civil government. his natural diffidence was strangely mingled with the habit of authority, and he undertook all the responsibilities of civil power without any of the training which is essential to its wise exercise, as if his glory as general would more than atone for his deficiencies as president. [facsimile] f. e. spinner francis e. spinner was born at german flats, new york, january st, ; was cashier of the mohawk valley bank for twenty years; was a representative in congress from new york, december d, - march d, ; was appointed by president lincoln treasurer of the united states march th, ; was successively re-appointed by presidents johnson and grant; resigned july st, , when he retired to private life, passing his winters in florida. chapter xxx. inauguration of president hayes. governor hayes, having been notified by friends at washington that the electoral count would declare his election as president, left columbus for the national capital on the afternoon of the first of march. very early the next morning he was informed by a telegraph operator that the count had been peacefully completed, and that senator ferry, the president _pro tem._ of the senate, had announced that rutherford b. hayes had been duly elected president, and william a. wheeler vice-president. this announcement was mr. hayes' only notification. arriving at washington at ten o'clock on the morning of the second of march, in a heavy rain-storm, governor hayes and his wife were received by senator sherman and his brother, general sherman, who escorted them under umbrellas to a carriage, in which they were driven to the residence of the senator. after having breakfasted, the president-elect, accompanied by general sherman and ex-governor dennison, went to pay their respects to the president at the executive mansion. they were received by general grant in his private office, and the outgoing and incoming president held a brief conversation on general topics, without, however, alluding to anything of a political character. subsequently, the members of general grant's cabinet came into the room and were introduced to the president-elect. the stay at the white house occupied less than half an hour, and from there the party drove to the capitol and were ushered into the vice-president's room, adjoining the senate chamber. here the president-elect held quite a levee, lasting nearly two hours. all of the republican and most of the democratic senators paid their respects to him, those who had no previous acquaintance being introduced by ex-governor dennison. the presence of the new president in the capitol soon became known in the house of representatives, and a stampede of members followed, thronging the senate reception room and all the surrounding lobbies. the georgia delegation paid their respects in a body, and among the callers were many democrats from other southern states. between this time and the next afternoon there were several important political consultations on the situation, the cabinet, and the inaugural, with much speculation as to whether mr. tilden would take the oath of office as president of the united states upon the following day, march th, which fell this year upon sunday. it was finally decided that the oath should be administered to governor hayes on saturday evening. he was one of a party which had been invited to dine at the executive mansion, and while the guests were assembling, governor and mrs. hayes, with two or three friends, stepped into the red parlor with general grant, where the governor took the oath of office, by which he became _de jure_ and _de facto_ chief magistrate of the united states. the proceeding was temporarily kept secret, even from the other guests at the dinner. monday, march th, was a rainy and cloudy day. despite the prolonged uncertainty as to the result of the presidential election, and the short time given for arrangements, the city was crowded. it was estimated that thirty thousand persons left new york for washington on saturday and sunday. pennsylvania avenue was gayly attired in waving bunting, the striking features being pyramids or arches composed of flags and streamers of variegated colors, suspended across the avenue by strong cords. the decorations were not so extensive as would have been the case had longer time been afforded for preparation. the procession was under the direction of major whipple, of the army, as chief marshal. it was escorted by the united states troops, which had been concentrated at washington, the marines, the district volunteer militia, the philadelphia state fencibles, and the columbus cadets. governor hayes rode with general grant in the latter's carriage, and they were followed by the grand army of the republic, veteran associations from philadelphia and baltimore, local political associations, and the steam fire engines. in the senate chamber there was the usual assemblage of dignitaries, with crowds of ladies in the galleries. vice-president wheeler was sworn in and delivered a brief address, after which he administered the oath to the new senators. the customary procession was formed, and moved to the platform erected over the eastern entrance to the rotunda. governor hayes was greeted with loud cheers from the assembled multitude, and when silence had been restored he read his inaugural in a clear voice. when he had concluded the oath of office was formally administered to him by chief justice waite, and the new president returned to the white house, amid cheers of the multitude and salutes of artillery. at the white house mrs. grant had provided a handsome collation, which was enjoyed by the members of the retiring administration and a few personal friends of the incoming official. president hayes was warmly congratulated on having received, through the agency of the electoral commission, a title to office that no one would dare to dispute openly. reckless friends of mr. tilden, who had hoped to plunge the country into the turmoil and uncertainty of another election, found that their chief had tamely accepted the situation, and they quietly submitted. the selection of a cabinet was not fully determined upon until after president hayes had arrived in washington. before he came general burnside and other republicans who had served in the union army urged the appointment of general joseph e. johnston as secretary of war, but after much discussion the intention was reluctantly abandoned. when president hayes had been inaugurated the names of several southerners were presented to him, including ex-senator alcorn, governor john c. born, and general walthall, a gallant soldier and an able lawyer. president hayes finally decided to give the position of postmaster-general to "dave" key. judge key had just before served in the senate for a year, by appointment of the governor of tennessee, as the successor of andrew johnson, and his known popularity in that body rendered it certain that his nomination would be confirmed. at the close of the war the judge had found himself in north carolina very poorly off for clothes, surrounded by his wife and six children, also poor in raiment, without a dollar of money that would buy a rasher of bacon or a pint of cornmeal. he had a few dollars of confederate money, but that was not worth the paper it was printed upon. nearly everybody about him was as poor as himself, and the suffering through the section in which he found himself was very great. he owned nothing in the world but a half-starved mule that had been his war-horse for many months. this was before the days of the commune, and he didn't know that mule meat was good; besides, he did not want to kill his war-horse that had carried him through so many deadly breaches. before judge key and his family had reached that point when prayers take the place of hunger, however, relief came. an old resident of north carolina heard of key's necessities, and helped him out. he gave him seed to sow, a shanty to live in, and some land to till, also a small supply of bacon and cornmeal. the judge then went to work. he beat his sword into a plowshare and his fiery charger into a plow-horse. he worked with his little family and lived scantily the whole summer long. there was no fancy farming about it. when the corn was sold the judge had eighty dollars in despised yankee greenbacks. he then applied to president andrew johnson, who was announcing that "treason is a crime and must be punished," for leave to return to tennessee, and he awaited a reply with a good deal of apprehension. it came in due course of mail, a very kind, brotherly letter, inclosing a pardon. judge key had not asked for this, and was quite overwhelmed. it was stated in the senate in open session on the day of his confirmation that he had voted for tilden, but he loyally sustained the hayes administration. the other members of the cabinet were well-known republicans. william m. evarts, who had so successfully piloted mr. hayes through the electoral commission, was very properly made secretary of state. tall, without the slightest tendency toward rotundity, and with an intellectual head set firmly on his shoulders, mr. evarts displayed great energy of character, unswerving integrity, and devotion to his clients. great in positive intellect, he rendered it available, as an able general manoeuvres for position and arranges strategic movements, and was ready to meet his adversaries in a rhetorical struggle with volleys of arguments framed in sentences of prodigious length. john sherman, the secretary of the treasury, was a financial tower of strength, whose honesty, patriotism, and ability had endeared him to the people, while carl schurz, the secretary of the interior, was a man of great tact, invariable good temper, and superior education, whose personal appearance was very like that of mephistopheles, except that schurz wore glasses. "uncle dick thompson," although he knew nothing about the navy committed to his charge, was a silver-tongued indiana stump speaker. the gallant general devens, of massachusetts, was to have been secretary of war, and ex-representative g. w. mccrary was to have been attorney-general. but this was not satisfactory to the agents of the new idria company, as mr. mccrary had on one occasion expressed a favorable opinion on the claim of william mcgarrahan to the quicksilver mine of which the new idria had obtained possession. so a pressure was brought to bear upon the president, the result of which was the transposition of devens and mccrary. the soldier was made attorney-general, and the country lawyer, ignorant of military matters, was made secretary of war. the cabinet met on tuesdays and fridays. the members dropped in one by one, but they were all on hand by "high twelve," each bringing his portfolio containing matters to be submitted. president hayes sat at the head of the table and secretary schurz at the foot; on the right, next to the president, was the secretary of state, next to him the secretary of war, and beyond him the postmaster-general. on the left, next to the president, was the secretary of the treasury, the next to him the secretary of the navy, and next to the secretary of the interior, on that side, the attorney-general. after the cabinet met it was ten or fifteen minutes before the members got to work. that ten minutes was taken up in greetings and off-hand talk, in which the spirit of fun and humor cropped out a good deal. when out of official harness, the members of the cabinet were all men with a sunny, fun-loving side. judge key was, perhaps, the jolliest, though the attorney-general pushed him hard for that distinction. secretary thompson was a proverbial lover of a pleasant joke, while secretary schurz was hardly equalled in telling one. secretary mccrary was a good story-teller. secretary sherman did not indulge in humor often, but when he did it was, on account of its unexpected character, the more enjoyable. secretary evarts was a quiet humorist, and his fund of dry humor and wit was inexhaustible. the cabinet jokes always found their way into public circulation and provoked many hearty laughs. it was intimated that attorney- general devens delighted in joking the "ancient mariner" of the navy department. one day secretary thompson presented to the cabinet a list of midshipmen who had passed their examinations. the secretary called attention to them, and said he would like to have their nominations for promotion to ensigns sent to the senate as soon as possible, "as they are worthy young men who have thoroughly earned their spurs." "mr. thompson," interrupted mr. devens, "how long since have they been wearing spurs in the navy?" after ten minutes of so of boy's play before school, the president would call the meeting to order. the secretary of state would present his budget, and when disposed of he would be followed by the other members of the cabinet in their order of precedence. the meetings generally occupied about two hours, and the business was conducted in a conversational way. it was unfortunate for mr. hayes that he felt obliged to appoint as his private secretary mr. rodgers, of minnesota. it was understood at washington that he had been unsuccessful in several business operations, and he certainly was a failure as private secretary. instead of smoothing down the variety of little grievances that arose between the president and the politicians, he invariably made matters worse. the consequence was that the president was often seen in an unfavorable light by congressmen, correspondents, and others whose good opinions he merited. [facsimile] sincerely r.b.hayes rutherford birchard hayes was born at delaware, ohio, october th, ; studied law, and commenced practice at cincinnati; served in the union army receiving promotion from the rank of major to that of brigadier-general, - ; was a representative in congress from ohio from december th, , to december, , when he resigned, having been elected governor of ohio, serving - , and again - ; was elected president of the united states on the republican ticket in , and was inaugurated march th, . chapter xxxi. a new era in society. rutherford b. hayes had not entered upon his fifty-fifth year when he was inaugurated as president. he was a well-built man, of stalwart frame, with an open countenance ruddy with health, kind blue eyes, a full, sandy beard in which there were a few silver threads, a well-shaped mouth, and a smile on his lips. he had served gallantly in the army and creditably in congress, without having contracted any bad habits or made any personal enemies. his manners were courteous; he bore himself with dignity, yet was affable to all; quick in speech, but open as the day. politicians did not always obtain the places which they imperiously demanded for themselves or for their henchmen, and he refused to acknowledge that some who had busied themselves about the southern electoral votes had claims on him which he was to repay by appointments to office. impassive, non-committal, and always able to clothe his thoughts in an impenetrable garment of well-chosen words, applicants for place rarely obtained positive assurances that their prayers would be granted, but they hoped for the best, thinking that "the king is kind, and, well we know, the king knowest what time to promise, when to pay." mrs. hayes exercised a greater influence over public affairs than any lady had since dolly madison presided over the white house. tall, robust, and with a dignified figure, the whole expression of her face, from the broad forehead, which showed below her hair, worn in the old-fashioned style, to the firm mouth and modest chin, bespoke the thoughtful, well-balanced, matronly woman. she had such a bright, animated face that nothing seemed lacking to complete the favorable impression she made upon every one who came under the influence of her radiant smile. that smile was the reflection of a sunny disposition and a nature at rest with itself. she and her husband looked like a couple who lay down at night to peaceful slumbers, undisturbed by nervous dreams of ambition, and awoke in the morning refreshed and well prepared for the duties of the new day, which never found them fretted or flurried. mrs. hayes brought with her from her rural home what was known as "the ohio idea" of total abstinence from intoxicating drinks, and she enforced it at the white house, somewhat to the annoyance of mr. evarts, who, as secretary of state, refused to permit the diplomatic corps to be invited to their customary annual dinner unless wine could be on the table. this mrs. hayes refused to allow, and all of the state dinners served while she presided over the hospitalities of the white house were ostensibly strictly temperance banquets, although the steward managed to gratify those fond of something stronger than lemonade. true, no wine glasses obtruded themselves, no popping of champagne corks was heard, no odor of liquor tainted the air fragrant with the perfume of innocent, beautiful flowers. the table groaned with delicacies; there were many devices of the confectioner which called forth admiration. many wondered why oranges seemed to be altogether preferred, and the waiters were kept busy replenishing salvers upon which the tropical fruit lay. glances telegraphed to one another that the missing link was found, and that, concealed within the oranges, was delicious frozen punch, a large ingredient of which was strong old santa croix rum. thenceforth (without the knowledge of mrs. hayes, of course) roman punch was served about the middle of the state dinners, care being taken to give the glasses containing the strongest mixture to those who were longing for some potent beverage. this phase of the dinner was named by those who enjoyed it "the life-saving station." while mrs. grant had always denounced the white house as not suitable for a president's residence, mrs. hayes was charmed with it. she once took an old friend through it, showed him the rooms, and exclaimed: "no matter what they build, they will never build any more rooms like these!" she had the lumber rooms ransacked, and old china and furniture brought out and renovated, and, when it was possible, ascertained its history. every evening after dinner she had an informal reception, friends dropping in and leaving at their will, and enjoying her pleasant conversation. often her rich voice would be heard leading the song of praise, while the deep, clear bass notes of vice-president wheeler rounded up the melody. she almost always had one or two young ladies as her guests, and she carried out the official programme of receptions to the letter. while the president was earnestly endeavoring to restore peace at the south and to reform political abuses at the north, mrs. hayes was none the less active in inaugurating a new social policy. one of the evils attendant upon the "gilded era" of the war and the flush times that followed was the universal desire of every one in washington to be in "society." the maiden from new hampshire, who counted currency in the treasury department for nine hundred dollars a year; the young student from wisconsin, who received twelve hundred dollars per annum for his services as a copyist in the general land office; the janitor of the circumlocution bureau, and the energetic correspondent of the _cranberry centre gazette_, each and all thought that they should dine at the foreign legations, sup with the members of the cabinet, and mingle in the mazes of the "german" with the families of the senators. the discrepancy in income or education made no difference in their minds, and to admit either would be to acknowledge a social inferiority that would have been unsupportable. but while some of them, by their persistency, wriggled into "society," the stern reality remained that their compensations did not increase, because their owners sillily diminished them in what they called, maintaining their social position. "vanity fair" no longer existed, and the shoddy magnates no longer furnished champagne and terrapin suppers for fashionable crowds, regardless as to who composed those crowds; the strugglers for social position retired into modest quietude, and no longer aspired to be ranked among those in "society." the people one met at the white house and in society, after the inauguration of president hayes, were an improvement on those who had figured there since the war. one seldom saw those shoddy and veneer men and women who had neither tradition nor mental culture from which to draw the manner and habit of politeness. they lacked the sturdy self-respect of the new england mechanic, the independent dignity of the western farmers, or the business-like ease of the new york merchants, but they evidently felt that their investments should command them respect, and they severely looked down upon "them literary fellers," and others with small bank accounts. in the place of these upstarts there were cultivated gentlemen and ladies, who could converse sensibly upon the topics of the day, and if there were neither punch-bowls nor champagne glasses on the supper-table, there were fewer aching heads the next day. mrs. hayes, while blessed with worldly abundance, showed no desire to initiate the extravagances or the follies of european aristocracy. the example she set was soon followed, and her pleasant expression and manners, retaining the ready responsiveness of youth, while adding the wide sympathies of experience, won for her the respect of even those devotees of fashion who at first laughed about her plainly arranged hair and her high-neck black silk dresses. lofty structures of paupers' hair, elaborately frizzled, were seldom seen on sensible women's heads, nor were the party dresses cut so shamefully low in the neck as to generously display robust maturity or scraggy leanness. it cannot be denied that fear of women and not love of man makes the fair sex submit to the tyranny of the fashions, and mrs. hayes having emancipated herself, the emancipation soon became general. while, however, "the first lady of the land" discarded the vulgar extravagances which had become common at washington, she by no means held herself superior to the obligation of dress, and of the pleasant little artificial graces belonging to high civilization. some of her evening dresses were elegant, the colors harmonizing, and the style picturesque and becoming. if she had the good taste not to disfigure her classically-shaped head, or to load herself with flashy jewelry, so much the better. prominent among the festivities at the white house during the hayes administration was the silver-wedding of the president and his wife, which was the first celebration of the kind that had ever occurred there. the vestibule, the halls, and the state apartments were elaborately trimmed with bunting and running vines. in the east room, at the doors, and in the corners and alcoves tropical plants were clustered in profusion. the mantles were banked with bright-colored cut flowers, smilax was entwined in the huge glass chandeliers, and elsewhere throughout the room were stands of potted plants. over the main entrance was the national coat-of-arms, and just opposite two immense flags, hanging from ceiling to floor, completely covered the large window. the green, the red, and the blue parlors were similarly decorated, the flowers used being chiefly azalias, hyacinths, and roses. the members of the cabinet and their families were the only official personages invited to this celebration, and with them were a few old friends from ohio connected with the president's past life and pursuits. a delegation of the regiment which he commanded, the twenty-third ohio volunteer infantry, brought a beautiful silver offering. among the president's schoolmates was mr. deshla, of columbus, who said: "i knew him when we called him 'rud,' when he was called 'mr. hayes,' then 'colonel hayes,' and 'general hayes,' then 'governor hayes,' and now that he is president we are equally good friends." the guests promenaded through the parlors, and engaged in conversation, the marine band playing at intervals. precisely at nine o'clock the band struck mendelssohn's wedding march, and president hayes, with his wife on his arm, came down- stairs, followed by members of the family and the special guests, two by two. the procession passed through the inner vestibule into the east room, where the president and mrs. hayes stationed themselves, with their backs to the flag-draped central window, and there remained until the invited guests had paid their congratulations. mrs. mitchell, the daughter of the president's sister, mrs. platt, stood next mrs. hayes and clasped her hand, as she did when a little child, during the marriage ceremony twenty- five years back. mrs. hayes wore a white silk dress, with draperies of white brocade, each headed with two rows of tasseled fringe, and with a full plaiting at the sides and bottom of the front breadth; the heart- shaped neck was filled in with tulle, and the half-long sleeves had a deep ruching of lace. her hair, in plain braids, was knotted at the back and fastened with a silver comb, while long white kid gloves and white slippers completed the bridal array. on the day previous, which was the actual anniversary, mrs. hayes had worn her wedding dress, making no alterations save in letting out the seams. it was a flowered satin, made when ten or twelve breadths of silk were put in a skirt, and there was no semblance of a train appended thereto. the rev. dr. mccabe, who had married mr. hayes and miss webb twenty- five years before, was present, with mrs. herron, who was at the wedding, and who was a guest at the white house. she had an infant daughter, six weeks old, with her, which was christened on the day previous lucy hayes. after the happy couple had been congratulated, the president and mrs. hayes led the way into the state dining- room, which had been elaborately decked for the occasion with cut flowers and plants. the table was adorned with pyramids of confectionery, fancy french dishes and ices in molds, the bill of fare including every delicacy in the way of eatables, but no beverage except coffee. at midnight, when the guns announced the birth of a new year, congratulations and good wishes were exchanged, and then the company dispersed. the gossips had much to say about the petition of the venerable ex- senator christiancy for a divorce from a young washington woman, who was a clerk in the treasury department when he married her. the irascible, jealous old man magnified trifling circumstances into startling facts, and deliberately attempted to brand his young wife with infamy. she may have been foolish, she may have said or done what was not wise, but those who knew her well asserted that she had given no cause for the terrible accusations brought against her by the man who persuaded her to become his wife, and who proved the truth of the proverb, that "there is no fool like an old fool." his resignation of his seat in the senate to accept a diplomatic appointment, that mr. zach. chandler might return to it, was said to have been anything but creditable to him, although profitable. washington society was also kept in hot water by the young secretaries and attaches of foreign legations, who prided themselves on their success in breaking hearts. there were two classes of these foreign lady-killers. those of the castilian type had closely cropped, coal-black hair, smooth faces, with the exception of a moustache, and flashing eyes that betrayed an intriguing disposition. the saxons (including the british, the germans, and the russians) were tall, slender fellows, with their hair parted in the middle, soft eyes, and downy side-whiskers. both sets were exquisitely polite, courteous in their deportment, and very deferential to those with whom they conversed. they stigmatized a residence in washington after their sojourn at the various capitals of europe as unendurable; they intimated that the women of america were "incomplete" and "fastidious," but their criticisms were so courteous that no one could muster heart to contradict them. every year or two, though, some poor girl was captivated by the glitter of their small talk, and got more or less scorched before she could be extricated. [facsimile] w. m. evarts william maxwell evarts was born at boston, february th, ; was graduated at yale college in ; studied in the harvard law school, and was admitted to the bar in new york in ; was attorney- general of the united states, july th, - march d, ; was counsel for president johnson on his trial upon his impeachment in ; was counsel for the united states before the alabama claims tribunal at geneva, switzerland, in ; was counsel for president hayes in behalf of the republican party before the electoral commission; was secretary of state of the united states, march th, - march d, ; and was a united states senator from march th, . chapter xxxii. leaders and measures. fourteen years after the surrender of appomattox, the republicans surrendered in the capitol at washington and passed into the minority. president grant having failed in his severe southern policy, president hayes tried conciliation. never did a president enter upon his duties with more sincere good-will for every section. there was displayed in every act of the incoming administration a kindliness toward southern men and southern interests that almost aroused a jealousy in the north. it was not an affectation on the part of the president, but a true and honest sentiment. the good- will experiment was not quickly made. it took a long time to determine results, and even after the uncompromising spirit of the southern democrats had become apparent president hayes was slow to pronounce the plan a failure. it had seemed to him the only hope of making the south peaceful and prosperous, and he had determined to give it a full trial. it was evident that the democrats would have in the senate of the forty-sixth congress that majority that had passed from them in that body when many of its curule chairs were vacated by those who went into the rebellion. the democrats in the house of the forty- fifth congress, by refusing to make the necessary appropriation for the support of the army, rendered an extra session necessary. when congress met, on the th of march, , the democrats had a majority of ten in the senate, and over twenty in the house. allen g. thurman, of ohio, was recognized by the democrats in the senate as their leader. he was a broad-shouldered, sturdily built man, with a large square head and ruddy complexion, gray hair and beard, and a positive manner that commanded respect. earnest, outspoken, and free in his criticisms of men and manners, he would wave his red bandana pocket handkerchief like a guidon, give his nose a trumpet-blast, take a fresh pinch of snuff, and dash into the debate, dealing rough blows, and scattering the carefully prepared arguments of his adversaries like chaff. when he sat down he would signal to a republican friend, and they would leave the senate chamber by different doors and meet in a committee-room, where there was a supply of old bourbon whisky. senator bayard, of delaware, who was also prominent in the democratic ranks, never forgot that he was the descendant of a long line of eminent statesmen. tall and straight, his movements were graceful, and his cleanly shaven face and iron-gray hair were classic in beauty. broad in intellect, he was patient and courteous in debate, rarely losing his dignity or his temper. senator beck, of kentucky, enjoyed the rare advantage of being ineligible to the presidential chair, and he did not consequently feel hampered by what he might add in debate to his "record." he was a stalwart, farmer-like looking man, with that overcharged brain which made his tongue at times falter because he could not utter what his furious, fiery eloquence prompted. entirely different in personal appearance and manner was senator pendleton, of ohio, whose courteous deportment had won him the appellation of "gentleman george," and who adorned every subject on which he spoke. senator saulsbury, of delaware, a spare, grim, uncompromising bachelor, with a tall, slender figure like that of thomas jefferson, would have made a glorious puritan leader, and senator pinckney whyte, of maryland, a gentleman by birth and education, was evidently restive at times under the political restraint of the party "bosses" in his state. senator cockrell, of missouri, was an able lawyer, who had the good sense not to parade his gallant services in the confederate army, and who was ever on the watch for some extravagant appropriation. he, with ransom, of north carolina, and other confederate brigadiers, saw opposite to them, as their equal, senator bruce, of mississippi, round-faced, bright-eyed, and sepia-hued, the emancipated slave who had reached the full stature of citizenship through the flame of battle that discomfited them. another eloquent debater was senator lamar, of mississippi, whose influence in molding public opinion at the south had been as healthy as it had been powerful. senator vest, youthful in appearance, was a fiery speaker, and always ready for a tilt with an opponent. the swarthy features of senator logan, of illinois, with his long, coal-black hair and moustache, stood out like a charcoal sketch against the gilded wall of the senate, and he seemed as ready to meet his political opponents as he had been at the head of his brigade to charge the enemy. on the other side of the senate chamber the _pater senatus_ was governor anthony, of rhode island, a man of gracious presence and kind heart, whose eyes were dimmed, but who had not lost the fire and brilliancy which had characterized his early editorial and senatorial life. senator hamlin, of maine, was the eldest in years on the floor, and yet he did not display the first sign of the weakness of advancing age. tall, slightly round-shouldered, always wearing a black dress coat, and never an overcoat, he was a remarkably well-preserved man. his forehead was somewhat wrinkled, his black eyes gleamed with vigorous vitality, and his large mouth, with its massive under jaw, was not concealed by a moustache or beard. he rarely spoke, but when he took the floor he always had something to say worth hearing, and he was always listened to. senator edmunds, of vermont, was an able man and a good lawyer, remarkably well posted in the current literature of the day. another man learned in the law was the ponderous senator davis, of illinois, who had left the supreme court for the senate, thinking it was the better avenue to the white house, and whose political views were bounded by his personal ambition. senator conkling, of new york, was then at the height of his brilliant congressional career. able, high-bred, and stately, he had defeated his home rival, fenton, and he now claimed the disposal of the new york patronage that he might use it to secure the re- election of general grant, to be followed by his own elevation to the presidential chair. the words, "conciliation of enemies," were not in his vocabulary, yet no senator had so many tried and trusty friends. another prominent lawyer was matt. carpenter, of wisconsin, one side of whom as described by charles sumner when he called him a "jester," while mr. edmunds, by a ready pun, as aptly described the other side of him by declaring that the senator from massachusetts probably meant a "sug-gester." retaining the dragoon swagger, which he had acquired at west point, a jovial nature, indifferent to the decorum of public life, he seemed to have been tossed into the senate, where other people had with difficulty found their way by hard climbing or by costly purchase. senator ingalls, of kansas, whose remarks were a stream of epigram, eloquence, and euphony, delicately flavored with sarcasm, often showed a keen appreciation of the ridiculous. remarkably well informed, and able to command the information in the storehouse of his brain, he never ranted, rarely gesticulated, and his ceremoniously polite excoriations of opponents were like dropping hot lead upon sore places. very different was senator burnside, of rhode island, who was known as the "kaiser william," and whose martial aspect indicated his straightforward honesty of purpose. he was at times restive under the trammels of parliamentary rule, and would speak his mind, no matter who was troubled thereby. senator dawes, of massachusetts, with clean-shaven cheeks and puritanical earnestness, had been transplanted from the house of representatives with senator allison, of iowa, a man of rare financial ability, who afterward took a prominent part in the proceedings of the senate. then there was senator plumb, of kansas, earnest and straightforward, of whom it was said that he was "western from the hem of his short pantaloons to the comfortable slouch of his hat." senator blaine, of maine, was one of the youngest senators, yet when he rose to speak all listened. compactly and strongly built, with a commanding figure, prominent features, watchful, gray-hazel eyes, and a rich, manly voice, he was very ready in debate. when the army bill was up, and it was argued that the south was in danger of intimidation, he showed the absurdity of such a position by giving the exact numbers of troops then stationed in each state: "and the entire south has eleven hundred and fifty-five soldiers to intimidate, overrun, oppress, and destroy the liberties of fifteen million people! in the southern states there are twelve hundred and three counties. if you distribute the soldiers evenly there is not quite one for each county; when i give the counties, i give them from the census of . if you distribute them territorially, there is one for every seven hundred square miles of territory, so that if you make a territorial distribution, i would remind the honorable senator from delaware, if i saw him in his seat, that the quota of his state would be three, 'one ragged sergeant and two abreast,' as the old song has it. that is the force ready to destroy the liberties of delaware!" in the house of representatives that sturdy democratic champion, samuel j. randall, of philadelphia, was elected speaker, receiving one hundred and forty-three votes against one hundred and twenty- five votes for james a. garfield, and thirteen votes for hendrick b. wright. the democrats were ably led by carlisle and blackburn, of kentucky; by morrison and sparks, of illinois; by reagan and mills, of texas; by the stately fernando wood, of new york, and by mr. sam. cox, who reminded one of those jocular festivities of mediaeval times, when the abbot of misrule took possession of his masters and issued his merry orders superciliously to those with whose insults his ears were still tingling. on the republican side were aldrich, conger, frye, hawley, and lapham, qualifying themselves for service in the senate; the burly robeson, ready to defend his acts as secretary of the navy; judge kelley, of philadelphia, who had come down from a former generation; rainey and smalls, emancipated men and brethren; the witty tom. reed, of maine, who was always happy in his sarcasms; the able and effective frank hiscock, of new york, the effective ben. butterworth, of ohio, with others known to fame, constituting a strong house, fresh from the people, and bringing their latest will. the democratic congress again attached to the bill making appropriations for the support of the army an irrelevant piece of legislation aimed directly at the purity of the ballot, thinking that the president, who had so evidently desired to conciliate the south, would not dare to offend it by refusing his official approval. to their surprise, he returned the bill to congress with a veto message, so dispassionate, yet so entirely covering the case, that it threw the democratic majorities in congress into confusion, and forced them to abandon the programme they had marked out. they consoled themselves by turning out nearly all of the officers of the senate, many of whom were old and faithful servants, and dividing the places thus made vacant among their relatives and henchmen. president hayes, by his succession of vetoes, restored _l'entente cordiale_ between himself and the greater portion of the republican members of congress. his pure patriotism, his high rectitude of intention, and his personal virtues had never been doubted, and when he was again found acting in accord with the party that elected him, it was believed that he would be carried pleasantly through his embarrassing duties, and that his civil success would match his exploits in arms. the opera of "pinafore" became all the rage at washington, as elsewhere. it was performed at theatres by church choirs, by amateurs, by a colored company, and finally by some juvenile vocalists belonging to the very first families at the west end. generally speaking, vocalists, especially of the feminine persuasion, have scruples about giving their ages, but on the programmes of this company the ages of the performers were printed opposite to their names. sir joseph porter was personated by aleck mccormick, a son of commissioner mccormick, aged twelve; miss betty ordway, aged eleven, was josephine; miss mary wilson, aged ten, was charming as little buttercup; willie wilson, aged eleven, was captain corcoran; dick wallack, aged eleven, was a good ralph rackstraw, and daisy ricketts, demurely attired as aunt ophelia, was primly "splendid." the sisters, the cousins, and the aunts, the sailors, and especially the marine guard, were all represented. the singing was tolerable and the acting generally bad, but the performance was nevertheless enjoyed by the crowded audience. the little people eclipsed the colored choir, and were equal to at least half of the professional combinations. [facsimile] roscoeconkling roscoe conkling was born at albany, new york, october th, ; studied law and commenced practice at utica in ; was mayor of utica in ; was a representative in congress, december th, - march d, ; was a united states senator from march d, , until his resignation on the th of may, ; removed to new york city, and entered upon the practice of his profession. chapter xxxiii. tilts in congress. the marriage of the king of spain was celebrated at washington by senor mantilla, the spanish minister, who gave a magnificent entertainment at wormley's hotel, where he was residing. the parlors were decorated with the minister's own furniture and paintings, and with a profusion of rare plants and flowers. the diplomatic corps wore their court costumes, while the officers of our army and navy appeared in full uniform. madame mantilla was an andalusian, and had the clear, creamy complexion, the large, dark eyes, the black hair, and the fine form which characterizes that section of spain. the waist of her satin dress was cut square, before and behind, and was very low. the entire front of her long skirt of white satin was covered with a network of pearls. a vest of similar network trimmed the front of the basque. folds of satin went across the front of the waist and over the short sleeves, and at the back fell from the waist in sash ends, edged with pearl fringe and tassels. around her throat she wore a band of dark red velvet, studded alternately with diamonds and pearls. below, falling loosely on the neck, were three strands of pearls with a magnificent pendant, composed of an enormous pearl and clusters of diamonds. in her hair sparkled a superb diadem, formed of sprays of diamonds, presented to the lady by her husband when they were married. lace stockings and white satin slippers completed her toilet. the supper-table was set along three sides of the room, forming a hollow square. in the centre was a mound composed of myrtle, in whose bright, green leaves were arranged large and beautifully colored california pears and luscious bunches of malaga grapes and oranges. a tall silver epergne surmounted the mound, in the centre of which was a cut-glass basket, holding fruits, and on the sides vases of flowers. on the table were numerous silver candelabra holding lighted wax candles, and, alternating with plants, pyramids of bonbons, ices, and other dainties. the table linen, china, and glass all bore the crest of the hostess. much ill-breeding had been shown by seekers after invitations, and there was a sad exhibition of bad manners at the supper-table. the lace on ladies' dresses was torn by the trappings of the diplomats and officers, while terrapin and champagne were recklessly scattered. with this exception everything passed off very smoothly, and the hundreds of guests present heartily congratulated the host and hostess. president hayes and his wife declined departing from their rule not to accept hospitalities, but the white house was well represented by mr. webb hayes and five young ladies, who were at that time his mother's guests. with the return of the democrats to power in congress came one of those great moral struggles which convulses a nation with an agitation only surpassed by a physical contest between hostile armies. the approach of the presidential contest added to the acerbity of the debates, although some of the participants evidently adopted as their motto the quaker apothegm, "treat your enemy as if you thought he might some day become your friend, and your friend as though he might become your enemy." those who occasionally engaged in criminations and recriminations did it in a parliamentary and mild-mannered way, and a few hours afterward they might have been seen meeting as guests at the same social board, with every mark of reciprocal cordiality and success. this was doubtless owing, in many instances, to the legal training of the gentlemen who had been accustomed to bandy epithets and to bully their adversaries before juries, and having thus earned their fees, to leave the court, arm in arm, to dine harmoniously together. one of the most interesting tilts in the senate was between matt. carpenter and james g. blaine, on the geneva award question. mr. carpenter was then approaching death's door, and his feeble voice was at times inaudible in the galleries, but his argument sustained his reputation as an advocate and as a senator. looking at everything from a judicial standpoint, and manifesting (if he did not express it) a profound contempt for non-professional men who discuss legal questions, he displayed great ingenuity and persuasive eloquence in the presentation of his views. he had evidently studied his case carefully, but he did not hesitate to make strong assertions take the place of authorities, and to base his arguments on those assertions. the entire speech was peppered with cutting allusions to blaine, who sat unmoved, occasionally joining in the laugh provoked at his expense. carpenter concluded with an eloquent allusion to general grant, as one first in war, first in peace, first in the hearts of his countrymen and of all mankind. when blaine finally took the floor it was soon evident that he had studied the weak points in what carpenter had said, and was ready to let fly a volley of satire-tipped arrows with deadly aim. his sentences were terse, crisp, strong, and entirely without ornamentation, but every one told. he began by alluding to his having been often reminded in the debate that he was not a lawyer. the wit would have been brighter and the thrust would have been keener had it been stated that when he set out on the vast sea of adventure he had studied law for two years. after elaborately reviewing the case and citing many authorities, he concluded by alluding to a proposition that the balance of the award be retained in the treasury. "this," he said, "would disgrace us in the eyes of the civilized world, by virtually admitting that our legitimate claims did not amount to anything approaching the sum which we demanded and obtained. the excuse made for the notoriously unjust halifax award was that we had obtained a large sum under false pretenses, and that an offset should be made. pass around the hat, ask alms if you will, but don't acknowledge that we received this geneva award under false pretenses." at the commencement of mr. blaine's remarks his well-modulated voice assumed a conversational tone, tinged with sarcastic bitterness as he occasionally indulged in bantering allusions to his lack of legal education. as he proceeded he became more impressive in words and action, and before he had concluded he had advanced between the desks into the centre aisle, where, with head erect and sweeping gestures, he poured forth a flood of stirring eloquence, eliciting repeated applause. mr. carpenter attempted to reply and to criticize humorously some of mr. blaine's assertions, but he was not very successful. he said that his long training at the bar had taught him never to provoke a quarrel, and never to leave one unless successful. the senator from maine began this, and he should follow it. the senator will never be able to say he has piped to me and i have not danced. mr. blaine made a happy retort, speaking of general grant in the highest terms, and rivaling mr. carpenter in his eulogiums of him. this prompted mr. thurman, who next took the floor to say: "the senators have both indorsed the third term," which provoked such rounds of applause that the presiding officer threatened to have the galleries cleared. a more serious personal altercation occurred in an executive session, between general gordon, of georgia, then the personal defender of president hayes, and senator conkling. general gordon felt sore because he had failed to secure the entire democratic vote of the senate for the confirmation of some important new york nomination, and he regarded senator conkling as having defeated this scheme. the senator from new york could not brook the interference of general gordon in what he considered a family quarrel, and the two had not regarded each other for some days with looks of love. trouble was brewing evidently. when the senate was in executive session one friday afternoon, governor anthony occupying the chair, there was a warm discussion over the nomination of ward, a georgia internal revenue collector, in which some allusions were made to the new york case. when this had been disposed of, general gordon interrupted the calendar to call for a report on the nomination of smith, collector of the customs at mobile, and while he was speaking, senator conkling, looking up from his letter writing, called out loudly, "go on with the calendar." gordon immediately said: "mr. president, the senator from new york is not in the chair, but he orders the chair to go on with the calendar." several names had been called for action when gordon made this remark. conkling was busy reading at the moment, and did not hear it, but his attention was called to it by a senator who sat near him. springing to his feet, conkling asked what the senator from georgia had said concerning him. gordon immediately repeated the language. conkling said: "if the senator from georgia says i ordered the chair to go on with the calendar he states what is not true." gordon replied: "very well, we will settle that hereafter." conkling retorted: "we will settle it here," and repeated what he said before. mr. gordon then again said: "we will not settle it here, but elsewhere." it was finally agreed that senators hamlin and howe, as friends of mr. conkling, and senators ransom and mcdonald, as friends of general gordon, should endeavor to adjust the difficulty. the quartette sat in deliberation until one o'clock on friday night, and met again at ten o'clock on saturday morning, finally agreeing in the afternoon upon the adroitly drawn up statement made public, after which "all was quiet upon the potomac." it is not true that any communication passed between the parties, although it is known that mr. lamar, of mississippi, counseled general gordon, and that senator jones, of nevada, and general phil. sheridan were the advisers of senator conkling. a more dramatic incident occurred in a debate, when senator voorhees, of indiana, upbraided senator mahone, of virginia, for acting with the republicans. when he had concluded the virginian calmly said that this denunciation of him must stop, and asked whether the senator from indiana adopted the phrase, "renegade democrat," in a document which he had caused to be read as a part of his speech. "mr. president," retorted mr. voorhees, with a defiant air and a contemptuous gesture, "i indorse every sentiment and word in that article. i make it my speech. i indorse the word 'renegade' in it. i indorse every criticism on the course of the senator from virginia. he need waste no time in putting words into my mouth. he said this must stop. no one can stop me. that is cheap--very cheap." a profound stillness had fallen upon the chamber when mahone first arose. the silence became painful now. mahone had remained standing, calmly waiting for voorhees' reply, the indiana senator towering over his virginia antagonist like a giant, when mahone, in a low voice that could be heard in the remotest corners of the chamber, said: "that is an assertion that no brave or honorable man would make. i denounce it as such. let him take that and wear it." the preliminary conditions of the code were satisfied. the insult had been offered by voorhees. the challenging words had been spoken by mahone. the incident ended there, and the senate, taking a long breath after its eight hours of strife and passion, adjourned until the following monday. mrs. hayes, instead of frittering away the liberal appropriations made by congress for the domestic wants of the white house, expended a large share of them in the purchase of a state dinner service of nearly one thousand pieces, illustrating the fauna and flora of the united states. the designs were executed by mr. theodore r. davis, who had fished in the rivers of the east and west and in the sea, hunted fowl and wild game in the forests, the swamps, and the mountains, shot the buffalo on the plains and visited the historic haunts of the indians in the east, met the indians in their wigwams and studied their habits on the prairies of the far west. the designs were made in water colors, and although in nearly every instance they were bold and striking, they were difficult to reproduce perfectly upon porcelain with hard mineral colors, and to accomplish this successfully it was necessary to invent new methods and to have recourse to peculiar mechanical appliances, but the effort was successful and the set was produced. [facsimile] john sherman john sherman was born at lancaster, ohio, may th, ; studied law; was admitted to the bar, may th, ; was a representative in congress, december d, - march d, ; was united states senator from ohio, march th, to march th, , when he resigned; was secretary of the treasury under president hayes, march th, - march th, ; was again united states senator, march th, ; and was elected president _pro tempore_ of the senate after the death of vice-president hendricks. chapter xxxiv. struggle for the presidential nomination. when general grant returned from his trip around the world, the blaine newspapers, while they filled their columns with adulatory notices of the "old commander," also discovered in the "plumed knight" qualities which inspired them with enthusiasm and admiration. the friends of general grant were not, however, to be placed in an attitude of antagonism toward blaine. they remembered, however, that when grant retired from the political contest in , and his friends turned toward blaine, they found confronting them, armed with the poisoned arrows of detraction, the same editors who had for years been opposing and vilifying grant. an attempt was then made by mr. blaine's friends to place general grant at the head of a scheme for the construction of a ship canal across the isthmus as an american enterprise. they enlisted one of grant's most devoted friends, read admiral daniel ammen, and he attempted to organize a company, of which general grant was to be the president. the charter to be granted by congress was to recognize the national character of the work, and to pledge the united states to oppose any foreign interference, like that of delesseps and his darien canal. general grant became interested in the scheme, and affixed his name a few months later to an elaborate magazine article on inter-oceanic canals, every word of which was written by dr. george b. loring, of massachusetts. senator blaine developed great personal popularity as the campaign progressed, even among those who regarded general grant as a "military necessity." henry clay, in his palmiest days, never had a more devoted and enthusiastic following, and many of the stanchest and most stalwart republicans in congress were openly for blaine, while others secretly advocated his claims. john sherman had also a powerful following, and while the respective friends of grant and blaine began to indulge in recrimination, the cause of the ohio senator was quietly pushed without giving offense. mr. sherman's unswerving persistence had, in years past, all the effective energy and the successful result of force. general garfield was at the head of the ohio delegation, pledged to the support of sherman, and he was chosen to make the speech nominating him in the convention. general garfield having been requested to give his views as to what should be the course of the ohio republicans in reference to the presidential nomination, wrote a letter in which he said: "i have no doubt that a decisive majority of our party in ohio favor the nomination of john sherman. he has earned his recognition at their hands by twenty-five years of conspicuous public service, a period which embraces nearly the whole life of the republican party. he deserves the especial recognition of the nation for the great service he has rendered in making the resumption law a success, and placing the national finances on a better basis. i am aware of the fact that some republicans do not indorse all his opinions, but no man who has opinions can expect the universal concurrence of his party in all his views, and no man without opinions is worthy of the support of a great party. i hope the republicans of ohio will make no mistake on other candidates; they should fairly and generously recognize the merits of all; but i think they ought to present the name of mr. sherman to the national convention and give him their united and cordial support." to mr. wharton baker, of philadelphia, general garfield wrote: "it is becoming every day more apparent that the friends of the leading presidential candidates are becoming embittered against each other to such an extent that, whichever of the three may be nominated, there would be much hostility of feeling in the conduct of the campaign. it will be most unfortunate if we go into the contest handicapped by the animosity of the leading politicians. i shall be glad to see you on your arrival in washington." general garfield's influence was politically omnipotent in his own district, yet when the convention of that district was held to elect delegates to the chicago convention, controlled by garfield's friends and confidential advisers, it surprised the country by electing blaine delegates. it was then whispered that general garfield, while ostensibly working for sherman, would advocate his own nomination, and also that he would have the support of the friends of mr. blaine. the convention was a remarkable one. the combined anti-grant men, with cunning parliamentary strategy, carried their points on the unit rule and the credentials. when the names of the candidates were successively presented by their friends, a tumultuous scene of wild applause followed the nominations of james g. blaine and ulysses s. grant, the rival hosts on the floor and in the galleries being animated by paroxysms of enthusiasm never before witnessed on this continent. general garfield rose when the state of ohio was called, and said that he had witnessed the extraordinary scenes of the convention with great solicitude. the assemblage had seemed to him like a human ocean in a tempest. he had seen the sea lashed into fury and tossed into spray, and its grandeur moves the soul of the dullest man; but he remembered that it was not the billows, but the calm level of the sea, from which all heights and depths are measured. when the enthusiasm should have passed away, the calm level of public opinion would be found, from which the thoughts of a mighty people would be measured. not at chicago in the heat of june, but at the ballot-boxes in the quiet of november, would the question be settled. "and now, gentlemen of the convention," said he, "what do we want?" "we want garfield," said a clear voice; and from that moment it was evident who the "dark horse" was, and his cold, studied eulogium of john sherman was really little more than a presentation of himself. in the thirty-six ballots which ensued, three hundred and six of the delegates cast their votes for general grant. during the first twenty-eight ballotings, james a. garfield generally received one vote, and sometimes two. his strength was then gradually increased as the friends of mr. blaine and of mr. sherman rallied to his support, and on the thirty-eighth ballot he received three hundred and ninety-nine votes, ulysses s. grant, three hundred and six; james g. blaine, twelve; elihu b. washburne, five, and john sherman, three. chester a. arthur was nominated on the first ballot for vice- president, receiving four hundred and sixty-eight votes. general grant gave the chicago ticket his hearty support, and persuaded senator conkling to accompany him to ohio, where they addressed public meetings. they also addressed large popular gatherings in the state of new york, and it was asserted that they carried that state for garfield and arthur. general grant visited washington in december, , and had a most enthusiastic welcome. he was received by the grand army of the republic, and as the train entered the railroad station, the chimes of the metropolitan church rang out "home again," while the field- pieces of the artillery company thundered a salute of seventeen guns. the general was escorted to the house of his friend, colonel beale, by the grand army, headed by the marine band, and as the column passed up pennsylvania avenue the dense crowd cheered enthusiastically. a few days afterward general grant went to the capitol, and for the first time an ex-president successively visited the two houses of congress while they were in session. in the senate, when general grant came in on the floor (to which he had a right, having received the thanks of congress), senator edmunds moved that a recess of ten minutes be taken. the senators then left their seats and flocked around general grant, the confederate brigadiers leading the democrats, who shook hands cordially with their old chief antagonist. from the senate chamber general grant went to the house of representatives, where an adjournment was immediately carried. speaker randall then left the chair and invited general grant to walk down to the area before the reporter's desk. the representatives were there presented in turn, and then the pages enjoyed the privilege of shaking the general's hand, which they greatly enjoyed, and which he too seemed to enjoy as heartily as they. general grant had been the hero of unparalleled ovations, extending over years of time and through his tour around the world. in his own land, city after city had vied with each other in efforts to do him honor, but no receptions were ever more hearty than these in the two houses of congress. and general grant appreciated it highly. to be thus greeted by political advocate and antagonist, by his former subordinates on the field and by those who stood against him, was enough to awaken a nature far less sensitive to appreciation than his. he was gratified, and was in one of his most genial moods, his sunshine melting out any remaining iciness in those about him. the fact that he was now regarded as "out of politics" went far to allay suspicions and open up the channels of good-will and friendliness which all admitted were his due in view of distinguished services rendered by him in the crisis of the nation's history. it was a memorable occasion at the capitol, where so many have occurred. new year's day of was the coldest that had been known in washington for a quarter of a century, the mercury having fallen in the morning to ten degrees below zero. as it was the last reception of president and mrs. hayes, the white house was the centre of attraction. the state apartments were decorated with flowers, and the marine band played in the large entrance hall. the long, central corridor was festooned with flags, and further decorated with flowers and potted plants. the parlors were also adorned with cut flowers and hot-house plants. at eleven a. m. the president and mrs. hayes entered the blue parlor, preceded by major farquhar, of the engineer corps, and followed by the vice- president and miss mills, of san francisco, who afterward became mrs. whitelaw reid. they took their stations in the centre of the room. the young ladies who were visiting mrs. hayes stood back of her and on her right. colonel casey made the introductions to the president, and mr. webb hayes to his mother. mrs. hayes' dress, of creamy white ribbed silk, very soft and fine, was trimmed very elegantly with white cream-tinted satin and pearl passamenteries. she wore a silver comb in her dark hair and no jewels. miss lucy cook wore a cream-colored brocaded satin, combined with plain silk of the same shade, trimmed with pearls. miss dora scott, of new orleans, wore an elegant costume of spanish blonde over satin, trimmed with field daisies, pond-lilies, and strands of pearls. the attorney-general's niece, miss agnes devens, a bright young school-girl, wore a heliotrope cashmere, trimmed with royal purple velvet. little miss fannie hayes' bright face and perfect complexion appeared in a child-like dress of white summer camel's hair, trimmed with white satin ribbons. mrs. hayes invited mrs. elizabeth thompson, the philanthropist, of new york, to pass the day with her. she wore a superb black velvet trimmed with white ostrich plumes. her ornaments were pearls. this lady had given away in charity over half a million dollars. the gentlemen of the cabinet and ladies entered from the red parlor, secretary evarts and his family immediately preceding the diplomatic corps. all the gentlemen of the foreign legations, as was customary, wore court dresses, except those who represented republics. these wore citizens' dress suits. secretary evarts made the presentation of the members of the diplomatic corps to the president. sir edward thornton, as the dean of the corps, and the british legation took precedence of any other foreign minister then in washington. all his family were with him, including his tall, fine-looking son, the third edward thornton in a direct line of his family who had been attached to the british legation in washington. the russian minister and his wife were conceded to be the handsomest and most distinguished- looking couple seen in the throng of noted men and fine-looking ladies in the blue room. the attendance of army and navy officers was large, including general hazen and others recently promoted, from the president's native state, of whom, it was reported, private secretary rodgers used to sing: "he might have been a bostonian, or else a baltimorian, or a chicago man; in spite of all temptation--remained true to his nation, and he's an ohio man." general garfield's selection of mr. blaine as secretary of state was known to the public soon after the presidential election, but there was much speculation as to who else would be invited into the cabinet. many prominent public men went to mentor, where they found general garfield ready to listen, but unwilling to make any pledge. he impressed one of these visitors as evincing a desire to bring about the fusion of all the various elements. he would make an honest attempt to give each element proper recognition, and not allow himself to be involved in any controversy with his own party. he recognized the truth of the claim that had not general grant and senator conkling gone into the campaign when they did, he would probably have been defeated, and this visitor was led to believe that the president-elect would treat the grant wing with consideration. as to particular persons and sections, general garfield was so guarded that he gave no impression as to the states that would be represented, except that iowa should have a place in the cabinet. as to whether it was to be mr. wilson or mr. allison, or some one else, the president-elect dropped no hint. the name of robert lincoln was talked over, and general garfield indicated an intention to give him some fitting recognition in his administration, not only because he considered mr. lincoln a bright young man, but because he should take pleasure in making so graceful a tribute to the memory of his father. he did not intimate, however, that it would be by offering the son a seat in the cabinet, nor did he say it would not be done in that way. [facsimile] ebwashburne elihu b. washburne, one of five brothers who have occupied prominent positions under the national government, was born at livermore, maine, september d, ; studied law and commenced practice at galena, illinois; was a representative from illinois, - ; was appointed by president grant secretary of state, and after serving a few days, minister to france, serving - ; returned to galena and afterward settled at chicago. chapter xxxv. the garfield inauguration. the inauguration of james abram garfield as the twentieth president of the united states was a grand historical pageant, although its effect was marred by the chilly, snowy, and wet weather. all the night previous the shrill blasts of the storm-king were varied by the whistles of the locomotives and steamboats, which were bringing thousands from the north, the west, and the south. drenched and draggled people perambulated pennsylvania avenue and the adjacent streets, while occasional memories of the war would be revived as a well-equipped regiment or company with its full brass band would march past to its quarters. the hotels were emphatically full, and the last comers were glad to be able to secure one of the hundreds of cots made up in the parlors. many swarmed into the theatres, the concert halls, or the capitol, yet there was no drunkenness or rowdyism, but every on appeared to take a mark tapley- like view of the storm, and be as jolly as was possible under the circumstances. long before the morning guns boomed from the arsenal and the navy yard, thousands of noses flattened against window-glass in the anxiety of the owners to see if the heavens were propitious; but there was no sign of sunshine. as the day advanced there were some bright streaks in the dull gray of the leaden sky, and the excellence of concrete pavements was shown, as they were free from mud, and the slosh was soon trodden into water, which ran off in the gutters. the flags, which had clung to the staffs, began to dry and flutter in the breeze. nearly every house was decked with bunting, while upon many the most artistic designs of decorative art were displayed. upon the broad sidewalks of pennsylvania avenue a living tide of humanity--men, women, and children--flowed toward the capitol, pausing now and then to gaze at some passing regiment or political association. general sherman, who was chief marshal, had made such arrangements that the procession moved with the precision of clock-work when the signal gun was fired. the escort was composed of twelve companies of regular artillery, armed and equipped as infantry, with six companies of marines. then came president hayes and president-elect garfield, with senators bayard and anthony of the senate committee, in a four-horse carriage, with the columbia commandery of knights templar, of which general garfield was a member, as a guard of honor. general arthur, escorted by senator pendleton, followed in a four-horse carriage. after them marched the well-drilled battalion of cleveland grays, the utica veterans, in their continental uniforms; the utica citizens' corps, the maryland fifth, the boston fusileers, a company of pennsylvania volunteers, the grand army, the naval cadets, the local militia companies, the signal corps, and a colored pioneer club. as the carriages passed down pennsylvania avenue to the capitol, the occupants were greeted with continuous cheers. general garfield looked somewhat jaded, but doffed his stovepipe hat in response to the shouts, and bowed to the right and left. the crowd all along the line was dense, and it was with difficulty that it could be kept back to make way for the procession. the house windows were all occupied, and presented a varied scene of beautiful women, staid men, fluttering handkerchiefs, uplifted hats, and bright bunting. an armed guard had been posted about the capitol, and it gave mortal offense to some of the representatives who tried to force their way in. as the senate chamber is the scene of the swearing in of the vice- president, and as the galleries hold only about twelve hundred persons, the tickets were in great demand. when the doors were opened at half-past ten there was a rush made for the front seats, and the entire galleries were soon filled. a large majority of the occupants were ladies, fashionably dressed, whose moving fans gave animation to the general effect. mrs. hayes escorted general garfield's venerable mother and mrs. garfield to the gallery seats reserved for them. mrs. hayes wore a magnificent sealskin dolman and a black brocaded silk dress, with a white uncut velvet bonnet and ostrich feathers. she carried a bouquet of lilies of the valley. "mother garfield," as she was familiarly called, was a white-haired, venerable-looking lady, who wore on that day a black silk bonnet, a black silk dress, and a silk cloak trimmed with a band of silver fox fur. mrs. general garfield wore a suit of dark green velvet trimmed with chenille fringe, and a bonnet to match. she carried a bunch of roses. miss mollie garfield wore a plum-colored woolen suit trimmed with plush, and a broad-brimmed gypsy hat, tied down over her ears. miss fannie hayes wore a purple plush suit striped with yellow, and a white felt hat. officials entitled to admission on the floor of the senate began to make their appearance and to occupy the vacant chairs, the senators having doubled up on one side of the chamber. when general hancock, the "superb soldier," entered in full uniform, escorted by senator blaine, he was greeted with applause, which continued as he passed around the rear of the democratic seats to the main aisle, the senators all being seated on the republican side. for a few minutes he held a sort of general levee, and was then escorted to a seat in front of and left of the vice-president, being again greeted with applause. general sheridan, when he entered, was also applauded. the two generals sat side by side and each was accompanied by his staff. sir edward thornton headed the diplomatic corps, which came in a body, nearly all wearing the resplendent court dresses of their respective nations, and decked with their ribbons, stars, and other insignia of knighthood. the president of the united states was announced, and all rose as mr. hayes entered, escorting general garfield. the general wore a suit of black cloth, with a black neck-tie, over which his collar was turned down. they were shown to seats in the centre of the chamber. mr. wheeler presented mr. arthur, who made a well-worded speech, and was then sworn in by mr. wheeler, who in turn made a few remarks, alluding to the good feeling that had always been shown toward him and returning his thanks therefor. his last official act was performed in declaring the senate of the forty- sixth congress adjourned _sine die_. speaker randall then entered, followed by the representatives, who filled up what vacant room remained. the chaplain invoked the blessings of divine providence upon the incoming administration, and asked that prosperity, health, and happiness might attend those whose connection with the government had ceased. while this prayer was being offered both mr. hayes and mr. garfield rose and remained standing. president hayes' proclamation convening a special session of the senate was read by the secretary. the roll of the new senate was then called, and the newly elected senators were sworn in. announcement was made that the senate, the supreme court, and the invited spectators would proceed to the east portico of the capitol to participate in the ceremonies of the inauguration. the greater portion of those in the senate chamber, however, did not wait, but started in a most undignified manner for the platform. this was erected over the lower flight of steps leading up into the eastern portico. in the front and centre was a raised stage, on which was the chair once used by washington. general garfield occupied this seat of honor, with president hayes on his right and chief justice waite on his left. it was an impressive scene. behind, as a background, rose the capitol in its sublime grandeur and with its many memories; all around were the dignitaries of the country, with many ladies, whose ribbons and flowers gave brilliancy to the scene; and in front was an immense sea of upturned faces with lines of bristling bayonets, flags, plumes, and bright uniforms. when silence had been secured general garfield rose, took off his overcoat, advanced to the front of the stand, and delivered his inaugural address in clear tones and with ringing accents. his face was stronger in those traits that indicate mental power than in classical outlines, and the likeness between him and his mother was noticeable as the evidently delighted old lady sat listening to him. she was the first mother who had heard her son deliver his inaugural as president of the united states. when general garfield had concluded and the applause had somewhat subsided, the chief justice advanced toward him, and the two stood facing each other. the chief justice then administered the prescribed oath, which was reverentially taken, and then president garfield received the plaudits of the people. while the inaugural was being delivered the sun had shone brightly. president garfield's first act was to kiss his mother and his wife. he then received the congratulations of those around him, and after waiting a few moments for this purpose, was escorted again to his carriage, which was driven to the reviewing stand in front of the white house. here general garfield witnessed the long procession pass in review, the bands playing patriotic airs and the officers saluting. the excellent marching and well-dressed ranks of the passing military was the theme of great praise from the prominent officers and distinguished civilians before whom they passed, and the thousands of spectators who occupied the stands and sidewalks opposite applauded often and loudly. division after division, brigade after brigade, regiment after regiment, company after company, marched proudly past, forming the finest military display ever witnessed at washington since the great war reviews, "when johnny came marching home." pennsylvania contributed the largest body of troops. the new york ninth, although late to arrive, was much complimented, and so was the maryland fifth; the boston fusileers also attracted marked attention. general sherman was proud of his procession, and he had reason to be. the numerous military commands and civil organizations, the excellent bands, the prancing steeds, the waving plumes and flags, the bright swords and bayonets, and the public spirit which animated the long array, all combined to render the scene a stirring one. it was five o'clock before the military had all passed the reviewing stand, and some of the political organizations which had to leave washington did not pass in review. going from the reviewing stand to the white house, president garfield was welcomed by his aged mother and his family. he then lunched with mr. and mrs. hayes, who soon afterward left for secretary sherman's, where they passed the night. it was fortunate for those who wished to indulge in the time-honored custom of dancing at an inauguration ball that the government had just completed an immense building for a national museum, which was fitted up for the occasion. wooden floors were laid by the acre and carefully waxed, and the building was simply yet tastefully decorated. a heroic statue of "liberty," which stood in the central rotunda of the building, holding aloft a beacon torch, was the first object that struck the visitors on entering. flags were lavishly displayed, and the high, arched ceiling was almost hidden by a network of evergreens and flowers. president and mrs. garfield arrived at the building about nine o'clock and were received by the committee, hon. george bancroft escorting the president. mrs. garfield was dressed with great taste. she wore a dress of light heliotrope satin, elaborately trimmed with point lace, a cluster of pansies at her neck, and no jewelry. mrs. hayes, who was escorted by hon. john alley, wore a cream-colored satin dress trimmed with ermine. the supper was served in a temporarily constructed "annex," where preparations were made for seating five hundred persons at a time. the caterer provided fifteen hundred pounds of turkey, one hundred gallons of oysters, fifty hams, three hundred and fifty pounds of butter, seven hundred loaves of bread, two thousand biscuits, one thousand rolls, two hundred gallons of chicken salad, fifteen thousand cakes, one hundred and fifty gallons of ice-cream, fifty gallons of jelly, fifty gallons of water ices, two hundred and fifty gallons of coffee, and other delicacies in proportion. [facsimile] j.a.garfield james abram garfield was born at orange, ohio, november th, ; served in the union army as colonel, brigadier-general, and major- general, - ; was a representative from ohio, - ; was president of the united states from march th, , until having been assassinated on the morning of saturday, july d, he, after weary weeks of torture, died at elberton, n. j., on the seashore, september th, . chapter xxxvi. changes and dissensions. the senate, which met in executive session when general garfield was inaugurated, showed many changes. vice-president wheeler, who had served in congress long and well, was replaced by general arthur, whose war record in the state of new york had won him many friends. senators allen thurman and matt. carpenter were missed by their legal friends, but among the new senators was the ponderous david davis, "learned in the law." general hawley replaced mr. eaton, and with him there came from the house messrs. conger, mitchell, and hale. one of the silver kings of the pacific slope, mr. fair, of nevada, was naturally an object of attention. as chosen, the republicans had a majority in the senate, but the transfer of messrs. blaine, windom, and kirkwood to the cabinet gave the democrats a temporary ascendency. the arrival of mr. frye, elected as the successor of mr. blaine, and of mr. mcdill, appointed as the successor of mr. kirkwood, secured a tie, and the casting vote of vice-president arthur enabled the republicans to secure the control of the committees. the caucus of republican senators nominated senator anthony for president _pro tempore_ when the vice-president should vacate the chair; george c. gorham for secretary, and harrison h. riddleberger, sergeant-at-arms. the democratic senators refused to permit the election of messrs. gorham and riddleberger, and as seven senators could at any time prevent action by motions to adjourn, a dead-lock ensued, which lasted from march d until may th, when the republicans gracefully surrendered, permitting the democratic officers of the senate to retain their places. meanwhile there was trouble among the republican senators, caused by the rival factions in the state of new york. early in march several nominations of men who were ostensibly supporters of mr. conkling were made unexpectedly to him, and a day or two later the senate was treated to a genuine surprise in the nomination of w. h. robertson to be collector of the port of new york. the astonishment could not have been greater if the name of samuel j. tilden had been sent in. no intimation of such an intention had leaked out. neither arthur, conkling, nor platt dreamed of such a thing. it was a square blow at conkling, at the very time when he and his friends were congratulating themselves as being on top. when vice- president arthur opened the list of nominations in the senate, his eye lit first upon the name of robertson for collector. he turned the paper down so as to leave that name uppermost, and sent it to senator conkling. the latter, upon glancing at it, walked rapidly over to senator platt, showed it to him, and they held a whispered conference. after the senate adjourned, it was learned that the nomination was especially objectionable to them. it was subsequently stated that in new york city the preceding summer, at mentor the previous february, and at the white house on the sunday night before the wednesday on which judge robertson's nomination was sent to the senate, general garfield had agreed not to make any appointments for new york unless they were satisfactory to the republican organization of that state, and that they were to be submitted to the vice-president and the two senators from that state. at the interview held on the sunday night previous to the nomination of judge robertson, senator conkling had especially objected to having him in the new york custom house, yet if the president should nominate him to a foreign mission, he would go out in the lobby and hold his nose while the senate confirmed him. the objectionable nomination was, however, made, and it was immediately evident that it meant war between the garfield administration and senator conkling. the next day, while the senate was in executive session, the president's secretary appeared at the door with a communication, which was handed to the vice-president, and by him to the executive clerk, and read. when it arrived conkling was sitting at his own desk, buried in a voluminous letter. he never raised his eyes from his letter, nor moved a muscle of his face or body while the clerk monotonously read the momentous message, withdrawing, not robertson, but all the nominations of men for the leading new york offices who were acceptable to the senator. the arrow went home, of course, but the wounded one betrayed no sign of pain. the nomination was referred to the committee on commerce, of which mr. conkling was chairman, and was there pigeon-holed until issue on it was squarely made in the senate and in the republican party. republican senators, who visited the white house or the departments in search of offices for their henchmen, were plainly told that their votes in favor of the confirmation of judge robertson's nomination would be expected. the democratic senators were also looked after, and among other means resorted to in order to disarm their opposition was a letter signed by every democratic member of the new york legislature, addressed to senator pendleton, chairman of the senatorial caucus, urging the confirmation of judge robertson. it would make an administration and an anti-administration faction in new york republicanism, and would secure the state to the democrats. senator conkling was not idle, and he appealed to the "senatorial courtesy" of those around him to defeat the obnoxious nomination, but in vain. senator jones, of nevada, and a half-dozen democrats were all the strength that he could command, and the nomination of judge robertson was confirmed. senator conkling immediately left the senate, taking his colleague, senator platt, with him, and they appealed to the legislature of the state of new york, expecting that they would be triumphantly re-elected, and, thus indorsed, would return to the senate with flying colors, conquering and to conquer. the exodus of senators conkling and platt left the republican senators again in a minority, and as it was evident that senator davis would not aid in electing senator anthony president _pro tem._, vice-president arthur did not vacate the chair prior to the close of the session, and thus render it necessary to elect a temporary presiding officer. the most noticeable event of the executive session was a three hours' speech by senator mahone, of virginia, in reply to bitter personal attacks that had been made on him by the democrats since he had acted with the republicans. no speech for years had attracted a greater audience, even the diplomatic gallery being crowded. prominent among the many ladies present were mrs. secretary blaine and mrs. kate chase sprague, accompanied by her three young daughters. the supreme court was present in a body, having adjourned on account of the funeral in the family of justice field. representatives, still hunting for office, abandoned the white house for once, while each senator seemed to have a score of secretaries, so many persons being admitted upon secretaries' cards. the speaker was surrounded by anthony, morrill, allison, conger, and other leading republicans. on the opposite side was davis, of west virginia, with a snowy white spot on his dark chin beard. wade hampton's military waxed moustache and haughty countenance was beside the genial face of senator pendleton, and next came the sagacious round head of senator beck, with close-cut, curling hair. ingalls, of kansas, a tall, slim collegian--"the bluejay of the plains"--clad in blue from head to foot, and with a bright blue ribbon encircling his slender throat, stood somewhat back of the seats. senator voorhees' form towered in the shadow of the cloak-room. senator conkling, who had not yet left the senate, "_fier d'etre moi_," sat in the middle aisle, dressed in a mixed brown business suit, with a bit of red handkerchief showing above the breast pocket. senator mahone was just recovering from a temporary indisposition, and his voice was faint and thin, but his bearing was defiant as he rose, with his pointed beard streaming over his breast, and adjusted his gold-rimmed eye-glasses. a mass of public documents and newspapers were piled on his desk, with an ominous display of cut lemons, showing that he expected to be compelled to strengthen his voice. his weight at that time was but ninety pounds, and those ninety pounds must have been composed of brain and voice and sinew, for, notwithstanding his evident feebleness, he spoke calmly and earnestly for three hours. as for the speech, those who came expecting to witness a renewal of the outburst of passion and invective which characterized his first appearance in the senate, when he made his impromptu, eloquent reply to the savage assaults of senator ben. hill, of georgia, went away disappointed. there was very little that was personal in his speech, but there was enough to show that the virginia senator intended on all occasions to take care of himself, and that it would be wise for the bourbons to forego personalities in their future debates with him. those who came to hear a careful explanation of the debt question in virginia, as it was understood by the refunders, and to listen to an exposition of the opposition to bourbonism, of which general mahone was a leader, went away enlightened, if not fully satisfied. the speech was not intended as a philippic; it was designed as a careful exposition of the virginia debt question, as an argument in support of the readjuster party, and an arraignment of the bourbons. it was one of the old style, solid political speeches, customary with southern orators, which were much sought and generally read in the cross-roads counties of the old dominion, where the telegraph and the newspapers had usurped the ancient functions of the _congressional record_. senator mahone indicated, possibly, a line for future aggressive debate in the senate when he called upon the leaders of the different schools of finance and tariff in the democratic party to stand up and tell him who was the leader of the party. he was unable to say whether it was the stalwart greenbacker, mr. voorhees, the stalwart hard-money man, mr. bayard, or the author of the ohio idea, mr. pendleton, and he called upon mr. voorhees, whose silver eloquence, he said, he had heard could make the water of the wabash run backward, to answer the inquiry at his leisure. the general assaults upon him personally senator mahone repelled by a disclaimer and the scotch quotation ending, "if thou sayest i am not peer, to any lord of scotland here, highland or lowland, far or near, lord angus, thou hast lied." in conclusion, senator mahone declared to him and to those who supported him the solid south had become a mere geographical expression, that he and they stood for the right of freemen, and that he, in the name of the brave men who stood behind him, would guarantee to the north that thereafter in virginia there should be a full and free ballot and an honest count. president garfield's first appearance in public after his inauguration was at the unveiling of the statue of farragut, which was the work of his protégé, mrs. vinnie ream hoxie. a procession was formed at the capitol, and was headed by commodore baldwin, as grand marshal, with the naval school cadets as an escort. the naval division, commanded by captain meade, included the battalion of marines and band, two infantry battalions of sailors and bands, and a battalion of naval light artillery, dragging their howitzers. the army division, commanded by colonel pennington, included the second artillery band, four batteries of artillery armed and equipped as infantry, and a light battery. the militia division, commanded by colonel webster, included the volunteer infantry companies of washington, white and colored, with a battery of artillery. the procession marched to the statue, where seats had been provided for invited guests. when the troops had been massed near by, rev. arthur brooks offered prayer, and the canvas covering was then removed from the statue by quartermaster knowles, of the navy, who was ordered by the executive officer of the hartford to follow farragut up the shrouds during the engagement in mobile bay, and to lash him to the rigging, which he did. bartholomew diggins, who was captain of farragut's barge, then hoisted the admiral's flag on a mast planted near the pedestal, the drums beat four ruffles, the trumpets sounded four flourishes, the marine band played a march, and an admiral's salute of seventeen guns was fired from a naval battery, the troops presenting arms at the first gun and coming to a "carry" at the last. brief addresses were then delivered in turn by president garfield, horace maynard, and senator voorhees. the marine band played "hail to the chief," and was followed by an admiral's salute of seventeen guns, during which the troops presented arms, drums beat, trumpets sounded, and bands played, and at last gun the admiral's flag was hauled down. the column then re-formed and marched in review before the president at the executive mansion. president garfield, later in the spring, conferred the degrees at the college for deaf mutes at kendall green, just north of washington. the graduates delivered addresses in sign language, while one of the college professors read their remarks from manuscript, very few of the audience understanding the gestured speech. the president concluded a neat little address by saying: "during many years of political life in one way or another, i always looked upon this place as a neutral ground, where we all, no matter what the political differences were, could meet, all trying to make this institution worthy the capital, and i hope to see this unchanged by any political vicissitudes that can happen." president garfield showed deep practical interest in all educational measures. he had learned by his own experiences how rough the road to literary eminence may be. he had received for himself when a boy the slender aid of a winter school in a country district; he had fed his early mental cravings with the narrow store of borrowed books in a rural section; but he had studied diligently and worked hard to enter college and to graduate, and his subsequent life for many years was one of unintermitted mental toil. no wonder, therefore, that institutions of learning received his constant attention. [facsimile] daviddavis david davis was born in cecil county, maryland, march th, ; was graduated from kenyon college in ; studied law at the new haven law school; was admitted to the bar, and commenced practice at bloomington, illinois, in ; was judge of an illinois circuit court, - ; was appointed by president lincoln a judge of the supreme court of the united states in october, , and served until march th, , when he resigned to take his seat as united states senator from illinois; when vice-president arthur became president he was chosen president _pro tempore_ of the senate, and served until march d, , and died at bloomington, illinois, june th, . chapter xxxvii. the assassination. general garfield was a singularly domestic man, and his life while he was a representative, at his pleasant home on i street was a happy one. believing in the power of steady and sincere labor, he had mastered language, science, literature, and the fine arts. artists found in him a zealous advocate for their employment and remuneration by congress, and he was thoroughly acquainted with the works of the old masters. he was a great lover of scrap-books, and he had in his library a shelf full of them, containing articles and paragraphs relating to the subjects lettered on their back. in this work mrs. garfield rendered him valuable aid, cutting and sorting the scraps which he would mark in newspapers, and then pasting them into the scrap-books. freemasonry was very dear to general garfield, who was a regular attendant on the meetings of the lodge, chapter, and encampment with which he was affiliated. he was the president of a literary association, the meetings of which he used to attend with great regularity. occasionally he went to the theatre or to a concert, and i well remember the delight which he manifested when attending the "readings" of charles dickens. when the "christmas carol" was read, as mr. dickens pronounced the words, "bless his heart, it's fezziwig alive yet," a dog, with some double bass vocalism, stirred, perhaps, by some ghostly impulse, responded: "bow! wow! wow!" with a repetition that not only brought down the house wildly, but threw mr. dickens himself into such convulsions of humor that he could not proceed with his readings. "bow! wow! wow!" was general garfield's favorite greeting for months afterward when he met any one whom he knew to have been at the lecture. the white house, during the short time that general garfield was permitted to occupy it, was a continued scene of domestic enjoyment. "mother" garfield had an honored place at the family table at her son's right hand, and was always waited on first, whoever else might be present. on the other side of the president sat jamie, who was his father's pet. harry, the oldest boy, always sat next his mother, and then miss mollie, who was approaching womanhood, irwin, and little abram, who was but nine years of age. mrs. garfield was a believer in good fare, and there was always an abundance of wholesome, nutritious food, with good coffee, tea, and milk. flowers from the conservatory adorned the table at every meal. after dinner president garfield used to indulge in a game of billiards, having promptly restored to its place the billiard- table banished by mrs. hayes. occasionally he would indulge in a cigar, and he was not averse to a glass of champagne or rhine wine or lager beer, although he drank temperately and without hypocrisy. he liked, as night came on, to take a gallop on horseback, and he was a fearless rider. general garfield displayed the advantage of having been regularly "trained" for his presidential position. he heard the stories of all with a sympathetic manner that inspired confidence. he knew how to free himself from those who attempted to monopolize too much of his time, and he never gave place-hunters reason to believe that their prayers would be granted when he knew that it would not be so. there was not, after all, such a crowd of office-seekers as might have been expected at the commencement of a new administration. some members of the cabinet had scores of political mortgages out, which they were called upon to redeem, and which gave the president a great deal of trouble. then came the rejection of a solicitor- general by the senate, whose appointment was not acceptable to the pragmatical attorney-general, new york troubles, the forced exposure of the star-route scandals, and other antagonisms, rivalries, and dissensions. the garfield administration was on the verge of dissolution within four months after its creation. mrs. garfield, familiarly called by her husband "crete," held four successive receptions of invited guests immediately after the inauguration, at which her deportment and dress met with the heartiest commendation of "society." lady-like, sweet-voiced, unruffled, well informed, and always appropriately dressed, she was eminently fitted to be "the first lady in the land," and she quietly yet firmly repelled any patronizing attempts to direct her movements. she had a natural aversion to publicity, but was anxious to entertain the thousands who flocked to the white house. to a stranger she appeared reticent and rather too retiring to make him feel at home, but the second and third time he saw her he began to appreciate her sterling, womanlike qualities, and to like her. during the presidential campaign mrs. garfield had been under a mental strain, and when installed in the white house the struggle between the contending new york factions gave her great uneasiness, for she possessed a complete mastery of politics. at last she was taken ill, and called in a lady physician, a responsible middle- aged woman, homoeopathic in practice, who had sometimes attended the children. when she grew worse they summoned dr. pope, a homoeopath of skill and reputation, and gave the case into his hands, retaining the lady as nurse. last of all, as the physician wished consultation, they sent for dr. boynton, of cleveland, a cousin of the president and a physician of good local practice. it was decided that mrs. garfield should seek change of air, and she left washington and her husband for long branch, little dreaming that she should never see him again in health. then came the fatal morning of saturday, july d, when--as we are told by mr. blaine, who accompanied him--general garfield was a happy man, feeling that trouble lay behind him and not before him, that he was soon to meet his beloved wife, recovered from an illness that had disquieted him, and that he was going to his alma mater to renew the most cherished association of his early manhood. thus gladsome, he entered the station of the baltimore and potomac railroad, strong, healthy, and happy. there was a succession of pistol-shots, and he fell helpless, doomed to weary weeks of torture as he slowly descended through the martyr-gate into his grave. the nation was inexpressibly shocked as the news of the assassination spread over the wires, and the deep anxiety which pervaded the popular mind showed the warm and intense love felt for their president, who was the incarnation of their own institutions. a special train carried mrs. garfield to washington, bearing up under the weight of her sorrow with true womanly fortitude, and on her arrival she had the satisfaction of finding her husband alive and able to converse with her. there were hopes that with his heroic and cheerful courage, and his naturally strong constitution, he might struggle back to vigorous life. the bulletins issued twice a day by the physicians in attendance gave hopes, generally, of the ultimate recovery of the suffering patient, but there are good reasons for believing that these bulletins did not give a correct statement of the sufferer's condition. the president's family physician, dr. j. h. baxter, was not allowed to see him, and eminent surgeons, while they believed that death was inevitable, asserted that the entire diagnosis of the case was wrong from the beginning to the end. meanwhile the patient endured pain with the calmness of a martyr, and he gazed on death with the eye of a philosopher. "i am not afraid to die," said he, "but i will try to live." he was finally taken to the seaside, and there he breathed his last. his remains were conveyed to washington, attended by his bereaved family, president arthur, general grant, and other distinguished persons, and escorted to the capitol by the knights templar and the military. twenty-nine weeks previous, when general garfield had gone in state, in the strength of his manhood, along pennsylvania avenue, the _via sacra_ of our republic, to assume the responsible duties of chief magistrate, the bands had played patriotic airs, and he had received the loud acclaims of his fellow-citizens. now, as his mortal remains passed over the same route in a hearse drawn by six white horses, the lively music was replaced by the solemn strains of funeral marches, and sorrow appeared to fill every breast. the casket was laid in state beneath the great dome of the capitol, within a short distance of the spot where, on the th of march previous, the occupant had pronounced his inaugural address. for two days thousands of citizens, of all classes, conditions, and nationalities, reverentially filed past the coffin and gazed upon the wasted form and pallid lineaments of the deceased. on friday the afflicted widow took the last look at the face of the dead, and after she had left the impressive funeral ceremonies were performed. the remains were then escorted by the military, their arms reversed, their flags shrouded, and their bands wailing dirges, to the depot where the assassination took place, where they were placed on a railroad train to be conveyed to cleveland with his family and a large number of distinguished mourners. the funeral train arrived at cleveland on the afternoon of september th, and on the th the remains of the nation's second martyr- president were consigned to their last resting-place, amid the flashing lightning and the rolling thunder of a severe storm. the day was consecrated all over the country to manifestation of respect for the memory of the dead, and messages of condolence were flashed beneath the atlantic from the leading foreign powers of the old world, expressing their regard for the memory of a ruler who had endeared himself to the wide world by the heroism of humanity. as the muffled bells in fifty thousand steeples tolled the burial hour, the hearts of fifty millions of people beat in homage to the deceased president, whose remains were being entombed on the shore of lake erie. public and private edifices were lavishly decorated in black, there were processions in the northern cities, and funeral services in many congregations, eliciting the remark that the prayers of christian people in all quarters of the globe "following the sun and keeping company with the hours," had circled the earth with an unbroken strain of mourning and sympathy. criticism was silenced, faults were forgotten, and nothing but good was spoken of the dead. charles guiteau, the cowardly wretch who assassinated general garfield, was a native of chicago, thirty-six years of age, short in stature, and with a well-knit, stout frame. he had led a vagabond life, and had come to washington after the inauguration of general garfield, seeking appointment to a foreign consulate, and when he found himself disappointed, his morbid imagination sought revenge. attorney-general macveagh, who was then bent on making political mischief by the star-route prosecutions, made himself ridiculous when general garfield died by asserting that the united states had jurisdiction over the cottage in which the president died, and endeavoring to exclude the new jersey authorities. he then appeared to take no interest in the prosecution of guiteau, and although he had employed eminent legal talent in the star-route and howgate cases, he gave district attorney corkhill no aid in the trial of the assassin until president arthur gave peremptory instructions that messrs. porter and davidge should be employed. they came in to the case at a late day, and were forced to depend almost wholly upon the district-attorney for bearings. colonel george a. corkhill, the district attorney, was a native of ohio, then forty-four years of age. after graduating from the iowa wesleyan university he entered harvard law school, where he remained over a year, when, at the breaking out of the rebellion, he entered the army, serving faithfully until the close of the war. after having practiced at st. louis, he married a daughter of justice miller, of the supreme court, and came to washington in as editor of the _daily chronicle_. in january, , president hayes appointed him district attorney. from the day on which general garfield was shot, colonel corkhill began industriously to "work up the case." he obtained the evidence, studied precedents, hunted up witnesses, and, unaided by any other counsel, had guiteau indicted and arraigned. the admirable preparation of the case, the spirit of justice, the fairness so liberally extended to the prisoner and his counsel, and the judicious and effective conduct of the trial to a just and satisfactory conclusion were mainly due to him. his management of the case from the start was beyond all praise. from his opening speech he displayed great good sense, added to a perfect understanding of the facts, a marked talent for criminal practice, thorough judgment of men, and an extraordinary dignity of bearing. with admirable temper and self-control, he submitted to indignity and insult in the court-house, which the judge was unable to restrain, and to unmerited obloquy, without arousing misapprehension and misconstruction. the trial lasted eleven weeks, but it could not be said to have been a wearying or tiresome exhibition. on the contrary, none of the sensational plays that had been in vogue for years past had been crowded with more dramatic situations and unexpected displays. this most remarkable of criminal trials came at last to an end, and the promptitude of the jury in rendering a verdict of "guilty," conveyed a sharp rebuke to the lawyers who spent so many wearisome days in summing up the case. in due time atonement for the great crime was made on the scaffold, so far, at least, as human laws can go. the nation then rested easier and breathed freer, happy in the fact that the meanest of cowardly knaves had passed to his long account. [facsimile] leut genl p.h. sheridan philip henry sheridan was born at somerset, ohio, march th, ; was graduated from the military academy at west point, and commissioned as brevet second lieutenant july st, ; served on the pacific coast, and at the outbreak of the war for the suppression of the rebellion was chief quartermaster of the army of missouri; distinguished himself as a cavalry commander; he was made brigadier and then major-general of volunteers, and received the commission of major-general in the regular army for his gallantry at cedar creek, october th, , when he achieved a brilliant victory for the third time in pitched battle within thirty days; was promoted to the rank of lieutenant-general march th, , and became commander of the army on the retirement of general sherman, february th, . chapter xxxviii. vice-president arthur becomes president. when president garfield was assassinated vice-president arthur was on his way from albany to new york, on a steamboat, and received the intelligence on landing. that night he went to washington, where he was the guest of senator jones, who then occupied the large granite house directly south of the capitol, erected a few years previously by general butler. on the evening of july th, when the president's death seemed imminent, secretary blaine visited mr. arthur and said: "the end is at hand; the president is dying; you must prepare to assume the responsibilities which the constitution places upon you in such an event." mr. arthur, sick with sorrow, reluctantly accepted as true the statement respecting the president's condition, and replied that when the cabinet and justice field, the senior justice of the supreme court, then in washington, should call upon him, he would be ready to take the oath of office. soon afterward, while waiting in sorrowful expectation that the next moment might bring him the sad news that the president had died, the door-bell was rung violently, and an orderly handed in a message from secretary blaine, which the vice-president eagerly snatched, opened, and read. "thank god!" he said, handing it to senator jones. it announced that with the rising of the cool breeze, the president's condition had changed for the better. no apprehension of his immediate death was entertained. the next morning a correspondent who called on the vice-president alluded to editorials in a democratic paper at louisville, and a republican paper at new york, connecting his name and that of senator conkling with guiteau's crime. the vice-president seemed deeply moved by these insinuations. "no one," he said, "deplores the calamity more than senator conkling and myself. these reports are so base and so unfounded that i cannot believe they will be credited. they do not affect senator conkling and myself as much as they do the entire country. they are a slur upon our institutions, an attack upon the integrity of republican government. good god! if such a thing were possible, then liberty is impossible. such a calamity as this should be treated as national, not only by every citizen, but by the entire press of the country. party and faction should be forgotten in the general grief." after condemning the perpetrator of the crime in the strongest terms, the vice-president said: "if it were possible for me to be with the president, i would not only offer him my sympathy, i would ask that i might remain by his bedside. all personal considerations and political views must be merged in the national sorrow. i am an american among millions of americans grieving for their wounded chief." the vice-president remained at washington until the president was taken to long beach. he continued to experience great mental anguish, never even alluding to the chances of his becoming president of the united states. he went from washington to his own home in new york, where he received news of the president's death on the evening of its occurrence. it had been determined between vice- president arthur and the members of the cabinet that in the event of the president's death his successor should be sworn in without delay. justice brady was sent for, and the oath was administered in the presence of eight persons. at its conclusion the president, who had stood with uplifted hand, said, impressively, "so help me, god, i do!" a few moments afterward his son, alan, approached, and laying one hand on his father's shoulder, kissed him. president arthur repeated the oath of office in the vice-president's room at the capitol on the twenty-second of september. the members of general garfield's cabinet, who had been requested by his successor to continue for the present in charge of their respective departments, were then present, with general sherman in full uniform, ex-presidents hayes and grant, and chief justice waite, in his judicial robes, escorted by associate justices harlan and matthews. there were also present senators anthony, sherman, edmunds, hale, blair, dawes, and jones, of nevada, and representatives amos townsend, mccook, errett, randall, hiscock, and thomas. ex-vice- president hamlin, of maine, and speaker sharpe, of new york, were also present. when president arthur entered the room, escorted by general grant and senator jones, he advanced to a small table, on which was a bible, and behind which stood the chief justice, who raised the sacred volume, opened it, and presented it to the president, who placed his right hand upon it. chief justice waite then slowly administered the oath, and at its conclusion the president kissed the book, responding "i will, so help me god!" he then read a brief but eloquent inaugural address. as president arthur read his inaugural address his voice trembled, but his manner was impressive, and the eyes of many present were moistened with tears. the first one to congratulate him when he had concluded was chief justice waite, and the next was secretary blaine. after shaking him by the hand, those present left the room, which was closed to all except the members of the cabinet, who there held their first conference with the president. at this cabinet meeting a proclamation was prepared and signed by president arthur, designating the following monday as a day of fasting, humiliation, and prayer. president arthur soon showed his appreciation of the responsibilities of his new office. knowing principles rather than persons, he subordinated individual preferences and prejudices to a well-defined public policy. while he was, as he always had been, a republican, he had no sympathy for blind devotion to party; he had "no friends to reward, no enemies to punish," and he was governed by those principles of liberty and equality which he inherited. his messages to congress were universally commended, and even unfriendly critics pronounced them careful and well-matured documents. their tone was more frank and direct that was customary in such papers, and their recommendations, extensive and varied as they were, showed that he had patiently reviewed the field of labor so sadly and so unexpectedly opened before him, and that he was not inclined to shirk the constitutional duty of aiding congress by his suggestions and advice. an honest man, who believed in his own principles, who followed his own convictions, and who never hesitated to avow his sentiments, he gave his views in accordance with his deliberate ideas of right. the foreign relations of the united states were conducted by secretary frelinghuysen, under the president's direction, in a friendly spirit, and, when practicable, with a view to mutual commercial advantages. he took a conservative view of the management of the public debt, approving all the important suggestions of the secretary of the treasury and recognizing the proper protection of american industry. he was in favor of the great interests of labor, and opposed to such tinkering with the tariff as would make vain the toil of the industrious farmer, paralyze the arm of the sturdy mechanic, strike down the hand of the hardy laborer, stop the spindle, hush the loom, extinguish the furnace fires, and degrade all independent toilers to the level of the poor in other lands. the architect of his own fortune, he had a strong and abiding sympathy for those bread-winners who struggle against poverty. the reform of the civil service met with president arthur's earnest support, and his messages showed that every department of the government had received his careful administration. following the example of washington, he had personally visited several sections of the united states, and had especially made himself thoroughly acquainted with the great and complicated problem of indian civilization. president arthur's administration was characterized by an elevated tone at home and abroad. all important questions were carefully discussed at the council table, at which the president displayed unusual powers of analysis and comprehension. the conflicting claims of applicants for appointments to offices in his gift were carefully weighed, and no action was taken until all parties interested had a hearing. the president had a remarkable insight into men, promptly estimating character with an accuracy that made it a difficult matter to deceive him, or to win his favor either for visionary schemes, corrupt attacks upon the treasury, or incompetent place-hunters. possessing moral firmness and a just self-reliance, president arthur did not hesitate about vetoing the "chinese bill," and the "bill making appropriations for rivers and harbors," for reasons which he laid before congress in his veto messages. the wisdom and sagacity which he displayed in his management of national affairs was especially acceptable to the business interests of the country. they tested his administration by business principles, and they felt that so long as he firmly grasped the helm of the ship of state, she would pursue a course of peace and prosperity. president arthur convened the senate for the transaction of executive business on the th of october, . the galleries of the senate chamber were filled at an early hour on that day, and those who had the privilege of the floor availed themselves of it. roscoe conkling's absence was, of course, noticed by those who had seen him occupying a seat in the very centre of the senate chamber during the past fourteen years. that seat was occupied by angus cameron, of wisconsin, a gray-haired, tall, spare man, who lacked only the kilt and plaid to make him a perfect scotchman. general burnside's seat was occupied by eugene hale, a graceful and ready debater, while in the place of mr. blaine was senator frye, his successor. senator edmunds returned rejuvenated, and although he appeared to miss his old friend and antagonist, senator thurman, he gave potent evidence during the afternoon of his ability as an intellectual gladiator, strong in argument, ready in retort, and displaying great parliamentary keenness and knowledge of affairs. senator anthony, the republican nominee for the president of the senate _pro tempore_, sat a quiet observer of the contest, and around him were allison, sherman, dawes, ingalls, hoar, logan, and the other republican war-horses, with the more recent comers, including hale, mitchell, and conger. with them, if not of them, was general mahone, with the delicate frame of a woman, a large head covered with flowing brown hair, sharp, piercing eyes, a flowing beard, and a manner which showed his revolutionary instincts. mr. pendleton, portly and gentlemanly, was the central figure on the democratic side, as their caucus chairman. at the commencement of the session, the democratic nominee for the presidency--bayard --sat by his side to give him counsel. senator harris, of tennessee, who would have liked himself to be president _pro tem._, was a better parliamentarian, to whom the rules and the manual were as familiar as "household words." senator jones, of florida, the best constitutional lawyer in the body, had some volumes of debates on his desk, and was examining the precedents. senator ben. hill sat leaning back in his chair apparently rather dejected, but his countenance lighted up as he gave edmunds a cordial greeting. senators lamar and butler, and ransom and hampton, were all in their seats, and on the sofa behind them were ex-senators gordon and withers, and a dozen or more democratic representatives. after prayer had been offered and the president's proclamation had been read, senator pendleton offered a resolution declaring mr. bayard president _pro tem_. senator edmunds adroitly endeavored to secure the admission of messrs. lapham, miller, and aldrich, but in vain. at first, senator davis voted with the republicans in a low and undecided tone, but when the final vote came he did not vote at all. this was interpreted to mean that he would not vote, after the three senators had been admitted, to oust mr. bayard, and without his vote it could not be done. the next day senators lapham and miller, of new york, and aldrich, of rhode island, were duly qualified, and the republicans reversed the election of the preceding day by electing senator david davis president _pro tem_. he was not willing to aid in the election of senator anthony as presiding officer and he voted to oust senator bayard from the chair, but abstained from voting when his own name was presented by senator logan. senator davis, then in his sixty- seventh year, was a genial gentleman, and moved about with great activity, considering that he weighed some three hundred and fifty pounds. on that day he was more carefully dressed than usual, wearing a black broadcloth coat, light trousers and vest, a white cravat, and low-quartered shoes. he knew what was in store for him, and a placid smile showed his satisfaction. it was as good as a play to see him, his broad countenance wreathed in smiles, escorted to the president's chair by senator bayard, who had been deposed by his vote, and by senator anthony, who would have been elected if davis would have voted for him. in a brief speech he accepted the position as a tribute to the independent ground which he claimed to have long occupied in the politics of the country. [facsimile] chester a. arthur chester alan arthur was born at fairfield, vt., october th, ; was graduated from union college in ; studied law and commenced practice in new york city; was appointed by president grant collector of the port of new york in november, ; was elected vice-president on the garfield ticket, and inaugurated, march th, ; on the death of president garfield, september th, , he became president, serving until march th, ; died in new york, november th, . chapter xxxix. the centennial of yorktown. president arthur was a man of gracious presence, of good education, of extensive reading, and of courteous manners, refined by his having mingled in new york society. he was always well dressed, usually wearing in his office a prince albert coat, buttoned closely in front, with a flower in the upper button-hole, and the corner of a colored silk handkerchief visible from a side pocket. dignified, as became his exalted station, he never slapped his visitors' shoulders, or called them by their christian names, but he treated them as entitled to his consideration without that stilted courtesy which rebuffs even when veneered with formal civility. he was a good listener and he conversed freely, although he carefully avoided committing himself upon political questions, and never indulged in criticisms of those arrayed in opposition to him. the code of etiquette first adopted by general washington on the recommendation of general hamilton, from which there had been departures in recent years, was re-established, except that president arthur occasionally accepted invitations to dinner. he devotedly cherished the memory of his deceased wife, before whose picture in the white house a vase of fresh flowers was placed daily, and he was affectionately watchful over his son alan, a tall student at princeton college, and his daughter nellie, who was just entering into womanhood. soon after the commencement of the october session of congress, washington was enlivened by the official reception of the french and german officers, who came as the nation's guests to witness the dedication of a national monument at yorktown on the centennial of the victory which those nations helped the revolutionary colonists to win. the day was bright and sunny, and there was a general display of flags, those of france and germany mingling with the stars and stripes. there were nearly forty of the guests, all wearing the uniforms of their respective positions. the frenchmen regarded the germans with manifest hatred, while the latter evidently remembered that their comrades had recently triumphantly occupied the french capital. the guests, under the escort of the french and german ministers, were first driven to the department of state. there, assistant- secretary hitt received them at the foot of the staircase and led the way to the diplomatic reception-room. there they were cordially received by secretary blaine, to whom each one was presented, and he then presented them to the other members of the cabinet. many complimentary remarks were interchanged, but there were no set speeches; and after remaining a quarter of an hour or so the guests re-entered their carriages and were escorted to the capitol. pennsylvania avenue presented an animated appearance, the gay and varied dresses of the ladies at the windows and on the sidewalks forming a kaleidoscopic framework for the column of citizen soldiers. the district militiamen never looked better nor stepped more proudly, and five companies of colored men marched with the swinging gait of veterans. the civic portion of the procession was a failure, but this was atoned for by the well-organized fire department with its apparatus. meanwhile, those fortunate in having received invitations congregated in the rotunda of the capitol, which was still heavily draped in black in honor of the last assassinated president, whose remains had lain in state there but a few days previously. among the gentlemen and ladies who had been asked to witness the welcome extended by the chief magistrate to the representatives of our ancient allies were general sherman, wearing his showy gala uniform, a score or more of other military and naval officers, senator dawes and wife, commissioner loring and wife, nearly all of the senators, and a few representatives. at last the nation's guests entered from the eastern portico, preceded by secretary blaine and the french minister, and walking by twos, according to their respective ranks. passing around the southeastern wall, the head of the column halted before the door leading to the house of representatives. the gay uniforms worn by the greater portion of them relieved the sombreness of the black suits of their civilian associates. monsieur outrey, the french minister, wore a black dress suit, while herr von scholzer, the diplomatic representative of germany, appeared in a gold-embroidered court dress. the french army officers all wore red trousers, with the exception of one in white breeches and high boots, and their uniforms and equipments were very handsome. the germans had a more soldier-like appearance, as if they meant business and not show. president arthur, who had not removed from "castle butler" to the white house, came over, and for the first time occupied the president's room adjacent to the senate chamber. secretary blaine went there for him, and advanced with him to where the french minister stood in the rotunda. president arthur was attired in a full suit of black, with black cravat and gloves. the french minister introduced the president to the french guests, and then the german minister introduced him to the german guests. secretary lincoln then passed along the line with the army officers, and then came secretary hunt with the naval officers. pleasant little speeches were exchanged, and there was no end of bowing and hand- shaking. as the hour of three approached, the senators gradually returned to their desks in the senate chamber, and they found the galleries, which they had left empty, filled with ladies, whose bright attire was equal to the variegated hues of a bed of blooming tulips. some routine business was transacted, and then the nation's guests, who had been accorded the privilege of the floor, came in, escorted by mr. blaine, and took a row of seats which encircled the chamber behind the desks. senator bayard then rose, and in an eloquent and graceful little speech alluded to the presence of the distinguished citizens of our sister republic of france and the empire of germany, who had come here to join in celebrating the victory of yorktown. he concluded by asserting that he spoke the sentiments of the american senate by saying that they were most welcome, and moved a recess of half an hour, that the senators might individually pay their respects to them. the motion was carried amid loud applause, and then the visitors were presented to president david davis and the senators. when the introductions were over, the guests were shown to their carriages and driven back to the arlington. as the evening approached and the twilight deepened crowds flocked to the white house grounds and vicinity to witness the display of fireworks. pennsylvania avenue was brilliant with electric and calcium lights and myriads of paper lanterns. the fireworks were very excellent, and several of the pieces were loudly applauded. president arthur and his cabinet, with many senators and representatives, officers of the army and navy, and their ladies went with the nation's guests to yorktown on a fleet of steamboats. there the governors of the original states, each with a militia escort, with a military and naval force of regulars, joined in the centennial exercises. virginia hospitality was dispensed on the congressional steamer by senator johnston, chairman of the committee of arrangements, who exceeded the liberal appropriation some twenty thousand dollars, much of which was for liquors and champagne. congress finally voted the necessary amount without the filing of detailed vouchers. secretary blaine's entertainment to the nation's guests, at wormley's hotel, was the most sumptuous and enjoyable evening party ever given at washington. the doors connecting the parlors and those leading into the hall had been removed, and in their places were curtains of gray damask, bordered with cardinal red. the stars and stripes were conspicuously displayed, and there was a lavish display of rare plants, variegated foliage, and vines. from the keystones of the arches which divided the rooms were suspended floral globes, and the chandeliers were festooned with garlands. in the hall was the full marine band, in evening dress, with their string and reed instruments. a few moments before ten o'clock secretary and mrs. blaine arrived, and took their position in the outside parlor, near the entrance. mr. blaine was in excellent health and spirits, displaying that _bonhomie_ for which he is so justly famed. mrs. blaine wore an evening dress of white brocaded satin, with a long train, trimmed with lace and pearls. an usher, who knew every one, and who could pronounce the names and give the rank of the numerous foreigners, announced the guests as they entered. the french were the first to arrive, followed by the germans, and after they had paid their respects they were ranged next to mr. blaine, and the other guests, as they arrived, were also presented to them. the french and german officers wore their respective uniforms, with their decorations of various orders of knighthood, and the civilians were in full evening dress, many wearing decorations. madame la marquise de rochambeau wore an evening dress of royal purple, moire antique silk, trimmed with heliotrope plush and a profusion of rare lace. the diplomatic corps was out in force, and several of the foreign ministers were accompanied by their wives. madame outrey, wife of the french minister, wore a white brocade with a sweeping train, trimmed with lace, and a rare set of diamonds. madame bartholomei, wife of the russian minister, wore a court dress of black satin brocade, trimmed with jet, and a magnificent set of emeralds and diamonds. the army was well represented, headed by general sherman in his gala uniform, with its golden baldric, and there were admirals and commodores enough to man a vessel. the foreigners were much interested in admiral worden, who commanded the monitor in the critical iron-clad fight. a quorum of the senate was present, with their burly president, david davis, and there were not a few representatives, including messrs. kasson and hiscock, the rival candidates for the speakership. senators cameron, bayard, voorhees, and butler were accompanied by their daughters. chief justice waite and nearly all of the associate justices were present, and also the members of the cabinet, with the exception of attorney-general macveagh, who, of course, stayed away. the journalists invited, several of them accompanied by their wives, showed that mr. blaine never forgot his original calling. the supper-table extended the whole length of the dining-room, and it was laid with exquisite taste. the ware was the finest dresden china, much of the silver was gilded, and the glass was of the newest patterns. a profusion of roses in low mounds set off these appointments to great advantage. as for the _menu_, it comprised terrapin, canvas-backs, oysters, and saddles of mutton, with all the recognized masterpieces of french culinary art. even the young french and german officers, who had scowled at each other as they had bowed salutations with formal politeness earlier in the evening, fraternized at the supper-table. i saw a young frenchman look approvingly on as a stalwart german captain effected an entrance into a strasburg pie and dealt out its toothsome contents, and the teutons, whose favorite tipple had been beer, kept up a fusillade of champagne corks as they filled the glasses of their fair partners. after the supper, the guests returned to the spacious parlors, where, to the witching strains of the marine band, the merry dancers chased the hours with flying feet until long after the midnight stars had struggled through the clouds. the next night, while the von steubens were at baltimore enjoying the torchlight procession and the fatherland songs of their countrymen, mr. blaine treated the french guests to a sight of the capitol, brilliantly lighted up from dome to basement. the effect when seen from without was fairy-like, and within the noble proportions of the rotunda, the legislative halls, and the long corridors were disclosed to great advantage. later in the evening monsieur max outrey, the minister of france, gave a reception in honor of his visiting countrymen. it was noticeable that this _fete_ had been postponed until after the departure of the germans, but monsieur outrey took care to mention that they had been invited, but had sent "a very sweet letter of regret." the home guests invited were generally those who were at secretary blaine's reception the night previous, but the ladies of the legations were rather more handsomely dressed. monsieur outrey was enthusiastic in his praises of the liberal hospitality extended to his countrymen, who had, he said, drank more champagne since they had been in washington then they ever drank in all their lives at home, and who were really getting fatigued with their ceaseless round of entertainments. [facsimile] w. t. sherman general, . william tecumseh sherman was born in lancaster county, ohio, february th, ; was graduated at the west point military academy, june th, ; served in florida and california, - ; was president of the louisiana state military college, - ; served in the union army from , receiving the appointment of lieutenant- general in july, , and of general in march, ; went on the retired list in . chapter xl. president arthur's administration. the first session of the forty-seventh congress, which was commenced on the th of december, , and prolonged until the th of august, , found the republicans again in the possession of the federal government. in the senate, where the elephantine david davis presided in his pleasant way, often disregarding parliamentary rules, there was a republican majority of two, and in the house, which had elected as its speaker that gallant, burly, impulsive son of ohio, general j. warren keifer, there was a majority of ten. these small majorities made the game of legislation the more interesting, as every move had to be carefully studied before it was made. the proposed revision of the customs tariff and the internal revenue tax bill interested every member, as each had one or more pet industries belonging to favorite constituents, on which he wanted the high war taxes or duties retained, while he boldly advocated sweeping reductions on everything else. president arthur's appointments of judge folger to the treasury department, of mr. frelinghuysen to the state department, of mr. brewster to the department of justice, and of mr. howe to the post- office department were all predicted and expected, but no one looked for mr. conkling's appointment to the vacant place on the bench of the supreme court, as it was well known that he had only a few years previous refused the chief justiceship. the appointment gave mr. conkling's enemies an opportunity to talk about his theatrical, overbearing manner, but his appointment met general approbation; some, doubtless, feeling a relief that his political career would thus be ended. the senate confirmed the nomination, but mr. conkling declined the honor thus tendered. one of the first acts of the forty-seventh congress was the appointment of a joint committee of eight senators and a representative for every state, to whom was referred so much of the message of president arthur as related to the decease of general garfield, with instructions to report by what token of respect and affection congress could express the deep grief of the nation. the committee reported, condoling with the widow of the deceased, and providing for an oration on his life and character, to be pronounced before the two houses of congress and the high officials of government, by the hon. james g. blaine. the scene in the hall of the house of representatives on the th of february, when the garfield memorial services were held, would have kindled the spark of oratorical fire in a less gifted man than mr. blaine. as he stood there at the clerk's desk, looking over the great assemblage before him, his glance must first have fallen upon the calm features and dignified presence of the president of the united states, who was seated in the chair of honor, directly in front of his late secretary of state. then mr. blaine must have met the glance of his late associates in president arthur's cabinet --folger, of impressive manner; lincoln, to whom the proceedings of the day rekindled the saddest of recollections; brewster, noticeable by the quaintness of his dress; kirkwood, of plain, homely ways and dress, and the creole-like hunt. by the side of these mr. blaine saw his own successor in the cabinet, frelinghuysen and with him postmaster-general howe. a little to the left, resplendent in gilt trappings and buttons, sat general sherman, with his weather-beaten and kindly face, and by his side plucky phil. sheridan, now gray and demure, and hancock, of stately bearing. there, too were admiral porter and rear-admiral worden of the navy, men of fame. in another direction sat the justices of the supreme court, clad in their flowing robes of office. states were there represented by their governors, and their senators, and their representatives, throwing aside for the nonce the strife and partisanship incidental to legislative warfare, gave testimony by their respectful silence to the esteem in which they held the memory of the man, who, prior to the chicago convention, enjoyed the friendship of all his colleagues. still further back an area of sheen and color marked the position of the diplomatic corps, with its variety of costumes and decorations. yet further back were fred. douglass, conspicuous from his long white hair and strong features, and general schenck, with hale, firmly set face. the orator's glance must have noted the venerable historian bancroft, himself the orator of the day like this when lincoln's eulogy was pronounced, and by the side of bancroft the philanthropist, corcoran, and next him, and to the president's left, cyrus w. field. as mr. blaine's glance was raised to the galleries he must have been struck with the uniform sombreness of the appearance of the embanked multitude of ladies, whose dark attire was peculiarly appropriate, forming, as it did, a kind of mourning frame around the living picture which was presented on the floor. in the president's gallery the orator could see the refined lineaments of george william curtis, or the english-like face of henry james, jr. such were the salient features of the audience to whom mr. blaine was to speak of garfield. it looked to some who knew mr. blaine well as if he felt tempted to cast aside the pile of manuscript heavily bordered with black, which he placed before himself, and to speak as inspiration suggested, so long did he stand before that remarkable audience before beginning. to the audience the orator was second in interest only to the subject of the oration. expectation was great respecting mr. blaine's treatment of the subject. he was the dead man's closest friend, and he was looked upon as the representative of one wing or division of a party within which was great bitterness. to separate his duty to the dead from due consideration for the living and balance the two was difficult, but he held the scales with such an even, steady hand, that neither the lovers of the dead president and his acts were disappointed or dissatisfied, nor the friends of the living president offended. he merely performed the duty assigned him in a simple, earnest, manly, truthful, conscientious, becoming manner. mr. blaine was not the "plumed knight" of political debate, impetuous and enthusiastic, but he read page after page with patient enunciation, his resonant voice only faltering when for a moment it quivered with emotion as he described the boyish joy of general garfield as he breathed the fresh morning air on the fatal day when he went forth to meet his doom. the personal pronoun did not once occur in the whole eulogy, and not one single allusion was made that could be thought of as referring to the speaker. when mr. blaine had finished there was a reverential silence. president arthur, who seemed to have been deeply impressed, made no movement to go. the immense audience was motionless. it was the most impressive moment of the day. at length there was a faint stir. then president arthur arose, and, with his cabinet, silently left the great hall. the supreme court followed, and then the great assemblage quietly dissolved. the last public ceremonial over the death of garfield was finished. it was just one year previous that he had quitted his home at mentor to come to washington and be inaugurated as president of the united states. president arthur wore mourning for his predecessor six months, dressing in black, using writing paper with a broad black border, declining all invitations to theatrical performances, and giving no state entertainments at the white house. at first he endeavored to bring about a millennium of political forces, but the "stalwart" lions refused to lie down with the "half-breed" lambs, and his honest attempts to secure a reconciliation only provoked the enmity of both factions. before the burial of general garfield a series of personal attacks was begun on his constitutional successor at the white house, which were industriously kept up. with a low cunning that generally concealed its malignancy, about once a fortnight some ingenious paragraph was started, ostensibly stating some fact connected with the federal government, but really stabbing at president arthur. unable to condemn his administration of national affairs, his enemies sought by innuendo and misrepresentation to render him ridiculous and neglectful of the public interest. but it so happened that president arthur's scotch-irish character displayed itself in a practical utility never before known at the white house. his extensive knowledge of state politics was constantly called into requisition in making appointments, while in his messages to congress he made statements and suggestions with a strenuous conviction of their truth, as he stood like a sturdy sentinel before the gates of the constitution. he "made haste slowly" and he made but few blunders. the president's daily life was very simple, although pains were taken to make him out a _bon vivant_. he usually rose about half- past nine, took a cup of coffee and a roll while dressing, and went into his office, where he read his private letters, dictated replies to official communications, and courteously received congressional and other place-hunters. at noon he ate a light breakfast--no meat, but oatmeal, fish, and fruit--and then returned to his desk, where he remained until four o'clock in the afternoon. he then took a drive or a ride on horseback, sometimes accompanied by his daughter. his family dinner hour was six, when his favorite repast was a mutton-chop, with a glass of bass' ale, or a slice of rare roast beef, with a glass of claret, hot baked potatoes, and the fruits of the season. after dinner he returned to his work, reading the many papers submitted to him by the heads of departments, and not leaving his desk until the "wee sma' hours." the "star-route" trials were inaugurated by attorney-general macveagh to bring reproach upon the administrations of grant and hayes. this system of "extra allowances" for carrying the united states mails dated back, however, to the days of william taylor barry, postmaster-general under president jackson. a democratic committee of congress which investigated the mismanagement of the post-office department, ascribed much of the rascality to "the large disbursements of money under the name of extra allowances. it is a puzzling problem to decide whether this discretionary power, throughout its whole existence, has done most mischief in the character of impostor upon the department, or seducer to contractors. it has, doubtless, been an evildoer in both guises." the "star-route" system of plunder was, however, handed down from administration to administration, and the contractors who were thereby enriched were called upon at each successive presidential election to contribute to the campaign fund. this had been done in the garfield and hancock contest just concluded. mr. jay a. hubbell, who was the custodian of the republican campaign fund, applied to assistant postmaster-general brady, who negotiated the "star-route" contracts, for pecuniary aid, and was told that it should be forthcoming, provided he could have a letter from general garfield to exhibit to the contractors to spur them up to make liberal contributions. general garfield wrote, on the d of august, , not to brady, but to hubbell: "yours of the th received and contents noted. please say to brady i hope he will give us all the assistance possible. please tell me how the departments are doing. as ever, yours." the letter from hubbell, to which this was a reply, was never published, and general garfield's friends afterward maintained that he had not alluded to the "star-route" contractors. the letter, they maintained, was simply the expression of a hope that brady, a citizen of indiana, who was reputed to have made an immense fortune in "bell telephone stock," would respond from his ample means in aid of his party in the life-and-death struggle then going on in his own state. the attorney-general made a great display in his prosecution of some of those who had enriched themselves by "star-route" contracts, retaining eminent counsel, and bringing witnesses to washington at a great expense. there was much rascality developed, and some reputations were smirched, but the disagreement of juries prevented any punishment of the offenders. they regarded themselves as political victims and felt deeply wronged because of their prosecution by an administration which they had certainly helped into power. the people believed that the star-route scandals, like the whisky frauds, the bogus quarter-master's claims, the public-land seizures, and the steamship subsidy schemes, were "ring" relics of the war, with their profligacy and corruption, on each one of which colonel mulberry sellers would have remarked: "there's millions in it." yet the lobbyists and schemers enriched by these plunder schemes, who bore the brand of "swindler" in scarlet letters of infamy upon their foreheads, did not lose their places in washington society. [facsimile] david d porter david d. porter, born at philadelphia, june, ; midshipman in the navy, ; lieutenant, ; served in the mexican war; commander, ; took active part in opening the mississippi; rear- admiral, july th, ; took fort fisher, january, ; vice- admiral, july th, ; admiral, august, . chapter xli. gay and festive scenes. new year's day has always been celebrated at the national capital in the style which president washington inaugurated when the federal government was located at new york. the foreign ministers and the government dignitaries go in state to pay their respects to the president, after which the old knickerbocker custom of visiting friends generally is kept up. one is certain to see at the white house on new year's day all the prominent people of both sexes in washington. then, too, it is the only place in the metropolis where the ladies can pass in review all of the new toilets, and see what the leaders of fashion have designed since last season. it is the only place where there is room for a large crowd to move about easily and where the full effect of brilliant dressing can be displayed. the ladies invited to receive with the president, with many others, are in evening costume, although walking-costumes are not uncommon. president arthur's first new year's reception was a brilliant affair. mrs. frelinghuysen accompanied the president into the blue room, and stood next to his sister, mrs. mcelroy, at his right hand, with the wives of the other ministers of the cabinet. when his daughter and niece came in, he welcomed them with a happy smile and bent down and kissed them. their simple white ribbon sashes were in refreshing contrast with the gorgeous costumes of the diplomats. brilliant as were the diamonds of madame de struve, the wife of the russian minister, and effective as was the bronze golden silk dress, trimmed with gold beads, of the wife of attorney-general brewster, the "observed of all observers" was dr. mary walker, who came tripping in with elastic step, shook hands with president arthur, and was profusely poetical in wishing him the compliments of the season. she wore a black broadcloth frock coat and pantaloons, and carried a high black silk hat in her left hand, while in her right she flourished a slender cane. after leaving the president, she passed along the line of ladies who received with him, giving to each a sweeping bow, and then went into the east room, where she was carefully scrutinized by the ladies. senator hoar gave a most enjoyable dinner to a party of gentlemen invited by him to meet mr. justice gray, after his appointment to the bench of the supreme court. it was given at the hotel of mr. wormley, the friend of charles sumner, and the guests assembled in a parlor containing much of the furniture which adorned the house of the great senator. the guests met about seven o'clock, and after an exchange of salutations, the large doors which form one side of the room were thrown open, and senator hoar informally invited those present to gather around the magnificently furnished table which presented itself. covers were laid for thirty-six persons, and the china, the silver, and the glassware were all rare and of beautiful design. a belt of flowers encircled the table in front of the plates, and within this inclosure were mounds of rare exotics and quaintly constructed ornaments of confectionery. the place of each guest was marked by a card, on which his name was printed, and on this was an exquisite button-hole bouquet. the bills of fare were on large sheets of cardboard, handsomely engraved, and the succession of thirteen courses, beginning with oysters and ending with coffee, was an epicurean treat. in accordance with washington etiquette, president arthur sat at the host's right hand, and on his right sat judge gray. at the left of the host sat chief justice waite; directly opposite sat senator dawes; at the right hand end of the long table was george bancroft, and at the left hand end was representative harris. there was not, of course, any speech-making or drinking of healths, but after the dessert had been served, gentlemen left their seats and sat in little groups around the table, chatting pleasantly until after midnight. taken as a whole, dinner and guests, it was the finest entertainment that i have ever seen in washington--and i have seen a great many. president arthur's first state dinner was given in honor of general and mrs. grant. the parlors and the east room were profusely decorated with flowers, and in the dining-room were palm trees and other exotics massed in the corners, while the mantels were banked with cut flowers. there were thirty-four plates on the long table, in the centre of which was a plateau mirror, on which were roses and lilies of the valley. on either side of it were tall gilt candelabra bearing eleven wax lights each, and beyond these large gilt epergnes overflowing with marechal niel roses. at the end of the mirror were pairs of silver candelabra bearing shaded wax lights and oval cushions of white camelias set with roses and orchids. at the extreme ends were round pieces of bon silene roses and lilies of the valley. around this elaborate centre decoration were ranged crystal compotes and cut-glass decanters. large, flat corsage bouquets of roses, tied with satin ribbons, were laid at each lady's plate, and small _boutonnieres_ of rosebuds were provided for the gentlemen. the cards were of heavy gilt-edge board, embossed with the national coat-of-arms in gold, below which the name of each guest was written. the marine band performed selections from popular operatic music. the guests were received by president arthur in the east room. at eight o'clock dinner was announced, and the guests repaired to the dining-room in the following order, each lady taking a seat at the right hand of the gentleman who escorted her: president arthur, escorting mrs. grant, who wore a white satin dress with low neck and long train deeply flounced with lace, and a profusion of diamonds; general grant, escorting mrs. frelinghuysen, who wore a black velvet dress with flowing train, opening in front, and showing a petticoat of plaited black satin; secretary frelinghuysen, escorting mrs. lincoln, who wore a black velvet dress with sweeping train and rich jet trimmings; general sherman, escorting miss beale, who wore a white satin dress with a train of silver brocade, trimmed at the neck and sleeves with valenciennes lace; admiral porter, escorting miss coleman, who wore a dress of terra-cotta satin trimmed with flowered brocade and lace; senator anthony, escorting mrs. logan, who wore a magnificent dress of wine-colored velvet trimmed with pompadour brocade; senator miller, escorting mrs. kinsley, who wore a ball-dress of cardinal satin trimmed with brocade; senator jones, of nevada, escorting mrs. beale, who wore a white satin dress trimmed with lace; senator cameron, of pennsylvania, escorting mrs. john davis, who wore a ball-dress of white satin trimmed with lace; general beale, escorting miss frelinghuysen, who wore a dress of marine-blue velvet, with a long train trimmed with iridescent bugles; secretary folger, escorting miss cutts, who wore white satin trimmed with lace; secretary lincoln, escorting mrs. secretary chandler, who wore an exquisite dress of pale blue surah and crape; postmaster-general howe, escorting mrs. teller, who wore a dress of white satin; attorney- general brewster, escorting mrs. cameron, who wore a pink satin dress elaborately trimmed with ruffles of rare lace; secretary chandler, escorting mrs. brewster, who wore a dress of cardinal satin with a court train embroidered with gold in large figures; secretary teller, escorting miss totten, who wore white satin trimmed with white ruchings. dinner was served in fourteen courses, with which there were served eight varieties of wines, each variety having its appropriate wine- glass. the guests were two hours at the table, and the menu was eulogized, especially the terrapin, which was highly commended by the epicures who enjoyed it. mr. blaine was a prominent figure in washington society, both social and political, after he left the department of state, and there was always a great desire to know his opinions on passing events. his heath was excellent, and he never appeared to greater advantage. tall and portly, yet graceful in movement, his wealth of white hair set off his mobile, expressive features, with their never-quiet dark eyes. the new house built by mr. blaine in the northwestern part of washington was an imposing structure, covering an area of about seventy by seventy-five feet, and it was solid and substantial from its steep roof to its roomy basement. the spacious halls and stairways were wainscoted, finished, and ceiled in oak; the drawing- room, the dining-room, and the library were furnished in solid mahogany; and the chambers were finished in poplar and pine. the great charm of the house was that each and every room, large and small, had its open fire-place, some of them surrounded by beautiful mantel-pieces, with carved wood and mirrors. it was, indeed, an english house, with its comforts set off by many yankee contrivances. in this house, on a bright morning of early spring, colonel john t. coppinger, of the united states army, was married to miss alice stanwood blaine. president arthur adjourned the regular meeting of the cabinet that he and his constitutional advisers might attend. the speaker of the house, with the maine senators and representatives, left their congressional duties in order to be present. the diplomatic corps, doubtless remembering the courtesies which they received from mr. blaine when secretary of state, was out in full force. the army and navy were largely represented, the elite of fashionable society was present, and there was a good representation of the press. all had congregated to show their good wishes toward the family of the young bride. colonel coppinger, who belongs to an old roman catholic family in ireland, served gallantly in the papal army, and coming to this country in , was commissioned in the fourteenth infantry. he received two brevets for "gallant and meritorious services" in a score of engagements, and after having displayed great energy in command of troops operating against the indians, he was made acting inspector-general on the staff of general pope, a position only given to those thoroughly versed in the manual, the drill, the equipment, and the discipline of the army. he was forty-nine years of age, tall, erect, with clear, hazel eyes, gray hair and whiskers, and a martial deportment. twelve o'clock, noon, was the hour fixed for the ceremony, and soon after that time conversation was suddenly hushed, as the rev. dr. chapelle, of st. matthew's church, took his assigned position. he wore a black robe with a cape, and carried a small prayer-book, from which he subsequently read the brief service used when a roman catholic is wedded to one not belonging to that church. a moment later mrs. blaine came down the broad staircase on the arm of her eldest son, mr. walker blaine. she wore a high-necked corsage of wine-colored velvet, with a satin dress and train of the same color, trimmed with lace. soon the bride came down the staircase leaning on the arm of her father, who appeared somewhat impressed by the solemnity of the occasion. she wore a dress of white satin with a sweeping train trimmed with crystal, while an ample veil partially concealed her youthful features and slight form. she carried a bouquet of roses and lilies-of-the-valley. behind her came her only attendant, her young sister, miss hattie blaine, who was dressed in white. mr. blaine's other two sons and miss abigail dodge, of hamilton, massachusetts, followed. at the improvised altar, colonel coppinger, attended by lieutenant emmet, of the ninth cavalry, advanced to claim his bride. as the happy pair knelt before the altar, mr. and mrs. blaine and miss hattie stood at their right, and president arthur, george bancroft, and miss dodge stood at their left. the service was quickly performed, and after the parents, president arthur was the first to salute the bride. the guests were then presented seriatim to colonel and mrs. coppinger, and if good wishes could have been regarded as an augury of their future, there could have been no doubt of their good fortunes. after congratulations had been offered, president arthur escorted the bride to the large dining-room. there a table was bountifully spread, while on a sideboard were boxes of wedding-cake to be sent to friends at a distance. it was not long before the bridegroom and bride left the festive scene to array themselves for their journey, and they quietly departed from the house to take the train for fort leavenworth, kansas. taken as a whole, the wedding surpassed any similar festal scene ever witnessed at washington, and was a hearty manifestation of good feeling toward the happy couple and the parents of the bride. one of the most charming houses in washington was that occupied for some years by the british legation, and which admiral porter rebuilt and refurnished with a portion of the large sum of prize- money received by him during the war. it was a model of good taste and luxury, elegant without display, and perfect in all its appointments. the square hall, with tessellated marble floor, led into a suite of three parlors, opening into each other by arched- ways, heavily draped with satin damask. the central parlor was upholstered in crimson velvet, that on the right in drab, and that on the left in blue. the hangings and furniture were of colors to match. the marble mantels were decorated with articles of virtu, and rare painting adorned the walls. leading from the crimson parlor was a long, wide ball-room, with waxed and polished floor, and rows of seats for the accommodation of dancers and spectators. numberless crystal chandeliers emitted a flood of softened light, while flowers bloomed everywhere in pots, vases, and baskets in indescribable profusion. [facsimile] robert t. lincoln robert todd lincoln, eldest child of abraham lincoln, born at springfield, ill., august st, ; graduated at harvard, ; member of general grant's staff during the last month of the war; admitted to practice law in chicago, ; secretary of war under presidents garfield and arthur, march th, - march th, . chapter xlii. the washington national monument. when the forty-eighth congress met on the d of december, , senator edmunds occupied the chair of the senate as president _pro tempore;_ judge davis, not having been re-elected senator from illinois, had vacated the chair on the last day of the preceding session. senator anthony, who had been elected to a fifth term, could not be sworn in as a senator until after the commencement of that term, and was consequently ineligible. so senator edmunds accepted the position with the understanding that he would vacate it as soon as his friend from rhode island, by qualifying as a senator, should be eligible for election. when the senate met, senator anthony was recovering from a severe illness, and it was not until the following week that he was able to appear in the senate chamber. he entered leaning on the arm of his colleague, senator aldrich, and as he took his accustomed seat, his attention was attracted by a large bouquet of flowers, bearing the name of a lady clerk who had been retained in place by his kind offices. the senators soon crowded around him with their congratulations on his convalescence, and among the first were general butler, of south carolina, maimed in the confederate cause, and general miller, of california, who lost his right eye in the union army at vicksburg. after prayers and the reading of the journal, senator aldrich rose, and was recognized by the chair as the "senior senator from rhode island." he announced the presence of his colleague, the senator- elect, whose credentials had been filed, and asked that the oath of office might be administered to him. the presiding officer invited the senator-elect to receive the oaths, and when governor anthony stood before him, he administered the regular oath of , first taken by the parliamentary veteran in , with the "iron- clad oath" that had been adopted in . as the good old man stood with uplifted hand, every other member of the senate rose, and stood until the obligation had been administered--a merited compliment to the _pater senatus_. no other man, save thomas hart benton, had ever been sworn in five consecutive times as senator. closing the book from which he had read the oaths, senator edmunds was first to shake his old friend's hand. senator anthony then resumed his seat, and nearly every senator came to greet him, followed by the veteran officers of the senate, who had always found in him a true friend. a few weeks later, senator edmunds resigned, and senator anthony was elected president _pro tem._, but the precarious state of his health forced him, in a speech prompted by a heart overflowing with gratitude, to decline the honor, and senator edmunds was recalled to the post of honor. senator anthony had twice before been chosen president _pro tem._ of the senate, and he had for a number of years past been the president in the caucus of republican senators. it is in the caucus of the dominant party that legislation is shaped, and unanimity of action in open senate secured. governor anthony's tact and skill as a presiding officer had, doubtless, exercised a potent influence in harmonizing opposing views entertained by republican senators, and there was no senator who could fill the chair, either in open senate, in executive session, or in caucus, with more dignity and impartiality than he. general mccook, an ohio soldier, and an ex-representative from new york city, was elected secretary of the senate, defeating george c. gorham, who had been the candidate of the republican caucus. the republican nominee for sergeant-at-arms, mr. riddleberger, was also dropped, and colonel wm. p. canaday, of north carolina, was chosen. at the commencement of the next session, mr. riddleberger took his seat as a senator from virginia. a democratic tidal wave had swept over the country at the preceding fall elections, and the democrats had a considerable majority in the house of representatives. john g. carlisle, of kentucky, who was elected speaker, was a tall, well-made man, with a studious look in his eyes, and the winning manners of henry clay. he had a sweet voice, and his expositions of parliamentary law in the preceding sessions had elevated him to the front rank of statesmanship in the opinion of the house. his impartiality as a presiding officer was recognized by all parties, and his firmness of purpose could not be moved by corrupt intriguers or brawling sycophants. he was also fortunate in having a devoted wife, tall and graceful, whose attractive personal appearance was equaled by her well-balanced mind and her practical common sense. as mrs. edmunds was at that time absent from washington, on the new year's day after her husband's election as speaker mrs. carlisle was "the first lady in the land," and stood at president arthur's right hand during the official reception. washington society was very gay during the closing year of president arthur's administration. the receptions to which invitations were given and those open to the public at the white house were largely attended, while there was a succession of balls, german masquerades, and receptions at the residences of diplomats, housekeeping senators, officials, and citizens. several entertainments were given "for charity's sake," which realized considerable sums, and the theatres also were unusually well attended. the world-weary rejoiced when the matin chimes of lent announced that the gay season was ended, but although gayety arrayed itself in sackcloth and sprinkled ashes broadcast, the sackcloth moved in the waltz as its wearer tripped over the ashes. there were successions of informal dancing parties, lunch parties, and card parties during the penitential forty days, and then came the post-lenten festivities. the giving of good dinners was, however, the distinguishing feature of washington society during the arthur administration. the example was set at the white house, where, instead of dinners supplied by a caterer at two dollars a plate, with cheap wines of doubtful origin, a gastronomic artist served the delicacies of the season, cooked in the latest parisian style, while the wines were of the rarest vintages, embodying the fervor of long gascon summers, the warmth of burgundian suns, and the delicate flavor of xeres. never had epicures so enjoyed themselves at washington, and they rejoiced when they contrasted his dispensation with the barbaric repasts of former years, when "hog and hominy" was the principal dish, and tangle-foot whisky punch was the fashionable table beverage. washington city was greatly improved during president arthur's administration. the national museum was completed and opened to visitors, the northern wing of the stupendous pile, the state, war, and navy department building, was occupied, and that hideous architectural monstrosity, the pension office, was built. at the west end scores of elegant private houses were erected, varying in size from the palatial mansion built by mr. blaine to the rustic cabin of joaquin miller, and the small queen anne cottages, now so popular, and some of which are models of convenience and beauty. many avenues and streets were repaved, others were planted with bordering lines of shade trees, and several of the large reservations were adorned with statues and fountains. the previously unfinished city, which governor shepherd had "lifted from out of the mud," became a national metropolis, in which the people of the country could take pride. the dedication of the washington national monument, on the d of february, , was a fit conclusion to president arthur's official career. this work had been long in progress, as its record, engraved on its aluminum tip, shows. it is as follows: "corner-stone laid on bed of foundation, july , . first stone at height of feet laid august , . capstone set december , ." the laying of the capstone was duly celebrated. the wind, at the top of the monument, was blowing at the rate of sixty miles an hour, and thousands of eye-glasses were pointed toward the little party on the scaffoldings at the summit. all on the upper platform, five hundred and fifty feet above the ground, spread a portion of the cement, and the capstone, weighing three thousand three hundred pounds, was lowered into place. the tip was then fitted and the work was done, which fact was duly announced by flying the flag at the top of the monument, and by the answering boom of cannon from various points below. the day of final dedication was clear and cold, the ground around the base of the majestic shaft was covered with encrusted snow, and the keen wind that came sweeping down the potomac made it rather uncomfortable for those who were assembled there. the regular troops and the citizen soldiery were massed in close columns around the base of the monument, the freemasons occupied their allotted position, and in the pavilion which had been erected were the invited guests, the executive, legislative, and judicial officers; officers of the army, the navy, the marine corps, and the volunteers; the diplomatic corps, eminent divines, jurists, scientists, and journalists, and venerable citizens representing former generations, the washington national monument society, and a few ladies who had braved the arctic weather. after addresses had been delivered by senator sherman, w. w. corcoran, and colonel casey, the chief engineer, president arthur made a few well-chosen remarks, and concluded by declaring the monument dedicated from that time forth "to the immortal name and memory of george washington." the cost of the structure has been nearly two millions of dollars, about half of which the government has paid, the remainder having been secured by the monument association. after the exercises at the monument, a procession was formed headed by lieutenant-general sheridan, which marched along pennsylvania avenue to the capitol. the president's special escort was the ancient and honorable artillery company of massachusetts, chartered in , which had come to participate in the exercises of the day. two addresses were delivered in the house of representatives at the capitol--one (which was read by ex-governor long) by hon. robert c. winthrop, of boston, who had delivered the address when the corner-stone was laid in , and the other by hon. john w. daniel, of virginia. in the evening the ancient and honorable artillery attended a special reception at the white house, reciprocatory of courtesies extended by the corps to president arthur, one of its honorary members. meanwhile there had been a presidential campaign. the national republican convention met at chicago on june d; on the th, james g. blaine, of maine, was nominated for president on the fourth ballot, receiving five hundred and forty-one of the eight hundred and nineteen votes cast, and general john a. logan, of illinois, was nominated for vice-president without opposition. the national democratic convention met at chicago on july th, and on the th hon. grover cleveland, of new york, was nominated for president on the second ballot, receiving six hundred and eighty-four of the eight hundred and twenty votes cast, and thomas a. hendricks, of indiana, was nominated for vice-president without opposition. the national prohibition convention met at pittsburg on july d, and nominated for president ex-governor st. john, of kansas, and for vice-president william daniel, of maryland. the national greenback convention met at indianapolis on may th, and nominated for president general b. f. butler, of massachusetts, and for vice- president a. m. west, of mississippi. the presidential contest was disgracefully personal. the private characters of the two prominent candidates were mercilessly assailed, and political principles were apparently forgotten in the degrading desire to defame the nominees. the result turned upon the vote in the state of new york, which was very close. the shrewdest political manipulators were sent over the state to correct pretended irregularities, but it soon became evident that the democrats had chosen the cleveland electors by a decisive plurality. the official count showed five hundred and sixty-three thousand one hundred and fifty-four votes for cleveland, against five hundred and sixty-two thousand and five votes for blaine, twenty-five thousand and six votes for st. john, and seventeen thousand and four votes for butler. the total vote in the united states was four million nine hundred and thirteen thousand two hundred and forty-seven votes for cleveland, four million eight hundred and forty thousand eight hundred and twenty-five votes for blaine, one hundred and fifty thousand one hundred and thirty-four votes for st. john, and one hundred and thirty-four thousand and twenty-eight votes for butler. [ cleveland , in new york, , , overall blaine , , , st. john , , butler , , ] president arthur's numerous friends contemplated his departure from the white house without regret, and were confident that his administration would present a creditable appearance on the pages of impartial history. utility to the country had been the rule of his official life, and he attained that high standard of official excellence which prevailed in the early days of the republic, when honesty, firmness, and patriotism were the characteristics of public men. he saw himself deserted by influential early associates because he would not avenge their political grievances, while those whom he protected ungratefully repaid him by defeating the election of his friend, judge folger, as governor of the state of new york --a treacherous demonstration of partisan bigotry, which killed the judge as certain as the assassin's bullet killed garfield. under president arthur's lead, the republican party, disorganized and disheartened when he came into power, became gradually strengthened and united before the presidential election, in which it was very near being victorious. president arthur, in his desire to administer his inherited duties impartially, made himself enemies among those who should have been his friends. before president garfield was interred, general grant asked that his own personal friend, general beale, might be appointed secretary of the navy, and he never forgave president arthur for not complying with his request. the removal of judge robertson from the new york custom house would doubtless have been acceptable to roscoe conkling, but it was not made, and the ex-senator, after refusing the tendered appointment of a seat on the bench of the supreme court of the united states, turned his back on his former friend. appointments which had been promised by mr. blaine, when president garfield's secretary of state, were invariably made, although the recipients had personally abused president arthur, yet the "garfield avengers," as the officious friends of the martyr president chose to style themselves, never alluded to his successor except as the man who had profited by the assassination. slander, calumny, and falsehood were resorted to by the press to deceive the people by giving them an untrue idea of their chief magistrate. his private life was invaded, his social relations were violated, his most patriotic actions were sneered at, and he was made the object of obloquy and vituperation by that faction of the republican party opposed to his policy. i well remember with what sadness and indignation he referred to the manner in which he had been treated when i had been selected by him to write a campaign life of him, which was to have been published by his friends had he been nominated for the presidency in . there were several matters about which he had been mercilessly abused for which i found ample explanations exonerating him. one was his going to albany in , when he was vice-president, to labor for the re-election of messrs. conkling and platt. i had ascertained that he had done this in return for a visit made to ohio during the preceding campaign by mr. conkling to speak in favor of the election of general garfield. this had been on the personal solicitation of mr. arthur, and it would have been ungrateful for him to have declined an appeal to aid mr. conkling in an hour of need by a visit to albany. when president arthur read what i had written on this subject he said pleasantly: "that is all true, but i must ask you not to publish it." never have i seen a public man so determined not to criminate others, even in self- justification. during his presidential term mr. arthur did what friends and fortune can do for no man, and what neither friends nor foes could take from him. "he won a fame for which he himself fought, and from which no man's censure could detract." while he was emphatically "the first gentleman in the land," giving unequaled receptions, dinners, and evening entertainments with lavish hospitality, he was, as he used to cheerily remark, "a night-bird," and his favorite enjoyment was to have two or three personal friends eat a late supper with him, and then chat with them far into the "wee sma' hours." his thorough knowledge of prominent men and politics during the preceding quarter of a century enabled him to entertain his listeners with graphic descriptions of remarkable scenes, piquant but never indelicate anecdotes, keen sketches of men and women, and interesting statements about the workings of political machinery, especially in the state of new york. unfortunately, president arthur, before he left the white house, became impressed with the idea that the people had misunderstood his official conduct, and that his sacrifices of friends and of fortune in the administration of the general government had not been appreciated. when he was at last relieved from executive cares his robust constitution had been undermined, the ruddy look of health left his cheeks, and his stalwart form wasted away, until (as this work is passing through the press) his sad heart found its peace, and his remains were laid, without pomp, by the side of those of his beloved wife in a rural cemetery near albany, n. y. an appreciative and elegant biographer of this lamented ex-president writes thus: "_flos regum arthur_ the laureate heads the noble dedication of his arthurian legends to the manes of albert. not 'flower of kings' shall history call this arthur of ours, and yet must she accord him some attributes of his mythic namesake--a high and noble courtesy to all men, small and great; an unflinching, uncomplaining loyalty to friends who turned too often ingrate; a splendid presence, a kindly heart, a silent courage, and an even mind. these things go no small way toward the making of america's first gentleman." [facsimile] w.w. corcoran william w. corcoran was born at georgetown, d. c., december th, ; he engaged in mercantile pursuits, and then in banking, becoming the government banker during the mexican war. since he retried from business in he has founded and endowed the louise home for gentlewomen in reduced circumstances, the corcoran art gallery, and the oak hill cemetery, on georgetown heights, while he has contributed liberally to the columbian college, the university of virginia, the william and mary college, and the churches and orphan asylums of washington, besides numerous private charities. chapter xliii. president cleveland. the inauguration of grover cleveland as the twenty-second president of the united states, on the th of march, , restored the executive power of the federal government to the democrats, after it had been enjoyed by the republicans for twenty years. the throng of visitors was great, the railroads leading into washington having brought nearly half a million of passengers during the week, while several thousand more came by the potomac river steamboats. the hotels and boarding-houses were full, yet there was always room for late arrivals, and the military were quartered in the spacious halls of the departments. the day was spring-like, with breeze enough to display the flags which floated from nearly every building. pennsylvania avenue and other thoroughfares were elaborately decorated. the procession was the largest of its kind that ever passed along pennsylvania avenue, and the military escort was exceeded only by the great reviews of . general h. w. slocum was chief marshal, efficiently aided by general albert ordway, his chief of staff. the united states troops, commanded by major-general ayres, headed the escort. president arthur and president-elect cleveland rode with two senators in an open carriage drawn by four bay horses, and next came vice- president-elect hendricks, with a senator, in a carriage drawn by four white horses. as the carriages passed along the occupants were loudly cheered, especially vice-president hendricks, who was well known in washington and personally popular. the militia organizations which came next presented a fine appearance, particularly a division of the national guard of pennsylvania, commanded by major-general john f. hartranft. the southern troops were commanded by major-general fitzhugh lee, of virginia, a nephew of the great confederate war-leader, who received a rousing ovation the whole length of the route. prominent among the military organizations were the new york sixty-ninth, "wearing the green;" the grenadiers rochambeau, of new york; the jackson corps, of albany; the continentals, of schenectady; the fifth maryland infantry, the meagher guards, of providence; the busch zouaves, of st. louis, and several companies of colored men from the south. the feature of the procession, however, was the civic portion, which included organizations representing many states in the union. each one had its band, its banner, and its badges, while nearly all of them were uniformly dressed and carried canes. the society of tammany, of new york, one thousand strong, marched in an inaugural procession for the first time in its long history, its officers carrying indian tomahawks. nearly a hundred other political organizations followed; and in the ranks of one of them from the city of new york there was a body of men wearing the old knickerbocker costume and carrying long canes, with which they beat time on the pavements as they marched along in a grotesque manner, creating much merriment. a distinguished audience had gathered in the senate chamber, including the supreme court, the diplomatic corps, many prominent officials, and those officers of the army and navy who had received the thanks of congress. shortly after twelve o'clock president arthur entered the chamber, and was escorted to his seat. the deputy sergeant-at-arms then announced the "president-elect of the united states," and the entire assemblage rose as mr. cleveland passed down the aisle and took a seat at the side of president arthur. vice-president-elect hendricks then entered and advanced to the desk of the presiding officer, where senator edmunds, president _pro tempore_, administered to him the oath of office as vice-president of the united states. senator edmunds then delivered a brief valedictory address, at the conclusion of which he declared the senate adjourned _sine die_. vice-president hendricks took the chair, called the senate to order, delivered a short address, and administered the oath to the new senators. when the senate had been thus organized, a procession was formed by those in the senate chamber, which moved through the rotunda to the platform erected before the eastern portico. on the large plaza in front of the capitol were gathered at least two hundred thousand people, while behind them as a framework were the military and civic organizations, with waving banners, gay uniforms, and gleaming bayonets. when mr. cleveland came to the front of the platform, he was received with tumultuous applause; after it had subsided, he delivered his inaugural address in such a clear voice that it was heard by nearly all of those before him. when he had finished, he turned to chief justice waite, bowed, and said "i am now prepared to take the oath prescribed by law." the chief justice, holding in his left hand a small open bible, which had been given to mr. cleveland by his mother when he had started to seek his fortune in the world, raised his right hand and recited the oath: "i do solemnly swear that i will faithfully execute the office of president of the united states, and will, to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the constitution of the united states." mr. cleveland, whose right hand had rested on the bible, responded: "i swear," and raising the book to his lips, kissed it. his lips touched verses - inclusive, of the th psalm. those on the platform congratulated the president; the assembled multitude cheered; over a hundred bands played "hail to the chief," and the cannon at the navy yard and the arsenal thundered forth a presidential salute. the procession was then re-formed, and moved up pennsylvania avenue. when the head of the column reached the treasury building, a brief halt was made, that president cleveland might go to the reviewing stand in front of the white house. there he witnessed the procession pass in review, which occupied three hours, and it was after five o'clock when he entered the white house. early in the evening there was a display of fireworks, which attracted much attention; then came the inauguration ball, held in the interior court-yard of the unfinished pension building, which was covered by a temporary roof. the waxed dance-floor was three hundred and sixteen feet long and one hundred and sixteen feet wide, surrounded by reception-rooms, supper-rooms, and telegraph offices. the decorations were very effective, and electric lamps supplied a bright, clear light. nearly ten thousand people were present and the receipts from the sale of tickets amounted to forty thousand dollars. president cleveland and vice-president hendricks were present for an hour, and the ball was regarded as a fitting close to the ceremonies of the day. mr. cleveland's cabinet gave general satisfaction to the democrats at washington. the selection of senator bayard for secretary of state was in deference to the national sentiment of the party that had twice asserted itself in presenting him for the presidency, and that had made him mr. cleveland's chief competitor at chicago. senator bayard, when first summoned to albany and invited to become the premier of the incoming administration, had frankly told mr. cleveland that he might consider himself absolved from all obligation to bestow his chief cabinet honor upon him, and that he would prefer to remain in the senate. he finally consented, however, to accept the portfolio of state, to the delight of the diplomatic corps, who were acquainted with his accomplished wife and daughters, and who looked forward to the enjoyment of their hospitality. he took an early opportunity to publicly declare that he was heartily in favor of civil service reform, and he followed the traditions of the department of state by retaining the experienced clerks. mr. bayard has no appreciation of humor or fondness for political intrigue, and department drudgery would be intolerable to him were it not for his passionate fondness for out-door exercise. a bold horseman, an untiring pedestrian, and enthusiastic angler, and a good swimmer, he preserves his health, and gives close attention to the affairs of his department. mr. daniel manning, who was appointed secretary of the treasury, had been graduated in boyhood from a printing office, that best of colleges, and had gradually become a reporter, a sub-editor, and finally the sole manager and principal owner of the albany _argus_. devoting all his energies to his business, he was richly rewarded pecuniarily, and under his direction the time-honored "organ" of the democracy of the empire state challenged admiration by the boldness and the success of its editorial management. his sagacity as a politician attracted the notice of mr. tilden, whose champion he became, and subsequently his untiring efforts in the columns of his paper and at the chicago convention did much to secure for mr. cleveland the presidential nomination. his financial experience as president of a national bank was favorably regarded in wall street, and his views coincided with those entertained by mr. cleveland. old stagers have detected in him a striking personal resemblance to that sturdy new york democrat of a former generation, william l. marcy, except that he wears a moustache, fiercely upturned. mr. william c. endicott, a representative of the worth and intelligence of new england, was appointed secretary of war. a lawyer by profession, he had been forced by ill health to resign his seat on the state supreme bench, and his defeat as the democratic nominee for governor of the bay state gave him a claim on the party for its honors. prominent in cordially welcoming those who had renounced their party allegiance to vote for mr. cleveland, he was the pledged advocate of civil service reform. he is a very handsome man, with long brown hair and moustache, slightly silvered by time. the secretary of the navy, mr. william c. whitney, is the son of a famous old massachusetts "war horse," who entered upon the practice of law at new york city. he made his professional mark while he was city corporation attorney in the prosecution of "boss tweed," but his large fortune is the result of successful railroad operations. he is rather youthful in appearance for a man forty-five years of age, rather slenderly built, quick of movement, and with the air of courageous self-reliance that marks a successful and experienced business operator. mr. lucius quintius curtius lamar, the secretary of the interior, had taken broader views since the war on national questions than any other southern leader. the possessor of a well-balanced and highly cultivated intellect, a thorough acquaintance with the theories of federalism and state rights, and a varied civil and military experience, mr. lamar may well be called a successful molder of public opinion. some used to regard him as ideal rather than practical, but the business-like manner in which he directed his subordinates dispelled that mistaken idea. his studious habits are shown by his rounded shoulders, and his grizzled long hair, beard, and moustache impart a leonine character to his features. postmaster-general william f. vilas is a native of vermont, who went to wisconsin when a lad, became a successful lawyer there, and served gallantly in the union army during the war. he is probably better versed in the machinery of american politics than any other member of the cabinet, and he is slowly but surely replacing the republican incumbents of fifty thousand offices with democrats. he is a man of showy, brilliant manners, vigorous eloquence, fascinating conversational powers, and an attractive personal appearance. mr. augustus h. garland, the attorney-general of the new administration, took with him from the senate a high legal and social reputation. his roman features are clean shaven, his jet black eyes sparkle with intelligence, and his manners are polished, although he rarely mingles in society. not of the cabinet, but the president's confidential adviser, is colonel daniel s. lamont, who, like the secretary of the treasury, received his political education in the office of the albany _argus_. colonel lamont left his editorial chair to become the private secretary of mr. cleveland when he became governor of the state of new york, and has since been his devoted adherent. slender, with intellectual features and a dark red moustache, which lights up his pale face, colonel lamont has the mouth of a man who is silent and the ears of a man who listens, while the quick glances of his eyes take in what there is to be seen. the possessor of great personal urbanity, always clear-headed, and very reticent, especially concerning the president, he is emphatically "the right man in the right place." he keeps up his albany habit of calling mr. cleveland "governor," while the president familiarly calls him "dan." there is no "kitchen cabinet" to act as office-brokers and to secure the executive approval of measures "for a consideration." at the cabinet meeting held at the executive mansion, the president sits at the head of the council table, and the members occupy positions as indicated in the accompanying diagram. the cabinet has no legal existence. any other official or any individual not holding official position can be called upon by the president to meet with him as a member of his cabinet, and to consult him on the days in the week designated by him for that purpose. in some administrations--notably those of presidents taylor and pierce-- the members of the cabinet assumed a power equal to that of the venetian oligarchy. but mr. cleveland has not chosen to act the part of king log, and right autocratically has he exercised his prerogative. this habit of personally assuming responsibility has ever characterized mr. cleveland. when mayor of buffalo and when governor of new york, he was open to suggestions from those whose judgment he valued, but he was always ready to carry his own full share of responsibility, as he now does in his relations with his chosen advisers of the cabinet. [fascimile] grover cleveland grover cleveland was born at caldwell, essex county, new jersey, march th, ; studied law at buffalo and commenced practice there; was mayor of buffalo, , ; was governor of the state of new york, - ; was elected president of the united states on the democratic ticket, november th, , and was inaugurated on the th of march, . chapter xliv. official and social life. president cleveland is emphatically a working man. possessing a strong physique, he industriously devotes his time and his energies to the duties of his office. gentle in his strength, unobtrusive in his modesty, and unswerved by partisan clamor, he endeavors to do what he--from his personal and political standpoint--regards as right. he is above medium height, quite stout, and rather sluggish in his movement. he is of the teutonic type--blonde, with ruddy color. his head is large, with a broad forehead, deeply set blue eyes, a large, straight nose, with vigorous nostrils, and a firm mouth, partly shaded by a drooping light mustache. he generally wears a frock coat, buttoned up so high that only an inch or so of his shirt bosom is visible, with a slight black cravat encircling a standing collar. in conversing with strangers, he generally stands with his hands clasped behind him, and when he thinks that he has heard enough from the person addressing him he brings his hands forward. the president rises early, shaves himself, dresses without assistance, and then reads the newspapers until breakfast time. from the breakfast-table he goes to the library, an oval-shaped room in the second story of the white house, with large windows at one end commanding a fine southern view, with alexandria and arlington in the background. the room is partially lined with book-cases, and the furniture is upholstered with red leather, while in the centre of the room, near the windows, is the president's desk. it was presented by queen victoria, and was made from the oaken timbers of the resolute, which was sent to the arctic regions by the british government in search of sir john franklin, abandoned in the ice, saved by american whalers, and restored to the british government by the united states. on this desk the many papers before the president are methodically arranged, and he never has to waste time in hunting for mislaid letters. the morning mail first passes through the hands of colonel lamont, who lays before the president such letters as require instructions as to the replies to be made. mr. cleveland answers many of his private letters himself, writing with great rapidity and not always very legibly. at ten o'clock visitors begin to arrive, senators and representatives claiming precedence over all others. a few of the congressmen escort constituents who merely desire to pay their respects, but the greater portion of them--republicans as well as democrats--have some "axe to grind," some favor to ask, or some appointment to urge. at one o'clock the president goes down-stairs to lunch, and on his way to the private dining-room passes through the east room to see the sovereign people congregated there. there are queer mosaics of humanity at these daily impromptu receptions, generally including a few persistent place-hunters, who are invariably referred to the heads of departments; several bridal couples in new clothes; an old bourbon in a shiny black dress-coat, who "has voted for every democratic president, sir, since the days of jackson;" half a dozen commercial drummers--travelers, i mean--with their pockets full of samples, and three or four fond mothers, whose children invariably forget to speak the complimentary little piece taught them. the president wastes no time, but goes along the line like an old- fashioned beau dancing the grand right and left figure in a cotillion, and then goes to his luncheon. two days in the week, when there is a cabinet meeting, the reception in the east room is held at noon, or omitted. after luncheon, the president returns to his desk and works there steadily until five o'clock, unless some one calls who cannot be refused an audience. none of his predecessors have ever weighed the qualifications and claims of candidates for federal appointment with such painstaking care as has mr. cleveland. he has carefully read the recommendations in every case, and, after such investigation as it has been possible for him to make into the character and antecedents of the rival applicants, he has made his appointments. at five o'clock the president takes a drive, although the carriage is often sent back to the stable that the examination of the papers in some case may be finished that day. dinner is served at seven, and by half-past eight the president is at work again, often remaining at his desk until midnight. but then he leaves his cares behind him. when asked if he ever carried the work to bed with him, as many men of a nervous organization would do, he replied: "no! i generally fall asleep without any difficulty. i generally am asleep as soon as i am fairly in bed, and never wake until morning." miss rose elizabeth cleveland, one of the president's sisters, presided over the domestic arrangements of the white house after the inauguration of mr. cleveland. she is a lady of literary tastes, and under her direction the routine of receptions and dinners was carefully continued. on these occasions the floral decorations were remarkably elegant, and there was a profusion of palms, india rubber plants, roses, azalias, tulips, hyacinths, and growing orchids. the first state dinner was given in honor of the cabinet. at each end of the long table were ornaments of white wax. at the eastern end the figures upholding three fancy molds of jellied _pate de foie gras_ were white swans, with outspread wings, under the shelter of which rested a brood of snowy young ones. at the opposite end of the table the figures were those of eagles, while the _pates de foie gras_ arranged above on horseshoes were little square blocks, attached to the horseshoes by means of silver skewers, with ornamental hilts. interspersed the length of the board were glass and silver stands of conserves, bonbons, and salted almonds. the service used at the first course was that especially decorated for the white house during the hayes administration. at each plate were set six bohemian wine-glasses, a cut-glass carafe, tumbler, and champagne glass. salt-sellers of cut-glass, with golden shovels, and silver pepper-stands were beside these. on each plate was folded a large damask napkin, on the top of which rested a bouquet of roses and ferns, tied with a broad white satin ribbon, on one end of which, running bias, were painted the colors of the union. on the other end was an etching in black and white of the white house and surrounding shrubbery, while underneath, in gilt lettering, was "jan. , ." gilt bullet-headed pins, to attach the bouquet to the corsage, lay beside these, while above lay a large white card bearing the name of the guest assigned to the seat. above the name of the guests, blazoned in gold, was the american eagle, above whose head, through a cluster of stars, was the motto, "e pluribus unum." at the plates laid for the gentlemen were _boutonnieres_ of green, with a single bon silene rosebud. miss cleveland had a corsage bouquet of pink roses; miss bayard, who occupied the seat to the right of the president, perie du jardin roses, and mrs. manning, who sat to the left, lilies of the valley and ferns. the guests assembled in the east room, and when dinner was announced as served, passed down the corridor, the marine band performing selections from the "mikado," and entered the state dining-room in the following order: president cleveland and miss bayard, who wore a trained dress of pink silk, the front of which was white lace; secretary whitney and mrs. vilas, who wore a blue silk dress; senator edmunds and mrs. mccullough, who wore cream satin and lace; senator harris and mrs. edward cooper, who wore white satin, with side panels embroidered in gold and silver; general sheridan and mrs. endicott, who wore a court train of black velvet over a pink satin petticoat, with point lace flounces; secretary bayard and mrs. whitney, who wore white cut velvet, trimmed with clusters of ostrich tips. postmaster-general vilas and mrs. sheridan, who wore sky-blue silk, with front brocaded in roses; mr. speaker carlisle and mrs. edmunds, who wore black velvet; mr. mccullough and miss weddell, who wore white brocaded satin; secretary lamar and mrs. carlisle, who wore gold-flowered brocade, with front of network of iridescent beading; admiral rogers and mrs. d. willis james, who wore cardinal velvet with court train, over a white satin and lace petticoat; hon. edward cooper, of new york, and miss love, who wore white satin, with black velvet train; mrs. d. willis james, of new york, and mrs. utley, who wore white satin brocade; secretary manning and miss cleveland, who wore a gown of white satin, with court train of white plush. miss cleveland had her afternoon receptions, and she also gave several luncheon parties to ladies, at which her temperance principles were exemplified. at the first of these luncheon parties miss cleveland graciously received her guests in a morning dress of pink surah silk, with a high-necked bodice and panels of ruby velvet, trimmed with white lace, and miss van vechten, an inmate of the white house, wore a walking-dress of dark blue velvet, with a vest of light blue silk, trimmed with blue steel beads. nearly all of the ladies wore walking-dresses and bonnets, although a few were in the evening attire that they would have worn to a dinner-party. mrs. warner miller wore a bronze-green ottoman silk with panels of cardinal plush; mrs. potter (the amateur actress) wore a bright green ottoman silk short dress, with a tight-fitting jacket of scarlet cloth, richly embroidered; mrs. john a. logan wore a dress of peacock-blue satin, trimmed with blue brocade; mrs. marshal roberts wore a brown velvet dress, and mrs. van rensselaer a black satin dress trimmed with jet. the repast was an abbreviated dinner, daintily served, but in the place of seven kinds of wine there were served iced potomac water, apollinaris water and lemonade. miss cleveland talks very much as she writes, and those who have enjoyed her _summer hours_ can imagine the bright staccato strain of her conversation. she seemed when in the white house to be always longing for what she used to call her "little old house on the holland patent, with the village on the one side and the hills on the other." she remarked one day to a lady visitor: "i wish that i could observe washington life in its political phase; but i suppose i am too near the centre to get an accurate perspective on that. those who live on mount athos do not see mount athos." society was saddened early in the fashionable season of by the sudden death of secretary bayard's eldest daughter, a young lady whose personal attractions, gifted intellect, and quick wit endeared her to a large circle of devoted friends. a fortnight later, the bereaved father was deprived by death of his wife, a lady of gracious presence and refined disposition, who was the mother of twelve children, eight of whom survived her. these sad events closed the pleasant home of the _premier_ on highland terrace, greatly to the regret of the diplomats and others, who loved to congregate there. prominent among the wives of the members of the cabinet was mrs. whitney, the only daughter of senator harry b. payne, of ohio, whose unstinted expenditures have made her house in washington, like her other residences, noted for their hospitality. the residence of secretary manning, with its drawing-room fitted up in the louis xvi. style, is palatial, while those who visit the home of the secretary of war admire the quiet style of its furniture and the rare old family silver on its table. the death of vice-president hendricks removed an official around whom the disaffected democrats could have crystallized into a formidable opposition. believing as he did, that he had been defrauded of the office of vice-president by the electoral commission in , he regarded his election in as a triumphant vindication of his rights, and he was not disposed to have the position longer regarded as "like the fifth wheel of a coach." he made no secret of his opposition to civil service reform and to his indiana rival, ex-senator mcdonald, against whose appointment to a place in the cabinet he formally protested. perhaps a social antagonism between mrs. mcdonald and mrs. hendricks had something to do with this. vice-president hendricks was slightly lame, from a singular cause. he spoke in public a great deal in the presidential campaign of , and while speaking he was in the habit of bending forward on the tip of his right foot, resting his entire weight upon it. from the pressure of his right shoe a swelling arose on one of his toes, shortly after he reached home after making a speech at newcastle, indiana. in twenty-four hours erysipelas developed, and it was only after an illness of six months that he recovered. but he always afterward was somewhat lame, especially when he was fatigued. [facsimile] t. a. hendricks thomas andrews hendricks was born in muskingum county, ohio, september th, ; was taken when three years of age to indiana, where he studied law and practiced; was a representative in congress from indiana, - ; was commissioner of the general land office, - ; was united states senator from indiana, - ; was governor of indiana, - ; was nominated for vice- president on the democratic ticket at st. louis in , and was defeated; was again nominated for vice-president on the democratic ticket at chicago in , and was elected; was inaugurated march th, , and died at indianapolis, november th, . chapter xlv. the forty-ninth congress. the first session of the forty-ninth congress was commenced on the th of december, . the republicans had a majority in the senate, but it was understood that they would not oppose the administration in a factious way, but would insist upon having the reasons for the removals of republican officials and the appointment of democrats in their places. the president, on the other hand, intimated that he should assert all his prerogatives. a number of the democratic senators were not happy, and asked each other whether they had dragged their weary way out of the wilderness to the top of a civil service mount pisgah only to gaze upon the promised land, there to see the pleasant pastures and shady groves of official life, without being permitted to enjoy them. john sherman was elected president _pro tempore_ of the senate. although he had twice lost the republican nomination for the presidency by the treachery of ohio politicians, he had not "sulked in his tent," but had done all in his power to carry that state for garfield and then for blaine. it was understood that senator edmunds had resigned in his favor all claims to the presidency of the senate, and he was elected by the full party vote, thirty-four against twenty-nine. he stated in his brief inaugural speech that he should endeavor to enforce the rules with impartiality, ascertaining, if possible, the sense of the majority, and giving to the minority its full constitutional rights and protection. there was a prolonged and acrimonious debate in the senate, called the third battle of bull run, as it related to the conduct of fitz john porter in the second battle. one day senator plumb, of kansas, declared that the attempt to reinstate porter was the beginning of an attempt to re-write the history of the union army, and to put that which was disloyal and unfaithful above that which was loyal and faithful. "this," said mr. plumb, "was our quarrel, if quarrel it was, and the other side ought to refrain from voting on it." this roused senator butler, of south carolina, who had served as a brigadier-general in the confederate army, and he, in sharp tones, protested against what mr. plumb had said, denouncing it as "absolutely and entirely and unqualifiedly untrue. and, sir," he went on to say, "if it were in another form i would pronounce it as false and cowardly." he concluded by declaring that he did not believe fitz john porter was a traitor. he did not believe that he deserted his colors, and believing that, he should vote to reinstate him. "ah!" quietly remarked mr. plumb, "i knew all that before the senator arose." "then," retorted mr. butler, "i hope the senator will stop his insinuations." to this mr. plumb replied, "as the senator has not restrained himself from making a somewhat lively speech here, i hope he will not feel under any restraint elsewhere." senator butler was by that time thoroughly enraged, and, advancing toward the senator from kansas, he exclaimed: "i can say this to the senator, that if he were to indulge in just such sentiments and expressions elsewhere as he has, he would be very likely to hear from me." "oh! mr. president," cooly remarked mr. plumb, "we hear a great many things in these days. there are signs and portents, and all that sort of thing. it is just what the senator has said that i was commenting upon; that, while the men who served in the union army and the northern people were divided to some extent on this question affecting the honor, the good name, the faithfulness, and the loyalty of one of their own soldiers, no confederate soldier had any doubt upon the subject, but voted _nem. con._ that he was not guilty." a few moments later, mr. plumb said he has just been informed that the president had vetoed a bill giving a pension of fifty dollars a month to the widow of major-general hunter, who had been presiding officer of the court-martial that had tried fitz john porter. that seemed a fitting accompaniment for the passage of the fitz john porter bill. but the loyal people of the country would see to it that mrs. hunter did not suffer. the debate then lagged, and in a few minutes the vote was reached and the bill was passed. the champion of president cleveland in the senate was arthur p. gorman, of maryland, the son of a respectable citizen of washington and the grandson of an irishman. educated at the public schools in howard county, maryland, he was appointed, when thirteen years of age, a page in the senate of the united states. prompt, truthful, and attentive to whatever was entrusted to him, he was gradually promoted until he became the senate postmaster. among his warmest friends was andrew johnson, and when he was removed from office because he always spoke well of the president, mr. johnson appointed him collector of internal revenue for the fifth district of maryland, which place he held until the grant administration came into power. entering into maryland politics, and thoroughly acquainted with parliamentary law, he was elected speaker of the house of delegates, and afterward state senator. when forty years of age he was elected united states senator, defeating william pinckney whyte, who was the representative of the aristocratic element in maryland. this element at once commenced a merciless warfare against mr. gorman, but he was in no wise daunted, and he has been re-elected by a large majority. he is rather an under-sized, squarely built man, with jet-black hair, a roman nose, a clean-shaven face, very dark blue eyes, and a decisive manner. he is noted for his fidelity to his friends, and at the same time he often forgives those who have shamefully treated him, but who come to ask favors of him. he did much toward securing the election of mr. cleveland as president, and he has had the satisfaction of seeing that what he did has been fully appreciated at the white house. senator kenna, of west virginia, another stanch defender of president cleveland, was the youngest senator when he took his seat, but he had served three terms in the house of representatives and was chosen for a fourth term when he was elected to the seat formerly occupied by henry g. davis. he is a tall, thick-set man, with a full, clean-shaven face, blue eyes, chestnut hair, rather inclined to curl. he is negligent in his dress and rather slow in the utterance of his sentences, as he speaks extemporaneously, what he says, however, is always to the point at issue. general charles f. manderson is one of the ablest among the younger senators on the republican side of the chamber. a native of pennsylvania, he commenced the practice of law in ohio, but went into the union army, where he fought gallantly, receiving severe wounds. after peace was declared he migrated to the young state of nebraska, whose interests he carefully looks after while he participates in general legislation, especially military affairs and printing. he is of medium height, compactly built, with bright eyes and a well-modulated voice. senator spooner, of wisconsin, is the young orator of the senate. slender in form, and not of commanding presence, he has a well- modulated voice, and his words are always well chosen. whatever he says is characterized by depth of reflection and purity of style, and he is fearlessly independent in the expression of his ideas. general mccook, the secretary of the senate, taking a wife, it became necessary, in accordance with the traditions of that body, to make him a wedding present. the quaker senator, jonathan chace, of rhode island, was one of a committee appointed to collect the contributions for a gift to general mccook, and he began to solicit donations while the senate was in session, which made it necessary for him to speak low, and, perhaps, somewhat indistinctly. no sooner had be interviewed mr. dolph, of oregon, than that senator, leaving his seat, went out into the cloak-room, where sat several of the upper house, enjoying their cigars and a chat. "well," said mr. dolph, as he joined them, "i have been called upon, since i have been in public life, to contribute to all sorts of enterprises and for all sorts of purposes, but i just had a request that beats any demand i have ever had made upon my pocket-book." "what was it?" asked the senators, in a body. "why," replied mr. dolph, "friend chace just came to me, and in a mysterious way said that his cook was about to be married, and that he wanted to have me subscribe to a testimonial to her. what in--" but here his auditors broke out in roars of laughter, in which mr. dolph joined when he saw his mistake. it was not the cook of friend chace who was to receive a wedding testimonial, but handsome aaron mccook, the secretary of the senate. the house of representatives, in which the democrats had a good working majority, re-elected mr. speaker carlisle, with nearly all of the old officers. the only real contest was over the chaplainship. mr. morrison, of illinois, presented as his candidate the rev. w. h. milburn, known as the blind preacher, who received ninety votes against eighty-two for all the other candidates, and was elected. john griffin carlisle, speaker of the house, is a thorough parliamentarian, who rises above party lines in his rulings and is the model of courtesy in the chair. the clearness and the fairness with which he states a question to the house has never been equaled, and his ready recollection of precedents is wonderfully accurate. he is the fourth kentuckian who has wielded the speaker's gavel, henry clay having been elected again and again, while linn boyd, a veteran representative, occupied the speaker's chair for four years. john white, of kentucky, was also speaker for one term, but when it was ascertained that an eloquent address delivered by him at the close of a session had been pirated from one delivered by aaron burr on vacating the chair of the senate, he was mercilessly ridiculed and committed suicide. another able kentuckian in the house is william c. p. breckinridge, of lexington, who has inherited the brilliant oratorical powers of his father, the rev. dr. robert c. breckinridge, and of his uncle, vice-president john c. breckinridge. he is a model of venerable, manly beauty, his snow-white hair and beard bringing out in strong relief his ruddy complexion, while his large blue eyes gleam with forensic fire. in the "gift enterprise" of seats, a new york representative, mr. stahlnecker, drew the first prize and selected a seat in the third row from the front. mr. hiscock, who is always observed by all observers, had, with mr. hewitt, to content themselves with seats in the outside row. the seat of the patriarchal judge kelley was protected by his hat, and no one appropriated it until his name was called, when he again resumed his old place. general robert smalls, the coal-black representative from south carolina, was the object of much interest as he stepped forward to select his seat, and all necks were craned to get a view of new york's republican standard-bearer when a scholarly, refined-looking gentleman responded to the name of ira davenport. of course, all strangers wanted to see the indefatigable randall, the economical holman, the free- trader morrison, the greenback weaver and the argentive bland, the eloquent mckinley, the sarcastic reed, the sluggish hiscock, and the caustic-tongued butterworth. old stagers who remembered the shrunken, diminutive form of alexander h. stephens, of georgia, could but smile when they saw his successor, major barnes, who weighs at least three hundred pounds. the lobby is a quiet but efficient part of congressional machinery. scores of bills are considered and passed during every session, each involving thousands of dollars, and those having them in charge do not feel like turning a deaf ear to any one who can promise support. an occasional investigation reveals the work of ex- congressmen, who hover about the capitol like birds of prey, and of correspondents so scantily paid by the journals with which they are connected that they are forced to prostitute their pens. but the most adroit lobbyists belong to the gentler sex. some of them are the widows of officers of the army or navy, other the daughters of congressmen of a past generation, and others have drifted from home localities, where they have found themselves the subjects of scandalous comments. they are retained with instructions to exert their influence with designated congressmen. sometimes the congressmen are induced to vote aye on a certain measure; sometimes to vote no, and it often occurs that where the lobbyist cannot make an impression on them, one way or the other, they will endeavor to keep them away from the house when the roll is called. to enable them to do their work well, they have pleasant parlors, with works of art and bric-a-brac donated by admirers. every evening they receive, and in the winter their blazing wood fires are often surrounded by a distinguished circle. some treat favored guests to a game of euchre, and as midnight approaches there is always an adjournment to the dining-room, where a choice supper is served. a cold game pie, broiled oysters, charmingly mixed salad, and one or two light dishes generally constitute the repast, with iced champagne or burgundy at blood heat. who can blame the congressman for leaving the bad cooking of his hotel or boarding- house, with the absence of all home comforts, to walk into the parlor web which the cunning spider-lobbyist weaves for him? [facsimile] fredk t. frelinghuysen frederick t. frelinghuysen was born at millstown, new jersey, august th, ; graduated at rutgers college in ; was attorney- general of the state of new jersey, - ; was united states senator, - , and again - ; was secretary of state under president arthur, december th, - march th, ; died at newark, n. j., may th, . chapter xlvi. the president's wedding. president cleveland was married at the white house at seven o'clock on the d of june, , to miss frances folsom, the daughter of his former law partner. since the historic mansion had been occupied there had been eight marriages within its walls, but for the first time a president of the united states was the bridegroom. the day had been unpleasant, but in the afternoon it cleared off, and the sunbeams flittered through the foliage of the trees. only a few relatives of the bride and high officials were invited, but a large crowd assembled around the door of the white house, where they could only hear the music of the marine band when the ceremony was commenced. at the same time a presidential salute was fired from the arsenal, and the church-bells chimed merry peals. the state apartments at the white house were profusely decked with flowers, nodding palms, and tropical grasses. the crystal chandeliers poured a flood of light upon the scene, and the warm and glowing colors of the masses of scarlet begonias and jacqueminot roses mingled with the bright tints of the frescoed walls and ceilings. the open fire-places were filled with colias and small pink flowers, while on the mantels were large plaques of pansies bearing appropriate mottoes. precisely at seven o'clock the marine band struck up mendelssohn's wedding-march, and the president came slowly down the staircase with his bride leaning on his arm. they were unaccompanied--even the bride's mother awaited her coming. the bride wore a train four yards in length. attached to the lower side of the train on the left was a scarf of soft, white india silk, looped high, and forming an overskirt, which was bordered on the edge with orange-blossoms. across the bodice were full folds of muslin, edged with orange- blossoms. long gloves were worn to meet the short sleeves. the bridal veil was of white silk tulle, five yards in length, fastened on the head with orange-blossoms, and falling to the end of the beautiful train, which, as the bride stood with bowed head beside the president, lay far behind her on the floor. her only jewelry as a superb diamond necklace, the president's wedding present, and an engagement-ring containing a sapphire and two diamonds. president cleveland wore an evening dress of black, with a small turned-down collar, and a white lawn necktie; a white rose was fastened to the lapel of his coat. the bridal couple turned to the right as they entered the blue parlor from the long hall, and faced the officiating clergyman, rev. dr. sunderland, who immediately commenced the ceremony in accordance with the usages of the presbyterian church. after the couple had pledged their troth the president placed a wedding-ring upon the bride's finger, and dr. sunderland then pronounced them man and wife, with the injunction: "whom god hath joined together let no man put asunder." the rev. mr. cleveland, a brother of the bridegroom, then stepped forward and concluded the ceremony with an invocation of blessing upon the pair. at the conclusion of the ceremony the bride's mother, mrs. folsom, was the first to tender her congratulations. she was followed by miss cleveland and the other relatives and friends in turn. then the band struck up the march from lohengrin, and the president and his wife led the way through the east room to the family dining- room, where the wedding supper was served. the decorations were of an elaborate character. a mirror in the centre of the table represented a lake, on which was a full-rigged ship, made of pinks, roses, and pansies. the national colors floated over the mainmast, and small white flags, with the monogram "c. f." in golden letters, hung from the other masts. the guests were not seated, but stood up and enjoyed the croquets, game, salads, ices, and creams. the health of the bride and bridegroom was pledged in iced champagne. each guest received a box of cardboard, containing a white satin box filled with wedding cake five inches long by two broad and two deep. on the cover the date was hand-painted in colors, and a card affixed bore the autograph signature of grover cleveland and frances folsom, which they had written the previous afternoon. at a quarter-past eight the president and his wife left the supper- room and soon reappeared in traveling dress. he wore his usual black frock business suit, and she a traveling dress of deep gray silk, with a large gray hat lined with velvet and crowned with ostrich feathers. they left the back door of the white house amid a shower of rice and old slippers, and were driven to the baltimore and ohio railroad, where they took a special train for deer park. [facsimile] b. sunderland byron sunderland was born at shoreham, vermont, november d, ; was graduated from middlebury college in the class of ' ; taught school for two years at port henry, new york; was a student at the union theological seminary for two years and a half; was licensed to preach and was ordained in pastor of the presbyterian church at batavia, new york, where he remained for eight years; received a call to the park church at syracuse, and was its pastor until the close of ; became pastor of the first presbyterian church at washington in , and has occupied its pulpit since, except from august, ' , to january, ' , when he was temporarily absent in charge of the american chapel at paris, france. from to he was chaplain of the united states senate, and resigned on account of failing health. chapter xlvii. a summing-up of sixty years. the progress of washington city during the past sixty years-- - --has been phenomenal. the united states of america, then twenty-four in number, now number thirty-eight, bound together by iron bands, then unknown, while the telegraph and the telephone add their usefulness to that of the railroads. domestic rebellion showed itself, to be overthrown only after a struggle in which the courage and endurance of the north and the south were equally demonstrated. the teeming population of europe has overflowed into every section of the republic where wealth is to be won by enterprise and industry. the fertile prairies of the far west not only supply the inhabitants of the eastern states with food, but they export large quantities of meat and of grain. the workshops and factories resound with the whir of wheels and the hum of well-paid labor, which, in turn, furnishes a market for agricultural and horticultural products. there has been of late a fomentation of ill-feeling and jealously between classes dependent upon each other, and both equally valuable to the nation. but, on the whole, it is impossible to deny that the united states is a free, a prosperous, and a happy country. the national metropolis has, during these past sixty years, enjoyed peaceful progress. in the population of the entire district of columbia was less than seventy-five thousand, of whom sixty-one thousand were inhabitants of the city of washington; now the population of the district is two hundred and three thousand, and that of washington is about one hundred and fifty thousand. the increase of wealth has been even greater than the increase of population. then there was not a paved street, and it was often difficult to extract carriages from mud-holes in the principal thoroughfares; now there are many miles of stone and asphalt street pavements, shaded by thousands of forest trees. then there were twenty-four churches, now there are over two hundred. then there were no public schools for white children that amounted to much, and it was forbidden by law to teach colored children, now there are scores of schools, with their hundreds of teachers, and twenty- six thousand six hundred and ninety-six pupils in the white schools, and eleven thousand six hundred and forty pupils in the colored schools--thirty-eight thousand three hundred and thirty-six pupils in all. the streets, then dark at night when the moon did not shine, are now illuminated by electricity and gas. the public reservations are ornamented with shrubs and flowers, while numerous statues of the heroes and the statesmen of the country are to be seen in different parts of the city. that the tone of society has been wonderfully improved during the past sixty years the earlier chapters of this book bear testimony. duels and personal encounters are no longer witnessed at the national metropolis, and yet our legislators have not grown craven- hearted, nor do they lack indomitable energy and sound judgment. neither is it true that congress has become demoralized by railroad speculations, or degraded by the influence of shoddy, although the war subjected its members greatly to these influences, and some succumbed to them. when the silver-toned trumpets of peace proclaimed the close of hostilities, washington suffered from the laxity of morals and corruption attendant upon the presence of a great army of soldiers and a more unscrupulous legion of contractors. "i have seen," said senator hoar, on the impeachment of secretary belknap before the senate, "the chairman of the committee on military affairs in the house, rise in his place and demand the expulsion of four of his associates for making sale of their official privilege of selecting the youths to be educated at our military school. when the greatest railroad of the world, binding together the continent and uniting the two great seas which wash our shores was finished, i have seen our national triumph and exultation turned to bitterness and shame by the unanimous reports of the three committees of congress, two of the house and one here, that every step of that mighty enterprise had been taken in fraud. i have heard in the highest places the shameless doctrine avowed by men grown old in public offices that the true way by which power should be gained in the republic is to bribe the people with the offices created for their service, and the true end for which it should be used when gained is the promotion of selfish ambition and the gratification of personal revenge." the time was when the "rex vestiari," as the king of the lobby styled himself, on a silver cup which he impudently presented to a retiring speaker, had no difficulty in assembling the leading congressmen and prominent diplomats around his table to enjoy his exquisite repasts. but there has come a more vigorous code of morality, and society is now rarely disgraced by the presence of these scoundrels. the tone of the political newspapers of the country has greatly changed since the democratic organ at philadelphia, then the seat of government, thanked god, on the morning of washington's retirement from the presidential chair, that the country was now rid of the man who was the source of all its misfortunes. the federal newspapers at washington city denounced president jefferson for his degraded immorality, and copied the anathemas hurled against him from the new england pulpits as an atheist and a satyr. the letters written from washington to newspapers in other cities used often to be vehicles of indecent abuse, and once one of the caused a duel between two representatives, which resulted in the death of mr. cilley, of maine. while there is less vituperation and vulgar personal abuse by journalists of those "in authority," the pernicious habit of "interviewing" is a dangerous method of communication between our public men and the people. the daily and weekly press of washington will compare favorably with that of any other city in the union. a sad feature of washington life is the legion of congressional claimants, who come here session after session, and too often grow old and destitute while unsuccessfully prosecuting before congress a claim which is just, but in some respects irregular. these ruined suitors, threadbare and slipshod, begging or borrowing their daily bread, recall charles dickens' portraiture of the jarndyce _vs_. jarndyce chancery suite, which had become so complicated that no one alive knew what it meant. the french spoilation claims that were being vigorously prosecuted in are yet undetermined in . none of the original claimants survive, but they have left heirs and legatees, executors and assignees, who have perennially presented their cases, and who are now indulging in high hopes of success. government, after more than fourscore years of unjustifiable procrastination, is at last having the claims adjudicated, and in time the heirs of the long-suffering holders will be paid. up to the commencement of the great rebellion, washington was socially a southern city, and although there have since been immigrations from the northeast and the northwest, with the intermediate regions, the foundation layer sympathizes with those who have returned from "dixie" to control society and direct american politics. many of those known as the "old families" lost their property by the emancipation of their slaves, and are rarely seen in public, unless one of the virginia lees or the daughter of jefferson davis comes to washington, when they receive the representatives of "the lost cause" with every possible honor. there are but few large cities at the south, and intelligent people from that section enjoy the metropolis, where they are more at home than in the bustling commercial centres of the north, and where their provincialisms and customs are soon replaced by the quiet conventialities and courtesies of modern civilization. there are a few of the old camp-followers here who perfected their vices while wearing "the blue" or "the gray," and they occasionally indulge in famous revels, when, to use one of their old army phrases, they "paint the town red." washington society does not all centre around the capitol, or in the legal circle that clusters around the supreme court, on in the bureaucracy, where vigor of brains atones for a lack of polish, or among the diplomats, worshiped by the young women and envied by the young men. vulgar people who amass fortunes by successful gambling in stocks, pork, or grain can attain a great deal of cheap newspaper notoriety for their social expenditures here, and some men of distinction can be attracted to their houses by champagne and terrapin, but their social existence is a mere sham, like their veneered furniture and their plated spoons. meanwhile, washington, from a new settlement of provincial insignificance, has become the scientific and literary, as well as the political capital of the union. unfitted by its situation or its surroundings for either commerce or manufactures, the metropolis is becoming, like ancient athens, a great school of philosophy, history, archaeology, and the fine arts. the nucleus of scientific and literary operations is the smithsonian institution, which, under the direction of professor spencer f. baird, reflects high honor upon its generous founder, and is in fact what he intended it should be--an institution "to increase and diffuse knowledge among men." in the national museum there is a judicious admixture of the past and present, and still more, happily blending with these, are not only the wonders of the vegetable and floral kingdom, but of those geological, zoological, and ethnological marvels which it is the privilege of this age to have brought to light and classified. it is not only the storehouse of the results of scientific expeditions fitted out by the united states, but the depository of the contributions of foreign nations, which added so much to the centennial exposition at philadelphia in . the work of the united states fish commission is too well known to require description, and is of itself well worth a journey to washington. then there are the museums of the state, the war, and the navy departments, with that of the department of agriculture and the army medical museum. the observatory, with its magnificent instruments for astronomical purposes, the coast and geodetic survey, and the naval hydrographic bureau, each with its stores of maps and charts; the bureau of education, the indian office, the general land office, and the geological survey are all scientific institutions of acknowledged position. the corcoran art gallery, and the roman catholic and the protestant colleges, with their law and medical schools, add to the scientific and artistic attractions of the capital, while the facilities afforded by the congressional and other libraries for study and research are of such a superior character that many men engaged in scientific pursuits have been attracted here from other sections. there are also in washington the philosophical, the anthropological, and the biological societies, devoted to general scientific investigation, and at the cosmos club the scientists develop the social side of their natures. the house long occupied by mrs. madison has been fitted up by the club, the membership of which includes about all of the prominent scientific men in the city, and it is said that there are more men of distinction in science in washington than in any other city in the country. l'envoi it is not without regret that i lay down my pen, and cease work on the reminiscences of sixty years, of my life. as i remarked in the preface, my great difficulty has been what to select from the masses of literary material concerning the national metropolis that i have accumulated during the past six decades, and put away in diaries, scrap-books, correspondence with the press, and note-books. many important events have been passed over more lightly than their importance warranted, while others have been wholly ignored. but i trust that i have given my readers a glance at the most salient features of life in washington, as i have actually seen it, without indulging in sycophantic flattery of men, or glossing over the unpleasant features of events. "paint me as i am," said cromwell, and i have endeavored to portray the federal metropolis as i have seen it. index [omitted] the gilded age a tale of today by mark twain and charles dudley warner part . chapter xlvi. philip left the capitol and walked up pennsylvania avenue in company with senator dilworthy. it was a bright spring morning, the air was soft and inspiring; in the deepening wayside green, the pink flush of the blossoming peach trees, the soft suffusion on the heights of arlington, and the breath of the warm south wind was apparent, the annual miracle of the resurrection of the earth. the senator took off his hat and seemed to open his soul to the sweet influences of the morning. after the heat and noise of the chamber, under its dull gas-illuminated glass canopy, and the all night struggle of passion and feverish excitement there, the open, tranquil world seemed like heaven. the senator was not in an exultant mood, but rather in a condition of holy joy, befitting a christian statesman whose benevolent plans providence has made its own and stamped with approval. the great battle had been fought, but the measure had still to encounter the scrutiny of the senate, and providence sometimes acts differently in the two houses. still the senator was tranquil, for he knew that there is an esprit de corps in the senate which does not exist in the house, the effect of which is to make the members complaisant towards the projects of each other, and to extend a mutual aid which in a more vulgar body would be called "log-rolling." "it is, under providence, a good night's work, mr. sterling. the government has founded an institution which will remove half the difficulty from the southern problem. and it is a good thing for the hawkins heirs, a very good thing. laura will be almost a millionaire." "do you think, mr. dilworthy, that the hawkinses will get much of the money?" asked philip innocently, remembering the fate of the columbus river appropriation. the senator looked at his companion scrutinizingly for a moment to see if he meant any thing personal, and then replied, "undoubtedly, undoubtedly. i have had their interests greatly at heart. there will of course be a few expenses, but the widow and orphans will realize all that mr. hawkins, dreamed of for them." the birds were singing as they crossed the presidential square, now bright with its green turf and tender foliage. after the two had gained the steps of the senator's house they stood a moment, looking upon the lovely prospect: "it is like the peace of god," said the senator devoutly. entering the house, the senator called a servant and said, "tell miss laura that we are waiting to see her. i ought to have sent a messenger on horseback half an hour ago," he added to philip, "she will be transported with our victory. you must stop to breakfast, and see the excitement." the servant soon came back, with a wondering look and reported, "miss laura ain't dah, sah. i reckon she hain't been dah all night!" the senator and philip both started up. in laura's room there were the marks of a confused and hasty departure, drawers half open, little articles strewn on the floor. the bed had not been disturbed. upon inquiry it appeared that laura had not been at dinner, excusing herself to mrs. dilworthy on the plea of a violent headache; that she made a request to the servants that she might not be disturbed. the senator was astounded. philip thought at once of col. selby. could laura have run away with him? the senator thought not. in fact it could not be. gen. leffenwell, the member from new orleans, had casually told him at the house last night that selby and his family went to new york yesterday morning and were to sail for europe to-day. philip had another idea which, he did not mention. he seized his hat, and saying that he would go and see what he could learn, ran to the lodgings of harry; whom he had not seen since yesterday afternoon, when he left him to go to the house. harry was not in. he had gone out with a hand-bag before six o'clock yesterday, saying that he had to go to new york, but should return next day. in harry's-room on the table philip found this note: "dear mr. brierly:--can you meet me at the six o'clock train, and be my escort to new york? i have to go about this university bill, the vote of an absent member we must have here, senator dilworthy cannot go. yours, l. h." "confound it," said phillip, "the noodle has fallen into her trap. and she promised she would let him alone." he only stopped to send a note to senator dilworthy, telling him what he had found, and that he should go at once to new york, and then hastened to the railway station. he had to wait an hour for a train, and when it did start it seemed to go at a snail's pace. philip was devoured with anxiety. where could they, have gone? what was laura's object in taking harry? had the flight anything to do with selby? would harry be such a fool as to be dragged into some public scandal? it seemed as if the train would never reach baltimore. then there was a long delay at havre de grace. a hot box had to be cooled at wilmington. would it never get on? only in passing around the city of philadelphia did the train not seem to go slow. philip stood upon the platform and watched for the boltons' house, fancied he could distinguish its roof among the trees, and wondered how ruth would feel if she knew he was so near her. then came jersey, everlasting jersey, stupid irritating jersey, where the passengers are always asking which line they are on, and where they are to come out, and whether they have yet reached elizabeth. launched into jersey, one has a vague notion that he is on many lines and no one in particular, and that he is liable at any moment to come to elizabeth. he has no notion what elizabeth is, and always resolves that the next time he goes that way, he will look out of the window and see what it is like; but he never does. or if he does, he probably finds that it is princeton or something of that sort. he gets annoyed, and never can see the use of having different names for stations in jersey. by and by. there is newark, three or four newarks apparently; then marshes; then long rock cuttings devoted to the advertisements of 'patent medicines and ready-made, clothing, and new york tonics for jersey agues, and jersey city is reached. on the ferry-boat philip bought an evening paper from a boy crying "'ere's the evening gram, all about the murder," and with breathless haste--ran his eyes over the following: shocking murder!!! tragedy in high life!! a beautiful woman shoots a distinguished confederate soldier at the southern hotel!!! jealousy the cause!!! this morning occurred another of those shocking murders which have become the almost daily food of the newspapers, the direct result of the socialistic doctrines and woman's rights agitations, which have made every woman the avenger of her own wrongs, and all society the hunting ground for her victims. about nine o'clock a lady deliberately shot a man dead in the public parlor of the southern hotel, coolly remarking, as she threw down her revolver and permitted herself to be taken into custody, "he brought it on himself." our reporters were immediately dispatched to the scene of the tragedy, and gathered the following particulars. yesterday afternoon arrived at the hotel from washington, col. george selby and family, who had taken passage and were to sail at noon to-day in the steamer scotia for england. the colonel was a handsome man about forty, a gentleman of wealth and high social position, a resident of new orleans. he served with distinction in the confederate army, and received a wound in the leg from which he has never entirely recovered, being obliged to use a cane in locomotion. this morning at about nine o'clock, a lady, accompanied by a gentleman, called at the office of the hotel and asked for col. selby. the colonel was at breakfast. would the clerk tell him that a lady and gentleman wished to see him for a moment in the parlor? the clerk says that the gentleman asked her, "what do you want to see him for?" and that she replied, "he is going to europe, and i ought to just say good by." col. selby was informed; and the lady and gentleman were shown to the parlor, in which were at the time three or four other persons. five minutes after two shots were fired in quick succession, and there was a rush to the parlor from which the reports came. col. selby was found lying on the floor, bleeding, but not dead. two gentlemen, who had just come in, had seized the lady, who made no resistance, and she was at once given in charge of a police officer who arrived. the persons who were in the parlor agree substantially as to what occurred. they had happened to be looking towards the door when the man--col. selby--entered with his cane, and they looked at him, because he stopped as if surprised and frightened, and made a backward movement. at the same moment the lady in the bonnet advanced towards him and said something like, "george, will you go with me?" he replied, throwing up his hand and retreating, "my god i can't, don't fire," and the next instants two shots were heard and he fell. the lady appeared to be beside herself with rage or excitement, and trembled very much when the gentlemen took hold of her; it was to them she said, "he brought it on himself." col. selby was carried at once to his room and dr. puffer, the eminent surgeon was sent for. it was found that he was shot through the breast and through the abdomen. other aid was summoned, but the wounds were mortal, and col selby expired in an hour, in pain, but his mind was clear to the last and he made a full deposition. the substance of it was that his murderess is a miss laura hawkins, whom he had known at washington as a lobbyist and had some business with her. she had followed him with her attentions and solicitations, and had endeavored to make him desert his wife and go to europe with her. when he resisted and avoided her she had threatened him. only the day before he left washington she had declared that he should never go out of the city alive without her. it seems to have been a deliberate and premeditated murder, the woman following him to washington on purpose to commit it. we learn that the, murderess, who is a woman of dazzling and transcendent beauty and about twenty six or seven, is a niece of senator dilworthy at whose house she has been spending the winter. she belongs to a high southern family, and has the reputation of being an heiress. like some other great beauties and belles in washington however there have been whispers that she had something to do with the lobby. if we mistake not we have heard her name mentioned in connection with the sale of the tennessee lands to the knobs university, the bill for which passed the house last night. her companion is mr. harry brierly, a new york dandy, who has been in washington. his connection with her and with this tragedy is not known, but he was also taken into custody, and will be detained at least as a witness. p. s. one of the persons present in the parlor says that after laura hawkins had fired twice, she turned the pistol towards herself, but that brierly sprung and caught it from her hand, and that it was he who threw it on the floor. further particulars with full biographies of all the parties in our next edition. philip hastened at once to the southern hotel, where he found still a great state of excitement, and a thousand different and exaggerated stories passing from mouth to mouth. the witnesses of the event had told it over so many time that they had worked it up into a most dramatic scene, and embellished it with whatever could heighten its awfulness. outsiders had taken up invention also. the colonel's wife had gone insane, they said. the children had rushed into the parlor and rolled themselves in their father's blood. the hotel clerk said that he noticed there was murder in the woman's eye when he saw her. a person who had met the woman on the stairs felt a creeping sensation. some thought brierly was an accomplice, and that he had set the woman on to kill his rival. some said the woman showed the calmness and indifference of insanity. philip learned that harry and laura had both been taken to the city prison, and he went there; but he was not admitted. not being a newspaper reporter, he could not see either of them that night; but the officer questioned him suspiciously and asked him who he was. he might perhaps see brierly in the morning. the latest editions of the evening papers had the result of the inquest. it was a plain enough case for the jury, but they sat over it a long time, listening to the wrangling of the physicians. dr. puffer insisted that the man died from the effects of the wound in the chest. dr. dobb as strongly insisted that the wound in the abdomen caused death. dr. golightly suggested that in his opinion death ensued from a complication of the two wounds and perhaps other causes. he examined the table waiter, as to whether col. selby ate any breakfast, and what he ate, and if he had any appetite. the jury finally threw themselves back upon the indisputable fact that selby was dead, that either wound would have killed him (admitted by the doctors), and rendered a verdict that he died from pistol-shot wounds inflicted by a pistol in the hands of laura hawkins. the morning papers blazed with big type, and overflowed with details of the murder. the accounts in the evening papers were only the premonitory drops to this mighty shower. the scene was dramatically worked up in column after column. there were sketches, biographical and historical. there were long "specials" from washington, giving a full history of laura's career there, with the names of men with whom she was said to be intimate, a description of senator dilworthy's residence and of his family, and of laura's room in his house, and a sketch of the senator's appearance and what he said. there was a great deal about her beauty, her accomplishments and her brilliant position in society, and her doubtful position in society. there was also an interview with col. sellers and another with washington hawkins, the brother of the murderess. one journal had a long dispatch from hawkeye, reporting the excitement in that quiet village and the reception of the awful intelligence. all the parties had been "interviewed." there were reports of conversations with the clerk at the hotel; with the call-boy; with the waiter at table with all the witnesses, with the policeman, with the landlord (who wanted it understood that nothing of that sort had ever happened in his house before, although it had always been frequented by the best southern society,) and with mrs. col. selby. there were diagrams illustrating the scene of the shooting, and views of the hotel and street, and portraits of the parties. there were three minute and different statements from the doctors about the wounds, so technically worded that nobody could understand them. harry and laura had also been "interviewed" and there was a statement from philip himself, which a reporter had knocked him up out of bed at midnight to give, though how he found him, philip never could conjecture. what some of the journals lacked in suitable length for the occasion, they made up in encyclopaedic information about other similar murders and shootings. the statement from laura was not full, in fact it was fragmentary, and consisted of nine parts of, the reporter's valuable observations to one of laura's, and it was, as the reporter significantly remarked, "incoherent", but it appeared that laura claimed to be selby's wife, or to have been his wife, that he had deserted her and betrayed her, and that she was going to follow him to europe. when the reporter asked: "what made you shoot him miss. hawkins?" laura's only reply was, very simply, "did i shoot him? do they say i shot him?". and she would say no more. the news of the murder was made the excitement of the day. talk of it filled the town. the facts reported were scrutinized, the standing of the parties was discussed, the dozen different theories of the motive, broached in the newspapers, were disputed over. during the night subtle electricity had carried the tale over all the wires of the continent and under the sea; and in all villages and towns of the union, from the. atlantic to the territories, and away up and down the pacific slope, and as far as london and paris and berlin, that morning the name of laura hawkins was spoken by millions and millions of people, while the owner of it--the sweet child of years ago, the beautiful queen of washington drawing rooms--sat shivering on her cot-bed in the darkness of a damp cell in the tombs. chapter xlvii. philip's first effort was to get harry out of the tombs. he gained permission to see him, in the presence of an officer, during the day, and he found that hero very much cast down. "i never intended to come to such a place as this, old fellow," he said to philip; "it's no place for a gentleman, they've no idea how to treat a gentleman. look at that provender," pointing to his uneaten prison ration. "they tell me i am detained as a witness, and i passed the night among a lot of cut-throats and dirty rascals--a pretty witness i'd be in a month spent in such company." "but what under heavens," asked philip, "induced you to come to new york with laura! what was it for?" "what for? why, she wanted me to come. i didn't know anything about that cursed selby. she said it was lobby business for the university. i'd no idea what she was dragging me into that confounded hotel for. i suppose she knew that the southerners all go there, and thought she'd find her man. oh! lord, i wish i'd taken your advice. you might as well murder somebody and have the credit of it, as get into the newspapers the way i have. she's pure devil, that girl. you ought to have seen how sweet she was on me; what an ass i am." "well, i'm not going to dispute a poor, prisoner. but the first thing is to get you out of this. i've brought the note laura wrote you, for one thing, and i've seen your uncle, and explained the truth of the case to him. he will be here soon." harry's uncle came, with; other friends, and in the course of the day made such a showing to the authorities that harry was released, on giving bonds to appear as a witness when wanted. his spirits rose with their usual elasticity as soon as he was out of centre street, and he insisted on giving philip and his friends a royal supper at delmonico's, an excess which was perhaps excusable in the rebound of his feelings, and which was committed with his usual reckless generosity. harry ordered, the supper, and it is perhaps needless to say, that philip paid the bill. neither of the young men felt like attempting to see laura that day, and she saw no company except the newspaper reporters, until the arrival of col. sellers and washington hawkins, who had hastened to new york with all speed. they found laura in a cell in the upper tier of the women's department. the cell was somewhat larger than those in the men's department, and might be eight feet by ten square, perhaps a little longer. it was of stone, floor and all, and tile roof was oven shaped. a narrow slit in the roof admitted sufficient light, and was the only means of ventilation; when the window was opened there was nothing to prevent the rain coming in. the only means of heating being from the corridor, when the door was ajar, the cell was chilly and at this time damp. it was whitewashed and clean, but it had a slight jail odor; its only furniture was a narrow iron bedstead, with a tick of straw and some blankets, not too clean. when col. sellers was conducted to this cell by the matron and looked in, his emotions quite overcame him, the tears rolled down his cheeks and his voice trembled so that he could hardly speak. washington was unable to say anything; he looked from laura to the miserable creatures who were walking in the corridor with unutterable disgust. laura was alone calm and self-contained, though she was not unmoved by the sight of the grief of her friends. "are you comfortable, laura?" was the first word the colonel could get out. "you see," she replied. "i can't say it's exactly comfortable." "are you cold?" "it is pretty chilly. the stone floor is like ice. it chills me through to step on it. i have to sit on the bed." "poor thing, poor thing. and can you eat any thing?" "no, i am not hungry. i don't know that i could eat any thing, i can't eat that." "oh dear," continued the colonel, "it's dreadful. but cheer up, dear, cheer up;" and the colonel broke down entirely. "but," he went on, "we'll stand by you. we'll do everything for you. i know you couldn't have meant to do it, it must have been insanity, you know, or something of that sort. you never did anything of the sort before." laura smiled very faintly and said, "yes, it was something of that sort. it's all a whirl. he was a villain; you don't know." "i'd rather have killed him myself, in a duel you know, all fair. i wish i had. but don't you be down. we'll get you the best counsel, the lawyers in new york can do anything; i've read of cases. but you must be comfortable now. we've brought some of your clothes, at the hotel. what else, can we get for you?" laura suggested that she would like some sheets for her bed, a piece of carpet to step on, and her meals sent in; and some books and writing materials if it was allowed. the colonel and washington promised to procure all these things, and then took their sorrowful leave, a great deal more affected than the criminal was, apparently, by her situation. the colonel told the matron as he went away that if she would look to laura's comfort a little it shouldn't be the worse for her; and to the turnkey who let them out he patronizingly said, "you've got a big establishment here, a credit to the city. i've got a friend in there--i shall see you again, sir." by the next day something more of laura's own story began to appear in the newspapers, colored and heightened by reporters' rhetoric. some of them cast a lurid light upon the colonel's career, and represented his victim as a beautiful avenger of her murdered innocence; and others pictured her as his willing paramour and pitiless slayer. her communications to the reporters were stopped by her lawyers as soon as they were retained and visited her, but this fact did not prevent--it may have facilitated--the appearance of casual paragraphs here and there which were likely to beget popular sympathy for the poor girl. the occasion did not pass without "improvement" by the leading journals; and philip preserved the editorial comments of three or four of them which pleased him most. these he used to read aloud to his friends afterwards and ask them to guess from which journal each of them had been cut. one began in this simple manner:-- history never repeats itself, but the kaleidoscopic combinations of the pictured present often seem to be constructed out of the broken fragments of antique legends. washington is not corinth, and lais, the beautiful daughter of timandra, might not have been the prototype of the ravishing laura, daughter of the plebeian house of hawkins; but the orators add statesmen who were the purchasers of the favors of the one, may have been as incorruptible as the republican statesmen who learned how to love and how to vote from the sweet lips of the washington lobbyist; and perhaps the modern lais would never have departed from the national capital if there had been there even one republican xenocrates who resisted her blandishments. but here the parallel: fails. lais, wandering away with the youth rippostratus, is slain by the women who are jealous of her charms. laura, straying into her thessaly with the youth brierly, slays her other lover and becomes the champion of the wrongs of her sex. another journal began its editorial with less lyrical beauty, but with equal force. it closed as follows:-- with laura hawkins, fair, fascinating and fatal, and with the dissolute colonel of a lost cause, who has reaped the harvest he sowed, we have nothing to do. but as the curtain rises on this awful tragedy, we catch a glimpse of the society at the capital under this administration, which we cannot contemplate without alarm for the fate of the republic. a third newspaper took up the subject in a different tone. it said:-- our repeated predictions are verified. the pernicious doctrines which we have announced as prevailing in american society have been again illustrated. the name of the city is becoming a reproach. we may have done something in averting its ruin in our resolute exposure of the great frauds; we shall not be deterred from insisting that the outraged laws for the protection of human life shall be vindicated now, so that a person can walk the streets or enter the public houses, at least in the day-time, without the risk of a bullet through his brain. a fourth journal began its remarks as follows:-- the fullness with which we present our readers this morning the details of the selby-hawkins homicide is a miracle of modern journalism. subsequent investigation can do little to fill out the picture. it is the old story. a beautiful woman shoots her absconding lover in cold-blood; and we shall doubtless learn in due time that if she was not as mad as a hare in this month of march, she was at least laboring under what is termed "momentary insanity." it would not be too much to say that upon the first publication of the facts of the tragedy, there was an almost universal feeling of rage against the murderess in the tombs, and that reports of her beauty only heightened the indignation. it was as if she presumed upon that and upon her sex, to defy the law; and there was a fervent, hope that the law would take its plain course. yet laura was not without friends, and some of them very influential too. she had in keeping a great many secrets and a great many reputations, perhaps. who shall set himself up to judge human motives. why, indeed, might we not feel pity for a woman whose brilliant career had been so suddenly extinguished in misfortune and crime? those who had known her so well in washington might find it impossible to believe that the fascinating woman could have had murder in her heart, and would readily give ear to the current sentimentality about the temporary aberration of mind under the stress of personal calamity. senator dilworthy, was greatly shocked, of course, but he was full of charity for the erring. "we shall all need mercy," he said. "laura as an inmate of my family was a most exemplary female, amiable, affectionate and truthful, perhaps too fond of gaiety, and neglectful of the externals of religion, but a woman of principle. she may have had experiences of which i am ignorant, but she could not have gone to this extremity if she had been in her own right mind." to the senator's credit be it said, he was willing to help laura and her family in this dreadful trial. she, herself, was not without money, for the washington lobbyist is not seldom more fortunate than the washington claimant, and she was able to procure a good many luxuries to mitigate the severity of her prison life. it enabled her also to have her own family near her, and to see some of them daily. the tender solicitude of her mother, her childlike grief, and her firm belief in the real guiltlessness of her daughter, touched even the custodians of the tombs who are enured to scenes of pathos. mrs. hawkins had hastened to her daughter as soon as she received money for the journey. she had no reproaches, she had only tenderness and pity. she could not shut out the dreadful facts of the case, but it had been enough for her that laura had said, in their first interview, "mother, i did not know what i was doing." she obtained lodgings near, the prison and devoted her life to her daughter, as if she had been really her own child. she would have remained in the prison day and night if it had been permitted. she was aged and feeble, but this great necessity seemed to give her new life. the pathetic story of the old lady's ministrations, and her simplicity and faith, also got into the newspapers in time, and probably added to the pathos of this wrecked woman's fate, which was beginning to be felt by the public. it was certain that she had champions who thought that her wrongs ought to be placed against her crime, and expressions of this feeling came to her in various ways. visitors came to see her, and gifts of fruit and flowers were sent, which brought some cheer into her hard and gloomy cell. laura had declined to see either philip or harry, somewhat to the former's relief, who had a notion that she would necessarily feel humiliated by seeing him after breaking faith with him, but to the discomfiture of harry, who still felt her fascination, and thought her refusal heartless. he told philip that of course he had got through with such a woman, but he wanted to see her. philip, to keep him from some new foolishness, persuaded him to go with him to philadelphia; and, give his valuable services in the mining operations at ilium. the law took its course with laura. she was indicted for murder in the first degree and held for trial at the summer term. the two most distinguished criminal lawyers in the city had been retained for her defence, and to that the resolute woman devoted her days with a courage that rose as she consulted with her counsel and understood the methods of criminal procedure in new york. she was greatly depressed, however, by the news from washington. congress adjourned and her bill had failed to pass the senate. it must wait for the next session. chapter xlviii it had been a bad winter, somehow, for the firm of pennybacker, bigler and small. these celebrated contractors usually made more money during the session of the legislature at harrisburg than upon all their summer work, and this winter had been unfruitful. it was unaccountable to bigler. "you see, mr. bolton," he said, and philip was present at the conversation, "it puts us all out. it looks as if politics was played out. we'd counted on the year of simon's re-election. and, now, he's reelected, and i've yet to see the first man who's the better for it." "you don't mean to say," asked philip, "that he went in without paying anything?" "not a cent, not a dash cent, as i can hear," repeated mr. bigler, indignantly. "i call it a swindle on the state. how it was done gets me. i never saw such a tight time for money in harrisburg." "were there no combinations, no railroad jobs, no mining schemes put through in connection with the election? "not that i knew," said bigler, shaking his head in disgust. "in fact it was openly said, that there was no money in the election. it's perfectly unheard of." "perhaps," suggested philip, "it was effected on what the insurance companies call the 'endowment,' or the 'paid up' plan, by which a policy is secured after a certain time without further payment." "you think then," said mr. bolton smiling, "that a liberal and sagacious politician might own a legislature after a time, and not be bothered with keeping up his payments?" "whatever it is," interrupted mr. bigler, "it's devilish ingenious and goes ahead of my calculations; it's cleaned me out, when i thought we had a dead sure thing. i tell you what it is, gentlemen, i shall go in for reform. things have got pretty mixed when a legislature will give away a united states senatorship." it was melancholy, but mr. bigler was not a man to be crushed by one misfortune, or to lose his confidence in human nature, on one exhibition of apparent honesty. he was already on his feet again, or would be if mr. bolton could tide him over shoal water for ninety days. "we've got something with money in it," he explained to mr. bolton, "got hold of it by good luck. we've got the entire contract for dobson's patent pavement for the city of mobile. see here." mr. bigler made some figures; contract so; much, cost of work and materials so much, profits so much. at the end of three months the city would owe the company three hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars-two hundred thousand of that would be profits. the whole job was worth at least a million to the company--it might be more. there could be no mistake in these figures; here was the contract, mr. bolton knew what materials were worth and what the labor would cost. mr. bolton knew perfectly well from sore experience that there was always a mistake in figures when bigler or small made them, and he knew that he ought to send the fellow about his business. instead of that, he let him talk. they only wanted to raise fifty thousand dollars to carry on the contract--that expended they would have city bonds. mr. bolton said he hadn't the money. but bigler could raise it on his name. mr. bolton said he had no right to put his family to that risk. but the entire contract could be assigned to him--the security was ample--it was a fortune to him if it was forfeited. besides mr. bigler had been unfortunate, he didn't know where to look for the necessaries of life for his family. if he could only have one more chance, he was sure he could right himself. he begged for it. and mr. bolton yielded. he could never refuse such appeals. if he had befriended a man once and been cheated by him, that man appeared to have a claim upon him forever. he shrank, however, from telling his wife what he had done on this occasion, for he knew that if any person was more odious than small to his family it was bigler. "philip tells me," mrs. bolton said that evening, "that the man bigler has been with thee again to-day. i hope thee will have nothing more to do with him." "he has been very unfortunate," replied mr. bolton, uneasily. "he is always unfortunate, and he is always getting thee into trouble. but thee didn't listen to him again?" "well, mother, his family is in want, and i lent him my name--but i took ample security. the worst that can happen will be a little inconvenience." mrs. bolton looked grave and anxious, but she did not complain or remonstrate; she knew what a "little inconvenience" meant, but she knew there was no help for it. if mr. bolton had been on his way to market to buy a dinner for his family with the only dollar he had in the world in his pocket, he would have given it to a chance beggar who asked him for it. mrs. bolton only asked (and the question showed that she was no mere provident than her husband where her heart was interested), "but has thee provided money for philip to use in opening the coal mine?" "yes, i have set apart as much as it ought to cost to open the mine, as much as we can afford to lose if no coal is found. philip has the control of it, as equal partner in the venture, deducting the capital invested. he has great confidence in his success, and i hope for his sake he won't be disappointed." philip could not but feel that he was treated very much like one of the bolton-family--by all except ruth. his mother, when he went home after his recovery from his accident, had affected to be very jealous of mrs. bolton, about whom and ruth she asked a thousand questions --an affectation of jealousy which no doubt concealed a real heartache, which comes to every mother when her son goes out into the world and forms new ties. and to mrs. sterling; a widow, living on a small income in a remote massachusetts village, philadelphia was a city of many splendors. all its inhabitants seemed highly favored, dwelling in ease and surrounded by superior advantages. some of her neighbors had relations living in philadelphia, and it seemed to them somehow a guarantee of respectability to have relations in philadelphia. mrs. sterling was not sorry to have philip make his way among such well-to-do people, and she was sure that no good fortune could be too good for his deserts. "so, sir," said ruth, when philip came from new york, "you have been assisting in a pretty tragedy. i saw your name in the papers. is this woman a specimen of your western friends?" "my only assistance," replied philip, a little annoyed, was in trying to keep harry out of a bad scrape, and i failed after all. he walked into her trap, and he has been punished for it. i'm going to take him up to ilium to see if he won't work steadily at one thing, and quit his nonsense." "is she as beautiful as the newspapers say she is?" "i don't know, she has a kind of beauty--she is not like--' "not like alice?" "well, she is brilliant; she was called the handsomest woman in washington--dashing, you know, and sarcastic and witty. ruth, do you believe a woman ever becomes a devil?" "men do, and i don't know why women shouldn't. but i never saw one." "well, laura hawkins comes very near it. but it is dreadful to think of her fate." "why, do you suppose they will hang a woman? do you suppose they will be so barbarous as that?" "i wasn't thinking of that--it's doubtful if a new york jury would find a woman guilty of any such crime. but to think of her life if she is acquitted." "it is dreadful," said ruth, thoughtfully, "but the worst of it is that you men do not want women educated to do anything, to be able to earn an honest living by their own exertions. they are educated as if they were always to be petted and supported, and there was never to be any such thing as misfortune. i suppose, now, that you would all choose to have me stay idly at home, and give up my profession." "oh, no," said philip, earnestly, "i respect your resolution. but, ruth, do you think you would be happier or do more good in following your profession than in having a home of your own?" "what is to hinder having a home of my, own?" "nothing, perhaps, only you never would be in it--you would be away day and night, if you had any practice; and what sort of a home would that make for your husband?" "what sort of a home is it for the wife whose husband is always away riding about in his doctor's gig?" "ah, you know that is not fair. the woman makes the home." philip and ruth often had this sort of discussion, to which philip was always trying to give a personal turn. he was now about to go to ilium for the season, and he did not like to go without some assurance from ruth that she might perhaps love him some day; when he was worthy of it, and when he could offer her something better than a partnership in his poverty. "i should work with a great deal better heart, ruth," he said the morning he was taking leave, "if i knew you cared for me a little." ruth was looking down; the color came faintly to her cheeks, and she hesitated. she needn't be looking down, he thought, for she was ever so much shorter than tall philip. "it's not much of a place, ilium," philip went on, as if a little geographical remark would fit in here as well as anything else, "and i shall have plenty of time to think over the responsibility i have taken, and--" his observation did not seem to be coming out any where. but ruth looked up, and there was a light in her eyes that quickened phil's pulse. she took his hand, and said with serious sweetness: "thee mustn't lose heart, philip." and then she added, in another mood, "thee knows i graduate in the summer and shall have my diploma. and if any thing happens--mines explode sometimes--thee can send for me. farewell." the opening of the ilium coal mine was begun with energy, but without many omens of success. philip was running a tunnel into the breast of the mountain, in faith that the coal stratum ran there as it ought to. how far he must go in he believed he knew, but no one could tell exactly. some of the miners said that they should probably go through the mountain, and that the hole could be used for a railway tunnel. the mining camp was a busy place at any rate. quite a settlement of board and log shanties had gone up, with a blacksmith shop, a small machine shop, and a temporary store for supplying the wants of the workmen. philip and harry pitched a commodious tent, and lived in the full enjoyment of the free life. there is no difficulty in digging a bole in the ground, if you have money enough to pay for the digging, but those who try this sort of work are always surprised at the large amount of money necessary to make a small hole. the earth is never willing to yield one product, hidden in her bosom, without an equivalent for it. and when a person asks of her coal, she is quite apt to require gold in exchange. it was exciting work for all concerned in it. as the tunnel advanced into the rock every day promised to be the golden day. this very blast might disclose the treasure. the work went on week after week, and at length during the night as well as the daytime. gangs relieved each other, and the tunnel was every hour, inch by inch and foot by foot, crawling into the mountain. philip was on the stretch of hope and excitement. every pay day he saw his funds melting away, and still there was only the faintest show of what the miners call "signs." the life suited harry, whose buoyant hopefulness was never disturbed. he made endless calculations, which nobody could understand, of the probable position of the vein. he stood about among the workmen with the busiest air. when he was down at ilium he called himself the engineer of the works, and he used to spend hours smoking his pipe with the dutch landlord on the hotel porch, and astonishing the idlers there with the stories of his railroad operations in missouri. he talked with the landlord, too, about enlarging his hotel, and about buying some village lots, in the prospect of a rise, when the mine was opened. he taught the dutchman how to mix a great many cooling drinks for the summer time, and had a bill at the hotel, the growing length of which mr. dusenheimer contemplated with pleasant anticipations. mr. brierly was a very useful and cheering person wherever he went. midsummer arrived: philip could report to mr. bolton only progress, and this was not a cheerful message for him to send to philadelphia in reply to inquiries that he thought became more and more anxious. philip himself was a prey to the constant fear that the money would give out before the coal was struck. at this time harry was summoned to new york, to attend the trial of laura hawkins. it was possible that philip would have to go also, her lawyer wrote, but they hoped for a postponement. there was important evidence that they could not yet obtain, and he hoped the judge would not force them to a trial unprepared. there were many reasons for a delay, reasons which of course are never mentioned, but which it would seem that a new york judge sometimes must understand, when he grants a postponement upon a motion that seems to the public altogether inadequate. harry went, but he soon came back. the trial was put off. every week we can gain, said the learned counsel, braham, improves our chances. the popular rage never lasts long. chapter xlix. "we've struck it!" this was the announcement at the tent door that woke philip out of a sound sleep at dead of night, and shook all the sleepiness out of him in a trice. "what! where is it? when? coal? let me see it. what quality is it?" were some of the rapid questions that philip poured out as he hurriedly dressed. "harry, wake up, my boy, the coal train is coming. struck it, eh? let's see?" the foreman put down his lantern, and handed philip a black lump. there was no mistake about it, it was the hard, shining anthracite, and its freshly fractured surface, glistened in the light like polished steel. diamond never shone with such lustre in the eyes of philip. harry was exuberant, but philip's natural caution found expression in his next remark. "now, roberts, you are sure about this?" "what--sure that it's coal?" "o, no, sure that it's the main vein." "well, yes. we took it to be that" "did you from the first?" "i can't say we did at first. no, we didn't. most of the indications were there, but not all of them, not all of them. so we thought we'd prospect a bit." "well?" "it was tolerable thick, and looked as if it might be the vein--looked as if it ought to be the vein. then we went down on it a little. looked better all the time." "when did you strike it?" "about ten o'clock." "then you've been prospecting about four hours." "yes, been sinking on it something over four hours." "i'm afraid you couldn't go down very far in four hours--could you?" "o yes--it's a good deal broke up, nothing but picking and gadding stuff." "well, it does look encouraging, sure enough--but then the lacking indications--" "i'd rather we had them, mr. sterling, but i've seen more than one good permanent mine struck without 'em in my time." "well, that is encouraging too." "yes, there was the union, the alabama and the black mohawk--all good, sound mines, you know--all just exactly like this one when we first struck them." "well, i begin to feel a good deal more easy. i guess we've really got it. i remember hearing them tell about the black mohawk." "i'm free to say that i believe it, and the men all think so too. they are all old hands at this business." "come harry, let's go up and look at it, just for the comfort of it," said philip. they came back in the course of an hour, satisfied and happy. there was no more sleep for them that night. they lit their pipes, put a specimen of the coal on the table, and made it a kind of loadstone of thought and conversation. "of course," said harry, "there will have to be a branch track built, and a 'switch-back' up the hill." "yes, there will be no trouble about getting the money for that now. we could sell-out tomorrow for a handsome sum. that sort of coal doesn't go begging within a mile of a rail-road. i wonder if mr. bolton' would rather sell out or work it?" "oh, work it," says harry, "probably the whole mountain is coal now you've got to it." "possibly it might not be much of a vein after all," suggested philip. "possibly it is; i'll bet it's forty feet thick. i told you. i knew the sort of thing as soon as i put my eyes on it." philip's next thought was to write to his friends and announce their good fortune. to mr. bolton he wrote a short, business letter, as calm as he could make it. they had found coal of excellent quality, but they could not yet tell with absolute certainty what the vein was. the prospecting was still going on. philip also wrote to ruth; but though this letter may have glowed, it was not with the heat of burning anthracite. he needed no artificial heat to warm his pen and kindle his ardor when he sat down to write to ruth. but it must be confessed that the words never flowed so easily before, and he ran on for an hour disporting in all the extravagance of his imagination. when ruth read it, she doubted if the fellow had not gone out of his senses. and it was not until she reached the postscript that she discovered the cause of the exhilaration. "p. s.--we have found coal." the news couldn't have come to mr. bolton in better time. he had never been so sorely pressed. a dozen schemes which he had in hand, any one of which might turn up a fortune, all languished, and each needed just a little more, money to save that which had been invested. he hadn't a piece of real estate that was not covered with mortgages, even to the wild tract which philip was experimenting on, and which had, no marketable value above the incumbrance on it. he had come home that day early, unusually dejected. "i am afraid," he said to his wife, "that we shall have to give up our house. i don't care for myself, but for thee and the children." "that will be the least of misfortunes," said mrs. bolton, cheerfully, "if thee can clear thyself from debt and anxiety, which is wearing thee out, we can live any where. thee knows we were never happier than when we were in a much humbler home." "the truth is, margaret, that affair of bigler and small's has come on me just when i couldn't stand another ounce. they have made another failure of it. i might have known they would; and the sharpers, or fools, i don't know which, have contrived to involve me for three times as much as the first obligation. the security is in my hands, but it is good for nothing to me. i have not the money to do anything with the contract." ruth heard this dismal news without great surprise. she had long felt that they were living on a volcano, that might go in to active operation at any hour. inheriting from her father an active brain and the courage to undertake new things, she had little of his sanguine temperament which blinds one to difficulties and possible failures. she had little confidence in the many schemes which had been about to lift her father out of all his embarrassments and into great wealth, ever since she was a child; as she grew older, she rather wondered that they were as prosperous as they seemed to be, and that they did not all go to smash amid so many brilliant projects. she was nothing but a woman, and did not know how much of the business prosperity of the world is only a, bubble of credit and speculation, one scheme helping to float another which is no better than it, and the whole liable to come to naught and confusion as soon as the busy brain that conceived them ceases its power to devise, or when some accident produces a sudden panic. "perhaps, i shall be the stay of the family, yet," said ruth, with an approach to gaiety; "when we move into a little house in town, will thee let me put a little sign on the door: dr. ruth bolton?" "mrs. dr. longstreet, thee knows, has a great income." "who will pay for the sign, ruth?" asked mr. bolton. a servant entered with the afternoon mail from the office. mr. bolton took his letters listlessly, dreading to open them. he knew well what they contained, new difficulties, more urgent demands fox money. "oh, here is one from philip. poor fellow. i shall feel his disappointment as much as my own bad luck. it is hard to bear when one is young." he opened the letter and read. as he read his face lightened, and he fetched such a sigh of relief, that mrs. bolton and ruth both exclaimed. "read that," he cried, "philip has found coal!" the world was changed in a moment. one little sentence had done it. there was no more trouble. philip had found coal. that meant relief. that meant fortune. a great weight was taken off, and the spirits of the whole household rose magically. good money! beautiful demon of money, what an enchanter thou art! ruth felt that she was of less consequence in the household, now that philip had found coal, and perhaps she was not sorry to feel so. mr. bolton was ten years younger the next morning. he went into the city, and showed his letter on change. it was the sort of news his friends were quite willing to listen to. they took a new interest in him. if it was confirmed, bolton would come right up again. there would be no difficulty about his getting all the money he wanted. the money market did not seem to be half so tight as it was the day before. mr. bolton spent a very pleasant day in his office, and went home revolving some new plans, and the execution of some projects he had long been prevented from entering upon by the lack of money. the day had been spent by philip in no less excitement. by daylight, with philip's letters to the mail, word had gone down to ilium that coal had been found, and very early a crowd of eager spectators had come up to see for themselves. the "prospecting" continued day and night for upwards of a week, and during the first four or five days the indications grew more and more promising, and the telegrams and letters kept mr. bolton duly posted. but at last a change came, and the promises began to fail with alarming rapidity. in the end it was demonstrated without the possibility of a doubt that the great "find" was nothing but a worthless seam. philip was cast down, all the more so because he had been so foolish as to send the news to philadelphia before he knew what he was writing about. and now he must contradict it. "it turns out to be only a mere seam," he wrote, "but we look upon it as an indication of better further in." alas! mr. bolton's affairs could not wait for "indications." the future might have a great deal in store, but the present was black and hopeless. it was doubtful if any sacrifice could save him from ruin. yet sacrifice he must make, and that instantly, in the hope of saving something from the wreck of his fortune. his lovely country home must go. that would bring the most ready money. the house that he had built with loving thought for each one of his family, as he planned its luxurious apartments and adorned it; the grounds that he had laid out, with so much delight in following the tastes of his wife, with whom the country, the cultivation of rare trees and flowers, the care of garden and lawn and conservatories were a passion almost; this home, which he had hoped his children would enjoy long after he had done with it, must go. the family bore the sacrifice better than he did. they declared in fact --women are such hypocrites--that they quite enjoyed the city (it was in august) after living so long in the country, that it was a thousand tunes more convenient in every respect; mrs. bolton said it was a relief from the worry of a large establishment, and ruth reminded her father that she should have had to come to town anyway before long. mr. bolton was relieved, exactly as a water-logged ship is lightened by throwing overboard the most valuable portion of the cargo--but the leak was not stopped. indeed his credit was injured instead of helped by the prudent step be had taken. it was regarded as a sure evidence of his embarrassment, and it was much more difficult for him to obtain help than if he had, instead of retrenching, launched into some new speculation. philip was greatly troubled, and exaggerated his own share in the bringing about of the calamity. "you must not look at it so!" mr. bolton wrote him. "you have neither helped nor hindered--but you know you may help by and by. it would have all happened just so, if we had never begun to dig that hole. that is only a drop. work away. i still have hope that something will occur to relieve me. at any rate we must not give up the mine, so long as we have any show." alas! the relief did not come. new misfortunes came instead. when the extent of the bigler swindle was disclosed there was no more hope that mr. bolton could extricate himself, and he had, as an honest man, no resource except to surrender all his property for the benefit of his creditors. the autumn came and found philip working with diminished force but still with hope. he had again and again been encouraged by good "indications," but he had again and again been disappointed. he could not go on much longer, and almost everybody except himself had thought it was useless to go on as long as he had been doing. when the news came of mr. bolton's failure, of course the work stopped. the men were discharged, the tools were housed, the hopeful noise of pickman and driver ceased, and the mining camp had that desolate and mournful aspect which always hovers over a frustrated enterprise. philip sat down amid the ruins, and almost wished he were buried in them. how distant ruth was now from him, now, when she might need him most. how changed was all the philadelphia world, which had hitherto stood for the exemplification of happiness and prosperity. he still had faith that there was coal in that mountain. he made a picture of himself living there a hermit in a shanty by the tunnel, digging away with solitary pick and wheelbarrow, day after day and year after year, until he grew gray and aged, and was known in all that region as the old man of the mountain. perhaps some day--he felt it must be so some day--he should strike coal. but what if he did? who would be alive to care for it then? what would he care for it then? no, a man wants riches in his youth, when the world is fresh to him. he wondered why providence could not have reversed the usual process, and let the majority of men begin with wealth and gradually spend it, and die poor when they no longer needed it. harry went back to the city. it was evident that his services were no longer needed. indeed, he had letters from his uncle, which he did not read to philip, desiring him to go to san francisco to look after some government contracts in the harbor there. philip had to look about him for something to do; he was like adam; the world was all before him whereto choose. he made, before he went elsewhere, a somewhat painful visit to philadelphia, painful but yet not without its sweetnesses. the family had never shown him so much affection before; they all seemed to think his disappointment of more importance than their own misfortune. and there was that in ruth's manner--in what she gave him and what she withheld--that would have made a hero of a very much less promising character than philip sterling. among the assets of the bolton property, the ilium tract was sold, and philip bought it in at the vendue, for a song, for no one cared to even undertake the mortgage on it except himself. he went away the owner of it, and had ample time before he reached home in november, to calculate how much poorer he was by possessing it. chapter l. it is impossible for the historian, with even the best intentions, to control events or compel the persons of his narrative to act wisely or to be successful. it is easy to see how things might have been better managed; a very little change here and there would have made a very, different history of this one now in hand. if philip had adopted some regular profession, even some trade, he might now be a prosperous editor or a conscientious plumber, or an honest lawyer, and have borrowed money at the saving's bank and built a cottage, and be now furnishing it for the occupancy of ruth and himself. instead of this, with only a smattering of civil engineering, he is at his mother's house, fretting and fuming over his ill-luck, and the hardness and, dishonesty of men, and thinking of nothing but how to get the coal out of the ilium hills. if senator dilworthy had not made that visit to hawkeye, the hawkins family and col. sellers would not now be dancing attendance upon congress, and endeavoring to tempt that immaculate body into one of those appropriations, for the benefit of its members, which the members find it so difficult to explain to their constituents; and laura would not be lying in the tombs, awaiting her trial for murder, and doing her best, by the help of able counsel, to corrupt the pure fountain of criminal procedure in new york. if henry brierly had been blown up on the first mississippi steamboat he set foot on, as the chances were that he would be, he and col. sellers never would have gone into the columbus navigation scheme, and probably never into the east tennessee land scheme, and he would not now be detained in new york from very important business operations on the pacific coast, for the sole purpose of giving evidence to convict of murder the only woman he ever loved half as much as he loves himself. if mr. bolton had said the little word "no" to mr. bigler, alice montague might now be spending the winter in philadelphia, and philip also (waiting to resume his mining operations in the spring); and ruth would not be an assistant in a philadelphia hospital, taxing her strength with arduous routine duties, day by day, in order to lighten a little the burdens that weigh upon her unfortunate family. it is altogether a bad business. an honest historian, who had progressed thus far, and traced everything to such a condition of disaster and suspension, might well be justified in ending his narrative and writing --"after this the deluge." his only consolation would be in the reflection that he was not responsible for either characters or events. and the most annoying thought is that a little money, judiciously applied, would relieve the burdens and anxieties of most of these people; but affairs seem to be so arranged that money is most difficult to get when people need it most. a little of what mr. bolton has weakly given to unworthy people would now establish his family in a sort of comfort, and relieve ruth of the excessive toil for which she inherited no adequate physical vigor. a little money would make a prince of col. sellers; and a little more would calm the anxiety of washington hawkins about laura, for however the trial ended, he could feel sure of extricating her in the end. and if philip had a little money he could unlock the stone door in the mountain whence would issue a stream of shining riches. it needs a golden wand to strike that rock. if the knobs university bill could only go through, what a change would be wrought in the condition of most of the persons in this history. even philip himself would feel the good effects of it; for harry would have something and col. sellers would have something; and have not both these cautious people expressed a determination to take an interest in the ilium mine when they catch their larks? philip could not resist the inclination to pay a visit to fallkill. he had not been at the montague's since the time he saw ruth there, and he wanted to consult the squire about an occupation. he was determined now to waste no more time in waiting on providence, but to go to work at something, if it were nothing better, than teaching in the fallkill seminary, or digging clams on hingham beach. perhaps he could read law in squire montague's office while earning his bread as a teacher in the seminary. it was not altogether philip's fault, let us own, that he was in this position. there are many young men like him in american society, of his age, opportunities, education and abilities, who have really been educated for nothing and have let themselves drift, in the hope that they will find somehow, and by some sudden turn of good luck, the golden road to fortune. he was not idle or lazy, he had energy and a disposition to carve his own way. but he was born into a time when all young men of his age caught the fever of speculation, and expected to get on in the world by the omission of some of the regular processes which have been appointed from of old. and examples were not wanting to encourage him. he saw people, all around him, poor yesterday, rich to-day, who had come into sudden opulence by some means which they could not have classified among any of the regular occupations of life. a war would give such a fellow a career and very likely fame. he might have been a "railroad man," or a politician, or a land speculator, or one of those mysterious people who travel free on all rail-roads and steamboats, and are continually crossing and recrossing the atlantic, driven day and night about nobody knows what, and make a great deal of money by so doing. probably, at last, he sometimes thought with a whimsical smile, he should end by being an insurance agent, and asking people to insure their lives for his benefit. possibly philip did not think how much the attractions of fallkill were increased by the presence of alice there. he had known her so long, she had somehow grown into his life by habit, that he would expect the pleasure of her society without thinking mach about it. latterly he never thought of her without thinking of ruth, and if he gave the subject any attention, it was probably in an undefined consciousness that, he had her sympathy in his love, and that she was always willing to hear him talk about it. if he ever wondered that alice herself was not in love and never spoke of the possibility of her own marriage, it was a transient thought for love did not seem necessary, exactly, to one so calm and evenly balanced and with so many resources in her herself. whatever her thoughts may have been they were unknown to philip, as they are to these historians; if she was seeming to be what she was not, and carrying a burden heavier than any one else carried, because she had to bear it alone, she was only doing what thousands of women do, with a self-renunciation and heroism, of which men, impatient and complaining, have no conception. have not these big babies with beards filled all literature with their outcries, their griefs and their lamentations? it is always the gentle sex which is hard and cruel and fickle and implacable. "do you think you would be contented to live in fallkill, and attend the county court?" asked alice, when philip had opened the budget of his new programme. "perhaps not always," said philip, "i might go and practice in boston maybe, or go to chicago." "or you might get elected to congress." philip looked at alice to see if she was in earnest and not chaffing him. her face was quite sober. alice was one of those patriotic women in the rural districts, who think men are still selected for congress on account of qualifications for the office. "no," said philip, "the chances are that a man cannot get into congress now without resorting to arts and means that should render hint unfit to go there; of course there are exceptions; but do you know that i could not go into politics if i were a lawyer, without losing standing somewhat in my profession, and without raising at least a suspicion of my intentions and unselfishness? why, it is telegraphed all over the country and commented on as something wonderful if a congressman votes honestly and unselfishly and refuses to take advantage of his position to steal from the government." "but," insisted alice, "i should think it a noble ambition to go to congress, if it is so bad, and help reform it. i don't believe it is as corrupt as the english parliament used to be, if there is any truth in the novels, and i suppose that is reformed." "i'm sure i don't know where the reform is to begin. i've seen a perfectly capable, honest man, time and again, run against an illiterate trickster, and get beaten. i suppose if the people wanted decent members of congress they would elect them. perhaps," continued philip with a smile, "the women will have to vote." "well, i should be willing to, if it were a necessity, just as i would go to war and do what i could, if the country couldn't be saved otherwise," said alice, with a spirit that surprised philip, well as he thought he knew her. "if i were a young gentleman in these times--" philip laughed outright. "it's just what ruth used to say, 'if she were a man.' i wonder if all the young ladies are contemplating a change of sex." "no, only a changed sex," retorted alice; "we contemplate for the most part young men who don't care for anything they ought to care for." "well," said philip, looking humble, "i care for some things, you and ruth for instance; perhaps i ought not to. perhaps i ought to care for congress and that sort of thing." "don't be a goose, philip. i heard from ruth yesterday." "can i see her letter?" "no, indeed. but i am afraid her hard work is telling on her, together with her anxiety about her father." "do you think, alice," asked philip with one of those selfish thoughts that are not seldom mixed with real love, "that ruth prefers her profession to--to marriage?" "philip," exclaimed alice, rising to quit the room, and speaking hurriedly as if the words were forced from her, "you are as blind as a bat; ruth would cut off her right hand for you this minute." philip never noticed that alice's face was flushed and that her voice was unsteady; he only thought of the delicious words he had heard. and the poor girl, loyal to ruth, loyal to philip, went straight to her room, locked the door, threw herself on the bed and sobbed as if her heart world break. and then she prayed that her father in heaven would give her strength. and after a time she was calm again, and went to her bureau drawer and took from a hiding place a little piece of paper, yellow with age. upon it was pinned a four-leaved clover, dry and yellow also. she looked long at this foolish memento. under the clover leaf was written in a school-girl's hand--"philip, june, -." squire montague thought very well of philip's proposal. it would have been better if he had begun the study of the law as soon as he left college, but it was not too late now, and besides he had gathered some knowledge of the world. "but," asked the squire, "do you mean to abandon your land in pennsylvania?" this track of land seemed an immense possible fortune to this new england lawyer-farmer. hasn't it good timber, and doesn't the railroad almost touch it?" "i can't do anything with it now. perhaps i can sometime." "what is your reason for supposing that there is coal there?" "the opinion of the best geologist i could consult, my own observation of the country, and the little veins of it we found. i feel certain it is there. i shall find it some day. i know it. if i can only keep the land till i make money enough to try again." philip took from his pocket a map of the anthracite coal region, and pointed out the position of the ilium mountain which he had begun to tunnel. "doesn't it look like it?" "it certainly does," said the squire, very much interested. it is not unusual for a quiet country gentleman to be more taken with such a venture than a speculator who, has had more experience in its uncertainty. it was astonishing how many new england clergymen, in the time of the petroleum excitement, took chances in oil. the wall street brokers are said to do a good deal of small business for country clergymen, who are moved no doubt with the laudable desire of purifying the new york stock board. "i don't see that there is much risk," said the squire, at length. "the timber is worth more than the mortgage; and if that coal seam does run there, it's a magnificent fortune. would you like to try it again in the spring, phil?" like to try it! if he could have a little help, he would work himself, with pick and barrow, and live on a crust. only give him one more chance. and this is how it came about that the cautious old squire montague was drawn into this young fellow's speculation, and began to have his serene old age disturbed by anxieties and by the hope of a great stroke of luck. "to be sure, i only care about it for the boy," he said. the squire was like everybody else; sooner or later he must "take a chance." it is probably on account of the lack of enterprise in women that they are not so fond of stock speculations and mine ventures as men. it is only when woman becomes demoralized that she takes to any sort of gambling. neither alice nor ruth were much elated with the prospect of philip's renewal of his mining enterprise. but philip was exultant. he wrote to ruth as if his fortune were already made, and as if the clouds that lowered over the house of bolton were already in the deep bosom of a coal mine buried. towards spring he went to philadelphia with his plans all matured for a new campaign. his enthusiasm was irresistible. "philip has come, philip has come," cried the children, as if some great good had again come into the household; and the refrain even sang itself over in ruth's heart as she went the weary hospital rounds. mr. bolton felt more courage than he had had in months, at the sight of his manly face and the sound of his cheery voice. ruth's course was vindicated now, and it certainly did not become philip, who had nothing to offer but a future chance against the visible result of her determination and industry, to open an argument with her. ruth was never more certain that she was right and that she was sufficient unto herself. she, may be, did not much heed the still small voice that sang in her maiden heart as she went about her work, and which lightened it and made it easy, "philip has come." "i am glad for father's sake," she said to philip, that thee has come. "i can see that he depends greatly upon what thee can do. he thinks women won't hold out long," added ruth with the smile that philip never exactly understood. "and aren't you tired sometimes of the struggle?" "tired? yes, everybody is tired i suppose. but it is a glorious profession. and would you want me to be dependent, philip?" "well, yes, a little," said philip, feeling his way towards what he wanted to say. "on what, for instance, just now?" asked ruth, a little maliciously philip thought. "why, on----" he couldn't quite say it, for it occurred to him that he was a poor stick for any body to lean on in the present state of his fortune, and that the woman before him was at least as independent as he was. "i don't mean depend," he began again. "but i love you, that's all. am i nothing--to you?" and philip looked a little defiant, and as if he had said something that ought to brush away all the sophistries of obligation on either side, between man and woman. perhaps ruth saw this. perhaps she saw that her own theories of a certain equality of power, which ought to precede a union of two hearts, might be pushed too far. perhaps she had felt sometimes her own weakness and the need after all of so dear a sympathy and so tender an interest confessed, as that which philip could give. whatever moved her--the riddle is as old as creation--she simply looked up to philip and said in a low voice, "everything." and philip clasping both her hands in his, and looking down into her eyes, which drank in all his tenderness with the thirst of a true woman's nature-- "oh! philip, come out here," shouted young eli, throwing the door wide open. and ruth escaped away to her room, her heart singing again, and now as if it would burst for joy, "philip has come." that night philip received a dispatch from harry--"the trial begins tomorrow." chapter, li december --, found washington hawkins and col. sellers once more at the capitol of the nation, standing guard over the university bill. the former gentleman was despondent, the latter hopeful. washington's distress of mind was chiefly on laura's account. the court would soon sit to try her, case, he said, and consequently a great deal of ready money would be needed in the engineering of it. the university bill was sure to pass this, time, and that would make money plenty, but might not the, help come too late? congress had only just assembled, and delays were to be feared. "well," said the colonel, "i don't know but you are more or less right, there. now let's figure up a little on, the preliminaries. i think congress always tries to do as near right as it can, according to its lights. a man can't ask any fairer, than that. the first preliminary it always starts out on, is, to clean itself, so to speak. it will arraign two or three dozen of its members, or maybe four or five dozen, for taking bribes to vote for this and that and the other bill last winter." "it goes up into the dozens, does it?" "well, yes; in a free country likes ours, where any man can run for congress and anybody can vote for him, you can't expect immortal purity all the time--it ain't in nature. sixty or eighty or a hundred and fifty people are bound to get in who are not angels in disguise, as young hicks the correspondent says; but still it is a very good average; very good indeed. as long as it averages as well as that, i think we can feel very well satisfied. even in these days, when people growl so much and the newspapers are so out of patience, there is still a very respectable minority of honest men in congress." "why a respectable minority of honest men can't do any good, colonel." "oh, yes it can, too" "why, how?" "oh, in many ways, many ways." "but what are the ways?" "well--i don't know--it is a question that requires time; a body can't answer every question right off-hand. but it does do good. i am satisfied of that." "all right, then; grant that it does good; go on with the preliminaries." "that is what i am coming to. first, as i said, they will try a lot of members for taking money for votes. that will take four weeks." "yes, that's like last year; and it is a sheer waste of the time for which the nation pays those men to work--that is what that is. and it pinches when a body's got a bill waiting." "a waste of time, to purify the fountain of public law? well, i never heard anybody express an idea like that before. but if it were, it would still be the fault of the minority, for the majority don't institute these proceedings. there is where that minority becomes an obstruction --but still one can't say it is on the wrong side.--well, after they have finished the bribery cases, they will take up cases of members who have bought their seats with money. that will take another four weeks." "very good; go on. you have accounted for two-thirds of the session." "next they will try each other for various smaller irregularities, like the sale of appointments to west point cadetships, and that sort of thing--mere trifling pocket-money enterprises that might better, be passed over in silence, perhaps, but then one of our congresses can never rest easy till it has thoroughly purified itself of all blemishes--and that is a thing to be applauded." "how long does it take to disinfect itself of these minor impurities?" "well, about two weeks, generally." "so congress always lies helpless in quarantine ten weeks of a session. that's encouraging. colonel, poor laura will never get any benefit from our bill. her trial will be over before congress has half purified itself.--and doesn't it occur to you that by the time it has expelled all its impure members there, may not be enough members left to do business legally?" "why i did not say congress would expel anybody." "well won't it expel anybody?" "not necessarily. did it last year? it never does. that would not be regular." "then why waste all the session in that tomfoolery of trying members?" "it is usual; it is customary; the country requires it." "then the country is a fool, i think." "oh, no. the country thinks somebody is going to be expelled." "well, when nobody is expelled, what does the country think then?" "by that time, the thing has strung out so long that the country is sick and tired of it and glad to have a change on any terms. but all that inquiry is not lost. it has a good moral effect." "who does it have a good moral effect on?" "well--i don't know. on foreign countries, i think. we have always been under the gaze of foreign countries. there is no country in the world, sir, that pursues corruption as inveterately as we do. there is no country in the world whose representatives try each other as much as ours do, or stick to it as long on a stretch. i think there is something great in being a model for the whole civilized world, washington" "you don't mean a model; you mean an example." "well, it's all the same; it's just the same thing. it shows that a man can't be corrupt in this country without sweating for it, i can tell you that." "hang it, colonel, you just said we never punish anybody for villainous practices." "but good god we try them, don't we! is it nothing to show a disposition to sift things and bring people to a strict account? i tell you it has its effect." "oh, bother the effect!--what is it they do do? how do they proceed? you know perfectly well--and it is all bosh, too. come, now, how do they proceed?" "why they proceed right and regular--and it ain't bosh, washington, it ain't bosh. they appoint a committee to investigate, and that committee hears evidence three weeks, and all the witnesses on one side swear that the accused took money or stock or something for his vote. then the accused stands up and testifies that he may have done it, but he was receiving and handling a good deal of money at the time and he doesn't remember this particular circumstance--at least with sufficient distinctness to enable him to grasp it tangibly. so of course the thing is not proven--and that is what they say in the verdict. they don't acquit, they don't condemn. they just say, 'charge not proven.' it leaves the accused is a kind of a shaky condition before the country, it purifies congress, it satisfies everybody, and it doesn't seriously hurt anybody. it has taken a long time to perfect our system, but it is the most admirable in the world, now." "so one of those long stupid investigations always turns out in that lame silly way. yes, you are correct. i thought maybe you viewed the matter differently from other people. do you think a congress of ours could convict the devil of anything if he were a member?" "my dear boy, don't let these damaging delays prejudice you against congress. don't use such strong language; you talk like a newspaper. congress has inflicted frightful punishments on its members--now you know that. when they tried mr. fairoaks, and a cloud of witnesses proved him to be--well, you know what they proved him to be--and his own testimony and his own confessions gave him the same character, what did congress do then?--come!" "well, what did congress do?" "you know what congress did, washington. congress intimated plainly enough, that they considered him almost a stain upon their body; and without waiting ten days, hardly, to think the thing over, the rose up and hurled at him a resolution declaring that they disapproved of his conduct! now you know that, washington." "it was a terrific thing--there is no denying that. if he had been proven guilty of theft, arson, licentiousness, infanticide, and defiling graves, i believe they would have suspended him for two days." "you can depend on it, washington. congress is vindictive, congress is savage, sir, when it gets waked up once. it will go to any length to vindicate its honor at such a time." "ah well, we have talked the morning through, just as usual in these tiresome days of waiting, and we have reached the same old result; that is to say, we are no better off than when we began. the land bill is just as far away as ever, and the trial is closer at hand. let's give up everything and die." "die and leave the duchess to fight it out all alone? oh, no, that won't do. come, now, don't talk so. it is all going to come out right. now you'll see." "it never will, colonel, never in the world. something tells me that. i get more tired and more despondent every day. i don't see any hope; life is only just a trouble. i am so miserable, these days!" the colonel made washington get up and walk the floor with him, arm in arm. the good old speculator wanted to comfort him, but he hardly knew how to go about it. he made many attempts, but they were lame; they lacked spirit; the words were encouraging; but they were only words--he could not get any heart into them. he could not always warm up, now, with the old hawkeye fervor. by and by his lips trembled and his voice got unsteady. he said: "don't give up the ship, my boy--don't do it. the wind's bound to fetch around and set in our favor. i know it." and the prospect was so cheerful that he wept. then he blew a trumpet-blast that started the meshes of his handkerchief, and said in almost his breezy old-time way: "lord bless us, this is all nonsense! night doesn't last always; day has got to break some time or other. every silver lining has a cloud behind it, as the poet says; and that remark has always cheered me; though --i never could see any meaning to it. everybody uses it, though, and everybody gets comfort out of it. i wish they would start something fresh. come, now, let's cheer up; there's been as good fish in the sea as there are now. it shall never be said that beriah sellers --come in?" it was the telegraph boy. the colonel reached for the message and devoured its contents: "i said it! never give up the ship! the trial's, postponed till february, and we'll save the child yet. bless my life, what lawyers they, have in new-york! give them money to fight with; and the ghost of an excuse, and they: would manage to postpone anything in this world, unless it might be the millennium or something like that. now for work again my boy. the trial will last to the middle of march, sure; congress ends the fourth of march. within three days of the end of the session they will be done putting through the preliminaries then they will be ready for national business: our bill will go through in forty-eight hours, then, and we'll telegraph a million dollar's to the jury--to the lawyers, i mean--and the verdict of the jury will be 'accidental murder resulting from justifiable insanity'--or something to, that effect, something to that effect.--everything is dead sure, now. come, what is the matter? what are you wilting down like that, for? you mustn't be a girl, you know." "oh, colonel, i am become so used to troubles, so used to failures, disappointments, hard luck of all kinds, that a little good news breaks me right down. everything has been so hopeless that now i can't stand good news at all. it is too good to be true, anyway. don't you see how our bad luck has worked on me? my hair is getting gray, and many nights i don't sleep at all. i wish it was all over and we could rest. i wish we could lie, down and just forget everything, and let it all be just a dream that is done and can't come back to trouble us any more. i am so tired." "ah, poor child, don't talk like that-cheer up--there's daylight ahead. don't give, up. you'll have laura again, and--louise, and your mother, and oceans and oceans of money--and then you can go away, ever so far away somewhere, if you want to, and forget all about this infernal place. and by george i'll go with you! i'll go with you--now there's my word on it. cheer up. i'll run out and tell the friends the news." and he wrung washington's hand and was about to hurry away when his companion, in a burst of grateful admiration said: "i think you are the best soul and the noblest i ever knew, colonel sellers! and if the people only knew you as i do, you would not be tagging around here a nameless man--you would be in congress." the gladness died out of the colonel's face, and he laid his hand upon washington's shoulder and said gravely: "i have always been a friend of your family, washington, and i think i have always tried to do right as between man and man, according to my lights. now i don't think there has ever been anything in my conduct that should make you feel justified in saying a thing like that." he turned, then, and walked slowly out, leaving washington abashed and somewhat bewildered. when washington had presently got his thoughts into line again, he said to himself, "why, honestly, i only meant to compliment him--indeed i would not have hurt him for the world." chapter lii. the weeks drifted by monotonously enough, now. the "preliminaries" continued to drag along in congress, and life was a dull suspense to sellers and washington, a weary waiting which might have broken their hearts, maybe, but for the relieving change which they got out of am occasional visit to new york to see laura. standing guard in washington or anywhere else is not an exciting business in time of peace, but standing guard was all that the two friends had to do; all that was needed of them was that they should be on hand and ready for any emergency that might come up. there was no work to do; that was all finished; this was but the second session of the last winter's congress, and its action on the bill could have but one result--its passage. the house must do its work over again, of course, but the same membership was there to see that it did it.--the senate was secure--senator dilworthy was able to put all doubts to rest on that head. indeed it was no secret in washington that a two-thirds vote in the senate was ready and waiting to be cast for the university bill as soon as it should come before that body. washington did not take part in the gaieties of "the season," as he had done the previous winter. he had lost his interest in such things; he was oppressed with cares, now. senator dilworthy said to washington that an humble deportment, under punishment, was best, and that there was but one way in which the troubled heart might find perfect repose and peace. the suggestion found a response in washington's breast, and the senator saw the sign of it in his face. from that moment one could find the youth with the senator even oftener than with col. sellers. when the statesman presided at great temperance meetings, he placed washington in the front rank of impressive dignitaries that gave tone to the occasion and pomp to the platform. his bald headed surroundings made the youth the more conspicuous. when the statesman made remarks in these meetings, he not infrequently alluded with effect to the encouraging spectacle of one of the wealthiest and most brilliant young favorites of society forsaking the light vanities of that butterfly existence to nobly and self-sacrificingly devote his talents and his riches to the cause of saving his hapless fellow creatures from shame and misery here and eternal regret hereafter. at the prayer meetings the senator always brought washington up the aisle on his arm and seated him prominently; in his prayers he referred to him in the cant terms which the senator employed, perhaps unconsciously, and mistook, maybe, for religion, and in other ways brought him into notice. he had him out at gatherings for the benefit of the negro, gatherings for the benefit of the indian, gatherings for the benefit of the heathen in distant lands. he had him out time and again, before sunday schools, as an example for emulation. upon all these occasions the senator made casual references to many benevolent enterprises which his ardent young friend was planning against the day when the passage of the university bill should make his means available for the amelioration of the condition of the unfortunate among his fellow men of all nations and all. climes. thus as the weeks rolled on washington grew up, into an imposing lion once more, but a lion that roamed the peaceful fields of religion and temperance, and revisited the glittering domain of fashion no more. a great moral influence was thus brought, to bear in favor of the bill; the weightiest of friends flocked to its standard; its most energetic enemies said it was useless to fight longer; they had tacitly surrendered while as yet the day of battle was not come. chapter liii. the session was drawing toward its close. senator dilworthy thought he would run out west and shake hands with his constituents and let them look at him. the legislature whose duty it would be to re-elect him to the united states senate, was already in session. mr. dilworthy considered his re-election certain, but he was a careful, painstaking man, and if, by visiting his state he could find the opportunity to persuade a few more legislators to vote for him, he held the journey to be well worth taking. the university bill was safe, now; he could leave it without fear; it needed his presence and his watching no longer. but there was a person in his state legislature who did need watching --a person who, senator dilworthy said, was a narrow, grumbling, uncomfortable malcontent--a person who was stolidly opposed to reform, and progress and him,--a person who, he feared, had been bought with money to combat him, and through him the commonwealth's welfare and its politics' purity. "if this person noble," said mr. dilworthy, in a little speech at a dinner party given him by some of his admirers, "merely desired to sacrifice me.--i would willingly offer up my political life on the altar of my dear state's weal, i would be glad and grateful to do it; but when he makes of me but a cloak to hide his deeper designs, when he proposes to strike through me at the heart of my beloved state, all the lion in me is roused--and i say here i stand, solitary and alone, but unflinching, unquailing, thrice armed with my sacred trust; and whoso passes, to do evil to this fair domain that looks to me for protection, must do so over my dead body." he further said that if this noble were a pure man, and merely misguided, he could bear it, but that he should succeed in his wicked designs through, a base use of money would leave a blot upon his state which would work untold evil to the morals of the people, and that he would not suffer; the public morals must not be contaminated. he would seek this man noble; he would argue, he would persuade, he would appeal to his honor. when he arrived on the ground he found his friends unterrified; they were standing firmly by him and were full of courage. noble was working hard, too, but matters were against him, he was not making much progress. mr. dilworthy took an early opportunity to send for mr. noble; he had a midnight interview with him, and urged him to forsake his evil ways; he begged him to come again and again, which he did. he finally sent the man away at o'clock one morning; and when he was gone, mr. dilworthy said to himself, "i feel a good deal relieved, now, a great deal relieved." the senator now turned his attention to matters touching the souls of his people. he appeared in church; he took a leading part in prayer meetings; he met and encouraged the temperance societies; he graced the sewing circles of the ladies with his presence, and even took a needle now and then and made a stitch or two upon a calico shirt for some poor bibleless pagan of the south seas, and this act enchanted the ladies, who regarded the garments thus honored as in a manner sanctified. the senator wrought in bible classes, and nothing could keep him away from the sunday schools--neither sickness nor storms nor weariness. he even traveled a tedious thirty miles in a poor little rickety stagecoach to comply with the desire of the miserable hamlet of cattleville that he would let its sunday school look upon him. all the town was assembled at the stage office when he arrived, two bonfires were burning, and a battery of anvils was popping exultant broadsides; for a united states senator was a sort of god in the understanding of these people who never had seen any creature mightier than a county judge. to them a united states senator was a vast, vague colossus, an awe inspiring unreality. next day everybody was at the village church a full half hour before time for sunday school to open; ranchmen and farmers had come with their families from five miles around, all eager to get a glimpse of the great man--the man who had been to washington; the man who had seen the president of the united states, and had even talked with him; the man who had seen the actual washington monument--perhaps touched it with his hands. when the senator arrived the church was crowded, the windows were full, the aisles were packed, so was the vestibule, and so indeed was the yard in front of the building. as he worked his way through to the pulpit on the arm of the minister and followed by the envied officials of the village, every neck was stretched and, every eye twisted around intervening obstructions to get a glimpse. elderly people directed each other's attention and, said, "there! that's him, with the grand, noble forehead!" boys nudged each other and said, "hi, johnny, here he is, there, that's him, with the peeled head!" the senator took his seat in the pulpit, with the minister' on one side of him and the superintendent of the sunday school on the other. the town dignitaries sat in an impressive row within the altar railings below. the sunday school children occupied ten of the front benches. dressed in their best and most uncomfortable clothes, and with hair combed and faces too clean to feel natural. so awed were they by the presence of a living united states senator, that during three minutes not a "spit ball" was thrown. after that they began to come to themselves by degrees, and presently the spell was wholly gone and they were reciting verses and pulling hair. the usual sunday school exercises were hurried through, and then the minister, got up and bored the house with a speech built on the customary sunday school plan; then the superintendent put in his oar; then the town dignitaries had their say. they all made complimentary reference to "their friend the, senator," and told what a great and illustrious man he was and what he had done for his country and for religion and temperance, and exhorted the little boys to be good and diligent and try to become like him some day. the speakers won the deathless hatred of the house by these delays, but at last there was an end and hope revived; inspiration was about to find utterance. senator dilworthy rose and beamed upon the assemblage for a full minute in silence. then he smiled with an access of sweetness upon the children and began: "my little friends--for i hope that all these bright-faced little people are my friends and will let me be their friend--my little friends, i have traveled much, i have been in many cities and many states, everywhere in our great and noble country, and by the blessing of providence i have been permitted to see many gatherings like this--but i am proud, i am truly proud to say that i never have looked upon so much intelligence, so much grace, such sweetness of disposition as i see in the charming young countenances i see before me at this moment. i have been asking myself as i sat here, where am i? am i in some far-off monarchy, looking upon little princes and princesses? no. am i in some populous centre of my own country, where the choicest children of the land have been selected and brought together as at a fair for a prize? no. am i in some strange foreign clime where the children are marvels that we know not of? no. then where am i? yes--where am i? i am in a simple, remote, unpretending settlement of my own dear state, and these are the children of the noble and virtuous men who have made me what i am! my soul is lost in wonder at the thought! and i humbly thank him to whom we are but as worms of the dust, that he has been pleased to call me to serve such men! earth has no higher, no grander position for me. let kings and emperors keep their tinsel crowns, i want them not; my heart is here! "again i thought, is this a theatre? no. is it a concert or a gilded opera? no. is it some other vain, brilliant, beautiful temple of soul-staining amusement and hilarity? no. then what is it? what did my consciousness reply? i ask you, my little friends, what did my consciousness reply? it replied, it is the temple of the lord! ah, think of that, now. i could hardly keep the tears back, i was so grateful. oh, how beautiful it is to see these ranks of sunny little faces assembled here to learn the way of life; to learn to be good; to learn to be useful; to learn to be pious; to learn to be great and glorious men and women; to learn to be props and pillars of the state and shining lights in the councils and the households of the nation; to be bearers of the banner and soldiers of the cross in the rude campaigns of life, and raptured souls in the happy fields of paradise hereafter. "children, honor your parents and be grateful to them for providing for you the precious privileges of a sunday school. "now my dear little friends, sit up straight and pretty--there, that's it--and give me your attention and let me tell you about a poor little sunday school scholar i once knew.--he lived in the far west, and his parents were poor. they could not give him a costly education; but they were good and wise and they sent him to the sunday school. he loved the sunday school. i hope you love your sunday school--ah, i see by your faces that you do! that is right! "well, this poor little boy was always in his place when the bell rang, and he always knew his lesson; for his teachers wanted him to learn and he loved his teachers dearly. always love your teachers, my children, for they love you more than you can know, now. he would not let bad boys persuade him to go to play on sunday. there was one little bad boy who was always trying to persuade him, but he never could. "so this poor little boy grew up to be a man, and had to go out in the world, far from home and friends to earn his living. temptations lay all about him, and sometimes he was about to yield, but he would think of some precious lesson he learned in his sunday school a long time ago, and that would save him. by and by he was elected to the legislature--then he did everything he could for sunday schools. he got laws passed for them; he got sunday schools established wherever he could. "and by and by the people made him governor--and he said it was all owing to the sunday school. "after a while the people elected him a representative to the congress of the united states, and he grew very famous.--now temptations assailed him on every hand. people tried to get him to drink wine; to dance, to go to theatres; they even tried to buy his vote; but no, the memory of his sunday school saved him from all harm; he remembered the fate of the bad little boy who used to try to get him to play on sunday, and who grew up and became a drunkard and was hanged. he remembered that, and was glad he never yielded and played on sunday. "well, at last, what do you think happened? why the people gave him a towering, illustrious position, a grand, imposing position. and what do you think it was? what should you say it was, children? it was senator of the united states! that poor little boy that loved his sunday school became that man. that man stands before you! all that he is, he owes to the sunday school. "my precious children, love your parents, love your teachers, love your sunday school, be pious, be obedient, be honest, be diligent, and then you will succeed in life and be honored of all men. above all things, my children, be honest. above all things be pure-minded as the snow. let us join in prayer." when senator dilworthy departed from cattleville, he left three dozen boys behind him arranging a campaign of life whose objective point was the united states senate. when be arrived at the state capital at midnight mr. noble came and held a three-hours' conference with him, and then as he was about leaving said: "i've worked hard, and i've got them at last. six of them haven't got quite back-bone enough to slew around and come right out for you on the first ballot to-morrow; but they're going to vote against you on the first for the sake of appearances, and then come out for you all in a body on the second--i've fixed all that! by supper time to-morrow you'll be re-elected. you can go to bed and sleep easy on that." after mr. noble was gone, the senator said: "well, to bring about a complexion of things like this was worth coming west for." chapter liv. the case of the state of new york against laura hawkins was finally set down for trial on the th day of february, less than a year after the shooting of george selby. if the public had almost forgotten the existence of laura and her crime, they were reminded of all the details of the murder by the newspapers, which for some days had been announcing the approaching trial. but they had not forgotten. the sex, the age, the beauty of the prisoner; her high social position in washington, the unparalleled calmness with which the crime was committed had all conspired to fix the event in the public mind, although nearly three hundred and sixty-five subsequent murders had occurred to vary the monotony of metropolitan life. no, the public read from time to time of the lovely prisoner, languishing in the city prison, the tortured victim of the law's delay; and as the months went by it was natural that the horror of her crime should become a little indistinct in memory, while the heroine of it should be invested with a sort of sentimental interest. perhaps her counsel had calculated on this. perhaps it was by their advice that laura had interested herself in the unfortunate criminals who shared her prison confinement, and had done not a little to relieve, from her own purse, the necessities of some of the poor creatures. that she had done this, the public read in the journals of the day, and the simple announcement cast a softening light upon her character. the court room was crowded at an early hour, before the arrival of judges, lawyers and prisoner. there is no enjoyment so keen to certain minds as that of looking upon the slow torture of a human being on trial for life, except it be an execution; there is no display of human ingenuity, wit and power so fascinating as that made by trained lawyers in the trial of an important case, nowhere else is exhibited such subtlety, acumen, address, eloquence. all the conditions of intense excitement meet in a murder trial. the awful issue at stake gives significance to the lightest word or look. how the quick eyes of the spectators rove from the stolid jury to the keen lawyers, the impassive judge, the anxious prisoner. nothing is lost of the sharp wrangle of the counsel on points of law, the measured decision's of the bench; the duels between the attorneys and the witnesses. the crowd sways with the rise and fall of the shifting, testimony, in sympathetic interest, and hangs upon the dicta of the judge in breathless silence. it speedily takes sides for or against the accused, and recognizes as quickly its favorites among the lawyers. nothing delights it more than the sharp retort of a witness and the discomfiture of an obnoxious attorney. a joke, even if it be a lame, one, is no where so keenly relished or quickly applauded as in a murder trial. within the bar the young lawyers and the privileged hangers-on filled all the chairs except those reserved at the table for those engaged in the case. without, the throng occupied all the seats, the window ledges and the standing room. the atmosphere was already something horrible. it was the peculiar odor of a criminal court, as if it were tainted by the presence, in different persons, of all the crimes that men and women can commit. there was a little stir when the prosecuting attorney, with two assistants, made his way in, seated himself at the table, and spread his papers before him. there was more stir when the counsel of the defense appeared. they were mr. braham, the senior, and mr. quiggle and mr. o'keefe, the juniors. everybody in the court room knew mr. braham, the great criminal lawyer, and he was not unaware that he was the object of all eyes as he moved to his place, bowing to his friends in the bar. a large but rather spare man, with broad shoulders and a massive head, covered with chestnut curls which fell down upon his coat collar and which he had a habit of shaking as a lion is supposed to shake his mane. his face was clean shaven, and he had a wide mouth and rather small dark eyes, set quite too near together: mr. braham wore a brown frock coat buttoned across his breast, with a rose-bud in the upper buttonhole, and light pantaloons. a diamond stud was seen to flash from his bosom; and as he seated himself and drew off his gloves a heavy seal ring was displayed upon his white left hand. mr. braham having seated himself, deliberately surveyed the entire house, made a remark to one of his assistants, and then taking an ivory-handled knife from his pocket began to pare his finger nails, rocking his chair backwards and forwards slowly. a moment later judge o'shaunnessy entered at the rear door and took his seat in one of the chairs behind the bench; a gentleman in black broadcloth, with sandy hair, inclined to curl, a round; reddish and rather jovial face, sharp rather than intellectual, and with a self-sufficient air. his career had nothing remarkable in it. he was descended from a long line of irish kings, and he was the first one of them who had ever come into his kingdom--the kingdom of such being the city of new york. he had, in fact, descended so far and so low that he found himself, when a boy, a sort of street arab in that city; but he had ambition and native shrewdness, and he speedily took to boot-polishing, and newspaper hawking, became the office and errand boy of a law firm, picked up knowledge enough to get some employment in police courts, was admitted to the bar, became a rising young politician, went to the legislature, and was finally elected to the bench which he now honored. in this democratic country he was obliged to conceal his royalty under a plebeian aspect. judge o'shaunnessy never had a lucrative practice nor a large salary but he had prudently laid away money-believing that a dependant judge can never be impartial--and he had lands and houses to the value of three or four hundred thousand dollars. had he not helped to build and furnish this very court house? did he not know that the very "spittoon" which his judgeship used cost the city the sum of one thousand dollars? as soon as the judge was seated, the court was opened, with the "oi yis, oi yis" of the officer in his native language, the case called, and the sheriff was directed to bring in the prisoner. in the midst of a profound hush laura entered, leaning on the arm of the officer, and was conducted to a seat by her counsel. she was followed by her mother and by washington hawkins, who were given seats near her. laura was very pale, but this pallor heightened the lustre of her large eyes and gave a touching sadness to her expressive face. she was dressed in simple black, with exquisite taste, and without an ornament. the thin lace vail which partially covered her face did not so much conceal as heighten her beauty. she would not have entered a drawing room with more self-poise, nor a church with more haughty humility. there was in her manner or face neither shame nor boldness, and when she took her seat in fall view of half the spectators, her eyes were downcast. a murmur of admiration ran through the room. the newspaper reporters made their pencils fly. mr. braham again swept his eyes over the house as if in approval. when laura at length raised her eyes a little, she saw philip and harry within the bar, but she gave no token of recognition. the clerk then read the indictment, which was in the usual form. it charged laura hawkins, in effect, with the premeditated murder of george selby, by shooting him with a pistol, with a revolver, shotgun, rifle, repeater, breech-loader, cannon, six-shooter, with a gun, or some other, weapon; with killing him with a slung-shot, a bludgeon, carving knife, bowie knife, pen knife, rolling pin, car, hook, dagger, hair pin, with a hammer, with a screw-driver; with a nail, and with all other weapons and utensils whatsoever, at the southern hotel and in all other hotels and places wheresoever, on the thirteenth day of march and all other days of the christian era wheresoever. laura stood while the long indictment was read; and at the end, in response to the inquiry, of the judge, she said in a clear, low voice; "not guilty." she sat down and the court proceeded to impanel a jury. the first man called was michael lanigan, saloon keeper. "have you formed or expressed any opinion on this case, and do you know any of the parties?" "not any," said mr. lanigan. "have you any conscientious objections to capital punishment?" "no, sir, not to my knowledge." "have you read anything about this case?" "to be sure, i read the papers, y'r honor." objected to by mr. braham, for cause, and discharged. patrick coughlin. "what is your business?" "well--i haven't got any particular business." "haven't any particular business, eh? well, what's your general business? what do you do for a living?" "i own some terriers, sir." "own some terriers, eh? keep a rat pit?" "gentlemen comes there to have a little sport. i never fit 'em, sir." "oh, i see--you are probably the amusement committee of the city council. have you ever heard of this case?" "not till this morning, sir." "can you read?" "not fine print, y'r honor." the man was about to be sworn, when mr. braham asked, "could your father read?" "the old gentleman was mighty handy at that, sir." mr. braham submitted that the man was disqualified judge thought not. point argued. challenged peremptorily, and set aside. ethan dobb, cart-driver. "can you read?" "yes, but haven't a habit of it." "have you heard of this case?" "i think so--but it might be another. i have no opinion about it." dist. a. "tha--tha--there! hold on a bit? did anybody tell you to say you had no opinion about it?" "n--n--o, sir." take care now, take care. then what suggested it to you to volunteer that remark?" "they've always asked that, when i was on juries." all right, then. have you any conscientious scruples about capital punishment?" "any which?" "would you object to finding a person guilty--of murder on evidence?" "i might, sir, if i thought he wan't guilty." the district attorney thought he saw a point. "would this feeling rather incline you against a capital conviction?" the juror said he hadn't any feeling, and didn't know any of the parties. accepted and sworn. dennis lafin, laborer. have neither formed nor expressed an opinion. never had heard of the case. believed in hangin' for them that deserved it. could read if it was necessary. mr. braham objected. the man was evidently bloody minded. challenged peremptorily. larry o'toole, contractor. a showily dressed man of the style known as "vulgar genteel," had a sharp eye and a ready tongue. had read the newspaper reports of the case, but they made no impression on him. should be governed by the evidence. knew no reason why he could not be an impartial juror. question by district attorney. "how is it that the reports made no impression on you?" "never believe anything i see in the newspapers." (laughter from the crowd, approving smiles from his honor and mr. braham.) juror sworn in. mr. braham whispered to o'keefe, "that's the man." avery hicks, pea-nut peddler. did he ever hear of this case? the man shook his head. "can you read?" "no." "any scruples about capital punishment?" "no." he was about to be sworn, when the district attorney turning to him carelessly, remarked, "understand the nature of an oath?" "outside," said the man, pointing to the door. "i say, do you know what an oath is?" "five cents," explained the man. "do you mean to insult me?" roared the prosecuting officer. "are you an idiot?" "fresh baked. i'm deefe. i don't hear a word you say." the man was discharged. "he wouldn't have made a bad juror, though," whispered braham. "i saw him looking at the prisoner sympathizingly. that's a point you want to watch for." the result of the whole day's work was the selection of only two jurors. these however were satisfactory to mr. braham. he had kept off all those he did not know. no one knew better than this great criminal lawyer that the battle was fought on the selection of the jury. the subsequent examination of witnesses, the eloquence expended on the jury are all for effect outside. at least that is the theory of mr. braham. but human nature is a queer thing, he admits; sometimes jurors are unaccountably swayed, be as careful as you can in choosing them. it was four weary days before this jury was made up, but when it was finally complete, it did great credit to the counsel for the defence. so far as mr. braham knew, only two could read, one of whom was the foreman, mr. braham's friend, the showy contractor. low foreheads and heavy faces they all had; some had a look of animal cunning, while the most were only stupid. the entire panel formed that boasted heritage commonly described as the "bulwark of our liberties." the district attorney, mr. mcflinn, opened the case for the state. he spoke with only the slightest accent, one that had been inherited but not cultivated. he contented himself with a brief statement of the case. the state would prove that laura hawkins, the prisoner at the bar, a fiend in the form of a beautiful woman, shot dead george selby, a southern gentleman, at the, time and place described. that the murder was in cold blood, deliberate and without provocation; that it had been long premeditated and threatened; that she had followed the deceased-from washington to commit it. all this would be proved by unimpeachable witnesses. the attorney added that the duty of the jury, however painful it might be, would be plain and simple. they were citizens, husbands, perhaps fathers. they knew how insecure life had become in the metropolis. tomorrow our own wives might be widows, their own children orphans, like the bereaved family in yonder hotel, deprived of husband and father by the jealous hand of some murderous female. the attorney sat down, and the clerk called?" "henry brierly." [illustration: _daniel drayton_] personal memoir of daniel drayton, for four years and four months a prisoner (for charity's sake) in washington jail including a narrative of the voyage and capture of the schooner pearl. we hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal; that they are endowed by their creator with certain unalienable rights; that among these are life, _liberty_, and the pursuit of happiness. declaration of independence. . entered according to act of congress, in the year , by daniel drayton, in the clerk's office of the district court of the district of massachusetts advertisement. considering the large share of the public attention which the case of the schooner pearl attracted at the time of its occurrence, perhaps the following narrative of its origin, and of its consequences to himself, by the principal actor in it, may not be without interest. it is proper to state that a large share of the profits of the sale are secured to captain drayton, the state of whose health incapacitates him from any laborious employment. memoir. i was born in the year , in cumberland county, downs township, in the state of new jersey, on the shores of nantuxet creek, not far from delaware bay, into which that creek flows. my father was a farmer,--not a very profitable occupation in that barren part of the country. my mother was a widow at the time of her marriage with my father, having three children by a former husband. by my father she had six more, of whom i was the youngest but one. she was a woman of strong mind and marked character, a zealous member of the methodist church; and, although i had the misfortune to lose her at an early age, her instructions--though the effect was not apparent at the moment--made a deep impression on my youthful mind, and no doubt had a very sensible influence over my future life. just previous to, or during the war with great britain, my father removed still nearer to the shore of the bay, and the sight of the vessels passing up and down inspired me with a desire to follow the life of a waterman; but it was some years before i was able to gratify this wish. i well remember the alarm created in our neighborhood by the incursions of the british vessels up the bay during the war, and that, at these times, the women of the neighborhood used to collect at our house, as if looking up to my mother for counsel and guidance. i was only twelve years old when this good mother died; but, so strong was the impression which she left upon my memory, that, amid the struggles and dangers and cares of my subsequent life, i have seldom closed my eyes to sleep without some thought or image of her. as my father soon after married another widow, with four small children, it became necessary to make room in the house for their accommodation; and, with a younger brother of mine, i was bound out an apprentice in a cotton and woollen factory at a place called cedarville. manufactures were just then beginning to be introduced into the country, and great hopes were entertained of them as a profitable business. my employer,--or bos, as we called him,--had formerly been a schoolmaster, and he did not wholly neglect our instructions in other things besides cotton-spinning. of this i stood greatly in need; for there were no public schools in the neighborhood in which i was born, and my parents had too many children to feed and clothe to be able to pay much for schooling. we were required on sundays, by our employer, to learn two lessons, one in the forenoon, the other in the afternoon; after reciting which we were left at liberty to roam at our pleasure. winter evenings we worked in the factory till nine o'clock, after which, and before going to bed, we were required to recite over one of our lessons these advantages of education were not great, but even these i soon lost. within five months from the time i was bound to him, my employer died. the factories were then sold out to three partners. the one who carried on the cotton-spinning took me; but he soon gave up the business, and went back to farming, which had been his original occupation. i remained with him for a year and a half, or thereabouts, when my father bound me out apprentice to a shoe-maker. my new bos was, in some respects, a remarkable man, but not a very good sort of one for a boy to be bound apprentice to. he paid very little attention to his business, which he seemed to think unworthy of his genius. he was a kind-hearted man, fond of company and frolics, in which he indulged himself freely, and much given to speeches and harangues, in which he had a good deal of fluency. in religion he professed to be a universalist, holding to doctrines and opinions very different from those which my mother had instilled into me. he ridiculed those opinions, and argued against them, but without converting me to his way of thinking; though, as far as practice went, i was ready enough to imitate his example. my sundays were spent principally in taverns, playing at dominos, which then was, and still is, a favorite game in that part of the country; and, as the unsuccessful party was expected to treat, i at times ran up a bill at the bar as high as four or six dollars,--no small indebtedness for a young apprentice with no more means than i had. as i grew older this method of living grew less and less satisfactory to me; and as i saw that no good of any kind, not even a knowledge of the trade he had undertaken to teach me, was to be got of my present bos, i bought my time of him, and went to work with another man to pay for it. before i had succeeded in doing that, and while i was not yet nineteen, i took upon myself the still further responsibility of marriage. this was a step into which i was led rather by the impulse of youthful passion than by any thoughtful foresight. yet it had at least this advantage, that it obliged me to set diligently to work to provide for the increasing family which i soon found growing up around me. i had never liked the shoe-making business, to which my father had bound me an apprentice. i had always desired to follow the water. the vessels which i had seen sailing up and down the delaware bay still haunted my fancy; and i engaged myself as cook on board a sloop, employed in carrying wood from maurice river to philadelphia. promotion in this line is sufficiently rapid; for in four months, after commencing as cook, i rose to be captain. this wood business, in which i remained for two years, is carried on by vessels of from thirty to sixty tons, known as _bay-craft_. they are built so as to draw but little water, which is their chief distinction from the _coasters_, which are fit for the open sea. they will carry from twenty-five to fifty cords of wood, on which a profit is expected of a dollar and upwards. they have usually about three hands, the captain, or skipper, included. the men used to be hired, when i entered the business, for eight or ten dollars the month, but they now get nearly or quite twice as much. the captain usually sails the vessel on shares (unless he is himself owner in whole, or in part), victualling the vessel and hiring the men, and paying over to the owner forty dollars out of every hundred. during the winter, from december to march, the navigation is impeded by ice, and the bay-craft seldom run. the men commonly spend this long vacation in visiting, husking-frolics, rabbiting, and too often in taverns, to the exhaustion of their purses, the impoverishment of their families, and the sacrifice of their sobriety. yet the watermen, if many of them are not able always to resist the temptations held out to them, are in general an honest and simple-hearted set, though with little education, and sometimes rather rough in their manners. the extent of my education when i took to the water--and in this respect i was not, perhaps, much inferior to the generality of my brother watermen--was to read with no great fluency, and to sign my name; nor did i ever learn much more than this till my residence in washington jail, to be related hereafter. having followed the wood business for two years, i aspired to something a little higher, and obtained the command of a sloop engaged in the coasting business, from philadelphia southward and eastward. at this time a sloop of sixty tons was considered a very respectable coaster. the business is now mostly carried on by vessels of a larger class; some of them, especially the regular lines of packets, being very handsome and expensive. the terms on which these coasters were sailed were very similar to those already stated in the case of the bay-craft. the captain victualled the vessel, and paid the hands, and received for his share half the net profits, after deducting the extra expenses of loading and unloading. it was in this coasting business that the best years of my life were spent, during which time i visited most of the ports and rivers between savannah southward, and st. john, in the british province of new brunswick, eastward;--those two places forming the extreme limits of my voyagings. as philadelphia was the port from and to which i sailed, i presently found it convenient to remove my family thither, and there they continued to live till after my release from the washington prison. i was so successful in my new business, that, besides supporting my family, i was able to become half owner of the sloop superior, at an expense of over a thousand dollars, most of which i paid down. but this proved a very unfortunate investment. on her second trip after i had bought into her, returning from baltimore to philadelphia by the way of the delaware and chesapeake canal, while off the mouth of the susquehannah, she struck, as i suppose, a sunken tree, brought down by a heavy freshet in that river. the water flowed fast into the cabin. it was in vain that i attempted to run her ashore. she sunk in five minutes. the men saved themselves in the boat, which was on deck, and which floated as she went down. i stood by the rudder till the last, and stepped off it into the boat, loath enough to leave my vessel, on which there was no insurance. by this unfortunate accident i lost everything except the clothes i had on, and was obliged to commence anew. i accordingly obtained the command of the new sloop sarah henry, of seventy tons burden, and continued to sail her for several years, on shares. while in her i made a voyage to savannah; and while under sail from that city for charleston, i was taken with the yellow fever. i lay for a week quite unconscious of anything that was going on about me and came as near dying as a man could do and escape. the religious instructions of my mother had from time to time recurred to my mind, and had occasioned me some anxiety. i was now greatly alarmed at the idea of dying in my sins, from which i seemed to have escaped so narrowly. my mind was possessed with this fear; and, to relieve myself from it, i determined, if it were a possible thing, to get religion at any rate. the idea of religion in which i had been educated was that of a sudden, miraculous change, in which a man felt himself relieved from the burden of his sins, united to god, and made a new creature. for this experience i diligently sought, and tried every way to get it. i set up family prayers in my house, went to meetings, and conversed with experienced members of the church; but, for nine months or more, all to no purpose. at length i got into an awful state, beginning to think that i had been so desperate a sinner that there was no forgiveness for me. while i was in this miserable condition, i heard of a camp-meeting about to be held on cape may, and i immediately resolved to attend it, and to leave no stone unturned to accomplish the object which i had so much at heart. i went accordingly, and yielded myself entirely up to the dictation of those who had the control of the meeting. i did in everything as i was told; went into the altar, prayed, and let them pray over me. this went on for several days without any result. one evening, as i approached the altar, and was looking into it, i met a captain of my acquaintance, and asked him what he thought of these proceedings; and, as he seemed to approve them, i invited him to go into the altar with me. we both went in accordingly, and knelt down. pretty soon my friend got up and walked away, saying he had got religion. i did not find it so easily. i remained at the altar, praying, till after the meeting broke up, and even till one o'clock,--a few acquaintances and others remaining with me, and praying round me, and over me, and for me;--till, at last, thinking that i had done everything i could, i told them pray no more, as evidently there was no forgiveness for me. so i withdrew to a distance, and sat down upon an old tree, lamenting my hard case very seriously. i was sure i had committed the unpardonable sin. a friend, who sat down beside me, and of whom i inquired what he supposed the unpardonable sin was, endeavored comfort me by suggesting that, whatever it might be, it would take more sense and learning than ever i had to commit it. but i would not enter into his merriment. all the next day, which was sunday, i passed in a most miserable state. i went into the woods alone. i did not think myself worthy or fit to associate with those who had religion, while i was anxious to avoid the company of those who made light of it. sometimes i would sit down, sometimes i would stand up, sometimes i would walk about. frequently i prayed, but found no comfort in it. about sun-set i met a friend, who said to me, "well, our camp-meeting is about ended." what a misery those few words struck to my heart! "about ended!" i said to myself; "about ended, and i not converted!" a little later, as i was passing along the camp-ground, i saw a woman before me kneeling and praying. an acquaintance of mine, who was approaching her in an opposite direction, called out to me, "daniel, help me pray for this woman!" i had made up my mind to make one more effort, and i knelt down and commenced praying; but quite as much for myself as for her. others gathered about us and joined in, and the interest and excitement became so great, that, after a vain effort to call us off, the regular services of the evening were dispensed with, and the ground was left to us. things went on in this way till about nine o'clock, when, as suddenly as if i had been struck a heavy blow, i felt a remarkable change come over me. all my fears and terrors seemed to be instantaneously removed, and my whole soul to be filled with joy and peace. this was the sort of change which i had been taught to look for as the consequence of getting that religion for which i had been struggling so hard. i instantly rose up, and told those about me that i was a converted man; and from that moment i was able to sing and shout and pray with the best of them. in the midst of my exultation who should come up but my old master in the shoe-making trade, of whom i have already given some account. he had heard that i was on the camp-ground in pursuit of religion, and had come to find me out. "daniel," he said, addressing me by my christian name, "what are you doing here? don't make a fool of yourself." to which i answered, that i had got to be just such a fool as i had long wanted to be; and i took him by the arm, and endeavored to prevail upon him to kneel down and allow us to pray over him, assuring him that i knew his convictions to be much better than his conduct; that he must get religion, and now was the time. but he drew back, and escaped from me, with promises to do better, which, however, he did not keep. as for myself, considering, and, as i thought, feeling that i was a converted man, i now enjoyed for some time an extraordinary satisfaction, a sort of offset to the months of agony and misery which i had previously endured. but, though regarding myself as now truly converted, i delayed some time before uniting myself with any particular church. i did not know which to join. this division into so many hostile sects seemed to me unaccountable. i thought that all good christians should love each other, and be as one family. yet it seemed necessary to unite myself with some body of christians; and, as i had been educated a methodist, i concluded to join them. i have given the account of my religious experience exactly as it seemed to me at the time, and as i now remember it. it corresponded with the common course of religious experiences in the methodist church, except that with me the struggle was harder than commonly happens. i did not doubt at the time that it was truly a supernatural change, as much the work of the spirit as the sudden conversions recorded in the acts of the apostles. others can form their own opinion about it. i will only add that subsequent experience has led me to the belief that the reality of a man's religion is more to be judged of by what he does than by how he feels or what he says. the change which had taken place in me, however it is to be regarded, was not without a decided influence on my whole future life. i no longer considered myself as living for myself alone. i regarded myself as bound to do unto others as i would that they should do unto me; and it was in attempting to act up to this principle that i became involved in the difficulties to be hereafter related. meanwhile i resumed my voyages in the sarah henry, in which i continued to sail, on shares, for several years, with tolerable success. afterwards i followed the same business in the schooner protection, in which i suffered another shipwreck. we sailed from philadelphia to washington, in the district of columbia, laden with coal, proceeding down the delaware, and by the open sea; but, when off the entrance of the chesapeake, we encountered a heavy gale, which split the sails, swept the decks, and drove us off our course as far south as ocracoke inlet, on the coast of north carolina. i took a pilot, intending to go in to repair damages; but, owing to the strength of the current, which defeated his calculations, the pilot ran us on the bar. as soon as the schooner's bow touched the ground, she swung round broadside to the sea, which immediately began to break over her in a fearful manner. she filled immediately,--everything on deck was swept away; and, as our only chance of safety, we took to the main-rigging. this was about seven o'clock in the evening. towards morning, by reason of the continual thumping, the mainmast began to work through the vessel, and to settle in the sand, so that it became necessary for us to make our way to the fore-rigging; which we did, not without danger, as one of the men was twice washed off. about a quarter of a mile inside was a small, low island, on which lay five boats, each manned by five men, who had come down to our assistance; but the surf was so high that they did not venture to approach us; so we remained clinging with difficulty to the rigging till about half-past one, when the schooner went to pieces. the mast to which we were clinging fell, and we were precipitated into the raging surf, which swept us onward towards the island already mentioned. the men there, anticipating what had happened, had prepared for its occurrence; and the best swimmers, with ropes tied round their waists, the other end of which was held by those on shore, plunged in to our assistance. one of our unfortunate company was drowned,--the rest of us came safely to the shore; but we lost everything except the clothes we stood in. the fragments saved from the wreck were sold at auction for two hundred dollars. the people of that neighborhood treated us with great kindness, and we presently took the packet for elizabeth city, whence i proceeded to norfolk, baltimore, and so home. i had made up my mind to go to sea no more; but, after remaining on shore for three weeks, and not finding anything else to do, as it was necessary for me to have the means of supporting my increasing family, i took the command of another vessel, belonging to the same owners, the sloop joseph b. while in this vessel, my voyages were to the eastward. i was engaged in the flour-trade, in conjunction with the owners of the vessel. we bought flour and grain on a sixty days' credit, which i carried to the kennebec, portsmouth, boston, new bedford, and other eastern ports, calculating upon the returns of the voyage to take up our notes. i was so successful in this business as finally to become the owner of the joseph b., which vessel i exchanged away at portsmouth for the sophronia, a top-sail schooner of one hundred and sixty tons, worth about fourteen hundred dollars. in this vessel i made two trips to boston,--one with coal, and the other with timber. having unloaded my timber, i took in a hundred tons of plaster, purchased on my own account, intending to dispose of it in the susquehanna. but on the passage i encountered a heavy storm, which blew the masts out of the vessel, and drove her ashore on the south side of long island. we saved our lives; but i lost everything except one hundred and sixty dollars, for which i sold what was left of the vessel and cargo. having returned to my family, with but little disposition to try my fortune again in the coasting-trade, one day, being in the horse-market, i purchased a horse and wagon; and, taking in my wife and some of the younger children, i went to pay a visit to the neighborhood in which i was born. here i traded for half of a bay-craft, of about sixty tons burden, in which i engaged in the oyster-trade, and other small bay-traffic. having met at baltimore the owner of the other half, i bought him out also. the whole craft stood me in about seven hundred dollars. i then purchased three hundred bushels of potatoes, with which i sailed for fredericksburg, in virginia; but this proved a losing trip, the potatoes not selling for what they cost me. at fredericksburg i took in flour on freight for norfolk; but my ill-luck still pursued me. in unloading the vessel, the cargo forward being first taken out, she settled by the stern and sprang a leak, damaging fifteen barrels of flour, which were thrown upon my hands. i then sailed for the eastern shore of virginia, and at a place called cherrystone traded off my damaged flour for a cargo of pears, with which i sailed for new york. i proceeded safely as far as barnegat, when i encountered a north-east storm, which drove me back into the delaware, obliging me to seek refuge in the same maurice river from which i had commenced my sea-faring life in the wood business. but by this time the pears were spoiled, and i was obliged to throw them overboard. at cherrystone i had met the owner of a pilot-boat, who had seemed disposed to trade with me for my vessel; and i now returned to that place, and completed the trade; after which i loaded the pilot-boat with oysters and terrapins, and sailed for philadelphia. this boat was an excellent sailer, but too sharp, and not of burden enough for my business; and i soon exchanged her for half a little sloop, in which i carried a load of water-melons to baltimore. by this time i was pretty well sick of the water; and, having hired out the sloop, i set up a shop, at philadelphia, for the purchase and sale of junk, old iron, &c. &c. but, after continuing in this business for about two years,--my health being bad, and the doctor having advised me to try the water again,--i bought half of another sloop, and engaged in trading up and down chesapeake bay. returning home, towards the close of the season, with the proceeds of the summer's business, i encountered, in the upper part of chesapeake bay, a terrible snow-storm which proved fatal to many vessels then in the bay. in attempting to make a harbor, the vessel struck the ground, and knocked off her rudder; and, in order to get her off, we were obliged to throw over the deck-load. we drifted about all day, it still blowing and snowing, and at night let go both anchors. so we lay for a night and a day; but, having neither boat, rudder nor provisions, i was finally obliged to slip the anchors and run ashore. i sold my half of her, as she lay, for ninety dollars, which was all that remained to me of my investment and my summer's work. not having the means to purchase a boat, my health also continuing quite infirm, the next summer i hired one, and continued the same trade up and down the bay which i had followed the previous summer. my trading up and down the bay, in the way which i have described, of course brought me a good deal into contact with the slave population. no sooner, indeed, does a vessel, known to be from the north, anchor in any of these waters--and the slaves are pretty adroit in ascertaining from what state a vessel comes--than she is boarded, if she remains any length of time, and especially over night, by more or less of them, in hopes of obtaining a passage in her to a land of freedom. during my earlier voyagings, several years before, in chesapeake bay, i had turned a deaf ear to all these requests. at that time, according to an idea still common enough, i had regarded the negroes as only fit to be slaves, and had not been inclined to pay much attention to the pitiful tales which they told me of ill-treatment by their masters and mistresses. but my views upon this subject had undergone a gradual change. i knew it was asserted in the declaration of independence that all men are born free and equal, and i had read in the bible that god had made of one flesh all the nations of the earth. i had found out, by intercourse with the negroes, that they had the same desires, wishes and hopes, as myself. i knew very well that i should not like to be a slave even to the best of masters, and still less to such sort of masters as the greater part of the slaves seemed to have. the idea of having first one child and then another taken from me, as fast as they grew large enough, and handed over to the slave-traders, to be carried i knew not where, and sold, if they were girls, i knew not for what purposes, would have been horrible enough; and, from instances which came to my notice, i perceived that it was not less horrible and distressing to the parties concerned in the case of black people than of white ones. i had never read any abolition books, nor heard any abolition lectures. i had frequented only methodist meetings, and nothing was heard there about slavery. but, for the life of me, i could not perceive why the golden rule of doing to others as you would wish them to do to you did not apply to this case. had i been a slave myself,--and it is not a great while since the algerines used to make slaves of our sailors, white as well as black,--i should have thought it very right and proper in anybody who would have ventured to assist me in escaping out of bondage; and the more dangerous it might have been to render such assistance, the more meritorious i should have thought the act to be. why had not these black people, so anxious to escape from their masters, as good a light to their liberty as i had to mine? i know it is sometimes said, by those who defend slavery or apologize for it, that the slaves at the south are very happy and contented, if left to themselves, and that this idea of running away is only put into their heads by mischievous white people from the north. this will do very well for those who know nothing of the matter personally, and who are anxious to listen to any excuse. but there is not a waterman who ever sailed in chesapeake bay who will not tell you that, so far from the slaves needing any prompting to run away, the difficulty is, when they ask you to assist them, to make them take no for an answer. i have known instances where men have lain in the woods for a year or two, waiting for an opportunity to escape on board some vessel. on one of my voyages up the potomac, an application was made to me on behalf of such a runaway; and i was so much moved by his story, that, had it been practicable for me at that time, i should certainly have helped him off. one or two attempts i did make to assist the flight of some of those who sought my assistance; but none with success, till the summer of , which is the period to which i have brought down my narrative. i was employed during that summer, as i have mentioned already in trading up and down the chesapeake, in a hired boat, a small black boy being my only assistant. among other trips, i went to washington with a cargo of oysters. while i was lying there, at the same wharf, as it happened, from which the pearl afterwards took her departure, a colored man came on board, and, observing that i seemed to be from the north, he said he supposed we were pretty much all abolitionists there. i don't know where he got this piece of information, but i think it likely from some southern member of congress. as i did not check him, but rather encouraged him to go on, he finally told me that he wanted to get passage to the north for a woman and five children. the husband of the woman, and father of the children, was a free colored man; and the woman, under an agreement with her master, had already more than paid for her liberty; but, when she had asked him for a settlement, he had only answered by threatening to sell her. he begged me to see the woman, which i did; and finally i made an arrangement to take them away. their bedding, and other things, were sent down on board the vessel in open day, and at night the woman came on board with her five children and a niece. we were ten days in reaching frenchtown, where the husband was in waiting for them. he took them under his charge, and i saw them no more; but, since my release from imprisonment in washington, i have heard that the whole family are comfortably established in a free country, and doing well. having accomplished this exploit,--and was it not something of an exploit to bestow the invaluable gift of liberty upon seven of one's fellow-creatures--the season being now far advanced, i gave up the boat to the owner, and returned to my family at philadelphia. in the course of the following month of february, i received a note from a person whom i had never known or heard of before, desiring me to call at a certain place named in it. i did so, when it appeared that i had been heard of through the colored family which i had brought off from washington. a letter from that city was read to me, relating the case of a family or two who expected daily and hourly to be sold, and desiring assistance to get them away. it was proposed to me to undertake this enterprise; but i declined it at this time, as i had no vessel, and because the season was too early for navigation through the canal. i saw the same person again about a fortnight later, and finally arranged to go on to washington, to see what could be done. there i agreed to return again so soon as i could find a vessel fit for the enterprise. i spoke with several persons of my acquaintance, who had vessels under their control; but they declined, on account of the danger. they did not appear to have any other objection, and seemed to wish me success. passing along the street, i met captain sayres, and knowing that he was sailing a small bay-craft, called the pearl, and learning from him that business was dull with him, i proposed the enterprise to him, offering him one hundred dollars for the charter of his vessel to washington and back to frenchtown where, according to the arrangement with the friends of the passengers, they were to be met and carried to philadelphia. this was considerably more than the vessel could earn in any ordinary trip of the like duration, and sayres closed with the offer. he fully understood the nature of the enterprise. by our bargain, i was to have, as supercargo, the control of the vessel so far as related to her freight, and was to bring away from washington such passengers as i chose to receive on board; but the control of the vessel in other respects remained with him. captain sayres engaged in this enterprise merely as a matter of business. i, too, was to be paid for my time and trouble,--an offer which the low state of my pecuniary affairs, and the necessity of supporting my family, did not allow me to decline. but this was not, by any means, my sole or principal motive. i undertook it out of sympathy for the enslaved, and from my desire to do something to further the cause of universal liberty. such being the different ground upon which sayres and myself stood, i did not think it necessary or expedient to communicate to him the names of the persons with whom the expedition had originated; and, at my suggestion, those persons abstained from any direct communication with him, either at philadelphia or washington. sayres had, as cook and sailor, on board the pearl, a young man named chester english. he was married, and had a child or two, but was himself as inexperienced as a child, having never been more than thirty miles from the place where he was born. i remonstrated with sayres against taking this young man with us. but english, pleased with the idea of seeing washington, desired to go; and sayres, who had engaged him for the season, did not like to part with him. he went with us, but was kept in total ignorance of the real object of the voyage. he had the idea that we were going to washington for a load of ship-timber. we proceeded down the delaware, and by the canal into the chesapeake, making for the mouth of the potomac. as we ascended that river we stopped at a place called machudock, where i purchased, by way of cargo and cover to the voyage, twenty cords of wood; and with that freight on board we proceeded to washington, where we arrived on the evening of thursday, the th of april, . as it happened, we found that city in a great state of excitement on the subject of emancipation, liberty and the rights of man. a grand torch-light procession was on foot, in honor of the new french revolution, the expulsion of louis-philippe, and the establishment of a republic in france. bonfires were blazing in the public squares, and a great out-door meeting was being held in front of the _union_ newspaper office, at which very enthusiastic and exciting speeches were delivered, principally by southern democratic members of congress, which body was at that time in session. a full account of these proceedings, with reports of the speeches, was given in the _union_ of the next day. according to this report, mr. foote, the senator from mississippi, extolled the french revolution as holding out "to the whole family of man a bright promise of the universal establishment of civil and religious liberty." he declared, in the same speech, "that the age of tyrants and of slavery was rapidly drawing to a close, and that the happy period to be signalized by the _universal emancipation_ of man from the fetters of civic oppression, and the recognition in all countries of the great principles of popular sovereignty, equality and brotherhood, was at this moment visibly commencing." mr. stanton, of tennessee, and others, spoke in a strain equally fervid and philanthropic. i am obliged to refer to the _union_ newspaper for an account of these speeches, as i did not hear them myself. i came to washington, not to preach, nor to hear preached, emancipation, equality and brotherhood, but to put them into practice. sayres and english went up to see the procession and hear the speeches. i had other things to attend to. the news of my arrival soon spread among those who had been expecting it, though i neither saw nor had any direct communication with any of those who were to be my passengers. i had some difficulty in disposing of my wood, which was not a very first-rate article, but finally sold it, taking in payment the purchaser's note on sixty days, which i changed off for half cash and half provisions. as the trader to whom i passed the note had no hard bread, sayres and myself went in the steamer to alexandria to purchase a barrel,--a circumstance of which it was afterwards attempted to take advantage against us. it was arranged that the passengers should come on board after dark on saturday evening, and that we should sail about midnight. i had understood that the expedition, had principally originated in the desire to help off a certain family, consisting of a woman, nine children and two grand-children, who were believed to be legally entitled to their liberty. their case had been in litigation for some time; but, although they had a very good case,--the lawyer whom they employed (mr. bradley, one of the most distinguished members of the bar of the district) testified, in the course of one of my trials, that he believed them to be legally free,--yet, as their money was nearly exhausted, and as there seemed to be no end to the law's delay and the pertinacity of the woman who claimed them, it was deemed best by their friends that they should get away if they could, lest she might seize them unawares, and sell them to some trader. in speaking of this case, the person with whom i communicated at washington informed me that there were also quite a number of others who wished to avail themselves of this opportunity of escaping, and that the number of passengers was likely to be larger than had at first been calculated upon. to which i replied, that i did not stand about the number; that all who were on board before eleven o'clock i should take,--the others would have to remain behind. saturday evening, at supper, i let english a little into the secret of what i intended. i told him that the sort of ship-timber we were going to take would prove very easy to load and unload; that a number of colored people wished to take passage with us down the bay, and that, as sayres and myself would be away the greater part of the evening, all he had to do was, as fast as they came on board, to lift up the hatch and let them pass into the hold, shutting the hatch down upon them. the vessel, which we had moved down the river since unloading the wood, lay at a rather lonely place, called white-house wharf, from a whitish-colored building which stood upon it. the high bank of the river, under which a road passed, afforded a cover to the wharf, and there were only a few scattered buildings in the vicinity. towards the town there stretched a wide extent of open fields. anxious, as might naturally be expected, as to the result, i kept in the vicinity to watch the progress of events. there was another small vessel that lay across the head of the same wharf, but her crew were all black; and, going on board her just at dusk, i informed the skipper of my business, intimating to him, at the same time, that it would be a dangerous thing for him to betray me. he assured me that i need have no fears of him--that the other men would soon leave the vessel, not to return again till monday, and that, for himself, he should go below and to sleep, so as neither to hear nor to see anything. shortly after dark the expected passengers began to arrive, coming stealthily across the fields, and gliding silently on board the vessel. i observed a man near a neighboring brick-kiln, who seemed to be watching them. i went towards him, and found him to be black. he told me that he understood what was going on, but that i need have no apprehension of him. two white men, who walked along the road past the vessel, and who presently returned back the same way, occasioned me some alarm; but they seemed to have no suspicions of what was on foot, as i saw no more of them. i went on board the vessel several times in the course of the evening, and learned from english that the hold was fast filling up. i had promised him, in consideration of the unusual nature of the business we were engaged in, ten dollars as a gratuity, in addition to his wages. something past ten o'clock, i went on board, and directed english to cast off the fastenings and to get ready to make sail. pretty soon sayres came on board. it was a dead calm, and we were obliged to get the boat out to get the vessel's head round. after dropping down a half a mile or so, we encountered the tide making up the river; and, as there was still no wind, we were obliged to anchor. here we lay in a dead calm till about daylight. the wind then began to breeze up lightly from the northward, when we got up the anchor and made sail. as the sun rose, we passed alexandria. i then went into the hold for the first time, and there found my passengers pretty thickly stowed. i distributed bread among them, and knocked down the bulkhead between the hold and the cabin, in order that they might get into the cabin to cook. they consisted of men and women, in pretty equal proportions, with a number of boys and girls, and two small children. the wind kept increasing and hauling to the westward. off fort washington we had to make two stretches, but the rest of the way we run before the wind. shortly after dinner, we passed the steamer from baltimore for washington, bound up. i thought the passengers on board took particular notice of us; but the number of vessels met with in a passage up the potomac at that season is so few, as to make one, at least for the idle passengers of a steamboat, an object of some curiosity. just before sunset, we passed a schooner loaded with plaster, bound up. as we approached the mouth of the potomac, the wind hauled to the north, and blew with such stiffness as would make it impossible for us to go up the bay, according to our original plan. under these circumstances, apprehending a pursuit from washington, i urged sayres to go to sea, with the intention of reaching the delaware by the outside passage. but he objected that the vessel was not fit to go outside (which was true enough), and that the bargain was to go to frenchtown. having reached point lookout, at the mouth of the river, and not being able to persuade sayres to go to sea, and the wind being dead in our teeth, and too strong to allow any attempt to ascend the bay, we came to anchor in cornfield harbor, just under point lookout, a shelter usually sought by bay-craft encountering contrary winds when in that neighborhood. we were all sleepy with being up all the night before, and, soon after dropping anchor, we all turned in. i knew nothing more till, waking suddenly, i heard the noise of a steamer blowing off steam alongside of us. i knew at once that we were taken. the black men came to the cabin, and asked if they should fight. i told them no; we had no arms, nor was there the least possibility of a successful resistance. the loud shouts and trampling of many feet overhead proved that our assailants were numerous. one of them lifted the hatch a little, and cried out, "niggers, by g--d!" an exclamation to which the others responded with three cheers, and by banging the buts of their muskets against the deck. a lantern was called for, to read the name of the vessel; and it being ascertained to be the pearl, a number of men came to the cabin-door, and called for captain drayton. i was in no great hurry to stir; but at length rose from my berth, saying that i considered myself their prisoner, and that i expected to be treated as such. while i was dressing, rather too slowly for the impatience of those outside, a sentinel, who had been stationed at the cabin-door, followed every motion of mine with his gun, which he kept pointed at me, in great apprehension, apparently, lest i should suddenly seize some dangerous weapon and make at him. as i came out of the cabin-door, two of them seized me, took me on board the steamer and tied me; and they did the same with sayres and english, who were brought on board, one after the other. the black people were left on board the pearl, which the steamer took in tow, and then proceeded up the river. to explain this sudden change in our situation, it is necessary to go back to washington. great was the consternation in several families of that city, on sunday morning, to find no breakfast, and, what was worse, their servants missing. nor was this disaster confined to washington only. georgetown came in for a considerable share of it, and even alexandria, on the opposite side of the river, had not entirely escaped. the persons who had taken passage on board the pearl had been held in bondage by no less than forty-one different persons. great was the wonder at the sudden and simultaneous disappearance of so many "prime hands," roughly estimated, though probably with considerable exaggeration, as worth in the market not less than a hundred thousand dollars,--and all at "one fell swoop" too, as the district attorney afterwards, in arguing the case against me, pathetically expressed it! there were a great many guesses and conjectures as to where these people had gone, and how they had gone; but it is very doubtful whether the losers would have got upon the right track, had it not been for the treachery of a colored hackman, who had been employed to carry down to the vessel two passengers who had been in hiding for some weeks previous, and who could not safely walk down, lest they might be met and recognized. emulating the example of that large, and, in their own opinion at least, highly moral, religious and respectable class of white people, known as "dough-faces," this hackman thought it a fine opportunity to feather his nest by playing cat's-paw to the slave-holders. seeing how much the information was in demand, and anticipating, no doubt, a large reward, he turned informer, and described the pearl as the conveyance which the fugitives had taken; and, it being ascertained that the pearl had actually sailed between saturday night and sunday morning, preparations were soon made to pursue her. a mr. dodge, of georgetown, a wealthy old gentleman, originally from new england, missed three or four slaves from his family, and a small steamboat, of which he was the proprietor, was readily obtained. thirty-five men, including a son or two of old dodge, and several of those whose slaves were missing, volunteered to man her; and they set out about sunday noon, armed to the teeth with guns, pistols, bowie-knives, &c., and well provided with brandy and other liquors. they heard of us on the passage down, from the baltimore steamer and the vessel loaded with plaster. they reached the mouth of the river, and, not having found the pearl, were about to return, as the steamer could not proceed into the bay without forfeiting her insurance. as a last chance, they looked into cornfield harbor, where they found us, as i have related. this was about two o'clock in the morning. the pearl had come to anchor about nine o'clock the previous evening. it is a hundred and forty miles from washington to cornfield harbor. the steamer, with the pearl in tow, crossed over from point lookout to piney point, on the south shore of the potomac, and here the pearl was left at anchor, a part of the steamer's company remaining to guard her, while the steamer, having myself and the other white prisoners on board, proceeded up coan river for a supply of wood, having obtained which, she again, about noon of monday, took the pearl in tow and started for washington. the bearing, manner and aspect of the thirty-five armed persons by whom we had been thus seized and bound, without the slightest shadow of lawful authority, was sufficient to inspire a good deal of alarm. we had been lying quietly at anchor in a harbor of maryland; and, although the owners of the slaves might have had a legal right to pursue and take them back, what warrant or authority had they for seizing us and our vessel? they could have brought none from the district of columbia, whose officers had no jurisdiction or authority in cornfield harbor; nor did they pretend to have any from the state of maryland. some of them showed a good deal of excitement, and evinced a disposition to proceed to lynch us at once. a man named houver, who claimed as his property two of the boys passengers on board the pearl, put me some questions in a very insolent tone; to which i replied, that i considered myself a prisoner, and did not wish to answer any questions; whereupon one of the bystanders, flourishing a dirk in my face, exclaimed, "if i was in his place, i'd put this through you!" at piney point, one of the company proposed to hang me up to the yard-arm, and make me confess; but the more influential of those on board were not ready for any such violence, though all were exceedingly anxious to get out of me the history of the expedition, and who my employers were. that i had employers, and persons of note too, was taken for granted on all hands; nor did i think it worth my while to contradict it, though i declined steadily to give any information on that point. sayres and english very readily told all that they knew. english, especially, was in a great state of alarm, and cried most bitterly. i pitied him much, besides feeling some compunctions at getting him thus into difficulty; and, upon the representations which i made, that he came to washington in perfect ignorance of the object of the expedition, he was finally untied. as sayres was obliged to admit that he came to washington to take away colored passengers, he was not regarded with so much favor. but it was evidently me whom they looked upon as the chief culprit, alone possessing a knowledge of the history and origin of the expedition, which they were so anxious to unravel. they accordingly went to work very artfully to worm this secret out of me. i was placed in charge of one orme, a police-officer of georgetown, whose manner towards me was such as to inspire me with a certain confidence in him; who, as it afterwards appeared from his testimony on the trial, carefully took minutes--but, as it proved, very confused and incorrect ones--of all that i said, hoping thus to secure something that might turn out to my disadvantage. another person, with whom i had a good deal of conversation, and who was afterwards produced as a witness against me, was william h. craig, in my opinion a much more conscientious person than orme, who seemed to think that it was part of his duty, as a police-officer, to testify to something, at all hazards, to help on a conviction. but this is a subject to which i shall have occasion to return presently. in one particular, at least, the testimony of both these witnesses was correct enough. they both testified to my expressing pretty serious apprehensions of what the result to myself was likely to be. what the particular provisions were, in the district of columbia, as to helping slaves to escape, i did not know; but i had heard that, in some of the slave-states, they were very severe; in fact, i was assured by craig that i had committed the highest crime, next to murder, known in their laws. under these circumstances, i made up my mind that the least penalty i should be apt to escape with was confinement in the penitentiary for life; and it is quite probable that i endeavored to console myself, as these witnesses testified, with the idea that, after all, it might, in a religious point of view, be all for the best, as i should thus be removed from temptation, and have ample time for reflection and repentance. but my apprehensions were by no means limited to what i might suffer under the forms of law. from the temper exhibited by some of my captors, and from the vindictive fury with which the idea of enabling the enslaved to regain their liberty was, i knew, generally regarded at the south, i apprehended more sudden and summary proceedings; and what happened afterwards at washington proved that these apprehensions were not wholly unfounded. the idea of being torn in pieces by a furious mob was exceedingly disagreeable. many men, who might not fear death, might yet not choose to meet it in that shape. i called to mind the apology of the methodist minister, who, just after a declaration of his that he was not afraid to die, ran away from a furious bull that attacked him,--"that, though not fearing death, he did not like to be torn in pieces by a mad bull." i related this anecdote to craig, and, as he testified on the trial, expressed my preference to be taken on the deck of the steamer and shot at once, rather than to be given up to a washington mob to be baited and murdered. i talked pretty freely with orme and craig about myself, the circumstances under which i had undertaken this enterprise, my motives to it, my family, my past misfortunes, and the fate that probably awaited me; but they failed to extract from me, what they seemed chiefly to desire, any information which would implicate others. orme told me, as he afterwards testified, that what the people in the district wanted was the principals; and that, if i would give information that would lead to them, the owners of the slaves would let me go, or sign a petition for my pardon. craig also made various inquiries tending to the same point. though i was firmly resolved not to yield in this particular, yet i was desirous to do all i could to soften the feeling against me; and it was doubtless this desire which led me to make the statements sworn to by orme and craig, that i had no connection with the persons called abolitionists,--which was true enough; that i had formerly refused large offers made me by slaves to carry them away; and that, in the present instance, i was employed by others, and was to be paid for my services. on arriving off fort washington, the steamer anchored for the night, as the captors preferred to make their triumphant entry into the city by daylight. sayres and myself were watched during the night by a regular guard of two men, armed with muskets, who were relieved from time to time. before getting under weigh again,--which they did about seven o'clock in the morning of tuesday, feb. ,--sayres and myself were tied together arm-and-arm, and the black people also, two-and-two, with the other arm bound behind their backs. as we passed alexandria, we were all ordered on deck, and exhibited to the mob collected on the wharves to get a sight of us, who signified their satisfaction by three cheers. when we landed at the steamboat-wharf in washington, which is a mile and more from pennsylvania avenue, and in a remote part of the city, but few people had yet assembled. we were marched up in a long procession, sayres and myself being placed at the head of it, guarded by a man on each side; english following next, and then the negroes. as we went along, the mob began to increase; and, as we passed gannon's slave-pen, that slave-trader, armed with a knife, rushed out, and, with horrid imprecations, made a pass at me, which was very near finding its way through my body. instead of being arrested, as he ought to have been, this slave-dealer was politely informed that i was in the hands of the law, to which he replied, "d--n the law!--i have three negroes, and i will give them all for one thrust at this d--d scoundrel!" and he followed along, waiting his opportunity to repeat the blow. the crowd, by this time, was greatly increased. we met an immense mob of several thousand persons coming down four-and-a-half street, with the avowed intention of carrying us up before the capitol, and making an exhibition of us there. the noise and confusion was very great. it seemed as if the time for the lynching had come. when almost up to pennsylvania avenue, a rush was made upon us,--"lynch them! lynch them! the d--n villains!" and other such cries, resounded on all sides. those who had us in charge were greatly alarmed; and, seeing no other way to keep us from the hands of the mob, they procured a hack, and put sayres and myself into it. the hack drove to the jail, the mob continuing to follow, repeating their shouts and threats. several thousand people surrounded the jail, filling up the enclosure about it. our captors had become satisfied, from the statements made by sayres and myself, and from his own statements and conduct, that the participation of english in the affair was not of a sort that required any punishment; and when the mob made the rush upon us, the persons having him in charge had let him go, with the intention that he should escape. after a while he had found his way back to the steamboat wharf; but the steamer was gone. alone in a strange place, and not knowing what to do, he told his story to somebody whom he met, who put him in a hack and sent him up to the jail. it was a pity he lacked the enterprise to take care of himself when set at liberty, as it cost him four months' imprisonment and his friends some money. i ought to have mentioned before that, on arriving within the waters of the district, sayres and myself had been examined before a justice of the peace, who was one of the captors; and who had acted as their leader. he had made out a commitment against us, but none against english; so that the persons who had him in charge were right enough in letting him go. sayres and myself were at first put into the same cell, but, towards night, we were separated. a person named goddard, connected with the police, came to examine us. he went to sayres first. he then came to me, when i told him that, as i supposed he had got the whole story out of sayres, and as it was not best that two stories should be told, i would say nothing. goddard then took from me my money. one of the keepers threw me in two thin blankets, and i was left to sleep as i could. the accommodations were not of the most luxurious kind. the cell had a stone floor, which, with the help of a blanket, was to serve also for a bed. there was neither chair, table, stool, nor any individual piece of furniture of any kind, except a night-bucket and a water-can. i was refused my overcoat and valise, and had nothing but my water-can to make a pillow of. with such a pillow, and the bare stone floor for my bed, looked upon by all whom i saw with apparent abhorrence and terror,--as much so, to all appearance, as if i had been a murderer, or taken in some other desperate crime,--remembering the execrations which the mob had belched forth against me, and uncertain whether a person would be found to express the least sympathy for me (which might not, in the existing state of the public feeling, be safe), it may be imagined that my slumbers were not very sound. meanwhile the rage of the mob had taken, for the moment, another direction. i had heard it said, while we were coming up in the steamboat, that the abolition press must be stopped; and the mob accordingly, as the night came on, gathered about the office of the _national era_, with threats to destroy it. some little mischief was done; but the property-holders in the city, well aware how dependent washington is upon the liberality of congress, were unwilling that anything should occur to place the district in bad odor at the north. some of them, also, it is but justice to believe, could not entirely give in to the slave-holding doctrine and practice of suppressing free discussion by force; and, by their efforts, seconded by a drenching storm of rain, that came on between nine and ten o'clock, the mob were persuaded to disperse for the present. the jail was guarded that night by a strong body of police, serious apprehensions being entertained, lest the mob, instigated by the violence of many southern members of congress, should break in and lynch us. great apprehension, also, seemed to be felt at the jail, lest we might be rescued; and we were subject, during the night, to frequent examinations, to see that all was safe. great was the terror, as well as the rage, which the abolitionists appeared to inspire. they seemed to be thought capable, if not very narrowly watched, of taking us off through the roof, or the stone floor, or out of the iron-barred doors; and, from the half-frightened looks which the keepers gave me from time to time, i could plainly enough read their thoughts,--that a fellow who had ventured on such an enterprise as that of the pearl was desperate and daring enough to attempt anything. for a poor prisoner like me, so much in the power of his captors, and without the slightest means, hopes, or even thoughts of escape, it was some little satisfaction to observe the awe and terror which he inspired. of the prison fare i shall have more to say, by and by. it is sufficient to state here that it was about on a par with the sleeping accommodations, and hardly of a sort to give a man in my situation the necessary physical vigor. however, i thought little of this at that moment, as i was too sick and excited to feel much disposition to eat. the washington prison is a large three-story stone building, the front part of the lower story of which is occupied by the guard-room, or jail-office, and by the kitchen and sleeping apartments for the keepers. the back part, shut off from the front by strong grated doors, has a winding stone stair-case, ascending in the middle, on each side of which, on each of the three stories, are passage-ways, also shut off from the stair-case, by grated iron doors. the back wall of the jail forms one side of these passages, which are lighted by grated windows. on the other side are the cells, also with grated iron doors, and receiving their light and air entirely from the passages. the passages themselves have no ventilation except through the doors and windows, which answer that purpose very imperfectly. the front second story, over the guard-room, contains the cells for the female prisoners. the front third story is the debtors' apartment. the usage of the jail always has been--except in cases of insubordination or attempted escape, when locking up in the cells by day, as well as by night, has been resorted to as a punishment--to allow the prisoners, during the day-time, the use of the passages, for the benefit of light, air and exercise. indeed, it is hard to conceive a more cruel punishment than to keep a man locked up all the time in one of these half-lighted, unventilated cells. on the morning of the second day of our confinement, we too were let out into the passage. but we were soon put back again, and not only into separate cells, but into separate passages, so as to be entirely cut off from any communication with each other. it was a long time before we were able to regain the privilege of the passage. but, for the present, i shall pass over the internal economy and administration of the prison, and my treatment in it, intending, further on, to give a general sketch of that subject. about nine or ten o'clock, mr. giddings, the member of congress from ohio, came to see us. there was some disposition, i understood, not to allow him to enter the jail; but mr. giddings is a man not easily repulsed, and there is nobody of whom the good people at washington, especially the office-holders, who make up so large a part of the population, stand so much in awe as a member of congress; especially a member of mr. giddings' well-known fearless determination. he was allowed to come in, bringing another person with him, but was followed into the jail by a crowd of ruffians, who compelled the turnkey to admit them into the passage, and who vented their rage in execration and threats. mr. giddings said that he had understood we were here in jail without counsel or friends, and that he had come to let us know that we should not want for either; and he introduced the person he had brought with him as one who was willing to act temporarily as our counsel. not long after, mr. david a. hall, a lawyer of the district, came to offer his services to us in the same way. key, the united states attorney for the district, and who, as such, had charge of the proceedings against us, was there at the same time. he advised mr. hall to leave the jail and go home immediately, as the people outside were furious, and he ran the risk of his life. to which mr. hall replied that things had come to a pretty pass, if a man's counsel was not to have the privilege of talking with him. "poor devils!" said the district attorney, as he went out, "i pity them,--they are to be made scape-goats for others!" yet the rancor, and virulence, and fierce pertinacity with which this key afterwards pursued me, did not look much like pity. no doubt he was a good deal irritated at his ill success in getting any information out of me. the seventy-six passengers found on board the pearl had been committed to the jail as runaways, and mr. giddings, on going up to the house, by way of warning, i suppose, to the slave-holders, that they were not to be allowed to have everything their own way, moved an inquiry into the circumstances under which seventy-six persons were held prisoners in the district jail, merely for attempting to vindicate their inalienable rights. mr. hale also, in the senate, in consequence of the threats held out to destroy the _era_ office, and to put a stop to the publication of that paper, moved a resolution of inquiry into the necessity of additional laws for the protection of property in the district. the fury which these movements excited in the minds of the slave-holders found expression in the editorial columns of the washington _union_, in an article which i have inserted below, as forming a curious contrast to the exultations of that print, only a week before, and to which i have had occasion already to refer, over the spread of the principles of liberty and universal emancipation. the violent attack upon mr. giddings, because he had visited us three poor prisoners in jail, and offered us the assistance of counsel,--as if the vilest criminals were not entitled to have counsel to defend them,--is well worthy of notice. the following is the article referred to. the abolition incendiaries. those two abolition incendiaries (giddings and hale) threw firebrands yesterday into the two houses of congress. the western abolitionist moved a resolution of inquiry into the transactions now passing in washington, which brought on a fierce and fiery debate on the part of the southern members, in the course of which mr. giddings _was compelled to confess_, on the cross-questioning of messrs. venable and haskell, _that he had visited the three piratical kidnappers now confined in jail, and offered them counsel_. the reply of mr. toombs, of georgia, was scorching to an intense degree. the abolitionist john p. hale threw a firebrand resolution into the senate, calling for additional laws to compel this city to prevent riots. this also gave rise to a long and excited debate. no question was taken, in either house, before they adjourned. but, in the progress of the discussion in both houses, some doctrines were uttered which are calculated to startle the friends of the union. giddings justified the kidnappers, and contended that, though the act was legally forbidden, it was not morally wrong! mr. toombs brought home the practical consequences of this doctrine to the member from ohio in a most impressive manner. hale, of the senate, whilst he was willing to protect the abolitionist, expressed himself willing to relax the laws and weaken the protection which is given to the slave property in this district! mr. davis, of massachusetts, held the strange doctrine, that while he would not disturb the rights of the slave-holders, he would not cease to discuss those rights! as if congress ought to discuss, or to protect a right to discuss, a domestic institution of the southern states, with which they had no right to interfere! why discuss, when they cannot act? why first lay down an abstract principle, which they intend to violate in practice? such fanatics as giddings and hale are doing more mischief than they will be able to atone for. their incessant and impertinent intermeddling with the most delicate question in our social relations is creating the most indignant feelings in the community. the fiery discussions they are exciting are calculated to provoke the very riots which they deprecate. let these madmen forbear, if they value the tranquillity of our country, and the stability of our union. we conjure them to forbear their maddened, parricidal hand. an article like this in the _union_ was well calculated, and probably was intended, to encourage and stimulate the rioters, and accordingly they assembled that same evening in greater force than before threatening the destruction of the _era_ office. the publication office of the _era_ was not far from the patent office; and the dwelling-house of dr. bailey, the editor, was at no great distance. the mob, taking upon themselves the character of a meeting of citizens, appointed a committee to wait upon dr. bailey, to require him to remove his press out of the district of columbia. of course, as i was locked up in the jail, trying to rest my aching head and weary limbs, with a stone floor for a bed and a water-can for my pillow, i can have no personal knowledge of what transpired on this occasion. but a correspondent of the new york _tribune_, who probably was an eye-witness, gives the following account of the interview between the committee and dr. bailey: clearing his throat, the leader of the committee stretched forth his hand, and thus addressed dr. bailey: _mr. radcliff_.--sir, we have been appointed as a committee to wait upon you, by the meeting of the citizens of washington which has assembled this evening to take into consideration the circumstances connected with the late outrage upon _our_ property, and to convey to you the result of the deliberations of that meeting. you are aware of the excitement which now prevails. it has assumed a most threatening aspect. this community is satisfied that the existence of your press among us is endangering the public peace, and they are convinced that the public interests demand its removal. we have therefore waited upon you for the purpose of inquiring whether you are prepared to remove your press by ten o'clock to-morrow morning; and we beseech you, as you value the peace of this district, to accede to our request. [loud shouting heard at the patent office.] _dr. bailey_.--gentlemen: i do not believe you are actuated by any unkind feelings towards me personally; but you must be aware that you are demanding of me the surrender of a great constitutional right,--a right which i have used, but not abused,--in the preservation of which you are as deeply interested as i am. how can you ask me to abandon it, and thus become a party to my own degradation? _mr. radcliff_.--we subscribe to all that you say. but you see the popular excitement. the consequences of your refusal are inevitable. now, if you can avert these consequences by submitting to what the people request, although unreasonable, is it not your duty, as a good citizen, to submit? it is on account of the community we come here, obeying the popular feeling which you hear expressed in the distance, and which cannot be calmed, and, but for the course we have adopted, would at this moment be manifested in the destruction of your office. but they have consented to wait till they hear our report. we trust, then, that, as a good citizen, you will respond favorably to the wish of the people. _another of the committee_.--as one of the oldest citizens, i do assure you that it is in all kindness we make this request. we come here to tell you that we cannot arrest violence in any other way than by your allowing us to say that you yield to the request of the people. in kindness we tell you that if this thing commences here we know not where it may end. i am for mild measures myself. the prisoners were in my hands, but i would not allow my men to inflict any punishment on them. _dr. bailey_.--gentlemen, i appreciate your kindness; but i ask, is there a man among you who, standing as i now stand, the representative of a free press, would accede to this demand, and abandon his rights as an american citizen? _one of the committee_.--we know it is a great sacrifice that we ask of you; but we ask it to appease popular excitement. _dr. bailey_.--let me say to you that i am a peace-man. i have taken no measures to defend my office, my house or myself. i appeal to the good sense and intelligence of the community, and stand upon my rights as an american citizen, looking to the law alone for protection. _mr. radcliff_.--we have now discharged our duty. it has come to this,--the people say it must be done, unless you agree to go to-morrow. we now ask a categorical answer,--will you remove your press? _dr. bailey_.--i answer: i make no resistance, and i cannot assent to your demand. the press is there--it is undefended--you can do as you think proper. _one of the committee_.--all rests with you. we tell you what will follow your refusal, and, if you persist, all the responsibility must fall upon your shoulders. it is in your power to arrest the arm that is raised to give the blow. if you refuse to do so by a single expression, though it might cost you much, on you be all the consequences. _dr. bailey_.--you demand the sacrifice of a great right. you-- _one of the committee (interrupting him_).--i know it is a hardship; but look at the consequences of your refusal. we do not come here to express our individual opinions. i would myself leave the district to-morrow, if in your place. we now ask of you, shall this be done? we beg you will consider this matter in the light in which we view it. _dr. bailey_.--i am one man against many. but i cannot sacrifice any right that i possess. those who have sent you here may do as they think proper. _one of the committee_.--the whole community is against you. they say here is an evil that threatens them, and they ask you to remove that evil. you say "no!" and of course on your head be all the consequences. _dr. bailey_.--let me remind you that we have been recently engaged in public rejoicings. for what have we rejoiced? because the people in another land have arisen and triumphed over the despot, who had done--what? he did not demolish presses, but he imprisoned editors. in other words, he enslaved the press. will you then present to america and the world-- _one of the committee (interrupting him_).--if we could stop this movement, of the people, we would do it. but you make us unable to do so. we cannot tell how far it will go. after your press is pulled down, we do not know where they will go next. it is your duty, in such a case, to sacrifice your constitutional rights. _dr. bailey_.--i presume, when they shall have accomplished their object-- _mr. radcliff (interrupting)._--we advise you to be out of the way! the people think that your press endangers their property and their lives; and they have appointed us to tell you so, and ask you to remove it to-morrow. if you say that you will do so, they will retire satisfied. if you refuse, they say they will tear it down. here is mr. boyle, a gentleman of property, and one of our oldest residents. you see that we are united. if you hold out and occupy your position, the men, women and children of the district will universally rise up against you. _dr. bailey (addressing himself to his father, a venerable man of more than eighty years of age, who approached the doorway and commenced remonstrating with the committee)_.--you do not understand the matter, father; these gentlemen are a committee appointed by a meeting assembled in front of the patent office. you need not address remonstrances to them. gentlemen, you appreciate my position. i cannot surrender my rights. were i to die for it, i cannot surrender my rights! tell those who sent you hither that my press and my house are undefended--they must do as they see proper. i maintain my rights, and make no resistance! the committee then retired, and dr. bailey reëntered his dwelling. meanwhile, the shouts of the mob, as they received the reports of the committee, were reëchoed along the streets. a fierce yell greeted the reäppearance of radcliff in front of the patent office. he announced the result of the interview with the editor of the _era_. shouts, imprecations, blasphemy, burst from the crowd. "down with the _era_!" "now for it!" "gut the office!" were the exclamations heard on all sides, and the mob rushed tumultuously to seventh-street. but a body of the city police had been stationed to guard the building, and the mob finally contented themselves with passing a resolution to pull it down the next day at ten o'clock, if the press was not meanwhile removed. that same afternoon, we three prisoners had been taken before three justices, who held a court within the jail for our examination. mr. hall appeared as our counsel. the examination was continued till the next day, when we were, all three of us, recommitted to jail, on a charge of stealing slaves, our bail being fixed at a thousand dollars for each slave, or seventy-six thousand dollars for each of us. meanwhile, both houses of congress became the scenes of very warm debates, growing out of circumstances connected with our case. in the senate, mr. hale, agreeably to the notice he had given, asked leave to introduce a bill for the protection of property in the district of columbia against the violence of mobs. this bill, as was stated in the debate, was copied, almost word for word, from a law in force in the state of maryland (and many other states have--and all ought to have--a similar law), making the cities and towns liable for any property which might be destroyed in them by mob violence. in the house the subject came up on a question of privilege, raised by mr. palfrey, of massachusetts, who offered a resolution for the appointment of a select committee to inquire into the currently-reported facts that a lawless mob had assembled during the two previous nights, setting at defiance the constituted authorities of the united states, and menacing members of congress and other persons. in both those bodies the debate was very warm, as any one interested in it will find, by reading it in the columns of the _congressional globe_. it was upon this occasion, during the debate in the senate, that mr. foote, then a senator from mississippi, and now governor of that state, whose speech on the french revolution has been already quoted, threatened to join in lynching mr. hale, if he ever set foot in mississippi, whither he invited him to come for that purpose. this part of the debate was so peculiar and so characteristic, showing so well the spirit with which the district of columbia was then blazing against me, that i cannot help giving the following extract from mr. foote's speech, as contained in the official report: "all must see that the course of the senator from new hampshire is calculated to embroil the confederacy--to put in peril our free institutions--to jeopardize that union which our forefathers established, and which every pure patriot throughout the country desires shall be perpetuated. can any man be a patriot who pursues such a course? is he an enlightened friend of freedom, or even a judicious friend of those with whom he affects to sympathize, who adopts such a course? who does not know that such men are, practically, the worst enemies of the slaves? i do not beseech the gentleman to stop; but, if he perseveres, he will awaken indignation everywhere, and it cannot be that enlightened men, who conscientiously belong to the faction at the north of which he is understood to be the head, can sanction or approve everything that he may do, under the influence of excitement, in this body. i will close by saying that, if he really wishes glory, and to be regarded as the great liberator of the blacks,--if he wishes to be particularly distinguished in this cause of emancipation, as it is called,--let him, instead of remaining here in the senate of the united states, or instead of secreting himself in some dark corner of new hampshire, where he may possibly escape the just indignation of good men throughout this republic,--let him visit the good state of mississippi, in which i have the honor to reside, and no doubt he will be received with such shouts of joy as have rarely marked the reception of any individual in this day and generation. i invite him there, and will tell him, beforehand, in all honesty, that he could not go ten miles into the interior before he would grace one of the tallest trees in the forest, with a rope around his neck, with the approbation of every virtuous and patriotic citizen; and that, if necessary, i should myself assist in the operation!" mr. hale's reply was equally characteristic: "the honorable senator invites me to visit the state of mississippi, and kindly informs me that he would be one of those who would act the assassin, and put an end to my career. he would aid in bringing me to public execution,--no, death by a mob! well, in return for his hospitable invitation, i can only express the desire that he would penetrate into some of the dark corners of new hampshire; and, if he do, i am much mistaken if he would not find that the people in that benighted region would be very happy to listen to his arguments, and engage in an intellectual conflict with him, in which the truth might be elicited. i think, however, that the announcement which the honorable senator has made on this floor of the fate which awaits so humble an individual as myself in the state of mississippi must convince every one of the propriety of the high eulogium which he pronounced upon her, the other day, when he spoke of the high position which she occupied among the states of this confederacy.--but enough of this personal matter."[a] [footnote a: the following paragraph, which has recently been going the rounds of the newspapers, will serve to show the sort of manners which prevail in the state so fitly represented by mr. foote, and how these southern ruffians experience in their own families the natural effect of the blood-thirsty sentiments which they so freely avow: "the death of mr. carneal.--the vicksburg _sentinel_, of the th ult., gives the following account of the shooting of mr. thomas carneal, son-in-law of governor foote: "we have abstained thus long from giving any notice of the sad affair which resulted in the death of mr. thomas carneal, the son-in-law of the governor of our state, that we might get the particulars. it seems that the steamer e.c. watkins, with mr. carneal as a passenger, landed at or near the plantation of judge james, in washington county. mr. carneal had heard that the judge was an extremely brutal man to his slaves, and was likewise excited with liquor; and, upon the judge inviting him and others to take a drink with him, carneal replied that he would not drink with a man who abused his negroes; this the judge resented as an insult, and high words ensued. "the company took their drink, however, all but mr. carneal, who went out upon the bow of the boat, and took a seat, where he was sought by judge james, who desired satisfaction for the insult. carneal refused to make any, and asked the old gentleman if any of his sons would resent the insult if he was to slap him in the mouth; to which the judge replied that he would do it himself, if his sons would not; whereupon mr. carneal struck him in the month with the back of his hand. the judge resented it by striking him across the head with a cane, which stunned mr. carneal very much, causing the blood to run freely from the wound. as soon as carneal recovered from the wound, he drew a bowie-knife, and attacked the judge with it, inflicting several wounds upon his person, some of which were thought to be mortal. "some gentlemen, in endeavoring to separate the combatants, were wounded by carneal. when judge james arrived at his house, bleeding, and in a dying state, as was thought, his son seized a double-barrelled gun, loaded it heavily with large shot, galloped to where the boat was, hitched his horse, and deliberately raised his gun to shoot carneal, who was sitting upon a cotton-bale. mr. james was warned not to fire, as carneal was unarmed, and he might kill some innocent person. he took his gun from his shoulder, raised it again, and fired both barrels in succession, killing carneal instantly. "it is a sad affair, and carneal leaves, besides numerous friends, a most interesting and accomplished widow, to bewail his tragical end."] such was the savage character of the debate, that even mr. calhoun, who was not generally discourteous, finding himself rather hard pressed by some of mr. hale's arguments, excused himself from an answer, on the ground that mr. hale was a maniac! the slave-holders set upon mr. hale with all their force; but, though they succeeded in voting down his bill, it was generally agreed, and anybody may see by the report, that he had altogether the best of the argument. mr. palfrey's resolution was also lost; but the boldness with which giddings and others avowed their opinions, and the freedom of speech which they used on the subject of slavery, afforded abundant proof that the gagging system which had prevailed so long in congress had come at last to an end. these movements, though the propositions of messrs. hale and palfrey were voted down, were not without their effect. the common council of washington appointed an acting mayor, in place of the regular mayor, who was sick. president polk sent an intimation to the clerks of the departments, some of whom had been active in the mobs, that they had better mind their own business and stay at home. something was said about marines from the navy-yard; and from that time the riotous spirit began to subside. meanwhile, the unfortunate people who had attempted to escape in the pearl had to pay the penalty of their love of freedom. a large number of them, as they were taken out of jail by the persons who claimed to be their owners, were handed over to the slave-traders. the following account of the departure of a portion of these victims for the southern market was given in a letter which appeared at the time in several northern newspapers: "_washington, april_ , . "last evening, as i was passing the railroad dépôt, i saw a large number of colored people gathered round one of the cars, and, from manifestations of grief among some of them, i was induced to draw near and ascertain the cause of it. i found in the car towards which they were so eagerly gazing about fifty colored people, some of whom were nearly as white as myself. a majority of them were of the number who attempted to gain their liberty last week. about half of them were females, a few of whom had but a slight tinge of african blood in their veins, and were finely formed and beautiful. the men were ironed together, and the whole group looked sad and dejected. at each end of the car stood two ruffianly-looking personages, with large canes in their hands, and, if their countenances were an index of their hearts, they were the very impersonation of hardened villany itself. "in the middle of the car stood the notorious slave-dealer of baltimore, slatter, who, i learn, is a member of the methodist church, 'in good and regular standing.' he had purchased the men and women around him, and was taking his departure for georgia. while observing this old, gray-headed villain,--this dealer in the bodies and souls of men,--the chaplain of the senate entered the car,--a methodist brother,--and took his brother slatter by the hand, chatted with him for some time, and seemed to view the heart-rending scene before him with as little concern as we should look upon cattle. i know not whether he came with a view to sanctify the act, and pronounce a parting blessing; but this i do know, that he justifies slavery, and denounces anti-slavery efforts as bitterly as do the most hardened slave-dealers. "a presbyterian minister, who owned one of the fugitives, was the first to strike a bargain with slatter, and make merchandise of god's image; and many of these poor victims, thus manacled and destined for the southern market, are regular members of the african methodist church of this city. i did not hear whether they were permitted to get letters of dismission from the church, and of 'recommendation to any church where god, in his providence, might cast their lot.' probably a certificate from slatter to the effect that they are christians will answer every purpose. no doubt he will demand a good price for slaves of this character. perhaps brother slicer furnished him with testimonials of their religious character, to help their sale in georgia. i understand that he was accustomed to preach to them here, and especially to urge upon them obedience to their masters. "some of the colored people outside, as well as in the car, were weeping most bitterly. i learned that many families were separated. wives were there to take leave of their husbands, and husbands of their wives, children of their parents, brothers and sisters shaking hands perhaps for the last time, friends parting with friends, and the tenderest ties of humanity sundered at the single bid of the inhuman slave-broker before them. a husband, in the meridian of life, begged to see the partner of his bosom. he protested that she was free--that she had free papers, and was torn from him, and shut up in the jail. he clambered up to one of the windows of the car to see his wife, and, as she was reaching forward her hand to him, the black-hearted villain, slatter, ordered him down. he did not obey. the husband and wife, with tears streaming down their cheeks, besought him to let them converse for a moment. but no! a monster more hideous, hardened and savage, than the blackest spirit of the pit, knocked him down from the car, and ordered him away. the bystanders could hardly restrain themselves from laying violent hands upon the brutes. this is but a faint description of that scene, which took place within a few rods of the capitol, under _enactments_ recognized by congress. o! what a revolting scene to a feeling heart, and what a retribution awaits the actors! will not these wailings of anguish reach the ears of the most high? 'vengeance is mine; i will repay, saith the lord.'" of those sent off at this time, several, through the generosity of charitable persons at the north, were subsequently redeemed, among whom were the edmundson girls, of whom an account is given in the "key to uncle tom's cabin." from one of the women, who was not sold, but retained at washington, i received a mark of kindness and remembrance for which i felt very grateful. she obtained admission to the jail, the sunday after our committal, to see some of her late fellow-passengers still confined there; and, as she passed the passage in which i was confined, she called to me and handed a bible through the gratings. i am happy to be able to add that she has since, upon a second trial, succeeded in effecting her escape, and that she is now a free woman. the great excitement which our attempt at emancipation had produced at washington, and the rage and fury exhibited against us, had the effect to draw attention to our case, and to secure us sympathy and assistance on the part of persons wholly unknown to us. a public meeting was held in faneuil hall, in boston, on the th of april, at which a committee was appointed, consisting of samuel may, samuel g. howe, samuel e. sewell, richard hildreth, robert morris, jr., francis jackson, elizur wright, joseph southwick, walter channing, j.w. browne, henry i. bowditch, william f. channing, joshua p. blanchard and charles list, authorized to employ counsel and to collect money for the purpose of securing to us a fair trial, of which, without some interference from abroad, the existing state of public feeling in the district of columbia seemed to afford little prospect. a correspondence was opened by this committee with the hon. horace mann, then a representative in congress from the state of massachusetts, with ex-governor seward, of new york, with salmon p. chase, esq., of ohio, and with gen. fessenden, of maine, all of whom volunteered their gratuitous services, should they be needed. a moderate subscription was promptly obtained, the larger part of it, as i am informed, through the liberality of gerrit smith, now a representative in congress from new york, whose large pecuniary contributions to all philanthropic objects, as well as his zealous efforts in the same direction both with the tongue and the pen, have made him so conspicuous. he has, indeed, a unique way of spending his large fortune, without precedent, at least in this country, and not likely to find many imitators. the committee, being thus put in funds, deputed mr. hildreth, one of the members of it, to proceed to washington to make the necessary arrangements. he arrived there toward the end of the month of may, by which time the public excitement against us, or at least the exterior signs of it, had a good deal subsided. but we were still treated with much rigor, being kept locked up in our cells, denied the use of the passage, and not allowed to see anybody, except when once in a while mr. giddings or mr. hall found an access to us; but even then we were not allowed to hold any conversation, except in the presence of the jailer. it may well be imagined that the news of my capture and imprisonment, and of the danger in which i seemed to be, had thrown my family into great distress. i also had suffered exceedingly on their account, several of the children being yet too young to shift for themselves. but i was presently relieved, by the information which i received before long, that during my imprisonment my family would be provided for. warm remonstrances had been made to the judge of the criminal court by mr. hall against the attempt to exclude us from communication with our friends,--a liberty freely granted to all other prisoners. the judge declined to interfere; but mr. mann, having agreed to act as our counsel, was thenceforth freely admitted to interviews with us, without the presence of any keeper. books and newspapers were furnished me by friends out of doors. i presently obtained a mattress, and the liberty of providing myself with better food than the jail allows. i continued to suffer a good deal of annoyance from the capricious insolence and tyranny of the marshal, robert wallace; but i intend to go more at length into the details of my prison experience after having first disposed of the legal proceedings against us. the feeling against me was no doubt greatly increased by the failure of the efforts repeatedly made to induce me to give up the names of those who had coöperated with me, and to turn states-evidence against them. there was a certain mr. taylor, from boston, i believe, then in washington, the inventor of a submarine armor for diving purposes. i had formerly been well acquainted with him, and, at a time when no friend of mine was allowed access to me, he made me repeated visits at the jail, at the request, as he said, of the district attorney, to induce me to make a full disclosure, in which case it was intimated i should be let off very easy. as mr. taylor did not prevail with me, one of the jailers afterwards assured me that he was authorized to promise me a thousand dollars in case i would become a witness against those concerned with me. as i turned a deaf ear to all these propositions, the resolution seemed to be taken to make me and sayres, and even english, suffer in a way to be a warning to all similar offenders. the laws under which we were to be tried were those of the state of maryland as they stood previous to the year . these laws had been temporarily continued in force over that part of the district ceded by maryland (the whole of the present district) at the time that the jurisdiction of the united spates commenced; and questions of more general interest, and the embarrassment growing out of the existence of slavery, having defeated all attempts at a revised code, these same old laws of maryland still remain in force, though modified, in some respects, by acts of congress. in an act of maryland, passed in the year , and in force in the district, there was a section which seemed to have been intended for precisely such cases as ours. it provided "that any person or persons who shall hereafter be convicted of giving a pass to any slave, or person held to service, or shall be found to assist, by advice, donation or loan, or otherwise, the transporting of any slave or any person held to service, from this state, or by any other unlawful means depriving a master or owner of the service of his slave or person held to service, for every such offence the party aggrieved shall recover damages in an action on the case, against such offender or offenders, and such offender or offenders shall also be liable, upon indictment, and conviction upon verdict, confession or otherwise, in this state, in any county court where such offence shall happen, to be fined a sum not exceeding two hundred dollars, at the discretion of the court, one-half to the use of the master or owner of such slave, the other half to the county school, if there be any; if there be no such school, to the use of the county." accordingly, the grand jury, under the instructions of the district attorney, found seventy-four indictments against each of us prisoners, based on this act, one for each of the slaves found on board the vessel, two excepted, who were runaways from virginia, and the names of their masters not known. as it would have been possible to have fined us about, fifteen thousand dollars apiece upon these indictments, besides costs, and as, by the laws of the district, there is no method of discharging prisoners from jail who are unable to pay a fine, except by an executive pardon, one would have thought that this might have satisfied. but the idea that we should escape with a fine, though we might be kept in prison for life from inability to pay it, was very unsatisfactory. it was desired to make us out guilty of a penitentiary offence at the least; and for that purpose recourse was had to an old, forgotten act of maryland, passed in the year , the fourth section of which provided "that any person or persons who, after the said tenth day of september [ ], shall steal any ship, sloop, or other vessel whatsoever, out of any place within the body of any county within this province, of seventeen feet or upwards by the keel, and shall carry the same ten miles or upwards from the place whence it shall be stolen, _or who shall steal any negro or other slave_, or who shall counsel, hire, aid, abet, or command any person or persons to commit the said offences, or who shall be accessories to the said offences, and shall be thereof legally convicted as aforesaid, or outlawed, or who shall obstinately or of malice stand mute, or peremptorily challenge above twenty, shall suffer death as a felon, or felons, and be excluded the benefit of the clergy." they would have been delighted, no doubt, to hang us under this act; but that they could not do, as congress, by an act passed in , having changed the punishment of death, inflicted by the old maryland statutes (except in certain cases specially provided for), into confinement in the penitentiary for not less than twenty years. to make sure of us at all events, not less than forty-one separate indictments (that being the number of the pretended owners) were found against each of us for stealing slaves. our counsel afterwards made some complaint of this great number of indictments, when two against each of us, including all the separate charges in different counts, would have answered as well. it was even suggested that the fact that a fee of ten dollars was chargeable upon each indictment toward the five-thousand-dollar salary of the district attorney might have something to do with this large number. but the district attorney denied very strenuously being influenced by any such motive, maintaining, in the face of authorities produced against him, that this great number was necessary. he thought it safest, i suppose, instead of a single jury on each charge against each of us, to have the chance of a much greater number, and the advantage, besides, of repeated opportunities of correcting such blunders, mistakes and neglects, as the prisoner's counsel might point out. on the th of july, i was arraigned in the criminal court, judge crawford presiding, on one of the larceny indictments, to which i pleaded not guilty; whereupon my counsel, messrs. hall and mann, moved the court for a continuance till the next term, alleging the prevailing public excitement, and the want of time to prepare the defence and to procure additional counsel. but the judge could only be persuaded, and that with difficulty, to delay the trial for eighteen days. when this unexpected information was communicated to the committee at boston, a correspondence was opened by telegraph with messrs. seward, chase and fessenden. but governor seward had a legal engagement at baltimore on the very day appointed for the commencement of the trial, and the other two gentlemen had indispensable engagements in the courts of ohio and maine. under these circumstances, as mr. hall was not willing to take the responsibility of acting as counsel in the case, and as it seemed necessary to have some one familiar with the local practice, the boston committee retained the services of j.m. carlisle, esq., of the washington bar, and mr. hildreth again proceeded to washington to give his assistance. just as the trial was about to commence, mr. carlisle being taken sick, the judge was, with great difficulty, prevailed upon to grant a further delay of three days. this delay was very warmly opposed, not only by the district attorney, but by the same mr. radcliff whom we have seen figuring as chairman of the mob-committee to wait on dr. bailey, and who had been retained, at an expense of two hundred dollars, by the friends of english, as counsel for him, they thinking it safest not to have his defence mixed up in any way with that of myself and sayres. before the three days were out, governor seward, having finished his business in baltimore, hastened to washington; but, as the rules of the court did not allow more than two counsel to speak on one side, the other counsel being also fully prepared, it was judged best to proceed as had been arranged. the trials accordingly commenced on thursday, the th of july, upon an indictment against me for stealing two slaves, the property of one andrew houver. the district attorney, in opening his case, which he did in a very dogmatic, overbearing and violent manner, declared that this was no common affair. the rights of property were violated by every larceny, but this case was peculiar and enormous. other kinds of property were protected by their want of intelligence; but the intelligence of this kind of property greatly diminished the security of its possession. the jury therefore were to give such a construction to the laws and the facts as to subject violators of it to the most serious consequences. the facts which seemed to be relied upon by the district attorney as establishing the alleged larceny were--that i had come to washington, and staid from monday to saturday, without any ostensible business, when i had sailed away with seventy-six slaves on board, concealed under the hatches, and the hatches battened down; and that when pursued and overtaken the slaves were found on board with provisions enough for a month. it is true that houver swore that the hatches were battened down when the pearl was overtaken by the steamer; but in this he was contradicted by every other government witness. this houver was, according to some of the other witnesses, in a considerable state of excitement, and at the time of the capture he addressed some violent language to me, as already related. he had sold his two boys, after their recapture, to the slave-traders; but had been obliged to buy them back again, at a loss of one hundred dollars, by the remonstrances of his wife, who did not like to part with them, as they had been raised in the family. perhaps this circumstance made him the more inveterate against me. as to the schooner being provisioned for a month, the bill of the provisions on board, purchased in washington, was produced on the trial, and they were found to amount to three bushels of meal, two hundred and six pounds of pork, and fifteen gallons of molasses, which, with a barrel of bread, purchased in alexandria, would make rather a short month's supply for seventy-nine persons! it was also proved, by the government witnesses, that the pearl was a mere bay-craft, not fit to go to sea; which did not agree very well with the idea held out by the district attorney, that i intended to run these negroes off to the west indies, and to sell them there. but, to make up for these deficiencies, williams, who acted as the leader of the steamer expedition, swore that i had said, while on board, that if i had got off with the negroes i should have made an independent fortune; but on the next trial he could not say whether it was i who told him so, or whether somebody else told him that i had said so. orme and craig, with whom i principally conversed, and who went into long details, recollected nothing of the sort; and it is very certain that, as there was no foundation for it, and no motive for such a statement on my part, i never made it. williams, perhaps, had heard somebody guess that, if i had got off, i had slaves enough to make me independent; and that guess of somebody else he perhaps remembered, or seemed to remember, as something said by me, or reported to have been said by me; and such often, in cases producing great public excitement, is the sort of evidence upon which men's lives or liberty is sworn away. the idea, however, of an intention to run the negroes off for sale, seemed principally to rest on the testimony of a certain captain baker, who had navigated the steamer by which we were captured at the mouth of the potomac, and who saw, as he was crossing over to coan river for wood, a long, black, suspicious-looking brig, with her sails loose, lying at anchor under point lookout, about three miles from our vessel. this was proved, by other witnesses, to be a very common place of anchorage; in fact, that it was common for vessels waiting for the wind, or otherwise, to anchor anywhere along the shores of the bay. but captain baker thought otherwise; and he and the district attorney wished the jury to infer that this brig seen by him under point lookout was a piratical craft, lying ready to receive the negroes on board, and to carry them off to cuba! besides houver, williams, orme, craig and baker, another witness was called to testify as to the sale of the wood, and my having been in washington the previous summer. many questions as to evidence arose, and the examination of these witnesses consumed about two days and a half. in opening the defence, mr. mann commenced with some remarks on the peculiarity of his position, growing out of the unexpected urgency with which the case had been pushed to a trial, and the public excitement which had been produced by it. he also alluded to the hardship of finding against me such a multiplicity of indictments,--for what individual, however innocent, could stand up against such an accumulated series of prosecutions, backed by all the force of the nation? some observations on the costs thus unnecessarily accumulated, and, in particular, on the district attorney's ten-dollar fees, produced a great excitement, and loud denials on the part of that officer. mr. mann then proceeded to remark that, in all criminal trials which he had ever before attended or heard of, the prosecuting officer had stated and produced to the jury, in his opening, the law alleged to be violated. as the district attorney had done nothing of that sort, he must endeavor to do it for him. mr. mann then proceeded to call the attention of the jury to the two laws already quoted, upon which the two sets of indictments were founded. of both these acts charged against me--the stealing of houver's slaves, and the helping them to escape from their master--i could not be guilty. the real question in this case was, which had i done? to make the act stealing, there must have been--so mr. mann maintained--a taking _lucri causa_, as the lawyers say; that is, a design on my part to appropriate these slaves to my own use, as my own property. if the object was merely to help them to escape to a free state, then the case plainly came under the other statute. in going on to show how likely it was that the persons on board the pearl might have desired and sought to escape, independently of any solicitations or suggestions on my part, mr. mann alluded to the meeting in honor of the french revolution, already mentioned, held the very night of the arrival of the pearl at washington. as he was proceeding to read certain extracts from the speech of senator foote on that occasion, already quoted, and well calculated, as he suggested, to put ideas of freedom and emancipation into the heads of the slaves, he was suddenly interrupted by the judge, when the following curious dialogue occurred: "_judge crawford_.--a certain latitude is to be allowed to counsel in this case; but i cannot permit any harangue against slavery to be delivered here. "_carlisle (rising suddenly and stepping forward_).--i am sure your honor must be laboring under some strange misapprehension. born and bred and expecting to live and die in a slave-holding community, and entertaining no ideas different from those, which commonly prevail here, i have watched the course of my associate's argument with the closest attention. the point he is making, i am sure, is most pertinent to the case,--a point it would be cowardice in the prisoner's counsel not to make; and i must beg your honor to deliberate well before you undertake to stop the mouths of counsel, and to take care that you have full constitutional warrant for doing so. "_judge crawford_.--i can't permit an harangue against slavery." mr. mann proceeded to explain the point at which he was aiming. he had read these extracts from mr. foote's speech, delivered to a miscellaneous collection of blacks and whites, bond and free, assembled before the _union_ office, as showing to what exciting influences the slaves of the district were exposed, independently of any particular pains taken by anybody to make them discontented; and, with the same object in view, he proposed to read some further extracts from other speeches delivered on the same occasion. "_district attorney_.--if this matter is put in as evidence, it must first be proved that such speeches were delivered. "_mann_.--if the authenticity of the speeches is denied, i will call the honorable mr. foote to prove it. "_district attorney_.--what newspaper is that from which the counsel reads? "_mann_ (_holding it up_).--the washington _union_, of april th." and, without further objection, he proceeded to read some further extracts. he concluded by urging upon the jury that this case was to be viewed merely as an attempt of certain slaves to escape from their masters, and on my part an attempt to assist them in so doing; and therefore a case under the statute of , punishable with fine; and not a larceny, as charged against me in this indictment. several witnesses were called who had known me in philadelphia, to testify as to my good character. the district attorney was very anxious to get out of these witnesses whether they had never heard me spoken of as a man likely to run away with slaves? and it did come out from one of them that, from the tenor of my conversation, it used sometimes to be talked over, that one day or other it "would heave up" that i had helped off some negro to a free state. but these conversations, the witness added, were generally in a jesting tone; and another witness stated that the charge of running off slaves was a common joke among the watermen. according to the practice in the maryland criminal courts,--and the same practice prevails in the district of columbia,--the judge does not address the jury at all. after the evidence is all in, the counsel, before arguing the case, may call upon the judge to give to the jury instructions as to the law. these instructions, which are offered in writing, and argued by the counsel, the judge can give or refuse, as he sees fit, or can alter them to suit himself; but any such refusal or alteration furnishes ground for a bill of exceptions, on which the case, if a verdict is given against the prisoner, may be carried by writ of error before the circuit court of the district, for their revisal. my counsel asked of the judge no less than fourteen instructions on different points of law, ten of which the judge refused to give, and modified to suit himself. several of these related to the true definition of theft, or what it was that makes a taking larceny. it was contended by my counsel, and they asked the judge to instruct the jury, that, to convict me of larceny, it must be proved that the taking the slaves on board the pearl was with the intent to convert them to my own use, and to derive a gain from such conversion; and that, if they believed that the slaves were received on board with the design to help them to escape to a free state, then the offence was not larceny, but a violation of the statute of . this instruction, variously put, was six times over asked of the judge, and as often refused. he was no less anxious than the district attorney to convict me of larceny, and send me to the penitentiary. but, having a vast deal more sense than the district attorney, he saw that the idea that i had carried off these negroes to sell them again for my own profit was not tenable. it was plain enough that my intention was to help them to escape. the judge therefore, who did not lack ingenuity, went to work to twist the law so as, if possible, to bring my case within it. even he did not venture to say that merely to assist slaves to escape was stealing. stealing, he admitted, must be a taking, _lucri causa_, for the sake of gain; but--so he told the jury in one of his instructions--"this desire of gain need not be to convert the article taken to his--the taker's--own use, nor to obtain for the thief the value in money of the thing stolen. if the act was prompted by a desire to obtain for himself, or another even, other than the owner, a money gain, or any other inducing advantage, a dishonest gain, then the act was a larceny." and, in another instruction, he told the jury, "that if they believed, from the evidence, that the prisoner, before receiving the slaves on board, imbued their minds with discontent, persuaded them to go with him, and, by corrupt influences and inducements, caused them to come to his ship, and then took and carried them down the river, then the act was a larceny." upon these instructions of the judge, to which bills of exceptions were filed by my counsel, the case, which had been already near a week on trial, was argued to the jury. the district attorney had the opening and the close, and both my counsel had the privilege of speaking. for the following sketch of the argument, as well as of the legal points already noted, i am indebted to the notes of mr. hildreth, taken at the time: "_district attorney_.--i shall endeavor to be very brief in the opening, reserving myself till i know the grounds of defence. it is the duty of the jury to give their verdict according to the law and evidence; and, so far as i knew public opinion, there neither exists now, nor has existed at any other time, the slightest desire on the part of a single individual that the prisoner should have otherwise than a fair trial. i think, therefore, the solemn warnings by the prisoner's counsel to the jury were wholly uncalled for. there was, no doubt, an excitement out of doors,--a natural excitement,--at such an amount of property snatched up at one fell swoop; but was that to justify the suggestion to a jury of twelve honest men that they were not to act the part of a mob? the learned counsel who opened the case for the prisoner has alluded to the disadvantage of his position from the fact that he was a stranger. i acknowledge that disadvantage, and i have attempted to remedy it, and so has the court, by extending towards him every possible courtesy. "the prisoner's counsel seems to think i press this matter too hard. but am i to sit coolly by and see the hard-earned property of the inhabitants of this district carried off, and when the felon is brought into court not do my best to secure his conviction? [the district attorney here went into a long and labored defence of the course he had taken in preferring against the prisoner forty-one indictments for larceny, and seventy-four others, on the same state of facts, for transportation. he denied that the forty-one larcenies of the property of different individuals could be included in one indictment, and declared that if the prisoner's counsel would show the slightest authority for it he would give up the case. after going on in this strain for an hour or more, attacking the opposite counsel and defending himself, in what carlisle pronounced 'the most extraordinary opening argument he had ever heard in his life,' the district attorney came down at last to the facts of the case."] "in what position is the prisoner placed by the evidence? how is he introduced to the jury by his philadelphia friends? these witnesses were examined as to his character, and the substance of their testimony is, that he is a man who would steal a negro if he got a chance. he passed for honest otherwise. but he says himself he would steal a negro to liberate him, and the court says it makes no difference whether he steals to liberate or steals to sell. being caught in the act, he acknowledges his guilt, and says he was a deserter from his god,--a backslider,--a church-member one year--the next, in the potomac with a schooner, stealing seventy-four negroes! why say he took them for gain, if he did not steal them? why say he knew he should end his days in a penitentiary? why say if he got off with the negroes he should have realized an independent fortune? did he not know they were slaves? he chartered the vessel to carry off negroes; and, if they were free negroes, or he supposed them to be, how was he to realize an independent fortune? he was afraid of the excitement at washington. why so, if the negroes were not slaves? there was the fact of their being under the hatches, concealed in the hold of the vessel,--did not that prove he meant to steal them? add to that the other fact of his leaving at night. he comes here with a miserable load of wood; gives it away; sells it for a note; did not care about the wood, wanted only to get it out; had a longing for a cargo of negroes. the wood was a blind; besides he lied about it;--would he have ever come back to collect his note? but the prisoner's counsel says the slaves might have heard mr. foote's torch-light oration, and so have been persuaded to go. a likely story! they all started off, i suppose, ran straight down to the vessel and got into the hold! seventy-four negroes all together! but was not the vessel chartered in philadelphia to carry off negroes? this shows the excessive weakness of the defence. and how did the slaves behave after they were captured? if they had been running away, would they not have been downcast and disheartened? would not they have said, now we are taken? on the other hand, according to the testimony of major williams, on their way back they were laughing, shouting and eating molasses in large quantities. nero fiddled when rome was burning, but did not eat molasses. what a transition, from liberty to molasses! "then it is proved that the bulkhead between the cabin and the hold was knocked down, and that the slaves went to drayton and asked if they should fight. did not that show his authority over them,--that the slaves were under his control, and that he was the master-spirit? it speaks volumes. [here followed a long eulogy on the gallantry and humanity of the thirty-five captors. one man did threaten a little, but he was drunk.] "the substance of the law, as laid down by the judge, is this: if drayton came here to carry off these people, and, by machinations, prevailed on them to go with him, and knew they were slaves, it makes no difference whether he took them to liberate, or took them to sell. if he was to be paid for carrying them away, that was gain enough. suppose a man were to take it into his head that the northern factories were very bad things for the health of the factory-girls, and were to go with a schooner for the purpose of liberating those poor devils by stealing the spindles, would not he be served as this prisoner is served here? would they not exhaust the law-books to find the severest punishment? there may be those carried so far by a miserable mistaken philanthropy as even to steal slaves for the sake of setting them at liberty. but this prisoner says he did it for gain. we might look upon him with some respect if, in a manly style, he insisted on his right to liberate them. but he avowedly steals for gain. he lies about it, besides. even a jury of abolitionists would have no sympathy for such a man. try him anyhow, by the word of god--by the rules of common honesty--he would be convicted, anyhow. he is presented to the world at large as a rogue and a common thief and liar. there can be no other conception of him. he did it for dishonest gain. "the prisoner must be convicted. he cannot escape. there can be no manner of doubt as to his guilt. i am at a loss, without appearing absurd in my own eyes, to conceive what kind of a defence can be made. "i have not the least sort of feeling against the wretch himself,--i desire a conviction from principle. i have heard doctrines asserted on this trial that strike directly at the rights and liberty of southern citizens. i have heard counsel seeking to establish principles that strike directly at the security of southern property. i feel no desire that this man, as a man, should be convicted; but i do desire that all persons inclined to infringe on our rights of property should know that there is a law hero to punish them, and i am happy that the law has been so clearly laid down by the court. let it be known from maine to texas, to earth's widest limits, that we have officers and juries to execute that law, no matter by whom it may be violated! "_mann_--for the prisoner--regretted to occupy any more of the jury's time with this very protracted trial. i mentioned, some days since, that the prisoner was liable, under the indictments against him, to eight hundred years imprisonment,--a term hardly to be served out by methuselah himself; but, apart from any punishment, if his hundred and twenty-five trials are to proceed at this rate, the chance is he will die without ever reaching their termination. the district attorney has dwelt at great length on what passed the other day, and more than once he has pointedly referred to me, in a tone and manner not to be mistaken. i have endeavored to conduct this trial according to the principles of law, and to that standard i mean to come up. my client, though a prisoner at this bar, has rights, legal, social, human; and upon those rights i mean to insist. this is the first time in my life that i ever heard a prisoner on trial, and before conviction, denounced as a liar, a thief, a felon, a wretch, a rogue. it is unjust to apply these terms to any man on trial. the law presumes him to be innocent. the feelings of the prisoner ought not to be thus outraged. he is unfortunate; he may be guilty; that is the very point you are to try. "this prisoner is charged with stealing two slaves, the property of andrew houver. did he, or not? that point you are to try by the law and the evidence. because you may esteem this a peculiarly valuable kind of property, you are not to measure out in this case a peculiar kind of justice. you have heard the evidence; the law for the purposes of this trial you are to take from the judge. but you are not to be led away with the idea that you must convict this prisoner at any rate. it is a well-established principle that it is better for an indefinite number of guilty men to escape than for one innocent man to be convicted and punished; and for the best of reasons,--for to have the very machinery established for the protection of right turned into an instrument for the infliction of wrong, strikes a more fatal blow at civil society than any number of unpunished private injuries. "nor is there any danger that the prisoner will escape due punishment for any crimes he may have committed. besides this and forty other larceny indictments hanging over his head, there are seventy-four transportation indictments against him. now, he cannot be guilty of both; and which of these offences, if either, does the evidence against him prove? "who is this man? look at him! you see he has passed the meridian of life. you have heard about him from his neighbors. they pronounce him a fair, upright, moral man. no suspicion hitherto was ever breathed against his honesty. he was a professor of religion, and, so far as we know, had walked in all the ordinances and commands of the law blameless. now, in all cases of doubt, a fair and exemplary character, especially in an elderly man, is a great capital to begin with. this prisoner may have been mistaken in his views as to matters of human right; but, as to violating what he believed to be duty, there is not the slightest evidence that such was his character, but abundance to the contrary. he is found under circumstances that make him amenable to the law; let him be tried,--i do not gainsay that; but let him have the common sentiments of humanity extended toward him, even if he be guilty. "the point urged against him with such earnestness--i may say vehemence--is, not that he took the slaves merely, but that he took them with design to steal. his confessions are dwelt upon, stated and overstated, as you will recollect. but consider under what circumstances these alleged confessions were made. there are circumstances which make such statements very fallacious. consider his excitement--his state of health; for it is in evidence that he had been out of health, suffering with some disorder which required his head to be shaved. consider the armed men that surrounded him, and the imminent peril in which he believed his life to be. it is great injustice to brand him with the foul epithet of liar for any little discrepancies, if such there were, in statements made under such circumstances. other matters have been forced in, of a most extraordinary character, to prejudice his case in your eyes. it has been suggested--the idea has been thrown out, again and again--that, under pretence of helping them to freedom, he meant to sell these negroes. this suggestion, which outruns all reason and discretion, is founded on the simple fact of a brig seen lying at anchor in a place of common anchorage, suggesting no suspicious appearance, but as to which you are asked to infer that these seventy-six slaves were to be transported into her, and carried to cuba or elsewhere for sale. what a monstrous imagination! what a gross libel on that brig, her officers, her crew, her owners, all of whom are thus charged as kidnappers and pirates; and all this baseless dream got up for the purpose of influencing your minds against the prisoner! it marks, indeed, with many other things, the style in which this prosecution is conducted. "take the law as laid down by the court, and it is necessary for the government to prove, if this indictment is to be sustained, that the prisoner corrupted the minds of houver's slaves, and induced and persuaded them to go on board his vessel. they were found on board the prisoner's vessel, no doubt; but as to how they came there we have not a particle of evidence. here is a gap, a fatal gap, in the government's case. by what second-sight are you to look into this void space and time, and to say that drayton enticed them to go on board? [the counsel here read from _starkie on evidence,_ , &c., to the effect that the prosecution are bound by the evidence to exclude every hypothesis inconsistent with the prisoner's guilt.] now, is it the only possible means of accounting for the presence of houver's slaves on board to suppose that this prisoner enticed them? might not somebody else have done it? might they not have gone without being enticed at all? we wished to call the slaves themselves as witnesses, but the law shuts up their mouths. can you, without any evidence, say that drayton enticed them, and that by no other means could they come onboard? presumptive evidence, as laid down in the book--an acknowledged and unquestioned authority--from which i have read, ought to be equally strong with the evidence of one unimpeached witness swearing positively to the fact. are you as sure that drayton enticed those slaves as if that fact had been positively sworn to by one witness, testifying that he stood by and saw and heard it? if you are not, then, under the law as laid down by the court, you can not find him guilty. "_thursday, aug_. . "_carlisle_, for the prisoner.--the sun under which we draw our breath, the soil we tottle over, in childhood, the air we breathe, the objects that earliest attract our attention, the whole system of things with which our youth is surrounded, impress firmly upon us ideas and sentiments which cling to us to our latest breath, and modify all our views. i trust i am man enough always to remember this, when i hear opinions expressed and views maintained by men educated under a system different from that prevailing here, no matter how contrary those views and opinions may be to my own. "it may surprise those of you who know me,--the moral atmosphere in which i have grown up, and the opinions which i entertain,--but never have i felt so deep and hearty an interest in the defence of any case as in this. this prisoner i never saw till i came from a sick bed into this court, when i met him for the first time. i had participated strongly in the feeling which in connection with him had been excited in this community. as you well know, i have and could have no sympathy with the motives by which he may be presumed to have been actuated. why, then, this sudden feeling in his behalf? not, i assure you, from mercenary motives. his acquittal or his condemnation will make no difference in the compensation i receive for my services. the overpowering interest i feel in this case originates in the fact that it places at stake the reputation of this district, and, in some respects, of the country itself, of which this city is the political capital. the counsel for the government has dwelt with emphasis on the great amount and value of property placed at hazard by this prisoner. there is something, however, far more valuable than property--a fair, honorable, impartial administration of justice; and of the chivalrous race of the south it may be expected that they will do justice, though the heavens fall! god forbid that the world should point to this trial as a proof that we are so besotted by passion and interest that we cannot discern the most obvious distinctions and that on a slave question with a jury of slave-holders there is no possible chance of justice! many, i assure you, will be ready to fasten this charge upon us. it is my hope, my ardent desire, it is your sworn duty, that no step be taken against this prisoner without full warrant of law and evidence. the duty of defence i discharge with pleasure. i could have desired that this prisoner might have been defended entirely by counsel resident in this district. it would have been my pride to have shown to the world that of our own mere motion we would do justice in any case, no matter how delicate, no matter how sore the point the prisoner had touched. "my learned friend, the district attorney, has alluded to the courtesy which he and the court have extended to my associate in this cause. i hope he does not plume himself upon that. a gentleman of my associate's learning, ability, unexceptionable deportment, and high character among his own people, must and will be treated with courtesy wherever he goes. but, at the same time that he boasts of his courtesy, the district attorney takes occasion to charge my associate with gross ignorance of the law. he says the forty-one charges could not have been included in one indictment, and offers to give up the case if we will produce a single authority to that effect. it were easy to produce the authority [see _chitty_, c.l. indictment], but, unfortunately, the district attorney has made a promise which he can't fulfil. the district attorney is mistaken in this matter; at the same time, let me admit that in the management of this case he has displayed an ability beyond his years. this is the first prosecution ever brought, so far as we can discover, on this slave-stealing statute, either in this district or in maryland. this statute, of the existence of which few lawyers were aware,--i am sure i was not,--has been waked up, after a slumber of more than a century, and brought to bear upon my client. it is your duty to go into the examination of this novel case temperately and carefully; to take care that no man and no court, upon review of the case, shall be able to say that your verdict is not warranted by the evidence. if the case is made out against the prisoner, convict him; but if not, as you value the reputation of the district and your own souls, beware how you give a verdict against him! "you are not a lynch-law court. it is no part of your business to inquire whether the prisoner has done wrong, and if so to punish him for it. it is your sole business to inquire if he be guilty of this, special charge set forth against him in this indictment, of stealing andrew houver's two slaves. the law you are not expected to judge of; to enlighten you on that matter, we have prayed instructions from the court, and those instructions, for the purpose of this trial, are to be taken as the law. the question for you is, does the evidence in this case bring the prisoner within the law as laid down by the court? to bring him within that law, you are not to go upon imagination, but upon facts proved by witnesses; and, it seems to me, you have a very plain duty before you. this is not a thing done in a corner. take care that you render such a verdict that you will not be ashamed to have it set forth in letters of light, visible to all the world. "there are two offences established by the statutes of maryland, between which, in this case, it becomes your duty to distinguish. everything depends on these statutes, because without these statutes neither act is a crime. at common law, there are no such offences as stealing slaves, or transporting slaves. now, which of these two acts is proved against this prisoner? in some respects they are alike. the carrying the slaves away, the depriving the master of their services, is common to both. but, to constitute the stealing of slaves, according to the law as laid down by the court, there must be something more yet. there must be a corruption of the minds of the slaves, and a seducing them to leave their masters' service. and does not this open a plain path for this prisoner out of the danger of this prosecution? where is the least evidence that the prisoner seduced these slaves, and induced them to leave their masters? has the district attorney, with all his zeal, pointed out a single particle of evidence of that sort? has he done anything to take this case out of the transportation statute, and to convert it into a case of stealing? he has, to be sure, indulged in some very harsh epithets applied to this prisoner,--epithets very similar to those which lord coke indulged in on the trial of sir walter raleigh, and which drew out on the part of that prisoner a memorable retort. my client is not a raleigh; but neither, i must be permitted to say, is the district attorney a lord coke. i should be sorry to have it go abroad that we cannot try a man for an offence of this sort without calling him a liar, a rogue, a wretch. [the district attorney here interrupted, with a good deal of warmth. he insisted that he did not address the prisoner, but the jury, and that it was his right to call the attention of the jury to the evidence proving the prisoner to be a liar, rogue and wretch.] _carlisle_--i do not dispute the learned gentleman's right. it is a matter of taste; but with you, gentlemen of the jury, these harsh epithets are not to make the difference of a hair. you are to look at the evidence; and where is the evidence that the prisoner seduced and enticed these slaves? "it may happen to any man to have a runaway slave in his premises, and even in his employment. it happened to me to have in my employ a runaway,--one of the best servants, by the way, i ever had. he told me he was free, and i employed him as such. if i had happened to have taken him to baltimore, there would have been a complete similitude to the case at bar, and, according to the district attorney's logic, i might have been indicted for stealing. because i had him with me, i am to be presumed to have enticed him from his master! as to the particular circumstances under which he came into my employment, i might have been wholly unable to show them. is it not possible to suppose a great number of circumstances under which these slaves of houver left their master's service and came on board the pearl, without any agency on the part of this prisoner? now, the government might positively disprove and exclude forty such suppositions; but, so long as one remained which was not excluded, you cannot find a verdict of conviction. the government is to prove that the prisoner enticed and seduced these negroes, and you have no right to presume he did so unless every other possible explanation of the case is positively excluded by the testimony. is it so extravagant a supposition that mr. foote's speech, and the other torch-light speeches heretofore alluded to, heard by these slaves, or communicated to them, might have so wrought upon their minds as to induce them to leave their masters? i don't say that they had any right to suppose that these declamations about universal emancipation had any reference to them. i am a southern man, and i hold to the southern doctrine. i admit that there is no inconsistency between perfect civil liberty and holding people of another race in domestic servitude. but then it is natural that these people should overlook this distinction, however obvious and important. nor do they lack wit to apply these speeches to their own case or interest in such matters. i myself have a slave as quick to see distinctions as i am, and who would have made a better lawyer if he had had the same advantages. it came out the other day, in a trial in this court, that the colored people have debating-societies among themselves. it was an assault and battery case; one of the disputants, in the heat of the argument, struck the other; but then they have precedents for that in the house of representatives. is it an impossible, or improbable, or a disproved supposition, that a number of slaves, having agreed together to desert their masters, or having concerted such a plan with somebody here, drayton was employed to come and take them away, and that he received them on board without ever having seen one of them? if his confessions are to be taken at all, they are to be taken together; and do they not tend to prove such a state of facts? drayton says he was hired to come here,--that he was to be paid for taking them away. does that look as if he seduced them? [the counsel here commented at length on drayton's statements, for the purpose of showing that they tended to prove nothing more than a transportation for hire; and he threw no little ridicule on the 'phantom ship' which the district attorney had conjured up in his opening of the case, but which, in his late speech, he had wholly overlooked.] "but, even should you find that drayton seduced these slaves to leave their masters, to make out a case of larceny you must be satisfied that he took them into his possession. now, what is possession of a slave? not merely being in company with him. if i ride in a hack, i am not in possession of the driver. possession of a slave is dominion and control; and where is the slightest evidence that this prisoner claimed any dominion or control over these slaves? the whole question in this case is, were these slaves stolen, or were they running away with the prisoner's assistance? the mere fact of their being in the prisoner's company throws no light whatever on this matter. "the great point, however, in this case is this,--by the judge's instructions, enticement must be proved. shall the record of this trial go forth to the world showing that you have found a fact of which there was no evidence? "i believe in my conscience there is a gap in this evidence not to be filled up except by passion and prejudice. if that is so, i hope there is no one so ungenerous, so little of a true southerner, as to blame me for my zeal in this case, or not to rejoice in a verdict of acquittal. it is bad enough that strangers should have got up a mob in this district in relation to this matter. it would, however, be a million times worse if juries cannot be found here cool and dispassionate enough to render impartial verdicts. "_district attorney_.--i hope, gentlemen of the jury, you will rise above all out-of-door influence. make yourselves abolitionists, if you can; but look at the facts of the case. and, looking at those facts, is it necessary for me to open my lips in reply? in a case like this, sustained by such direct testimony, such overwhelming proof, i defy any man,--however crazy on the subject of slavery, unless he be blinded by some film of interest,--to hesitate a moment as to his conclusions. [the district attorney here proceeded at great length, and with a great air of offended dignity, to complain of having been schooled and advised by the prisoner's counsel, and to justify the use of the foul epithets he had bestowed on the prisoner.] this is not a place for parlor talk. i had chosen the english words that conveyed my meaning most distinctly. it was all very well for the prisoner's counsel to smooth things over; but was i, instead of calling him a liar, to say, he told a fib? when i call him a thief and a felon, do i go beyond the charge of the grand jury in the indictment? if this is stepping over the limits of propriety, in all similar cases i shall do the same. i do not intend to blackguard the prisoner,--i do not delight in using these epithets. my heart is not locked up; i am no jack ketch, prosecuting criminals for ten dollars a head. i sympathize with the wretches brought here; but when i choose to call them by their proper names i am not to be accused of bandying epithets. [the district attorney then proceeded also at great length, and in a high key, to justify his hundred and twenty-five indictments against the prisoner, and to clear himself from the imputation of mercenary motives, on the ground that the business of the year, independently of these indictments, would furnish the utmost amount to which he was entitled. he next referred to the matter of the brig testified to by captain baker, which had been made the occasion of much ridicule by the prisoner's counsel. part of the evidence which he had relied on in connection with the brig had been ruled out; and the law, as laid down by the court, according to which taking to liberate was the same as taking to steal, had made it unnecessary for him, so he said, to dwell on this part of the case. yet he now proceeded to argue at great length, from the testimony in the case, that there must have been a connection between the brig and the schooner; that, as the schooner was confessedly unseaworthy, and could not have gone out of the bay, it must have been the intention to put the slaves on board the brig, and to carry them off to cuba or elsewhere and sell them. the testimony to this effect he pronounced conclusive.] "the united states (said the district attorney) have laid before you the clearest possible case. i have just gone through a pretty long term of this court; i see several familiar faces on the jury, and i rely on your intelligence. in fact, the only point of the defence is, that the united states have offered no proof that drayton seduced and enticed these slaves to come on board the pearl; and that the prisoner's counsel are pleased to call a gap, a chasm, which they say you can't fill up. it is the same gap which occurs in every larceny case. where can the government produce positive testimony to the taking? that is done secretly, in the dark, and is to be presumed from circumstances. a man is found going off with a bag of chickens,--your chickens. are you going to presume that the chickens run into his bag of their own accord, and without his agency? a man is found riding your horse. are you to presume that the horse came to him of its own accord? and yet horses love liberty,--they love to kick up their heels and run. yet this would be just as sensible as to suppose that these slaves came on board drayton's vessel without his direct agency. he came here from philadelphia for them; they are found on board his vessel; drayton says he would steal a negro if he could; is not that enough? then he was here some months before with an oyster-boat, pretending to sell oysters. he pretended that he came for his health. likely story, indeed! i should like to see the doctor who would recommend a patient to come here in the fall of the year, when the fever and ague is so thick in the marshes that you can cut it with a knife. cruising about, eating and selling oysters, at that time of the year, for his health! nonsense! he was here, at that very time, hatching and contriving that these very negroes should go on board the pearl. but the prisoner's counsel say he might have been employed by others simply to carry them away! who could have employed him but abolitionists; and did he not say he had no sympathy with abolitionists. so much for that hypothesis. then, he in fact pleads guilty,--he says he expects to die in the penitentiary. don't you think he ought to? if there is any chasm here, the prisoner must shed light upon it. if he had employers, who were they? the prisoner's counsel have said that he is not bound to tell; and that the witnesses, if summoned here, would not be compelled to criminate themselves. but shall this prisoner be allowed to take advantage of his own wrong? "as to the metaphysics of the prisoner's counsel about possession, that is easily disposed of. were not these slaves found in drayton's possession, and didn't he admit that he took them? "as to the cautions given you about prejudice and passion, i do not think they are necessary. i have seen no sort of excitement here since the first detection of this affair that would prevent the prisoner having a fair trial. is there any crowd or excitement here? the community will be satisfied with the verdict. there is no question the party is guilty. i never had anything to do with a case sustained by stronger evidence. i don't ask you to give an illegal or perjured verdict. take the law and the evidence, and decide upon it. "n.b.--the argument being now concluded, and the jury about to go out, some question arose whether the jury should have the written instructions of the court with them; and some inquiry being made as to the practice, one of the jurors observed that in a case in which he had formerly acted as juror the jury had the instructions with them, and he proceeded to tell a funny story about a bottle of rum, told by one of the jurors on that occasion, which story caused him to remember the fact. it may be observed, by the way, that the proceedings of the united states criminal court for the district of columbia are not distinguished for any remarkable decorum or dignity. the jury, in this case, were in constant intercourse, during any little intervals in the trial, with the spectators outside the bar." the case was given to the jury about three o'clock, p.m., and the court, after waiting half an hour, adjourned. when the court met, at ten o'clock the next morning, the jury were still out, having remained together all night without being able to agree. meanwhile the district attorney proceeded to try me on another indictment, for stealing three slaves the property of one william h. upperman. as this trial was proceeding, about half-past two the jury in the first case came in, and rendered a verdict of guilty. they presented rather a haggard appearance, having been locked up for twenty-four hours, and some of them being perhaps a little troubled in their consciences. the jury, it was understood, had been divided, from the beginning, four for acquittal and eight for conviction. these four were all irishmen, and perhaps they did not consider it consistent with their personal safety and business interests to persist in disappointing the slave-holding public of that verdict which the district attorney had so imperiously demanded. the agreement, it was understood, had taken place only a few moments before they came in, and had been reached entirely on the strength of williams' testimony to my having said, that had i got off i should have made an independent fortune. now, it was a curious coincidence, that at the very moment that this agreement was thus taking place, williams, again on the stand as a witness on the second trial, wished to take back what he had then sworn to on the first trial, stating that he could not tell whether he had heard me say this, or whether he had heard of my having said it from somebody else. after the rendition of the verdict of the other jury, the second case was again resumed. the evidence varied in only a few particulars from that which had been given in the first case. there was, in addition, the testimony of upperman, the pretended owner of the woman and her daughters, one of fifteen, the other nine years old, whom i was charged in this indictment with stealing. this man swore with no less alacrity, and with no less falsehood, than houver had done before him. he stated that about half-past ten, of that same night that the pearl left washington, while he was fastening up his house, he saw a man standing on the side-walk opposite his door, and observed him for some time. not long after, having gone to bed, he heard a noise of somebody coming down stairs; and, calling out, he was answered by his slave-woman, who was just then going off, though he had no suspicion of it at the time. that man standing on the side-walk he pretended to recognize as me. he was perfectly certain of it, beyond all doubt and question. the object of this testimony was, to lead to a conclusion of enticement or persuasion on my part, and so to bring the case within one of the judge's instructions already stated. on a subsequent trial, upperman was still more certain, if possible, that i was the man. but he was entirely mistaken in saying so. his house was on pennsylvania avenue, more than a mile from where the pearl lay, and i was not within a mile of it that night. i dare say upperman was sincere enough. he was one of your positive sort of men; but his case, like that of houver, shows that men in a passion will sometimes fall into blunders. i have reason to believe that after the trials were over upperman became satisfied of his error. the first trial had consumed a week; the second one lasted four days. the judge laid down the same law as before, and similar exceptions were taken by my counsel. the jury again remained out all night, being long divided,--nine for conviction to three for acquittal; but on the morning of august th they came in with a verdict of guilty. satisfied for the present with these two verdicts against me, the district attorney now proposed to pass over the rest of my cases, and to proceed to try sayres. my counsel objected that, having been forced to proceed against my remonstrances, i was here ready for trial, and they insisted that all my cases should be now disposed of. they did not prevail, however; and the district attorney proceeded to try sayres on an indictment for stealing the same two slaves of houver. in addition to the former witnesses against me, english was now put upon the stand, the district attorney having first entered _nolle prosequi_ upon the hundred and fifteen indictments against him. but he could state nothing except the circumstances of his connection with the affair, and the coming on board of the passengers on saturday night, as i have already related them. on the other hand, the "phantom brig" story, of which the district attorney had made so great a handle in the two cases against me, was now ruled out, on the ground that the brig could not be brought into the case till some connection had first been shown between her and the pearl. the trial lasted three days. the district attorney pressed for a conviction with no less violence than he had done in my case, assuring the jury that if they did not convict there was an end of the security of slave property. but sayres had several advantages over me. my two juries had been citizens of washington, several of them belonging to a class of loafers who frequent the courts for the sake of the fees to be got as jurymen. some complaints having been made of this, the officers had been sent to georgetown and the country districts, and the present jury was drawn from those quarters. then, again, i was regarded as the main culprit,--the only one in the secret of the transaction; and, as i was already convicted, the feeling against sayres was much lessened. in fact, the jury in his case, after an absence of half an hour, returned a verdict of not guilty. the district attorney, greatly surprised and vexed, proceeded to try sayres on another indictment. this trial lasted three days and a half; but, in spite of the efforts of the district attorney, who was more positive, longer and louder, than ever, the jury, in ten minutes, returned a verdict of not guilty. the trials had now continued through nearly four weeks of very hot weather, and both sides were pretty well worn out. vexed at the two last verdicts, the district attorney threatened to give up sayres on a requisition from virginia, which was said to have been lodged for us, some of the alleged slaves belonging there, and we having been there shortly before. finally, it was agreed that verdicts should be taken against sayres in the seventy-four transportation cases, he to have the advantage of carrying the points of law before the circuit court, and the remaining larceny indictments against him to be discontinued. thus ended the first legal campaign. english was discharged altogether, without trial. sayres had got rid of the charge of larceny. i had been found guilty on two indictments for stealing, upon which judge crawford sentenced me to twenty years imprisonment in the penitentiary; while sayres, on seventy-four indictments for assisting the escape of slaves, was sentenced to a fine on each indictment of one hundred and fifty dollars and costs, amounting altogether to seven thousand four hundred dollars. but from these judgments an appeal had been taken to the circuit court, and meanwhile sayres and i remained in prison as before. the hearing before the circuit court came on the th of november. that court consisted of chief-justice cranch, an able and upright judge, but very old and infirm; and judges morrell and dunlap, the latter of whom claimed to be the owner of two of the negroes found on board the pearl. my cases were argued for me by messrs. hildreth, carlisle and mann. the district attorney, who was much better fitted to bawl to a jury than to argue before a court, had retained, at the expense of the united states, the assistance of mr. bradley, one of the ablest lawyers of the district. the argument consumed not less than three days. many points were discussed; but that on which the cases turned was the definition of larceny. it resulted in the allowance of several of my bills of exceptions, the overturn of the law of judge crawford on the subject of larceny, and the establishment by the circuit court of the doctrine on that subject contended for by my counsel; but from this opinion judge dunlap dissented. the case of sayres, for want of time, was postponed till the next term. a new trial having been ordered in my two cases, everybody supposed that the charge of larceny would now be abandoned, as the circuit court had taken away the only basis on which it could possibly rest. but the zeal of the district attorney was not yet satisfied; and, no longer trusting to his own unassisted efforts, he obtained (at the expense of the united states) the assistance of richard cox, esq., an old and very unscrupulous practitioner, with whose aid he tried the cases over again in the criminal court. the two trials lasted about fourteen days. i was again defended by messrs. mann and carlisle, and now with better success, as the juries, under the instructions which judge crawford found himself obliged to give, and notwithstanding the desperate efforts against me, acquitted me in both cases, almost without leaving their seats. finally, the district attorney agreed to abandon the remaining larceny cases, if we would consent to verdicts in the transportation cases on the same terms with those in the case of sayres. this was done; when judge crawford had the satisfaction of sentencing me to fines and costs amounting together to ten thousand and sixty dollars, and to remain in prison until that amount was paid. there was still a further hearing before the circuit court on the bills of exceptions to these transportation indictments. my counsel thought they had some good legal objections; but the hearing unfortunately came on when judge cranch was absent from the bench, and the other two judges overruled them. by a strange construction of the laws, no criminal case, except by accident, can be carried before the supreme court of the united states; otherwise, the cases against us would have been taken there, including the question of the legality of slavery in the district of columbia. thus, after a severe and expensive struggle, i was saved from the penitentiary; but sayres and myself remained in the washington jail, loaded with enormous fines, which, from our total inability to pay them, would keep us there for life, unless the president could be induced to pardon us; and it was even questioned, as i shall show presently, whether he had any such power. the jail of the district of columbia is under the charge of the marshal of the district. that office, when i was first committed to prison, was filled by a mr. hunter; but he was sick at the time, and died soon after, when robert wallace was appointed. this wallace was a virginian, from the neighbor hood of alexandria, son of a doctor wallace from whom he had inherited a large property, including many slaves. he had removed to tennessee, and had set up cotton-planting there; but, failing in that business, had returned back with the small remnants of his property, and polk provided for him by making him marshal. it was not long before i found that he had a great spite against me. it was in vain that i solicited from him the use of the passage. the light which came into my cell was very faint, and i could only read by sitting on the floor with my back against the grating of the cell door. but, so far from aiding me to read,--and it was the only method i had of passing my time,--wallace made repeated and vexatious attempts to keep me from receiving newspapers. i should very soon have died on the prison allowance. the marshal is allowed by the united states thirty-three cents per day for feeding the prisoners. for this money they receive two meals; breakfast, consisting of one herring, corn-bread and a dish of molasses and water, very slightly flavored with coffee; and for dinner, corn-bread again, with half a pound of the meanest sort of salted beef, and a soup made of corn-meal stirred into the pot-liquor. this is the bill of fare day after day, all the year round; and, as at the utmost such food cannot cost more than eight or nine cents a day for each prisoner, and as the average number is fifty, the marshal must make a handsome profit. the diet has been fixed, i suppose, after the model of the slave allowances. but congress, after providing the means of feeding the prisoners in a decent manner, ought not to allow them to be starved for the benefit of the marshal. such was the diet to which i was confined in the first days of my imprisonment. but i soon contrived to make a friend of jake, the old black cook of the prison, who, i could see as he came in to pour out my coffee, evinced a certain sympathy and respect for me. through his agency i was able to purchase some more eatable food; and indeed the surgeon of the jail allowed me flour, under the name of medicine, it being impossible, as he said, for me to live on the prison diet. wallace, soon after he came into office, finding a small sum in my possession, of about forty dollars, took it from me. he expressed a fear that i might corrupt old jake, or somebody else,--especially as he found that i gave jake my old newspapers,--and so escape from the prison. but he left the money in the hands of the jailer, and allowed me to draw it out, a dollar at a time. he presently turned out old jake, and put in a slave-woman of his own as cook; but she was better disposed towards me than her master, and i found no difficulty in purchasing with my own money, and getting her to prepare such food as i wanted. i was able, too, after some six or eight weeks' sleeping on the stone floor of my cell, to obtain some improvement in that particular; and not for myself only, but for all the other prisoners also. the jailer was requested by several persons who came to see us to procure mattresses for us at their expense; and, finally, wallace, as if out of pure shame, procured a quantity of husk mattresses for the use of the prisoners generally. still, we had no cots, and were obliged to spread our mattresses on the floor. the allowance of clothing made to the prisoners who were confined without any means of supporting themselves corresponded pretty well with the jail allowance of provisions. they received shirts, one at a time, made of the very meanest kind of cotton cloth, and of the very smallest dimensions; trousers of about equal quality, and shoes. it was said that the united states paid also for jackets and caps. how that was i do not know; but the prisoners never received any. the custody of the jail was intrusted to a head jailer, assisted by four guards, or turnkeys, one of whom acted also as book-keeper. of the personal treatment toward me of those in office, at the time i was first committed, i have no complaint to make. the rigor of my confinement was indeed great; but i am happy to say that it was not aggravated by any disposition on the part of these men to triumph over me, or to trample upon me. as they grew more acquainted with me, they showed their sense that i was not an ordinary criminal, and treated me with many marks of consideration, and even of regard, and in one of them i found a true friend. shortly after wallace came into office, he made several changes. he was full of caprices, and easily took offence from very small causes; and of this the keepers, as well as the prisoners, had abundant experience. the head jailer did his best to please, behaving in the most humble and submissive manner; but all to no purpose. he was discharged, as were also the others, one after another,--wallace undertaking to act as head jailer himself. of wallace's vexatious conduct towards me; of his refusal to allow me to receive newspapers,--prohibiting the under jailer to lend me even the baltimore _sun_; of his accusation against me of bribing old jake, whom he forbade the turnkeys to allow to come near me; of his keeping me shut up in my cell; and generally of a bitter spirit of angry malice against me,--i had abundant reason to complain during the weary fifteen months or more that i remained under his power. but his subordinates, though obliged to obey his orders and to comply with his humors, were far from being influenced by his feelings. even his favorite among the turnkeys, a person who pretty faithfully copied his conduct towards the other prisoners, always behaved very kindly towards me, and even used to make a confidant of me, by coming to my cell to talk over his troubles. but the person whose kind offices and friendly sympathy did far more than those of any other to relieve the tediousness of my confinement, and to keep my heart from sinking, was mr. wood. there is no chaplain at the washington jail, nor has congress, so far as i am aware, made any provision of any kind for the spiritual wants or the moral and religious instruction of the inmates of it. this great deficiency mr. wood, a man of a great heart, though of very limited pecuniary means, being then a clerk in the telegraph office, had taken it upon himself to supply, so far as he could; and for that purpose he was in the habit of visiting the prison on sundays, conversing with the prisoners, and furnishing tracts and books to such as were able and disposed to read. he came to my cell, or to the grating of the passage in which i was confined, on the very first sunday of my imprisonment, and he readily promised, at my request, to furnish me with a bible; though in that act of kindness he was anticipated by the colored woman of whom i have already made mention, who appeared at my cell, with a bible for me, just after mr. wood had left it. the kindness of mr. wood's heart, and the sincerity of his sympathy, was so apparent as to secure him the affectionate respect of all the prisoners. to me he proved a very considerate and useful friend. not only was i greatly indebted to his assistance in making known my necessities and those of my family to those disposed to relieve them, but his cheerful and christian conversation served to brighten many a dark hour, and to dispel many gloomy feelings. were all professing christians like my friend mr. wood, we should not hear so many denunciations as we now do of the church, and complaints of her short-comings. there was another person, also, whose kind attentions to me i ought not to overlook. this was mrs. susannah ford, a very respectable colored woman, who sold refreshments in the lobby of the court-house, and who, in the progress of the trial, had evinced a good deal of interest in the case. as she often had boarders in the jail, who, like me, could not live on the jail fare, and whom she supplied, she was frequently there, and she seldom came without bringing with her some substantial token of her regard. sayres and myself had looked forward to the change of administration, which resulted from the election of general taylor, with considerable hopes of advantage from it--but, for a considerable time, this advantage was limited to a change in the marshal in whose custody we were. the turning out of wallace gave great satisfaction to everybody in the jail, or connected with it, except the turnkeys, who held office by his appointment, and who expected that his dismissal would be followed by their own. the very day before the appointment of his successor came out, i had been remonstrating with him against the cruelty of refusing me the use of the passage; and i had even ventured to hint that i hoped he would do nothing which he would be ashamed to see spoken of in the public prints; to which he replied, "g--d d--n the public prints!--in that cell you will stay!" but in this he proved not much of a prophet. the next day, as soon as the news of his dismissal reached the jail, the turnkeys at once unlocked my cell-door and admitted me into the passage, observing that the new marshal, when he came to take possession, should at least find me there. this new marshal was mr. robert wallach, a native of the district, very similar in name to his predecessor, but very different in nature; and from the time that he entered into office the extreme rigor hitherto exercised to me was a good deal abated. one thing, however, i had to regret in the change, which was the turning out of all the old guards, with whom i was already well acquainted, and the appointment of a new set. one of these thus turned out--the person to whom i have already referred to as the chief favorite of the late marshal--made a desperate effort to retain his office. but, although he solicited and obtained certificates to the effect that he was, and always had been, a good whig, he had to walk out with the others. the new jailer appointed by wallach, and three of the new guards, or turnkeys, were very gentlemanly persons, and neither i nor the other prisoners had any reason to complain of the change. of the fourth turnkey i cannot say as much. he was violent, overbearing and tyrannical, and he was frequently guilty of conduct towards the prisoners which made him very unfit to serve under such a marshal, and ought to have caused his speedy removal. but, unfortunately, the marshal was under some political obligations to him, which made the turning him out not so easy a matter. this person seemed to have inherited all the feelings of hatred and dislike which the late marshal had entertained towards me, and he did his best to annoy me in a variety of ways, though, of course, his power was limited by his subordinate position. but, although i gained considerably by the new-order of things, i soon found that it had also some annoying consequences. under the old marshal, either to make the imprisonment more disagreeable to me, or from fear lest i should corrupt the other prisoners, i had been kept in a sort of solitary confinement, no other prisoners being placed in the same passage. this system was now altered; and, although my privacy was always so far respected that i was allowed a cell by myself, i often found myself with fellow-prisoners in the same passage from whose society it was impossible for me to derive either edification or pleasure. i suffered a good deal from this cause; but at length succeeded in obtaining a remedy, or, at least, a partial one. i was allowed, during the day-time, the range of the debtors' apartments, a suite of spacious, airy and comfortable rooms, in which there were seldom more than one or two tenants. i pleaded hard to be removed to these apartments altogether,--to be allowed to sleep there, as well as to pass the days there. as it was merely for the non-payment of a sum of money that i was held, i thought i had a right to be treated as a debtor. but those apartments were so insecure, that the keepers did not care to trust me there during the night. by this change of quarters my condition was a good deal improved. i not only had ample conveniences for reading, but i improved the opportunity to learn to write, having only been able to sign my name when t was committed to the prison. but a jail, after all, is a jail; and i longed and sighed to obtain my liberty, and to enjoy again the society of my wife and children. had it been wished to impress my mind in the strongest manner with the horrors of slavery, no better method could have been devised than this imprisonment in the washington jail. i felt personally what it was to be restrained of my liberty; and, as many of the prisoners were runaway slaves, or slaves committed at the request of their masters, i saw a good deal of what slaves are exposed to. of this i shall here give but a single instance. wallace, the marshal, as i have already mentioned, had two female slaves, the last remnants of the large slave-property which he had inherited from his father. one of these was a young and very comely mulatto girl, whom wallace had made his housekeeper, and whom he sought to make also his concubine. but, as the girl already had a child by a young white man, to whom she was attached, she steadily repelled all his advances. not succeeding by persuasion, this scion of the aristocracy of the old dominion--this virginian gentleman, and marshal of the united states for the district of columbia--shut the girl up in the jail of the district, in hopes of thus breaking her to his will; and, as she proved obstinate, he finally sold her. he then turned his eyes on the other woman,--his property,--jemima, our cook, already the mother of three children. but she set him at open defiance. as she wished to be sold, he had lost the greatest means of controlling her; and as she openly threatened, before all the keepers, to tear every rag of clothing off his body if he dared lay his hand upon her, he did not venture, to brave her fury. in most of the states, if not in all of them, certainly in all the free states, there is no such thing as keeping a man in prison for life merely for the non-payment of a fine which he has no means to pay. the same spirit of humanity which has abolished the imprisonment of poor debtors at the caprice of their creditors has provided means for discharging, after a short imprisonment, persons held in prison for fines which they have no means of paying. indeed, what can be more unequal or unjust than to hold a poor man a prisoner for life for an offence which a rich man is allowed to expiate by a small part of his superfluous wealth? but this is one, among many other barbarisms, which the existence of slavery in the district of columbia, by preventing any systematic revision of the laws, has entailed upon the capital of our model democracy. there was, as i have stated, no means by which sayres and myself could be discharged from prison except by paying our fines (which was totally out of the question), or by obtaining a presidential pardon, which, for a long time, seemed equally hopeless. there was, indeed, a peculiarity about our case, such as might afford a plausible excuse for not extending to us any relief. under the law of , the sums imposed upon us as fines were to go one half to the owners of the slaves, and the other half to the district; and it was alleged, that although the president might remit the latter half, he could not the other. that same mr. radcliff whom i have already had occasion to mention volunteered his services--for a consideration--to get over this difficulty. in consequence of a handsome fee which he received, he undertook to obtain the consent of the owners of the slaves to our discharge. but, having pocketed the money, he made, so far as i could find, very little progress in the business, not having secured above five or six signers. in answer to my repeated applications, he at length proposed that my wife and youngest daughter should come on to "washington to do the business which he had undertaken, and for which he had secured a handsome payment in advance. they came on accordingly, and, by personal application, succeeded in obtaining, in all, the signatures of twenty-one out of forty-one, the whole number. the reception which they met with from different parties was very different, showing that there is among slave-holders as much variety of character as among other people. some signed with alacrity, saying that, as no slaves had been lost, i had been kept in jail too long already. others required much urging. others positively refused. some even added insults. young francis dodge, of georgetown, would not sign, though my life had depended upon it. one wanted me hung, and another tarred and feathered. one pious church-member, lying on his death-bed, as he supposed, was persuaded to sign; but he afterwards drew back, and nothing could prevail on him to put his name to the paper. die or live, he wholly refused. but the most curious case occurred at alexandria, to which place my wife went to obtain the signature of a pious old lady, who had been the claimant of a youngster found among the passengers of the pearl, and who had been sold, in consequence, for the southern market. the old lady, it appeared, was still the owner of the boy's mother, who acted as one of her domestics, and, if she was willing, the old lady professed her readiness to sign. the black woman was accordingly called in, and the nature of my wife's application stated to her. but, with much positiveness and indignation, she refused to give her consent, declaring that my wife could as well do without her husband as she could do without her boy. so imbruted and stupefied by slavery was this old woman, that she seemed to think the selling her boy away from her a perfectly humane, christian and proper act, while all her indignation was turned against me, who had merely afforded the boy an opportunity of securing his freedom! i dare say they had persuaded the old woman that i had enticed the boy to run away; whereas, as i have already stated, i had never seen him, nor any other of the passengers, till i found them on board. as only twenty-one signers could be obtained, the matter stood very much as it did before the attempt was made. so long as president fillmore remained a candidate for reëlection there was little ground to expect from him a favorable consideration of my case. i therefore felt sincerely thankful to the whig convention when they passed by mr. fillmore, and gave the nomination to general scott. mr. fillmore being thus placed in a position which enabled him to listen to the dictates of reason, justice and humanity, my hopes, and those of my friends, were greatly raised. mr. sumner, the free democratic senator from massachusetts, had visited me in prison shortly after his arrival at washington, and had evinced from the beginning a sincere and active sympathy for me. some complaints were made against him in some anti-slavery papers, because he did not present to the senate some petitions in my behalf, which had been forwarded to his care. but mr. sumner was of opinion, and i entirely agreed with him, that if the object was to obtain my discharge from prison, that object was to be accomplished, not by agitating the matter in the senate, but by private appeals to the equity and the conscience of the president; nor did he think, nor i either, that my interests ought to be sacrificed for the opportunity to make an anti-slavery speech. there is reason in everything; and i thought, and he thought too, that i had been made enough of a martyr of already. the case having been brought to the notice of the president, he, being no longer a candidate for reëlection, could not fail to recognize the claim of sayres and myself to a discharge. we had already been kept in jail upwards of four years, for an offence which the laws had intended to punish by a trifling pecuniary fine nor was this all. the earlier part of our confinement had been exceedingly rigorous, and it had only been by the untiring efforts of our friends, and at a great expense to them, that we had been saved from falling victims to the conspiracy, between the district attorney and judge crawford, to send us to the penitentiary. although my able and indefatigable counsel, mr. mann, whose arduous labors and efforts in my behalf i shall never forget, and still less his friendly counsels and kind personal attentions, had received nothing, except, i believe, the partial reimbursement of his travelling expenses, and although there was much other service gratuitously rendered in our cases, yet it had been necessary to pay pretty roundly for the services of mr. carlisle; and, altogether, the expenditures which had been incurred to shield us from the effects of the conspiracy above mentioned far exceeded any amount of fine which might have been reasonably imposed under the indictments upon which we had been found guilty. was not the enormous sum which judge crawford sentenced us to pay a gross violation of the provision in the constitution of the united states against excessive fines? any fine utterly beyond a man's ability to pay, and which operates to keep him a prisoner for life, must be excessive, or else that word has no meaning. but, though our case was a strong one, there still remained a serious obstacle in the way, in the idea that, because half the fines was to go to the owners of the slaves, the president could not remit that half. here was a point upon which mr. sumner was able to assist us much more effectually than by making speeches in the senate. it was a point, too, involved in a good deal of difficulty; for there were some english cases which denied the power of pardon under such circumstances. mr. sumner found, however, by a laborious examination of the american cases, that a different view had been taken in this country; and he drew up and submitted to the president an elaborate legal opinion, in which the right of the executive to pardon us was very clearly made out. this opinion the president referred to the attorney general. a considerable time elapsed before he found leisure to examine it; but at last it obtained his sanction, also. information at length reached us--the matter having been pending for two months or more--that the president had signed our pardon. it had yet, however, to pass through the office of the secretary for the interior, and meanwhile we were not by any means free from anxiety. the reader will perhaps recollect that among the other things which the district attorney had held over our heads had been the threat to surrender us up to the authorities of virginia, on a requisition which it was alleged they had made for us. the story of this requisition had been repeated from time to time, and a circumstance now occurred which, in seeming to threaten us with something of the sort, served to revive all our apprehensions. mr. stuart, the secretary of the interior, through whose office the pardon was to pass, sent word to the marshal that such a pardon had been signed, and, at the same time, requested him, if it came that day into his hands, not to act upon it till the next. as this stuart was a virginian, out apprehensions were naturally excited of some movement from that quarter. the pardon arrived about five o'clock that afternoon; and immediately upon receiving it the marshal told us that he had no longer any hold upon us,--that we were free men, and at liberty to go where we chose. as we were preparing to leave the jail, i observed that a gentleman, a friend of the marshal, whom i had often seen there, and who had always treated me with great courtesy, hardly returned my good-day, and looked at me as black as a thunder-cloud. afterwards, upon inquiring of the jailer what the reason could be, i learned that this gentleman, who was a good deal of a politician, was greatly alarmed and disturbed lest the act of the president in having pardoned us should result in the defeat of the whig party--and, though willing enough that we should be released, he did not like to have it done at the expense of his party, and his own hopes of obtaining some good office. the whigs were defeated, sure enough; but whether because we were pardoned--though the idea is sufficiently nattering to my vanity--is more than i shall venture to decide. the black prisoners in the jail, having nothing to hope or fear from the rise or fall of parties, yielded freely to their friendly feelings, and greeted our departure with three cheers. we left the jail as privately as possible, and proceeded in a carriage to the house of a gentleman of the district, where we were entertained at supper. our imprisonment had lasted four years and four months, lacking seven days. we did not feel safe, however, with that virginia requisition hanging over our heads, so long as we remained in the district, or anywhere on slave-holding ground; and, by the liberality of our friends, a hack was procured for us, to carry us, that same night, to baltimore, there, the next morning, to take the cars for philadelphia. the night proved one of the darkest and stormiest which it had ever been my fate to encounter,--and i have seen some bad weather in my time. the rain fell in torrents, and the road was only now and then visible by the flashes of the lightning. but our trusty driver persevered, and, in spite of all obstacles, brought us to baltimore by the early dawn. sayres proceeded by the direct route to philadelphia. having still some apprehensions of pursuit and a requisition, i took the route by harrisburg. great was the satisfaction which i felt as the cars crossed the line from maryland into pennsylvania. it was like escaping out of algiers into a free and christian country. i shall leave it to the reader to imagine the meeting between myself and my family. they had received notice of my coming, and were all waiting to receive me. if a man wishes to realize the agony which our american slave-trade inflicts in the separation of families, let him personally feel that separation, as i did; let him pass four years in the washington jail. when committed to the prison, i was by no means well. i had been a good deal out of health, as appeared from the evidence on the trial, for two or three years before. close confinement, or, indeed, confinement of any sort, does not agree with persons of my temperament; and i came out of the prison a good deal older, and much more of an invalid, than when i entered it. the reader, perhaps, will inquire what good was gained by all these sufferings of myself and my family--what satisfaction i can have, as it did not succeed, in looking back to an enterprise attended with so much risk, and which involved me in so long and tedious an imprisonment? the satisfaction that i have is this: what i did, and what i attempted to do, was my protest,--a protest which resounded from one end of the union to the other, and which, i hope, by the dissemination of this, my narrative, to renew and repeat it,--it was my protest against the infamous and atrocious doctrine that there can be any such thing as property in man! we can only do according to our power, and the capacity, gifts and talents, that we have. others, more fortunate than i, may record their protest against this wicked doctrine more safely and comfortably for themselves than i did. they may embody it in burning words and eloquent speeches; they may write it out in books; they may preach it in sermons. i could not do that. i have as many thoughts as another, but, for want of education, i lack the power to express them in speech or writing. i have not been able to put even this short narrative on paper without obtaining the assistance of a friend. i could not talk, i could not write; but i could act. the humblest, the most uneducated man can do that. i did act; and, by my actions, i protested that i did not believe that there was, or could be, any such thing as a right of property in human beings. nobody in this country will admit, for a moment, that there can be any such thing as property in a white man. the institution of slavery could not last for a day, if the slaves were all white. but i do not see that because their complexions are different they are any the less men on that account. the doctrine i hold to, and which i desired to preach in a practical way, is the doctrine of jefferson and madison, that there cannot be property in man,--no, not even in black men. and the rage exerted against me on the part of the slave-holders grew entirely out of my preaching that doctrine. actions, as everybody knows, speak louder than words. by virtue of my actions proclaiming my opinion on that subject, i became at once, powerless as i otherwise was, elevated, in the minds of the slave-holders, to the same high level with mr. giddings and mr. hale, who they could not help believing must have been my secret confederates. if i had believed, as the slave-holders do, that men can be owned; if i had really attempted, as they falsely and meanly charged me with doing, to steal; had i actually sought to appropriate men as property to my own use; had that been all, does anybody imagine that i should ever have been pursued with such persevering enmity and personal virulence? do they get up a debate in congress, and a riot in the city of washington, every time a theft is committed or attempted in the district? it was purely because i was not a thief; because, in helping men, women and children, claimed as chattels, to escape, i bore my testimony against robbing human beings of their liberty; this was the very thing that excited the slave-holders against me, just as a strong anti-slavery speech excites them against mr. hale, or mr. giddings, or mr. mann, or mr. stunner. those gentlemen have words at command; they can speak, and can do good service by doing so. as for me, it was impossible that i should ever be able to make myself heard in congress, or by the nation at large, except in the way of action. the opportunity occurring, i did not hesitate to improve it; nor have i ever yet seen occasion to regret having done so. distributed proofreaders i spy by natalie sumner lincoln _to mrs. sarah vail gould my grandmother to whose affection belongs many joyous days of childhood at "oaklands" this book is offered as a loving tribute to her memory._ contents i. at victoria station ii. out of the void iii. powers that prey iv. "should auld acquaintance be forgot?" v. an eventful evening vi. at the capitol vii. phantom wires viii. kaiser blumen ix. the spider and the fly x. sisters in unity xi. a man in a hurry xii. a sinister discovery xiii. hide and seek xiv. a question of loyalty xv. the game, "i spy" xvi. at the morgue xvii. circumstantial evidence xviii. a proposal xix. the yellow streak xx. the awakening xxi. the finger print xxii. "trenton hurry" xxiii. in full cry xxiv. retributive justice xxv. love paramount list of illustrations "he saw kathleen quickly palm his place card" "as henry pushed back the door, she collapsed into her father's arms" "'a flash, the rifle's recoil--and mr. whitney still standing just where he was'" "whitney paused to snatch up a magnifying glass and by its aid examined the finger prints" chapter i at victoria station the allied forces, english and french, had been bent backward day by day, until it seemed as if paris was fairly within the germans' grasp. bent indeed, but never broken, and with the turning of the tide the allied line had rushed forward, and france breathed again. two men, seated in a room of the united service club in london one gloomy afternoon in november, , talked over the situation in tones too low to reach other ears. the older man, sir percival hargraves, had been bemoaning the fact that england seemed honeycombed by the german secret service, and his nephew, john hargraves, an officer in uniform, was attempting to reassure him. it was a farewell meeting, for the young officer was returning to the front. "much good will all this espionage do the germans," said the young man. "we are easily holding our own, and with the spring will probably come our opportunity." he clicked his teeth together. "what price then all these suspected plots and futile intrigues?" "don't be so damned cocksure," rapped out his uncle, his exasperation showing in heightened color and snapping eyes. "it's that same cocksureness which has almost brought the british empire to the very brink of dissolution." his nephew smiled tolerantly, and shifted his thickset figure to a more comfortable position. "now, now," he cautioned. "remember what old sawbones told you yesterday about not exciting yourself. said you weren't to read or talk about this bally old war. leave the worrying to kitchener; he'll see we chaps do our part." "if everything were left to kitchener!" sir percival thumped the arm of his chair. "some of us would sleep easier in our beds. and i know you chaps at the front will do your part. would to god i could be with you!" glancing at his shrunken and useless left leg. "if i could only take a pot at the beggars!" "according to your belief the firing line will shortly be on english soil," chaffed his nephew, avoiding looking at his companion. he knew the tragic circumstances surrounding his uncle's maimed condition, and wished to avoid anything touching upon sentiment. "if the plans to undermine england's home government are perfected and carried out, every man, woman and child will have to band together to repel invasion." sir percival lowered his voice. "if there are any able-bodied men left here." "don't be so pessimistic. kitchener has built up a great army, and is only waiting the proper moment to launch it in the field." "the best of england has volunteered," agreed sir percival, "but what about the slackers? what about the coal strikes--the trouble in our munition factories? all are chargeable to the kaiser's war machine which overlooks nothing in its complete preparedness. preparedness--england doesn't yet know the meaning of the word." "it's time for me to leave," said the young officer, consulting his watch. "take my word for it, uncle, we're not going to the demnition bowwows--count on england's bulldog grit. god help germany when the allies get into that country!" "when--ah, when?" echoed sir percival. "i hope that i live to see the day. tell me, boy," his voice softening, "how is it with you and molly?" his nephew reddened under his tan. "molly doesn't care for a chap like me," he muttered. "did she tell you so?" "well, no. you see, uncle, it--eh--doesn't seem the thing to suggest that a charming girl like molly tie herself to a fellow who may get his at any time." "piffle!" sir percival's shaggy eyebrows met in a frown. "sentimental nonsense! you and molly were great chums a year ago. you told me yourself that you hoped to marry her; i even spoke to her mother about the suitability of the match." "you had no right to," blazed his nephew. "it was damned impertinent interference." "you have not always thought so," retorted sir percival bitterly. "what had that most impertinent american girl you met in germany to do with your change of front toward molly?" "i must insist that you speak more respectfully of kathleen." john hargraves' expression altered. "if you must know, i asked kathleen to marry me and--she refused." "i said she was impertinent. all americans are; they don't know any better," fumed his uncle. "forget her, john; think of molly. i tell you the child loves you. don't wreck her happiness for the sake of a fleeting fancy." "fleeting fancy?" john hargraves shook his head sorrowfully. "when kathleen refused me i was hard hit; so hit i can't marry any other girl. don't let's talk of it." he smiled wistfully as he held out his hand. "time's up, uncle; the train leaves in an hour, and i must get my kit. good-by, sir. wish me luck." and before the older man could stop him he was retreating down the hall. sir percival stared vacantly about the room. "the last of his race," he muttered. "god help england! the toll is heavy." in spite of his haste john hargraves was late in reaching victoria station, and had barely time to take his place before the train pulled slowly out. as he looked down the long trainshed, he encountered the fixed stare of a tall, well-groomed man standing near one of the pillars. hargraves looked, and looked again; then his hand flew up, and leaning far out of his compartment he shouted to a porter. but his message was lost in the roar of the more rapidly moving train, and the porter, shaking a bewildered head, turned back. the crowd of women and children and a few men, which had gathered to witness the troop train's departure, was silently dispersing when an obsequious porter approached the tall stranger whose appearance had so excited john hargraves. "ye keb's out 'ere, sir," he said. "this way, sir," and as the stranger made no move to follow him, he leaned forward and lifted the latter's top coat from his arm. "let me carry this 'ere for you, gov'ner," then in a whisper that none could overhear, he said in german: "for your life, follow me." "go on," directed the stranger in english, pausing to adjust his cravat, and made his leisurely way after the hurrying porter. the latter stopped finally by the side of a somewhat battered-looking limousine. "'ere ye are, sir," announced the porter, not waiting for the chauffeur to pull open the door. "i most amissed ye," he rattled on. "kotched the keb, sir, an' tucked yer boxes inside, then i looked for ye at the bookin' office, 'cording to directions. let me tuck this 'ere laprobe over ye." as the stranger stepped into the limousine and seated himself the porter clambered in after him. "they're on," he whispered, his freckles showing plainly against his white face. "the chauffeur is one of us, he'll take you straight to our landing. this packet's for you. good luck!" and pocketing the sovereign offered, the porter, voicing loud thanks, backed from the limousine and slammed the door shut. the outskirts of london were reached before the man in the limousine opened the slip of paper thrust into his hand by the porter. it was wrapped about a small electric torch and a book of cigarette papers. slowly he read the german script in the note. be at the rendezvous by thursday. hans, the chauffeur, has full directions. do not miss the seventeenth. after rereading the contents of the note the man tore it into tiny bits and, not content with that, stuffed them among the tobacco in his pipe. striking a match he lighted his pipe and planting his feet on the bag he gazed long and earnestly at his initials stamped on the much labeled buckskin. the slowing up of the limousine aroused him from his meditations, and he glanced out of the window to see which way they were headed. london, the metropolis of the civilized world, lay behind him. catching his chauffeur's backward glance, he signaled him to continue onward as, removing his pipe, he muttered: "_gott strafe england_!" chapter ii out of the void slowly, the sullen roar of artillery, the rattle of maxims and rifles sank fitfully away. a tall raw-boned major of artillery stretched his cramped limbs in the observation station, paused to look with callous eyes over the devastated fields before him, then sought the trench. earlier in the day the allies had been shelled out of an advance position by the enemy and had fallen back on the entrenchments. "devilish hot stuff, shrapnel," commented a brother officer as major seymour stopped at his side. the major nodded absently, and without further reply advanced a few paces to meet an ammunition corporal who was obviously seeking him. "well?" he demanded, as the non-commissioned officer saluted. "only twenty rounds left, major." the corporal lowered his voice. "captain hargraves sent word to rush reinforcements here as soon as it is dark, sir." major seymour glanced with unconcealed impatience at his wrist watch. god! would night never come! "can't we get our wounded to the base hospital, major?" asked a younger officer. he had only joined the unit thirty-six hours before and while he had faced the baptism of fire gallantly, the ghastly carnage about him shook his nerve. he was not fed up with horrors as were his brother officers. "the wounded would stand small chance of reaching safety if the german gunners sighted them. they must wait for darkness," replied seymour. "here, take a pull at my flask. got potted yourself, didn't you?" noticing a thin stream of blood trickling down his companion's sleeve. "only a flesh wound--of no moment," protested the young man, flushing at the thought that his commanding officer might have misunderstood his question. "i'm afraid captain hargraves is in a bad way." "hargraves!" the major spun on his heel. "where is he?" "this way, sir," and the lieutenant led him past groups of men and officers. it was an appalling scene of desolation. the approach of night had brought a slight drizzling rain, and the ground, pitted with shell holes, was slimy with wet, greasy mud. nearly all the trees in the vicinity were blasted as if by lightning, and along the right hand side of the road was a line of a.s.s. carts and limbers blown to pieces. one horse, completely disemboweled, lay on his back, the inside arch of his ribs plainly showing. his leader was a mass of entrails lying about, and on the other side lay four or five more, one with a foreleg blown clear off at the shoulder, one minus a head. a half-dozen motor cycles and over a dozen push bikes lay in the mud with some unrecognizable shapes that had been riding them. between the advance trenches, in no man's land, the ground was thickly strewn with corpses of scotties killed in the charge. "the huns had us cold as to range," volunteered the lieutenant, loss of blood and reaction from excitement loosening his tongue. "they outed five guns complete with detachments by direct hits. here we are, sir," and he paused near a demolished gun emplacement. the ground about was a shambles. major seymour stepped up to one of the figures lying upon the ground, a mud-incrusted coat thrown over his legs. several privates who had been rendering what assistance they could, moved aside on the approach of their superior officers. hargraves opened his eyes as seymour knelt by him. "my number's up," he whispered, and the game smile which twisted his white lips was pitiful. "nonsense." seymour's gruff tone concealed emotion. hargraves' face betrayed death's indelible sign. "you'll pull through, once you're back at the hospital." hargraves shook his head; he realized the futility of argument. "have you pencil and paper?" he asked. "yes." seymour drew out his despatch book and removed a page. "what is it, john?" but some minutes passed before his question received an answer, and hargraves' voice was noticeably weaker, as he dictated: dear kathleen: i saw karl in london at victoria station. i swear it was he ... warn uncle ... kathleen ... kathleen ... there was a long silence; then seymour laid aside the unneeded brandy flask and slowly rose to his feet. he mechanically folded the scrap of paper, but before slipping it inside his pocket, the blank side arrested his attention. "heavens! john never gave me her address or last name. who is kathleen?" he exclaimed. more shaken than he was willing to confess even to himself, by the loss of his pal, he stared bitterly across the battlefield toward the enemy's lines. how cheerily hargraves had greeted him that morning on his return from a week's furlough in england! how glad he had been to rejoin the unit and be once again with his comrades on the firing line! a gallant spirit had passed to the great beyond. back in his observation station major seymour an hour later viewed the gathering darkness with satisfaction. two hours more and it would be difficult to see a hand before one's face. undoubtedly the sorely needed ammunition and reserves would reach the trenches in time, and the wounded could be safely transferred to the base hospital. the allies' line had held, and in spite of their desperate assaults the germans had been unable to find a vulnerable spot. seymour passed his hand over his eyes. against the darkness his fevered imagination pictured advancing "gray phantoms." "they come like demons from the hell they have created," he muttered. "i hope to god they don't use 'starlights' over our trenches tonight. flesh and blood can stand no more." the darkness grew denser and more dense. in the long battle front of the allies no sentinel saw a powerful aviatik biplane glide over the trenches and fly onward toward its goal. several times the airman inspected his phosphorescent compass and map, each time thereafter altering his course. finally, making a sign to his observer, he planed to a lower level and, satisfied that he had reached the proper distance, a bomb was released. down through the black void the infernal machine sped. a sickening pause--then a deafening detonation, followed by another and another, cut the stillness, and the earth beneath was aflame with light as the high explosives and shells stored in the concealed ammunition depot were set off. nothing escaped destruction; flesh and blood, mortar and brick went skyward together, and a great gash in the earth was all that was left to tell the story of the enemy's successful raid. from a safe height the german airman and his observer watched their handiwork. suddenly the latter caught sight of an aeroplane winging its way toward them. "bauerschreck!" he shouted, and the airman followed his pointed finger. instantly under his skillful manipulation their biplane climbed into the air in long graceful spirals until they were six thousand feet above ground. but as fast as they went, their heavier aviatik was no match in speed for the swift french aeroplane, and the bullets from the latter's machine gun were soon uncomfortably near. the german airman's face was set in grim lines as he maneuvered his biplane close to his pursuer and, dodging and twisting in sharp dips and curves, spoiled the aim of the frenchman at the machine gun, while his own revolver and that of his observer kept up a continuous fusillade. for twenty minutes the unequal fight continued. it could not last much longer. despair pulled at the german's heartstrings as he saw his observer topple for a moment in his seat, then pitch forward into space. the biplane tipped dangerously, righted itself and sped like a homing pigeon in the direction of the german lines. there was nothing left but to fly for it. the german dared not look behind; only by the mercy of god were the frenchman's shots going wild. it could not last; he must get the range. surely, surely they were past the last of the allies' trenches? the german turned and fired his revolver desperately at his pursuers. glory to god! one of his bullets punctured the latter's gasoline tank. it must be so--the french aeroplane was apparently making a forced landing. the shout on the german's lips was checked by a stinging sensation in his right side. the frenchman had his range at last. almost simultaneously his machine turned completely over. with groping, desperate fingers the german strove to gain control over the levels and right himself. in vain--and as he started in the downward rush, the hurrying wind carried the frenzied whisper: "the cross, dear god, the cross!" chapter iii powers that prey not far as the crow flies from the scene of the german airman's catastrophe, but with its presence hidden from general knowledge, was the grosses hauptquartier, the pulsing heart and brain of the imperial fighting forces. vigilant sentries patrolled the park leading from the chateau commandeered for the use of the war lord and his entourage, to the quarters of the great general staff. in a secluded room of the latter building a dozen men sat in conference about a table littered with papers; they had been there since early evening, but no man permitted his glance to stray to the dial of a library clock whose hands were gradually approaching two o'clock. truly, the chiefs of the divisions were tireless toilers. the herr chief of the great general staff was emphasizing his remarks with vigor unusual even for him, when the telephone, no respecter of persons, sent out its tinkling call. hitching his chair closer to the table, the herr chief of the aviation corps removed the receiver from the instrument. a courteous silence prevailed as he took the message. replacing the receiver, he turned and confronted his confrères. "an outpost reports," he began formally, "that captain von eltz in his aviatik biplane was pursued and wrecked by a french airman who was obliged to make a forced landing inside our lines. the french airmen were shot in their attempt to escape. owing to the aviatik biplane catching in the branches of a tree and thereby breaking his fall captain von eltz was rescued alive, although desperately wounded. the observer who accompanied him is dead. on regaining consciousness captain von eltz reported that his mission was successful, the new ammunition depot having been completely destroyed by his bomb." a low hum of approval greeted his words. "well done, gallant von eltz!" exclaimed one of the hearers. "he deserves the iron cross." "he will receive it," declared another officer enthusiastically. "the information as to the location of this new ammunition depot, which von eltz has just destroyed, came from the man of whom i have been telling you tonight," broke in the herr chief of the secret service. "he has been our eyes and ears in england. gentlemen, is it your wish that he be intrusted with the delicate mission of which we have just been speaking?" the eyes of the herr chief of the great general staff swept his companions. "is it that i speak for all?" a quick affirmative answered him. "then, we leave the matter entirely in your hands." the herr chief of the secret service bowed. "you know your agents; the selection is left to you, but see there is no unnecessary delay." "there will be no delay," responded the herr chief of the secret service. "my agent is not far from here. with your permission, i take my leave," and saluting he hastened from the room. the sun was halfway in the heavens when a limousine drew up before a wayside inn near a semi-demolished city. before the orderly sitting by the chauffeur could swing himself to the ground, a tall man had stepped to the side of the car and opened the door. for a second the herr chief of the secret service and the stranger contemplated each other without speaking, then the former motioned to the vacant seat by his side. "we can talk as we ride," he announced brusquely. "your luggage--" "is here," thrusting a much labeled suitcase inside the limousine and jumping in after it. at a low-toned word from the herr chief of the secret service the orderly saluted and quickly resumed his seat by the chauffeur. there was a short silence inside the limousine as the powerful car continued up the road. they were stopped at the first railroad crossing by a trainload of wounded soldiers. "your pardon," and before the herr chief of the secret service could stop him, the stranger pulled down the sash curtains of all the windows. "you are well known; being recognized is the penalty of greatness. it is to my interest to escape such a distinction." "i approve your caution, herr captain," observed the older man. "will you smoke?" producing his cigarette case, and as the other smilingly helped himself and accepted a lighted match, he surveyed him critically. paying no attention to his chief's scrutiny, the secret service agent contemplated the luxurious appointments of the limousine with satisfaction and puffed contentedly at his cigarette. his air of breeding was unmistakable, but the devil-may-care sparkle in his gray-blue eyes redeemed an otherwise expressionless face from being considered heavy. the spirits of the herr chief of the secret service rose. his recollection and judgment was still good; his agent, by men and women, would be deemed extremely handsome. "the new ammunition depot was destroyed last night by our airmen," he said, with some abruptness. "your information was reliable." "pardon, is not my information always reliable?" interpolated the secret service agent. "so it has proved," acknowledged his chief cordially, but a mark was mentally registered against the herr captain. german bureaucracy does not tolerate presumption from a subordinate. "and owing to your excellent record, you have been selected for a most delicate mission." "under the same conditions?" "the imperial government cannot be questioned," retorted his chief, his anger rising. "i am different from other operatives." a puff of cigarette smoke wreathed upward from the speaker's lips. "a free-lance." "and you have been given a free hand. we have not inquired into your methods of procuring information, being content with the result." "and does not the result justify not only your confidence but promotion?" the herr chief of the secret service considered before replying; then he answered with a question. "have you been to ireland?" the secret service agent smiled grimly as he took from his pocket a book of cigarette papers. counting them over, he selected the seventeenth paper, and passed it to his companion, who examined the small blank sheet with interest. "just a moment," and the young man again slipped his hand into a vest pocket, this time bringing out a nickel flashlight. pressing his thumb on the switch he held the glass bulb against the rice paper. in a few minutes a faint tracing appeared on the blank page, which grew brighter as the rays of light generated more heat. "hold it a moment," said the herr chief of the secret service. "keep it over the bulb," and taking out his notebook he made several entries, then closed it with a snap. "finished?" as he asked the question, the secret service agent replaced his pocket flashlight, drew out his tobacco pouch, poured a little in the rice paper, and proceeded to roll the cigarette with practiced fingers. "about sheerness?" questioned the herr chief of the secret service. "all is arranged." "good." the herr chief of the secret service permitted himself to settle back more comfortably on the roomy seat so that he faced his companion. in the closed and semi-darkened limousine there was no danger of their conversation being overheard. "i reserved for myself, herr captain," said the herr chief slowly, "the pleasure of informing you that your valuable services to the kaiser and the fatherland"--the secret service agent raised his hat--"are recognized. the cross may yet be yours." "how can i express my gratitude?" stammered the secret service agent. "by not jumping to hasty conclusions," smiled his chief. "never again question your orders." "be just," protested the secret service agent warmly. "i have risked my life daily for the kaiser and the fatherland in a hostile country. there have been hours which i do not care to remember." the speaker's tone grew husky. "some day--a short shift; and i must make provision for another." "i understood you were not married?" there was a barely perceptible pause. "spies do not marry, sir." "and if a secret service agent has a healthy regard for his own safety, he is careful of serious entanglements," cautioned his chief. "however, judging by your past work, i believe you are quite able to take care of yourself. thanks to the warnings and information of your organization we have been able to meet some of the allies' contemplated concerted attacks, and your information as to the sailing of transports and the movements of ammunition trains has been of inestimable service." "do you still wish me to keep up this particular work?" "no." the herr chief of the secret service leaned forward in his earnestness. "this war has demonstrated again and again that victory goes with the heaviest artillery." "true! antwerp, one of the strongest fortified cities on the continent, crumpled up before our siege guns," broke in his companion. the older man paid no attention to the interruption, but continued gravely: "hand to hand conflict and cavalry charges are a thing of the past. we shell out the enemies' trenches from batteries six to twelve miles away. all this you already know; i repeat it now to explain what i am about to say. we are in possession of the mining district of france, they are getting hard pushed for ammunition; england's supply is not inexhaustible; russia cannot half arm her fighting forces. they one and all are appealing to the manufacturing capitalists of the united states to furnish them with arms and ammunition." "and with success," dryly. the herr chief of the secret police frowned. "it must be stopped. you are to go to america--" "i?" "yes, at once. you have a genius for organization; your work in england proved that. let us know what merchant vessels and passenger steamers are carrying munitions of war. be sure, doubly sure, that your information is correct, for we shall act upon it. our government stands ready to take most drastic measures to stop such traffic." "i see." the secret service agent stroked his clean-shaven chin in meditative silence. "in england i went hand in hand with death; in the united states i am likely to outlive my usefulness." "perhaps," with dry significance. "but recollect our government is ready to adopt _any_ expedient to stop the exporting of arms and ammunition to our enemies." "as for instance--?" "leave our methods to us; you have your work. you will make your headquarters at washington city. there you will be able to place your hand on the pulse of the nation, and there you will find--idle women." "have we not already representatives at the united states capital?" the herr chief of the secret service eyed him keenly. "our embassy is concerned only with the diplomatic world. you are to send us word whether the united states government arsenals are working under a full complement of men; of the orders placed by the navy department for submarines, and the activities obtaining in private munition plants. be certain and study the undercurrent of sentiment for or against us. report as you have heretofore." "how am i to get in touch with the private shipyards and munition plants?" "i will give you letters to residents loyal to their fatherland. a number of the owners of powder companies and munition plants usually winter in washington. i am also told that mexican juntas still make washington their headquarters." the eyes of the secret service agent were boring into him, but the older man's countenance remained a mask. "you must bear in mind that if the american capitalists persist in selling assistance to our enemies the attention of the united states must be diverted to other issues...." "such a plan could only be carried out by creating a necessity of home consumption for war munitions," supplemented the secret service agent softly. without replying the herr chief of the secret service pulled forward a small despatch-box from a cleverly concealed pocket in the upholstery of the limousine. "we are motoring to your nearest destination," he said soberly, opening the box. "here are your letters of credit, your passport, and introductions to our friends across the water," handing him a leather wallet. "they will see that you are properly introduced to washington hostesses. go out in society; i am told it is most delightful at the capital. make friends with influential public men and prominent washingtonians. above all," with emphasis, "cultivate the gentler sex; remember, idle women make excellent pawns, my dear herr captain von mueller." chapter iv "should auld acquaintance be forgot?" mrs. winslow whitney, gathering her wraps together, stepped from the limousine. "i shall not need you again tonight, henry," she said, as the chauffeur sprang to the sidewalk to assist her. "very good, ma'am," and touching his cap respectfully, he took from the limousine the heavy fur laprobe and hastened to ring the doorbell for his mistress. halfway to her front door mrs. whitney paused to scan the outward appearance of her home. the large, colonial, brick double house, with lights partly showing behind handsomely curtained windows, looked the embodiment of comfort, but mrs. whitney heaved a sharp sigh of discontent. the surroundings were not pleasing to her. again and again she had pleaded with her husband to give up the old house and move into a more fashionable neighborhood. but with the tenacity which easy-going men sometimes exhibit, winslow whitney clung to the home of his ancestors. it had descended from father to son for generations, and finally to him, the last of the direct male line. although business had encroached and noisy electric cars passed his door, and even government buildings dwarfed the impressive size of the old mansion, he declined to give up his home, stating that he had been born there and there he would die. "very well, you and providence can settle the point between you, dad," answered kathleen, his only child, who had been brought in to use her persuasive powers upon her irate parent. "but as long as mother and i have to inhabit this old shell you must, simply must, put new works inside her." and whitney, with the generosity which marked his every action to those he loved, rehabilitated and remodeled the mansion until it finally rivaled in up-to-date completeness the more ornate homes of the newly rich in the fashionable northwest. "has miss kathleen returned?" asked mrs. whitney, handing her wraps to the breathless vincent, who had hurried to answer the chauffeur's imperious ring. "no, ma'am." "when she does return, tell her that i wish to see her." "yes, ma'am." "is mr. whitney in his studio?" "yes, ma'am. shall i send julie to you?" "tell her to go to my room and wait for me." as she spoke mrs. whitney crossed the broad hall and, passing the colonial staircase, entered the elevator. the automatic car carried her to the first bedroom floor but, changing her mind, she did not open the door; instead she pressed the electric button marked "attic." her slight feeling of irritation aroused by not being met downstairs by any member of her family was increased by stepping from the elevator into a dark hall. "winslow!" she called. meeting with no response she walked over to the opposite wall and by the aid of the light in the elevator found the electric switch and turned it on. not pausing to look about her, she went to the back of the large high-roofed attic and tried the handle of a closed door. finding that it would not open to her touch, she rapped sharply on the panel. she waited several seconds before she heard a chair pushed back and the sound of advancing footsteps. the inside bolt was shot back with distinct force. "well, what is it?" demanded whitney, jerking open the door. "oh, my dear," his tone changing at sight of his wife, "i had no idea you were returning so soon." "do you call half-past six o'clock soon?" asked mrs. whitney following him into the room. "winslow, winslow, i warn you not to become too absorbed in your work." whitney laughed somewhat ruefully. "does the kettle call the pot black? what do you do but give up your time to the sisters in unity? i'm a secondary consideration. there, there," noting his wife's expression. "don't let us dispute over trifles. i'm making headway, minna--headway." "i congratulate you, dear." mrs. whitney laid a caressing hand on his touseled gray hair. "i never doubted that you would. but, winslow, such complete absorption in your work is not healthy. the doctor has warned you not to shut yourself up in this room for hours, and particularly that you are not to lock your door on the inside. remember your recent attacks of vertigo." "mclane's an ass. the vertigo sprang from indigestion; hereafter, i'll be more careful what i eat," he protested. "there's nothing the matter with this room; it's well ventilated and heated. and i will lock my door--i won't be interrupted by any jackass servant wanting to feed me pap"--pointing scornfully toward the hall where a tray laden with a teapot and tempting dishes stood on a table near the door. "do you not yet realize, minna, that this is my life work?" with a sweeping gesture he indicated the models, brass, wood, and wax, which filled every cranny of the sparsely furnished room. mrs. whitney sighed. the room was her bugbear. she had dignified it with the name of "studio," but it looked what it was--a workshop. winslow whitney, considered in clubdom as a dilettante and known to scientists as an inventor of ability, frowned impatiently as he observed his wife's air of disapprobation. "my dear, we must agree to disagree," he said, lowering his voice. "my brain is carrying too much just now; i cannot be confused by side issues. everything must wait until my invention is completed." "is your daughter's welfare of secondary importance?" "what?" whitney surveyed his wife in startled surprise, and her handsome face flushed under his scrutiny. "what is the matter with kathleen's welfare? do i illtreat her? is she refused money? do i make her spend hours here helping me in this"--sarcastically--"sweatshop? four years ago she took up this fad of painting; you encouraged her at it--you know you did," shaking an accusing finger at his wife. "you persuaded me to let her study in germany, and she hasn't been worth a button since--as far as home comfort goes." "winslow!" "it's true," doggedly. "formerly she was willing and glad to help me with my modeling, help me in making calculations, tracings--now she spends her time philandering." "all young girls flirt, winslow." "but kathleen was always so shy," whitney shook his head. "now i'm asked at the club if she isn't engaged to this man and that." "will you never realize that kathleen is exceptionally pretty, with the gift of fascination?" "a dangerous power," said whitney gravely. "i do not entirely approve of the men whose attentions kathleen encourages." "as for instance...." "young potter, and this baron frederic von fincke--you know, minna, i do not approve of international marriages, and i am very glad that kathleen refused that englishman, john hargraves, whom she met in germany...." "i sometimes wonder if she regrets," said mrs. whitney musingly. "kathleen hears from him occasionally--and at times she is so very odd in her manner." "humph! i hope not. i don't want her to be a war bride," retorted whitney. "and all englishmen of family are at the front these days. you don't think, minna," with quickly suppressed nervousness, "that kathleen can be fond of sinclair spencer." "sinclair spencer?" echoed mrs. whitney. "why he is double her age, and besides, winslow, his habits are not...." "i know," gloomily, as his wife paused. "i would certainly never give my consent to such a marriage. but, minna, he is forever hanging around kathleen and haunts this house." "so much so that kathleen is heartily sick of him," said mrs. whitney comfortingly. "she is not the girl to really care for a man of his caliber. after all, winslow," unable to restrain the dig, "you are responsible for sinclair spencer's intimate footing in this house...." "intimate footing? nothing of the sort. just because i employed him as my patent attorney, you and kathleen did not have to throw yourselves at his head and have him sitting in your pockets." mrs. whitney laughed outright. "my dear winslow, neither kathleen nor i encouraged him to come here. if you are afraid," her eyes twinkling, "that kathleen considers his attentions seriously, i will sound her on the subject. and this brings me back to what i was going to say originally; you must inquire about the men kathleen meets. she is at the impressionable age and as apt as not to pick up an undesirable _parti_." "why didn't kathleen remain a schoolgirl?" fumed whitney. "then we only had to engage competent nurses and look up their references and our responsibility ended." "your responsibility is just beginning," said mrs. whitney cheerfully. "by the way, the days are short, and kathleen should be at home by five o'clock at least; this is a rough neighborhood for a beautiful girl to walk through unattended." "my forefathers found no fault with this neighborhood," replied whitney stiffly. "then it was fashionable, now it is a good respectable business section; and if dividends continue to dwindle you may thank your stars we are in a business section--for convenience' sake. i will not give up this house, minna, even to please you." "dear winslow, don't excite yourself." mrs. whitney laid an affectionate hand on his arm. "remember dr. mclane's advice ... and dinner will be served in an hour. please come down and get it while it is hot," and not waiting to hear his halfhearted promise she walked from the room and closed the door. it was some seconds before whitney resumed his interrupted work. "only a little while now," he muttered--"only a little while." before proceeding to her bedroom mrs. whitney sought the suite of rooms which had been given to kathleen on her coming of age two months before. finding the prettily decorated and furnished sitting-room empty she walked into the adjoining bedroom and saw kathleen sitting at her dressing table. "what detained you?" she asked kindly, as the girl turned on her entrance. "the symphony concert was not over until twenty-five minutes ago. won't you sit down, dear?" pulling forward a chair. "i must go on with my dressing. my pink satin, julie, thank you," as the french maid appeared. "are you dining out tonight?" in surprise. "i thought you told me you had no engagement for this evening." "i hadn't, mother. this invitation was quite unexpected," explained kathleen, arranging her hair with care. "on my return from the concert i found this note from miss kiametia grey asking me to fill a place and prevent thirteen at her dinner tonight." "i see." mrs. whitney inspected the dainty note-paper and forceful handwriting through her gold lorgnette. the word of miss kiametia grey was as the law of the medes and persians to her many friends, and mrs. whitney had a high regard for the wealthy spinster who cloaked her warm-hearted impulsiveness under an erratic and often brusque manner. "you cannot very well refuse. who sent you those orchids?" pointing to a handsome bouquet lying half out of its box on the bed. "sinclair spencer," briefly. "be careful, julie, don't muss my hair," and discussing unimportant matters kathleen hurried her dressing as much as possible. "not knowing you were going out i told henry he would not be needed tonight," said mrs. whitney, suddenly waking up to the fact that kathleen was ready to go. "you had better order a herdic." "oh!" kathleen gazed at her blankly. "and the dinner is at the chevy chase club." "pardon, madame," julie, the maid, spoke in rapid french. "mademoiselle grey telephoned to ask if mademoiselle had returned and said that she hoped she could dine with her. knowing madame had no engagement this evening, i took the great liberty of telling henry to be here with the limousine." "quite right, julie," mrs. whitney rose. "don't forget your orchids, kathleen." "i am not going to wear them; they"--not meeting mrs. whitney's eyes--"they would stain my dress. good night, mother. i am likely to be late; don't either you or dad wait up for me." an hour later, her naturally rosy cheeks a deeper tint from the consciousness that she was late, kathleen made a charming picture as she stood just within the entrance to the assembly room of the chevy chase club, waiting to greet her hostess who was at that moment marshalling her guests out to the private dining-room. it was several minutes before miss kiametia grey discovered kathleen's presence. "so very glad you could come," she said, squeezing her hand warmly. "not only did i want to be helped over the thirteen bugaboo, but i have such a nice dinner partner for you. captain miller. yes, judge, you are to take me out. kathleen, introduce yourself to the captain." "am i to find him by the process of elimination?" laughed kathleen, as miss kiametia laid her hand on the judge's arm. "he is just back of you," she called, and kathleen turned around. every vestige of color left her cheeks as she encountered the steadfast gaze of a tall, broad-shouldered man in immaculate evening dress. "you?" she blurted out, her white lips barely forming the word. "_you_?" there was an agonizing pause, then captain miller stepped toward her. "suppose we go out to dinner," he suggested suavely. chapter v an eventful evening while keeping up an animated conversation with judge powers, miss kiametia grey saw with inward perturbation that her vis-à-vis, captain miller, was spending much of his time between courses making bread pellets. what possessed kathleen whitney? she was usually the soul of courtesy, and yet her hostess had not seen her address one word to her dinner partner. possibly kathleen had taken offense at her off-hand introduction to the handsome officer. but that was not like the warmhearted, charming girl she had come to love and admire, and miss kiametia ate her dinner with less and less relish as she tried to keep up her end of the conversation and forget about the pair seated opposite her. captain charles miller had just finished helping himself to an ice when, from the tail of his eye, he saw kathleen quickly palm his place card. "let us make it an exchange," he said, and reaching across her plate, picked up the pretty hand-painted japanese card bearing her name, and slipped it inside the pocket of his white vest. for the first time that evening there was color in kathleen's cheeks. "you have not lost your--" "courage?" "effrontery," she finished. "i cannot see that the years have brought much change." "to you, most certainly not," and there was no mistaking the admiration in his eyes. "i object to personalities." she paused. "and particularly on slight acquaintance." miller bowed. "it is my loss that we have not met before," and he did not miss the look of relief that lighted her eyes for the fraction of a second. swiftly he changed the subject. "who is the man glaring at us from the end of the table?" "baron frederic von fincke." her manner was barely civil and that was all. under his heavy eyebrows miller's eyes snapped. she should talk to him, and he squared his broad shoulders. "i have already met the young girl sitting next him," he said, "and who is her dinner partner?" "captain edwin sayre, united states army." "of what branch of the service?" "ordnance." "is it true, miss kathleen," broke in the man seated on her right, "that captain sayre has resigned from the army to take a position in the du pont powder works?" "i believe so." "is that not establishing a bad precedent, mr. spencer?" inquired miller. he had met the lawyer on his arrival before dinner. "suppose other officers follow his example, what will the army do in case of hostilities with--eh--mexico?" "probably the officers will apply for active service." sinclair spencer, glad of the pretext that talking to miller gave him of bending nearer kathleen, turned his back on his dinner partner. that kathleen had given him her full attention throughout the dinner had partly compensated for the fact that she was not wearing his orchids. it had been weeks since he had enjoyed so uninterrupted a talk with her. that her manner was distrait and her replies somewhat haphazard escaped him utterly. the drive to chevy chase was both long and cold, and while waiting for miss kiametia's other guests to assemble before he presented himself, he had enjoyed more than one cocktail. that stimulant, combined with miss kiametia's excellent champagne, had dulled his perceptions. "the officers will be given their old rank," continued spencer. "in the meantime they will have gained most valuable experience." "there is really no prospect now of a war with mexico." as she spoke kathleen looked anxiously across at miss kiametia, but her hostess showed no disposition to give the signal for rising. kathleen was aware by his thick speech and flushed features that spencer had taken more wine than was good for him. she desired to ignore captain miller, but she was equally desirous not to encourage spencer's attentions. she moved her chair back as far as she could from the table to avoid the latter's near presence as he bent toward her. deliberately she turned and continued her remarks to miller. "as soon as a fair election is held and a president elected, he will be recognized by our government." miller laughed. "a fair election and mexico are a contradiction of terms. trouble there is by no means over. i hope that you are not a peace-at-any-price american?" "indeed i am not," and kathleen's eyes sparkled. "i am for peace with a punch." again spencer cut into the conversation, but his condition was so apparent that kathleen shrank from him. "miss kathleen, give me firs' dance," he demanded, as miss kiametia laid aside her napkin and pushed back her chair. in a second baron frederic von fincke was by her side, and with a sigh of thankfulness kathleen accepted his eager demand for a dance, and they hastened into the assembly room, which, stripped of its furniture, was already filled with dancers. it was the regular wednesday night dance at the club and the room was crowded. kathleen had no difficulty in avoiding captain miller. since her début she had reigned an acknowledged belle in society, and she was quickly importuned by men eager for a dance. but as she laughed and jested with her partners, she was conscious of lagging time and numbing brain. could she keep up the farce much longer? from one of the doorways sinclair spencer watched the gay scene with surly discontent. an attempt to dance, while its result had no effect upon his understanding, had caused his partner hastily to seek her chaperon. his only ray of consolation was that she had not been kathleen whitney. come to think of it, she had never thanked him for his orchids. the oversight worried him, and he was about to attempt to dodge the dancers and cross the room in search of kathleen when baron von fincke stopped and addressed him. "she is very beautiful, your miss whitney," he said slowly. his english was not fluent "but she has not the tact of her pretty mother. _she_ would never have shown her avoidance of captain miller quite so plainly as did miss whitney during dinner." "'twasn't 'voidance," protested spencer. "i cut him out." "then why postpone your wooing?" the foreigner permitted no hint of his secret amusement to creep into his voice as he glanced from spencer to where kathleen was dancing. "go-going to ask kathleen tonight," replied spencer, with drunken dignity. "i'm no la-laggard. speak to whitney, too; though that isn't important--he won't refuse." he cogitated darkly for a moment. "if he does ... i'll make things hot for him...." "hush!" von fincke laid a heavy hand on spencer's shoulder as he looked carefully about them; apparently no one was within earshot. "collect your wits. the time is not ripe for threats, spencer. the invention is not yet completed; until it is--no threats. we must not kill the goose before the golden egg is laid." "washn't makin' threats," stammered spencer, startled by the angry gleam in his companion's eyes. "now, don't get mad, von fincke, think of all i've done in that mex--" "come this way," and with no gentle hand the foreigner propelled spencer down the hall out of sight of the guests and out of doors. miss kiametia grey, enjoying watching the dancing as much as her guests enjoyed participating in it, was interrupted in her desultory conversation with two chaperons by one of the club attendants. upon receiving his message she made her way to where kathleen and her partner had just paused after a breathless extra. "having a good time, dearie?" she questioned. "it is a shame to interrupt your pleasure, but your father has telephoned that you must be at home by midnight." "and your car waits, cinderella," put in spencer who, suddenly returning, had overheard miss kiametia's remark. he had a particularly hard time with the pronunciation of "cinderella." the spinster favored him with a frown, and the back view of a sharp shoulder blade. to her mid-victorian mind sinclair spencer was not conducting himself as a gentleman should, and her half-considered resolve to drop him from her visiting list became adamantine as she observed his appearance. slipping her hand inside kathleen's arm she led her to the cloakroom. "catch me asking fourteen to dinner again!" she exclaimed. "it always dwindles to thirteen at the last moment, and i have a nervous chill until the number is completed." "whose place did i fill?" asked kathleen, presenting her cloak check to the maid. "nobody's, to be quite candid," miss kiametia smiled ruefully. "my dinner was originally twelve, but captain miller was so charming this afternoon that i asked him on impulse, and then sent for you to pair off with him." "thank you." the dryness of her tone was not lost on the spinster. there were times when she wished to box kathleen's ears. she was a born matchmaker, and kathleen's indifference to matrimonial opportunities was a constant source of vexation to her. "never saw two people look so ideally suited to each other," she snapped. kathleen started as if stung. "and i'm told mutual aversion is often a good beginning for a romance. i never saw you discourteous before, kathleen; you simply ignored captain miller until dessert." "possibly i had good reason." kathleen's color rose. "where, pray, did you pick him up?" "tut, tut! don't forget you are talking to a woman nearly old enough to be your mother." but miss kiametia's kind heart softened as she saw kathleen felt her words. "there, dearie, don't mind an old crosspatch. captain miller was introduced to me by senator foster. you can see with half an eye that captain miller is a gentleman born and bred. all ready? then i'll run back to my other guests. come and see me sunday," and with a friendly wave of her hand, miss kiametia returned to the dining-room where the dancers had adjourned for supper. kathleen found her limousine waiting at the entrance, and bidding the club attendant good-night she stepped inside the car, but as her chauffeur started to close the door he was pushed to one side. "fa-sher tele-telephoned i was to shee you home," announced spencer, striving to enunciate clearly. his haste and unsteady gait precipitated him almost on top of the girl as he endeavored to seat himself by her side. "d-don't get scared," placing a moist hand on her wrist. "fa-sher's orders. ask h-henry." the chauffeur touched his cap. "mr. whitney did telephone me to bring mr. spencer back with you, miss kathleen," he volunteered, and without waiting for further orders he banged to the door and climbed into his seat. with an indignant exclamation kathleen leaned over, seized the speaking-tube and whistled through it. but apparently the roar of the open throttle drowned the whistle, for henry did not pick up his end of the tube. as the car started down the drive a man jumped to the running-board, jerked open the car door, and without ceremony pushed spencer into a corner and seated himself between the latter and kathleen. "hope i didn't keep you waiting, miss whitney," he apologized. "sorry to have been late." kathleen shrank back. she did not need the light from the lamp at the entrance of the club grounds to tell her the intruder was captain miller. she was too well acquainted with his voice. a voice she had hoped never to hear again. spencer, considerably shaken by the force miller had used in thrusting him back against the side of the car, muttered a string of curses, which ended abruptly as miller's elbow came in sharp contact with his ribs. too bewildered for speech, kathleen rested her head against the upholstered back of the limousine. neither of the men seemed inclined to break the silence as the car sped swiftly toward washington, and gradually kathleen's reasoning power returned to her. she was furiously angry with herself, with the world, with fate. ah, she _would_ be mistress of her own fate. kathleen compressed her lips in mute determination. captain miller must be made to understand that she would not tolerate his further acquaintance. how dared he thrust his presence upon her? kathleen's hot anger cooled for a second; if miller had not thrust himself into the limousine she would in all probability have either had to order henry forcibly to eject spencer, which might have given rise to unpleasant gossip, or have endured alone the intoxicated man's society for the five-mile drive into town. high-power arc lights were strung along the roadway, and under their white glare kathleen stole a glance at miller. handsome still, she admitted to herself, and the same broad-shouldered, athletic figure. he was the type of man which appeals to both men and women. she caught her breath sharply as bitter memories crowded upon her, and slipping down her hand, drew her skirts surreptitiously away from touching miller. if he noted the movement he gave no sign. as the lights of washington appeared, the chauffeur reduced the limousine's speed to that required by law. they were in the heart of the resident section when a snore from spencer explained his long silence. the warmth and motion of the limousine, combined with his overindulgence in wine, had lulled him to sleep. with an effort kathleen roused herself from her dismal reflections. "can i leave you anywhere, captain--miller?" she inquired frigidly. "no thanks, i will walk to my hotel after i have seen you safely home." kathleen fumbled with the clasp of her evening wrap and stared down the empty streets. she waited until they were approaching lafayette square, then broke her silence for the second time. "i desire that you leave me here," she stated calmly. "i am now within a few blocks of my home." without waiting for comment she leaned forward, tapped upon the front window, and signaled henry to stop. miller rose as the limousine drew up to the curb. "as you wish," he said courteously. "but i do not think this man a suitable companion for you," and collaring spencer, he opened the door and, thrusting the still sleeping man out on the pavement, sprang out after him. henry's eyes bulged as he saw the two men, but miller's manner stopped the ejaculation upon his lips. "take miss whitney home," directed miller, and lifting his hat to kathleen he watched the limousine turn a corner and disappear. then he glanced down at spencer sprawling on the pavement. a queer smile lighted his face as he stared at the lawyer. "what's your little game, spencer?" he asked softly, and a hearty kick punctuated the question. chapter vi at the capitol mrs. whitney's usually placid disposition was decidedly ruffled, and she took no pains to conceal her displeasure. "really, kathleen, you are greatly at fault," she said, as the girl joined her in the vestibule. "the idea of keeping henry at the club until after midnight! no wonder he is late now. no chauffeur can work both day and night." "i'm sorry, mother," but kathleen did not look particularly penitent; she considered that the faithful henry had a soft berth. that he worked occasionally would not prove harmful. she had hoped to avoid going to the capitol that morning, and when told that henry had not appeared either at the house for orders or at the garage, she had supposed the trip would be given up. but mrs. whitney was of the persevering kind, and with her to plan was to accomplish. decidedly upset by henry's non-appearance in her well conducted household, she had ordered the garage to fill his place temporarily, and her limousine was at last at the door. mrs. whitney was giving her final direction to the new chauffeur as to which she considered the best and safest route to the capitol and the speed she wished maintained, when her husband joined them. "i've decided to take a morning off and go with you," he announced, entering the limousine. "room for me on the back seat?" "surely," and his wife patted the wide cushion. "we do not possess a superabundance of flesh in this family." "except dad," interpolated kathleen mischievously. she knew her father disliked the idea of getting fat, while lacking the initiative of keeping thin. "what you need, dad, is a cold plunge and a ten-mile walk before breakfast." whitney shuddered. "nice comfortable ideas you have, kathleen, for a winter day. it strikes me you should take a dose of your own medicine." inspecting her keenly. "late hours do not improve your appearance, young lady." "thanks," but her usually sunny smile was strained. "and i suppose you still work all night, dad, disobeying dr. mclane's orders." "i don't take orders from mclane," shortly. "and i didn't work very late last night. your mother came up and tried some of her sisters in unity persuasion upon me, and i capitulated." mrs. whitney did not take the jest in good part. while she reveled in society, she was essentially a clubwoman, and nothing delighted her so much as debating and delivering addresses. she was a capital extemporaneous speaker, and had held prominent offices in different clubs. possessing no sense of humor, which her husband and kathleen had in abundance, she seriously objected to their poking fun at her beloved organization, the sisters in unity, of which she was a charter member. any allusion to it in fun she considered an offense in good taste. therefore withdrawing into dignified silence she permitted whitney and kathleen to keep up the conversation. in fact, whitney did most of the talking, and neither he nor his wife perceived kathleen's inattention. "i'm on the high road to solving the last problem," he exulted. "the invention is simple, so very simple, but, minna, it will revolutionize many things in warfare. you won't be ashamed of your old dad, kathleen, when the world acknowledges what i've done." "i'm proud of you now, and always have been," affirmed kathleen, and leaning over she placed a spray of lilies-of-the-valley from her bouquet in his buttonhole. "who sent you the flowers, kathleen?" inquired mrs. whitney. "i don't know; i could find no card or note with them." "perhaps sinclair spencer has decided to send them anonymously." with a look of repugnance, kathleen pulled the flowers off and before her father could interfere, opened the door and tossed the bouquet into the street. "good gracious, kathleen, don't take everything that i say literally!" exclaimed mrs. whitney. "i am sorry i suggested...." "i am not, mother. after last night, nothing would induce me to wear his flowers again," declared kathleen with spirit. "father, what made you tele--" "here we are," broke in whitney, apparently not hearing kathleen's remark, as the limousine drew up at the entrance to the senate side of the capitol. "jump out, kathleen. careful, minna." but without assistance mrs. whitney sprang lightly to the ground, a worried look on her face. "i do believe, winslow," she said, "that i have left my admission card to the private gallery at home. it isn't in my bag." "don't mind, i'll look up randall foster; he'll see we get in. come this way." they found the corridors of the huge building filled with hurrying men and women, and whitney spent fully twenty minutes before he succeeded in obtaining the coveted card to the private gallery from his friend, senator foster. to mrs. whitney's dismay they found the gallery filled; but fortune favored them, for just after their entrance three women seated in the front row rose and made their way out. with a quickness which showed her familiarity with conventions mrs. whitney pounced upon the seats, and sank into hers with a sigh of thankfulness. she had overcome a number of obstacles that morning to get there, and though it was a small matter she hated to be thwarted in anything she undertook. kathleen, like many another washingtonian, confined her visits to the capitol to sightseeing trips with out-of-town friends, and she had come there that morning only because she could think of no good reason for staying away. to her inward surprise she soon found her attention absorbed by the debate going on in the senate, and when one of the distinguished lawmakers commenced a characteristic speech she became unconscious of the flight of time. as the senator ended his fiery peroration, she raised her head and, glancing toward the diplomats' gallery, recognized captain charles miller sitting in the front row regarding her. "have you seen medusa's head?" asked whitney, tugging at her elbow. "wake up, kathleen, unless you've been turned into marble. your mother's told you three times that senator foster has invited us to lunch with him. she is waiting for us in the corridor. come along." as they joined mrs. whitney, a young man hurried up to them. "i am senator foster's secretary," he explained. "the senator has gone direct to the dining-room on the ground floor. this way, please," and he piloted them to an elevator. on reaching the private dining-room of the senate they found not only foster but miss kiametia grey awaiting them. "this is my lucky day," exclaimed foster, heartily. "first, you tell me your wife and miss kathleen are here, whitney; then i meet kiametia on the way to the gallery." mrs. whitney smiled covertly. the senator's courtship of the wealthy spinster was one of the most discussed topics in smart society. "couldn't resist the temptation to have you all lunch with me," added foster. "won't you sit here, mrs. whitney," pulling out a chair on his right, "and kiametia," indicating the chair on his left, "and whitney next to you. miss kathleen, it's not etiquette to place father and daughter together, but i have a stranger for your other hand. ah, here he comes...." kathleen's back was to the entrance of the dining-room, but a sixth sense warned her who the newcomer was, and her face was expressionless when foster introduced his friend, captain miller, to mrs. whitney and her husband. after greeting miss kiametia, miller stepped to kathleen's side. "good morning," he said quietly, and held out his hand. kathleen drew back, then good breeding mastered her indignation. a second later her hand was laid in his and instantly withdrawn, but her fingers tingled from his strong clasp. "jolly party you must have had last night, kiametia." foster's cheery voice enabled kathleen to control her somewhat shaken nerves. "telephoned sinclair spencer to stop and see me this morning, but his servant said he never showed up until noon today." "kathleen pleaded guilty to a sleepless night," volunteered mrs. whitney, to the girl's secret indignation. "it was the lobster," answered miss kiametia. "i tried to warn you not to eat it, kathleen." "well, your lobster won't account for the non-appearance of henry," mourned mrs. whitney, her mind harking back to her own grievance. "how d'ye do, mrs. sunderland," as an elaborately gowned woman swept by their table, barely returning their greeting. "it is the regret of my life," announced miss kiametia, her eyes twinkling, "that i never kept a photograph of mrs. sunderland taken when she first came to washington ten years ago. it would provide a study in expression and expansion in social snobbery." mrs. whitney, conscious that she was perhaps rude by her silence, turned to captain miller who had taken no part in the conversation. "is this your first visit to washington, captain?" she inquired. "yes, and i find its residents so delightful that i hope to prolong my stay." "what did you think of the speech today?" broke in foster. "capital! the senator is right; if this government ship purchase bill goes through, the country will indeed be buying a quarrel." "quite right," agreed whitney, laying down his fork. "the only people who fail to see it in that light are those advocating the bill's passage. every nation thinks the same." "except possibly germany," argued foster. "she would probably try and sell us the hundreds of interned ships in our seaports." "well, why shouldn't she?" miss kiametia, with recollections of her misgivings the night before, declined the lobster croquettes. "with the german steamships and freighters interned here we should have a merchant marine ready to our hand." "and thereby provide instant use for our navy," retorted whitney. "uncle sam had better think twice before taking issue with the german submarines," grumbled miss kiametia. whitney's eyes lit with an angry sparkle, and he opened his mouth to speak, but his wife gave him no opportunity. "are you pro-german, kiametia?" she asked in astonishment. "well, i lean that way," admitted the spinster. "you know i'm named for the sister of pocahontas, and my drop of indian blood gives me a good memory. it strikes me that this nation is overlooking the american revolution, not to mention , and i also recollect that england did not show us particular friendship during the civil war." "the idea of waving the bloody shirt of ' !" exclaimed kathleen. "for shame, miss kiametia! we anglo-saxons must stand together. and another thing: germany may have wiped the belgians off the map, but she's lodged them in every american heart." "and we'll wake up some day and find the germans sitting in canada," retorted miss kiametia. "looking at u. s." "'over the garden wall,'" quoted whitney laughing. "no, no, kiametia. wave the bloody shirt, but don't try to scare us with a straw man." "straw or not, the kaiser is the world's bogy man. he has taught us a lesson in preparedness which this country will be slow to imitate." "uncle sam is a good disciplinarian but a poor student," acknowledged whitney, fingering the table ornaments nervously. "well, foster, i've enjoyed myself immensely, but there's work awaiting me at home, and i really must run along." mrs. whitney, talking placidly with captain miller, looked considerably taken aback by her husband's precipitancy. hastily draining the last drop of her demi-tasse, she added her thanks and good-byes, and followed her husband and kathleen from the room. "i'll walk home," announced kathleen, as whitney signaled to their chauffeur. "it will do me good, i need a constitutional." "but--but it's over a mile," protested mrs. whitney. "all the better," and waving her muff in farewell, kathleen hastened off through the grounds in the direction of pennsylvania avenue. she found the cold invigorating air a bracing tonic after the steam-heated atmosphere of the capitol, and was thoroughly enjoying her walk when she became conscious that a figure was keeping pace with her. looking up, she recognized captain miller. kathleen stopped. "which way are you going?" she demanded, totally unconscious of the pretty tableau she made, her dark beauty enhanced by a becoming hat and silver fox furs. not anticipating her abrupt halt, miller was forced to retrace his footsteps. "i spoke to you twice, miss whitney, but you apparently did not hear me," he answered, lifting his hat. "i asked if i might accompany you, and took silence for consent. my way lies your way." kathleen's fingers clenched tightly together inside her muff. "are you dead to all sense of decency?" she asked. "can you not see that your presence is an offense?" miller's color rose, and there was an ominous flash in his blue-gray eyes, but she met his look undauntedly. "i think you take an exaggerated view of the matter," he said quietly. "i desire your friendship." "you dare ask that after...." with a quiet masterful gesture miller stopped her. "we are living in the present," he said. "i repent the past. come"--with deepening earnestness, "you are warm-hearted, impulsive, generous--be generous to me--give me a chance to make good. before god, i will not fail you." kathleen scanned him keenly. could she place faith in his sincerity? as she met the penetrating glance she knew of old, now softened by the fascination of his winning smile, she came again under the old personal charm. "i cannot be friends with a man whom i do not respect," she stammered. "but you shall respect me," with dogged determination, "and then...." a bevy of girls, coming out of galt's, paused to greet kathleen, and miller, not waiting to complete his sentence, bowed to her and continued up the avenue. he paid no attention to the streets he traversed, but on turning into f street sought shelter near a shop to light his cigarette. as he threw the burnt match to the pavement he was attracted by a large photograph of kathleen whitney in the window. it was an excellent likeness, and miller, studying the clear-cut features, the lovely eyes, and soft rippling hair, felt his heart throb. he glanced at the sign above the window and found he was standing before edmonston's photographic studio. on impulse he entered the building. miller's absorption in kathleen's photograph had not gone unnoticed, and when he emerged from the studio, the observer accosted him. "beg pardon, sir, i'm henry, mr. whitney's chauffeur," he said. "mr. spencer, sir, was much put out to wake up this morning, sir, and find himself in a strange hotel." "better that than being registered 'drunk and disorderly,'" smiled miller. "yes, captain miller. i told him, sir, that you had done him a service." "ah, indeed? may i ask how you know who i am?" "i made out you'd have trouble with mr. spencer, sir, and as soon as i'd left miss kathleen at home, sir, i ran the car back down by the park, sir, just in time to see you leading mr. spencer into the hotel. the doorman there gave me your name, sir." "i see," replied miller thoughtfully. "i lunched with mr. whitney today, and it was mentioned that you had not shown up," and his eyes were guilty of a peculiar glint as he scrutinized the intelligent face and finely proportioned figure of the chauffeur. henry reddened. "i wasn't feeling very well in the night, sir, and overslept," he explained. "eh, captain," as miller turned away. "i saw you looking, sir, at miss kathleen's picture. did you get a copy in edmonston's?" "no," curtly. "i thought not, sir. they never part with their photographs in there, sir. but there's an extra one in mr. whitney's library, sir, which i could ... could...." he stopped abruptly as he met miller's gaze. after a pause miller slipped his hand into his pocket and on pulling it out disclosed a gold coin lying in his bare palm. "i see you are amenable to reason, henry," he said serenely, and the chauffeur stammered his thanks. chapter vii phantom wires sinclair spencer walked up and down the whitney drawing-room examining the costly bric-a-brac, totally blind to the merits of each piece and in several instances replacing them with entire disregard as to whether they rested on the edge, or on firm foundation. his occupation was interrupted by the return of vincent, the butler. "miss kathleen is not at home, sir," he announced. "quite certain, vincent?" holding out a treasury bill with a persuasive gesture. "quite, sir." vincent looked offended, but slipped the large tip in his pocket with inward satisfaction. he saw spencer's crestfallen appearance and thawed. "julie, the maid, says miss kathleen hasn't returned from the red cross meeting, sir, but that she's liable to come in 'most any time." "well, perhaps--is mr. whitney at home?" "yes, sir; but i dassent interrupt him, sir. he's working in his studio." "then i'll wait here for a time, at least. don't wait, vincent" "very good, sir." but vincent paused irresolutely. his conscience was reproaching him. miss kathleen's orders had been very explicit; if mr. spencer called to see her father, well and good; if he came to see _her_, he was not to be admitted. for six weeks the seesaw had kept up, and vincent had grown weary of answering the door for spencer. he had been an almost daily caller, occasionally admitted when winslow whitney was downstairs, and always a visitor on mrs. winslow's weekly day at home. but these latter visits had profited him nothing. kathleen never gave him an opportunity to see her alone, and it was the same at dinners and dances to which they were both invited. spencer had come there that morning fully determined to see kathleen and, as he expressed it to himself, "have an understanding with her." having for once gotten by vincent's relaxed guard, wild horses would not have dragged him away. vincent's harassed expression altered to one of relief as he heard the front doorbell sound, but his feelings underwent a change when he saw kathleen standing in the vestibule instead of mrs. whitney, who had announced that she would return early as she was walking and not using the limousine. "any mail for me in the noon delivery?" asked kathleen, and her smile faded at the butler's negative reply. why did her letters to england remain unanswered? john hargraves was the promptest of correspondents, and the question she had asked him required an answer. preoccupied with her own thoughts, she was about to enter the elevator totally oblivious to vincent's agitated manner. as she placed her hand on the elevator door, sinclair spencer walked into the hall. "how are you?" he said, his off-hand salutation concealing much tribulation of spirit. vincent caught one glimpse of kathleen's face and discreetly vanished. "do you wish to see my father, mr. spencer?" asked kathleen, utterly ignoring his outstretched hand. "no. i came expressly to see you," and his air of dogged determination was not to be mistaken. kathleen came to a sudden decision. "suppose we go into the drawing-room," she suggested. "i can spare you a few minutes." but once in the room she did not sit down. "why do you wish to see me, mr. spencer?" "to ask you to marry me." sinclair's usually florid face was white, and his customary self-assurance had departed. "i thank you for the compliment," with icy politeness, "but i must decline your proposal." "you--you refuse?" spencer spoke as in a dream. "yes. surely, mr. spencer, you cannot have expected any other answer--cannot have deluded yourself into thinking that i could possibly accept you? i have tried in every means within my power to discourage your attentions." "but why?" spencer's air castles were tumbling about his ears, but he stuck to his guns. his affection for kathleen, fanned by her indifference, had become all-absorbing. courted and flattered by mothers with marriageable daughters, he had come to believe that he had but to speak to win kathleen. "why discuss the matter further?" asked kathleen. she heartily wished the scene over; it had not been of her seeking. to wantonly hurt another's feelings was alien to her nature, and that spencer was suffering his demeanor betrayed. "i must." spencer came a step nearer. "tell me why you refuse me." "your habits ..." "i haven't touched a drop of wine since that dinner at chevy chase," triumphantly. "and if you don't approve, i'll not take another drink as long as i live." "i certainly think it would be better for you to stick to that resolution." kathleen moved toward the hall door. "i really do not see any object in prolonging this discussion." "but i do," following her. "i have perhaps startled you by my abrupt manner. i do love you, kathleen"--his voice shook--"love you better than anybody. i know that i can make you care for me. i have money ..." "that makes no difference." "with you, perhaps not," but spencer looked dubious. "i swear never to touch wine again. i will gratify your every wish"--kathleen shook her head, and he added heatedly, "what is there about me you don't like?" "i--i cannot tell--" kathleen edged toward the door. "it's a case of 'dr. fell.'" "fell?" spencer turned red, his self-esteem pricked at last. "is that another name for captain miller?" with insolent significance. kathleen stepped back as if struck. "i think it time to end this conversation," she said, but her remark received no attention. "i see it all now," muttered spencer. "captain miller has won your affection." "he has not." the contradiction slipped from kathleen with more vehemence than she intended. spencer brightened. in endeavoring to convince herself, she had thoroughly convinced him. "you are not engaged to him?" he asked eagerly. "certainly not." kathleen crimsoned with indignation. how dared sinclair spencer catechise her! "i must insist that you leave. and, mr. spencer, please remember, i desire that you never again allude to your proposal of marriage." "but i shall," doggedly. "then our acquaintance will cease." her manner even more than her words roused spencer to sudden wrath. "no, it won't," he retorted. "and i will make you--understand--make you reconsider your refusal to marry me. good morning," and without a backward look he departed. kathleen drew a long breath of relief as the front door closed behind him. "thank god, he's gone," she said aloud, unconscious that her words were overheard. "he is insufferable. i cannot understand why father ever encouraged him to come to the house." rapid walking soon brought spencer to the corner of seventeenth and h streets, and hailing a taxicab he gave the chauffeur an address on nineteenth street. fifteen minutes later he was ushered into the presence of baron frederic von fincke. "and how is the excellent mr. spencer this morning?" asked von fincke genially, offering his guest a chair. spencer, however, remained standing and disregarded the question as well as the chair. "who is this fellow, charles miller?" he asked in his turn. von fincke laughed softly. "consult your 'who's who,' my dear friend; do not come to me, an outsider." "you know why i come to you," with pointed accentuation. "i am determined to find out miller's antecedents, and i am convinced you can tell me if you will." von fincke shook his head. "you overrate my powers," he insisted suavely. "i have met captain miller as one meets any visitor to this cosmopolitan city. my acquaintance extends no further than our meeting at miss grey's dinner at the chevy chase club six weeks ago." spencer paused in indecision; for the moment, the foreigner's candid manner disarmed his doubts. "quite sure you can't find out about miller?" he persisted. "i can but question my few friends in washington; their information of captain miller may be of the vaguest. why do you not apply to senator randall foster? he and the captain are what you call--inseparable." "so they are, but i'm not going to foster for anything." "no?" "_no!_" the repetition was almost a roar. spencer's temper, always uncertain, had been severely tried that morning, and was rapidly giving way under the strain of bitter disappointment. "i ran up against foster in those senate lobby charges, and of all the cantankerous--" he paused expressively, then added, "i used to have a high regard for his sagacity and business judgment until he lost his head over that grey woman. because she don't choose to be decently civil, he's turned surly. you wait! i'll bring them to time, and kathleen whitney also." "ah!" "you may 'ah!' all you wish, but i am going to marry that girl, in spite of her refusal." "and how is that to be accomplished if you have not the young lady's consent?" spencer thrust his hands deep into his pockets and faced von fincke resolutely. "she idolizes her father; his word is law to her." "and you have his consent to the match?" "not yet, but i mean to get it; if necessary, by moral suasion." "gently, my dear spencer, gently." von fincke held up a warning hand. "whitney must not be annoyed." "indeed?" spencer eyed his companion suspiciously. "and why not?" "his invention...." spencer's laugh was not pleasant. "how do you know it isn't completed and patent applied for?" "is that so?" von fincke walked over to his desk and seated himself. "suppose we sit and talk...." "no," defiantly. "the time for talking has gone by. you know, i'll bet my last cent that whitney has patents pending in the united states patent office for his invention. all this waiting for him to finish his work is poppy-cock. why are you protecting whitney, unless he's your tool?" von fincke laughed. "you have strange ideas. do sit and let us change the topic of conversation." "i won't." spencer strode to the door. "i've done with your dirty work...." "tut! tut!" von fincke, who had been leaning back in his revolving chair, straightened up. "your language, my dear friend, can be improved ..." "and so can my knowledge," significantly. "i'm going to investigate whitney's affairs and his house before i'm much older. don't bother to ring for a servant," he added, seeing his host's hand hovering over the electric desk bell, and not waiting for an answer, bolted from the room. von fincke's hand descended on the electric bell button with imperative force, and rising he hastened into the hall. he paused at sight of his breathless valet ushering spencer down the staircase. not until he was thoroughly convinced that spencer had left the house did he turn back from the head of the stairs. "he grows troublesome, that spencer," he mused as he made his way to his own suite of rooms. an hour later captain charles miller turned in at the main entrance of his hotel and went directly to his room on the eighth floor. humming softly to himself he hung up his overcoat and hat in the closet, and removing his coat placed that also on a hanger. back once more in his bedroom, he carefully arranged the heavy draperies over his window so that his movements were completely screened, and taking a black silk muffler fastened it securely over the knob of the hall door. the window and door of his private bathroom were likewise draped. finally satisfied that he was secure from observation and all sound deadened, miller took from his overcoat pocket four porcelain castors, and dropping on his knees by the side of his brass bed, he deftly inserted them in place of the bed's regular steel castors. pausing long enough to clear the toilet articles from his bureau, he lifted from a box-shaped leather bag marked "underwood" a massie rosonophone and deftly installed it on the bureau top. taking a slight copper wire he attached it to one of the posts of the bed and connected it with the apparatus, making sure that the wire was suspended clear of the ground and surrounding objects. with another suspended wire he grounded the apparatus on the radiator. at last convinced that all was adjusted properly, miller moved over to his desk and gazed intently at a large photograph of kathleen whitney. it was an occupation of which he never tired. the faint buzz of the alarm bell sent him back to the wireless apparatus, and slipping on his headpiece telephone he picked up his pencil. listening intently to the dots and dashes, miller took down the message passing through space. as he jotted down the last letter and the wireless apparatus ceased to receive, miller regarded the written coded message before him on his writing pad with deep satisfaction. he was at last in tune with the transmitting station. the code only remained to be solved. chapter viii kaiser blumen miss kiametia grey was having her last tuesday at home before holy week, and the drawing-room of her apartment was hardly large enough to hold all her callers comfortably. she was assisted in receiving by several of her friends, and kathleen whitney presided over the tea-table. kathleen, chatting gayly with first one visitor and then another, was unaware that with the passing of time her eyes strayed more and more frequently to the hall doorway, nor was she conscious that they gained an added brightness on perceiving captain charles miller enter the room. owing to the departure of other guests miss kiametia contented herself with shaking miller's hand warmly. "come and talk to me later," she called, and turned her attention to those waiting to say good-bye. but she was not so absorbed as not to note miller's progress down the room. from the corner of her eye she saw him stop and speak to kathleen, accept a cup of tea, and walk over and seat himself on the sofa by mrs. whitney. that mrs. whitney was pleased by the attention was plain to be seen. "hum!" chuckled the astute spinster to herself. "'always kiss the blossom when making love to the bud'--captain miller is nobody's fool." "stop looking at miller," admonished senator foster, standing by her elbow. "pay attention to me." "i will, if you will inform me who miller is," she retorted. foster looked at her oddly. "the pied piper, judging from the way you women run after him," he grumbled. "can't a good-looking man come to washington without being swamped with invitations?" "sour grapes!" miss kiametia's kind smile took the sting from her words, and foster, whose looks were his sensitive point, laughed. "you haven't answered my question." "he brought me letters from the president of a big munitions factory in pennsylvania," he answered readily. "i gather--mind you i know nothing positively and must not be quoted...." "quite so. well, i'm no parrot." the spinster nodded her head vigorously. "you're safe; go on." again foster hesitated. he knew miss kiametia dearly loved a morsel of gossip, but he also knew that she could be trusted not to divulge matters of real importance. he, as well as the other members of the set in which the whitneys and miss grey belonged, had observed captain miller's attention to kathleen, had noted the gradual thawing of her stiff manner to him as the weeks went on, and he believed that miss kiametia's questions were prompted by the affection she bore kathleen. he also was aware that the spinster cordially detested sinclair spencer and was secretly elated at kathleen's indifference to the lawyer's attentions. "i imagine miller is here in the interests of the allies," he said, lowering his voice. "i know that he has entered into negotiations for the purchase of war munitions, and that he is hoping to put through a deal for certain cavalry horses. i am so positive that he is what he represents himself to be that i have given him letters to influential men in my state." "that possibly explains his many abrupt absences from the city," commented miss kiametia sagely. "he has the habit of backing out of dinner engagements at the eleventh hour. but tell me, do you know nothing about the man's family--his character?" "not a word. his letter of introduction was good, his business references excellent, and so"--the senator's gesture was expressive. "i had no idea he would prove such a beau brummel when i introduced him to my washington friends." foster turned and looked across the room at miller. "i should judge that he has seen service, his carriage is military." "he appears to be an american, but he has certain mannerisms"--miss kiametia paused and, not completing her sentence, turned her attention to other guests. after their departure she beckoned foster to join her by the door. "captain miller piques my curiosity," she whispered. "you say you know nothing about his family--i am going to find out about his character _now_." "how?" foster looked mystified. "where are you going?" as she moved forward. "remember, what i told you was confidential." "trust me," and with a most undignified wink, miss kiametia sailed down upon mrs. whitney and captain miller. "you can't escape me," she said to the latter, as he rose on her approach. "you must come and be victimized." "in what way?" "by my latest fad--palmistry. come, minna, we'll go into the library," and laying a determined hand on miller's arm she led the way into the cozy room, followed by mrs. whitney and the highly amused senator. miss kiametia was a good organizer, and she marshalled her three guests into seats by the library table, placing miller between herself and mrs. whitney. "is this a séance?" inquired kathleen, watching the group from the doorway. another of miss kiametia's receiving party had taken her place at the tea-table. "come and lend captain miller your moral support," called miss kiametia, while his character is being divulged. "no, you are to sit still," as miller made a motion to rise. "kathleen can stand behind us and prompt me if my deductions go astray; she knows you better than the rest of us." kathleen advanced with lagging steps into the room. she had turned singularly pale, and miss kiametia, watching her closely, wondered if she was taking the game seriously. she stopped just back of miller's chair and rested her hand lightly on miss kiametia's shoulder as the latter pulled the electric lamp nearer so that its rays fell full upon miller's palm. "has the size of the hand anything to do with the subject?" asked miller, as the spinster picked up a magnifying glass. "don't make suggestions to the oracle," laughed foster. "go ahead, kiametia." "your life line is good," pronounced the spinster, "but as it divides toward the end you will probably die in a country different from that of your birth." "any particular time scheduled for the event?" questioned miller, skeptically, but miss kiametia ignored the remark. "this branch from the head line to the heart"--indicating it with a slender paper-cutter--"denotes some great affection which makes you blind to reason and danger." she paused irresolutely. "pshaw! i'm reading from the left hand, let me see the other...." "isn't the one nearest the heart the surest guide?" inquired miller. "it is not," with decision, and miller, smiling whimsically, extended his hand toward them. "the right hand of fellowship," he remarked, placing his palm directly under the light. "my theory is correct." miss kiametia shot a triumphant look at mrs. whitney. "there are always more lines in the right palm than in the left; and see, here is a wider space between the lines of the head and life--contact with the world, captain miller, has taught you self-reliance, promptness of action, and readiness of thought. hello, what is that on your index finger--a half-moon?" "yes." miller smiled covertly; the spinster's seriousness amused him immensely. "isn't that according to hoyle?" "no, nor according to cheiro, either," tartly. "hold your palm steady so that i can see more clearly. it's a scar, isn't it?" "yes." mrs. whitney and senator foster were closely following miss kiametia's words, and neither saw the perplexed frown which wrinkled kathleen's forehead as she stared down at miller's right hand. she was distinctly puzzled. "the strength of your own individuality will carry you over many obstacles," finished miss kiametia, giving miller's hand a friendly tap with the paper-cutter. "read mine next," and foster held out his right hand. "haven't time; besides," the spinster's eyes twinkled, "i know your character like a book. what is it, sylvester?" as her colored butler appeared, card tray in hand. "more visitors? oh, yes, the peytons--i particularly want you to know them, minna; no, you must not think of leaving yet," and with her accustomed energy miss kiametia whisked mrs. whitney into the drawing-room, senator foster following. as kathleen stepped toward the door, miller stopped her. "don't go," he pleaded, his voice, though low, vibrating with pent-up feeling. "kathleen, my beloved, don't go." she placed an unsteady hand on the portiere. "i must," she stammered. "they need me...." "no, i am the one who needs you. my last chance of happiness lies in the balance. kathleen, give me a hearing." slowly, reluctantly she turned in his direction. "be wise, leave things as they are...." "i cannot." miller was white with the intensity of his emotion. "i love you, love you." kathleen's hand crept to her heart as if to still its wild throb. "don't, don't"--she looked beseechingly at him. "have you forgotten..." "yes," boldly. "i only realize you are all in all to me." in the dead silence that followed the ticking of the small desk clock was distinctly audible. "why not leave well enough alone?" she begged, a trifle wildly. "because i cannot stand it," huskily. "to see you day after day--will nothing i say convince or move you? am i outside the pale of affection?" no answer. in the prolonged silence miller's self-control snapped, and stepping to her side he drew her in his arms. for a second she struggled to release herself, then her strength gave way and she leaned limply against him. "i am a fool, a fool to listen to you," she gasped, "but i--i--love you now as i never did before." with a low cry of unutterable happiness miller bent his head and their lips met in a passionate kiss. the hall clock was chiming six when mrs. whitney and kathleen reached home. not waiting for her mother, kathleen ran upstairs and shut herself in her own room. without troubling to switch on the electric lights she made her way to a chair by the window and flung herself into it. love, the all-powerful, had conquered reason. against her better judgment she had pledged her faith to charles miller. her heart throbbed high with hope, and with dreamy, happy eyes she stared out of the window into the darkness. slowly she reviewed the events of the past six weeks. never intrusive, yet always by her side and at her beck and call, never at a loss to do and say the right thing, miller had wooed her in his own masterful way, trampling down prejudice, suspicion, unbelief, until he had gained his heritage--love. the specter of the past was laid--involuntarily kathleen shivered. "is mademoiselle here?" asked the french maid, peering in uncertainly from the hall door. she had rapped repeatedly and getting no response had gone downstairs to look for kathleen, only to be told that she was in her own room. "come in, julie, and turn on the electric switch," directed kathleen, and blinked as the room was suddenly flooded with light. without rising she removed her hat-pins and handed her hat and coat to the maid. "just the blue foulard tonight. what have you there?" "some flowers, mademoiselle," handing the box to kathleen. "captain miller left them at the door himself, and seeing me in the hall asked that i give them to you at once." with a frenchwoman's tact she busied herself in getting out the blue foulard and pretended not to see the blush and smile which accompanied kathleen's opening of the box. she did not speak again, helping kathleen with deft fingers to finish her toilet, and then stood back to contemplate the effect. "will mademoiselle attend the meeting tonight?" she asked. "no, i am not a member of the sisters in unity. i had forgotten the club was to meet here. perhaps mother will need you now. don't wait." but the frenchwoman lingered. "mademoiselle," she began. "mademoiselle." "yes, julie." "_pardon_". turning abruptly, julie opened the door and glanced up and down the hall, then gently closed and locked it. with equal quietness she bolted the sitting-room door. watching her with growing curiosity kathleen saw that her comely face was white and drawn. "listen, mademoiselle." the frenchwoman was careful to keep her voice low-pitched. "i dare to speak tonight--for france." "for france!" echoed kathleen. "france." julie's tone caressed the word. "my country needs your father's invention--ah, mademoiselle, do not let him sell it to another." "he will offer it first to our own government." "will he, mademoiselle? ah, do not be offended," catching kathleen's swift change of expression. "i dare speak as i do--for france; think me not disrespectful--but others wait to tempt your father." "nonsense!" "i know what i know, mademoiselle. it has gotten abroad that mr. whitney has completed his invention, that tests prove it successful--and, mademoiselle, this house is watched." kathleen looked at julie incredulously. had the maid taken leave of her senses? between nervousness and anxiety the frenchwoman was trembling from head to foot. "warn your father, mademoiselle; he will listen to you." "i will," with reassuring vigor. "tell me, julie, what has aroused your suspicion?" "many things. when it creeps out that m. whitney has succeeded, i say to myself--the germans, they will be interested. and i wait. then madame engages henry...." "henry? the chauffeur?" "but yes. i do not like henry, mademoiselle. he is too much in the house for a chauffeur; i meet him on the stairs, always on his way to the attic with some message to m. whitney who works in his studio there. he laughs and teases me, that henry, but wait!" julie's eyes were blazing. "and that monsieur spencer; i trust him not also. ah, mademoiselle, do not let him be closeted with your father--he is the younger and stronger man." "julie, are you quite mad?" exclaimed kathleen, her eyes twice their usual size. "no, mademoiselle. i watch; yes, always i watch and listen. your father did well to have iron shutters on the windows and new bolts on the door, but he knows not that i am within call--on the other side of the door." "upon my word!" kathleen's brain was in a whirl. was julie's mind unbalanced? she knew that the frenchwoman's fiancé and two brothers had been killed early in the war. had grief for them and anxiety for her beloved country developed hallucinations? one thing was apparent--it would never do to disagree with her in her overwrought condition. kathleen laid her arm protectingly about her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. she was very fond of the warm-hearted frenchwoman. "do not worry, julie. i will see that father takes every precaution to safeguard his invention." she hesitated. "i, too, sympathize deeply with france." "god bless thee, mademoiselle." with a movement full of grace julie raised kathleen's hand to her lips, then glided from the room, her slippers making no noise on the thick carpet. left alone kathleen picked up her box of flowers and walked thoughtfully into her sitting-room. her interview with julie had depressed her. as she passed her desk she saw a note addressed to her lying on it, but recognizing sinclair spencer's handwriting she tossed it down again unopened. it would keep to read later. she walked over to the pier glass and began to adjust the flowers which miller had sent her. more interested in his note which accompanied his gift, she had at first taken them for violets, but looking more closely at the corsage bouquet she found it contained cornflowers. again she read his note: "my darling: "i send you the harbinger of spring, of hope, of happiness. ever fondly your lover, "charles." back to kathleen's memory came a vision of waving wheat in a field on the outskirts of berlin and scattered among the grain grew the cornflower--_kaiser blumen_. she raised her hand to her hot cheeks. how came miller to send her flowers which he knew were connected with that past he so ardently wished forgotten? chapter ix the spider and the fly whitney scanned the long drawing-room and library beyond in comic despair. the furniture of both rooms, which opened out of each other, had been carried into another part of the house, and in its place were rows on rows of gilt chairs, while in the bow window stood an improvised platform. "can i get you a seat, sir?" asked vincent, placing a pitcher of ice water and tumblers on the speaker's table. "no, thanks; my days as parliamentarian are over, thank the lord. i have learned, vincent, that when the sisters in unity hold an election it's safer to be on the other side of the bolted door." "yes, sir." vincent removed a cherished sevres vase from its customary abiding place on the mantel and tucked it carefully under his arm. "miss kathleen is looking for you, sir. i think i hear her in the hall now, sir," and he hastened into the library as kathleen stepped into the drawing-room. "where have you been since dinner, dad? i went from the top of the house to the bottom looking for you." "had to go over to the drugstore to get a prescription filled. can i do anything for you?" "yes. come and spend the evening with me," she coaxed. whitney laughed. "can't, my dear. i have important work ahead of me tonight." "it must wait until tomorrow," coaxingly, stroking his cheek softly. "i don't like these lines, dad. your health is more to be considered than your work." whitney's air of tolerance turned to one of determination. "you are wrong; my work is of primary importance. it's only a matter of hours now, kathleen; then i can loaf for the rest of my days." she shook her head. "unless you take rest you cannot stand the strain. mother tells me you worked all last night and far into the morning." "my brain is clearer at night, and i have always required very little sleep." he frowned with growing impatience. "there is no use discussing the subject." he spoke in a tone which forbade further argument. "dad," kathleen lowered her voice and moved closer to him, "has it occurred to you that--that people are unduly curious about your invention?" whitney eyed her keenly. "it has," he admitted tersely, "and i have taken precautions." he stared at the clock and frowned impatiently. "nearly eight--the meeting will commence soon; let's get out of here." "wait, dad," kathleen laid a restraining hand on his shoulder. "i cannot bear to think of you alone in the attic--so far away from--" "sisters in unity--the very best of reasons for going to the attic--" "let me come with you," eagerly. "i'll bring my own work and not say a word to you. i'm nervous, daddy, i--i don't want to be by myself tonight--and there's something i want to--to--" her voice broke. whitney glanced at kathleen in surprise. what had come over her? "oh, come along," he agreed roughly. "only remember, i won't be tormented with small talk." kathleen's eyes brightened with relief as she accompanied him into the hall. as they appeared the elevator door opened and mrs. whitney stepped out into the hall. "why, i thought you were lying down, kathleen; you said that you were too tired to come in later to our club meeting and hear senator foster's address on 'peace,'" she exclaimed, and not waiting for an answer, turned to whitney. "can you spare me a moment, winslow? i wish your advice," and with a quick tilt of her head she indicated the small reception room on the left of the front door. "come in here." "certainly, minna. don't wait for me, kathleen," but the girl paused irresolutely. "shall i go to the studio?" she asked. "no, you cannot get in; the door is locked. go to your sitting-room and i'll stop for you on the way to the studio." "honest injun, dad?" and her father, nodding vigorous assent, watched her go up the stairs, then with a brisk step entered the reception room. "how charming you look, minna!" he exclaimed, in honest admiration. "you think so?" and mrs. whitney dimpled with pleasure. "i do want to win the election tonight--and clothes count for so much in woman's politics." "i back you to win against all comers," and whitney gave her shapely shoulder a loving pat as he stooped to kiss her. "what is the matter with kathleen tonight? her behavior troubles me." his wife laughed softly. "she is suffering from an old complaint--she is in love." "what!" whitney stared at her in blank astonishment. "with whom?" and sudden, sharp anxiety lay behind the abrupt question. "i suspect--captain miller." "miller? that silent--" whitney checked his impetuous words. "miller? good lord!" "what can you tell me about captain miller?" her feminine curiosity was instantly aroused at his quick change of expression. "just what i have seen of him and nothing more. he never talks of himself." "such a relief," sighed mrs. whitney. "there is randall foster--talks always of his own achievements. wait until kiametia grey marries him. i sometimes wonder...." "i can't see that we are directly concerned with that romance," broke in whitney with characteristic impatience. "what's your opinion of miller?" "i rather like him; he's very agreeable, good-looking, and seems to have plenty of money...." "then you...." "favor his suit? yes," tranquilly. "but, heavens, minna, you know nothing about captain miller's past." "you can inquire about it; in fact, i think it is your duty to do so. he calls here entirely too frequently not to be asked his intentions." "what the--" whitney reddened angrily and his voice rose. "a nice task you put before me. i dis--" "sh!" rising hurriedly, mrs. whitney laid a warning hand on his arm. "there's the bell, and this room is needed for the cloaks. where is julie?" paying no attention to her husband's apparent desire to say something more, mrs. whitney stepped into the hall. whitney stood in deep thought for a brief moment, then hastened after her, but his hope to slip upstairs unseen was frustrated. miss kiametia grey, enveloped in a heavy fur coat, promptly hailed him and as he stood chatting to her in the hall the front door again opened and henry, the chauffeur, who had been requisitioned to assist vincent, ushered in sinclair spencer. "good evening, mrs. whitney," spencer's loud cheery voice boomed through the hall, and under cover of his jovial manner he scanned whitney and his wife. had kathleen spoken to them of his proposal of marriage that morning and her refusal? "just dropped in to see your husband, mrs. whitney; hadn't hoped for the pleasure of seeing you. hello, whitney. evening, miss grey." but the spinster, with a stiff bow, slipped past the lawyer and into the reception room without seeing his outstretched hand. spencer's florid complexion turned a deeper tint as he met henry's blank stare, but a covert glance at the whitneys convinced him that they had not seen miss kiametia's rudeness. "do take mr. spencer upstairs, winslow," suggested mrs. whitney, as the chauffeur opened the door to admit more guests. "i have a meeting of my club tonight, mr. spencer, and therefore..." "certainly, certainly; please don't let my presence put you out," with a courteous bow. "come on, whitney, let's go up to your studio," and he followed his host into the elevator. whitney stopped the car at the first bedroom floor. "we will be far more comfortable in my wife's boudoir than in my studio," he said. "go ahead, spencer, first door to your right. i'll stop in my bedroom and get some cigars." glancing curiously about the large attractive hall, spencer entered the daintily furnished boudoir, and was examining the many water colors and photographs which hung on the walls, when whitney came in carrying a cigar box and a tray containing scotch and vichy. "that's some of kathleen's work," he explained, observing that the lawyer had picked up a miniature of mrs. whitney. "she is clever with her brush." "very clever," agreed spencer enthusiastically. "there is no one, whitney, whom i admire as i do your daughter," drawing a lounging chair near the table on which his host put the tray. "why does kathleen avoid me?" "does she?" "she does," with bitter emphasis. "and it cuts--deep." "you are supersensitive," protested whitney politely. "i do not for a moment believe kathleen would intentionally hurt your feelings." spencer did not answer at once, and chafing inwardly at being kept from his work in the studio, whitney glared first at his guest and then at the clock, but the hint was lost. suddenly spencer's right fist came down on the table with a resounding whack. "kathleen turned me down this morning." whitney's eyes were riveted on his guest but he said nothing, and spencer continued earnestly. "i want you to use your influence...." "no." the monosyllable was spoken quietly, but the gleam in whitney's eyes was a silent warning. "we will leave my daughter's name out of the discussion. was there anything else you wished to see me about? if not...." and he half rose. instead of answering spencer lolled back in his chair and, taking his time, lighted a cigar. "your note for twenty thousand dollars is due in ten days," he announced. "are you prepared to take it up?" there was a protracted pause before whitney spoke. "are you willing to let me curtail your note with a payment of five thousand dollars?" he asked. "no." whitney's hand closed spasmodically over the bottle of whiskey, and he was livid with anger as he glared at the younger man. spencer's good looks were marred by signs of recent dissipation, and the coarse lines about his thin lips destroyed the air of refinement given him by his well-cut clothes. whitney cast a despairing look about the room, at the pretty knick-knacks, pictures, and handsome furniture--all indicated a cultivated woman's taste. how his wife loved her belongings! with the curtailing of his income through the shrinking and non-payment of dividends, he had drawn upon his principal and--keeping up appearances was an expensive game. every piece of property that he owned was heavily mortgaged, and every bit of collateral was already deposited to cover notes at his bank. slowly whitney's fingers loosened their grip upon the bottle of whiskey. "well," and his voice cut the stillness like a whiplash. "what is your pound of flesh?" spencer knocked the ash from the end of his cigar into the tray with care that none should fall upon the polished mahogany table top. "kathleen might reconsider--eh?" suggestively. "and--eh--there is your invention--_your latest invention_." it was approaching midnight when whitney stepped alone into the hall. the hum of voices rose from the room below; evidently vincent had neglected to close the drawing-room doors, or else the sisters in unity needed air. listening intently, he judged from the direction of the voices that the women had not gone into the dining-room. whitney walked toward the elevator, paused, then continued down the hall and without rapping entered kathleen's sitting-room. but he stopped on the threshold on beholding kathleen sitting before her desk with her head resting upon its flat top, sound asleep. by her side lay paint box and brushes and a half-completed miniature of captain miller. without disturbing her, whitney crept softly from the room. chapter x sisters in unity it was a very much flurried vincent who admitted senator randall foster, and helped him off with his overcoat. "they're still argufying," he said, indicating the closed drawing-room doors with a jerk of his thumb. "i'll get word to mrs. whitney, sir, that you have come." "no, no, don't interrupt the meeting," hastily interposed the senator. "i may be a few minutes early. can i see mr. whitney?" "yes, sir, certainly, sir. come this way," and vincent moved toward the elevator shaft. "i don't believe mr. whitney has gone to his studio, yet, sir; he never takes anyone there, and i haven't seen mr. spencer leave." "mr. spencer?" foster drew back. "is he with mr. whitney?" "yes, sir, so henry told me." "after all, i don't believe i'll disturb mr. whitney, vincent. is there some place i can wait downstairs?" "yes, sir, the reception room." the butler led the way to it "i'm afraid, sir, you'll find it very uncomfortable in here, sir," looking at the racks of coats and cloaks, "but"--brightening--"here's a copy of the evening paper; mr. whitney must have left it; and this chair, sir--" "yes, yes, vincent, thank you, i'll be all right." foster took possession of the solitary uncovered chair. "this is an excellent opportunity of reading over my speech. be sure and let me know, vincent, the instant i am wanted in the drawing-room." "surely, sir. i'll tell mrs. whitney that you are here, sir," and vincent retired. inside the closed drawing-room and library the atmosphere was surcharged with electricity. miss kiametia grey, who had locked horns with her opponents on numerous subjects, sat back, flushed and victorious; she was beginning to feel the fatigue incident to having borne the brunt of the discussion, and was secretly longing to have the meeting adjourn to the dining-room where she suspected mrs. whitney had provided a bountiful supper. she felt the need of refreshments, if only a roman punch. mrs. whitney was also feeling the strain. she had designated a sister official to occupy the chair when the nominating speeches were in order, and was awaiting the announcement of the result of the ballot with inward trepidation. her composed manner and smiling face won miss kiametia's admiration; she was herself of too excitable a temperament to keep her equanimity unimpaired, and she watched mrs. whitney's calm demeanor and unruffled poise, conscious of her own disheveled appearance. she missed kathleen; the latter's presence had become an almost virtual necessity to the spinster. despite the disparity in ages, their tastes were similar, and both had a keen sense of humor. it had added zest to the spinster's enjoyment of the season's gayeties to have kathleen with her, and she had watched the girl's gradual absorption in captain miller with lynx eyes. the obliteration of sinclair spencer as a possible suitor had filled her with delight. but she had seen spencer in the house that very night. what did that mean? what was he there for? surely, kathleen had not.... a stir in the back of the room recalled miss kiametia's wandering thoughts, and she leaned eagerly forward to hear the report of the chairman of the tellers. mrs. whitney was elected and miss kiametia had also carried the day. round after round of hearty applause greeted the announcement, and as it died out the two successful candidates for first and second place in the organization stepped to the platform. but after expressing her thanks, miss kiametia again resumed her seat among the members, while mrs. whitney took up the duties of presiding officer. as the regular business of the meeting drew to a close one of the members rose, and on being recognized announced that she had a resolution to offer, and read in a high singsong voice: "be it resolved that this organization of sisters in unity indorse the peace movement, and that it use its wide influence to check the tendency toward militarism which injudicious and misguided americans hope to foist upon the american public." applause greeted the speaker, and a gray-haired woman across the room demanded recognition from the chair. "i would like to say a few words in favor of that resolution," she began, finally catching mrs. whitney's attention. "our wars with england, our mother country, were but as the wrangle of relatives. the leaders in the warring nations in europe today are all related. let us keep clear of all international entanglements. let us have peace. through peace this country has achieved greatness. peace and prosperity go hand in hand. peace uplifts; war retards. militarism is a throw-back to feudal days. on its lighter side, militarism is an appeal for gold lace and brass buttons. a man puts on our uniform because it is a thing of show, in other words, conspicuous ..." "madam chairman!" her face flaming, an irate woman arose. "no, i don't care whether i'm in order or not; i will be heard--mrs. lutz is quite right, the united states uniform _is_ conspicuous, and has been conspicuous on many a bloody battlefield since . the uniform is honored alike in court and camp in every nation of the world." as she sat down pandemonium reigned. instantly miss kiametia was on her feet, and her strident call, "madam chairman, madam chairman," rose repeatedly above the hubbub. mrs. whitney pounded for order and gave the spinster the floor. "i rise to a question of information," explained miss kiametia, in tones which echoed through the rooms. "is this an indignation meeting or an assemblage of sisters in unity?" she demanded, and sat down. in the comparative quiet that ensued, the peace resolution was seconded and passed by a small majority. mrs. whitney stepped to the edge of the platform. "senator randall foster has very kindly consented to address us tonight," she said. "so distinguished a lawmaker needs no introduction to this organization. mr. senator," as foster entered through the door held open for him by vincent, "we invite you to the platform." bowing his thanks, foster joined mrs. whitney and immediately began one of those adroit, well-worded addresses which had made him a marked man in the senate. "i come to you a special pleader," he continued, with growing earnestness, "to spread the gospel of peace. it is your privilege to weld public opinion, and opinion can be as a yoke upon a man's neck. in this free america opinion governs. jingoes would try to plunge us into war. when a boy is given an airgun, his first impulse is to go out and shoot it off. arm the men of this country and their impulse will be the same. a small standing army does not tend to militarism; its size does not lend itself to the issuing of imperative mandates; and mandates, ladies, lead to war. "it is especially a woman's duty to demand peace. in war, upon the woman falls the suffering and the sacrifice. the lover, the brother, the father, the son may find honorable death upon the field, but at home the woman pays. god pity the woman left desolate and alone, her loved ones sacrificed on the altar of militarism! "and mothers? what of your children and the fate of yet unborn generations? are they brought into the world to be tools of militarism? lift up your voice for peace; carry the message, 'peace on earth' to the very portals of congress. make any and every sacrifice, but guard your man child." as foster stopped speaking enthusiastic applause broke out, and a rising vote of thanks was given him. as the gratified senator stepped down from the platform he found himself by miss kiametia's side. "i did it to please you, kiametia," he whispered, holding her hand tightly. "have i earned one kind word?" miss kiametia favored him with a quick expressive look and a faint blush. "you are a staunch friend," she said warmly, and foster brightened. "only--only why did you lay such stress on the 'man child'? nearly all are spinsters in this peace organization." chapter xi a man in a hurry heavy clouds hung low and not a star was visible. the darkness was intensified by the gleam of distant city lights, for in that section of washington lying to the southwest of pennsylvania avenue a defective fuse had caused the dimming of every electric light in the vicinity. far up on one of the roofs a man, crouching behind the meager shelter offered by a chimney, blessed the chance which fortune provided. crawling on hands and knees, he cautiously made his way to the edges of the roof, on which he had dropped from the higher building next door, and looked down. his eyes straining in the darkness, every sense alert to danger, he scanned intently each window ledge and cornice. no hope there. not even a lead pipe or telephone wires afforded a hold for desperate, gripping fingers. unlike the building adjoining on the south, the new house had no party wall, and a gulf too wide to jump separated it from its northern neighbor. the sheer drop to the garden beneath was suicidal. the man lay for a few seconds striving to collect himself. he could not return the way he had come. he would be caught like a rat in the trap with the arrival of dawn, if not before. perhaps his pursuers were on his trail already. the thought spurred his numbed body to action, and lifting his head he glanced along the flat roof. toward the center of it rose a box-like structure with apparently an arched skylight above it. a little distance away from the structure, he distinguished the outlines of what appeared to be a scuttle. warily he approached it, and using every precaution to make the least possible sound, he attempted to raise the scuttle. a long sigh of relief escaped him as he succeeded. the scuttle was not locked. he paused long enough to glance keenly about him. there was no sign of another human being, but a sound smote his ear. someone was moving on the pebbled roof of the building he had just left. without an instant's delay he groped about until his feet touched the rung of a ladder, and drawing to the scuttle behind him, he made his way down the ladder. on reaching the bottom he paused in indecision. he could make out nothing in the inky blackness, and with every sense alive to danger, he waited. but apparently his entrance had disturbed no one, and taking heart of grace, he pulled out a tiny flashlight and pressed the button. the light revealed a large attic partly filled with trunks and worn furniture. a large wine closet, the bottles shining as the light fell on them through the slat partition, occupied one part of the attic, while a wall partition, with closed door, ran across the entire western side. to his right, the man made out the head of a narrow staircase. he was making his way to the staircase when his acute hearing caught the sound of a softly closing door on the floor below and approaching footsteps. casting a hunted look about him, he spied a closed closet door. he doused his light while making his way to the closet, and jerked open the door, at the same time throwing out his right hand, the better to judge the depth of the dark closet. his groping fingers closed on cold steel. his heart lost a throb, then raced madly on, as he clung weakly to the metal. an elevator shaft, and he had mistaken it for prison bars! for a second his chilled body was shaken with hysterical desire for laughter; then his strong will conquered. he had not forgotten the advancing footsteps. a desperate situation required desperate chances. stepping back he closed the outer door of the elevator shaft and pressed the button for the elevator. which would reach him first--the person creeping upstairs or the automatic electric elevator? chapter xii a sinister discovery mrs. whitney sat up in bed and contemplated her husband reproachfully as he entered her room. "have you been working all night?" she inquired. whitney nodded absently as he stooped to kiss her. "now, don't worry, dear; work will not injure me. i've just had a cold shower and feel ten per cent better, and all ready for my breakfast. you are the one who looks tired; that's a very becoming cap you are wearing, but you need more color here," pinching her cheek. "i don't like to see you so pale. were the sisters in unity as strenuous as ever?" "just about--but, oh, winslow, i was elected...." "that was a foregone conclusion, you modest child." again whitney kissed her. "congratulations, my darling, though why you should want it...." mrs. whitney laughed good-naturedly. "i'm too happy today to argue the question," she broke in. "kiametia grey frightened us all last night by fainting ..." "fainting! kiametia? i thought she was as tough as a horse?" "so she is usually, but she has been doing too much socially, and late hours do not agree with a woman of her years." "she isn't so old," protested whitney. "she is older than i, and i'm not so young," mrs. whitney, whose years sat lightly upon her, jerked a dainty dressing-gown about her shoulders. "kiametia did faint and when she came to, declared it was the overheated atmosphere of the rooms and the continuous talking which had upset her." "well, you must admit, minna, the sisters are famous for noisy discussions. kiametia is generally able to hold up her end of an argument. i am sorry she had to give in to superior numbers," whitney laughed. "you'll never convince me that she fainted." "she did, too; and felt so badly that i persuaded her not to go home, but to spend the remainder of the night in our blue bedroom." "good heavens!" whitney gazed blankly at his wife. "did she--did ..." "no, she did not stay there," pausing dramatically. "she found sinclair spencer sound asleep in the bed." she waited expectantly for her husband's comment, but getting no reply, she burst out, "what was he doing there--how came he to be there?" "i was foolish enough to offer him whiskey." her husband seated himself carefully on the edge of the bed, "spencer had been drinking before he came to see me, and a very little more made him tipsy. i was fearful that if i took him downstairs he would try and break up your meeting, so persuaded him to go and lie down on the bed in the blue room." "sometimes, winslow, for a thoughtful man, you ball things up dreadfully," sighed mrs. whitney. "why did you select that room? you always put your friends in the hall bedroom." "never gave the matter of the rooms a thought." whitney moved restlessly; he hated to see a woman cry, and his wife looked perilously upon the point of tears. in spite of his assertion that he did not miss the loss of sleep, his nerves were not under full control. ordinarily not a drinking man, he had stopped on his way from his bedroom to help himself to the small amount of scotch left in the bottle. "such a scene as i had with kiametia," groaned mrs. whitney sighing dismally at the recollection. "finally, i convinced her that i knew nothing of mr. spencer's presence, and she consented to sleep in the hall bedroom." "i'm glad kiametia discovered spencer in time." his chuckle developing into a laugh, whitney rose and walked to the door. "it's no crying matter, my dear. kiametia will be the first to enjoy the joke." "if it had been anyone but sinclair spencer!" mrs. whitney shook her head forlornly. "she has developed an intense dislike for him." "and kiametia is usually a woman of discernment." his sarcasm passed unheeded, and he opened the hall door. "hurry and dress, minna, i'll wait for you in the dining-room. heavens! what's that?" a muffled cry, long drawn out, agonizing, vibrated through the stillness. spellbound, husband and wife eyed each other, then whitney stepped into the hall just as miss kiametia tore out of her bedroom. "what is it?" she demanded. "oh, stop it, stop it!" clapping her hands over her ears as the cry rose again. "it comes from the elevator shaft, sir," panted vincent, appearing up the stairs, henry, the chauffeur, close at his heels. without moving, whitney stared stupidly at the two servants, and it was henry who laid a trembling finger on the elevator button. as they heard the automatic car come to a standstill on the other side of the closed mahogany door there was a second's pause; then miss kiametia, summoning all her fortitude, laid her hand on the door knob and pulled it open. a horrified exclamation escaped her as her eyes fell upon kathleen, whose bloodless face was pressed against the iron grating of the inner door, to which she was clinging for support. "let me out," she pleaded, her eyes dark with horror. "let me out." at sight of his daughter whitney recovered himself. "stand back, kathleen," he directed. "then we can slide open the door." he had to repeat his words twice before she took in their meaning. releasing her hold upon the grating, she covered her face as if to shut out some terrifying spectacle. as henry pushed back the door, she collapsed into her father's arms. "bring kathleen in here," called mrs. whitney from her doorway, where she had stood, too frightened to move. "there are smelling salts on my bureau. what can have brought on this attack of hysterics, kiametia?" "the lord knows. perhaps the machinery's out of order and she's been stuck between floors." the spinster, suddenly remembering her extremely light attire, backed toward her room. whitney, reentering the hall, caught her words. "go to kathleen, minna; she asked for you," and as his wife turned back into her bedroom, he added, "see if there is anything wrong with the elevator, henry." obediently the chauffeur stepped through the narrow entrance to the elevator and into the steel cage. the next instant he turned an ashy face toward his companions. "look!" he gasped. "look!" and his shaking hand pointed to that part of the elevator concealed by the solid wall of the shaft from the view of those standing in the hall. with one accord they crowded into the elevator, and a stricken silence prevailed. crouching on the floor at the far end of the shallow cage was sinclair spencer. the rays of the overhead electric lamp, by which the cage was lighted, showed plainly the gash in his throat, while crimson stains on his white shirt added to the ghastly tableau. death was stamped upon the marble whiteness of his upturned face. "good god!" whitney reeled back and but for vincent's arm would have fallen. "here, sir, sit here, sir," and the butler half lifted him to a chair in the hall. "go get whiskey, henry," noting the pallor of whitney's face. "quick, man!" "telephone for a doctor, vincent," directed miss kiametia, pulling herself together. she had been the first to bolt out of the elevator. "i will stay with mr. whitney until you get back," and flashing her a grateful look, the butler, relieved to have responsibility taken from his shoulders, fled downstairs after henry. miss kiametia laid trembling hands on whitney's bowed shoulders. "it's awful, winslow," she stammered. "awful!" as he paid no attention to her, but stared vacantly at the floor before him, she paced to and fro, always careful, however, never to go in the direction of the elevator. the exercise brought back some semblance of self-control, and her eyes were beginning to take on their wonted snap when whitney rose unsteadily and stepped toward the elevator. miss kiametia's voice stopped him on its threshold. "i wouldn't go in there again," she advised. "wait until the coroner comes." "the coroner?" staring stupidly at her. "yes, hadn't you better send for him?" whitney's hands dropped to his side with a hopeless gesture. "the coroner," he muttered. "god help us!" "winslow!" mrs. whitney appeared in the doorway, tears streaming down her white cheeks. "kathleen is completely unnerved; come and help me quiet her." at that moment henry arrived, tray in hand. "i couldn't find the whiskey, sir," he explained, breathless with hurry. "but here's some cognac, sir. let me pour it out," and he handed a filled liqueur glass to whitney, who swallowed the stimulant at a gulp. "shouldn't mind having some of that myself," announced miss kiametia. "bring the tray here, henry," walking over to a table. "and, winslow, take a glass to kathleen; it will do her good. henry, did vincent telephone for the doctor?" she added below her breath, as whitney and his wife disappeared in the latter's bedroom and closed the door. "yes, miss grey, but he was out. so vincent rang up the hospital and the coroner." "good." miss kiametia debated a moment whether or not to take more cognac, and ended by refilling her glass. "stay right in this hall, henry; don't leave it for a moment until the doctor comes. i'm going in to dress." as the door closed behind the spinster, henry stood in deep thought, then pouring out a glass of cognac he hastily drank it. setting down the glass, he tiptoed over to the elevator, but one look at the still figure crouching with head thrown back and sightless eyes turned to the ceiling sent him back into the center of the hall. drawing out his handkerchief, he mopped his damp forehead. from mrs. whitney's bedroom came the murmur of voices, and henry, darting a quick, searching look about the empty hall, slipped over to the door and applied his ear to the keyhole. the sound of approaching footsteps and voices warned him of the arrival of the physician, and when vincent appeared, followed by two men, he was standing on guard near the elevator shaft. a quick word of explanation sufficed, and then the younger of the newcomers entered the elevator. he recoiled at sight of spencer, then advancing tested the dead man's pulse and heart. "this is a case for you, penfield," he exclaimed backing out into the hall, and without a word the coroner took his place beside spencer. the young physician turned to vincent. "didn't you tell me that someone was ill and required medical assistance? mr. spencer is dead; i can do nothing for him." without answering, vincent tapped on mrs. whitney's door, and whitney's voice bade him enter. "dr. hall, sir," announced the butler. "want him to come in, sir?--yes, sir; this way, doctor," and he pulled to the door after the physician. the elevator drew vincent's eyes as a magnet draws steel, and he started violently at sight of the coroner beckoning to him from its entrance. "call up police headquarters," directed penfield. "tell them i am here, and ask to have detective mitchell and three plain-clothes men sent over at once. be quick about it," and his peremptory tone caused the agitated butler to hasten his usually leisurely gait. henry started to follow him, but the coroner called him back. "explain to me exactly what happened when mr. spencer was found," he said, stepping into the hall. the tale lost nothing in henry's telling, and penfield was gnawing his fingernails, a trick he had if perplexed, when vincent escorted the detective and plain-clothes policemen into the hall. the coroner rose with alacrity. "glad you could come, mitchell," he said. "let me put you in possession of all facts so far known," and he repeated all that henry had told him. mitchell listened in silence; only the gleam in his eyes attested his interest, as his face remained expressionless. and that gleam deepened as he stepped into the elevator and examined spencer. when he came out he was wrapping his handkerchief around a knife. exchanging a glance with the coroner, he turned to vincent. "show my men over the house," he directed, "and you," addressing henry, "inform mr. whitney that coroner penfield and i would like to see him at once." "i am here." whitney, who had entered the hall unnoticed a second before, joined the group. "what can i do for you?" "answer a few questions," and penfield, observing the strain under which he was laboring, pushed a chair in his direction. "sit down, mr. whitney." he turned back to henry. "you need not wait," and the chauffeur reluctantly went down the stairs. the coroner waited an appreciable moment before again speaking to whitney. "was mr. spencer visiting you?" he questioned. "only for the night." "when did you see him last?" "about midnight." "and where was that?" "in the bedroom across the way," pointing to it, and the detective crossed the hall and entered the room, the door of which was closed. "and what was mr. spencer doing the last time you saw him?" asked the coroner, with quiet persistence. "falling asleep," tersely. "spencer was drunk," added whitney after a pause. "his behavior led me to believe that he would intrude upon my wife's guests if he went downstairs, so i suggested that he spend the night here." whitney drew a long breath, "is spencer really dead?" "yes." whitney shrank back in his chair; he had aged in the past hour, and he was conscious that his hands were trembling. "i feared so," he muttered, "i feared so. can"--clearing his throat--"can spencer be moved?" "not just yet; there are certain formalities to be gone through with first." penfield paused to make an entry in his notebook. "of course, there will be an autopsy--at the morgue. oh, mitchell," as the detective returned, "have you any questions to ask mr. whitney?" before answering the detective drew up a chair near whitney. "i am told your daughter's screams aroused the household," he said. "can i see miss whitney?" "no, you must wait until she is composed; the doctor is just administering an opiate," replied whitney hastily. "kathleen has been through a most harrowing experience." "i see." mitchell drummed impatiently on the arm of his chair. whitney eyed the two men askance. their manner, combined with the events of the morning, was telling on him. at any price he must break the silence--he could endure it no longer. "i wish to god," he exclaimed, "spencer had chosen any other spot to kill himself in than our elevator!" the coroner was the first to reply. "the wound was not self-inflicted." "what!" whitney sprang to his feet. "do you mean--spencer was murdered?" "yes." both men never moved their gaze from whitney's ashen face. "were all members of your family on good terms with mr. spencer?" "they were," whitney moistened his parched lips, and only the detective caught his furtive glance behind him. "did anyone beside your immediate family spend last night in this house, mr. whitney?" he asked. "no--yes," confusedly. "miss kiametia grey...." "winslow"--mrs. whitney, fully dressed, stepped into the hall from her boudoir. "pardon me," with a courteous inclination of her head as the coroner and mitchell rose. "winslow, i've asked the servants, and they tell me she has disappeared...." "she? who?" chorused the three men. "julie, my french maid." chapter xiii hide and seek charles miller was generally an early riser, but the head waiter at the metropole was surreptitiously scanning his watch before giving the signal to close the dining-room doors, when the captain walked in and took his accustomed seat at a distant table. miller had but time to glance at the headline, "stormy cabinet meeting predicted at white house today," in his morning newspaper, when eggs and toast were placed before him. his attentive waiter poured the hot coffee and placed cream and sugar in his cup without waiting for instructions. "eggs all right, sir?" he asked anxiously, a trace of accent in his pleasant voice. "yes, thanks." miller looked at him casually. "i haven't seen you before; where's jenkins?" "transferred to the café, sir," smoothing a wrinkle out of the tablecloth as he spoke. "i'll try to give satisfaction, sir." miller nodded absently. "oh, it's all right," he said, stifling a yawn, and propping his newspaper against his coffee pot, ate his breakfast leisurely, so leisurely that the other habitués of the hotel had finished their breakfast and departed before he pushed back his chair. turning, he signed to his waiter to bring his check, and not appearing to do so, watched his approach with keen interest. "been a steward, haven't you?" he inquired. "yes, sir." the waiter pocketed the tip with alacrity. "hamburg-american line, sir." "thought so." miller signed his name with careful attention to each stroke of the pencil. "how many of you are employed here?" "eight, sir. the lines are tied up; we must have work, and it's hard to get good berths, sir, with so many ships interned." "quite so," miller rose. "your name--?" "lewis. just a moment, sir," as miller started to cross the deserted dining-room, "shall i reserve the table for you for luncheon, sir?" "luncheon?" miller reflected. "i rather think not." "thank you, sir." the waiter's manner was apologetic. "i asked, sir, because, sir, today the cabinet officers lunch here, and...." "they require your undivided attention?" mildly. "i quite understand--ludwig." their eyes met, then miller turned on his heel. _"auf wiedersehen"_ he exclaimed under his breath, and the waiter's stolid expression changed to one of relief. miller, who had checked his overcoat and hat before entering the dining-room, wasted no time but entered a public telephone booth. when he emerged he was whistling cheerily, and the doorkeeper watched him hail a street car with curious eyes. "always running in and out," he muttered. "it beats me when he sleeps." first stopping at a florist's and then a jeweler's establishment, miller bent his footsteps toward the portland, and to his satisfaction found senator foster enjoying a belated breakfast in his apartment. "i'm glad to discover a man keeping later hours than i," he remarked, accepting the chair foster pulled forward. "you must have an easy conscience to sleep so late in the morning." "or enjoyed the devil of a night--er--mare." the senator's face was flushed and his strong voice husky. "you mistake; this is luncheon, not breakfast. keep me company? no?" foster pecked viciously at his lamb chop. "i've no appetite at all. caught a beastly cold at the sisters in unity meeting last night. cough all the time--beastly climate, washington." "why stay here?" "oh, congress...." "but that adjourned three weeks ago." foster frowned, then smiled. "a woman's whim--we are not always independent, miller"--a shrug completed the sentence. "change your mind and have some scotch?" "no, thanks." miller drew his chair closer to his companion, and lowered his voice. "i called this morning, senator, to ask some questions about winslow whitney." foster's smile vanished, and the glance he shot at miller was sharp. "it depends on the questions," he began stiffly, "whether they are answered or not." "quite right," with unruffled composure. "i shall ask nothing which cannot be answered with propriety." miller ceased speaking to light a cigarette. "all washington knows whitney is a man of wealth"--his keen eyes detected the sudden alteration in foster's expression--"of standing in the social and business world, but has he achieved success as an inventor?" "yes," was the instant and unqualified response, and miller's eyes lighted, but it was some seconds before he put another question. "are you familiar with his latest invention?" "you mean his camera for use in aeroplanes?" "yes. do you think it has any hope of success?" "i believe so; whitney declares the experiments are entirely satisfactory." "have you seen results of the tests?" "whitney showed me views of new york city and its environs taken from an aeroplane. they were--wonderful--" the senator puffed nervously at his cigar--"perfect maps." "indeed?" miller made no effort to conceal his eager curiosity. "at what height were they taken?" "ah, that i do not feel at liberty to disclose. how, when, and where this new camera can be utilized is of interest to all military men; but as whitney's friend, i could not divulge details he may desire kept secret, even if i knew them." "pardon me, i thought you his most intimate friend...." "i am, but not his confidant. and as his friend, i cannot discuss his private affairs with you." "i don't agree with you there." miller tossed his cigarette stub into the iron grate. "would it not be a friendly act to place whitney in a position to coin money?" "ah, so that is why you take an interest in his invention?" foster laid down his cigar and contemplated his companion closely. "you wish to buy ..." "exactly." "is the purchaser to be the same for whom you are collecting horses and ammunition?" "yes." foster did not answer at once, and miller, without seeming to do so, took silent note of the handsome appointments of the dining-room. the silver service on the sideboard, the cut-glass decanters and liqueurs seemed somewhat out of place in a bachelor apartment. somewhat puzzled, miller looked more fully at his host, hoping to find an answer to his unspoken doubts. careful of his dress, deportment, and democracy, foster had early gained the sobriquet "dandy," but there was nothing effeminate in his spare though muscular form, and his long under jaw indicated bull-dog obstinacy. confessing to fifty, foster did not look his age by ten years. "i shall have to ponder your question, miller." as he spoke foster rose. "frankly, i've been striving to interest our government in whitney's invention, and that is one of the things which has kept me in washington. suppose we go and see whitney now. i know that he is anxious to dispose of his invention--he is hard pressed for money,'' "indeed!" the pupils of miller's eyes contracted suddenly. "possibly whitney will give me a hearing, and i need not offer"--he stopped, looked at his cigarette case, returned it to his pocket, and followed foster out of the room--"a large sum," he finished, helping the senator into his overcoat. foster laughed shortly. "you will get no bargain. whitney's politeness is on the surface; underneath he is as hard as nails, and suspicious--" the senator's cough cut short his speech and echoed down the corridor as he closed the door to his apartment. "won't even let me look at the camera, much less let me examine the lens, specifications, drawings, plate, et cetera. in fact, refused to give me any details, although he knows i must have the information so as to interest others in his invention." "but surely he has had the camera tested thoroughly?" "oh, yes. it has leaked out that the lens is so powerful and the mechanical parts of the camera so perfect that maps of the country taken at a remarkable height depict fortifications to the minutest detail. no one knows the method employed to bring about such a result. that is the secret locked inside whitney's studio and his brain. whitney is a genius, and unlike others of his ilk, is extremely modest about his own achievements. he covers his real nature under a mantle of eccentricity. i doubt if his wife and daughter really gauge his capabilities." a violent fit of coughing interrupted him, and he did not speak again for some minutes. as the elevator reached the ground floor, foster saw his chauffeur standing near the office. "my car at the door?" he asked, as the man approached. "yes, sir," touching his cap. "will you drive, sir?" "not today, too much cold, don't want pneumonia. jump in, miller." foster signed to him to enter first. "take us to the whitneys', mason," he directed, and sprang into the tonneau. five minutes later they stopped in front of the whitney house, and directing his chauffeur to wait, foster accompanied miller up the steps, but before either could touch the bell, the door was opened by vincent whose white face brightened at the sight of the senator. "step right in, sir," he begged. "the master was just telephoning for you, sir." vincent paused and looked doubtfully at miller. "did you wish to see miss kathleen, sir?" "yes," taking out his visiting card. "miss kathleen is sick in bed." vincent appeared still more confused, but foster, standing somewhat in shadow, caught miller's look of alarm which the butler missed. "what is the matter with miss kathleen?" demanded miller, and there was no mistaking the feeling in his voice and manner. "she had a shock, sir, a most awful shock." while speaking vincent tiptoed toward the library; he felt that he could never make a loud noise in that house again. "an awful shock," he repeated. "we all felt it." "what do you mean?" foster laid an impatient hand on the old servant's shoulder. "why, sir, he's dead...." "whitney?" the question sprang simultaneously from foster and miller. "no, no, sir. mr. sinclair spencer, sir. he was murdered"--vincent shuddered as the last word crossed his lips. his hearers stared stupidly at each other, and then at the butler. "who murdered him?" asked miller, the first to recover speech. "we don't know--they say julie; leastways we only know for positive that miss kathleen was with him ..." miller turned first white then red, and an angry gleam lit his eye as he stepped nearer the agitated servant. "that will do. go tell mr. whitney we are here," and his tone caused vincent to hurry away in deep resentment. foster gazed dazedly at miller. "what can have happened?" he asked. "was spencer so foolish as to bait winslow ..." "careful," cautioned miller, his quick ear detecting a footstep in the adjoining drawing-room. an instant later miss kiametia grey stepped into the library. "thank goodness you have come," she exclaimed, darting toward foster. "i've wanted you so much ..." "my darling"--foster, forgetful of miller's presence, clasped her hand in both of his. "there--there--this isn't any time for sentiment," and miss kiametia's chilly tone recalled the senator to the fact that they were not alone. looking a trifle foolish, he dropped her hand and stepped back. "what can i do for you?" he asked, coldly. "you said you needed me." "well, so i do, as legal adviser," with unflattering emphasis. "good morning, captain miller; i did not recognize you at first. i suppose you have both heard of sinclair spencer's tragic death." "yes, but none of the particulars," answered miller. "and also that kathleen is ill. do tell me how she is," and though he strove to conceal his anxiety, his manner betrayed his emotion to the sharp-eyed spinster. "the doctor gave her an opiate," she said quickly. "she will be herself again when she awakes. her condition does not worry me." she hesitated, shot a quick furtive look at miller's intent face, and added: "but i am alarmed by the mystery surrounding sinclair spencer's death." "tell us the details," urged foster. "details," echoed the spinster. "there are none. we were awakened this morning by kathleen's screams, rushed into the hall and found her in the elevator with sinclair spencer's dead body. she appeared completely unstrung, could make no coherent statement, and when the doctor came, was given an opiate." she paused and looked hopelessly at the two men. "we know no more of the murder than that." "we must wait until kathleen awakens," said whitney, and miss kiametia started violently at the sound of his voice; so absorbed had the others been in her remarks that his quiet entrance a few minutes before had passed unnoticed. "i trust that she will then be more composed." "did she say nothing to you and minna when you were with her before the doctor arrived?" questioned miss kiametia, smothering her eagerness with difficulty. "nothing that made sense." whitney ran his fingers through his gray hair until it stood upright. "she babbled spencer's name, alternating with the moaning cry, '_kaiser blumen_.'" "'_kaiser blumen_!' what in the world--" the spinster checked her hasty speech on catching sight of detective mitchell loitering just inside the library door. "do you want to see mr. whitney?" she asked, raising her voice a trifle, and all turned to face the detective as he advanced toward them. bowing gravely to senator foster and captain miller, mitchell stopped opposite the spinster, but his first remark was directed to whitney. "your wife tells me, sir, that the french maid, julie, has been in your employ over four years." "she has," acknowledged whitney, making no effort to conceal his impatience. "will you kindly postpone your questions, mitchell, until later; i desire to converse with my friends now." "i will intrude but a moment longer." mitchell slipped one hand inside his coat pocket. "when will it be convenient, sir, for you to take me into your studio?" whitney looked at the detective as if he did not believe his ears. "why the devil should i take you through my studio?" he thundered, his anger rising. "i take no one there--you understand, no one." "pardon me, these are exceptional circumstances. as an officer of the law it is my duty to examine the entire premises where a crime has been committed. on reaching your attic, i found the door leading to your studio locked, and i have come downstairs, sir, to ask you to take me into that room." "and i absolutely refuse." "in that case, sir," there was a steely glint in mitchell's eyes which betokened trouble, "i shall send for a locksmith and have the bolt forced." "wait," foster laid a restraining hand on whitney's shoulder as the latter made a hasty step in the detective's direction. "i assure you, mitchell, that the so-called studio is mr. whitney's workshop; he is, as you no doubt know, an inventor." whitney opened his mouth to speak, then closed his jaws with a snap. "mr. whitney is now engaged upon a most important invention. it is quite natural that he does not wish...." "it is hardly a matter of wishes, mr. senator," broke in mitchell. "a murder has been committed here, and it is imperative that everything be done to apprehend and convict the criminal." "ha!" whitney's snort was almost a triumphant challenge. his altered demeanor did not escape the shrewd eyes watching him so keenly. "so you think i murdered spencer?" "i have not said what i think," retorted the detective brusquely. "come, sir, we are wasting time; take me over your studio at once." whitney's haggard face reddened with anger; twice he opened and shut his mouth, then thinking better of his first impulse, he turned on his heel. "follow me," he directed ungraciously. as he stepped toward the doorway he looked back and encountered miller's intent gaze. the captain's gray eyes, their devil-may-care sparkle dampened by anxiety for kathleen, broad forehead, and firm mouth inspired confidence. he looked a man whose word could be relied on. whitney, harassed by conflicting doubts, and agonizing apprehensions, acted on impulse. "come with us, captain. we'll be right back, kiametia; you and foster wait for us here." by common consent the three men avoided the elevator and walked up stairs. on reaching the attic, whitney made at once for his studio and inserting keys in the double lock turned the wards, and opened the door. "go in," he said, and waited until the two men had preceded him in the room, then entered and closed the door, shooting the inner bolt. the detective looked around as the faint click of the metal caught his ear. "force of habit," explained whitney. "hurry and make your examination, mitchell; i wish to rejoin my friends downstairs as quickly as possible. have a seat, captain?" but miller declined, and stood watching mitchell as he made a thorough search of the apartment. nothing escaped his attention, and such furniture as the room boasted was minutely scrutinized, even the cooper hewitt lights and cylinder arc lights being switched on to assist in the examination. models, large sink, darkroom, cabinets, tool chest, drawing tables, and small chemical laboratory were subjected to a thorough search. miller's silent wonder grew; nowhere did he perceive a model resembling a camera, or the camera itself. whitney, sitting astride an ordinary wooden chair, followed the detective's movements with sardonic amusement, which now and then found vent in a grim smile. whitney's expression was not lost upon miller, who, finding him a more interesting study than mitchell, watched him intently while appearing to be deeply engaged in examining an elevator model. "isn't this the design copied in building your elevator, mr. whitney?" he asked. "yes; that is the model i made when the elevator was built. it was one of the first installed in a private residence in washington." "it is somewhat different from others that i have seen," commented the detective, replacing a bottle carefully on a shelf. "the cage is so very shallow in depth and so long in width." "i had to cut my coat according to my cloth," curtly. "this house is very old and the outer walls are of unusual thickness, also the inner ones, which accounts for the peculiar shape of the elevator. the brick shaft had to be built to conform to the walls and staircase. i also invented that safety air brake catch," he added, as miller ran the elevator to the top of the shaft and released the cage with a sudden jerk. the elevator slipped down a flight, then automatically adjusted itself and stopped. "a clever idea," said miller admiringly. "when i first used your elevator, mr. whitney, i was struck by its unexpected capacity to hold six people. its shallowness is deceptive." "that's so." whitney stared at the clock suggestively. "kathleen, as a child, used to slip in unseen, and as the majority of the people enter the elevator facing the floor button plate with their backs to where she stood, she gave her governesses many scares." the detective stopped to examine the elevator model carefully, and pressed the button marked "attic." "persons entering the elevator instinctively pull to the inner door with their left hand and push the floor button with the right, and they would be standing with their backs to where spencer lay," he said. "and anyone could have started the elevator without knowing of his presence," put in miller softly, and the detective nodded assent. "you have no floor indicator connected with the elevator, mr. whitney," commented mitchell thoughtfully. "no." whitney rose abruptly. "finished your search?" not waiting for a reply he prepared to leave, and a covert sneer crossed his lips as he asked, "found anything criminal?" "only these bottles," indicating the shelves near the laboratory. "there's enough poison here to kill a regiment." "and only for use in photography," whitney busied himself in adjusting shades which the detective had raised or lowered the better to see the room. "rather a commentary on the laws governing the sale of poisons, mitchell; can't buy them at a druggist's, but any man, woman, or child can go into a photographic supply store and buy any quantity of deadly poison and no questions asked." "perhaps," was mitchell's sole comment, as he removed a stopper from a blue glass bottle and sniffed at its contents. "hm! you are of an inquiring turn of mind." whitney's eyes contracted suddenly. "may i remind you that spencer, whose death you are investigating, was stabbed." "with a dull knife," answered mitchell, setting down the bottle. "and it must have taken muscular force to drive the knife home." whitney was suddenly conscious of both men's full regard, and his thin, wiry figure stiffened. his eyes snapped with pent-up feeling. "is a man to be convicted of crime because it is physically possible for him to commit murder?" he demanded harshly, and not waiting for an answer unbolted the door. "i fear, mitchell, you have wasted both my time and yours. remember this, sir." he stepped directly in front of the detective. "those making a charge must prove it. now go." chapter xiv a question of loyalty miss kiametia grey waited until the sound of whitney's, miller's and the detective's footsteps had died away down the hall before addressing senator foster. "suppose we sit over there," she suggested, indicating a large leather sofa, and not waiting for his assent, walked over to it and seated herself. the sofa stood with its back to one of the windows, and from its broad seat its occupants would have a complete view of the attractive library with its massive furniture, huge old-fashioned chimney, and bookcase-lined walls. foster, following miss kiametia, was startled by a glimpse of her face as she stepped into the sunlight whose merciless rays betrayed the new lines about her closely compressed lips. a touch of rouge enhanced her pallor. suddenly conscious of his intent regard she seated herself, turning her back squarely to the light. "sit there," she exclaimed pettishly, pointing to a morris chair which stood close to the sofa. "i prefer to have the person i'm talking to face me." without remark foster made himself comfortable, first, however, pulling down the shade to protect his eyes from the glare of sunlight. "we can't be overheard," began miss kiametia. "at least i don't think we can," and her sharp glance roved inquiringly about the room. "what was sinclair spencer doing in that elevator?" "going downstairs," hazarded the senator, "or up." "or waiting." "eh?" foster shot a quick look at her. "waiting? what for?" "that is what we have to discover," and miss kiametia sat back and folded her hands. "yours is hardly a reasonable supposition. people do not usually wait in elevators, kiametia." "there's no law against it," was her tart reply. "i have very good reason to believe spencer was _not_ going out of the house." "may i ask what that reason is?" "he wore no shoes," and for an instant a smile hovered on her lips as she caught his startled expression. she was woman enough to enjoy creating a sensation, and it was not often that she surprised the senator. "is that so!" he exclaimed thoughtfully. "that puts a somewhat different complexion on the matter." "it does. why was sinclair spencer gallivanting about this house in his stocking feet?" foster played with his watch chain. "upon my word, i don't know," he replied at last. "well, you might hazard a guess." but foster's only answer was a negative shake of his head. "pshaw! use your imagination--suppose spencer was unduly inquisitive about winslow's invention--" "stop, kiametia!" foster held up a warning hand. "you are treading on dangerous ground. be sure of your facts before suggesting that a man of winslow's known integrity is involved in--murder." "how you men do jump at conclusions," grumbled miss kiametia. "i believe julie, the maid, killed spencer because she found him snooping around where he had no business to be." "why should the maid play watchdog?" "because she's french, stupid; and i believe, firmly believe, sinclair spencer was in the pay of germany. both he and the maid were after winslow's invention, one to steal, the other to protect." "you have astonishing theories." foster leaned back and regarded her in silence, then resumed, "suppose you give me an exact account of what transpired this morning." he listened with rapt attention to the spinster's graphic description of the finding of kathleen and sinclair spencer in the elevator. "strange, very strange," he muttered, as she brought the recital to an end. "how did kathleen come to enter the elevator without seeing its occupant?" "you take it for granted that spencer was dead at that time?" asked the spinster. a look of horror crept into foster's eyes. "kiametia, what do you mean to insinuate? your question implies--" "nothing," hastily. "i only want you, with your sane common sense, to kill an intolerable doubt. kathleen cannot--_cannot_ know anything of this crime." "if you doubt, why not ask kathleen how and when she came to be in the elevator with spencer's dead body?" "kathleen is still under the effects of the opiate, and you heard what winslow said a few minutes ago about her behavior before the physician's arrival." "don't worry." foster laid a soothing hand on hers. "kathleen's condition is not surprising under the circumstances; the shock of finding spencer's dead body was quite enough to produce hysteria and irrational conduct. when herself, her explanations will clear up the mystery. therefore, why harbor a doubt of her innocence?" "if you had seen the expression of her eyes," exclaimed miss kiametia. "it betrayed more than shock and horror. if ever i saw mental anguish depicted, a naked soul in torment, i saw it then. god help the child!" she paused and stared at foster. "why should kathleen betray such emotion? sinclair spencer was less than nothing to her." "he was very attentive," said foster slowly. "i have even heard it reported last fall that they were engaged." "engaged? fiddlesticks!" miss kiametia's head went up in a style indicative of battle. "imagine kathleen caring for a man who openly boasted he had held the best blood of america in his arms--she isn't that kind of girl!" "come, spencer wasn't so unattractive," protested foster. "i hold no brief for him; in fact, some of his business transactions were shady; but upon my word, he was exceedingly good-looking, and if i remember rightly, you encouraged him to come to your apartment." "i've done some remarkably stupid things occasionally," said miss kiametia composedly. "that was one of them." "kiametia!" called a voice in the hallway, and the next moment the portières parted and mrs. whitney walked into the library. "oh, there you are, my dear; i feared you had gone. i am so glad to see you, senator," clasping foster's extended hand warmly. "winslow and i both hoped you could come to us. we want your advice." "i am entirely at your disposal." as he spoke, foster dragged forward a comfortable chair. "sit here, mrs. whitney; you look quite done up," and his sympathetic tone and manner brought tears to her hot, tired eyes. "it is such a comfort to see two such dear friends," she said, looking gratefully at them. "and to talk to you openly, away from those dreadful detectives. i haven't had an opportunity to speak privately to winslow. detective mitchell is his shadow." "a little brief authority," foster shrugged his shoulders. "how is kathleen?" "sleeping, thank god!" mrs. whitney lowered her voice. "i really feared for her reason before the doctor came. i could not soothe her, or quiet her wild weeping." she stopped to glance hastily over her shoulder. "vincent said something about captain miller having called--is the captain here?" "he has gone upstairs with your husband and detective mitchell," answered foster. "tell me, mrs. whitney, was sinclair spencer visiting you for any length of time?" "oh, no; his stopping here last night was quite unexpected; in fact so unexpected to me that i accidentally put kiametia in the same room with him." "i didn't stay there," hastily ejaculated the spinster, crimsoning. "the moment i saw him in bed, i fled." "was he asleep?" questioned foster; miss kiametia had not told him these details in her description of events at the whitney residence. "i presume so; his eyes were closed--thank goodness!" she added under her breath, and quickly changed the subject "any news of julie's whereabouts, minna?" "apparently not; i telephoned to police headquarters half an hour ago, and the desk sergeant said they had found no trace of her." "where is your maid's bedroom, mrs. whitney?" asked foster. "she rooms with the cook on the third floor." "what does the cook say about julie's disappearance?" "she is as mystified as the rest of us; declares julie went to bed at the same time she did, and that when she awoke this morning, the covers on julie's bed were thrown back. thinking julie had preceded her downstairs, she dressed and attended to her usual duties. it was not until i rang for julie that the other servants realized that none of them had seen her this morning. not one, apparently, has the faintest idea as to when she disappeared, and where." "so!" ejaculated foster unbelievingly. "i imagine the police will jog their memories." "let us hope they will succeed in finding julie," snapped miss kiametia. "i confess the situation is getting on my nerves. if she committed the murder, she should suffer for it. if not, she should come forward and prove her innocence." "it is essential that julie be found," agreed foster. "for my part, i...." "beg pardon, sir," and vincent approached. "this note has just come for you," presenting his silver salver to the senator. "there's no answer, sir. the clerk at the portland sent the messenger here with it, as it was marked 'immediate.'" with a word of apology to his companions, foster tore open the envelope and hastily scanned the written lines. "i must leave at once," he announced, carefully placing the note in his leather wallet. "i had forgotten entirely that i had an important business engagement. please tell winslow, mrs. whitney, that i will come back this evening; and you must both count on me if there is anything i can do for you." "won't you wait for captain miller?" asked miss kiametia, concealing her disappointment at the abrupt termination of the interview. "miller? i'm afraid not. please tell him i was called away and that i leave my touring car at his service." "if you plan to do that, may i get your chauffeur to take me home?" asked miss kiametia quickly. "why, of course; i only wish that i could accompany you." foster wavered, he desired most ardently to see the spinster alone, but the note was urgent, and considering the source, could not be ignored. "good-bye." shaking hands warmly with mrs. whitney and miss kiametia, he hastily departed. foster's appointment consumed over an hour, and on leaving the government building where it had taken place, he walked aimlessly through the city streets, so deep in thought that he gave no heed to the direction he was taking. his absorption blinded him to the appearance of an inconspicuously dressed, heavily veiled woman who, at sight of him, shrank back under cover of the archway leading to a movie theater, until he had passed safely up the street. she was about to step out on the sidewalk again when the sight of a man walking rapidly down the street in the direction foster had disappeared, caused her to remain in partial concealment. the woman peered at the last man irresolutely, while pretending to examine a gaudy, flaring poster of the movie, one hand pressed to her rapidly beating heart. coming to a sudden decision, she hastened after him, and nearing an intersecting street, overtook him. "captain miller," she called timidly, and at sound of his name, miller turned toward her. "yes?" his hand raised toward his hat at sight of a woman. "you called me?" "yes, captain." she drew nearer. "you do not recognize me, but"--sinking her voice--"i am julie." "julie?" he echoed. "_oui, monsieur_," in rapid french. "mademoiselle kathleen's maid. ah, monsieur, for the love you bear her, advise _me_ now. it is for her sake, not for mine." the captain eyed her intently. "i don't catch your meaning," he said, in her native tongue. "you have surely heard, captain, of the death of that devil, spencer"--behind her veil, the frenchwoman's eyes sparkled with rage. "well, captain, his death was--justified." "i have no doubt of it," agreed her companion. "but, in the eyes of the law, it will be termed...." "murder." her white lips barely formed the word, and she glanced fearfully behind her. her half-conscious action recalled the captain to their surroundings, and he, too, glanced up the street. apparently they had it to themselves; in that unfrequented part of the city there were few passers-by. the captain's eyes narrowed; he preferred never to be conspicuous; a crowded street was more to his liking. "suppose we move on," he suggested, but the frenchwoman held back. "i have spent all the morning at the moving pictures," she said. "there it is dark. let us find another." "very well; we can talk as we go," and the captain suited his step to hers. "and suppose also that we confine our remarks to english." "as monsieur pleases." she half repented her impulsive act. she had intrusted her secret to another. would that other prove loyal? a faint shiver crept down her spine, and she pressed one mitted hand over the other. "i seek seclusion, monsieur, because--i know too much." "'a little knowledge'"--the captain did not finish the quotation. "let us turn down here," and not waiting for her consent, he piloted her up a side street. "you do not, then, wish to make a confidant of the police?" "_non, non, monsieur_," lapsing again into rapid french. "i think only of mademoiselle." a sudden gleam lighted the captain's eyes. "kathleen," his voice lingered on her name. "you think she is in danger?" "i do, monsieur, in great danger. did i not see"--she paused in her hasty speech and bit her tongue; one indiscretion was leading to another. "it matters not what i saw, monsieur--i am sometimes nearsighted." "in that case, your eyes will be examined if testifying in a trial for murder," and he smiled covertly as he saw the fear tugging at her heart-strings. "enough, julie; i will respect your confidences. you know--how, i do not inquire--of my deep affection for mademoiselle kathleen...." "who would not love her?" broke in julie passionately. "so generous, so fearless and loyal! ah! she will be faithful to france--she will guard her father's secret--aye, even to the bitter end." "hush! not so loud," admonished the captain, laying a steadying hand on her arm. "let me think a moment." totally unconscious of the tears which fell one by one on her white cheeks, the excited frenchwoman kept step with him in silence for three blocks; then the captain roused himself. "you are willing to shield mademoiselle kathleen at all costs?" he asked. "_oui, monsieur._" "and you think you can best accomplish that result by avoiding the police?" "_oui, monsieur_." "have you money?" "a little, monsieur." she turned her troubled countenance toward him. "i cannot travel far." "it is wiser not to travel at all." the captain slackened his walk before an unpretentious red brick residence. "the landlady of this house takes paying guests and asks no questions. here you can remain _perdue_," with emphasis, "and no one inside will trouble you; but be cautious, julie, how you venture on the street day or night." "but, monsieur"--julie drew back--"i do not fear for myself, only for mademoiselle, and i like not to be indoors all day. the police, they will only trouble me with questions should i return to the whitneys." "if you do not return to the whitneys, julie, the police will think you guilty." "me, monsieur?" "yes." "but--but--" stammered the frenchwoman, overwhelmed. "i have committed no crime. i but left because i could not bear to tell what i know." "your departure is construed as a confession of guilt." the captain bent his handsome face nearer hers. "it is only a question, julie, of the depth of your affection for mademoiselle kathleen. are you willing to shield her at all costs?" the frenchwoman faltered for a second, then drew herself proudly erect. "_oui, monsieur_. mademoiselle was kind to me when i lost all--my lover, my brothers died for france. there is no one who cares for me now but mademoiselle. i shall not betray her." "good!" the captain wrung her hand. "come," and he led the way into the house. chapter xv the game, "i spy" barely pausing to dip his pen in the inkstand, charles miller covered sheet after sheet of thin paper with his fine legible writing. as he reached the final word he laid down his pen and stretched his cramped fingers and gently rubbed one hand over the other. for the first time conscious of the chill atmosphere, he rose and moved about the room. stopping before the steam heater to turn it on, he walked back to his desk and carefully read what he had written, correcting a phrase here and there. finally satisfied with the result, he selected an envelope and placing the papers inside, sealed and addressed it. for a second he held the envelope poised over the unstained blotting-paper, then raising it gently, breathed on the still wet ink. at last convinced that it was dry, he placed the envelope in the pocket of his bathrobe, and picking up his pajamas went into the bathroom which opened out of his bedroom, and closed the door. five seconds, fifteen seconds passed, then the long curtains before the window alcove gently parted and a man looked into the empty room. with head and shoulders protruding he waited until the sound of running water reached his ears, then advanced softly into the room. the desk was his objective point, and his nimble fingers made quick work of sorting its meager contents. his search was unrewarded; there was not a scrap of incriminating writing in any drawer, and the neat pile of blotting-paper was untouched. the intruder's expression altered; curiosity gave way to doubt. without wasting time he replaced every article where he found it, pausing occasionally to listen to the sound of splashing coming from behind the closed bathroom door. convinced there was no immediate danger of interruption from that quarter, he walked swiftly to the closet and minutely examined miller's clothing. just as he was leaving the closet a box-shaped leather bag marked "underwood" attracted his attention, and pushing aside a bundle of soiled underclothing, he knelt down and inserted a skeleton key in the lock, and after a second's work, forced back the wards and opened the lid of the box. the typewriter it contained proved uninteresting, and putting back everything as he had found it, he returned to the window by which he had entered. pushing it open, he climbed out on the ledge and, closing the window behind him, by the aid of ropes swung himself over to a near-by fire escape and disappeared inside a room opening from it. the slight sound occasioned by the closing of his bedroom window was drowned in miller's cheery whistle as he emerged from the bathroom. refreshed and invigorated by his bath, he switched off the lights and climbed into bed. the sunlight was streaming in the windows when he awoke, and it was a full minute before his sleepy senses grasped the fact that someone was pounding on the hall door. hastily donning his bathrobe, he turned the key and opened the door. henry, the whitneys' chauffeur, was standing on the threshold. "may i have a word with you, sir?" he asked. "certainly, come in," and miller, conscious of his negligé attire and that two pretty women were passing down the hall, precipitously retreated into his bedroom. "shut the door after you." he waited until his order had been followed, then demanded impetuously: "how is miss kathleen?" "better, sir." "thank god!" the fervid exclamation escaped him unwittingly, and a faint tinge of red stained his cheeks as he met henry's attentive regard. "did you give her my note?" "i sent it to her by the nurse, sir; miss kathleen still keeps her room," said henry respectfully. "vincent tells me that she refused even to see her mother and father." "have you an answer for me?" as the servant paused. "the nurse came to the kitchen and gave me these"--pulling a letter and package out of his pocket--"to deliver personally to you, sir; miss kathleen asked to have them sent at once." taking them miller examined the addresses; the note was the one he had written kathleen, and the package bore the label of a prominent jeweler, upon which was written kathleen's full name in miller's handwriting. both were unopened. miller placed them in his pocket with unmoved face. "why did you not deliver them to me last night?" he asked curtly. "i started to, sir, but seeing you walking with baron von fincke down massachusetts avenue, sir, i...." henry's eyes wavered and fell before miller's scrutiny. "followed me?" prompted the latter, bending forward. "only a little way"--quickly. "i did not like to intrude, sir, and by following hoped to get a chance to give you miss kathleen's package and note. i lost sight of you at thomas circle, sir, and went home. that is the gospel truth, sir, as sure as my name is--heinrich." miller viewed the chauffeur in silence. "so!" he exclaimed, and a pleased smile brightened his face. "naturalized, or born in this country?" "born here, sir, of naturalized parents." the chauffeur twisted his cap nervously. "german-american, sir." "there is no such thing, heinrich." miller's voice deepened. "the hyphen cannot be recognized. you are either american or german." the chauffeur straightened himself, and his heels clicked together as he raised his hand in salute. "hoch der kaiser!" the words were echoed by miller as he sprang forward and grasped the chauffeur's hand. "for the fatherland!" he added in german. "why have you not declared yourself before?" "until last night, herr captain, i was not absolutely sure you were one of us. but later in the evening baron von fincke...." "stood sponsor for me," finished miller, thrusting his hand in his pajama pocket, and thereby pushing an envelope still deeper in it. "what have you to report? wait, speak english; the walls have ears." the chauffeur whitened and moved closer to miller. "was mr. spencer in your confidence?" "no." "and the baron did not trust him," said heinrich, reflectively. "if he was not one of us, how came he to be killed?" "god knows." miller threw out his hands in a hopeless gesture. "i don't." "but there must be some motive for the crime," argued the chauffeur. "miss kathleen must have suspected something before taking ..." powerful hands on his throat choked his utterance. "never mention miss kathleen's name in that connection again," commanded miller, his voice low and stern. "you hear me, you dog!" and he shook heinrich until his teeth rattled, then released him. "pardon," gasped the badly frightened man. "i meant no offense." "see that you follow my instructions hereafter." "yes, sir"--heinrich caressed his throat tenderly, and looked at miller with a new respect. "i was only going to mention, sir, that mr. spencer meddled in what did not concern him. i believe he suspected what i have come to believe." "and what is that?" "that this photography business is only a blind." "a blind?" miller looked thoughtfully at his companion. "suppose you pull up a chair; wait, first hang your cap over the keyhole of the hall door." while waiting for heinrich to follow his instructions miller seated himself. "a blind?" he repeated. "no, no, heinrich, you are mistaken; mr. whitney has invented a very perfect aeroplane camera, of that i am thoroughly convinced. and our country needs it...." "undoubtedly, sir," heinrich almost stuttered in his growing excitement. "but he has invented something that we need more...." "what is that?" "i don't know, sir." miller, who had been leaning forward in his eagerness, drew back. "don't waste my time, heinrich," he said roughly. "your time won't be wasted," protested the german. "have patience and let me explain. i cannot manage this affair alone, i need assistance--and --you are a frequent caller at the whitney house...." "well, what then?" "mr. whitney may be persuaded to take you to his studio ..." the chauffeur hesitated. "proceed," directed miller shortly. "you can count on me." "good," the chauffeur hitched his chair closer. "day before yesterday i carried a telegram up to the studio. not hearing any sound in the room, i carefully turned the knob of the door and found it unlocked. for months i have tried that door, hoping for just such luck," he interpolated. "opening it very softly, i saw mr. whitney standing with his back to me, and facing the muzzle of a rifle. i had only time to note that the rifle was braced on two iron brackets and that mr. whitney was holding a string which was attached to the trigger; when i saw a flash, the rifle's recoil--and mr. whitney still standing just where he was." miller stared incredulously at heinrich, down whose face sweat was running; the man was obviously telling the truth--at least, what he believed to be the truth. "wake up, heinrich," he said skeptically, and the chauffeur flushed hotly. "it's god's truth i'm telling you," he declared solemnly. "for the sake of the fatherland, believe me." "i will," and miller's fist came softly down on his desk. "did you hear no report?" "none; there was a maxim silencer on the rifle." "i see--and blank cartridges in the breech." "that is what i first thought on seeing mr. whitney still standing," admitted heinrich. "i believed he was trying to commit suicide. then i heard him exclaim: 'god be thanked! i've solved the problem; it stood the test.'" "hardly a suicide's speech." miller stared at heinrich. "probably he was testing the maxim silencer." "no, herr captain." the chauffeur almost jumbled his words over each other in his haste. "an instant after the flash, i saw mr. whitney sway upon his feet, recover his balance, and stand upright." "the blast of powder must have caused that." "he was fully the length of the room from the muzzle of the rifle. there were no powder marks on his vest and coat when he opened the door in response to my knock a few minutes later. you see, herr captain, as soon as i got back my wits, i closed the door. when mr. whitney pulled out his gold pencil from his vest pocket to sign for the telegram i heard something drop on the floor, and letting the receipt slip fall, i stooped over and picked up with it--this--" and he laid on the desk a mauser bullet. miller examined it curiously. his companion was the first to break the silence. "it is flattened on one side, herr captain." "i see it is." miller weighed the bullet in his hand. "you have something more to tell me, heinrich; out with it." "yes, herr captain. that night i bribed vincent to let me valet mr. whitney, and i found the vest he wore that afternoon. in it, over the heart, was a round hole." "did the bullet fit it?" "exactly." there was a protracted silence, which the chauffeur broke with a question. "what do you make out of it, sir?" miller did not answer directly. "was mr. whitney wearing his ordinary business suit?" he inquired. "yes, herr captain." "you are sure he wore nothing over it?" "absolutely positive." miller handed back the bullet. "it rather looks as if mr. whitney has invented some wearing apparel which mauser bullets cannot penetrate," he said slowly, "or else...." "yes, herr captain." "you are a great liar." chapter xvi at the morgue shortly before three o'clock on that same afternoon in which heinrich had confided in miller, dashing turnouts and limousines, their smartly liveried coachmen and chauffeurs asking now and then the direction from street-crossing policeman, trotted and tooted their way down busy seventh street toward the wharves, their destination a modest two-storied stuccoed building bearing the words, "d. c. morgue." the inquest on sinclair spencer was to be held there at three o'clock. spencer's tragic death twenty-four hours before had indeed created a sensation in the nation's capital. the wildest rumors were afloat. was it deliberate murder or suicide? the press, ever keen to scent sensational news, had devoted much space to the little known facts and hinted at even more startling developments; all of which but whetted the curiosity of the public. the social prominence of the whitneys had precipitated them still further into the limelight; not often did the smart set have so choice a titbit to discuss, and gossip ran riot. it had few facts to thrive upon, as both the coroner and the police refused to give out the slightest detail. "good gracious!" ejaculated miss kiametia, as the touring car in which she and senator foster were riding threaded its tooting way through the many vehicles. "this street resembles connecticut avenue on saturday afternoon. where _is_ the morgue?" "right here," and foster sprang out of the car with alacrity as it drew up to the curb. he had been, for his cheery temperament, singularly morose, and miss kiametia's attempt to make conversation during their ride had failed. the spinster's talkativeness was a sure indication that her nerves were on edge; she usually kept guard upon her tongue. "do you suppose the whitneys are here?" she asked, adjusting her veil with nervous fingers as she crossed the uneven sidewalk. "probably; i imagine we are late. look out for that swing door." foster put out a steadying hand. "this way," turning to the left of the entrance. "one moment, sir," and detective mitchell, who with several others from the central office had been unobtrusively keeping tab on each new arrival, joined them. "miss grey, being a witness, must stay with the others in this room. the inquest is being held in that inner room, mr. senator. will you sit over here, miss grey...." but the spinster hesitated; she relied upon foster more than she was willing to admit, and the promise of his presence had reconciled her to the prospect of a trying afternoon. "i prefer to go with you," she objected, turning appealingly to him. "but, kiametia, you can't," interposed foster hurriedly. "the law forbids it. i will be in the next room should you need me." he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, then glanced hastily about the room. in one corner the whitney servants, their inward perturbance showing in their white scared faces, sat huddled together, but there was no sign of mr. and mrs. whitney and kathleen. apparently he and miss kiametia were earlier than he had at first thought. turning from miss kiametia, he addressed detective mitchell in a low tone. "have you caught julie, the french maid?" he asked. "all developments in the case will be brought out at the inquest," replied mitchell politely, and foster, his curiosity unsatisfied, walked away. he found the room used for inquests crowded to the doors, and made his way through the knot of men standing about, to the reporters' table, where a seat had been reserved for him by the morgue master. across the east end of the room was the raised platform upon which stood a long table and chairs for the coroner, the deputy coroner, and the witnesses, while to their left were the six chairs for the coroner's jury. as the senator seated himself he spied charles miller among the men standing at the back of the room. there was a vacant chair next to his, and after a few hurried words with the coroner, foster beckoned miller to join him. "i called you up repeatedly this morning," said miller, pushing his chair closer to the senator so as to make room for a reporter on his left. "but your servant declared you were not at home." "i spent most of the morning at the whitneys' and lunched with miss grey. horrible affair, this; the whitneys are all unstrung." "did you see kathleen?" "no," foster stroked his chin nervously. "she has steadily refused to see anyone, even her parents. her conduct is most strange." "i don't agree with you," warmly. "she has undergone a great shock, finding a friend dead in an elevator...." "ah, did she?" the words seemed forced from foster; he would have given much to recall them on seeing the look that flashed in miller's eyes. "she did," he asserted tersely. "kathleen is the soul of honor--you have but to know her to appreciate that--she and evil can never be associated together." "you are a warm champion," exclaimed foster. "i should almost imagine--" "that i am engaged to her?" calmly. "quite true, i am." foster drew back. "i--i beg pardon," he stammered in some confusion. "i had no idea affairs had progressed so far--i am sorry i spoke as i did." "you were but echoing what i hear on all sides," answered miller bitterly. "true," foster nodded. "kathleen's extraordinary silence, when by a few words she could explain what happened yesterday morning before her screams aroused the household, is causing unfavorable comment and unfortunate conjecture." "the mystery will be explained this afternoon," and quiet confidence rang in miller's pleasantly modulated tones. "hello, i see some members of the diplomatic corps are present." "and the so-called 'four hundred,'" growled foster. the close atmosphere had started him coughing, and he scowled at baron frederic von fincke who was seated near by. "where is the jury?" he asked, as soon as the paroxysm of coughing was over. "viewing the body in that room." miller indicated a closed door to his right. "the jury is sworn in there by the morgue master." as he spoke the door opened and the six men, led by the morgue master, filed into the room and took their places, and the low hum of conversation died away as the coroner, stepping to the platform, stated briefly the reason for the inquest, and summoned dr. hall, of the emergency hospital, to the witness chair. he was quickly sworn by the morgue master, and in response to the coroner's question, stated that he had reached the whitney residence shortly after eight o'clock wednesday morning in answer to a telephone call. "tell the jury what you found on your arrival," directed the coroner. "i was shown upstairs by the butler, whose incoherent remarks led me to suppose that someone was ill in the elevator. on entering it i found mr. spencer, whom i knew slightly, lying there dead." "did you make a thorough examination?" "only enough to prove that life was extinct. the butler informed me that my services were needed by miss whitney, and i went at once to her." "in what condition did you find her?" "hysterical. to quiet her, i finally administered an opiate, and sent for a trained nurse." "did you consider her case dangerous?" "no, but she was completely unstrung; her nervous system had undergone a severe shock, and i feared for her mental condition if not given immediate relief and complete rest." "have you seen her today?" "yes, this morning." "how was she?" "much improved." "did miss whitney speak to you of mr. spencer?" "she did not." "did you question her on the subject of the mystery surrounding mr. spencer's death?" "i did not. in her condition i judged it a topic to be avoided. i also cautioned her parents not to discuss it with her unless she voluntarily alluded to it." "how long had spencer been dead, doctor, when you saw him?" "i cannot answer positively, as i did not make a thorough examination, but judging from appearances, i should say he had been dead at least four hours." miller shot a triumphant look at foster, then turned his attention to the coroner, who was scanning his notebook. "i think that is all, doctor," he announced, "you are excused." there was a slight pause, and the deputy coroner, who had been taking the testimony, laid down his pen and gently massaged his hand. the next instant at the coroner's direction, the morgue master ushered in detective mitchell. the detective, after being duly sworn, told his full name and length of service in the district force, and briefly described his arrival at the whitney residence. "you examined the body in the elevator?" questioned the coroner. "yes, doctor." "was mr. spencer dressed?" "yes, sir, except for coat, waistcoat, collar, and shoes." "are these the clothes he had on at the time of his death?" the coroner pointed to a pile of wearing apparel lying on the desk. "yes, doctor." "did you search for the weapon with which mr. spencer's throat was gashed?" "at once, sir," answered mitchell promptly. "at the back of the elevator near the body i found this"--holding up a short bone-handled knife which he took from his coat pocket. "the blade was covered with blood." coroner penfield took the knife and after examining it, handed it to the foreman of the jury who, upon scanning it closely, passed it on to his companions. "have you ever seen such a knife before?" questioned the coroner. "the blade is a peculiar shape." "yes, sir; that shape of knife is sometimes used in modeling clay and by glaziers when handling putty." penfield and the deputy coroner exchanged glances, then the coroner resumed his questions. "did you examine the bedroom mr. spencer occupied tuesday night, mitchell?" "i did, sir." "had the bed been slept in?" "apparently it had, sir. the pillows and covering had been tossed about." "did you find anything in the room belonging to the deceased?" "yes, the coat and waistcoat of his suit, his collar and shoes." "was there any indication, besides the tossing of the bedclothes, that the deceased had made preparations to sleep there?" "yes; i found a pair of pajamas lying on the floor near the bed, apparently hastily discarded, as they were turned wrong side out." "did you examine the deceased's clothes?" "yes, sir. they were what any gentleman would wear in the evening. in his pockets i found a wallet containing twenty dollars in bills, three dollars in loose change, and his keys. here they are, sir," and mitchell, as he mentioned each ticketed article, laid them on the table before the coroner, who examined them carefully. "was there anything about the room which especially claimed your attention?" mitchell paused and glanced thoughtfully at his polished shoes. "let me alter that question," said the coroner hastily. "did you find any indication in the room that mr. spencer expected to return to it?" "his clothes were there, and the electric light by the bureau was burning, notwithstanding the fact that it was nearly nine o'clock in the morning." the coroner consulted his papers, "that is all just now," and mitchell departed. "ask mr. whitney to step here," directed penfield, a second afterward. "beg pardon, sir," and the morgue master stepped before the platform. "mr. whitney went back to his residence to escort his daughter here. mrs. whitney, however, is waiting in the next room." "very well, bring mrs. whitney here," and the coroner left his seat to assist her to the platform. mrs. whitney's customary self-control and air of good breeding had not deserted her, and whatever her inward tribulation at appearing before a coroner's jury, it was successfully concealed as she repeated the oath after the morgue master. "your full name?" questioned coroner penfield. "minna caswell whitney, daughter of the late judge william caswell, of new york." "you were married to winslow whitney in--" " ." "and you have resided in washington since then?" "yes, except in the summer months when we went to our home in massachusetts or, occasionally, abroad." "will you kindly state what took place at your house on tuesday evening, mrs. whitney?" "i entertained the sisters in unity, and afterward went to bed." the concise reply wrung a smile from foster. "at what hour did the members of your club depart?" "a little before one o'clock, wednesday morning." "then did you go direct to bed?" "no, i first showed miss kiametia grey who, owing to an attack of faintness, was spending the night at my home, to her room; then i retired." "were you aware that mr. spencer was also spending the night under your roof?" "not until miss grey informed me of the fact; i had inadvertently placed her in the same room with mr. spencer. i immediately took her to another room." "was mr. spencer's bedroom in darkness when you ushered miss grey into it?" "it was." "did not your husband tell you of mr. spencer's presence?" "i did not see my husband until wednesday morning; he had gone to his studio in the attic when i went to my bedroom. he frequently works all night on his inventions." "were you awakened during the night by any noise?" "no." "did you see your daughter before retiring?" "no." "did she attend the meeting of your club?" "no, she is not a member." "when did you first hear of mr. spencer's death?" "the next morning, when my daughter's screams aroused the household." "how long has julie genet, your french maid, been in your employ?" "four years." "have you heard from her since her disappearance?" "no." "was she acquainted with mr. spencer?" "i really don't know." the coroner flushed at her tone. "was julie discontented with her place?" he asked, somewhat harshly. "i have no reason to suppose so; she never complained." "how did you come to employ her?" "a friend of mine brought her to this country, and a year later julie came to me; she was highly recommended." "has she any relatives in this country to whom she might have gone?" "none that i ever heard of." mrs. whitney reflected for a second, then added, "julie told me some months ago that her only near relatives had been killed in the war in france." "was julie a well trained servant?" "she was indeed; also good-natured, thoughtful, and obedient." "when did you last see julie?" "downstairs, when giving final directions to vincent. i told her to assist him in closing the house, and then go direct to bed; that i would undress myself as it was so late." "did she appear as usual?" "yes." "did you go at all to mr. spencer's bedroom yesterday morning after hearing of his death?" "no." "we will not detain you longer, mrs. whitney," and with a slight bow to the jurors and the coroner she made her way from the room. her place was taken by vincent, the butler, who testified that he had gone about his work on wednesday morning as customary, that all windows and doors were locked as he had left them the night before, and that he and henry, the chauffeur, were busy replacing the drawing-room furniture, removed the night before to make room for chairs for the meeting of the sisters in unity, when startled by miss whitney's screams. he also stated that having gone to bed very late, he had slept heavily and had not been awakened until aroused at seven o'clock by the cook. his bedroom was across the hall from the other servants. he had not realized that julie genet was absent until mrs. whitney rang for her; he had supposed the maid was upstairs waiting upon either her or miss whitney. no, julie was not quarrelsome; she was quiet, deeply engrossed in her own affairs, and spent much of her time sewing in miss whitney's sitting-room. he had heard that she was to have been married the previous december, but the war had taken her fiancé back to the colors, and he had been killed in the retreat on paris. henry, the chauffeur, was the next to testify. he admitted admiration for julie and stated that she had not encouraged his attentions, and the remainder of his testimony simply corroborated that of vincent. he did not sleep in the whitney residence, but took his meals there. when giving their testimony the chambermaid, laundress, and scullery maid also stated they did not sleep at the whitneys'; that julie, while always pleasant, kept very much to herself. they one and all declared that they had never entered sinclair spencer's bedroom wednesday morning after the discovery of the tragedy. the coroner quickly dismissed each one, and rosa, the cook, looking extremely perturbed, was the last servant to be questioned. she stated that she had not gone upstairs wednesday morning until noon. "sure, i dunno whin julie wint downstairs wednesday mornin'," she declared. "i slep' that heavy i niver hear her a'movin' around." "was it her habit to get up before you did?" asked coroner penfield. "yis, sor. she had oneasy nights, like, an' would be off downstairs at the foist peep o' day. she brooded too much over the papers, i'm feared; though 'twas natural to read av the divils who killed her kin and swateheart in france." "did julie ever speak to you of mr. spencer?" "wance or twice, maybe," admitted rosa reluctantly. "did she ever meet mr. spencer away from the house?" "niver, sor." rosa looked shocked. "julie was real dacent, she niver sought her betters' society. nay, she was afeared miss kathleen might listen to his courtin'. she didn't consider no wan good enough for miss kathleen." "ah, then she was fond of miss kathleen?" "sure, fond's not the word; she was daffy about her. an' no wonder, miss kathleen was that good to her; comforted her whin bad news came from the wars, let her sit and sew wid her, and give her money to sind to france." "was julie on good terms with the other servants?" "yis, sor. she and henry had words now and thin; when henry got teasin', she didn't always take ut in good part." "have you any idea where julie went on leaving the whitneys?" "no, sor; she has no real frinds in washington. i dunno where she can be, an' i'm sick o' worryin' over her." the warm-hearted irishwoman's eyes filled with tears. "julie was excitable like and quicktempered, but she niver did wrong, an' don't let yourselves be thinkin' ut." "there, there." the coroner laid a kindly hand on her arm. "we won't keep you any longer, mrs. o'leary. careful of that step," and as the morgue master appeared, he asked, "is miss kiametia grey here?" "yes, doctor." "then ask her to come in." he exchanged a few remarks with the deputy coroner in a tone too low to reach the ears of the attentive reporters, then turned back to the witness chair as miss kiametia seated herself. "we will only keep you a few minutes," he began, after the preliminary questions had been asked the spinster. "i understand you were accidentally shown into the bedroom already occupied by mr. spencer." "i was," stated miss kiametia, as the coroner paused. "neither mrs. whitney nor i was aware he was within a mile of us." "did you discover his presence at once?" "no." the spinster's tone was short. "the bed is in an alcove, and i had only turned on the electric bulb by the bureau; thus the room was in partial darkness. i--eh--eh--" then with a rush--"i did not know he was there until i was ready to get in bed." "was mr. spencer asleep?" "i never waited to see." coroner penfield stifled a smile and changed the subject. "were you aroused during the night by any noise?" "no," sharply. "when once in the hall bedroom i took a pretty stiff drink of whiskey as a nightcap, for i was feeling pretty shaky about then. consequently i slept soundly all through the night." "was mr. spencer a great friend of yours?" "no," with uncomplimentary promptness. "but i did occasionally ask him to large entertainments." "did you see miss whitney before retiring on tuesday night?" "no. her mother told me she had gone to bed early." "did you see mr. whitney?" "no." "did you see julie, the french maid?" "not upstairs. mrs. whitney gave me the whiskey and a dressing-gown." "can you tell me if mr. spencer was wearing his pajamas in bed?" "i cannot," dryly. "did you enter mr. spencer's bedroom the next morning after hearing of his death?" "i did not." "while in his room tuesday night did you observe his clothes on a chair or table? "no, and after discovering his presence, i was too keen to get out of the room to notice anything in it." "then possibly you left the light burning by the bureau?" "i did nothing of the sort. it is a hobby of mine never to waste gas or electricity, and i remember distinctly stopping to put out the light after i had picked up my clothes." "quite sure, miss gray?" and the spinster bridled at his quizzical glance. "i am willing to take my dying oath," she said solemnly, "that i left that room in total darkness." chapter xvii circumstantial evidence "mr. winslow whitney will be the next witness," announced coroner penfield, first signifying to miss kiametia grey that her presence was no longer required in the witness chair, and the spinster, with an audible sigh of relief, picked up her gold mesh purse and its dangling accessories and hastily left the room. there was an instant craning of necks and raising of lorgnettes as the door opened to admit winslow whitney. courteously acknowledging the bows of several friends seated near the entrance, he made his way to the witness chair with a firm tread, and his clear voice was plainly heard as, in answer to the morgue master's questions, he stated his full name, age, and length of residence in washington, having first taken the oath to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. charles miller, watching him intently, was relieved to find that the nervous twitching of the muscles of his face and hands, so noticeable the day before, was missing. though his haggard face testified to a sleepless night, whitney was outwardly composed. "for how many years have you known sinclair spencer?" asked the coroner. "fully ten." "were you intimately acquainted?" "no. i knew him as i know dozens of other men; he was frequently at my house, and on several occasions he assisted me in protecting my patents in the law courts." "but you would not call him an intimate friend?" "most assuredly not." "was he in the habit of spending the night in your house?" "he has sometimes stopped with me during the summer months when i was detained in washington and my wife and daughter were away." "he was familiar with your house, then?" "you mean--architecturally?" "yes. could he find his way about it alone in the dark?" "i presume he could--provided he was sober," dryly. "the arrangement of the rooms is not complicated, and one floor is very much like another." coroner penfield cleared his throat. "was mr. spencer a welcome guest in your house?" "certainly; otherwise i should not have invited him," replied whitney, with quiet dignity. "let me amend my question." the coroner laid down his pencil. "was mr. spencer on a friendly footing with each member of your household?" "i have every reason to believe he was." "was mr. spencer's manner the same as usual when he called upon you tuesday evening?" "no." "in what way was it different?" "he had been drinking." "was he rough, boisterous?" "the latter, yes. so much so, that i suggested he spend the night. i did not wish him to go downstairs and disturb my wife's guests, which he was quite capable of doing had the whim seized him." "were you then upstairs, mr. whitney?" "yes, in my wife's boudoir on the first bedroom floor." "when did you last see mr. spencer alive?" "when i showed him into his bedroom and loaned him a pair of pajamas." "did you help him undress?" "no, as he assured me, with drunken gravity, that he could manage it himself." "did you inform your wife and daughter that mr. spencer was spending the night in your house?" "no. my wife was downstairs entertaining her guests, and my daughter was asleep in her room. i did not see either of them until the next morning." "where did you go after leaving mr. spencer in his bedroom?" "to my studio in the attic. i remained there all night absorbed in my work." "did you hear any unusual sounds during the night?" "no; my studio, or workshop, is sound-proof. and it is the same throughout the house," he added. "the walls, besides being of unusual width, were all deadened by my grandfather's direction. he had a horror of noise." "when did you leave your studio?" "about seven o'clock wednesday morning." "did you use the elevator then?" "no, i seldom use it." whitney twisted about in his chair. "i had the elevator installed for the convenience of my wife and daughter." penfield made an entry in his notebook, then faced whitney directly. "have you in connection with your workshop a photographic outfit and darkroom?" he asked. "i have." "i am told that you are working on a sort of camera which, used in an aeroplane, makes a map of the country over which the machine passes. is that correct, mr. whitney?" "yes," acknowledged whitney. "a patent is pending." "had it gotten about among your servants that you were working upon an important invention?" "it's very possible," whitney conceded. "did julie, your wife's maid, ever evince undue curiosity in your work?" whitney wrinkled his brow in thought. "no," he said. "i can't say that i am aware she did. when i go to my studio, as we usually call my workshop, it is an understood thing that i am not to be disturbed by _anyone_. it is a rule i enforce by dismissal if broken, and the servants have learned by experience to obey." "has your household access to your studio when you are not there?" "no, i securely lock the door whenever i leave the room." "are you ever joined while in your studio by your wife and daughter and their friends?" "occasionally they bring miss grey and senator foster in to see my models." "did you confide the particulars of your latest invention to mr. spencer?" "i did not." "did he ever show deep interest in it?" "only questioned me about it now and then," replied whitney casually, and charles miller alone noted the nervous twitching of his eyelids. "was the electric light turned on in mr. spencer's room when you left him for the night?" "y-yes." whitney reflected for a moment, then added, "i believe the bulb by the bureau was burning, but i can't swear to it." "did mr. spencer give you any inkling tuesday night that he intended to be an early riser on wednesday morning?" "no, he never mentioned the subject." "was it his custom on previous visits, to walk about your house before the servants were up?" "not that i am aware of," whitney hesitated. "possibly his intoxicated condition made him desire the fresh air." "that is possible," admitted the coroner. "but witnesses testify that mr. spencer had on no shoes." "which confirms my statement of his condition," replied whitney quietly. "no man in his sober senses seeks the street in his stockings." the coroner, making no comment, held up the knife with the black bone handle. "have you ever seen this knife before?" whitney turned a shade whiter. "i may have; there is nothing distinctive about the knife." "is it not used for modeling in clay?" "i believe so." "who made the clay models in your studio, mr. whitney?" "i did." "unassisted?" the question remained unanswered, and after a brief pause the coroner pushed back his chair and rose. "that is all, thank you, mr. whitney; kindly wait in the adjoining room to the left; you will find a chair there." with a stiff bow whitney stepped down from the platform and made his way through the silent crowd to the room indicated. as the door closed behind him, penfield called the deputy coroner to the stand. laying down his pen, dr. north took his seat in the witness chair, and after being sworn, turned to face the jurors, chart in hand. "you made the autopsy upon mr. sinclair spencer?" questioned penfield. "i did, doctor, in the presence of the morgue master." "please state to the jury the result of that autopsy." the deputy coroner glanced at the notes on the back of the chart, then reversed it, holding it aloft so that all in the room could see the anatomical drawing of a human figure. "the knife penetrated this section of the neck, just missing the carotid artery," he began, using his pencil to indicate the spot marked on the chart. "while the wound bled profusely it was superficial and did not cause death." his words created a sensation. men and women looked at each other, then sat forward in their chairs, the better to view the deputy coroner and his chart. "were there indications of death from extreme alcoholism, then?" questioned the coroner, and his voice sounded unusually loud in the deep silence which prevailed. "no. judging by the contents of the stomach mr. spencer had not taken alcohol to excess." "then if the knife wound was not fatal, and there was no indication of intoxication, what caused mr. spencer's death?" demanded the coroner. "on examination," dr. north weighed his words carefully, "i found a powerful drug had evidently been used, producing instantaneous death by paralyzing the respiratory center and arresting the heart action." all in the room were giving the deputy coroner rapt attention. many had come there purely from love of sensation, and they were not being disappointed. the eyes of charles miller and senator foster met for a second, then quickly shifted back to the deputy coroner. the reporters, their pencils flying across the sheets, were the only ones in the room who had not glanced at the witness. "have you discovered the drug used?" questioned the coroner. "by tests i found it to be cyanide of potassium, a most deadly poison, generally instantaneous in its action." "how large a dose was given?" "i don't know, as there were no indications of it in the gastric contents." "then how was the drug administered?" "through the blood." "by means of the knife?" the deputy coroner looked puzzled. "possibly," he admitted. "but i could find no trace of the poison left on the knife blade. there was no mark on the body to show how the poison was administered." "at what hour did death occur?" "between three and four in the morning, judging by the condition of the body." "was there any indication, doctor, of resistance on the part of the deceased? did he make an effort to defend himself." "no, judging from his expression and the condition of the muscles i should say that mr. spencer never knew what killed him, never knew even that his life was threatened." "were his hands opened or clenched?" "his right hand was clenched," acknowledged the deputy coroner. "not, however, for the purpose of defense, but to retain his grasp upon this--" and drawing an envelope from his pocket he carefully shook into his open palm a crushed and faded flower. "it is a cornflower," he explained. "sometimes called bachelor's button. the stem is broken short off." and he held the flower so that all might view it. senator foster, who had followed the testimony with unflagging interest, heard a sudden sharp intake of breath to his right, but glancing quickly at charles miller he found his face expressionless. penfield took the cornflower and envelope from the deputy coroner and laid them carefully on his desk, while continuing his examination. no one paid any attention to the lengthening shadows of the late afternoon, and the coroner's next question was awaited with breathless interest. "is cyanide of potassium used in photography?" he inquired. "it is." "that is all, doctor, you are excused," and the deputy coroner returned to his seat. the next witness was the morgue master, and his testimony simply corroborated that of the deputy coroner. he was followed by william banks and john p. wilson, respectively, both well known in the financial world of washington, who testified to sinclair spencer's standing in the community, and stated that his financial condition precluded any suggestion of suicide; and that to their knowledge he had no enemies. the lights were burning when the last named witness left the chair, but there was no sign of weariness among the men and women in the room. although several consulted their watches, no one rose to go. their already deeply stirred interest was quickened into fever heat as, in obedience to the coroner's summons, kathleen whitney took her place in the witness chair. dressed with the strict attention to detail and taste which made her one of the conspicuous figures in the younger set, kathleen's appearance and beauty made instant impression upon juror and spectator alike. but her chic veil failed to hide the pallor of her cheeks, and the unnatural brilliancy of her eyes. despite every effort at control, her voice shook as she repeated the oath word for word and stated her full name and age. "have you always resided in washington?" asked the coroner. "yes." "were you educated in this city?" "yes, except for a winter in germany." "did you take up a special study while in germany, miss whitney?" "yes, miniature painting--" "and modeling?" as she paused. "oh, no, i never studied that abroad although i occasionally help my father by modeling in clay." "when did you make your debut in washington society?" "last winter." "did you then make mr. sinclair spencer's acquaintance?" "no." she moved involuntarily at the mention of spencer's name. "i had known him previously. he was one of father's friends, and much older than i." "were you not reported engaged to him last fall?" kathleen flushed at the question. "i never heard of it," she said coldly. "i do not encourage gossip." "miss whitney." coroner penfield surreptitiously scanned a small note handed him before the commencement of the inquest. the handwriting was distinctly foreign. "miss whitney," repeated penfield. "did you not refuse mr. spencer's offer of marriage on tuesday morning?" for a moment kathleen stared at him in speechless surprise. "where did you get that piece of information?" she demanded, recovering herself. "you have not answered my question, miss whitney," and the quiet persistence of his manner impressed kathleen. "yes, i refused him," she admitted. "did mr. spencer make any attempt to persuade you to reconsider your refusal?" "yes." kathleen shot an impatient look at the coroner. "i cannot see what my private affairs have to do with the regrettable death of mr. spencer," she protested. penfield ignored her remark. "did mr. spencer communicate with you tuesday by letter or telephone?" he asked and waited, but the question remained unanswered. to the disappointment of the reporters, he did not repeat it, but asked instead: "were you aware on tuesday evening that mr. spencer was spending the night at your house?" "no." "did you see either your father or your mother that night before retiring?" "no." "when did you last see julie, your mother's maid?" "before dinner when she came to my bedroom to help me change my dress." "did she seem discontented with her situation?'" questioned the coroner. "no." "did julie ever evince dislike to mr. spencer?" kathleen's hand crept to her throat and she plucked nervously at her veil. "julie was too respectful to discuss our family friends with me," she said. "you have not answered my question, miss whitney," was penfield's quick retort, and kathleen flushed under the rebuke. "because i am aware that you are striving to make me incriminate julie in mr. spencer's death," she began heatedly. "instead, you and the police should make every effort to find julie and protect her ..." "from what?" "i don't know," hopelessly. "julie has no friends in this city, no one whom she could turn to in trouble but me. i cannot understand her disappearance; i fear, greatly fear, foul play." "circumstantial evidence points to her having disappeared of her own volition, miss whitney, to escape being charged with a heinous crime." "pardon me, her disappearance is the only scrap of evidence which leads you to think she might possibly have murdered a man whom she knew by sight," retorted kathleen. "was it your habit to supply julie with money?" questioned the coroner. "yes, which she sent to france as her mite toward the war fund," answered kathleen heatedly. "i am confident julie had nothing whatever to do with the death of mr. spencer." "can you tell us who did, miss whitney?" asked penfield, and he saw the terror which crept into her handsome eyes. "i cannot," she answered with unsteady lips. "i never awoke that night." "what took you downstairs at so early an hour yesterday morning?" "i had rung the upstairs bell for julie, and as she did not come, i started to go down and find her," she hesitated uncertainly. "continue," directed penfield. "tell your story of finding mr. spencer's body in your own way." it was some minutes before kathleen obeyed his request. "i went to the elevator and pushed the button," she began slowly. "i was in a hurry, and when i heard the click which indicated the cage was there i opened the outer mahogany door, pushed back the inner steel grille-work door, stepped into the elevator and without looking about me, closed the doors, and pushed the basement button. then i turned about"--kathleen moistened her dry lips--"and saw--and saw--mr. spencer lying there--the blood"--she closed her eyes as if to shut out the recollection--"i think for a time i lost my reason. i have no intelligent recollection of anything that occurred until i found myself in bed with a trained nurse in attendance." as her charming voice ceased, charles miller, who had never taken his eyes from her face, gently moved his chair so that foster's figure cast him in shadow. never once had kathleen glanced his way; she sat for the most part with her eyes downcast or looking directly at the coroner. kathleen was visibly moved by the recital of her experiences in the elevator, and penfield waited an instant before questioning her further. "could you tell from what floor the elevator came when you pushed your floor button?" he asked. "no," was the disappointing answer. "the elevator runs practically noiselessly, and we have no floor indicator such as you see in stores." "was the electric light turned on in the elevator when you entered it?" "no." "then how could you see mr. spencer so clearly?" "the brick elevator shaft is lighted by a skylight," answered kathleen. "the electric light is only needed at night." "do you recognize this knife?" and penfield held it before her as he spoke. kathleen's eyes did not shift their gaze, but her teeth met sharply on her lower lip. "i see that it resembles one that i have," she said. "you still have yours?" "yes, you will find it in my desk drawer at home." "had you only the one knife, miss whitney?" "i may have had others," indifferently. "i do not recall; i buy my painting and modeling supplies as i need them." the coroner replaced the knife without further comment. "you use azurea perfume, do you not?" he asked. "yes." "what was your object in trying to rub out a blood stain on the front of mr. spencer's white shirt, miss whitney, while you were in the elevator?" asked penfield. kathleen looked at him dully. "wh-what d-did you say?" she stuttered. for answer penfield took from the pile of clothing on the table a white shirt and pointed to a discoloration on its glazed surface. "when i first saw this shirt on mr. spencer it reeked of perfume," he said sternly. "submitted to chemical tests, i find a blood stain was partially removed by azurea. again i ask, what was your object in attempting to remove the blood stain?" but penfield spoke to deaf ears. kathleen had fainted. excitement waxed high in the room as kathleen was carried out by charles miller, the first to reach her side, and placed in the tender care of mrs. whitney and the trained nurse. waiting only to see her brought back to consciousness by dr. hall, miller slipped back into the inquest room. detective mitchell was again in the witness chair. "you made a thorough examination of miss whitney's room?" inquired the coroner. "yes, doctor." "and what did you find?" "this torn note"--and the detective held up the pieces in each hand. "read its contents aloud," ordered penfield. "the connecticut, "tuesday afternoon. "kathleen, my darling: "i implore you to reconsider--before it is too late. consult your father's best interests before you reject _me_. "yours, with undying affection, "sinclair." mitchell paused after reading the signature, then continued. "here is a sample of mr. spencer's handwriting, attested by his cousin, captain dunbar; the handwriting of the notes is identical, sir," and he placed the papers in penfield's hand. reading them carefully, the coroner passed them along to the jury for examination. "where did you find this note?" he asked mitchell. "among miss whitney's painting materials in her sitting-room." "what is that in your lap?" and the coroner pointed to a paper box. in answer mitchell raised the cover and displayed a bouquet of faded cornflowers. "i found it in miss whitney's sitting-room also," he stated. in tipping the box, the better to show its contents, a small piece of white muslin rolled to the floor. quickly penfield retrieved it. "i discovered that handkerchief secreted in the folds of miss whitney's blue foulard gown," added mitchell, as the coroner spread open the handkerchief. it was badly mussed and its white center bore dark stains. penfield sniffed the faint perfume still hanging about it; then without comment handed the handkerchief to the foreman of the jury. "that is all, mitchell," announced penfield, and as the detective departed, he turned and addressed the jury. his summing up of the case was quick and to the point, and at the end the jurors silently filed into another room. it was long after seven o'clock, but no one stirred in the room, and the silence, which none cared to break, slowly grew oppressive. the long wait was finally terminated by the reappearance of the jury. coroner penfield rose and addressed them. "gentlemen of the jury," he said, "have you reached a verdict?" "the jury find," answered the foreman, "that kathleen whitney is responsible for the death of sinclair spencer by poison on the morning of wednesday, march , , in her family residence in the city of washington." quickly the crowded room emptied, reporters rushing madly for motors; not often had the district morgue housed a _cause célèbre_, and its sensational details had to be rushed on the wire. charles miller, separated from foster by the sudden crowding of the doorways, waited to one side for him. "americans are an emotional people," commented a quiet voice at his elbow, and turning hastily miller recognized baron frederic von fincke. "one death more or less does not create a furore elsewhere." "that depends on who dies," retorted miller. "true. if it should be a member of the imperial family"--von fincke's gesture was eloquent. "to them, all give way. we others are pawns." chapter xviii a proposal the atmosphere inside the house matched the leaden skies outside in point of gloom, and even the wood fire, crackling on the hearth, failed to mitigate the air of restraint and cheerlessness which prevailed in the dining-room. the rain, falling in torrents, had brought with it a penetrating cold wind, a last reminder of winter, and vincent, passing noiselessly to and from the pantry with sundry savory dishes, was grateful for the heat thrown out by the blazing logs. mrs. whitney, whose eyes were red and inflamed from constant weeping, gave up her attempt to eat her breakfast and pushed her plate away. "let me give you some hot coffee, winslow," she suggested. "your cup must be stone cold, and you haven't touched your fish balls." absorbed in his newspaper, whitney did not at first heed her request, but the pulling back of the portieres aroused him, and glancing over his shoulder, he saw kathleen entering the room. "good morning, dad," laying her hand for a second on his shoulder before taking the chair vincent pulled out. "just a cup of coffee, mother dear, that is all," and kathleen unfolded her napkin. "you told me upstairs you would remain in bed, kathleen." mrs. whitney looked solicitously at her. "are you prudent to tax your strength after all you were subjected to yesterday?" "i couldn't stay still a moment longer." kathleen's slender, supple fingers played with a piece of toast. "you need not bother to conceal the newspapers, dad," as whitney surreptitiously tucked the _herald_ and the _post_ behind his back. "i read them up in my room." "my dearest, i'm sorry you did that." whitney leaned over and clasped her hand tenderly. "i gave orders that...." "vincent is not to blame," broke in kathleen. "i borrowed the nurse's newspapers before she left." "there was no sense in your reading all this jargon," protested whitney warmly. "and there is no need, kathleen, of paying attention to one word published here. your friends believe in you absolutely, as we do." "thank you, dad." kathleen returned the strong pressure of his hand, and leaning over, kissed mrs. whitney. "bless both your dear loyal hearts." her eyes brimmed with tears, and she dashed them impatiently away. "it was better that i should see the papers," she continued a moment later, "and know the world's unbiased opinion." "unbiased opinion in a newspaper!" whitney laughed mirthlessly. "that and the millennium will arrive together. have you everything you want, kathleen?" "yes, dad." "then you need not wait, vincent. now, minna, what did you ask me a few minutes ago?" "if you will have some hot coffee. yes? then send me your cup," and mrs. whitney, taking it from kathleen, poured out the coffee and hot milk. as she returned the cup and saucer, she glanced carefully about the room, but vincent had departed to the kitchen. satisfied on that point, she lowered her voice to a confidential pitch. "i hear the servants are planning to leave." "who cares?" whitney shrugged his shoulders. "there are better where they came from." "quite true," agreed mrs. whitney. "then, will you give me their wages ..." "wages?" whitney flushed with anger. "no, if the dirty dogs wish to leave us in the lurch without notice, they will not get one cent from me." "they won't leave us," declared kathleen. "at least, i am sure that vincent and rosa will not go. they have been with us too long." "i only know what henry told me he heard in the kitchen this morning," explained mrs. whitney. "oh, henry!" exclaimed kathleen contemptuously. "i wouldn't put any faith in what he says; he is forever making trouble in the kitchen. he is ..." the violent ringing of the telephone bell interrupted her. "i have finished my breakfast, i'll go," volunteered mrs. whitney, and she hastened into the pantry where a branch telephone had been installed for the use of the servants. before the swing door closed tightly, they heard her say: "oh, kiametia ..." "what is the reason the servants are so anxious to decamp?" asked whitney, handing kathleen the dish of fruit, which she declined. "you forget this house has become a chamber of horrors." kathleen's voice shook, and she paused to take a hasty swallow of hot coffee. "possibly the presence of the detectives makes them nervous." "well, a sudden leave-taking from here will probably center the detectives' attention upon them more than if they stayed and did their work." "that is highly probable. tell me, dad"--kathleen regarded whitney intently--"how is it that i am not in jail? did not the coroner's jury convict me?" "their verdict read that you were responsible for spencer's death, and as such you are under suspicion and will be held for the grand jury." "oh!" kathleen shuddered slightly. "i had no difficulty arranging bail," continued whitney. "the officials themselves realize--must realize," he interjected, with bitter force--"there is little _real_ evidence against you. the coroner's jury--the d----fools"--the words escaped between his clenched teeth--"to place faith in circumstantial evidence!" whitney's clenched fist descended on the table with a force that made the goblets ring. "my dear, why, why did you try to whitewash julie?" "because i knew she had nothing to do with sinclair spencer's death." "you knew nothing of the sort"--with subdued violence. "you are totally wrong. that julie ran away is confession of complicity in the crime." "i don't believe julie ran away; i do not"--meeting her father's angry eyes steadily. "i believe she was enticed away. i tell you, dad, if this mystery is ever to be cleared, you must find...." "captain miller," announced vincent, drawing back the portières from the doorway, and miller, emerging from the hall, advanced into the room. kathleen's coffee cup descended with a clatter on its saucer as her nerveless fingers released their hold, and placing one hand on the back of her chair to steady herself, she rose slowly to her feet. "senator foster would like to speak to you a minute, mr. whitney," added vincent. "he is waiting at the front door, sir." "certainly." whitney shook miller's hand cordially. "excuse me a second, captain, i'll be back in a jiffy," and he followed vincent from the room. impulsively miller stepped toward kathleen, hands extended and eyes alight with passionate tenderness. "my love, my dear, dear love!" "stop!" kathleen spoke in a dangerously low tone. "i must request you to leave this house at once." "kathleen!" "you understand the english tongue?" her cold repellent manner caused him to pause in uncertainty. "or shall i translate my request into german?" "i will not put you to that inconvenience," he retorted hotly; then his manner changed. "ah, kathleen, do not let us waste the precious seconds bickering. tell me what i can do for you." "_you_ ask me that?" her tone was impossible to translate. "yes." miller held her gaze, his handsome eyes speaking a language all their own. "you gave me the right, my darling, to protect you--and i _shall_ protect you." her strength suddenly deserting her, kathleen sank down in her chair. "you will protect me," she echoed. "_you?_" her tone stung him to the quick. "yes--i," he said slowly. "do you not realize the depth of my love? i would willingly sacrifice my career, my life for you--and count it no sacrifice." "would god i could believe you!" the cry was wrung from her, and she raised her trembling hands to brush away the blinding tears. miller dropped on one knee beside her. "my dearest, my heart's desire!" he whispered passionately, taking her hands prisoner. at his touch she shrank back, remembrance crowding upon her. "go!" she stammered. "i have kept faith; go, before i say too much." before miller could answer he heard his name called, and the sound of rapid footsteps. with a bound he was on his feet, and pausing only long enough to whisper "courage, kathleen," he joined winslow whitney in the hall. but kathleen was hardly conscious of his departure. with an exceedingly bitter moan, she dropped her head upon her arms and cried as if her heart would break. mrs. whitney, entering from the pantry a second later, paused aghast, then running to kathleen, soothed her with loving word and hand back to some semblance of composure. miller found winslow whitney walking rapidly up and down the hall. he stopped at sight of the latter. "come in the library," he said. "i've given instructions that we are not to be interrupted," closing the door and also pulling to the folding doors behind the portières leading to the dining-room. "make yourself comfortable, captain," producing a box of cigars. "don't mind if i walk up and down; i think better when moving about." "same here," but miller selected the most comfortable chair in the room and puffed slowly at his cigar, while never taking his eyes from his host. neither man spoke for fully five minutes, then whitney pulled up a chair and sat down near his companion. "have you seen senator foster today?" he inquired. "not to talk to; but i caught a glimpse of him coming here as i entered." miller knocked the gathering ash from the end of his cigar. "i was with him at the inquest yesterday." "i saw you both there." whitney selected a cigar and, lighting it, sat back. "did foster happen to tell you that sinclair spencer had in his will made him executor of his estate?" "no." "well, he came here today to tell me that, and also that kathleen is mentioned in spencer's will as residuary legatee." "what!" miller's surprise was shown in his face, which had grown suddenly white. "spencer evidently really cared for kathleen," went on whitney, paying no attention to his ejaculation. "a queer fellow, spencer; i did not give him credit for possessing sincere feeling, except where he himself was concerned." "was spencer wealthy?" the question shot from miller against his will. "report says so; i never inquired, myself." whitney puffed a cloud of smoke, and as it cleared away, turned impulsively to miller. "i'm damned if i like foster's manner to me today!" he burst out. "why, what happened?" miller bent eagerly forward. "i only asked him to postpone probating spencer's will," began whitney, laying down his cigar. miller's eyes opened. "did he agree to it?" "no--refused curtly." whitney's eyes flashed. "and the manner of his refusal--rankles," he confessed. "your request was somewhat singular," commented miller slowly. "nothing singular about it," retorted whitney. "i was thinking of kathleen when i made the request. man, do you not see," and the haggard lines in his face deepened, "the instant that will is offered for probate its contents become public. and its publication now will but strengthen the suspicion already centered about kathleen, by supplying a possible motive for spencer's murder." "suspicion cannot injure the innocent," protested miller. "oh, can't it! that's all you know about it," growled whitney, wiping beads of moisture from his forehead. "so much for foster's friendship when put to the test. i made it plain to him that my request was prompted by my desire to shield kathleen from further publicity." "i understand, mr. whitney," said miller gently. "yes, i believe you do," went on whitney feverishly. "that an old friend should be the first to go back on me; there's the sting. we are a proud family, miller, united in our affections." he cleared his throat of a slight huskiness. "i would have given everything i possess to have spared kathleen that scene at the inquest yesterday; i never for a moment imagined"--he straightened up.--"i am going to move heaven and earth to clear kathleen from this vile suspicion that she is in some way responsible for sinclair spencer's death." "i'm with you, mr. whitney," miller's voice rang out clear and strong, carrying conviction, and a flash of hope lighted whitney's brooding eyes. "i love your daughter, sir, and came this morning to ask your consent to our marriage." whitney looked at him long and intently, and miller bore the scrutiny without flinching, his direct gaze never shifting, and his strongly molded features set with dogged determination. "you make this proposal, and at this time?" asked whitney at last. "yes." miller's hand tightened its grip on the arm of his chair. "clouds can be dispelled, sir; and my faith in your daughter will never be shaken." without a word whitney extended his hand, and miller grasped it eagerly. "you have my consent, captain," he said, the huskiness of his voice more pronounced. "i cannot, of course, answer for kathleen; i would not force her acceptance of any man." he turned to relight his cigar, and miller's swift change of expression escaped him. "tell me, captain," continued whitney, tossing away the match. "what conclusions did you draw at the inquest?" "i think the jury acted on inconclusive evidence," said miller thoughtfully. "before rendering any verdict they should have waited to hear julie's testimony." "you have hit the nail on the head," declared whitney. "i firmly believe, in spite of the other servants' testimony, that julie and sinclair spencer knew each other well, and his death is the result of a clandestine love affair with her." "love may have entered into it," acknowledged miller. "but i think there is also another motive behind spencer's murder, the significance of which we have not fully grasped." "and that is--?" miller did not answer directly. "what motive inspired spencer to feign drunkenness," he asked, "and when everyone was asleep, to steal over this house like a thief in the night?" whitney drummed impatiently on the desk. "there is but one apparent answer," he admitted reluctantly. "you believe that he was interested in my inventions?" "i do; his actions certainly point to that conclusion." whitney shook his head. "his behavior that night would have been just the same if planning a clandestine meeting with julie." "but, my dear sir, he could have met julie elsewhere with far less danger of discovery. besides," miller hesitated, "let us give the devil his due. spencer was evidently very much attached to kathleen. with her image before him, i do not believe he spared a thought for the french maid." whitney looked his disbelief. "in this instance, i cannot speak well of the dead," he said slowly. "i know too much of spencer's past. he was not above courting the maid and the mistress at the same time." "well, at least spencer was no fool; if he did court julie, it was not done in this house." miller tossed his cigar stub into the ash receiver. "it might be that he used the maid to assist him in securing information about your inventions." "you may be right." whitney started from his chair. "and julie, perhaps believing in his protestations of affection at first, awoke to his duplicity, and took the occasion of his spying to kill him." "yes, that's about my idea." "but--but--" whitney turned bewildered eyes on his companion. "what prompted spencer to desire to steal my inventions?" "that we have still to learn. that he did try, i am as convinced as if i had seen him." miller picked up another cigar. "and, mr. whitney, permit me to call attention to one very essential fact...." "go on," urged whitney. "that what spencer failed to accomplish, others may." "nonsense." "it is very far from nonsense." miller's earnestness impressed whitney. "i do not for one moment believe that spencer was working alone." "you hint at conspiracy?" whitney frowned perplexedly. "call it that if you wish; only, sir, take every precaution to safeguard your inventions from prying eyes." "i have, already." "how, for instance?" "with double locks, iron shutters, and electric wires, my workshop is hermetically sealed." "until a clever thief gains entrance." miller laughed faintly. "the science of house-breaking keeps step with modern inventions to protect property. what one man can conceive another man can fathom." "you may be right." whitney took a short turn about the room, then stopped in front of his companion. "what precautions would you suggest?" miller did not answer immediately. "it is very likely that another attempt will be made to secure the drawings and specifications of your inventions, if not your models," he said finally. "and if on guard, you may not only catch the thief but spencer's murderer." "a good idea," acknowledged whitney. "but how would you suggest going about to catch the thief?" "by laying a plot for him; forget to lock your studio door occasionally, lay prepared paper inconspicuously about, and powder your tables and floor with fine dust. the thief will leave an indelible trail behind him." "and walk off with all necessary data," answered whitney skeptically. "as clever a thief as you paint will never leave that room, once he is inside it, without full knowledge of my inventions." "the thief will not have an opportunity of stealing what he came for, because the specifications and drawings of your inventions will not be there." "eh!" whitney's cigar fell unheeded to the floor. "where will they be?" "in my possession." too astounded to speak, whitney stared at his companion. it was over a minute before he recovered himself. "do you think i will trust you with the drawings and models of my latest inventions?" he asked. "you did not withhold your consent when, a short time ago, i asked for kathleen's hand in marriage," said miller slowly. "do you hold your inventions dearer than your daughter's future happiness, which you are willing to intrust to my care?" never taking his eyes from his companion's face whitney stepped back. the seconds lengthened into minutes before he spoke. "come upstairs," he said and, turning, made for the closed door. chapter xix the yellow streak leaving the war department, detective mitchell debated for a second whether to walk around the back of the white house grounds to the municipal building, or to go to pennsylvania avenue and take an east bound electric car. but there was no sign of let-up in the pelting rain, and pulling his coat collar up about his ears, he hastened toward the avenue, and at sight of an approaching car broke into a run. the usually empty sidewalks were filled with hurrying government employees, anxious to get their luncheon and return in the prescribed half-hour to the state, war, and navy departments, and the detective had some difficulty in dodging the pedestrians. seeing an opening among the lowered umbrellas, he stepped off the curb and dashed for the street car. he was almost by its side when the hoarse sound of a motor siren smote his ear, and glancing sideways, he saw a touring car bearing down upon him at full speed. in trying to spring backward his foot slipped on the wet asphalt and he sprawled forward on his knees. the automobile was almost upon him when strong hands jerked him safely to one side. scrambling to his feet, mitchell turned to look at the man whose strength and quickness had saved him from a nasty accident. "much obliged, captain miller," he said. "i owe you a great deal." miller stooped over and picked up the detective's hat. "why don't you chaps arrest such speeders?" he inquired, pointing to the vanishing car. "we do in most cases," returned mitchell, brushing the mud from his trousers, and limping back to the sidewalk. "however, the driver of that car is exempt." "why?" "we can't arrest a united states senator." "ah, then you got his number." miller led the way to the sidewalk. "that car doesn't need a number to identify it," grumbled mitchell. "its color and shape are too distinctive. we on the force call it the 'yellow streak.' the car belongs to senator randall foster; when he's at the wheel, the lord help the pedestrians!" "so it would seem," dryly. "where are you going, mitchell?" observing the detective's rather shaken appearance. "to the municipal building." "suppose you come and lunch with me first at the occidental," and the smile which accompanied the invitation was very persuasive. "it's near where you are going." mitchell had not lunched, and a hurried breakfast had been consumed before six o'clock. it was his hunger which had occasioned his haste to reach the municipal building and later a near-by café. his official business was not very pressing, and since meeting miller at the whitneys' two days before, he had heard of his attentions to kathleen whitney. the rumor had interested him as much as miller's personality. promptly he accepted miller's invitation, and the two men boarded the next downtown car. within a short time they were both eating an appetizing lunch in the attractive restaurant of the occidental. just before the arrival of coffee and cheese, mitchell sat back in his chair with a sigh of physical content. the martini had warmed his chilled body, and the lassitude which comes after a hearty meal was stealing over him. miller had proved an agreeable companion, able to talk upon any subject--except one, in spite of the detective's hints in its direction. their table was in one corner apart from the others, and there was no danger of their conversation being overheard. taking in their isolated position at a glance, the detective changed his tactics. "i saw you at the spencer inquest," he said abruptly, applying a match to his cigar. "what do you think of the verdict?" "what every sane man thinks," answered miller. "that the prosecution will have to secure more material and tangible proof before it can secure an indictment by the grand jury." "i'm not so certain of that," responded the detective, ruffled by miller's casual manner. "our evidence against miss whitney was pretty conclusive." "it would have been just as conclusive if applied to any other inhabitant of the whitney house that night." "hardly." mitchell smiled broadly. "i fear your friendship blinds you to the danger in which miss whitney stands." miller refrained from answering until their waiter had served the coffee and cheese and departed. "circumstantial evidence will not always convict--fortunately," he said, helping himself to the camembert. "what have you proved...." "that spencer was miss whitney's rejected lover," broke in mitchell. "that the knife belonged to her; that she tried to remove incriminating blood stains on his shirt with her perfumed handkerchief; and that he held in his hand a flower, possibly broken from the bouquet which she was wearing at the time." "it sounds formidable," commented miller quietly. "but there are a number of flaws. you have _not_ absolutely proved that the knife belonged to miss whitney, only proved that it is probable she might have owned it. wait"--as miller started to interrupt. "the deputy coroner testified that spencer was killed by cyanide of potassium." "which, as spencer did not swallow it, was administered by aid of the knife," retorted mitchell hastily. "the deputy coroner said he found no trace of the poison on the knife blade." miller paused to refill mitchell's coffee cup. "secondly, cyanide of potassium is not a drug which miss whitney would be apt to have around." "i saw a half-filled bottle of it in whitney's work-shop last wednesday." "quite true, i saw it there myself," admitted miller. "i also saw that whitney kept his studio workshop under lock and key." "to outsiders; but it is just possible he is not so strict about the members of his household, his testimony to the contrary," argued mitchell. "the point is not well taken, captain, and even if it were," he stirred his coffee thoughtfully, "miss whitney did not need to enter her father's workshop to secure the cyanide of potassium; i find she buys all his photographic supplies at a shop not far from here, and recently purchased a new supply of cyanide." "purely circumstantial evidence," responded miller, keeping his expression unaltered by an effort. the detective's last statement had startled him. "in regard to the flower which spencer held in his hand: you say it was probably broken from the bouquet which she wore at the time of committing the crime--i am, for the sake of argument only, admitting that she might be guilty. the medical evidence went to prove that spencer was killed between three and four in the morning; it is straining probabilities to claim that a young girl, in donning her wrapper, pinned on a bouquet of flowers." "how do you know she was not fully dressed? it was not so late in the morning; she could have gone to bed after the crime, or she may not have gone to bed at all." "all supposition," scoffed miller. "not quite all." the detective, nettled by his jeering smile, spoke hastily. "on further inquiry i learned from one of the servants today that miss whitney had on the same dress wednesday morning, when her screams aroused the household, which she wore at dinner the night before." "ah, indeed?" miller's smile had ceased to be skeptical, it was strained. "and which servant imparted that information to you?" "henry, the chauffeur." "for a chauffeur, henry seems to know a great deal about what transpires inside the whitney house," observed miller thoughtfully. "tell me, mitchell, what motive do you attribute to miss whitney for the killing of sinclair spencer?" mitchell looked uncomfortable, and it was not until miller repeated his question that he spoke. "i believe spencer persuaded miss whitney to meet him clandestinely that night, and threatened to compromise her if she refused again to marry him." "oh, come!" miller spoke more roughly than he realized. "wake up, mitchell; you've been reading penny dreadfuls. try and think up a motive which will hold water." the detective flushed. "that is quite motive enough," he said. "if miss whitney takes the stand in her own defense she can, on that motive, enter a plea of killing to protect her honor...." "and any jury in the country would acquit her," broke in miller. "she would...." "thus escape the gallows," finished the detective. "but i can suggest an even better solution of the problem," put in miller suavely, although his fingers itched to choke his companion. "and that is--?" "that the detective force find the guilty party." mitchell suppressed a smile. "and where would you suggest that we hunt for this guilty party?" he asked. "provided he or she is still at large, and not out on bail under indictment." "search among the men and women who spent wednesday night at the whitneys', servants as well as guests." "captain," in his earnestness mitchell leaned across the table, "it is contrary to all records of crime that a man or woman will commit murder without motive...." "you forget homicidal maniacs." "true, but they do not belong in this category," protested mitchell. "no person in that house, except miss whitney, had a motive for killing spencer." "motives are not always on the surface; i advise you to investigate ..." "yes--?" eagerly. "is it true that arc lights have been installed at the united states navy yards and arsenals, which make them as light as day on the darkest night?" "i believe so." mitchell glanced perplexedly at his companion. why was he changing the conversation? "and that visitors are not encouraged to loiter on government reservations?" "i believe such an order has been issued," conceded the detective. "also visitors are forbidden at the government radio station at arlington?" "yes." "and still there is a leak--government secrets are secrets no longer." "how do you know that, captain?" and the detective shot a look full of suspicion at him. "i only know what senator foster has told me," carelessly. "i believe foster's advice has been sought in the matter." "and why did he confide in you?" "he desired my help," responded miller. "seemed to think my opinion might be worth something, but, honestly, mitchell, i can't see anything to this secret leak business--the secret service operatives are putting a scare over on the government." "it's more than that, sir. no more coffee," and the detective, his sudden doubts dispelled by miller's sunny smile, leaned back once more in his chair. "it seems that officials here are awakening to the realization that government secrets are being betrayed. if the american troops are ordered to a certain point on the border, the order is known in mexico before it is executed. it is the same with coded communications to foreign powers. the movements of our fleet are known to foreign naval attachés even before the maneuvers are carried out. the whereabouts of the smallest torpedo boat and submarine is no secret--to any but the american people." "is that so?" miller looked politely incredulous. "and is the secret service not investigating the matter?" "sure; they'll handle it all right." mitchell twisted about in his chair. "at present, captain, my entire attention is claimed by the spencer murder. where would you suggest that i begin my search among whitney's household for a motive which will explain the murder?" "why not try and find julie, the french maid?" the eagerness died out of mitchell's face. "we are trying," he said. "but we can convict miss whitney without her evidence." "so you think julie's testimony will implicate miss whitney still further in the crime?" "i do. i have no doubt she is accessory after the fact, and, provided with funds by miss whitney, stole away so as not to give evidence against her." "you have a curious conception of human nature, mitchell," was miller's only comment as he signed to their waiter to bring his check. he did not speak again until he and the detective were in the street. "you have overlooked a very important point, mitchell, in your investigation of spencer's murder." "what is that?" "you apparently believe that miss whitney murdered spencer between three and four in the morning and then went back to her bedroom ..." "go on," urged mitchell. "at the inquest all witnesses testified that miss whitney was the first to find spencer and that she was in the elevator with him." miller spoke with impressiveness. "even the most hardened criminal would not have deliberately walked into that elevator and shut himself in with the man he had murdered a short time before--and yet, you argue that a highly strung, delicately nurtured girl did exactly that. it's preposterous!" "it does sound cold-blooded," admitted the detective. "it is just possible that after committing the crime, she lost consciousness and remained in the elevator all night...." "talk sense!" ejaculated miller disgustedly and, without waiting to hear the detective's thanks for his luncheon, turned on his heel and hurried up fourteenth street. mitchell watched his tall, erect figure out of sight with absorbed attention. "i'd give a lot to know who he suspects murdered spencer," he muttered under his breath, and started for the municipal building. as miller approached his hotel, he thought he saw foster's yellow touring car move away from the ladies' entrance. after procuring his mail he went at once to his room. he was about to open his letters when his eyes fell on an open drawer of his desk. putting down the bundle in his hand, he carefully investigated every pigeonhole and drawer. the papers he looked for were missing. rising quickly, miller examined the windows of his room and bathroom. they were securely fastened on the inside. in deep thought he went out into the hall to where the floor chambermaid and a companion were sitting in full view of his door. "have you been here long?" he asked. "yes, sir," replied the elder girl. "i've been on duty here ever since noon, and mary," laying her hand on her companion, "was here all the morning." "has either of you seen anyone enter my bedroom?" "no, sir, only yourself, sir," answered the first speaker, and mary echoed her words. chapter xx the awakening the prospect was uninviting at any time and to julie, who had stared at the rows of slatternly kept backyards until she grew familiar with each battered garbage can, the sight was hateful. the rain had driven even the starved alley cats to cover, and with a sigh forlorn in its wretchedness, she turned from the window and contemplated her nicely furnished bedroom. the two days she had been there had passed on leaden feet. captain miller's money had secured her a haven of refuge--food and a roof over her head--but had deprived her of liberty and the daily newspaper. the first had been the only restriction he had placed upon her acceptance of his bounty. his plea--protect kathleen--had found a ready echo in her loyal heart, and blindly she had obeyed him. the first day had passed in numb resignation, then had followed the reaction. as she recovered from bodily fatigue there came a quickening of the blood, and in spite of the cold driving rain, a longing for the out-of-doors possessed her. since the breaking out of the great world war, with its invasion of belgium and her beloved france, she had become an inveterate newspaper reader, and during the days of "extras" she had formed the habit of depending upon them. from day to day, month to month, she had followed the ever shifting, always fighting forces on the firing line, and her knowledge of the situation in europe would have shamed some of the students of the times. her own personal loss and agonizing sorrow had been engulfed in her acceptance of the world's tragedy, but it had made adamantine her desire to serve france. forty-eight hours had passed and she had not seen a daily paper. she had asked her landlady, mrs. robinson, for the loan of her _star_, only to be told that mrs. robinson never took it. she had thereupon presented her with three cents and asked her to secure the morning papers. but mrs. robinson, on her return from market earlier in the day, had forgotten to comply with her request. the one servant, when appealed to in the hall, had promised to get her an evening _times_, but on inquiry, mrs. robinson had informed her that the woman had finished her work and gone home. what was happening in europe? had the allies attempted the drive hinted at during the winter months? had italy cast her lot with the allies? julie's restlessness increased as each question remained unanswered. from whom could she get a newspaper? mrs. robinson had assured her that she was the only boarder in the house, and on the one occasion on which she had left her room, she had seen no one but the servant. the latter had gone out, and mrs. robinson had not responded to her call ten minutes before. julie sighed again and gazed wearily out over the backyards; then a thought came to her. why not go to a front window and hail a newsboy; there might be one in the vicinity? with brightened eyes julie left her room and, walking down the hall, turned the knob of the door opposite her own. it would not open. bethinking herself, julie rapped timidly on the door panel; then receiving no reply, she rapped again. no voice nor footstep responded to the summons; apparently the room was empty. considerably perplexed, julie turned and made her way to the second bedroom floor. quickly she rapped at each closed door and tried its knob. each door was locked and her repeated raps went unanswered. in the fourth floor she met with the same results, and, returning again to the stairs, she made her way down them almost at a run. the silent and apparently empty house frightened her, and it was with a fast beating heart that she made her way to the ground floor and into the drawing-room. its sumptuous furnishings astounded her. mrs. robinson had neither the air nor the well-dressed appearance of a woman of wealth. from her swarthy skin and black eyes and hair julie had taken her for a creole. the stair door leading to the basement was not locked, and julie laid a hesitating hand on it. should she seek mrs. robinson in the kitchen? almost without her own volition she released her hold on the knob and retraced her steps to the front door. she needed air; the silent house was getting on her nerves. she suddenly remembered the noises she had heard in the night and which, in the morning, she had attributed to her feverish condition. noiselessly she removed the night latch and slipped into the vestibule. she stood for a moment filling her lungs with the cold refreshing air, then bethinking herself, stepped behind the closed section of the outer door. she must not be seen by a chance policeman. as she stepped back her foot encountered a small bundle, and she looked down. joy of joys! it was a folded newspaper. as she opened it she saw in the dim light of dusk the red letter stamping: "subscriber's copy." what had mrs. robinson meant by telling her she did not take newspapers? not pausing to worry further over that problem, she hastily scanned the first page of the five-thirty edition of the _times_; and her eyes dilated as she read the scare headings: spencer's will offered for probate kathleen whitney, convicted by coroner's jury, is residuary legatee of murdered clubman society girl out on bail furnished by senator foster too stunned to move or cry out, julie stared dumbly at the newspaper. kathleen whitney, her kind friend rather than employer, was convicted--then her absence had not benefited her? captain miller's advice had been wrong. her faith in him was misplaced. to what had he brought her? she cast a terrified look at the partly closed door behind her. better jail than--the thought of jail brought her whirling senses back to kathleen. but kathleen was not in jail; the paper stated that she was out on bail. if at home, she could be reached. utterly regardless of her hatless condition, she dragged the shawl, previously borrowed from mrs. robinson, over her head, and closing the front door, bolted up the street, the newspaper still clutched in her hand. darkness was closing in, and the rain had driven the few pedestrians usually in that location scurrying to their homes. julie was five or more blocks from the robinson house when she saw a yellow touring car draw up to the opposite curb and a man spring out. he paused for a second to examine one of the lamps and its light threw his face in bold relief against the darkness. it was henry, the chauffeur. julie shrank back behind a tree-box, muffling her face in the friendly shawl. but the precaution was unnecessary, for henry did not glance toward her as he hastened around the touring car and entered a near-by house. for some seconds julie stood peering doubtfully in the direction he had gone. why was henry driving a car other than the whitneys'? had they, by chance, discharged him? or was he up to some particular deviltry? her latent distrust of henry and her suspicions as to his nationality surged uppermost, and not waiting to count the cost, she darted across the street and peered into the empty touring car. opening the door, julie climbed into the tonneau and, seating herself on the floor, pulled the heavy laprobe over her. thus protected, she sat in the darkened interior of the car for what seemed an interminable time. the slam of a door and the sound of approaching footsteps caused her to half rise and peep through the storm window. at sight of henry standing by the bonnet lighting his pipe she sank hastily back and secreted herself under the laprobe. his pipe drawing to his satisfaction, henry, with barely a backward glance into the dark tonneau, stowed himself behind the steering wheel and started the car up the street. baron frederic von fincke looked from his bank book to his companion, a pleasant-featured, gray-haired man. "the balance is low," he said. "i come with unlimited financial credit," and the short, stockily built man drew from an inside pocket a leather cardcase and passed it to the baron, who read its contents carefully before returning it. "i am glad you have arrived, hartzmann," he volunteered. "as a diplomatic center washington is dull. i call at the state department--no news; it is not in touch with secret history." "my dear baron, what can you expect?" hartzmann shrugged his shoulders amusedly. "trained diplomats do not confide state secrets to a premier who derives his income from a newspaper and the lecture platform." "true. diplomat and politician are synonymous in america; oil and water would sooner mix in the old world." von fincke carefully replaced his bank book in a dispatch-box. "your friend, captain von mueller, has won many friends during his sojourn in washington." "a brilliant man; he will go far." hartzmann rubbed his hands with satisfaction. "his work in england will not be forgotten. he has courage, and the instinct of the hunter; he never blunders." "high praise," said von fincke. "i am the more glad to hear it because i have intrusted a most delicate mission to him--the securing of whitney's _latest_ invention"--with peculiar meaning. "my other efforts in that line having proved failures." quickly he forestalled the question he saw coming, "and your plan of campaign, hartzmann, what of it?" "first, let me give you this," taking several papers from his vest pocket. "it is a list of factories throughout the united states supplying munitions of war to the allies. you may find it useful." "thanks." von fincke read the paper with minute care before placing it inside his dispatch-box. "a concerted movement has been commenced by us to secure a majority control of many of these plants." "in several instances it is planned to buy the great gun and munition factories outright," explained hartzmann. "our agents are already trying to engage the output of munitions until , so that even if the united states requires powder and high explosives, it will be impossible to supply the government." "anything, anything to stop the supply going to the allies." von fincke emphasized his words with a characteristic gesture. "our work is already telling." hartzmann carefully replaced several papers in an inside pocket. "in russia, the men of the first russian reserve have to wait before engaging the enemy until the russian soldiers in the outer trenches are _dead_ so as to get their guns and ammunition to fight with." "excellent!" and von fincke beamed with pleasure. "i shall instigate strikes in the munitions factories," continued hartzmann. "tell me, how have you succeeded with the passports?" von fincke's expression changed. "not so well as i hoped. the secret service are active in investigating all that are issued. it is difficult to circulate them under such espionage." "it is risky," agreed hartzmann. "our agents have opened headquarters in new york. we hope to destroy by means of fire bombs british ships clearing from american ports." "if that is accomplished, it will lend material aid to our war zone policy," exulted von fincke. "and later on we hope to establish the american seaports as bases for a fleet of naval auxiliaries, loaded with supplies for our swift submarines and cruisers. i am making arrangements for taking care of the necessary clearance papers." "excellent!" ejaculated von fincke for the second time, and opened a notebook which he took from his dispatch-box. "our reservists in this country report regularly. under the guise of rifle clubs they keep themselves in excellent practice. bodies of them are unobtrusively seeking employment along the canadian border." "well done; it is a wise move." hartzmann helped himself to a cigar. "what about this spencer mystery, baron? as our agent in mexican affairs he received a small fortune. does not his death come at a most unfortunate moment?" von fincke pursed up his lips. "no. spencer was a good tool, but sometimes too inquisitive; however, i shall not be sorry if miss whitney receives the full penalty for her crime." the two men regarded each other in silence for a brief second, then von fincke added: "from reports which have reached me, i judge the mine is well laid, and mexico will yet prove troublesome to her northern neighbor." "and useful to us," mused hartzmann. "the united states when angry with germany will make war--on mexico." "perhaps," skeptically, "but to me it appears intervention in mexico will hang fire until ..." "engineered," hartzmann smiled meaningly. "huerta will leave shortly for the panama-pacific exposition, and then ..." not completing his sentence, he pointed to a paragraph near the bottom of the first page of the _times_ which lay spread on the table by him. "the sisters in unity, i see, is a strictly neutral organization for peace at any price." "the dear ladies!" mockingly von fincke's hand rose in salute. "they are the best propagandists in the country, and senator foster proves an able advocate of peace--when urged by a woman." "he is a clever speaker," agreed hartzmann. "most men in public life have their uses. have you nothing to report of the pernicious activities of the united states government?" without replying von fincke pressed the button of his electric bell. "is heinrich here?" he asked a moment later as his servant entered. "yes, baron." "then show him in." von fincke turned back to his guest. "a clever man, heinrich, and useful. come in," as a discreet tap sounded on the door; and the chauffeur, carefully closing the door, saluted. "any news of the atlantic fleet, heinrich?" "its departure for the panama-pacific exposition at san francisco via the panama canal has been indefinitely postponed." "the department must have awakened to the fact that if sent there the fleet would have to return by rail," growled von fincke. "there is not enough coal in california at present to supply the fleet--the battleships and cruisers could not escape from attack, but might even be captured at the dock." "have you learned where the fleet will be sent?" asked hartzmann, watching the chauffeur narrowly. "it is to go to new york for a grand review, herr captain." "ah, a mobilization?" "no, herr captain; i think not. the reserve fleet will be missing." "will the president review the fleet?" "it is so believed, herr captain." von fincke, who had been silently eyeing his companions, stood up. "would that not give us an opportunity to bottle up the fleet in the north river by slipping down one of our biggest ocean steamers and sinking her in the channel?" "it might be done," but hartzmann looked doubtful. "the harbor police of new york are vigilant. i fear the warping of a great steamer from her berth would attract instant attention." "not if properly engineered, hartzmann." a soft tap at the door interrupted von fincke. "come in," he called. "captain von mueller," announced the valet, and von fincke advanced eagerly to meet the newcomer. "welcome, herr captain. i hoped that you would get my note in time." "i found it on my return to the hotel. hartzmann, well met." von mueller returned the older man's firm clasp. "it is some years...." "years? what are they when old friends foregather," exclaimed hartzmann. "let us sit and talk." "wait, wait," remonstrated von fincke. "heinrich," turning to the chauffeur, who stood respectfully waiting, "did you learn the strength of the fleet?" "of the thirty-five united states battleships, only twenty-one are in commission and ready for emergency," he said. "of these twenty-one three have broken shafts, and the fourth is a turbine engine battleship, which needs overhauling." "is this all the fighting strength of the united states navy?" questioned hartzmann, jotting down the figures in a notebook. "no, herr captain; there are seventy fighting craft; but not in commission and all require overhauling. half of the submarines will not--er--'sub,' so to speak." a ghost of a smile crossed heinrich's lips. "the complement of torpedo vessels has been reduced from fifteen to twenty-five per cent, and the atlantic fleet needs five thousand men." "interesting data," said von mueller. "i congratulate you, heinrich. what of the army?" "nothing definite to report today, herr captain. if rumor speaks truly, discontent will shortly reduce the standing army to a man and a mule." "a mule can fight on occasions," laughed von mueller. "but not against trained men, backed up by field guns firing in one hour two hundred thousand shells carrying high explosives," boasted hartzmann triumphantly. "weapons such as these, von mueller, alter the face of nature as well as the fate of nations." "any further news tonight, heinrich?" asked von fincke. "no, baron." the chauffeur saluted. "any orders?" "a moment," broke in von mueller. "i will be at the whitney residence tonight, heinrich; see that i am admitted," he added, observing the slight change in the chauffeur's expression. "it can be arranged, herr captain," hastily. "i was but thinking of julie--the french she-devil. should she come ..." "she will not return." von mueller spoke with confidence. "i have convinced her that she will better protect miss whitney by remaining in hiding, thus directing attention to herself as the criminal." "but will she not read the papers?" touching the _times_. "no; the landlady will keep them from her." "the police are ransacking the town for her," persisted heinrich. "they will not find julie"--von mueller lowered his voice. "they never investigate robinson's." "so!" von fincke elevated his eyebrows, and his smile was not pleasant. chapter xxi the finger print kathleen whitney breathed inward thanks when dinner was over. it had been a trying ordeal on top of an agonizing day. cloistered in her room with only her sad thoughts for company, she had been relieved to find that miss kiametia grey had been prevailed upon by mrs. whitney to prolong her afternoon visit to include a family dinner. but the spinster's endeavor to divert her by relating society gossip finally palled, and she permitted her thoughts to stray to other scenes. "did you receive your invitation to the morton reception, kathleen?" asked miss kiametia, breaking off her conversation with mrs. whitney with her customary abruptness, and startling kathleen back to the present. "yes--no; i don't know," was her confused reply. "it is here." mrs. whitney went into the library and returned with a large envelope. "what night?" miss kiametia took the card and examined its heavily embossed surface with interest. "_nouveau riche_ stamped all over it, as well as r.s.v.p.--'real slick vittles, people,'" and she laughed disdainfully. "all the trimmings." mrs. whitney replaced the card in its envelope. "i have written our regrets. i understand the reception is given to announce the engagement of mona morton to some south american monte cristo." "speaking of engagements," whitney turned to the spinster, "what about you and randall foster, kiametia?" "i shall never marry." miss kiametia's half bantering tone dropped, and the eyes she turned to kathleen were shadowed with a haunting regret. "the habits of a life-time cannot be broken." "oh, kiametia!" exclaimed mrs. whitney in open disappointment. "senator foster is splendid--and i had hoped--_why_ do you discourage his attentions?" "can't stand the way he wears his hair," announced miss kiametia with an air of finality which warned against further discussion. "marry him and make him change his barber," advised whitney rising. "i have to go out, minna; you and kathleen must not wait up for me. good night, kiametia; henry is downstairs, he can take you home in the car, if you wish. see you tomorrow," and he moved toward the door. after a brief hesitation kathleen followed him into the hall. "must you go out, dad?" she asked helping him with his overcoat. "it is still stormy tonight, and i feel lonely"--her voice broke, and turning whitney impulsively took her in his arms. "my darling little girl." he stopped and steadied his voice as he kissed her tenderly. "there, don't worry, trust old dad to put things straight--as he did your broken dollies. go early to bed, dear, and get some rest." "rest!" kathleen strove to suppress all trace of bitterness. "now, don't have me on your mind; come home early," and she returned his kiss and went slowly back into the drawing-room, as the front door closed after her father. "we are going up to my boudoir, kathleen; won't you come, dear?" asked mrs. whitney. "not just now, mother; i want to talk to vincent when he gets the table cleared away." "i envy you, vincent," chimed in miss kiametia. "such an excellent servant. oh, minna, don't go to the elevator; suppose we walk upstairs." left by herself kathleen went in search of vincent. he was not in the pantry, but judging by the still unwashed dishes that he was probably eating his supper in the kitchen, she refrained from calling him upstairs, and walked listlessly back into the drawing-room. sick at heart, utterly discouraged, she threw herself down on the large sofa and sank back among the pillows. throughout the long day she had tried to banish all thought of charles miller. it was hopeless; his image was in her heart as well as before her mental vision. to some women it is given to love lightly, tasting but the essence, while to others love is a lifetime of steadfast devotion. and that winter had brought to kathleen her one great passion; for weal or for woe she had given her heart to charles miller, and she must drain the cup to the bitter dregs. with the gradual awakening to the belief that charles miller was really a blackguard, a--she shuddered, and raised her hands as if to ward off an overwhelming horror. and he had dared to approach her that morning with loving words on his lips. his eyes had met hers frankly--there had been no effort to avoid, no show of fear--no, he was only facing a loyal woman. kathleen choked back a moan. truly, he understood the art of dissimulation. if she had not known of his duplicity, of his guilt, his expression as he addressed her that morning would have proclaimed him innocent of all wrongdoing. his expression, ah, it had been that which had sowed a little seed of hope in her heart. perhaps she could sketch his face as he appeared that morning, again catch the expression that inspired confidence in spite of all. she sat bolt upright and glanced eagerly about for a scrap of paper and a pencil. the white back of a magazine on a lamp table caught her eye and she went toward it. by the lamp lay miss kiametia's gold mesh purse, vanity box, and pencil. kathleen snatched up the dangling baubles and the magazine and returned to the sofa. if only she could get her impression down on paper before remembrance faded! she could copy it at her leisure. she jerked feverishly at the gold pencil, and as she pulled it out laid its point on the white paper--and then sat petrified. it was a hypodermic needle. some seconds passed before she moved; then she raised the gold cylinder--outwardly it resembled a pencil, inside were concealed the syringe and needle. with anxious haste she manipulated its delicate mechanism, and slipped back the needle to its hiding place. forgotten for the moment was her own problem. brilliant, gifted kiametia grey a drug fiend--oh, the pity of it! in the light of her discovery kathleen remembered many idiosyncrasies which the drug habit would explain; often that winter she had found miss kiametia dozing in her chair at the theater, at dinners, in motors, but had put it down to over-fatigue from too much social gayety. miss kiametia's variable likes and dislikes, her sudden whims and fancies, her irritability--all were traceable to the same cause. the sound of her name caused kathleen to raise her head with a start. henry, the chauffeur, was standing just inside the hall door. "beg pardon, miss kathleen," he said. "mrs. whitney wished me to tell you that miss grey will spend the night here and has retired to her bedroom. and i was to ask you if you had any orders for the motor tomorrow." "no, none, thanks. as you go downstairs, tell vincent that i wish to see him." "vincent has gone, miss kathleen." meeting her quick glance, he added, "it is his evening out." "oh! please ask rosa to stop in my room before she goes to bed." "very good, miss kathleen." as he turned to leave, the loud buzz of the front doorbell sounded. not waiting to hear the directions kathleen called after him, henry darted into the hall. picking up miss kiametia's gold purse and the hypodermic needle, kathleen replaced them on the table, but halfway to the hall door she hesitated. should she not take them to miss kiametia? suppose henry, for instance, should take it into his head to examine them? at the thought kathleen's face hardened, and she returned to pick up miss kiametia's property. henry's voice from the doorway arrested her. "captain miller," he announced, and retired. kathleen stood as if carved from stone, every vestige of color stricken from her. if her life had depended upon it, she could not have turned around. "have you no word for me?" asked the familiar voice, and miller stepped in front of her, his wistful eyes pleading for him. but kathleen was mute. slowly, unwillingly his eyes dropped before her level gaze and rested finally on the gold baubles in her hand. "why do you not wear my ring, kathleen?" the question stung her out of the bewildered trance into which his unexpected appearance had thrown her. "the ring was returned to you for good and sufficient reasons," she said icily. "that you choose to ignore these reasons does not affect the issue. will you leave this house, or shall i ring for the servant?" "kathleen, are you mad?" he whitened to the lips. "think what you are to me, dearly beloved; your words cut me like a knife." "your similes are unfortunate," she stammered, with dry lips. "i do not use knives. i leave that for others, the coroner's jury to the contrary." "do you think the coroner's jury influenced my judgment, sweetheart? shame--i have more faith than you. i know that you are innocent of spencer's death." "you have every reason to know that i am innocent." kathleen was thoroughly roused. "it is not a question of faith on your part," significantly. "i see no use in these discussions. it is better that we do not meet. again i ask you to go--forever." without replying he turned and paced the room rapidly, hands in pocket, head bent forward. kathleen watched him with burning eyes and aching heart. to outward seeming he had the attributes which make for success. what mad blood-lust had made him throw the world away? "suppose i accede to your unreasonable request, kathleen," he said, stopping before her. "will you do something for me?" "yes," huskily. "then get from your father the specifications and drawings of his latest invention for me." as if she had not heard aright, kathleen stared at him. "wh-what is it you ask?" she stammered. "the plans of your father's _latest_ invention," patiently. "i do not mean the camera." "either you or i are mad," she looked at him dazedly. "do you realize that my father would not give me those plans--that i should have to steal them." "expediency knows no law," he muttered, not meeting her eyes. "call it borrowing." kathleen shrank back appalled. "good god! that you should be so base!" she cried. "for more than forty-eight hours i have closed my eyes to reason; deluded myself that you acted from temporary mental aberration--that sinclair spencer's death was unpremeditated. my impulse was to help--to save. ah, you wooed me well this winter." her voice broke and she drew a long quivering breath. "it is a pitiful thing to kill a woman's love. some day, perhaps, i shall be grateful to you. go!" he flinched at the scorn in her voice, but stood his ground doggedly. "not until i get the drawings and specifications of the invention," he answered. the slamming of the front door caused kathleen to look in that direction, and henry's entrance the next instant stayed the words on her parted lips. "a special delivery for you, miss kathleen," he said, "from the state department." kathleen took the proffered envelope mechanically. "wait, henry," steadying her voice. "when captain miller calls again, he is not to be admitted, under any pretense." "very good, miss kathleen," and concealing his curiosity, the chauffeur moved swiftly away. there was a pause which miller broke. "read your letter," he said composedly. "i can wait." kathleen was on the point of collapse; desperately she clung to her remnant of composure. hardly conscious of her action, she tore open the outer envelope, and read the brief statement that the letter inclosed had been sent to her, care of the department of state. with some stirring of curiosity not unmixed with dread, she examined the contents of the second envelope. it read: "united service club, "london, england. "my dear miss whitney: "i send the inclosed, forwarded to me by major seymour, who was until recently a prisoner in germany. my nephew, john hargraves, was killed in action. "very truly yours, "percival hargraves." john dead! her loyal friend dead--and killed in action! through a blur of tears kathleen read the stained scrap of paper inclosed in the englishman's note: "dear kathleen: "i saw karl in london at victoria station. i swear it was he--warn uncle--kathleen ... kathleen...." shaken with grief kathleen raised her head and looked at her companion sitting immovable in his chair. if he felt any interest in the letter and her emotion, he did not evince it. three years before, he, she, and john hargraves had been friends in germany. john, the soul of honor, loyal and unselfish in his friendship, had laid down his young life for his country. his last dying word had been of her--to warn her.... kathleen stood erect, wrath drying the tears which affection had brought. john had seen karl in london in war times; there was but one answer to the puzzle. "captain karl von mueller," she said cuttingly, "to use the name by which i knew you abroad, do you wish my father's invention for germany?" "i do." rising quietly, he faced her, stern and unyielding. "why dissemble any longer? your father promised to sell it to us; then went back on his given word. in handing me the invention you will but redeem his pledge." "you have a strange conception of honor." her eyes were blazing with fury. "your statement about my father is open to doubt. captain von mueller, i give you forty-eight hours to leave this country before i denounce you as a german spy." "really?" his slow smile of unbelief caused her to writhe inwardly. "do you think the unsupported statement of a woman suspected of murder will find credence?" kathleen clenched john hargraves' letter until her knuckles shone white under the taut skin. "secondly," he continued in the same quiet tone, "you speak tonight only of this winter. have you forgotten our relationship in germany?" "that is hardly the term for it," she said proudly. "i met you at the house of a german schoolmate ..." "and our friendship rapidly ripened into love," he said softly, never removing his gaze from her bloodless face. "our walks in the meadows about berlin, our elopement ..." "but not our marriage," she burst in. "john hargraves can testify that i left you." "john hargraves is dead." "true," she could hardly articulate. "but we were not married." "quite so; that is my point--_i_ did not _marry_ you." kathleen swayed upon her feet and threw out her hand blindly for support. "you cur! you despicable cur!" she gasped. "don't touch me." but though she shrank from him, his strong hand steadied her toward the hall door. "washington society is surfeited with scandal," he said. "when more composed think of your father's latest invention." if she heard him she gave no sign. mental torture had exhausted her emotion. she never raised her head as he guided her to the staircase; her eyes stared only at his open right hand. the house was dark except for the hall light burning dimly, when winslow whitney inserted his latchkey and entered the front door. removing hat and overcoat, he made his way noiselessly to his studio in the attic. with cautious movement he fingered the locks on his door. would miller's plan for catching spencer's murderer work out? according to their arrangement he had left the door insecurely fastened. just as he was about to creep into the room, he heard distinctly in the stillness a whispered word in a voice his keen ear instantly recognized. all idea of caution forgotten, he threw open the door and switched on the electric light. to outward appearances the room was empty. darting over to where he kept his secret papers, he lifted a powerful mazda lamp, the better to scan the prepared paper left where an incautious thief would be obliged to rest his hand with some degree of force. under the powerful light the finger prints stood out distinct and clear. but with eyes starting from his head, whitney paused to snatch up a magnifying glass, and by its aid examined the finger prints minutely. "it's--his--finger print--but the voice, my god! the voice.... kathleen, kathleen!" a gurgle choked his utterance, and the magnifying glass clattered beside him as he fell inertly on the floor. chapter xxii "trenton hurry" charles miller, completing a hurried toilet, paused at the sound of a sharp rap on his bedroom door. "come in," he called. "ah, henry, good morning," as the chauffeur stepped briskly over the threshold. the latter's white face and agitated manner indicated that he was the bearer of portentous news. miller made a hasty step in his direction. "kathleen--is she ill?" he asked. the chauffeur looked to see that the bedroom door was securely fastened before he answered. "it isn't miss kathleen," he answered cautiously. "mr. whitney has had a stroke." "what?" miller recoiled. "when?" "some time last night." "will he recover?" "dr. mclane says that he cannot tell yet, herr captain. he was alive but still unconscious when i left the house to come here." "what"--miller looked anxiously at the chauffeur--"what brought on the stroke? mr. whitney appeared to be in robust health when i saw him last." "the doctor seemed to think it was caused by sudden shock, herr captain." henry stepped closer. "miss kiametia grey found mr. whitney in his studio lying on the floor unconscious." "miss grey found him!" miller's eyes opened wide in astonishment. "yes, herr captain; at four o'clock in the morning," with significant emphasis, and the two men looked at each other. "and what was miss grey doing in the attic at that hour of the morning?" "she said she had gone upstairs to see rosa, the cook, who was suffering from a bilious attack early in the evening." "but," perplexedly, "if i remember correctly, rosa testified at the inquest that the servants' bedrooms are not in the attic but on the floor beneath." "they are, herr captain. on answering the bell from mr. whitney's studio i found miss grey there trying to revive him." "you answered the bell at four in the morning?" in surprise. "i understood you did not sleep at the whitneys'." "nor do i, herr captain; but last night i took vincent's place and occupied his bedroom. when i reached the studio, i at first thought mr. whitney dead," continued the chauffeur, after a slight pause, "and rushed to summon a physician. on his arrival i assisted him to carry mr. whitney to his bedroom." "did you see miss kathleen?" "not after giving her the special delivery letter"--henry's sidelong glance escaped miller's attention--"when you were with her in the drawing-room; but i did hear her talking to mrs. whitney and the nurse in her father's bedroom just before i left the house to come here." "keep me informed of what transpires at the whitneys'," directed miller, picking up his coat. "very well, herr captain. permit me to help you." the chauffeur stepped closer to his side and while assisting him, whispered: "did you get the invention?" miller thrust his right arm into the coat sleeve with slow precision, and his left arm into its sleeve with equal care before answering. "yes." "god be praised!" henry stepped back, his eyes snapping with delight. "ah, we will win it yet, that cross!" he exulted; then cautiously took from an inside pocket a folded sheet of letter paper and with care removed from between the pages a piece of paper. "when miss grey was occupied in her effort to revive mr. whitney i looked quickly about the studio," he explained. "this paper caught my eye--and i bring it to you, herr captain." "thanks," laconically, laying the paper down on the desk. "one moment before you go," and from a well-filled wallet he extracted a treasury bill whose denomination caused henry's eyes to beam with pleasure. "at service, herr captain," he said, saluting. "i will return and report later." "very well, henry," and the chauffeur bowed himself out, but on the other side of the door he hesitated, fingering miller's tip with satisfaction. "he is liberal, that von mueller," he muttered. "but it is just as well not to tell him that there were two sheets of finger prints," and he went whistling down the corridor. tiptoeing to his door, miller listened for a second, then, convinced that the chauffeur had moved away, he turned the key in the lock. going to his desk, he picked up the sheet of finger prints and studied them long and attentively; then glanced down at his right hand. horror lurked in the depths of his frank eyes. "the mark of cain," he stammered, and opening the silver frame containing kathleen whitney's photograph, he deftly slipped the paper between the two pieces of cardboard. * * * * * it was getting toward dusk when mrs. whitney stole softly into kathleen's bedroom and stood looking down at her as she lay, eyes closed, white face pillowed on one shapely arm, her breath hardly stirring the laces on her gown. convinced that she was asleep, she moved cautiously away, hoping not to disturb her, but at that moment kathleen opened her eyes and raised herself on her elbow. "don't go, dear," she begged. "how is dad?" "just about the same." mrs. whitney carried a chair to the bedside. "it is too bad to have roused you." "i wasn't asleep--only thinking"--drearily--"i am glad you came in. does dr. mclane hold out any hope?" "yes," and mrs. whitney's care-worn face brightened. "is it not good news?" "the very best," kathleen smiled through her tears. "you must be worn out," and she stroked the hand on the bed with loving fingers. "you should take some rest." "i am not tired," protested mrs. whitney. "the nurse has just come in from her afternoon constitutional, and i felt that i could leave winslow for a little time. tell me, dear," sinking her voice. "can you let me have a hundred dollars?" "i would gladly, mother, but i don't believe i have half that amount left. you are welcome to that, though; my purse is in my desk." "thank you, dear, i'll get it later," but the troubled shadow did not lift from mrs. whitney's pretty face. "both vincent and henry have asked me for their wages; i have given henry part ..." "give him the whole, only get rid of him," burst out kathleen. "i cannot bear the man." "why, kathleen! has he been disrespectful?" "n-no, only--i don't trust him." "please, dear, don't excite yourself." mrs. whitney noticed with alarm the hectic flush that dyed kathleen's white cheeks. "i will fill his place. come to think of it, i did not like his manner this morning when he asked for his wages, and he went out without leave ..." "he selected a curious time to make his request, with dad so ill." "well, you see, my dear," coloring faintly. "i gathered your father has not paid him recently." "don't believe that story until you have asked dad." kathleen choked back a sob, remembering that her father, her dear father, might never answer another question, no matter how trivial. "don't look so worried, mother; dad will get better shortly." "i pray so." mrs. whitney's eyelashes were wet with tears. "kathleen, did your father ever speak to you of a note for twenty thousand dollars?" "no, never." "it comes due next week." mrs. whitney looked hopelessly about the room. "surely the bank will hold over the matter until dad is in a condition to attend to his affairs?" "i sent word to that effect when answering the note teller's letter." "who is the holder of the note?" "sinclair spencer." with ashy face kathleen dropped back on her pillow as if shot. failing to observe her expression in the semi-dark room, mrs. whitney continued wearily: "in your father's mail today i found a notice from his bank stating that he had overdrawn his account heavily. it just happens that my housekeeping allowance is almost exhausted, or i would never have mentioned the matter to you, kathleen." "i am glad you did, mother; you must not have this responsibility on your shoulders, in addition to your anxiety for dad. i have a little money in the bank, and will turn it over to you tomorrow." "thank you, dear," stooping and kissing her. "my heart is wrung for you, kathleen. it is shameful what you have had to go through!" and her eyes flashed with indignation. "hush!" placing her hand over mrs. whitney's mouth. "my affairs sink into insignificance alongside of dad's illness." "you are such a blessing, kathleen," squeezing her hand fondly. "then let us forget there is such a thing as money difficulties, and turn to...." "me!" exclaimed a voice by the door, and miss kiametia grey advanced further into the room. "i rapped several times but you did not hear...." "do come and sit with us," suggested kathleen. "i will, if you will turn on the light; i can't bear to talk in the dark. there, that's better," as kathleen switched on the reading lamp by her bed. "before anything further is said," began the spinster, reddening, "i must confess that i overheard kathleen mention money difficulties--i didn't mean to hear it"--hastily--"but i just want to say that i'll be your banker until winslow gets better." "you dear!" kathleen sat up and kissed her warmly and mrs. whitney, quite overcome, embraced her with tears in her eyes. "what's a friend for if she can't be of use!" miss kiametia's manner was always most brusque when seeking to cover emotion. "land sakes! i forgot to tell you that randall foster wishes to see you both." "now!" kathleen looked down at her negligée attire. "can't he wait until tomorrow? dr. mclane said i could get up then." "he is very anxious to interview you this evening, kathleen. put on this pretty dressing-gown," and miss kiametia picked it up from the couch. "you help her into it, minna, while i go and get randall," and not waiting for a reply she whisked out of the room, returning a few minutes later with senator foster. "i am here under the doctor's order," explained kathleen, taking his proffered hand, after he had greeted mrs. whitney. "won't you sit down?" "thank you," muttered foster, recovering with an effort from the shock her appearance occasioned him. she looked wretchedly ill, and the hand he held for a second in his was hot with fever. "i can stay but a minute, miss kathleen. do you think that tomorrow you can sign some papers in reference to sinclair spencer's will?" "why should i sign any such papers?" in quick surprise. "what have i to do with his will?" "hasn't your mother told you?" mrs. whitney shook her head, and answered for kathleen. "winslow said not to mention the matter to kathleen yesterday, and today his illness put everything out of my mind," she explained. kathleen looked from one to the other. "what have i to do with his will?" she repeated. "sinclair spencer made you residuary legatee." "what!" kathleen sat up, for the moment bereft of further speech. "i shan't take any legacy left me by him," she announced, passionately. "mother, you hear me, _i won't_." "yes, yes, dear," soothingly, and senator foster broke in hastily: "we understand how you must feel." "feel!" echoed kathleen. "did you for one moment suppose i would accept a penny from sinclair spencer or his estate?" and the scorn in her eyes hurt foster as she looked at him. "the law requires certain formalities," he said hurriedly. "as executor, i shall have to talk over his will with you, but later will do." "both now and later, i flatly refuse to consider any such bequest he may have made me," went on kathleen, unheeding his words as her excitement increased, and miss kiametia hastened to avert the threatened scene. "where were you yesterday afternoon, randall?" she asked. "in baltimore." foster flashed her a grateful glance. "i hope you made use of my car yesterday, mrs. whitney; i told henry to take it out until yours was repaired." "you were very kind; winslow went out in it." mrs. whitney's glance strayed to the door; she was anxious to return to her husband's bedside. "and with your permission, randall, i'm going to use your car now to take me home," chipped in miss kiametia. "oh, kiametia, you must not go," protested mrs. whitney. "you are such a comfort--such a help...." "don't go," added kathleen. "your presence makes my enforced idleness here easier to bear." "thank you, my dears." the spinster looked immensely pleased. "of course i'll stay, if you really feel you want me." "i am the only one bereft," said foster wistfully. "i cannot call upon you tonight, kiametia." "of course you can," exclaimed mrs. whitney, smiling faintly. "we are not so selfish as to keep kiametia to ourselves all the time. if you will excuse me, i must go back to winslow." "certainly." foster rose and opened the door for her. "i must not stop longer. good night, miss kathleen, i hope that you will feel better in the morning." "thanks; please come here just a moment," and reluctantly foster approached the bed. he did not wish to resume discussion about spencer's will. "tell me," kathleen lowered her voice, "when will the grand jury meet?" "not for ten days or more." "that is all, thanks," and foster moved away. at the door he signaled to miss kiametia to step into the hall with him, and after a quick glance at kathleen's averted face, the spinster followed him, softly closing the door behind her. as the click of the latch reached her, kathleen, seeing that she was alone, leaned over and put out the light. the darkness was pleasant to her, and she buried her hot hands under her pillows, the better to feel the cool linen. soothed by its contact she struggled to reduce her chaotic thoughts to order. sinclair spencer had left her money--sinclair spencer had left her money--the sentence beat in her brain tirelessly. the idea was as repugnant to her as his personality had been. in life he had plagued her, and in death he had involved her in conspiracy and subjected her to cruel suspicion. her father's illness has aroused her from the torpor following charles miller's departure the night before. she writhed even at the recollection of her scene with him. again and again she had been on the point of sending for the police and denouncing him, but remembrance of the forty-eight hours of grace which she had granted him stayed her impulse. he had killed every spark of affection, she assured herself repeatedly; and then turned and tossed upon her pillows as vivid recollection painted each happy hour with him that winter. a moan broke from her, and at the sound a stealthy figure advancing from the sitting-room adjoining, stopped dead. hearing no further sound, the intruder moved cautiously forward and bent over kathleen. "mademoiselle!" kathleen's eyes flew open. "julie! you have come back!" "hush, mademoiselle! not so loud," and julie, dropping on her knees by the bed, laid a warning finger on kathleen's lips. reaching out her hands, the latter clasped the frenchwoman in a warm embrance, which was as warmly returned. "you have come back," she repeated in a whisper. "julie, you met with no harm?" "no, mademoiselle." "where have you been?" "no matter now, mademoiselle. i spent last night with vincent's sister, marie tregot. he smuggled me into the house a little while ago. he told me of all that you have been through. oh, that i had stayed; but i acted for the best, mademoiselle." "i am sure of that, julie"--touched by the feeling in the maid's voice. "i was misled"--bitterly--"and by one i thought to be trusted--captain miller." "julie! he did not offer...." "no, no, mademoiselle"--kathleen's taut muscles relaxed and she sank weakly back in bed. "but i have reason to believe that captain miller is not what he seems. listen, mademoiselle: i was in m. foster's touring car--no matter how i came there now--last night. henry was driving it. he knew not that i was in the tonneau. when he stopped the car and got out i watched him enter a residence in nineteenth street. i dared not stay longer in the car, and hid in the vestibule of the house adjoining the one he had entered. they are what you call semi-detached, and concealed i was very close at hand. i had been there but a short time when a man ran up the steps of the next house and i recognized captain miller. he entered and i waited long, oh, so long, when out came henry and captain miller ..." "well?" prompted kathleen, as julie came to a breathless pause. "the captain entered the car with henry and drove off. after their departure i rang the bell of the house where i was hiding and asked the butler who were their next-door neighbors. he said baron frederic von fincke." "oh, more evidence against him!" kathleen drew in her breath sharply. "mademoiselle?" but kathleen did not explain her remark, and julie continued hurriedly; "i at first thought to return here at once, but remembered marie tregot. she gave me house room, and i arranged with vincent last night to admit me after dark today." "but why not come openly, julie? no one will harm you." "henry is a spy--a traitor--it did not suit my plans to have him know my whereabouts." "but julie...." "mademoiselle, have patience--bear with me but a little longer--" the excited frenchwoman rose and going to both doors locked them. she returned and switched on the reading lamp. "quelle horreur! mademoiselle, what have these beasts done to you?" she exclaimed, aghast, inspecting kathleen in consternation. "they shall pay for every sign of suffering in your face." "do not let us discuss me," kathleen sighed wearily. "will you tell the police of your suspicions concerning henry?" "no, mademoiselle." julie's expression changed. "i like not the police just now. i have a plan of my own." she checked herself abruptly. "have you seen the _star_?" "no, julie." "see, it says here"--pointing to a paragraph in a folded sheet torn from a newspaper which she drew from under her apron--"'fire at roebling's plant of incendiary origin.' tell me, mademoiselle, what is roebling's?" "a factory near trenton, new jersey, which i believe"--kathleen spoke somewhat uncertainly--"manufactures insulated as well as barbed wire." "ah, that is used in trench fighting!" the frenchwoman took from the bodice of her black gown a crumpled telegram singed at the edges. "henry received this but an hour ago. i watched, oh, so carefully. i saw him turn pale, and such was his haste to leave the house that he did not wait to see that the paper burned when he threw it in the grate. can you translate it for me, mademoiselle?" smoothing out the telegram, kathleen, with the maid intently peering over her shoulder, read the words it contained besides the address, in puzzled silence: trenton, hurry. hartzmann. chapter xxiii in full cry senator foster, buttoning his overcoat against the march wind, left calumet place and sought his yellow touring car standing at the curb of an intersecting street near by. he had dispensed with the services of his chauffeur for that night. seating himself behind the steering wheel, he started the machine down fourteenth street, so deep in thought that he barely missed running over two belated pedestrians scurrying to the sidewalk, and entirely missed the signals of a street-crossing policeman, who contented himself with a string of curses as he recognized the yellow car and bullied the next automobile chauffeur as a slight vent to his feelings. as foster sped by the war, state, and navy building he noted the lights burning in widely separated office rooms and smiled grimly to himself. parking the car near the whitney residence, he made his way to the front door. miss kiametia grey answered his impatient ring at the bell. "a nice hour for you to keep your appointment, and for me to see attractive men," she grumbled, leading the way to the library. "fortunately, i have a reputation for eccentricity--it saves me a great deal of annoyance, and covers--er--indiscretions." "you--the most discreet of women," protested foster, seating himself on the sofa by her. "and i have come tonight to confide in you...." "have you?" dryly. "i doubt it; but go ahead"--generous encouragement in her tone. "how is whitney?" "pulse stronger, but still unconscious. minna, poor child, insists that he knows her, and will not permit herself to believe in what i fear is the inevitable." "perhaps it is better so," compassionately. "what should we do without hope in this world? i should not be surprised if kathleen's condition is graver than her father's." meeting her surprised look, he tapped his forehead significantly. "brain fever." "she is acting queerly," admitted the spinster. "tonight she locked herself in her room, won't see even the nurse, and refuses food." "i fear the breaking point is near," conceded foster. "i did not like dr. mclane's manner when we met him on leaving kathleen; he also is worried." he paused and asked abruptly, "has kathleen seen charles miller?" "not today." "when was he last here?" "let me see," calculating on her fingers. "he came with you on wednesday when i was here--today is saturday." "did kathleen see him on wednesday?" "i don't think so." "has he been here since?" "i can't say; possibly the servants can tell you." "will you find out from them before i go?" miss kiametia nodded affirmatively, and he asked; "has kathleen spoken to you of seeing him since spencer's death?" "no." "has she ever confided to you whether she cares for him or not?" "not in words," dryly. "but my woman's intuition tells me ..." "yes?" as she paused. "that kathleen worships the ground he walks on." "too bad." foster sat back, looking troubled. "too, too bad." "what's this? a deathbed repentance? _you_ introduced miller in washington," and the spinster's sharp eyes bored into him. foster moved uncomfortably. "i am sincerely sorry," he mumbled. "i have been grossly deceived." "humph!" miss kiametia moved closer to his side. "go on--confession is good for the soul." "i can't tell you just now," was the disappointing rejoinder. "who found whitney in his studio this morning?" "i did; and a nice shock i had," with a shudder. "the antics in this house are deranging my nervous system. i can't even sleep." "how did you happen to be around at that hour?" "rosa had a bad attack of indigestion after serving dinner, and i promised to look in and see how she was during the night. just as i came out of her room i thought i heard groans and rushed upstairs; found the studio door open, and by aid of my electric torch, found winslow lying on the floor." "did you see anyone else in the room?" "no, i only had the light from the torch to guide me, and that is a very big room, with models and furniture standing around in odd spots." "why didn't you turn on the electric lights?" impatiently. "couldn't find the switch. i did press a button, the only one i could locate in my haste, and it brought henry, who switched on the lights for me." "and afterward did you find any trace of papers' having been stolen? drawers opened, or anything?" "i never looked to see." foster sat back in bitter disappointment. "all i thought about was breaking the news of winslow's condition to minna and kathleen, and getting a doctor. henry attended to _that_; and i went downstairs, awoke minna," she hesitated perceptibly, "kathleen i found sitting in her bedroom--dressed." "what!" foster shot her a swift glance. "asleep?" "no. just sitting there, apparently too dazed to realize my presence, let alone what i told her. finally she grasped the news of her father's illness, and her grief was bitter." "poor girl!" miss kiametia fingered her gown nervously. "you were in baltimore when the newspapers published spencer's will, and this afternoon dr. mclane interrupted us," she began. "is it really true that sinclair spencer left kathleen a small fortune?" "yes. on investigation, i find he held valuable stock, as well as improved real estate of known value." "sinclair spencer was a bad egg," said miss kiametia slowly. "it would have been like him to boast of his wealth to kathleen, and by its power seek to influence her to accept him." "a man will do anything to win the woman he loves," said foster, with a sidelong look of affection utterly lost on the spinster, who sat deep in thought. "a large legacy," she commented aloud. "it establishes a motive which i thought lacking before." "kiametia!" foster shook her elbow roughly. "what are you hinting at?" "hush!" the spinster pointed to the portières in the doorway leading to the drawing-room. "who is lurking there?" she spoke in a subdued whisper which reached foster's ears alone, but as he rose, startled, the portières parted and detective mitchell walked over to them. "have you seen captain charles miller?" he asked eagerly, omitting other greeting. "no," they replied in concert. "strange! i saw him enter the front door half an hour ago, using a latchkey." "charles miller with a latchkey of this house!" gasped miss kiametia. "yes," declared mitchell, "and i have searched the house and cannot find him." "perhaps he came to see kathleen," suggested foster. "could you go and see if he is with her, miss grey?" urged mitchell. "her suite of rooms is the one place where i have not looked." "yes, i--i suppose so," but the spinster held back. "do go," put in foster gently. "a clandestine meeting is not wise for either kathleen or miller. think of the construction which may be put upon it." "true." but miss kiametia rose reluctantly, and to gain time to collect her ideas, walked over to the table to gather up her scarf and gold mesh purse. as she picked up the latter a slight scream escaped her. instantly the two men were by her side. "see, it's missing!" she cried, raising the gold mesh purse with its dangling vanity box. "what is missing?" demanded foster. "don't look so distracted, my darling." "m-m-my g-gold p-p-pencil," she stuttered. "is that all?" and foster smiled in relief. "i'll buy you another tomorrow." "indeed you won't," recovering some degree of composure. "i'll find mine, if i have to search this house from the top to the bottom." "but please see miss whitney first," broke in mitchell. miss kiametia cast him a strange look. "that is the first place i shall go," she announced, and the two men watched her depart in silence. foster was about to speak when the electric lights flickered, grew dim, and then went slowly out. "trouble in the power house," grumbled mitchell, searching his pocket for his electric torch. "i noticed a tie-up in the street cars just before i came in. can you find any candles on the mantel, sir?" flashing his torch in that direction. "every light in the house must be out." * * * * * henry, the chauffeur, paused in indecision on baron frederic von fincke's doorstep. "you are quite certain the baron said he would return on the night train?" "quite," answered the valet. "he is due here at seven o'clock in the morning. good night." "good night," echoed henry, and turning went swiftly down the street. he stopped for a moment at a news stand, talked with the proprietor, and then turned his footsteps toward the whitneys'. as he passed the war, state, and navy building the lighted windows attracted his attention. with deepening interest he noted the location of the rooms from which the light shone. officials of the government were working late. turning, henry sped down a side street and slipping up an alley, entered the whitney house by the rear entrance. he stood in deep thought outside the kitchen door for a moment before opening it; a flash from his electric torch showed the dark room was totally empty. satisfied that rosa had gone to her bedroom, he crept softly up the back stairs and along the front hall of the first bedroom floor. he had almost reached miss kiametia grey's bedroom door when a slight noise made him pause and glance up the winding front stairs. he shrank farther back in the shadows of the dark hall as a faint light appeared, outlining a white face peering down the staircase. henry caught his breath sharply. how came julie to be back in the house? the she-devil! spying upon him. by god! the reckoning was close at hand, and he crawled forward a pace, then stopped. julie had vanished, and with her the light. henry debated for a moment. with julie in the house, his plans were changed. losing no time, and as noiseless as the shadows about him, henry made his way down the back stairs, into the kitchen, down another flight of steps into the sub-cellar, past the bottom of the elevator shaft, the motor room, and to the front of the house. with swift, deft fingers he swung aside a panel of shelves containing rows of preserve jars and pickles, and stepped inside a small chamber. carefully he drew to the panel which, with its strong, well-oiled hinges, made no sound as it slipped into place. a second more and the small chamber was flooded with light as henry found the switch. never glancing at the batteries lining the wall, he went direct to the small pine table, and his fingers sought the telegraph instruments and set them in motion. upstairs in the library the two candles which foster had been able to find in the desk drawer burned brightly in their improvised candlesticks. the flame, however, served but to intensify the darkness of the large room. the minutes had ticked themselves away in swift succession, but still miss kiametia grey did not return. mitchell shut his watch with an impatient snap, and foster, his nerves not fully under control, looked up at the sound. "what can be keeping miss grey?" he asked. "can't imagine, unless--" the detective never completed the sentence. "come quickly," whispered a voice over his shoulder, and swinging about with a convulsive start, mitchell recognized charles miller. with common impulse he and foster sprang up, but he was the first to reach miller's side, and the candlelight shone on burnished steel. "put up the handcuffs, mitchell," directed miller contemptuously. "the time has not yet come to use them." "i am not so sure of that," retorted mitchell. "you are ..." "we can argue the point later." miller made for the door. "both of you come with me; but for god's sake, make no noise." his manner impressed them, and after one second's hesitation, the detective replaced the handcuffs, and in their stead produced a revolver. "go ahead," he said. "but remember, miller, if you attempt to escape you will be arrested." without replying miller led the way through the silent house, his torch and occasional whispered direction guiding them to the sub-cellar. inside the chamber under the parking of the house, henry worked with tireless energy, taking down the coded messages as they flashed from the skilled fingers of the government operators in the great war, state, and navy department but a stone's throw away. suddenly, above the click of the sounder his abnormal sense of hearing caught a faint noise on the other side of the closed panel. one movement of his hand and the chamber was in darkness and the telegraph instrument stilled. backing into a corner, henry waited, his eyes still blinded by the change from light to darkness; but he heard the opening of the panel, and the soft swish of a woman's skirts. "julie!" his lips formed the word, but no sound issued from him as he launched himself forward. for a few seconds he closed with his adversary. backward and forward they rocked; then a shot rang out and with a sob a figure sank limply across the pine table. "this way!" shouted miller, and guided by his voice mitchell and foster dashed after him. they stopped just inside the chamber. miller's torch cast its beams across the pine table and its silent burden. a gasping cry broke from foster: "mrs. whitney!" chapter xxiv retributive justice "dead!" the detective bent over mrs. whitney. "shot through the heart." he turned to his silent companions. "who fired that revolver?" and his own covered miller menacingly. miller, spying the electric lamp, switched it on before answering. still silent, he pointed to the telegrapher's outfit which confronted them and to the tell-tale wires leading to the outer world. "the shot was fired," he said, "by the man who tunneled out to the conduit in which are the cables running to the white house and war, state, and navy building, and tapped them." "where is he?" mitchell cast a bewildered look about the small chamber. "i felt someone brush by me on the stairs in the darkness," volunteered foster, recovering somewhat from his stupefaction. "i fear he has got safely away." "no." miller stepped back from mrs. whitney's side. "chief connor of the secret service has a cordon of operatives about the house. heinrich strauss, alias henry ross, chauffeur, cannot escape. listen, isn't that a shot?" "i hope to god they've caught him alive!" exclaimed mitchell, looking sorrowfully at the dead woman. "he'll swing for this murder, if not for the death of sinclair spencer." "i doubt if he was guilty of that crime," said miller quietly. "what!" mitchell stared incredulously at him. "what leads you to think that?" "hush!" miller held up a warning hand as the sound of hurrying footsteps reached them. a second more and julie appeared in the sub-cellar, guided by their light. her eyes were gleaming with a strange excitement. unnoticed by the others, miller swiftly removed his coat and threw it over mrs. whitney so that it covered her face. "he is caught, that henry!" called julie, catching sight of foster standing in the opening of the secret chamber. "he was getting away, oh, so softly in the dark, and i tripped him. but yes, and he fired"--touching a red gash in her cheek. "but the others, they pounced upon him. la--la! and they are bringing him here. but what--?" trying to peer past foster. miller stepped forward. "crouch down behind those barrels, julie," he ordered, and the frenchwoman, startled by his sudden appearance, obeyed mechanically. by sheer force of personality miller took command. "go back and wait in the telegraph room," he whispered hurriedly. "you do the questioning, mitchell; i'll keep out of sight here." before mitchell could ask the question burning on his lips, a number of men made their way down the staircase, heinrich strauss in their midst, handcuffed to the tallest operative. mitchell saluted as he recognized the foremost man. "this room will interest you, chief," he said, making way for him, and connor took a comprehensive look over the chamber. "we've found the leak," he acknowledged. "clever work that," inspecting the arrangement of the wires. he drew back at the sight of the covered figure stretched across the table. "what's this--murder?" "yes," answered mitchell. "henry, here," jerking his thumb toward the erstwhile chauffeur, "killed the woman before we could interfere." "did i?" demanded heinrich. "how are you going to prove it? i wasn't in this room ..." "you waste time," said a cool voice behind him, and miller stepped into the circle. "the game is up, heinrich." "you renegade!" heinrich was livid with fury. "this man is heinrich strauss," continued miller quietly. "one of the most expert electricians and telegraph operators in germany. he could be described as an electrical genius." "his work shows that," acknowledged chief connor. a slight stir in the doorway caused heinrich to turn, and he smiled evilly at sight of kathleen and miss kiametia grey. "i'm glad you've come," he said, addressing kathleen directly, as she shrank back at sight of him. "that man there," pointing to miller, "is karl von mueller, captain in the secret service." a low moan broke from kathleen, and she looked anywhere but at miller, who had stepped forward to stand between her and the pine table with its pathetic burden. "von mueller," continued heinrich, "killed sinclair spencer." "i deny it," exclaimed miller. "lies won't help," retorted heinrich. "miss whitney, did you not attempt to rub off with your handkerchief from spencer's blood-stained shirt, captain von mueller's finger print?" the question from that source was unexpected. twice kathleen strove to answer. she cast an agonized look about the circle of men, but their set, stern faces gave her no help. "yes," and the monosyllable was little more than a murmur. "ah, take that down, detective mitchell," exclaimed heinrich, triumphantly. "and von mueller was in the house that night--do you deny it?" "no." miller's clear voice did not falter nor did his gaze, and mitchell, handcuffs in evidence, looked perplexedly at chief connor. the latter was watching miller like a lynx, and the secret service operatives closed up in the entranceway--there was no chance to escape, handcuffs seemed unnecessary. the smile that crossed heinrich's lips was cruel. "we will swing together, von mueller," he said. "turning state's evidence will not save you, you traitor!" with an effort he controlled his rage, and spoke more calmly, "chief connor, your informer last night stole whitney's invention; besides admitting to me that he had it, he left these tell-tale finger prints"--his hand sought his pocket, but a quick jerk on the handcuffs stopped him. "take it out yourself," he snarled to the operative next him, "inside pocket." his request was quickly complied with. "there, that tells the story; open it." detective mitchell bent eagerly forward and gazed at the sheet, then turned to miller. "let me see your hands," he directed. obediently miller held them palm uppermost, and the detective and chief connor examined the half-moon scar on the index finger of his right hand with minute care. "it tallies," exclaimed mitchell. a cry from kathleen broke the silence. miller whitened as he heard it. "the evidence is conclusive, is it not?" mocked heinrich. "if that dead woman could speak"--pointing to the table--"she would tell you how she saw the crime committed." "suppose we take her mute testimony"--and with a swift movement miller removed his coat. "merciful god!" with eyes starting from his head heinrich recoiled. "mrs. whitney! why didn't she let me know she was coming down here?" "ah, then she was in the habit of coming?" miller's remark remained unanswered. heinrich stared and stared again at mrs. whitney, great beads of sweat standing on his forehead. "i thought it was julie--that hell-cat!" he muttered. "why, why didn't she speak, and let me know who she was?" then suddenly he collapsed on the one chair in the chamber and bowed his head. at sight of mrs. whitney a gasping cry escaped kathleen. involuntarily her eyes strayed about the chamber, her dazed senses slowly grasping the situation. in the appalling silence one idea became paramount--henry, the chauffeur, was a spy, and both his words and behavior implicated mrs. whitney. she, his accomplice? oh, impossible! she put the thought from her, but memories, unconsidered trifles, rose to combat kathleen's loyalty. had mrs. whitney's smilingly collected manner and dignified reserve cloaked a cold, calculating, and treacherous nature? kathleen shuddered in horror, and reeled back into miss kiametia's arms. the spinster, shaken out of her forced composure, was crying without realizing it. she placed a protecting arm about kathleen and held her in close embrace. over the shoulders of the men, julie, who had crawled from her hiding place behind the barrels, peered at them in mingled curiosity and incredulity. "heinrich!" miller's voice penetrated even the spy's benumbed brain. "why is mrs. whitney wearing these finger tips?" and he held up the limp right hand. each finger was fitted with a wax tip, and on the index finger, distinct and plain, was the scar shaped like a half moon. stunned, the men and women present looked first at mrs. whitney's hand, then at miller, and last at heinrich. no one spoke, and in the heavy silence the spy's labored breathing was distinct. "the game is up," he admitted slowly. "i wish i hadn't done that," nodding to the silent figure. "she didn't deserve to be shot by me. she was faithful to germany ..." "do you mean to insinuate that minna whitney was a german spy?" asked miss kiametia, shocked into speech. "well, yes, you might call it that," taunted heinrich. "i term it loyalty to the fatherland, where she was born and brought up. her mother was a german." "she would never have aided you but for your devilish wiles," broke in miller hotly. "the fact that she was deeply in debt did influence her," admitted heinrich insolently. "money was her god. i had to pay handsomely before she would engage my services as chauffeur, and let me make use of this nice little box." "did you construct this tunnel under the pavement"--pointing to where the telegraph wires entered the chamber--"and install this outfit by yourself?" asked chief connor, breaking his long silence. heinrich smiled. "you will never learn that from me--and you should remember that your conduits are laid only seven inches below the surface of the street; it was hardly a man-sized job." he smiled again, and continued. "neither mrs. whitney nor i wished to take anyone wholly into our confidence. she was a perfect assistant; she knew the antecedents of nearly everyone in society here, and she invariably found out, or got others to find out, the motives which inspired strangers to come to washington. her husband never interfered with our plans, as he spent most of his time, both day and night, in his studio. the servants never came down in this sub-cellar, and with mrs. whitney's connivance, i frequently managed to keep the limousine in the repair shop--and my time was my own. my surroundings were ideal, even the location of this house favored my plans ..." "until you grew too ambitious," added connor softly. "perhaps." heinrich gnawed at his underlip as he shot a glance full of venom at kathleen who stood with head averted, drinking in all that was said. to hurt her, to lower her pride appealed to heinrich; his silence would not benefit the dead woman, while speech would cruelly hurt and mortify both kathleen and her father. "my government was anxious to secure mr. whitney's inventions; he would not sell to them, although baron--" he stopped and scowled at miller--"offered him a large sum. whitney stuck to it that none but his own country could have the inventions. then i suggested to mrs. whitney that she get the drawings and specifications for me; and again i paid her a large sum of money. but it was as difficult for mrs. whitney to get into the studio as for me, and the danger to herself was not small. her husband was very suspicious, and he never permitted her to remain in the room alone. "however, because she was not aware i had perfected, as i thought, another plan to secure the invention, and tempted by the sum of money i held before her to succeed, she made another attempt last night. she cried out with disappointment when, after entering, she found only blank paper, and whitney heard her." he stared at the horrified faces about him, and clearing his voice, added, "the shock finished whitney." "you are the devil incarnate!" exclaimed miss kiametia, wrathfully. "i'm not, but he is." heinrich raised his manacled hands menacingly toward miller. "i never fully trusted you, von mueller; although i never found any evidence of your double dealing in your room. but while outwardly appearing to confide in you, i took the precaution to incriminate you should my plans miscarry. i observed the peculiar scar on your finger, and conceived the idea of copying your finger tips in wax. with mrs. whitney's help, i secured an impression of your finger prints and had it copied in wax. the workman, another german sympathizer, achieved a wonderful copy of the original, and by my advice mrs. whitney wore the wax finger tips whenever she had work to do." "an ingenious plan, very," ejaculated mitchell, "and one new to me." "mrs. whitney was wearing them on the night that sinclair spencer took it into his besotted brain to investigate this house," went on heinrich. "mrs. whitney told me afterwards that she was on the way here to see me, when she spied spencer crouching in the elevator, the door of which was open. she was afraid of being discovered if she went upstairs again, and to stay was equally dangerous. "she had with her a hypodermic syringe which i had given her to use in an emergency." kathleen straightened up, and for the first time stared full at the spy. "the syringe was filled with a solution of cyanide of potassium," continued henry. "adjusting the needle, mrs. whitney entered the elevator, and before spencer could move, thrust it into his neck. spencer gave one convulsive start, attempted to get up, and his heavy body lurched full against her. she held a knife in her left hand, and as he half arose from his knees, the force of contact against the worn edges of the knife gashed his throat. i had asked mrs. whitney to bring me one of the knives which her daughter had for modeling, as i wanted to use some putty down here. "with great presence of mind," continued heinrich, after a brief pause which no one cared to break, "mrs. whitney ran the elevator to the attic, and before leaving dipped her wax finger tip in the blood flowing from spencer's throat, and made a distinct impression of von mueller's finger print on spencer's white shirt front. mrs. whitney left the elevator at the attic, but detective mitchell arrived before she missed the syringe. on discovering miss grey had it, she made various attempts to get it back. "i found the hypodermic syringe," confessed miss kiametia. "it was lying inside the elevator, and i picked it up just after kathleen was carried from the elevator. the syringe was marked 'k.w.,' and some impulse made me keep it, and after the inquest, when i learned cyanide of potassium had killed spencer, i hardly let it out of my sight"--kathleen turned bewildered, grateful eyes on the spinster--she was not a drug-fiend, but the most loyal of friends. her hand tightened on the spinster's, and her pressure was returned twofold. "did kathleen's unnatural mother deliberately have that syringe marked with her daughter's initials?" "put it down to coincidence," sneered heinrich. "or say i had it marked 'k.w.' for--kaiser wilhelm." "i doubt it; malice alone governed your actions to all in my house." kathleen faced the spy proudly. "miss kiametia, you do mrs. whitney one injustice. she was not an unnatural mother--as she was no blood kin of mine, but my father's second wife. she never told anyone that i was not her child. i don't know why she kept the matter a secret, but i only learned it accidentally a year ago, and respecting her wishes, never said anything about it." "mrs. whitney was secretive by nature," said heinrich. "and that instinct made her a willing pawn." chapter xxv love paramount pausing only long enough to say a parting word to coroner penfield and chief connor, miller hastened up the back stairs and entered the library. kathleen and miss kiametia grey, utterly unmindful of the hour, sat on the sofa, and near them stood julie, a neat bandage wound about her cheek and head, while senator foster paced agitatedly up and down the room. he stopped on seeing miller. "will you kindly inform us who you are?" he demanded peremptorily. "the secretary of state showed me a letter tonight from vincent stating that you were a german spy ..." "oh, that vincent!" exclaimed julie. "i talked too much to him." "i came here at once," went on foster, paying no attention to julie, "hoping to elicit some facts about you from miss grey and miss kathleen. tell us at once who you are." "charles miller trent," was the calm reply. "then why"--kathleen sprang to her feet--"why were you masquerading as karl von mueller when i knew you in germany?" "i beg your pardon, you did not know me in germany." kathleen crimsoned at the direct contradiction. "but you did know my cousin, karl von mueller." too dazed for utterance, kathleen stared at him, studying his face as never before, and gradually her incredulity gave place to belief. feature for feature, coloring matching coloring, the man before her resembled karl as she remembered him, but the honesty and steadfast purpose to be read in miller's square jaw and fine eyes had been lacking in his cousin. "the likeness is extraordinary," she stammered. "yes," agreed miller. "but i do not think you would have been so thoroughly certain of my identity if i had not copied my cousin's mannerisms as well as his handwriting." "then you were brought up together?" asked foster. "in a way, yes. i was never in germany, but my aunt, frau von mueller, spent many winters at my father's home in rio janeiro...." "what, are you the son of the coffee importer, charles m. trent," demanded foster, again interrupting him. "yes. as boys karl and i were perpetually changing identities and confusing our playmates, as well as our parents. to that end i was a willing german scholar, and karl also became proficient in his english studies." "were you entirely educated in south america?" asked miss kiametia. "oh, no; i spent a great deal of time in santa barbara, my mother's home, and later attended stanford university. but i have seldom been in the east, and have few friends here. last fall i overcame my mother's objection (she unfortunately sympathized with germany), and went to england to enlist in the british army," continued miller, after a brief pause. "the night of my arrival in london i was arrested, charged with being a spy. i had great difficulty, even with my passport and letters to my bankers, in proving i was not a spy. finally, i was told that a man resembling me had been arrested, tried at once, and executed that day." "they keep such things quiet over there," commented foster. "to cut a long story short, i was taken to see the dead spy, and found he was my cousin, karl von mueller"--he hesitated and glanced sorrowfully at kathleen who sat with head averted. how would she take the news he was imparting--how deep was her affection for the dead spy? sighing, he continued his statement. "the indorsement of my father's influential friends, whom i had called upon to establish my identity, evidently carried weight, for on my release it was suggested to me by one high in authority that, instead of enlisting in the army, i use my cousin's identity and spy upon the germans. there was a spice of deviltry in the scheme and--i accepted. "they gave me his papers, clothes, money, and i slipped straight into his place. none of his companions had heard of his arrest and death. those whom i saw i told i had been out of london on a special mission, and they believed the statement without question. by aid of such papers as my cousin had kept concealed on his person, i learned something of his methods, and contact with his companions in london taught me assurance. no one doubted my identity. karl had assumed the name of charles miller and it was easy for me to drop my surname. finally i was sent to a certain town in the warring countries, and there i received instructions to come to the united states." "did the germans accept your identity without question?" asked foster. "apparently so; but i was not in germany twenty-four hours, and the herr chief of the secret service was familiar with my cousin's appearance and never doubted he was talking to karl," answered miller. "on my arrival here i communicated at once with chief connor, giving him the credentials i had brought from the london office. by his advice i followed out the instructions given me by the herr chief of the german secret service, and to all intents and purposes was a german spy. but as i grew to know baron von fincke better, i became convinced that another and cleverer man was responsible for the leak in the carefully guarded offices of this government. i suspected everyone," miller smiled suddenly, "even you, senator foster--your peace propaganda fooled me...." "wait," broke in miss kiametia. "randall shan't be blamed for that; minna whitney insinuated that he would not make a peace speech even for me, so i--i...." "proved her wrong," foster laughed ruefully. "mrs. whitney was a keen student of human nature; but continue, miller--er--trent--i won't interrupt again." "chief connor confided to me that messages were being wirelessed to german cruisers, and that while the station at sayville, long island, was under surveillance, they were powerless to check the new use of the wireless." miller drew his chair closer. "i made a study of wireless while at college, and the problem here fascinated me. i finally reached the conclusion ..." "yes, go on," urged foster. "that messages to the german cruisers were being relayed from stations close together; in other words, that the station in the heart of this city had a wave length shorter than arlington's minimum wave length, and the arlington radio station was unable to hear--you already know that a transmitting and receiving station can only hear each other when in tune; that is, the wave length of each must be equal. i therefore established a receiving station in my room with a short wave length--and the result justified my reasoning." "good!" ejaculated foster heartily. "but at that, while i had the messages to turn over to chief connor, i was still in the dark as to the location of the sender. you know it is impossible to determine the direction or distance of a transmitting station by its waves--a ship at sea cannot be found by wireless unless its bearings are given. i concluded that the transmitting station must be in the vicinity of the government buildings, and the next relay within five miles--a greater wave length could be picked up by arlington. "on tuesday night i got on the roof of one of the tall government buildings near here, and examining each roof as i crossed it looking for wireless antennae, i finally reached this house. i suspected i was being watched by baron von fincke, but managed to confuse him as to the direction i was taking, and finally clambered down into this attic through the scuttle. i was certain he was not aware of my identity, and for the sake of my plans, could not risk discovery. "i had never been in your attic before," went on miller, addressing kathleen directly. "i was not even positive this was your house. when trying to find my way about i chanced upon the elevator shaft; i thought i was walking into a closet. at that moment i heard a footstep on the stair." julie started and bent eagerly forward. "desiring to get away as quickly as possible, i pressed the button for the elevator...." "but the elevator must have been right there," interrupted kathleen. "you could not have opened the outer mahogany door otherwise." "so i realized when i had collected my wits," responded miller. "opening both doors, i bolted into the elevator a few minutes before the footsteps reached the attic." "was spencer in the elevator then?" questioned foster. "i don't know; the elevator was dark, and i only used my flashlight for a second to show me the proper button to push for the first floor. it may be that spencer was in the elevator, but i did not see him." "but i did," volunteered julie, coming forward. "and i it was you heard creeping upstairs. i believed that henry was a spy and feared that he would steal mr. whitney's invention. oh, monsieur, i was so intent on guarding the studio i never gave a thought to the sub-cellar. frequently i watched all night in a niche i had fashioned near the wine closet, but on tuesday, alas! i slept. the soft closing of the elevator door awoke me, and a person whom, by her walk and height, i judged to be mademoiselle, moved away from the elevator and went downstairs. inspired by curiosity i entered the elevator a moment later, and switched on the light. i was almost overcome by the sight of m. spencer, and turned out the light to shut away the view. i rushed to my room; but i could not rest. i was in agony for you, mademoiselle; that very afternoon i had warned you against monsieur spencer, and i feared--oh, forgive me! that you had killed him because he had injured your father. after a long interval i crept upstairs to the attic and there tried to puzzle out what would be best to do for mademoiselle. fearing the police would make me tell what i had seen, i ran away." "when did you discover sinclair spencer in the elevator, kathleen?" asked miss kiametia. "when i went to find julie on wednesday morning," began kathleen. "i was very absent-minded that morning, and after pressing the button for the elevator never noticed whether it was long arriving at my floor or not--the length of time it takes to reach a floor is the only way we have of judging from where it comes," she explained. "i entered the elevator intent only on pushing the basement button, which i did with my right hand, pulling the folding grille-work steel door to with my left hand. my back was turned to where sinclair spencer lay." she shuddered at the recollection. "just before the elevator reached the basement i turned around and saw him. at first i was too stunned to move; then impulsively turned on the electric light so that i might see better, and discovered the finger print on his shirt. "i don't suppose i would have been so quick to recognize the finger mark had not miss kiametia called my attention to it the day before when reading captain m--trent's palm," she resumed, not looking at miller. "horrified, i took my handkerchief and strove to make the stain unrecognizable; then suddenly i lost control of myself, and gave vent to scream after scream, and pressed my finger to the button nearest my hand. i was taken to the third floor, but the stopping of the elevator did not bring me self-control, and i think i should have lost my mind if the elevator had not moved of itself; i realized someone had pushed a floor button, but when the elevator stopped again and miss kiametia opened the door, i had lost all reason ... i...." she stopped, overcome by the recollection. "my poor darling!" miss kiametia kissed her tenderly. "how did you get that scar on your finger, trent?" inquired foster. "while on a hunting trio with my father in the interior of south america my cousin and i, then fifteen and sixteen respectively, played a trick on one of our indian guides. with the assistance of other indians he branded my finger, saying by the half-moon we would be identified one from the other." "that explains." kathleen drew a long breath. "i racked my brain to remember whether i had seen the scar on your finger in germany, and concluded you had perhaps received the injury since--since our last meeting." "tell me, kathleen," broke in miss kiametia, "how did it happen that sinclair spencer had a flower from your bouquet in his hand?" "i don't know, except that i wore the flowers the night before, and one may have fallen on the floor of the elevator and he picked it up." julie, who had followed kathleen's every word with the closest attention, stepped to miller trent's side. "monsieur, can you explain this telegram?" handing it to him. "heinrich dropped it here late this afternoon." miller read the two words, then drew out a pencil. "divide the word 'trenton' to 'trent on' and it reads: 'trent on, hurry.' yesterday afternoon i met a man named hartzmann; he had known karl intimately, and before i left him i realized something had aroused his suspicions. in new york he communicated with buenos ayres, found my whereabouts was unknown to my family, and jumped to the conclusion that i was impersonating my cousin." "how do you know that?" demanded foster. "the secret service operative shadowing hartzmann notified me of it today," answered miller. "obviously hartzmann neglected to give any key to his dispatch to heinrich, and the latter must have been entirely in the dark as to the real meaning of the warning. von fincke, whom hartzmann apparently relied on to enlighten heinrich, is out of town." "was it the operative's message to you about hartzman which brought you here tonight?" asked foster. "no; i came hoping for an opportunity to examine mr. whitney's studio, and used a key to the front door which i had had made without heinrich's knowledge. i thought by examining the studio i could find out who really went there last night; heinrich brought me a set of the finger prints, and their startling resemblance to mine convinced me that a plot, devilish in its ingenuity, was being concocted and an attempt made to involve me in their machinations. on my way to the studio i saw heinrich creeping downstairs and followed him. i never for one moment suspected mrs. whitney." "nor did anyone else," agreed foster. "except that heinrich was shocked into confession by his having unintentionally killed mrs. whitney, thinking her julie, we might never have learned the whole truth. mitchell, after seeing vincent's note to the secretary of state, was thoroughly convinced you were guilty. by the way, kiametia, what kept you so long upstairs when mitchell asked you to find out if miller was with miss kathleen?" "searching for that hypodermic needle; i believed kathleen had taken it back." "did you see mrs. whitney upstairs?" "no, i stopped for a moment in winslow's room, and the nurse told me minna had gone to her bedroom to lie down." "what possessed her to go to the sub-cellar?" asked foster. "probably a demon of unrest, or she may have had some message to leave for heinrich," suggested miller. "when he grappled with her in the dark she undoubtedly thought him a detective and dared not call out for fear of disclosing her identity. probably she thought heinrich out of the house, and never dreamed of his attacking her." "and heinrich mistook her for me." julie's eyes glowed. "the hand of god! but, monsieur, why did you advise that i stay away from mademoiselle, and take me to that dreadful house?" "because, julie, you were hysterical, and i feared if interviewed, you might make some statement in all good faith which would do miss kathleen irreparable injury. i also believed that your absence would serve to divert suspicion until i had a chance to find the real criminal; i met you before the inquest, and did not realize that your disappearance could be used to militate against miss kathleen. as for mrs. robinson"--he laughed slightly--"she keeps a private sanitarium, but just now has no patients. you were perfectly safe there, and i had connor detail an operative to see that heinrich did not torment you." "what will become of baron von fincke?" "chief connor and the state department will handle his case. connor told me he found the baron's next door neighbor--a man named frank lutz...." "mercy, his wife's a member of the sisters in unity!" ejaculated miss kiametia. "lutz has a complete wireless transmitting station," went on miller. "he was stunned by his arrest, and attempted suicide; connor believes he can induce him to tell the locations of the other relay stations. lutz had the wireless antennae strung along the ceilings in the upper corridors of his house. he declares they have just perfected a method to overcome static interference." "and what about heinrich?" asked julie anxiously. "will he escape?" "no, he will undoubtedly pay the penalty of his crime; mitchell took him in charge. coroner penfield was here a short time ago," added miller, turning to miss kiametia. "he assisted us to take mrs. whitney to her bedroom; i left rosa, the cook, there." "thank you," murmured kathleen. "i think i had better go upstairs and see to everything," and the spinster rose. "just a minute," miller hesitated. "i felt that another and more determined attempt would be made to get mr. whitney's invention, kathleen, and so suggested to him that he trust me with the drawings and specifications." "did he?" "yes, and i took them over and deposited them in the care of chief connor." "a capital idea," exclaimed foster. "then father's inventions are quite safe?" asked kathleen. "yes. one is a camera for taking a map of the country from an airship; the other, still more marvelous--glass armor." "glass what!" chorused his listeners. "armor. a suit woven from a combination of mica and glass which mauser bullets cannot penetrate." "good lord!" foster tugged at his hair until it stood upright. "we can discuss the inventions at another time," announced the spinster, recovering from her astonishment. "i'll be upstairs, kathleen, if you want me." "wait, i'm coming," but foster turned on the threshold of the door, his curiosity mastering him. "there's just one question, miss kathleen; if you knew karl von mueller in germany and, as you thought, met him here using the name of charles miller, why did you not at once conclude he was a german spy?" "because a year ago a school friend in germany wrote me that karl had disappeared after a duel, and she believed he was living in america under an assumed name," replied kathleen, rising hurriedly. "under those circumstances i thought it natural that he should have anglicized his name. won't you stop--?" "no, thanks," hastily. "i must see kiametia. good-night," and he disappeared into the hall. miss kiametia was talking to a white-capped nurse, who continued on her way upstairs on foster's approach. "winslow has regained consciousness," announced miss kiametia, "and is sleeping naturally at last." "i am delighted to hear it." foster's tired face lighted with pleasure. "shall i tell kathleen?" "no, not just yet; good news will keep, and i think she is entitled to the happiness of being with the man she loves." "do you never crave for that happiness, kiametia?" and there was a wistful tenderness in his voice which made the spinster blink suspiciously. suddenly she slipped her hand in his. "suppose i say yes, for a change," she whispered, burying her head on his shoulder, and with a thankful heart foster held her close as he whispered tender, soothing words in her ear. neither kathleen nor miller cared to break the silence which prevailed after foster's departure. julie had slipped away at the same time. the pause became embarrassing, and in desperation miller broke it. "kathleen, can you ever forgive me?" standing tall and straight before her. "i acted what seems now a contemptible part--but i had to know whom you were protecting, whom you suspected of killing spencer--i thought--forgive me--your father guilty. until you said last night that you were shielding me, i had no idea of such a possibility; then i jumped to the conclusion that you had seen me in this house on tuesday night, and imagined you were the person creeping up to the attic. then, then--god help me!--came the idea that german gold had corrupted you, also. i put you to a severe test; but i wanted my doubts that you might be in german pay absolutely refuted. even when i threatened, you stood firm." he drew in his breath sharply. "you will never know how i admired you and hated myself." she answered with a question. "how did you know of my friendship with your cousin, karl?" "we have always been confidentially intimate. in a moment of remorse he wrote me about you, telling me of your elopement, and stating that he took you to a village removed from a railroad for the wedding, and there found the priest too ill in bed to perform the ceremony; he confessed that he got drunk, lost his head, and--and--suggested that you dispense with the marriage ceremony." kathleen crimsoned to the roots of her hair. "did he tell you that i indignantly refused, escaped from him, and started out to walk to the nearest railroad station. there i met john hargraves, told him of my elopement, then accompanied him to the hotel in the next town where his cousin was stopping and spent the night with her, returning next day under her escort to the school. she explained to the principal that i had been visiting her, and smoothed over what promised to be a scandal." "yes, karl wrote me of that also, but he did you the tardy justice of never mentioning your full name. when i met you at chevy chase i realized suddenly that you had mistaken me for him and--" miller hesitated for a brief second--"i followed the game. kathleen," his hitherto clear voice faltered, "i followed it to my own undoing. each time that you repulsed me, you inspired me--first, with admiration; then, all unbidden, came love--love, so faithful and unswerving that not even the toils of treachery and false witness which threatened to envelope you, could alter it." he hesitated again, his face white and strained. "tell me frankly, kathleen, did you accept me on tuesday only because you thought me karl?" "no." kathleen's face was rosy with color and her eyes shone with a new radiance. eagerly miller clasped her hands and, bending his head, kissed them. "whatever schoolgirl affection i cherished for karl was long since dead before i met you. to you alone i gave my heart." "my love, my love," he murmured softly. "may god aid me to atone to you for the sorrow of the past!" and looking up into his eyes, as his arms stole round her, kathleen read there that the glory of life was hers at last. the gilded age a tale of today by mark twain and charles dudley warner part . chapter x. only two or three days had elapsed since the funeral, when something happened which was to change the drift of laura's life somewhat, and influence in a greater or lesser degree the formation of her character. major lackland had once been a man of note in the state--a man of extraordinary natural ability and as extraordinary learning. he had been universally trusted and honored in his day, but had finally, fallen into misfortune; while serving his third term in congress, and while upon the point of being elevated to the senate--which was considered the summit of earthly aggrandizement in those days--he had yielded to temptation, when in distress for money wherewith to save his estate; and sold his vote. his crime was discovered, and his fall followed instantly. nothing could reinstate him in the confidence of the people, his ruin was irretrievable--his disgrace complete. all doors were closed against him, all men avoided him. after years of skulking retirement and dissipation, death had relieved him of his troubles at last, and his funeral followed close upon that of mr. hawkins. he died as he had latterly lived--wholly alone and friendless. he had no relatives--or if he had they did not acknowledge him. the coroner's jury found certain memoranda upon his body and about the premises which revealed a fact not suspected by the villagers before-viz., that laura was not the child of mr. and mrs. hawkins. the gossips were soon at work. they were but little hampered by the fact that the memoranda referred to betrayed nothing but the bare circumstance that laura's real parents were unknown, and stopped there. so far from being hampered by this, the gossips seemed to gain all the more freedom from it. they supplied all the missing information themselves, they filled up all the blanks. the town soon teemed with histories of laura's origin and secret history, no two versions precisely alike, but all elaborate, exhaustive, mysterious and interesting, and all agreeing in one vital particular-to-wit, that there was a suspicious cloud about her birth, not to say a disreputable one. laura began to encounter cold looks, averted eyes and peculiar nods and gestures which perplexed her beyond measure; but presently the pervading gossip found its way to her, and she understood them--then. her pride was stung. she was astonished, and at first incredulous. she was about to ask her mother if there was any truth in these reports, but upon second thought held her peace. she soon gathered that major lackland's memoranda seemed to refer to letters which had passed between himself and judge hawkins. she shaped her course without difficulty the day that that hint reached her. that night she sat in her room till all was still, and then she stole into the garret and began a search. she rummaged long among boxes of musty papers relating to business matters of no, interest to her, but at last she found several bundles of letters. one bundle was marked "private," and in that she found what she wanted. she selected six or eight letters from the package and began to devour their contents, heedless of the cold. by the dates, these letters were from five to seven years old. they were all from major lackland to mr. hawkins. the substance of them was, that some one in the east had been inquiring of major lackland about a lost child and its parents, and that it was conjectured that the child might be laura. evidently some of the letters were missing, for the name of the inquirer was not mentioned; there was a casual reference to "this handsome-featured aristocratic gentleman," as if the reader and the writer were accustomed to speak of him and knew who was meant. in one letter the major said he agreed with mr. hawkins that the inquirer seemed not altogether on the wrong track; but he also agreed that it would be best to keep quiet until more convincing developments were forthcoming. another letter said that "the poor soul broke completely down when be saw laura's picture, and declared it must be she." still another said: "he seems entirely alone in the world, and his heart is so wrapped up in this thing that i believe that if it proved a false hope, it would kill him; i have persuaded him to wait a little while and go west when i go." another letter had this paragraph in it: "he is better one day and worse the next, and is out of his mind a good deal of the time. lately his case has developed a something which is a wonder to the hired nurses, but which will not be much of a marvel to you if you have read medical philosophy much. it is this: his lost memory returns to him when he is delirious, and goes away again when he is himself-just as old canada joe used to talk the french patois of his boyhood in the delirium of typhus fever, though he could not do it when his mind was clear. now this poor gentleman's memory has always broken down before he reached the explosion of the steamer; he could only remember starting up the river with his wife and child, and he had an idea that there was a race, but he was not certain; he could not name the boat he was on; there was a dead blank of a month or more that supplied not an item to his recollection. it was not for me to assist him, of course. but now in his delirium it all comes out: the names of the boats, every incident of the explosion, and likewise the details of his astonishing escape--that is, up to where, just as a yawl-boat was approaching him (he was clinging to the starboard wheel of the burning wreck at the time), a falling timber struck him on the head. but i will write out his wonderful escape in full to-morrow or next day. of course the physicians will not let me tell him now that our laura is indeed his child--that must come later, when his health is thoroughly restored. his case is not considered dangerous at all; he will recover presently, the doctors say. but they insist that he must travel a little when he gets well--they recommend a short sea voyage, and they say he can be persuaded to try it if we continue to keep him in ignorance and promise to let him see l. as soon as he returns." the letter that bore the latest date of all, contained this clause: "it is the most unaccountable thing in the world; the mystery remains as impenetrable as ever; i have hunted high and low for him, and inquired of everybody, but in vain; all trace of him ends at that hotel in new york; i never have seen or heard of him since, up to this day; he could hardly have sailed, for his name does not appear upon the books of any shipping office in new york or boston or baltimore. how fortunate it seems, now, that we kept this thing to ourselves; laura still has a father in you, and it is better for her that we drop this subject here forever." that was all. random remarks here and there, being pieced together gave laura a vague impression of a man of fine presence, abort forty-three or forty-five years of age, with dark hair and eyes, and a slight limp in his walk--it was not stated which leg was defective. and this indistinct shadow represented her father. she made an exhaustive search for the missing letters, but found none. they had probably been burned; and she doubted not that the ones she had ferreted out would have shared the same fate if mr. hawkins had not been a dreamer, void of method, whose mind was perhaps in a state of conflagration over some bright new speculation when he received them. she sat long, with the letters in her lap, thinking--and unconsciously freezing. she felt like a lost person who has traveled down a long lane in good hope of escape, and, just as the night descends finds his progress barred by a bridge-less river whose further shore, if it has one, is lost in the darkness. if she could only have found these letters a month sooner! that was her thought. but now the dead had carried their secrets with them. a dreary, melancholy settled down upon her. an undefined sense of injury crept into her heart. she grew very miserable. she had just reached the romantic age--the age when there is a sad sweetness, a dismal comfort to a girl to find out that there is a mystery connected with her birth, which no other piece of good luck can afford. she had more than her rightful share of practical good sense, but still she was human; and to be human is to have one's little modicum of romance secreted away in one's composition. one never ceases to make a hero of one's self, (in private,) during life, but only alters the style of his heroism from time to time as the drifting years belittle certain gods of his admiration and raise up others in their stead that seem greater. the recent wearing days and nights of watching, and the wasting grief that had possessed her, combined with the profound depression that naturally came with the reaction of idleness, made laura peculiarly susceptible at this time to romantic impressions. she was a heroine, now, with a mysterious father somewhere. she could not really tell whether she wanted to find him and spoil it all or not; but still all the traditions of romance pointed to the making the attempt as the usual and necessary, course to follow; therefore she would some day begin the search when opportunity should offer. now a former thought struck her--she would speak to mrs. hawkins. and naturally enough mrs. hawkins appeared on the stage at that moment. she said she knew all--she knew that laura had discovered the secret that mr. hawkins, the elder children, col. sellers and herself had kept so long and so faithfully; and she cried and said that now that troubles had begun they would never end; her daughter's love would wean itself away from her and her heart would break. her grief so wrought upon laura that the girl almost forgot her own troubles for the moment in her compassion for her mother's distress. finally mrs. hawkins said: "speak to me, child--do not forsake me. forget all this miserable talk. say i am your mother!--i have loved you so long, and there is no other. i am your mother, in the sight of god, and nothing shall ever take you from me!" all barriers fell, before this appeal. laura put her arms about her mother's neck and said: "you are my mother, and always shall be. we will be as we have always been; and neither this foolish talk nor any other thing shall part us or make us less to each other than we are this hour." there was no longer any sense of separation or estrangement between them. indeed their love seemed more perfect now than it had ever been before. by and by they went down stairs and sat by the fire and talked long and earnestly about laura's history and the letters. but it transpired that mrs. hawkins had never known of this correspondence between her husband and major lackland. with his usual consideration for his wife, mr. hawkins had shielded her from the worry the matter would have caused her. laura went to bed at last with a mind that had gained largely in tranquility and had lost correspondingly in morbid romantic exaltation. she was pensive, the next day, and subdued; but that was not matter for remark, for she did not differ from the mournful friends about her in that respect. clay and washington were the same loving and admiring brothers now that they had always been. the great secret was new to some of the younger children, but their love suffered no change under the wonderful revelation. it is barely possible that things might have presently settled down into their old rut and the mystery have lost the bulk of its romantic sublimity in laura's eyes, if the village gossips could have quieted down. but they could not quiet down and they did not. day after day they called at the house, ostensibly upon visits of condolence, and they pumped away at the mother and the children without seeming to know that their questionings were in bad taste. they meant no harm they only wanted to know. villagers always want to know. the family fought shy of the questionings, and of course that was high testimony "if the duchess was respectably born, why didn't they come out and prove it?--why did they, stick to that poor thin story about picking her up out of a steamboat explosion?" under this ceaseless persecution, laura's morbid self-communing was renewed. at night the day's contribution of detraction, innuendo and malicious conjecture would be canvassed in her mind, and then she would drift into a course of thinking. as her thoughts ran on, the indignant tears would spring to her eyes, and she would spit out fierce little ejaculations at intervals. but finally she would grow calmer and say some comforting disdainful thing--something like this: "but who are they?--animals! what are their opinions to me? let them talk--i will not stoop to be affected by it. i could hate----. nonsense--nobody i care for or in any way respect is changed toward me, i fancy." she may have supposed she was thinking of many individuals, but it was not so--she was thinking of only one. and her heart warmed somewhat, too, the while. one day a friend overheard a conversation like this: --and naturally came and told her all about it: "ned, they say you don't go there any more. how is that?" "well, i don't; but i tell you it's not because i don't want to and it's not because i think it is any matter who her father was or who he wasn't, either; it's only on account of this talk, talk, talk. i think she is a fine girl every way, and so would you if you knew her as well as i do; but you know how it is when a girl once gets talked about--it's all up with her--the world won't ever let her alone, after that." the only comment laura made upon this revelation, was: "then it appears that if this trouble had not occurred i could have had the happiness of mr. ned thurston's serious attentions. he is well favored in person, and well liked, too, i believe, and comes of one of the first families of the village. he is prosperous, too, i hear; has been a doctor a year, now, and has had two patients--no, three, i think; yes, it was three. i attended their funerals. well, other people have hoped and been disappointed; i am not alone in that. i wish you could stay to dinner, maria--we are going to have sausages; and besides, i wanted to talk to you about hawkeye and make you promise to come and see us when we are settled there." but maria could not stay. she had come to mingle romantic tears with laura's over the lover's defection and had found herself dealing with a heart that could not rise to an appreciation of affliction because its interest was all centred in sausages. but as soon as maria was gone, laura stamped her expressive foot and said: "the coward! are all books lies? i thought he would fly to the front, and be brave and noble, and stand up for me against all the world, and defy my enemies, and wither these gossips with his scorn! poor crawling thing, let him go. i do begin to despise thin world!" she lapsed into thought. presently she said: "if the time ever comes, and i get a chance, oh, i'll----" she could not find a word that was strong enough, perhaps. by and by she said: "well, i am glad of it--i'm glad of it. i never cared anything for him anyway!" and then, with small consistency, she cried a little, and patted her foot more indignantly than ever. chapter xi two months had gone by and the hawkins family were domiciled in hawkeye. washington was at work in the real estate office again, and was alternately in paradise or the other place just as it happened that louise was gracious to him or seemingly indifferent--because indifference or preoccupation could mean nothing else than that she was thinking of some other young person. col. sellers had asked him several times, to dine with him, when he first returned to hawkeye, but washington, for no particular reason, had not accepted. no particular reason except one which he preferred to keep to himself--viz. that he could not bear to be away from louise. it occurred to him, now, that the colonel had not invited him lately--could he be offended? he resolved to go that very day, and give the colonel a pleasant surprise. it was a good idea; especially as louise had absented herself from breakfast that morning, and torn his heart; he would tear hers, now, and let her see how it felt. the sellers family were just starting to dinner when washington burst upon them with his surprise. for an instant the colonel looked nonplussed, and just a bit uncomfortable; and mrs. sellers looked actually distressed; but the next moment the head of the house was himself again, and exclaimed: "all right, my boy, all right--always glad to see you--always glad to hear your voice and take you by the hand. don't wait for special invitations--that's all nonsense among friends. just come whenever you can, and come as often as you can--the oftener the better. you can't please us any better than that, washington; the little woman will tell you so herself. we don't pretend to style. plain folks, you know--plain folks. just a plain family dinner, but such as it is, our friends are always welcome, i reckon you know that yourself, washington. run along, children, run along; lafayette,--[**in those old days the average man called his children after his most revered literary and historical idols; consequently there was hardly a family, at least in the west, but had a washington in it--and also a lafayette, a franklin, and six or eight sounding names from byron, scott, and the bible, if the offspring held out. to visit such a family, was to find one's self confronted by a congress made up of representatives of the imperial myths and the majestic dead of all the ages. there was something thrilling about it, to a stranger, not to say awe inspiring.]--stand off the cat's tail, child, can't you see what you're doing?--come, come, come, roderick dhu, it isn't nice for little boys to hang onto young gentlemen's coat tails --but never mind him, washington, he's full of spirits and don't mean any harm. children will be children, you know. take the chair next to mrs. sellers, washington--tut, tut, marie antoinette, let your brother have the fork if he wants it, you are bigger than he is." washington contemplated the banquet, and wondered if he were in his right mind. was this the plain family dinner? and was it all present? it was soon apparent that this was indeed the dinner: it was all on the table: it consisted of abundance of clear, fresh water, and a basin of raw turnips--nothing more. washington stole a glance at mrs. sellers's face, and would have given the world, the next moment, if he could have spared her that. the poor woman's face was crimson, and the tears stood in her eyes. washington did not know what to do. he wished he had never come there and spied out this cruel poverty and brought pain to that poor little lady's heart and shame to her cheek; but he was there, and there was no escape. col. sellers hitched back his coat sleeves airily from his wrists as who should say "now for solid enjoyment!" seized a fork, flourished it and began to harpoon turnips and deposit them in the plates before him "let me help you, washington--lafayette pass this plate washington--ah, well, well, my boy, things are looking pretty bright, now, i tell you. speculation--my! the whole atmosphere's full of money. i would'nt take three fortunes for one little operation i've got on hand now--have anything from the casters? no? well, you're right, you're right. some people like mustard with turnips, but--now there was baron poniatowski --lord, but that man did know how to live!--true russian you know, russian to the back bone; i say to my wife, give me a russian every time, for a table comrade. the baron used to say, 'take mustard, sellers, try the mustard,--a man can't know what turnips are in perfection without, mustard,' but i always said, 'no, baron, i'm a plain man and i want my food plain--none of your embellishments for beriah sellers--no made dishes for me! and it's the best way--high living kills more than it cures in this world, you can rest assured of that.--yes indeed, washington, i've got one little operation on hand that--take some more water--help yourself, won't you?--help yourself, there's plenty of it. --you'll find it pretty good, i guess. how does that fruit strike you?" washington said he did not know that he had ever tasted better. he did not add that he detested turnips even when they were cooked loathed them in their natural state. no, he kept this to himself, and praised the turnips to the peril of his soul. "i thought you'd like them. examine them--examine them--they'll bear it. see how perfectly firm and juicy they are--they can't start any like them in this part of the country, i can tell you. these are from new jersey --i imported them myself. they cost like sin, too; but lord bless me, i go in for having the best of a thing, even if it does cost a little more--it's the best economy, in the long run. these are the early malcolm--it's a turnip that can't be produced except in just one orchard, and the supply never is up to the demand. take some more water, washington--you can't drink too much water with fruit--all the doctors say that. the plague can't come where this article is, my boy!" "plague? what plague?" "what plague, indeed? why the asiatic plague that nearly depopulated london a couple of centuries ago." "but how does that concern us? there is no plague here, i reckon." "sh! i've let it out! well, never mind--just keep it to yourself. perhaps i oughtn't said anything, but its bound to come out sooner or later, so what is the odds? old mcdowells wouldn't like me to--to --bother it all, i'll jest tell the whole thing and let it go. you see, i've been down to st. louis, and i happened to run across old dr. mcdowells--thinks the world of me, does the doctor. he's a man that keeps himself to himself, and well he may, for he knows that he's got a reputation that covers the whole earth--he won't condescend to open himself out to many people, but lord bless you, he and i are just like brothers; he won't let me go to a hotel when i'm in the city--says i'm the only man that's company to him, and i don't know but there's some truth in it, too, because although i never like to glorify myself and make a great to-do over what i am or what i can do or what i know, i don't mind saying here among friends that i am better read up in most sciences, maybe, than the general run of professional men in these days. well, the other day he let me into a little secret, strictly on the quiet, about this matter of the plague. "you see it's booming right along in our direction--follows the gulf stream, you know, just as all those epidemics do, and within three months it will be just waltzing through this land like a whirlwind! and whoever it touches can make his will and contract for the funeral. well you can't cure it, you know, but you can prevent it. how? turnips! that's it! turnips and water! nothing like it in the world, old mcdowells says, just fill yourself up two or three times a day, and you can snap your fingers at the plague. sh!--keep mum, but just you confine yourself to that diet and you're all right. i wouldn't have old mcdowells know that i told about it for anything--he never would speak to me again. take some more water, washington--the more water you drink, the better. here, let me give you some more of the turnips. no, no, no, now, i insist. there, now. absorb those. they're, mighty sustaining--brim full of nutriment--all the medical books say so. just eat from four to seven good-sized turnips at a meal, and drink from a pint and a half to a quart of water, and then just sit around a couple of hours and let them ferment. you'll feel like a fighting cock next day." fifteen or twenty minutes later the colonel's tongue was still chattering away--he had piled up several future fortunes out of several incipient "operations" which he had blundered into within the past week, and was now soaring along through some brilliant expectations born of late promising experiments upon the lacking ingredient of the eye-water. and at such a time washington ought to have been a rapt and enthusiastic listener, but he was not, for two matters disturbed his mind and distracted his attention. one was, that he discovered, to his confusion and shame, that in allowing himself to be helped a second time to the turnips, he had robbed those hungry children. he had not needed the dreadful "fruit," and had not wanted it; and when he saw the pathetic sorrow in their faces when they asked for more and there was no more to give them, he hated himself for his stupidity and pitied the famishing young things with all his heart. the other matter that disturbed him was the dire inflation that had begun in his stomach. it grew and grew, it became more and more insupportable. evidently the turnips were "fermenting." he forced himself to sit still as long as he could, but his anguish conquered him at last. he rose in the midst of the colonel's talk and excused himself on the plea of a previous engagement. the colonel followed him to the door, promising over and over again that he would use his influence to get some of the early malcolms for him, and insisting that he should not be such a stranger but come and take pot-luck with him every chance he got. washington was glad enough to get away and feel free again. he immediately bent his steps toward home. in bed he passed an hour that threatened to turn his hair gray, and then a blessed calm settled down upon him that filled his heart with gratitude. weak and languid, he made shift to turn himself about and seek rest and sleep; and as his soul hovered upon the brink of unconciousness, he heaved a long, deep sigh, and said to himself that in his heart he had cursed the colonel's preventive of rheumatism, before, and now let the plague come if it must--he was done with preventives; if ever any man beguiled him with turnips and water again, let him die the death. if he dreamed at all that night, no gossiping spirit disturbed his visions to whisper in his ear of certain matters just then in bud in the east, more than a thousand miles away that after the lapse of a few years would develop influences which would profoundly affect the fate and fortunes of the hawkins family. chapter xii "oh, it's easy enough to make a fortune," henry said. "it seems to be easier than it is, i begin to think," replied philip. "well, why don't you go into something? you'll never dig it out of the astor library." if there be any place and time in the world where and when it seems easy to "go into something" it is in broadway on a spring morning, when one is walking city-ward, and has before him the long lines of palace-shops with an occasional spire seen through the soft haze that lies over the lower town, and hears the roar and hum of its multitudinous traffic. to the young american, here or elsewhere, the paths to fortune are innumerable and all open; there is invitation in the air and success in all his wide horizon. he is embarrassed which to choose, and is not unlikely to waste years in dallying with his chances, before giving himself to the serious tug and strain of a single object. he has no traditions to bind him or guide him, and his impulse is to break away from the occupation his father has followed, and make a new way for himself. philip sterling used to say that if he should seriously set himself for ten years to any one of the dozen projects that were in his brain, he felt that he could be a rich man. he wanted to be rich, he had a sincere desire for a fortune, but for some unaccountable reason he hesitated about addressing himself to the narrow work of getting it. he never walked broadway, a part of its tide of abundant shifting life, without feeling something of the flush of wealth, and unconsciously taking the elastic step of one well-to-do in this prosperous world. especially at night in the crowded theatre--philip was too young to remember the old chambers' street box, where the serious burton led his hilarious and pagan crew--in the intervals of the screaming comedy, when the orchestra scraped and grunted and tooted its dissolute tunes, the world seemed full of opportunities to philip, and his heart exulted with a conscious ability to take any of its prizes he chose to pluck. perhaps it was the swimming ease of the acting, on the stage, where virtue had its reward in three easy acts, perhaps it was the excessive light of the house, or the music, or the buzz of the excited talk between acts, perhaps it was youth which believed everything, but for some reason while philip was at the theatre he had the utmost confidence in life and his ready victory in it. delightful illusion of paint and tinsel and silk attire, of cheap sentiment and high and mighty dialogue! will there not always be rosin enough for the squeaking fiddle-bow? do we not all like the maudlin hero, who is sneaking round the right entrance, in wait to steal the pretty wife of his rich and tyrannical neighbor from the paste-board cottage at the left entrance? and when he advances down to the foot-lights and defiantly informs the audience that, "he who lays his hand on a woman except in the way of kindness," do we not all applaud so as to drown the rest of the sentence? philip never was fortunate enough to hear what would become of a man who should lay his hand on a woman with the exception named; but he learned afterwards that the woman who lays her hand on a man, without any exception whatsoever, is always acquitted by the jury. the fact was, though philip sterling did not know it, that he wanted several other things quite as much as he wanted wealth. the modest fellow would have liked fame thrust upon him for some worthy achievement; it might be for a book, or for the skillful management of some great newspaper, or for some daring expedition like that of lt. strain or dr. kane. he was unable to decide exactly what it should be. sometimes he thought he would like to stand in a conspicuous pulpit and humbly preach the gospel of repentance; and it even crossed his mind that it would be noble to give himself to a missionary life to some benighted region, where the date-palm grows, and the nightingale's voice is in tune, and the bul-bul sings on the off nights. if he were good enough he would attach himself to that company of young men in the theological seminary, who were seeing new york life in preparation for the ministry. philip was a new england boy and had graduated at yale; he had not carried off with him all the learning of that venerable institution, but he knew some things that were not in the regular course of study. a very good use of the english language and considerable knowledge of its literature was one of them; he could sing a song very well, not in time to be sure, but with enthusiasm; he could make a magnetic speech at a moment's notice in the class room, the debating society, or upon any fence or dry-goods box that was convenient; he could lift himself by one arm, and do the giant swing in the gymnasium; he could strike out from his left shoulder; he could handle an oar like a professional and pull stroke in a winning race. philip had a good appetite, a sunny temper, and a clear hearty laugh. he had brown hair, hazel eyes set wide apart, a broad but not high forehead, and a fresh winning face. he was six feet high, with broad shoulders, long legs and a swinging gait; one of those loose-jointed, capable fellows, who saunter into the world with a free air and usually make a stir in whatever company they enter. after he left college philip took the advice of friends and read law. law seemed to him well enough as a science, but he never could discover a practical case where it appeared to him worth while to go to law, and all the clients who stopped with this new clerk in the ante-room of the law office where he was writing, philip invariably advised to settle--no matter how, but settle--greatly to the disgust of his employer, who knew that justice between man and man could only be attained by the recognized processes, with the attendant fees. besides philip hated the copying of pleadings, and he was certain that a life of "whereases" and "aforesaids" and whipping the devil round the stump, would be intolerable. [note: these few paragraphs are nearly an autobiography of the life of charles dudley warner whose contributions to the story start here with chapter xii. d.w.] his pen therefore, and whereas, and not as aforesaid, strayed off into other scribbling. in an unfortunate hour, he had two or three papers accepted by first-class magazines, at three dollars the printed page, and, behold, his vocation was open to him. he would make his mark in literature. life has no moment so sweet as that in which a young man believes himself called into the immortal ranks of the masters of literature. it is such a noble ambition, that it is a pity it has usually such a shallow foundation. at the time of this history, philip had gone to new york for a career. with his talent he thought he should have little difficulty in getting an editorial position upon a metropolitan newspaper; not that he knew anything about news paper work, or had the least idea of journalism; he knew he was not fitted for the technicalities of the subordinate departments, but he could write leaders with perfect ease, he was sure. the drudgery of the newspaper office was too distaste ful, and besides it would be beneath the dignity of a graduate and a successful magazine writer. he wanted to begin at the top of the ladder. to his surprise he found that every situation in the editorial department of the journals was full, always had been full, was always likely to be full. it seemed to him that the newspaper managers didn't want genius, but mere plodding and grubbing. philip therefore read diligently in the astor library, planned literary works that should compel attention, and nursed his genius. he had no friend wise enough to tell him to step into the dorking convention, then in session, make a sketch of the men and women on the platform, and take it to the editor of the daily grapevine, and see what he could get a line for it. one day he had an offer from some country friends, who believed in him, to take charge of a provincial daily newspaper, and he went to consult mr. gringo--gringo who years ago managed the atlas--about taking the situation. "take it of course," says gringo, take anything that offers, why not?" "but they want me to make it an opposition paper." "well, make it that. that party is going to succeed, it's going to elect the next president." "i don't believe it," said philip, stoutly, "its wrong in principle, and it ought not to succeed, but i don't see how i can go for a thing i don't believe in." "o, very well," said gringo, turning away with a shade of contempt, "you'll find if you are going into literature and newspaper work that you can't afford a conscience like that." but philip did afford it, and he wrote, thanking his friends, and declining because he said the political scheme would fail, and ought to fail. and he went back to his books and to his waiting for an opening large enough for his dignified entrance into the literary world. it was in this time of rather impatient waiting that philip was one morning walking down broadway with henry brierly. he frequently accompanied henry part way down town to what the latter called his office in broad street, to which he went, or pretended to go, with regularity every day. it was evident to the most casual acquaintance that he was a man of affairs, and that his time was engrossed in the largest sort of operations, about which there was a mysterious air. his liability to be suddenly summoned to washington, or boston or montreal or even to liverpool was always imminent. he never was so summoned, but none of his acquaintances would have been surprised to hear any day that he had gone to panama or peoria, or to hear from him that he had bought the bank of commerce. the two were intimate at that time,--they had been class, mates--and saw a great deal of each other. indeed, they lived together in ninth street, in a boarding-house, there, which had the honor of lodging and partially feeding several other young fellows of like kidney, who have since gone their several ways into fame or into obscurity. it was during the morning walk to which reference has been made that henry brierly suddenly said, "philip, how would you like to go to st. jo?" "i think i should like it of all things," replied philip, with some hesitation, "but what for." "oh, it's a big operation. we are going, a lot of us, railroad men, engineers, contractors. you know my uncle is a great railroad man. i've no doubt i can get you a chance to go if you'll go." "but in what capacity would i go?" "well, i'm going as an engineer. you can go as one." "i don't know an engine from a coal cart." "field engineer, civil engineer. you can begin by carrying a rod, and putting down the figures. it's easy enough. i'll show you about that. we'll get trautwine and some of those books." "yes, but what is it for, what is it all about?" "why don't you see? we lay out a line, spot the good land, enter it up, know where the stations are to be, spot them, buy lots; there's heaps of money in it. we wouldn't engineer long." "when do you go?" was philip's next question, after some moments of silence. "to-morrow. is that too soon?" "no, its not too soon. i've been ready to go anywhere for six months. the fact is, henry, that i'm about tired of trying to force myself into things, and am quite willing to try floating with the stream for a while, and see where i will land. this seems like a providential call; it's sudden enough." the two young men who were by this time full of the adventure, went down to the wall street office of henry's uncle and had a talk with that wily operator. the uncle knew philip very well, and was pleased with his frank enthusiasm, and willing enough to give him a trial in the western venture. it was settled therefore, in the prompt way in which things are settled in new york, that they would start with the rest of the company next morning for the west. on the way up town these adventurers bought books on engineering, and suits of india-rubber, which they supposed they would need in a new and probably damp country, and many other things which nobody ever needed anywhere. the night was spent in packing up and writing letters, for philip would not take such an important step without informing his friends. if they disapprove, thought he, i've done my duty by letting them know. happy youth, that is ready to pack its valise, and start for cathay on an hour's notice. "by the way," calls out philip from his bed-room, to henry, "where is st. jo.?" "why, it's in missouri somewhere, on the frontier i think. we'll get a map." "never mind the map. we will find the place itself. i was afraid it was nearer home." philip wrote a long letter, first of all, to his mother, full of love and glowing anticipations of his new opening. he wouldn't bother her with business details, but he hoped that the day was not far off when she would see him return, with a moderate fortune, and something to add to the comfort of her advancing years. to his uncle he said that he had made an arrangement with some new york capitalists to go to missouri, in a land and railroad operation, which would at least give him a knowledge of the world and not unlikely offer him a business opening. he knew his uncle would be glad to hear that he had at last turned his thoughts to a practical matter. it was to ruth bolton that philip wrote last. he might never see her again; he went to seek his fortune. he well knew the perils of the frontier, the savage state of society, the lurking indians and the dangers of fever. but there was no real danger to a person who took care of himself. might he write to her often and, tell her of his life. if he returned with a fortune, perhaps and perhaps. if he was unsuccessful, or if he never returned--perhaps it would be as well. no time or distance, however, would ever lessen his interest in her. he would say good-night, but not good-bye. in the soft beginning of a spring morning, long before new york had breakfasted, while yet the air of expectation hung about the wharves of the metropolis, our young adventurers made their way to the jersey city railway station of the erie road, to begin the long, swinging, crooked journey, over what a writer of a former day called a causeway of cracked rails and cows, to the west. chapter xiii. what ever to say be toke in his entente, his langage was so fayer & pertynante, yt semeth unto manys herying not only the worde, but veryly the thyng. caxton's book of curtesye. in the party of which our travelers found themselves members, was duff brown, the great railroad contractor, and subsequently a well-known member of congress; a bluff, jovial bost'n man, thick-set, close shaven, with a heavy jaw and a low forehead--a very pleasant man if you were not in his way. he had government contracts also, custom houses and dry docks, from portland to new orleans, and managed to get out of congress, in appropriations, about weight for weight of gold for the stone furnished. associated with him, and also of this party, was rodney schaick, a sleek new york broker, a man as prominent in the church as in the stock exchange, dainty in his dress, smooth of speech, the necessary complement of duff brown in any enterprise that needed assurance and adroitness. it would be difficult to find a pleasanter traveling party one that shook off more readily the artificial restraints of puritanic strictness, and took the world with good-natured allowance. money was plenty for every attainable luxury, and there seemed to be no doubt that its supply would continue, and that fortunes were about to be made without a great deal of toil. even philip soon caught the prevailing spirit; barry did not need any inoculation, he always talked in six figures. it was as natural for the dear boy to be rich as it is for most people to be poor. the elders of the party were not long in discovering the fact, which almost all travelers to the west soon find out; that the water was poor. it must have been by a lucky premonition of this that they all had brandy flasks with which to qualify the water of the country; and it was no doubt from an uneasy feeling of the danger of being poisoned that they kept experimenting, mixing a little of the dangerous and changing fluid, as they passed along, with the contents of the flasks, thus saving their lives hour by hour. philip learned afterwards that temperance and the strict observance of sunday and a certain gravity of deportment are geographical habits, which people do not usually carry with them away from home. our travelers stopped in chicago long enough to see that they could make their fortunes there in two week's tine, but it did not seem worth while; the west was more attractive; the further one went the wider the opportunities opened. they took railroad to alton and the steamboat from there to st. louis, for the change and to have a glimpse of the river. "isn't this jolly?" cried henry, dancing out of the barber's room, and coming down the deck with a one, two, three step, shaven, curled and perfumed after his usual exquisite fashion. "what's jolly?" asked philip, looking out upon the dreary and monotonous waste through which the shaking steamboat was coughing its way. "why, the whole thing; it's immense i can tell you. i wouldn't give that to be guaranteed a hundred thousand cold cash in a year's time." "where's mr. brown?" "he is in the saloon, playing poker with schaick and that long haired party with the striped trousers, who scrambled aboard when the stage plank was half hauled in, and the big delegate to congress from out west." "that's a fine looking fellow, that delegate, with his glossy, black whiskers; looks like a washington man; i shouldn't think he'd be at poker." "oh, its only five cent ante, just to make it interesting, the delegate said." "but i shouldn't think a representative in congress would play poker any way in a public steamboat." "nonsense, you've got to pass the time. i tried a hand myself, but those old fellows are too many for me. the delegate knows all the points. i'd bet a hundred dollars he will ante his way right into the united states senate when his territory comes in. he's got the cheek for it." "he has the grave and thoughtful manner of expectoration of a public man, for one thing," added philip. "harry," said philip, after a pause, "what have you got on those big boots for; do you expect to wade ashore?" "i'm breaking 'em in." the fact was harry had got himself up in what he thought a proper costume for a new country, and was in appearance a sort of compromise between a dandy of broadway and a backwoodsman. harry, with blue eyes, fresh complexion, silken whiskers and curly chestnut hair, was as handsome as a fashion plate. he wore this morning a soft hat, a short cutaway coat, an open vest displaying immaculate linen, a leathern belt round his waist, and top-boots of soft leather, well polished, that came above his knees and required a string attached to his belt to keep them up. the light hearted fellow gloried in these shining encasements of his well shaped legs, and told philip that they were a perfect protection against prairie rattle-snakes, which never strike above the knee. the landscape still wore an almost wintry appearance when our travelers left chicago. it was a genial spring day when they landed at st. louis; the birds were singing, the blossoms of peach trees in city garden plots, made the air sweet, and in the roar and tumult on the long river levee they found an excitement that accorded with their own hopeful anticipations. the party went to the southern hotel, where the great duff brown was very well known, and indeed was a man of so much importance that even the office clerk was respectful to him. he might have respected in him also a certain vulgar swagger and insolence of money, which the clerk greatly admired. the young fellows liked the house and liked the city; it seemed to them a mighty free and hospitable town. coming from the east they were struck with many peculiarities. everybody smoked in the streets, for one thing, they noticed; everybody "took a drink" in an open manner whenever he wished to do so or was asked, as if the habit needed no concealment or apology. in the evening when they walked about they found people sitting on the door-steps of their dwellings, in a manner not usual in a northern city; in front of some of the hotels and saloons the side walks were filled with chairs and benches--paris fashion, said harry--upon which people lounged in these warm spring evenings, smoking, always smoking; and the clink of glasses and of billiard balls was in the air. it was delightful. harry at once found on landing that his back-woods custom would not be needed in st. louis, and that, in fact, he had need of all the resources of his wardrobe to keep even with the young swells of the town. but this did not much matter, for harry was always superior to his clothes. as they were likely to be detained some time in the city, harry told philip that he was going to improve his time. and he did. it was an encouragement to any industrious man to see this young fellow rise, carefully dress himself, eat his breakfast deliberately, smoke his cigar tranquilly, and then repair to his room, to what he called his work, with a grave and occupied manner, but with perfect cheerfulness. harry would take off his coat, remove his cravat, roll up his shirt-sleeves, give his curly hair the right touch before the glass, get out his book on engineering, his boxes of instruments, his drawing paper, his profile paper, open the book of logarithms, mix his india ink, sharpen his pencils, light a cigar, and sit down at the table to "lay out a line," with the most grave notion that he was mastering the details of engineering. he would spend half a day in these preparations without ever working out a problem or having the faintest conception of the use of lines or logarithms. and when he had finished, he had the most cheerful confidence that he had done a good day's work. it made no difference, however, whether harry was in his room in a hotel or in a tent, philip soon found, he was just the same. in camp he would get himself, up in the most elaborate toilet at his command, polish his long boots to the top, lay out his work before him, and spend an hour or longer, if anybody was looking at him, humming airs, knitting his brows, and "working" at engineering; and if a crowd of gaping rustics were looking on all the while it was perfectly satisfactory to him. "you see," he says to philip one morning at the hotel when he was thus engaged, "i want to get the theory of this thing, so that i can have a check on the engineers." "i thought you were going to be an engineer yourself," queried philip. "not many times, if the court knows herself. there's better game. brown and schaick have, or will have, the control for the whole line of the salt lick pacific extension, forty thousand dollars a mile over the prairie, with extra for hard-pan--and it'll be pretty much all hardpan i can tell you; besides every alternate section of land on this line. there's millions in the job. i'm to have the sub-contract for the first fifty miles, and you can bet it's a soft thing." "i'll tell you what you do, philip," continued larry, in a burst of generosity, "if i don't get you into my contract, you'll be with the engineers, and you jest stick a stake at the first ground marked for a depot, buy the land of the farmer before he knows where the depot will be, and we'll turn a hundred or so on that. i'll advance the money for the payments, and you can sell the lots. schaick is going to let me have ten thousand just for a flyer in such operations." "but that's a good deal of money." "wait till you are used to handling money. i didn't come out here for a bagatelle. my uncle wanted me to stay east and go in on the mobile custom house, work up the washington end of it; he said there was a fortune in it for a smart young fellow, but i preferred to take the chances out here. did i tell you i had an offer from bobbett and fanshaw to go into their office as confidential clerk on a salary of ten thousand?" "why didn't you take it ?" asked philip, to whom a salary of two thousand would have seemed wealth, before he started on this journey. "take it? i'd rather operate on my own hook;" said harry, in his most airy manner. a few evenings after their arrival at the southern, philip and harry made the acquaintance of a very agreeable gentleman, whom they had frequently seen before about the hotel corridors, and passed a casual word with. he had the air of a man of business, and was evidently a person of importance. the precipitating of this casual intercourse into the more substantial form of an acquaintanceship was the work of the gentleman himself, and occurred in this wise. meeting the two friends in the lobby one evening, he asked them to give him the time, and added: "excuse me, gentlemen--strangers in st. louis? ah, yes-yes. from the east, perhaps? ah; just so, just so. eastern born myself--virginia. sellers is my name--beriah sellers. "ah! by the way--new york, did you say? that reminds me; just met some gentlemen from your state, a week or two ago--very prominent gentlemen --in public life they are; you must know them, without doubt. let me see --let me see. curious those names have escaped me. i know they were from your state, because i remember afterward my old friend governor shackleby said to me--fine man, is the governor--one of the finest men our country has produced--said he, 'colonel, how did you like those new york gentlemen?--not many such men in the world,--colonel sellers,' said the governor--yes, it was new york he said--i remember it distinctly. i can't recall those names, somehow. but no matter. stopping here, gentlemen--stopping at the southern?" in shaping their reply in their minds, the title "mr." had a place in it; but when their turn had arrived to speak, the title "colonel" came from their lips instead. they said yes, they were abiding at the southern, and thought it a very good house. "yes, yes, the southern is fair. i myself go to the planter's, old, aristocratic house. we southern gentlemen don't change our ways, you know. i always make it my home there when i run down from hawkeye--my plantation is in hawkeye, a little up in the country. you should know the planter's." philip and harry both said they should like to see a hotel that had been so famous in its day--a cheerful hostelrie, philip said it must have been where duels were fought there across the dining-room table. "you may believe it, sir, an uncommonly pleasant lodging. shall we walk?" and the three strolled along the streets, the colonel talking all the way in the most liberal and friendly manner, and with a frank open-heartedness that inspired confidence. "yes, born east myself, raised all along, know the west--a great country, gentlemen. the place for a young fellow of spirit to pick up a fortune, simply pick it up, it's lying round loose here. not a day that i don't put aside an opportunity; too busy to look into it. management of my own property takes my time. first visit? looking for an opening?" "yes, looking around," replied harry. "ah, here we are. you'd rather sit here in front than go to my apartments? so had i. an opening eh?" the colonel's eyes twinkled. "ah, just so. the country is opening up, all we want is capital to develop it. slap down the rails and bring the land into market. the richest land on god almighty's footstool is lying right out there. if i had my capital free i could plant it for millions." "i suppose your capital is largely in your plantation?" asked philip. "well, partly, sir, partly. i'm down here now with reference to a little operation--a little side thing merely. by the way gentlemen, excuse the liberty, but it's about my usual time"-- the colonel paused, but as no movement of his acquaintances followed this plain remark, he added, in an explanatory manner, "i'm rather particular about the exact time--have to be in this climate." even this open declaration of his hospitable intention not being understood the colonel politely said, "gentlemen, will you take something?" col. sellers led the way to a saloon on fourth street under the hotel, and the young gentlemen fell into the custom of the country. "not that," said the colonel to the bar-keeper, who shoved along the counter a bottle of apparently corn-whiskey, as if he had done it before on the same order; "not that," with a wave of the hand. "that otard if you please. yes. never take an inferior liquor, gentlemen, not in the evening, in this climate. there. that's the stuff. my respects!" the hospitable gentleman, having disposed of his liquor, remarking that it was not quite the thing--"when a man has his own cellar to go to, he is apt to get a little fastidious about his liquors"--called for cigars. but the brand offered did not suit him; he motioned the box away, and asked for some particular havana's, those in separate wrappers. "i always smoke this sort, gentlemen; they are a little more expensive, but you'll learn, in this climate, that you'd better not economize on poor cigars" having imparted this valuable piece of information, the colonel lighted the fragrant cigar with satisfaction, and then carelessly put his fingers into his right vest pocket. that movement being without result, with a shade of disappointment on his face, he felt in his left vest pocket. not finding anything there, he looked up with a serious and annoyed air, anxiously slapped his right pantaloon's pocket, and then his left, and exclaimed, "by george, that's annoying. by george, that's mortifying. never had anything of that kind happen to me before. i've left my pocket-book. hold! here's a bill, after all. no, thunder, it's a receipt." "allow me," said philip, seeing how seriously the colonel was annoyed, and taking out his purse. the colonel protested he couldn't think of it, and muttered something to the barkeeper about "hanging it up," but the vender of exhilaration made no sign, and philip had the privilege of paying the costly shot; col. sellers profusely apologizing and claiming the right "next time, next time." as soon as beriah sellers had bade his friends good night and seen them depart, he did not retire apartments in the planter's, but took his way to his lodgings with a friend in a distant part of the city. chapter xiv. the letter that philip sterling wrote to ruth bolton, on the evening of setting out to seek his fortune in the west, found that young lady in her own father's house in philadelphia. it was one of the pleasantest of the many charming suburban houses in that hospitable city, which is territorially one of the largest cities in the world, and only prevented from becoming the convenient metropolis of the country by the intrusive strip of camden and amboy sand which shuts it off from the atlantic ocean. it is a city of steady thrift, the arms of which might well be the deliberate but delicious terrapin that imparts such a royal flavor to its feasts. it was a spring morning, and perhaps it was the influence of it that made ruth a little restless, satisfied neither with the out-doors nor the in-doors. her sisters had gone to the city to show some country visitors independence hall, girard college and fairmount water works and park, four objects which americans cannot die peacefully, even in naples, without having seen. but ruth confessed that she was tired of them, and also of the mint. she was tired of other things. she tried this morning an air or two upon the piano, sang a simple song in a sweet but slightly metallic voice, and then seating herself by the open window, read philip's letter. was she thinking about philip, as she gazed across the fresh lawn over the tree tops to the chelton hills, or of that world which his entrance, into her tradition-bound life had been one of the means of opening to her? whatever she thought, she was not idly musing, as one might see by the expression of her face. after a time she took up a book; it was a medical work, and to all appearance about as interesting to a girl of eighteen as the statutes at large; but her face was soon aglow over its pages, and she was so absorbed in it that she did not notice the entrance of her mother at the open door. "ruth?" "well, mother," said the young student, looking up, with a shade of impatience. "i wanted to talk with thee a little about thy plans." "mother; thee knows i couldn't stand it at westfield; the school stifled me, it's a place to turn young people into dried fruit." "i know," said margaret bolton, with a half anxious smile, thee chafes against all the ways of friends, but what will thee do? why is thee so discontented?" "if i must say it, mother, i want to go away, and get out of this dead level." with a look half of pain and half of pity, her mother answered, "i am sure thee is little interfered with; thee dresses as thee will, and goes where thee pleases, to any church thee likes, and thee has music. i had a visit yesterday from the society's committee by way of discipline, because we have a piano in the house, which is against the rules." "i hope thee told the elders that father and i are responsible for the piano, and that, much as thee loves music, thee is never in the room when it is played. fortunately father is already out of meeting, so they can't discipline him. i heard father tell cousin abner that he was whipped so often for whistling when he was a boy that he was determined to have what compensation he could get now." "thy ways greatly try me, ruth, and all thy relations. i desire thy happiness first of all, but thee is starting out on a dangerous path. is thy father willing thee should go away to a school of the world's people?" "i have not asked him," ruth replied with a look that might imply that she was one of those determined little bodies who first made up her own mind and then compelled others to make up theirs in accordance with hers. "and when thee has got the education thee wants, and lost all relish for the society of thy friends and the ways of thy ancestors, what then?" ruth turned square round to her mother, and with an impassive face and not the slightest change of tone, said, "mother, i'm going to study medicine?" margaret bolton almost lost for a moment her habitual placidity. "thee, study medicine! a slight frail girl like thee, study medicine! does thee think thee could stand it six months? and the lectures, and the dissecting rooms, has thee thought of the dissecting rooms?" "mother," said ruth calmly, "i have thought it all over. i know i can go through the whole, clinics, dissecting room and all. does thee think i lack nerve? what is there to fear in a person dead more than in a person living?" "but thy health and strength, child; thee can never stand the severe application. and, besides, suppose thee does learn medicine?" "i will practice it." "here?" "here." "where thee and thy family are known?" "if i can get patients." "i hope at least, ruth, thee will let us know when thee opens an office," said her mother, with an approach to sarcasm that she rarely indulged in, as she rose and left the room. ruth sat quite still for a tine, with face intent and flushed. it was out now. she had begun her open battle. the sight-seers returned in high spirits from the city. was there any building in greece to compare with girard college, was there ever such a magnificent pile of stone devised for the shelter of poor orphans? think of the stone shingles of the roof eight inches thick! ruth asked the enthusiasts if they would like to live in such a sounding mausoleum, with its great halls and echoing rooms, and no comfortable place in it for the accommodation of any body? if they were orphans, would they like to be brought up in a grecian temple? and then there was broad street! wasn't it the broadest and the longest street in the world? there certainly was no end to it, and even ruth was philadelphian enough to believe that a street ought not to have any end, or architectural point upon which the weary eye could rest. but neither st. girard, nor broad street, neither wonders of the mint nor the glories of the hall where the ghosts of our fathers sit always signing the declaration; impressed the visitors so much as the splendors of the chestnut street windows, and the bargains on eighth street. the truth is that the country cousins had come to town to attend the yearly meeting, and the amount of shopping that preceded that religious event was scarcely exceeded by the preparations for the opera in more worldly circles. "is thee going to the yearly meeting, ruth?" asked one of the girls. "i have nothing to wear," replied that demure person. "if thee wants to see new bonnets, orthodox to a shade and conformed to the letter of the true form, thee must go to the arch street meeting. any departure from either color or shape would be instantly taken note of. it has occupied mother a long time, to find at the shops the exact shade for her new bonnet. oh, thee must go by all means. but thee won't see there a sweeter woman than mother." "and thee won't go?" "why should i? i've been again and again. if i go to meeting at all i like best to sit in the quiet old house in germantown, where the windows are all open and i can see the trees, and hear the stir of the leaves. it's such a crush at the yearly meeting at arch street, and then there's the row of sleek-looking young men who line the curbstone and stare at us as we come out. no, i don't feel at home there." that evening ruth and her father sat late by the drawing-room fire, as they were quite apt to do at night. it was always a time of confidences. "thee has another letter from young sterling," said eli bolton. "yes. philip has gone to the far west." "how far?" "he doesn't say, but it's on the frontier, and on the map everything beyond it is marked 'indians' and 'desert,' and looks as desolate as a wednesday meeting." "humph. it was time for him to do something. is he going to start a daily newspaper among the kick-a-poos?" "father, thee's unjust to philip. he's going into business." "what sort of business can a young man go into without capital?" "he doesn't say exactly what it is," said ruth a little dubiously, "but it's something about land and railroads, and thee knows, father, that fortunes are made nobody knows exactly how, in a new country." "i should think so, you innocent puss, and in an old one too. but philip is honest, and he has talent enough, if he will stop scribbling, to make his way. but thee may as well take care of theeself, ruth, and not go dawdling along with a young man in his adventures, until thy own mind is a little more settled what thee wants." this excellent advice did not seem to impress ruth greatly, for she was looking away with that abstraction of vision which often came into her grey eyes, and at length she exclaimed, with a sort of impatience, "i wish i could go west, or south, or somewhere. what a box women are put into, measured for it, and put in young; if we go anywhere it's in a box, veiled and pinioned and shut in by disabilities. father, i should like to break things and get loose!" what a sweet-voiced little innocent, it was to be sure. "thee will no doubt break things enough when thy time comes, child; women always have; but what does thee want now that thee hasn't?" "i want to be something, to make myself something, to do something. why should i rust, and be stupid, and sit in inaction because i am a girl? what would happen to me if thee should lose thy property and die? what one useful thing could i do for a living, for the support of mother and the children? and if i had a fortune, would thee want me to lead a useless life?" "has thy mother led a useless life?" "somewhat that depends upon whether her children amount to anything," retorted the sharp little disputant. "what's the good, father, of a series of human beings who don't advance any?" friend eli, who had long ago laid aside the quaker dress, and was out of meeting, and who in fact after a youth of doubt could not yet define his belief, nevertheless looked with some wonder at this fierce young eagle of his, hatched in a friend's dove-cote. but he only said, "has thee consulted thy mother about a career, i suppose it is a career thee wants?" ruth did not reply directly; she complained that her mother didn't understand her. but that wise and placid woman understood the sweet rebel a great deal better than ruth understood herself. she also had a history, possibly, and had sometime beaten her young wings against the cage of custom, and indulged in dreams of a new social order, and had passed through that fiery period when it seems possible for one mind, which has not yet tried its limits, to break up and re-arrange the world. ruth replied to philip's letter in due time and in the most cordial and unsentimental manner. philip liked the letter, as he did everything she did; but he had a dim notion that there was more about herself in the letter than about him. he took it with him from the southern hotel, when he went to walk, and read it over and again in an unfrequented street as he stumbled along. the rather common-place and unformed hand-writing seemed to him peculiar and characteristic, different from that of any other woman. ruth was glad to hear that philip had made a push into the world, and she was sure that his talent and courage would make a way for him. she should pray for his success at any rate, and especially that the indians, in st. louis, would not take his scalp. philip looked rather dubious at this sentence, and wished that he had written nothing about indians. chapter xv. eli bolton and his wife talked over ruth's case, as they had often done before, with no little anxiety. alone of all their children she was impatient of the restraints and monotony of the friends' society, and wholly indisposed to accept the "inner light" as a guide into a life of acceptance and inaction. when margaret told her husband of ruth's newest project, he did not exhibit so much surprise as she hoped for. in fact he said that he did not see why a woman should not enter the medical profession if she felt a call to it. "but," said margaret, "consider her total inexperience of the world, and her frail health. can such a slight little body endure the ordeal of the preparation for, or the strain of, the practice of the profession?" "did thee ever think, margaret, whether, she can endure being thwarted in an, object on which she has so set her heart, as she has on this? thee has trained her thyself at home, in her enfeebled childhood, and thee knows how strong her will is, and what she has been able to accomplish in self-culture by the simple force of her determination. she never will be satisfied until she has tried her own strength." "i wish," said margaret, with an inconsequence that is not exclusively feminine, "that she were in the way to fall in love and marry by and by. i think that would cure her of some of her notions. i am not sure but if she went away, to some distant school, into an entirely new life, her thoughts would be diverted." eli bolton almost laughed as he regarded his wife, with eyes that never looked at her except fondly, and replied, "perhaps thee remembers that thee had notions also, before we were married, and before thee became a member of meeting. i think ruth comes honestly by certain tendencies which thee has hidden under the friend's dress." margaret could not say no to this, and while she paused, it was evident that memory was busy with suggestions to shake her present opinions. "why not let ruth try the study for a time," suggested eli; "there is a fair beginning of a woman's medical college in the city. quite likely she will soon find that she needs first a more general culture, and fall, in with thy wish that she should see more of the world at some large school." there really seemed to be nothing else to be done, and margaret consented at length without approving. and it was agreed that ruth, in order to spare her fatigue, should take lodgings with friends near the college and make a trial in the pursuit of that science to which we all owe our lives, and sometimes as by a miracle of escape. that day mr. bolton brought home a stranger to dinner, mr. bigler of the great firm of pennybacker, bigler & small, railroad contractors. he was always bringing home somebody, who had a scheme; to build a road, or open a mine, or plant a swamp with cane to grow paper-stock, or found a hospital, or invest in a patent shad-bone separator, or start a college somewhere on the frontier, contiguous to a land speculation. the bolton house was a sort of hotel for this kind of people. they were always coming. ruth had known them from childhood, and she used to say that her father attracted them as naturally as a sugar hogshead does flies. ruth had an idea that a large portion of the world lived by getting the rest of the world into schemes. mr. bolton never could say "no" to any of them, not even, said ruth again, to the society for stamping oyster shells with scripture texts before they were sold at retail. mr. bigler's plan this time, about which he talked loudly, with his mouth full, all dinner time, was the building of the tunkhannock, rattlesnake and young-womans-town railroad, which would not only be a great highway to the west, but would open to market inexhaustible coal-fields and untold millions of lumber. the plan of operations was very simple. "we'll buy the lands," explained he, "on long time, backed by the notes of good men; and then mortgage them for money enough to get the road well on. then get the towns on the line to issue their bonds for stock, and sell their bonds for enough to complete the road, and partly stock it, especially if we mortgage each section as we complete it. we can then sell the rest of the stock on the prospect of the business of the road through an improved country, and also sell the lands at a big advance, on the strength of the road. all we want," continued mr. bigler in his frank manner, "is a few thousand dollars to start the surveys, and arrange things in the legislature. there is some parties will have to be seen, who might make us trouble." "it will take a good deal of money to start the enterprise," remarked mr. bolton, who knew very well what "seeing" a pennsylvania legislature meant, but was too polite to tell mr. bigler what he thought of him, while he was his guest; "what security would one have for it?" mr. bigler smiled a hard kind of smile, and said, "you'd be inside, mr. bolton, and you'd have the first chance in the deal." this was rather unintelligible to ruth, who was nevertheless somewhat amused by the study of a type of character she had seen before. at length she interrupted the conversation by asking, "you'd sell the stock, i suppose, mr. bigler, to anybody who was attracted by the prospectus?" "o, certainly, serve all alike," said mr. bigler, now noticing ruth for the first time, and a little puzzled by the serene, intelligent face that was turned towards him. "well, what would become of the poor people who had been led to put their little money into the speculation, when you got out of it and left it half way?" it would be no more true to say of mr. bigler that he was or could be embarrassed, than to say that a brass counterfeit dollar-piece would change color when refused; the question annoyed him a little, in mr. bolton's presence. "why, yes, miss, of course, in a great enterprise for the benefit of the community there will little things occur, which, which--and, of course, the poor ought to be looked to; i tell my wife, that the poor must be looked to; if you can tell who are poor--there's so many impostors. and then, there's so many poor in the legislature to be looked after," said the contractor with a sort of a chuckle, "isn't that so, mr. bolton?" eli bolton replied that he never had much to do with the legislature. "yes," continued this public benefactor, "an uncommon poor lot this year, uncommon. consequently an expensive lot. the fact is, mr. bolton, that the price is raised so high on united states senator now, that it affects the whole market; you can't get any public improvement through on reasonable terms. simony is what i call it, simony," repeated mr. bigler, as if he had said a good thing. mr. bigler went on and gave some very interesting details of the intimate connection between railroads and politics, and thoroughly entertained himself all dinner time, and as much disgusted ruth, who asked no more questions, and her father who replied in monosyllables: "i wish," said ruth to her father, after the guest had gone, "that you wouldn't bring home any more such horrid men. do all men who wear big diamond breast-pins, flourish their knives at table, and use bad grammar, and cheat?" "o, child, thee mustn't be too observing. mr. bigler is one of the most important men in the state; nobody has more influence at harrisburg. i don't like him any more than thee does, but i'd better lend him a little money than to have his ill will." "father, i think thee'd better have his ill-will than his company. is it true that he gave money to help build the pretty little church of st. james the less, and that he is, one of the vestrymen?" "yes. he is not such a bad fellow. one of the men in third street asked him the other day, whether his was a high church or a low church? bigler said he didn't know; he'd been in it once, and he could touch the ceiling in the side aisle with his hand." "i think he's just horrid," was ruth's final summary of him, after the manner of the swift judgment of women, with no consideration of the extenuating circumstances. mr. bigler had no idea that he had not made a good impression on the whole family; he certainly intended to be agreeable. margaret agreed with her daughter, and though she never said anything to such people, she was grateful to ruth for sticking at least one pin into him. such was the serenity of the bolton household that a stranger in it would never have suspected there was any opposition to ruth's going to the medical school. and she went quietly to take her residence in town, and began her attendance of the lectures, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. she did not heed, if she heard, the busy and wondering gossip of relations and acquaintances, gossip that has no less currency among the friends than elsewhere because it is whispered slyly and creeps about in an undertone. ruth was absorbed, and for the first time in her life thoroughly happy; happy in the freedom of her life, and in the keen enjoyment of the investigation that broadened its field day by day. she was in high spirits when she came home to spend first days; the house was full of her gaiety and her merry laugh, and the children wished that ruth would never go away again. but her mother noticed, with a little anxiety, the sometimes flushed face, and the sign of an eager spirit in the kindling eyes, and, as well, the serious air of determination and endurance in her face at unguarded moments. the college was a small one and it sustained itself not without difficulty in this city, which is so conservative, and is yet the origin of so many radical movements. there were not more than a dozen attendants on the lectures all together, so that the enterprise had the air of an experiment, and the fascination of pioneering for those engaged in it. there was one woman physician driving about town in her carriage, attacking the most violent diseases in all quarters with persistent courage, like a modern bellona in her war chariot, who was popularly supposed to gather in fees to the amount ten to twenty thousand dollars a year. perhaps some of these students looked forward to the near day when they would support such a practice and a husband besides, but it is unknown that any of them ever went further than practice in hospitals and in their own nurseries, and it is feared that some of them were quite as ready as their sisters, in emergencies, to "call a man." if ruth had any exaggerated expectations of a professional life, she kept them to herself, and was known to her fellows of the class simply as a cheerful, sincere student, eager in her investigations, and never impatient at anything, except an insinuation that women had not as much mental capacity for science as men. "they really say," said one young quaker sprig to another youth of his age, "that ruth bolton is really going to be a saw-bones, attends lectures, cuts up bodies, and all that. she's cool enough for a surgeon, anyway." he spoke feelingly, for he had very likely been weighed in ruth's calm eyes sometime, and thoroughly scared by the little laugh that accompanied a puzzling reply to one of his conversational nothings. such young gentlemen, at this time, did not come very distinctly into ruth's horizon, except as amusing circumstances. about the details of her student life, ruth said very little to her friends, but they had reason to know, afterwards, that it required all her nerve and the almost complete exhaustion of her physical strength, to carry her through. she began her anatomical practice upon detached portions of the human frame, which were brought into the demonstrating room--dissecting the eye, the ear, and a small tangle of muscles and nerves--an occupation which had not much more savor of death in it than the analysis of a portion of a plant out of which the life went when it was plucked up by the roots. custom inures the most sensitive persons to that which is at first most repellant; and in the late war we saw the most delicate women, who could not at home endure the sight of blood, become so used to scenes of carnage, that they walked the hospitals and the margins of battle-fields, amid the poor remnants of torn humanity, with as perfect self-possession as if they were strolling in a flower garden. it happened that ruth was one evening deep in a line of investigation which she could not finish or understand without demonstration, and so eager was she in it, that it seemed as if she could not wait till the next day. she, therefore, persuaded a fellow student, who was reading that evening with her, to go down to the dissecting room of the college, and ascertain what they wanted to know by an hour's work there. perhaps, also, ruth wanted to test her own nerve, and to see whether the power of association was stronger in her mind than her own will. the janitor of the shabby and comfortless old building admitted the girls, not without suspicion, and gave them lighted candles, which they would need, without other remark than "there's a new one, miss," as the girls went up the broad stairs. they climbed to the third story, and paused before a door, which they unlocked, and which admitted them into a long apartment, with a row of windows on one side and one at the end. the room was without light, save from the stars and the candles the girls carried, which revealed to them dimly two long and several small tables, a few benches and chairs, a couple of skeletons hanging on the wall, a sink, and cloth-covered heaps of something upon the tables here and there. the windows were open, and the cool night wind came in strong enough to flutter a white covering now and then, and to shake the loose casements. but all the sweet odors of the night could not take from the room a faint suggestion of mortality. the young ladies paused a moment. the room itself was familiar enough, but night makes almost any chamber eerie, and especially such a room of detention as this where the mortal parts of the unburied might--almost be supposed to be, visited, on the sighing night winds, by the wandering spirits of their late tenants. opposite and at some distance across the roofs of lower buildings, the girls saw a tall edifice, the long upper story of which seemed to be a dancing hall. the windows of that were also open, and through them they heard the scream of the jiggered and tortured violin, and the pump, pump of the oboe, and saw the moving shapes of men and women in quick transition, and heard the prompter's drawl. "i wonder," said ruth, "what the girls dancing there would think if they saw us, or knew that there was such a room as this so near them." she did not speak very loud, and, perhaps unconsciously, the girls drew near to each other as they approached the long table in the centre of the room. a straight object lay upon it, covered with a sheet. this was doubtless "the new one" of which the janitor spoke. ruth advanced, and with a not very steady hand lifted the white covering from the upper part of the figure and turned it down. both the girls started. it was a negro. the black face seemed to defy the pallor of death, and asserted an ugly life-likeness that was frightful. ruth was as pale as the white sheet, and her comrade whispered, "come away, ruth, it is awful." perhaps it was the wavering light of the candles, perhaps it was only the agony from a death of pain, but the repulsive black face seemed to wear a scowl that said, "haven't you yet done with the outcast, persecuted black man, but you must now haul him from his grave, and send even your women to dismember his body?" who is this dead man, one of thousands who died yesterday, and will be dust anon, to protest that science shall not turn his worthless carcass to some account? ruth could have had no such thought, for with a pity in her sweet face, that for the moment overcame fear and disgust, she reverently replaced the covering, and went away to her own table, as her companion did to hers. and there for an hour they worked at their several problems, without speaking, but not without an awe of the presence there, "the new one," and not without an awful sense of life itself, as they heard the pulsations of the music and the light laughter from the dancing-hall. when, at length, they went away, and locked the dreadful room behind them, and came out into the street, where people were passing, they, for the first time, realized, in the relief they felt, what a nervous strain they had been under. chapter xvi. while ruth was thus absorbed in her new occupation, and the spring was wearing away, philip and his friends were still detained at the southern hotel. the great contractors had concluded their business with the state and railroad officials and with the lesser contractors, and departed for the east. but the serious illness of one of the engineers kept philip and henry in the city and occupied in alternate watchings. philip wrote to ruth of the new acquaintance they had made, col. sellers, an enthusiastic and hospitable gentleman, very much interested in the development of the country, and in their success. they had not had an opportunity to visit at his place "up in the country" yet, but the colonel often dined with them, and in confidence, confided to them his projects, and seemed to take a great liking to them, especially to his friend harry. it was true that he never seemed to have ready money, but he was engaged in very large operations. the correspondence was not very brisk between these two young persons, so differently occupied; for though philip wrote long letters, he got brief ones in reply, full of sharp little observations however, such as one concerning col. sellers, namely, that such men dined at their house every week. ruth's proposed occupation astonished philip immensely, but while he argued it and discussed it, he did not dare hint to her his fear that it would interfere with his most cherished plans. he too sincerely respected ruth's judgment to make any protest, however, and he would have defended her course against the world. this enforced waiting at st. louis was very irksome to philip. his money was running away, for one thing, and he longed to get into the field, and see for himself what chance there was for a fortune or even an occupation. the contractors had given the young men leave to join the engineer corps as soon as they could, but otherwise had made no provision for them, and in fact had left them with only the most indefinite expectations of something large in the future. harry was entirely happy; in his circumstances. he very soon knew everybody, from the governor of the state down to the waiters at the hotel. he had the wall street slang at his tongue's end; he always talked like a capitalist, and entered with enthusiasm into all the land and railway schemes with which the air was thick. col. sellers and harry talked together by the hour and by the day. harry informed his new friend that he was going out with the engineer corps of the salt lick pacific extension, but that wasn't his real business. "i'm to have, with another party," said harry, "a big contract in the road, as soon as it is let; and, meantime, i'm with the engineers to spy out the best land and the depot sites." "it's everything," suggested' the colonel, "in knowing where to invest. i've known people throwaway their money because they were too consequential to take sellers' advice. others, again, have made their pile on taking it. i've looked over the ground; i've been studying it for twenty years. you can't put your finger on a spot in the map of missouri that i don't know as if i'd made it. when you want to place anything," continued the colonel, confidently, "just let beriah sellers know. that's all." "oh, i haven't got much in ready money i can lay my hands on now, but if a fellow could do anything with fifteen or twenty thousand dollars, as a beginning, i shall draw for that when i see the right opening." "well, that's something, that's something, fifteen or twenty thousand dollars, say twenty--as an advance," said the colonel reflectively, as if turning over his mind for a project that could be entered on with such a trifling sum. "i'll tell you what it is--but only to you mr. brierly, only to you, mind; i've got a little project that i've been keeping. it looks small, looks small on paper, but it's got a big future. what should you say, sir, to a city, built up like the rod of aladdin had touched it, built up in two years, where now you wouldn't expect it any more than you'd expect a light-house on the top of pilot knob? and you could own the land! it can be done, sir. it can be done!" the colonel hitched up his chair close to harry, laid his hand on his knee, and, first looking about him, said in a low voice, "the salt lick pacific extension is going to run through stone's landing! the almighty never laid out a cleaner piece of level prairie for a city; and it's the natural center of all that region of hemp and tobacco." "what makes you think the road will go there? it's twenty miles, on the map, off the straight line of the road?" "you can't tell what is the straight line till the engineers have been over it. between us, i have talked with jeff thompson, the division engineer. he understands the wants of stone's landing, and the claims of the inhabitants--who are to be there. jeff says that a railroad is for --the accommodation of the people and not for the benefit of gophers; and if, he don't run this to stone's landing he'll be damned! you ought to know jeff; he's one of the most enthusiastic engineers in this western country, and one of the best fellows that ever looked through the bottom of a glass." the recommendation was not undeserved. there was nothing that jeff wouldn't do, to accommodate a friend, from sharing his last dollar with him, to winging him in a duel. when he understood from col. sellers. how the land lay at stone's landing, he cordially shook hands with that gentleman, asked him to drink, and fairly roared out, "why, god bless my soul, colonel, a word from one virginia gentleman to another is 'nuff ced.' there's stone's landing been waiting for a railroad more than four thousand years, and damme if she shan't have it." philip had not so much faith as harry in stone's landing, when the latter opened the project to him, but harry talked about it as if he already owned that incipient city. harry thoroughly believed in all his projects and inventions, and lived day by day in their golden atmosphere. everybody liked the young fellow, for how could they help liking one of such engaging manners and large fortune? the waiters at the hotel would do more for him than for any other guest, and he made a great many acquaintances among the people of st. louis, who liked his sensible and liberal views about the development of the western country, and about st. louis. he said it ought to be the national capital. harry made partial arrangements with several of the merchants for furnishing supplies for his contract on the salt lick pacific extension; consulted the maps with the engineers, and went over the profiles with the contractors, figuring out estimates for bids. he was exceedingly busy with those things when he was not at the bedside of his sick acquaintance, or arranging the details of his speculation with col. sellers. meantime the days went along and the weeks, and the money in harry's pocket got lower and lower. he was just as liberal with what he had as before, indeed it was his nature to be free with his money or with that of others, and he could lend or spend a dollar with an air that made it seem like ten. at length, at the end of one week, when his hotel bill was presented, harry found not a cent in his pocket to meet it. he carelessly remarked to the landlord that he was not that day in funds, but he would draw on new york, and he sat down and wrote to the contractors in that city a glowing letter about the prospects of the road, and asked them to advance a hundred or two, until he got at work. no reply came. he wrote again, in an unoffended business like tone, suggesting that he had better draw at three days. a short answer came to this, simply saying that money was very tight in wall street just then, and that he had better join the engineer corps as soon as he could. but the bill had to be paid, and harry took it to philip, and asked him if he thought he hadn't better draw on his uncle. philip had not much faith in harry's power of "drawing," and told him that he would pay the bill himself. whereupon harry dismissed the matter then and thereafter from his thoughts, and, like a light-hearted good fellow as he was, gave himself no more trouble about his board-bills. philip paid them, swollen as they were with a monstrous list of extras; but he seriously counted the diminishing bulk of his own hoard, which was all the money he had in the world. had he not tacitly agreed to share with harry to the last in this adventure, and would not the generous fellow divide; with him if he, philip, were in want and harry had anything? the fever at length got tired of tormenting the stout young engineer, who lay sick at the hotel, and left him, very thin, a little sallow but an "acclimated" man. everybody said he was "acclimated" now, and said it cheerfully. what it is to be acclimated to western fevers no two persons exactly agree. some say it is a sort of vaccination that renders death by some malignant type of fever less probable. some regard it as a sort of initiation, like that into the odd fellows, which renders one liable to his regular dues thereafter. others consider it merely the acquisition of a habit of taking every morning before breakfast a dose of bitters, composed of whiskey and assafoetida, out of the acclimation jug. jeff thompson afterwards told philip that he once asked senator atchison, then acting vice-president: of the united states, about the possibility of acclimation; he thought the opinion of the second officer of our great government would be, valuable on this point. they were sitting together on a bench before a country tavern, in the free converse permitted by our democratic habits. "i suppose, senator, that you have become acclimated to this country?" "well," said the vice-president, crossing his legs, pulling his wide-awake down over his forehead, causing a passing chicken to hop quickly one side by the accuracy of his aim, and speaking with senatorial deliberation, "i think i have. i've been here twenty-five years, and dash, dash my dash to dash, if i haven't entertained twenty-five separate and distinct earthquakes, one a year. the niggro is the only person who can stand the fever and ague of this region." the convalescence of the engineer was the signal for breaking up quarters at st. louis, and the young fortune-hunters started up the river in good spirits. it was only the second time either of them had been upon a mississippi steamboat, and nearly everything they saw had the charm of novelty. col. sellers was at the landing to bid thorn good-bye. "i shall send you up that basket of champagne by the next boat; no, no; no thanks; you'll find it not bad in camp," he cried out as the plank was hauled in. "my respects to thompson. tell him to sight for stone's. let me know, mr. brierly, when you are ready to locate; i'll come over from hawkeye. goodbye." and the last the young fellows saw of the colonel, he was waving his hat, and beaming prosperity and good luck. the voyage was delightful, and was not long enough to become monotonous. the travelers scarcely had time indeed to get accustomed to the splendors of the great saloon where the tables were spread for meals, a marvel of paint and gilding, its ceiling hung with fancifully cut tissue-paper of many colors, festooned and arranged in endless patterns. the whole was more beautiful than a barber's shop. the printed bill of fare at dinner was longer and more varied, the proprietors justly boasted, than that of any hotel in new york. it must have been the work of an author of talent and imagination, and it surely was not his fault if the dinner itself was to a certain extent a delusion, and if the guests got something that tasted pretty much the same whatever dish they ordered; nor was it his fault if a general flavor of rose in all the dessert dishes suggested that they hid passed through the barber's saloon on their way from the kitchen. the travelers landed at a little settlement on the left bank, and at once took horses for the camp in the interior, carrying their clothes and blankets strapped behind the saddles. harry was dressed as we have seen him once before, and his long and shining boots attracted not a little the attention of the few persons they met on the road, and especially of the bright faced wenches who lightly stepped along the highway, picturesque in their colored kerchiefs, carrying light baskets, or riding upon mules and balancing before them a heavier load. harry sang fragments of operas and talked abort their fortune. philip even was excited by the sense of freedom and adventure, and the beauty of the landscape. the prairie, with its new grass and unending acres of brilliant flowers--chiefly the innumerable varieties of phlox-bore the look of years of cultivation, and the occasional open groves of white oaks gave it a park-like appearance. it was hardly unreasonable to expect to see at any moment, the gables and square windows of an elizabethan mansion in one of the well kept groves. towards sunset of the third day, when the young gentlemen thought they ought to be near the town of magnolia, near which they had been directed to find the engineers' camp, they descried a log house and drew up before it to enquire the way. half the building was store, and half was dwelling house. at the door of the latter stood a regress with a bright turban on her head, to whom philip called, "can you tell me, auntie, how far it is to the town of magnolia?" "why, bress you chile," laughed the woman, "you's dere now." it was true. this log horse was the compactly built town, and all creation was its suburbs. the engineers' camp was only two or three miles distant. "you's boun' to find it," directed auntie, "if you don't keah nuffin 'bout de road, and go fo' de sun-down." a brisk gallop brought the riders in sight of the twinkling light of the camp, just as the stars came out. it lay in a little hollow, where a small stream ran through a sparse grove of young white oaks. a half dozen tents were pitched under the trees, horses and oxen were corraled at a little distance, and a group of men sat on camp stools or lay on blankets about a bright fire. the twang of a banjo became audible as they drew nearer, and they saw a couple of negroes, from some neighboring plantation, "breaking down" a juba in approved style, amid the "hi, hi's" of the spectators. mr. jeff thompson, for it was the camp of this redoubtable engineer, gave the travelers a hearty welcome, offered them ground room in his own tent, ordered supper, and set out a small jug, a drop from which he declared necessary on account of the chill of the evening. "i never saw an eastern man," said jeff, "who knew how to drink from a jug with one hand. it's as easy as lying. so." he grasped the handle with the right hand, threw the jug back upon his arm, and applied his lips to the nozzle. it was an act as graceful as it was simple. "besides," said mr. thompson, setting it down, "it puts every man on his honor as to quantity." early to turn in was the rule of the camp, and by nine o'clock everybody was under his blanket, except jeff himself, who worked awhile at his table over his field-book, and then arose, stepped outside the tent door and sang, in a strong and not unmelodious tenor, the star spangled banner from beginning to end. it proved to be his nightly practice to let off the unexpended seam of his conversational powers, in the words of this stirring song. it was a long time before philip got to sleep. he saw the fire light, he saw the clear stars through the tree-tops, he heard the gurgle of the stream, the stamp of the horses, the occasional barking of the dog which followed the cook's wagon, the hooting of an owl; and when these failed he saw jeff, standing on a battlement, mid the rocket's red glare, and heard him sing, "oh, say, can you see?", it was the first time he had ever slept on the ground. chapter xvii. ----"we have view'd it, and measur'd it within all, by the scale the richest tract of land, love, in the kingdom! there will be made seventeen or eighteeen millions, or more, as't may be handled!" the devil is an ass. nobody dressed more like an engineer than mr. henry brierly. the completeness of his appointments was the envy of the corps, and the gay fellow himself was the admiration of the camp servants, axemen, teamsters and cooks. "i reckon you didn't git them boots no wher's this side o' sent louis?" queried the tall missouri youth who acted as commissariy's assistant. "no, new york." "yas, i've heern o' new york," continued the butternut lad, attentively studying each item of harry's dress, and endeavoring to cover his design with interesting conversation. "'n there's massachusetts.", "it's not far off." "i've heern massachusetts was a-----of a place. les, see, what state's massachusetts in?" "massachusetts," kindly replied harry, "is in the state of boston." "abolish'n wan't it? they must a cost right smart," referring to the boots. harry shouldered his rod and went to the field, tramped over the prairie by day, and figured up results at night, with the utmost cheerfulness and industry, and plotted the line on the profile paper, without, however, the least idea of engineering practical or theoretical. perhaps there was not a great deal of scientific knowledge in the entire corps, nor was very much needed. they were making, what is called a preliminary survey, and the chief object of a preliminary survey was to get up an excitement about the road, to interest every town in that part of the state in it, under the belief that the road would run through it, and to get the aid of every planter upon the prospect that a station would be on his land. mr. jeff thompson was the most popular engineer who could be found for this work. he did not bother himself much about details or practicabilities of location, but ran merrily along, sighting from the top of one divide to the top of another, and striking "plumb" every town site and big plantation within twenty or thirty miles of his route. in his own language he "just went booming." this course gave harry an opportunity, as he said, to learn the practical details of engineering, and it gave philip a chance to see the country, and to judge for himself what prospect of a fortune it offered. both he and harry got the "refusal" of more than one plantation as they went along, and wrote urgent letters to their eastern correspondents, upon the beauty of the land and the certainty that it would quadruple in value as soon as the road was finally located. it seemed strange to them that capitalists did not flock out there and secure this land. they had not been in the field over two weeks when harry wrote to his friend col. sellers that he'd better be on the move, for the line was certain to go to stone's landing. any one who looked at the line on the map, as it was laid down from day to day, would have been uncertain which way it was going; but jeff had declared that in his judgment the only practicable route from the point they then stood on was to follow the divide to stone's landing, and it was generally understood that that town would be the next one hit. "we'll make it, boys," said the chief, "if we have to go in a balloon." and make it they did in less than a week, this indomitable engineer had carried his moving caravan over slues and branches, across bottoms and along divides, and pitched his tents in the very heart of the city of stone's landing. "well, i'll be dashed," was heard the cheery voice of mr. thompson, as he stepped outside the tent door at sunrise next morning. "if this don't get me. i say, yon, grayson, get out your sighting iron and see if you can find old sellers' town. blame me if we wouldn't have run plumb by it if twilight had held on a little longer. oh! sterling, brierly, get up and see the city. there's a steamboat just coming round the bend." and jeff roared with laughter. "the mayor'll be round here to breakfast." the fellows turned out of the tents, rubbing their eyes, and stared about them. they were camped on the second bench of the narrow bottom of a crooked, sluggish stream, that was some five rods wide in the present good stage of water. before them were a dozen log cabins, with stick and mud chimneys, irregularly disposed on either side of a not very well defined road, which did not seem to know its own mind exactly, and, after straggling through the town, wandered off over the rolling prairie in an uncertain way, as if it had started for nowhere and was quite likely to reach its destination. just as it left the town, however, it was cheered and assisted by a guide-board, upon which was the legend " mils to hawkeye." the road had never been made except by the travel over it, and at this season--the rainy june--it was a way of ruts cut in the black soil, and of fathomless mud-holes. in the principal street of the city, it had received more attention; for hogs; great and small, rooted about in it and wallowed in it, turning the street into a liquid quagmire which could only be crossed on pieces of plank thrown here and there. about the chief cabin, which was the store and grocery of this mart of trade, the mud was more liquid than elsewhere, and the rude platform in front of it and the dry-goods boxes mounted thereon were places of refuge for all the loafers of the place. down by the stream was a dilapidated building which served for a hemp warehouse, and a shaky wharf extended out from it, into the water. in fact a flat-boat was there moored by it, it's setting poles lying across the gunwales. above the town the stream was crossed by a crazy wooden bridge, the supports of which leaned all ways in the soggy soil; the absence of a plank here and there in the flooring made the crossing of the bridge faster than a walk an offense not necessary to be prohibited by law. "this, gentlemen," said jeff, "is columbus river, alias goose run. if it was widened, and deepened, and straightened, and made, long enough, it would be one of the finest rivers in the western country." as the sun rose and sent his level beams along the stream, the thin stratum of mist, or malaria, rose also and dispersed, but the light was not able to enliven the dull water nor give any hint of its apparently fathomless depth. venerable mud-turtles crawled up and roosted upon the old logs in the stream, their backs glistening in the sun, the first inhabitants of the metropolis to begin the active business of the day. it was not long, however, before smoke began to issue from the city chimneys; and before the engineers, had finished their breakfast they were the object of the curious inspection of six or eight boys and men, who lounged into the camp and gazed about them with languid interest, their hands in their pockets every one. "good morning; gentlemen," called out the chief engineer, from the table. "good mawning," drawled out the spokesman of the party. "i allow thish-yers the railroad, i heern it was a-comin'." "yes, this is the railroad; all but the rails and the ironhorse." "i reckon you kin git all the rails you want oaten my white oak timber over, thar," replied the first speaker, who appeared to be a man of property and willing to strike up a trade. "you'll have to negotiate with the contractors about the rails, sir," said jeff; "here's mr. brierly, i've no doubt would like to buy your rails when the time comes." "o," said the man, "i thought maybe you'd fetch the whole bilin along with you. but if you want rails, i've got em, haint i eph." "heaps," said eph, without taking his eyes off the group at the table. "well," said mr. thompson, rising from his seat and moving towards his tent, "the railroad has come to stone's landing, sure; i move we take a drink on it all round." the proposal met with universal favor. jeff gave prosperity to stone's landing and navigation to goose run, and the toast was washed down with gusto, in the simple fluid of corn; and with the return compliment that a rail road was a good thing, and that jeff thompson was no slouch. about ten o'clock a horse and wagon was descried making a slow approach to the camp over the prairie. as it drew near, the wagon was seen to contain a portly gentleman, who hitched impatiently forward on his seat, shook the reins and gently touched up his horse, in the vain attempt to communicate his own energy to that dull beast, and looked eagerly at the tents. when the conveyance at length drew up to mr. thompson's door, the gentleman descended with great deliberation, straightened himself up, rubbed his hands, and beaming satisfaction from every part of his radiant frame, advanced to the group that was gathered to welcome him, and which had saluted him by name as soon as he came within hearing. "welcome to napoleon, gentlemen, welcome. i am proud to see you here mr. thompson. you are, looking well mr. sterling. this is the country, sir. right glad to see you mr. brierly. you got that basket of champagne? no? those blasted river thieves! i'll never send anything more by 'em. the best brand, roederer. the last i had in my cellar, from a lot sent me by sir george gore--took him out on a buffalo hunt, when he visited our, country. is always sending me some trifle. you haven't looked about any yet, gentlemen? it's in the rough yet, in the rough. those buildings will all have to come down. that's the place for the public square, court house, hotels, churches, jail--all that sort of thing. about where we stand, the deepo. how does that strike your engineering eye, mr. thompson? down yonder the business streets, running to the wharves. the university up there, on rising ground, sightly place, see the river for miles. that's columbus river, only forty-nine miles to the missouri. you see what it is, placid, steady, no current to interfere with navigation, wants widening in places and dredging, dredge out the harbor and raise a levee in front of the town; made by nature on purpose for a mart. look at all this country, not another building within ten miles, no other navigable stream, lay of the land points right here; hemp, tobacco, corn, must come here. the railroad will do it, napoleon won't know itself in a year." "don't now evidently," said philip aside to harry. "have you breakfasted colonel?" "hastily. cup of coffee. can't trust any coffee i don't import myself. but i put up a basket of provisions,--wife would put in a few delicacies, women always will, and a half dozen of that burgundy, i was telling you of mr. briefly. by the way, you never got to dine with me." and the colonel strode away to the wagon and looked under the seat for the basket. apparently it was not there. for the colonel raised up the flap, looked in front and behind, and then exclaimed, "confound it. that comes of not doing a thing yourself. i trusted to the women folks to set that basket in the wagon, and it ain't there." the camp cook speedily prepared a savory breakfast for the colonel, broiled chicken, eggs, corn-bread, and coffee, to which he did ample justice, and topped off with a drop of old bourbon, from mr. thompson's private store, a brand which he said he knew well, he should think it came from his own sideboard. while the engineer corps went to the field, to run back a couple of miles and ascertain, approximately, if a road could ever get down to the landing, and to sight ahead across the run, and see if it could ever get out again, col. sellers and harry sat down and began to roughly map out the city of napoleon on a large piece of drawing paper. "i've got the refusal of a mile square here," said the colonel, "in our names, for a year, with a quarter interest reserved for the four owners." they laid out the town liberally, not lacking room, leaving space for the railroad to come in, and for the river as it was to be when improved. the engineers reported that the railroad could come in, by taking a little sweep and crossing the stream on a high bridge, but the grades would be steep. col. sellers said he didn't care so much about the grades, if the road could only be made to reach the elevators on the river. the next day mr. thompson made a hasty survey of the stream for a mile or two, so that the colonel and harry were enabled to show on their map how nobly that would accommodate the city. jeff took a little writing from the colonel and harry for a prospective share but philip declined to join in, saying that he had no money, and didn't want to make engagements he couldn't fulfill. the next morning the camp moved on, followed till it was out of sight by the listless eyes of the group in front of the store, one of whom remarked that, "he'd be doggoned if he ever expected to see that railroad any mo'." harry went with the colonel to hawkeye to complete their arrangements, a part of which was the preparation of a petition to congress for the improvement of the navigation of columbus river. chapter xviii. eight years have passed since the death of mr. hawkins. eight years are not many in the life of a nation or the history of a state, but they maybe years of destiny that shall fix the current of the century following. such years were those that followed the little scrimmage on lexington common. such years were those that followed the double-shotted demand for the surrender of fort sumter. history is never done with inquiring of these years, and summoning witnesses about them, and trying to understand their significance. the eight years in america from to uprooted institutions that were centuries old, changed the politics of a people, transformed the social life of half the country, and wrought so profoundly upon the entire national character that the influence cannot be measured short of two or three generations. as we are accustomed to interpret the economy of providence, the life of the individual is as nothing to that of the nation or the race; but who can say, in the broader view and the more intelligent weight of values, that the life of one man is not more than that of a nationality, and that there is not a tribunal where the tragedy of one human soul shall not seem more significant than the overturning of any human institution whatever? when one thinks of the tremendous forces of the upper and the nether world which play for the mastery of the soul of a woman during the few years in which she passes from plastic girlhood to the ripe maturity of womanhood, he may well stand in awe before the momentous drama. what capacities she has of purity, tenderness, goodness; what capacities of vileness, bitterness and evil. nature must needs be lavish with the mother and creator of men, and centre in her all the possibilities of life. and a few critical years can decide whether her life is to be full of sweetness and light, whether she is to be the vestal of a holy temple, or whether she will be the fallen priestess of a desecrated shrine. there are women, it is true, who seem to be capable neither of rising much nor of falling much, and whom a conventional life saves from any special development of character. but laura was not one of them. she had the fatal gift of beauty, and that more fatal gift which does not always accompany mere beauty, the power of fascination, a power that may, indeed, exist without beauty. she had will, and pride and courage and ambition, and she was left to be very much her own guide at the age when romance comes to the aid of passion, and when the awakening powers of her vigorous mind had little object on which to discipline themselves. the tremendous conflict that was fought in this girl's soul none of those about her knew, and very few knew that her life had in it anything unusual or romantic or strange. those were troublous days in hawkeye as well as in most other missouri towns, days of confusion, when between unionist and confederate occupations, sudden maraudings and bush-whackings and raids, individuals escaped observation or comment in actions that would have filled the town with scandal in quiet times. fortunately we only need to deal with laura's life at this period historically, and look back upon such portions of it as will serve to reveal the woman as she was at the time of the arrival of mr. harry brierly in hawkeye. the hawkins family were settled there, and had a hard enough struggle with poverty and the necessity of keeping up appearances in accord with their own family pride and the large expectations they secretly cherished of a fortune in the knobs of east tennessee. how pinched they were perhaps no one knew but clay, to whom they looked for almost their whole support. washington had been in hawkeye off and on, attracted away occasionally by some tremendous speculation, from which he invariably returned to gen. boswell's office as poor as he went. he was the inventor of no one knew how many useless contrivances, which were not worth patenting, and his years had been passed in dreaming and planning to no purpose; until he was now a man of about thirty, without a profession or a permanent occupation, a tall, brown-haired, dreamy person of the best intentions and the frailest resolution. probably however the, eight years had been happier to him than to any others in his circle, for the time had been mostly spent in a blissful dream of the coming of enormous wealth. he went out with a company from hawkeye to the war, and was not wanting in courage, but he would have been a better soldier if he had been less engaged in contrivances for circumventing the enemy by strategy unknown to the books. it happened to him to be captured in one of his self-appointed expeditions, but the federal colonel released him, after a short examination, satisfied that he could most injure the confederate forces opposed to the unionists by returning him to his regiment. col. sellers was of course a prominent man during the war. he was captain of the home guards in hawkeye, and he never left home except upon one occasion, when on the strength of a rumor, he executed a flank movement and fortified stone's landing, a place which no one unacquainted with the country would be likely to find. "gad," said the colonel afterwards, "the landing is the key to upper missouri, and it is the only place the enemy never captured. if other places had been defended as well as that was, the result would have been different, sir." the colonel had his own theories about war as he had in other things. if everybody had stayed at home as he did, he said, the south never would have been conquered. for what would there have been to conquer? mr. jeff davis was constantly writing him to take command of a corps in the confederate army, but col. sellers said, no, his duty was at home. and he was by no means idle. he was the inventor of the famous air torpedo, which came very near destroying the union armies in missouri, and the city of st. louis itself. his plan was to fill a torpedo with greek fire and poisonous and deadly missiles, attach it to a balloon, and then let it sail away over the hostile camp and explode at the right moment, when the time-fuse burned out. he intended to use this invention in the capture of st. louis, exploding his torpedoes over the city, and raining destruction upon it until the army of occupation would gladly capitulate. he was unable to procure the greek fire, but he constructed a vicious torpedo which would have answered the purpose, but the first one prematurely exploded in his wood-house, blowing it clean away, and setting fire to his house. the neighbors helped him put out the conflagration, but they discouraged any more experiments of that sort. the patriotic old gentleman, however, planted so much powder and so many explosive contrivances in the roads leading into hawkeye, and then forgot the exact spots of danger, that people were afraid to travel the highways, and used to come to town across the fields, the colonel's motto was, "millions for defence but not one cent for tribute." when laura came to hawkeye she might have forgotten the annoyances of the gossips of murpheysburg and have out lived the bitterness that was growing in her heart, if she had been thrown less upon herself, or if the surroundings of her life had been more congenial and helpful. but she had little society, less and less as she grew older that was congenial to her, and her mind preyed upon itself; and the mystery of her birth at once chagrined her and raised in her the most extravagant expectations. she was proud and she felt the sting of poverty. she could not but be conscious of her beauty also, and she was vain of that, and came to take a sort of delight in the exercise of her fascinations upon the rather loutish young men who came in her way and whom she despised. there was another world opened to her--a world of books. but it was not the best world of that sort, for the small libraries she had access to in hawkeye were decidedly miscellaneous, and largely made up of romances and fictions which fed her imagination with the most exaggerated notions of life, and showed her men and women in a very false sort of heroism. from these stories she learned what a woman of keen intellect and some culture joined to beauty and fascination of manner, might expect to accomplish in society as she read of it; and along with these ideas she imbibed other very crude ones in regard to the emancipation of woman. there were also other books-histories, biographies of distinguished people, travels in far lands, poems, especially those of byron, scott and shelley and moore, which she eagerly absorbed, and appropriated therefrom what was to her liking. nobody in hawkeye had read so much or, after a fashion, studied so diligently as laura. she passed for an accomplished girl, and no doubt thought herself one, as she was, judged by any standard near her. during the war there came to hawkeye a confederate officer, col. selby, who was stationed there for a time, in command of that district. he was a handsome, soldierly man of thirty years, a graduate of the university of virginia, and of distinguished family, if his story might be believed, and, it was evident, a man of the world and of extensive travel and adventure. to find in such an out of the way country place a woman like laura was a piece of good luck upon which col. selby congratulated himself. he was studiously polite to her and treated her with a consideration to which she was unaccustomed. she had read of such men, but she had never seen one before, one so high-bred, so noble in sentiment, so entertaining in conversation, so engaging in manner. it is a long story; unfortunately it is an old story, and it need not be dwelt on. laura loved him, and believed that his love for her was as pure and deep as her own. she worshipped him and would have counted her life a little thing to give him, if he would only love her and let her feed the hunger of her heart upon him. the passion possessed her whole being, and lifted her up, till she seemed to walk on air. it was all true, then, the romances she had read, the bliss of love she had dreamed of. why had she never noticed before how blithesome the world was, how jocund with love; the birds sang it, the trees whispered it to her as she passed, the very flowers beneath her feet strewed the way as for a bridal march. when the colonel went away they were engaged to be married, as soon as he could make certain arrangements which he represented to be necessary, and quit the army. he wrote to her from harding, a small town in the southwest corner of the state, saying that he should be held in the service longer than he had expected, but that it would not be more than a few months, then he should be at liberty to take her to chicago where he had property, and should have business, either now or as soon as the war was over, which he thought could not last long. meantime why should they be separated? he was established in comfortable quarters, and if she could find company and join him, they would be married, and gain so many more months of happiness. was woman ever prudent when she loved? laura went to harding, the neighbors supposed to nurse washington who had fallen ill there. her engagement was, of course, known in hawkeye, and was indeed a matter of pride to her family. mrs. hawkins would have told the first inquirer that. laura had gone to be married; but laura had cautioned her; she did not want to be thought of, she said, as going in search of a husband; let the news come back after she was married. so she traveled to harding on the pretence we have mentioned, and was married. she was married, but something must have happened on that very day or the next that alarmed her. washington did not know then or after what it was, but laura bound him not to send news of her marriage to hawkeye yet, and to enjoin her mother not to speak of it. whatever cruel suspicion or nameless dread this was, laura tried bravely to put it away, and not let it cloud her happiness. communication that summer, as may be imagined, was neither regular nor frequent between the remote confederate camp at harding and hawkeye, and laura was in a measure lost sight of--indeed, everyone had troubles enough of his own without borrowing from his neighbors. laura had given herself utterly to her husband, and if he had faults, if he was selfish, if he was sometimes coarse, if he was dissipated, she did not or would not see it. it was the passion of her life, the time when her whole nature went to flood tide and swept away all barriers. was her husband ever cold or indifferent? she shut her eyes to everything but her sense of possession of her idol. three months passed. one morning her husband informed her that he had been ordered south, and must go within two hours. "i can be ready," said laura, cheerfully. "but i can't take you. you must go back to hawkeye." "can't-take-me?" laura asked, with wonder in her eyes. "i can't live without you. you said-----" "o bother what i said,"--and the colonel took up his sword to buckle it on, and then continued coolly, "the fact is laura, our romance is played out." laura heard, but she did not comprehend. she caught his arm and cried, "george, how can you joke so cruelly? i will go any where with you. i will wait any where. i can't go back to hawkeye." "well, go where you like. perhaps," continued he with a sneer, "you would do as well to wait here, for another colonel." laura's brain whirled. she did not yet comprehend. "what does this mean? where are you going?" "it means," said the officer, in measured words, "that you haven't anything to show for a legal marriage, and that i am going to new orleans." "it's a lie, george, it's a lie. i am your wife. i shall go. i shall follow you to new orleans." "perhaps my wife might not like it!" laura raised her head, her eyes flamed with fire, she tried to utter a cry, and fell senseless on the floor. when she came to herself the colonel was gone. washington hawkins stood at her bedside. did she come to herself? was there anything left in her heart but hate and bitterness, a sense of an infamous wrong at the hands of the only man she had ever loved? she returned to hawkeye. with the exception of washington and his mother, no one knew what had happened. the neighbors supposed that the engagement with col. selby had fallen through. laura was ill for a long time, but she recovered; she had that resolution in her that could conquer death almost. and with her health came back her beauty, and an added fascination, a something that might be mistaken for sadness. is there a beauty in the knowledge of evil, a beauty that shines out in the face of a person whose inward life is transformed by some terrible experience? is the pathos in the eyes of the beatrice cenci from her guilt or her innocence? laura was not much changed. the lovely woman had a devil in her heart. that was all. the bobbsey twins in washington by laura lee hope author of "the bobbsey twins," "the bunny brown series," "the outdoor girls series," etc. illustrated books by laura lee hope mo. cloth. illustrated. the bobbsey twins series the bobbsey twins the bobbsey twins in the country the bobbsey twins at the seashore the bobbsey twins at school the bobbsey twins at snow lodge the bobbsey twins on a houseboat the bobbsey twins at meadow brook the bobbsey twins at home the bobbsey twins in a great city the bobbsey twins on blueberry island the bobbsey twins on the deep blue sea the bobbsey twins in washington the bunny brown series bunny brown and his sister sue bunny brown and his sister sue on grandpa's farm bunny brown and his sister sue playing circus bunny brown and his sister sue at aunt lu's city home bunny brown and his sister sue at camp rest-a-while bunny brown and his sister sue in the big woods bunny brown and his sister sue on an auto tour bunny brown and his sister sue and their shetland pony bunny brown and his sister sue giving a show the outdoor girls series the outdoor girls of deepdale the outdoor girls at rainbow lake the outdoor girls in a motor car the outdoor girls in a winter camp the outdoor girls in florida the outdoor girls at ocean view the outdoor girls on pine island the outdoor girls in army service the outdoor girls at hostess house contents i under the hay ii digging out iii the washington children iv miss pompret's china v "what a lot of money!" vi wonderful news vii on a trip viii in new york ix washington at last x lost xi the president xii washington monument xiii a stray cat xiv stray children xv "where are they?" xvi the fire bell xvii freddie's real alarm xviii the oriental children xix "oh look!" xx a great bargain xxi just suppose xxii happy days chapter i under the hay "this is 'most as much fun as we had on blueberry island, or when we went to florida on the deep, blue sea, isn't it, bert?" asked nan bobbsey, as she sat on the porch and fanned herself with her hat. she and her brother had been running around the house, playing a new game, and nan was warm. "yes, it's fun all right," agreed bert. "but i liked the deep, blue sea better--or even blueberry island," and off came his hat to cool his flushed face, for, though it was late in september, the day was warm. "but we couldn't stay on the island, always," went on nan. "we have to go to school, daddy says!" "don't speak about it!" begged bert. "i don't want to go to school for a long, long time, and not then!" "have we got to go to school?" asked a little light-haired and blue-eyed girl, as she ran up the steps, to sink in a heap at the feet of her sister, nan bobbsey. "when do we go?" she went on. "oh, not right away, 'little fat fairy!'" laughed nan, giving flossie the name her father sometimes called her. "school won't open for two weeks more." "hurray!" cried bert. "the longer it stays closed the better i like it. but come on, nan! let's have some more fun. this isn't like blueberry island, sitting still on a porch!" "you haven't sat still more than three minutes, bert bobbsey!" cried his sister. "i can hardly get my breath, you made me run so fast!" just then a little boy, who had the same sort of blue eyes and golden hair that made flossie such a pretty little girl, came tumbling up the steps with a clatter and a bang, falling down at bert's feet. the older boy caught his small brother just in time, or there might have been a bumped nose. "hi there, freddie, what's the matter?" asked bert, with a laugh. "is our dog snap chasing you, or have you been playing a trick on our cat snoop?" "i--i--i'm a--a fireman!" panted freddie, for he, too, was out of breath from running. "i'm a fireman, and i--i've got to get the engine. there's a big, big fire!" and his eyes opened wide and round. "a big fire--really?" asked nan quickly. "course not! he's only making believe!" replied bert. "well, i thought maybe he might have seen some boys start a bonfire somewhere," explained nan. "they sometimes do." "i know they do," admitted bert. "and i hope they don't start one near daddy's lumberyard." "there was a fire down in the lumber once!" exclaimed freddie. he was too young to have seen it, but he had heard his father and mother talk about the time mr. bobbsey's lumberyard was nearly burned out. freddie bobbsey was very fond of a toy fire engine he had been given for christmas, and his father often called freddie a "little fireman," just as flossie was named a "fairy." "well, if it's only a make-believe fire we can sit here and cool off," went on nan. "what were you doing, flossie?" she asked her little sister. "oh, i was having a race with our cat snoop; but i guess i beat, 'cause snoop didn't get here to the porch before i did." "yes, you won the race all right," laughed bert. "but it's too hot for any more running games. i wish we were back on the island where we found that boy, jack nelson, and could play we were sailors and could splash in the water." "that would be fun!" sighed nan, as she fanned herself harder than ever with her hat. the bobbsey twins had, a few days before, returned to their home from a vacation spent on a strange island off the coast of florida. they had gone there with cousin jasper dent to rescue a boy who had been left in a lonely cave, and very many strange adventures the bobbsey twins and their father and mother, to say nothing of cousin jasper, had had on that voyage. now the simple games they tried to get up around the house, and the thought of having to go back to school soon, made them feel a bit lonesome for the deep, blue sea, over which they had made a voyage to rescue the boy, jack nelson, and also for blueberry island, where once they spent a vacation. "i know what we can do!" cried nan, after a rest. "what?" asked bert, always ready to join nan in any fun she thought of. "what can we do?" "go out to the barn and play that's a ship like the one we went on to florida. it'll be cooler in the barn than it is here, anyhow." "that's so," admitted bert. "and oh! i know how we can have packs of fun!" "how?" this time it was nan who eagerly asked. "why we can swing on some of the ropes that are in the haymow. i guess the ropes are there to tie things up on in the winter. but we can swing on 'em now, and make believe we're sailors, just as we did when we found that boy in the cave where we went with cousin jasper." "oh, so we can!" cried nan. "come on!" "i'll be a fireman on the ship!" declared fat freddie, as he got slowly to his feet from the floor where he had been sitting near bert. "i'll be a fireman and squirt water." "not real--only make believe," cried bert. "water spoils hay, you know, freddie. you can't splash any water on daddy's hay in the barn." "no, i'll only make believe," agreed the light-haired little boy. "come on flossie!" he called to his sister, who had slipped down off the porch to run after a big black cat that marched along with his tail in the air, "like a fishing pole," bert said. "come on, flossie!" called freddie. "we'll go out to the barn and play ship and sailors, and i'll be a fireman and you can be----" "i'm going to be hungry, and have something good to eat! that's what i'll be," declared flossie quickly. "i'm going to be awful hungry!" "oh dear!" exclaimed nan, but she was laughing. "that's always the way. those two want to do something different." "well, we can all make believe we're hungry," said bert. "and maybe dinah will give us some cookies to eat." "there she goes now. i'll ask her!" offered nan, as she saw the bobbsey's fat and good-natured colored cook cross the lawn with a small basket of clothes to hang up. "we'll have a little play-party out in the barn." "but i'm going to be real hungry--not make believe!" said freddie. "i want to eat real." "and so you can!" declared nan. "i'll get enough for all of us." a little later the bobbsey twins--the two pairs of them--were on the way to the barn that stood a little way back of the house. mr. bobbsey did not live on a farm. he lived in a town, but his place was large enough to have a barn on it as well as a house. he kept a horse, and sometimes a cow, but just now there was no cow in the stable--only a horse. and the horse was not there, either, just then, for it was being used to pull a wagon about the streets of lakeport. mr. bobbsey had an automobile, but he also kept the horse, and this animal was sometimes used by the clerks from the lumber office. so out to the barn, which had in it the winter supply of hay and oats for the horse, went the bobbsey twins. nan and bert, being older, reached the place first, each one carrying some sugar and molasses cookies dinah had given them. after nan and bert ran flossie and freddie, each one looking anxiously at the packages of cookies. "don't those cookies look good?" cried flossie. "and i guess they'll eat just as good as they look," was freddie's comment. just then nan's foot slipped on a small stone, and she came very near falling down. "oh!" cried flossie and freddie together. "don't drop your cookies, nan!" came quickly from bert. "oh, if you dropped 'em they'd get all dirty," said flossie. "they wouldn't get very dirty," answered freddie hopefully. "anyway, we could brush 'em off. they'd be good enough to eat, wouldn't they?" and he looked at bert. "i guess they wouldn't get very dirty," answered bert. "anyway, nan didn't drop them. but you'd better be careful, nan," he went on. "don't be so scared, bert bobbsey," answered his sister. "i won't drop them." in a minute more the bobbsey twins were at the barn where the sugar and molasses cookies dinah had given them were put in a safe place. "there are the ropes!" exclaimed bert, as he pointed to some dangling from a beam near the haymow. "they're too high to climb!" nan said, for some of the ropes were fast to the rafters of the barn. "oh, we won't climb 'em!" bert quickly returned, for he knew his mother would never allow this. "we'll just swing on 'em, low down near this pile of hay, so if we fall we can't hurt ourselves." "i want to swing on a rope, too!" exclaimed freddie, as he heard what his older brother and sister were talking of. "i like to be a sailor and swing on a rope." "not now, freddie," answered bert. "the ropes are too high for you and flossie. you just play around on the barn floor, and you can watch nan and me swing. then we'll play steamboat, maybe." "i want to be the steam, and go puff-puff!" cried freddie. "and i want to be the captain and say 'all aboard!'" was flossie's wish. "you can take turns," agreed bert. "now don't get in our way, flossie and freddie. nan and i want to see how big a swing we can take by holding to the ropes." "all right. i'll go and see if i can find any eggs," replied freddie. "hens lay eggs in the barn." "well, if you find a nest don't step in it and break all the eggs," warned nan. she and bert, as flossie and freddie went marching around the big barn, climbed up on the pile of hay, and began swinging on the ropes. to and fro swung the older bobbsey twins. "isn't this better than blueberry island?" asked nan. "well no, it isn't any better," said bert; "but it's just as good. look, i'm going to let go and drop on the hay." "be careful and don't hurt yourself!" begged nan, as she swung to and fro, her feet raised from the hay beneath her, while bert, also, swayed slowly to and fro. "oh, i'll be careful!" bert promised. "anyhow, the hay is nice and soft to fall in. i'll make believe i'm a man in the circus, falling from the top of the tent." he swung a little farther to and fro, and then suddenly cried: "here i go!" "oh!" screamed nan, but, really, nothing happened to harm bert. he just dropped into the pile of soft hay. "come on, nan! you try it! lots of fun!" laughed bert as he scrambled up and made for his rope again. nan said "no" at first, but when bert had swung once more and again dropped into the hay, she took her turn. into the hay she plunged, and sank down to her shoulders in the soft, dried grass. "come on--let's do it some more!" laughed bert. then he and his older sister had lots of fun swinging on the ropes and dropping into a pile of hay. "i wonder what flossie and freddie are doing," said bert, after they had had about an hour of this fun. "i haven't seen them for a long while." "maybe they found a hen's nest and took the eggs to the house," said nan. "they'd do that." "yes, if they found one," agreed bert. "well, we'll see where they are after i take another swing. and i'm going to take a big one." "so will i!" decided nan. "oh, it's just as nice as blueberry island or on the deep, blue sea, isn't it, bert?" "it is when we play this way--yes. but just watch me." "here come flossie and freddie now!" exclaimed nan, as she glanced at her older brother, who was taking a firm hold of the rope for his big swing. the two smaller twins, at this moment, came into the barn through the door that led to the cow stable. "where have you been?" asked nan, as she watched bert get ready for his swing. "oh, we had fun," said flossie. "and i squirted water, out where the horse drinks," added freddie, "i hope you didn't get wet!" exclaimed nan. "if you did----" "well, i have on a dirty waist, so it won't hurt me any if i am wet," said freddie calmly. "i want to swing like that, bert," he added. "give me a swing!" "after i've had my turn i'll give you and flossie each one," promised nan. "watch me, bert!" she called. off the mow swung nan, clinging to the swaying rope with both hands. "come on--let's both let go together and see who falls into the hay first!" proposed bert. "all right!" agreed nan. "one, two, three!" cried bert. "ready! let go!" he and nan let go of the ropes at the same time. together they dropped down to the hay--and then something happened! the two older bobbsey children jumped too near the edge of the mow, where the hay was piled in a big roll, like a great feather bed bolster, over the top rail. and bert and nan, in their drop, caused a big pile of hay--almost a wagonload--to slip from the mow and down to the barn floor. and directly underneath were flossie and freddie! down on the two little twins fell bert and nan and the big pile of dried grass, and, in an instant, the two golden heads were buried out of sight on the barn floor in a large heap of hay. chapter ii digging out "oh, bert bobbsey! look what you did," cried nan. she picked herself up from the barn floor, to which she had slid after having come down with the pile of hay, with her brother, right where flossie and freddie had been playing a moment before. "look what you did!" she cried again. "i didn't do it any more than you did!" exclaimed bert. "but where is flossie? and where's freddie?" he looked around, not seeing the smaller twins, and not having noticed exactly what had happened to them. "where are they, nan?" "under the hay, and we've got to dig 'em out! i'll get the pitchfork. that's what sam does when he gets the hay to feed the horse. i can dig out flossie and freddie!" cried nan. she started to run across the barn floor, but was stopped by a call from bert. "don't do that!" he said. "what?" she asked. "don't get the pitchfork! it's sharp and might hurt flossie and freddie. i'll pull the hay off with my hands. you go and tell mother or dinah! somebody's got to help! there's 'most a whole load of hay on 'em i guess!" and indeed it was a large part of the pile of hay in the bobbsey barn that had slid from the mow when bert jumped on it. and this hay now covered from sight the "little fireman" and the "little fat fairy," as daddy bobbsey called his two little twins. "yes, i'll go for dinah!" cried nan. "she knows how to dig under the hay, i guess!" "and i'll start digging now," added bert, as he began tossing aside the wisps of dried grass that covered his small brother and sister from sight. and while the rescue of freddie and flossie is being arranged for, i will take this chance to tell my new readers something of the four children, about whom i am going to write in this book. there are other books ahead of this one, and the first is named after the children. it is called "the bobbsey twins," and relates some of the early adventures of bert, nan, flossie and freddie. those are the names of the twins, as you have already learned. the bobbsey family lived in an eastern city called lakeport, at the head of lake metoka. mr. bobbsey was in the lumber business and had an office near his lumberyard, which was "down town" as the children called it. now i'll tell you just a little about the four children, their friends and something about the other books, and then i'll get on with the story, which i hope you will wish to read. there were two sets of twins, you see. bert and nan were the older. they each had dark brown hair, brown eyes and were rather tall for their age, and not so very fat; though, of late, with all the good times they had had in the country at blueberry island and on the deep, blue sea, the older twins were getting stouter. "fatter," freddie called it. flossie and freddie were just the opposite of bert and nan. the smaller pair of twins were short and stout, and each had light hair, and blue eyes that looked at you, sometimes, in the funniest way you can imagine. besides mr. and mrs. bobbsey there was dinah, the fat, good-natured colored cook, who knew how to make more kinds of cake than you could eat in one day. and then there was sam johnson, her husband. sam worked about the bobbsey house and barn, looked after the horse and sometimes drove the automobile, though he said he liked a horse better. but the bobbsey family liked the automobile, so the horse was used down in the lumberyard more often than to take bert, nan, flossie and freddie for a ride. the bobbsey twins had many friends and relations, but i will not take up your time, now, telling you about them. i must not forget, however, to mention snoop and snap. snoop was a fine, big cat, and he was named "snoop" because he always seemed to be "snooping" into everything, as dinah said. snoop didn't do that to be bad, he just wanted to find out about things. once he wanted to find out what was inside an empty tin can, and so he stuck his head in and he couldn't get it out until bert helped him. snap was the bobbsey dog, and he wasn't called "snap" because he would snap at you. no indeed! it was because, when bert put a cracker on his dog's nose, the animal would "snap" it off with a jerk of his head and eat it--eat the cracker i mean. that was one reason he was called "snap." but there were other reasons, too. and so the bobbsey twins lived in a fine house in a pleasant city and they had lots of fun. those of you who have read the other books know that. they went to the country and to the seashore, to visit uncle william at the latter place, and uncle daniel bobbsey in the former. of course the bobbsey twins went to school, and there is a book telling about them there, and the fun and adventures they had. later on they went to "snow lodge," and after an exciting winter, they spent part of the summer on a houseboat. when bert, nan, flossie and freddie went to meadow brook, which was the country home of uncle daniel, the twins never expected very much to happen. but it did, and they talked about it for a long time. then they came home to have more good times, and, later on, went to a great city. i haven't space, here, to tell you all that happened. you must get the book and read it for yourself. after that they spent a summer on blueberry island, and there were gypsies on the island. some strange things happened, but the bobbsey twins enjoyed every hour of their stay, and did not want to come home. but they had to, of course, and still more strange adventures awaited them. those you may read about in the book just before this. it is called: "the bobbsey twins on the deep, blue sea," and in it is related how the family went on a voyage to an island off the coast of florida, to rescue a poor, sick boy who had been left there by mistake. now they were home once more. it was almost time for school to open for the fall term, and the twins were playing in the barn, making the most of the last days of their vacation, when the accident happened about the hay, as i have told you. "flossie! freddie! are you under there?" called bert, anxiously, as he threw aside armful after armful of the dried grass. "are you down there under the hay?" he paused a moment to listen for an answer, but none came. if flossie and freddie were there, either they did not hear him or they were so smothered by the hay that they could not answer. "oh, i hope nothing has happened to them!" exclaimed bert, and he began digging away faster than before. certainly it was a large pile of hay to have fallen on two little children. but then the hay was soft, and bert, himself, had often been buried under a pile in the field. it had not hurt, but the dust had made him sneeze. faster and faster bert dug away at the hay. he heard feet pattering on the barn floor back of him, and, turning, saw snap, the big dog, come running in. "oh, snap!" cried bert, "flossie and freddie are under the hay! help me dig 'em out!" "bow wow!" barked snap, just as if he understood. of course he didn't really know what had happened, but he saw bert digging away and snap himself knew enough to do that. often enough he had dug up, with his front paws, a bone he had buried in the hard ground. this digging in the soft hay was easier than that. so snap began to paw aside the hay, just as bert was doing, and while boy and dog were doing this into the barn came fat dinah, with nan running ahead of her. "whut's dish yeah has happened, bert? whut's all dish yeah i heah nan say?" demanded the black cook. "whut you done gone an' done to yo' l'il broth' an' sistah? de pooh l'il honey lambs!" "i didn't do anything!" declared bert. "i was swinging on a rope, over the haymow, and so was nan. and flossie and freddie were playing on the barn floor under the mow. i fell on the hay and so did nan, and a whole lot of it slid down and fell on top of flossie and freddie and--and--now they're down under there, i guess!" "good land ob massy!" exclaimed dinah. "dat suah is a lot to happen to mah poor l'il lambkins! where is you, flossie? where is you, freddie?" she cried. there was no answer. "oh, dinah! do get them out," begged nan. "i will, honey! i will!" exclaimed the colored woman. "shall i go to get sam?" nan wanted to know. "mother isn't at home," she added to bert. "she went over to mrs. black's. oh, maybe we can't ever get flossie and freddie out!" "hush yo' talk laik dat!" cried dinah. "co'se we git 'em out! we kin do it. no need to git sam. come on now, bert an' nan! dig as fast as yo' kin make yo' hands fly!" dinah bent over and began tossing aside the hay as bert had been doing. nan also helped, and snap--well he meant to help, but he got in the way more than he did anything else, and bert tried to send his dog out, but snap would not go. faster and faster worked dinah, nan and bert, and soon the big pile of hay, which had fallen on flossie and freddie grew smaller. it was being stacked on another part of the floor. "maybe i'd better go and telephone to daddy!" suggested nan, when the hay pile had been made much smaller. "you don't see anything of them yet, do you dinah?" she asked anxiously. "no, not yet, honey! but i soon will. we's 'most to de bottom ob de heap. no use worritin' yo' pa. we'll git freddie and flossie out all right!" bert was tossing aside the hay so fast that his arms seemed like the spokes of a wheel going around. he felt that it was partly his fault that the hay had fallen on his little brother and sister. "now we'll git 'em!" cried dinah, after a bit. "i see de barn flo' in one place. come on out, chilluns!" she cried. "come on out, flossie an' freddie! we's dug de hay offen yo' now! come on out!" indeed the hay pile was now so small at the place where it had slid from the mow, that it would not have hidden snap, to say nothing of covering the two bobbsey twins. but something seemed to be wrong. there were no little fat legs or chubby arms sticking out. the little bobbsey twins were not in sight, though nearly all the hay had been moved aside. bert, nan and dinah gazed at the few wisps remaining. then, in a queer voice nan said: "why--why! they're not there!" chapter ii the washington children there was no doubt of it. flossie and freddie were not under the pile of hay that had fallen on them. the hay had all been cast aside now, so far away from the place where it had fallen that it could not serve for a hiding place. and bert and nan could see the bare floor of the barn. "where are they?" asked bert, looking in surprise at nan. "where are flossie and freddie?" "dat's whut i wants to know!" declared dinah. "where is dey? has yo' all been playin' a trick on ole dinah?" and she looked sadly at bert and nan. "playing a trick?" cried nan. "we didn't play any trick!" exclaimed bert. "flossie and freddie were down under that hay!" "but they're not there now!" went on nan. "no," said dinah, as she poked aside some of the wisps of hay with her foot. "dey isn't heah now, an' where is dey? dat's whut i'se askin' yo' all, bert an' nan? where is dem two little lambkins?" bert looked at nan and nan looked at bert. it was a puzzle. what had become of flossie and freddie between the time they disappeared under the sliding pile of hay and now, when it had been cleared away to another part of the barn. "i saw them playing on the floor," said nan. "then, when bert and i let go the ropes and jumped in the mow, a lot of hay came down all at once, and then i--i didn't see flossie and freddie any more. they surely were under the hay!" "yes," agreed bert, "they were. but they aren't here now. maybe they fell down through the floor!" he added hopefully. "the cow stable is under this part of the barn." "yes, but there isn't any hole in the barn floor here," said nan. "and the cracks aren't big enough for flossie and freddie to slip through." "no, dey didn't go t'rough de flo', dat's suah!" exclaimed dinah. "it's mighty queer! i guess yo' all had best go call sam," she went on to nan. "mebby he know something 'bout dish yeah barn dat i don't know. go git sam an'--" just then there came a joyous shout from the big barn doors behind nan, bert and dinah. "here we are! here we are! oh, we fooled you! we fooled you!" cried two childish voices, and there stood the missing flossie and freddie, hay in their fluffy, golden hair, hay hanging down over their blue eyes, and hay stuck over their clothes. "here we are!" cried freddie. "did you was lookin' for us?" "i should say we did was!" cried bert, laughing, now, at freddie's queer way of speaking, for, though the little fireman usually spoke quite properly, he sometimes went wrong. "where have you been?" asked nan. "and how did you get out?" "we crawled out from under the hay when it fell on us," explained flossie. "then freddie says let's play hide and coop and we climbed up the little ladder and went up in the haymow and then we slid out of the little window and got outside the barn and then we just hid an' waited to see what you'd do." by this time flossie was out of breath, having said all this without pause. "but you didn't come after us," said freddie, "and so we came to see where you were. and we fooled you, didn't we? we fooled you bad." "i should say you did!" cried bert. "we were digging the hay away. i thought you'd be away down underneath." "we were," went on flossie. "but we wiggled out, an' you didn't see us wiggle." "no," agreed nan, "we didn't see you. but, oh, i'm so glad you are all right!" she cried, and she hugged flossie in her arms. "you aren't hurt, are you?" "no, but i was tickled," said flossie. "the hay did tickle me in my nose, and i wanted to sneeze." "but i wouldn't let her!" explained freddie. "i held my hand over her nose so she couldn't sneeze." "i tried hard so i wouldn't," said flossie, "and freddie helped me. it feels awful funny not to sneeze when you want to. it tickles!" "and the hay tickled me," went on freddie. "it's ticklin' me now. there's some down my back," and he wiggled and twisted as he stood in the middle of the barn floor. snap, the big dog, put his head to one side, and cocked up his ears, looking at the two smaller twins as if asking what it was all about, and what the digging in the hay was all for. "well, it's mighty lucky laik dat it wasn't no wuss!" exclaimed fat dinah, with a sigh of relief. "i suah was clean skairt out ob mah seben senses when yo' come runnin' into mah kitchen, nan, an' says as how flossie an' freddie was buried under de hay!" "and they were!" said nan. "i saw the hay go down all over them." "so did i!" added bert. "but we wiggled out and hid so we could fool you!" laughed freddie. "didn't you see us crawl out?" "no," answered bert, "i didn't. if i had i wouldn't have dug so hard." "ouch! something tickles me awful!" complained freddie, twisting around as though he wanted to work his way out of his clothes. "maybe there's a hay-bug down my back!" he went on. "good land of massy!" cried dinah, catching him up in her arms. "yo' come right in de house wif me, honey lamb, an' ole dinah'll undress yo' an' git at de bug--if dey is one!" "i guess we've had enough fun in the barn," said nan. "i don't want to play here any more." "i guess we'll have to put back the hay we knocked down," said bert. that was one of the bobbsey rules--to put things back the way they had been at first, after their play was done. "yes, we must put the hay up in the mow again," agreed nan. "daddy wouldn't like to have us leave it on the floor. i'll help you, bert, 'cause i helped knock it down." dinah led the two younger twins off to the kitchen, with a promise of a molasses cookie each and a further promise to freddie that she would take out of his clothes whatever it was tickling his back--a hay-bug or some of the dried wisps of grass. bert and nan had not long been working at stacking the hay back in place before sam came in. he had heard what had happened from dinah, his wife, and he said, most kindly: "run along an' play, bert an' nan! i'll put back de hay fo' yo' all. 'tain't much, an' it won't take me long." "thank you, sam!" said bert. "it's more fun playing outdoors to-day than stacking hay in a barn." "are you very sure you don't mind doing it, sam?" asked nan, for she wanted to "play fair." "oh, i don't mind!" exclaimed the good-natured sam. "hop along!" "didn't you ever like to play outdoors, sam?" questioned bert, as he and nan started to leave the barn. "suah i did," answered sam. "when i was a youngster like you i loved to go fishin' and swimmin' in the ole hole down by the crick." "oh, sam, did you like to swim?" went on the bobbsey boy quickly. "i suah did, bert. down in our pa'ts i was considered the bestes' swimmer there." "some day i'm going to see you, sam," declared bert. "maybe you could teach me some new strokes." "i doan know about that, bert. you see, i ain't quite so limber as what i used to be when i was your age or jest a little older. now you jest hop along, both of you, and enjoy yourselves." so nan and bert went out to find some other way of having fun. they wanted to have all the good times they could, as school would soon begin again. "but we'll have a vacation at thanksgiving and christmas and new year's," said nan, as she and her brother talked it over. "thanksgiving's a long way off," said bert, with a sigh. the two children were walking along the side path toward the front yard when suddenly snap, their dog, gave a savage growl. it was the kind of growl he never gave unless he happened to be angry, and bert knew, right away, something must be wrong. "what is it, snap? a tramp?" asked the boy, looking around. often snap would growl this way at tramps who might happen to come into the yard. now there may be good tramps, as well as bad ones, but snap never stopped to find out which was which. he just growled, and if that didn't scare away the tramp then snap ran at him. and no tramp ever stood after that. he just ran away. but now neither bert nor nan could see any tramp, either in the yard or in the street in front of the house. snap, though, kept on growling deep down in his throat, and then, suddenly, the children saw what the matter was. a big dog was digging a hole under the fence to get into the bobbsey yard. the gate was closed, and though the dog might have jumped the fence, he didn't. he was digging a hole underneath. and snap saw him. that's why snap growled. "oh, bert! look!" cried nan. as she spoke the dog managed to get through the hole he had dug, and into the bobbsey yard he popped. but he did not stay there long. before he could run toward bert and nan, if, indeed, he had that notion, snap had leaped toward the unwelcome visitor. snap growled and barked in such a brave, bold way that the other dog gave one long howl, and then back through the hole he wiggled his way, faster than he had come in. but fast as he wiggled out, he was not quick enough, for snap nipped the end of the big dog's tail and there was another howl. "good boy!" cried bert to his dog, as snap came back to him, wagging his tail, having first made sure, however, that the strange dog was running down the street. "good, old snap!" and snap wagged his tail harder than ever, for he liked to be told he had been good and had done something worth while. "i wonder what that dog wanted?" asked nan. "i don't know," answered bert. "he was a strange one. but he didn't stay long!" "not with our snap around!" laughed nan. the two older bobbsey twins were wondering what they could do next to have a good time, when they heard their mother's voice calling to them from the side porch. she had come back from a little visit to a lady down the street, and had heard all about the accident to flossie and freddie. "ho, nan! ho, bert! i want you!" called mrs. bobbsey. "i guess she's going to scold us for making the hay slide on flossie and freddie," said bert, rather anxiously. "well, we couldn't help it," replied his sister. "we didn't know it was so slippery. yes, mother; we're coming!" she answered, as mrs. bobbsey called again. but, to the relief of nan and bert, their mother did not scold them. she just said: "you must be a little more careful when you're playing where flossie and freddie are. they are younger than you, and don't so well know how to look out for themselves. you must look out for them. but now i want you to go down to daddy's office." "what do you want us to do?" asked nan. "here is a letter that he ought to have right away," went on mrs. bobbsey. "it came to the house by mistake. it should have gone to daddy's lumber office, but the postman left it while i was out, and dinah was out in the barn with you children, so she could not tell him to carry it on down town. so i wish you'd take it to daddy. he has been expecting it for some time. it's about some business, and i don't want to open the letter and telephone what's in it. but if you two will just run down with it--" "of course we will!" cried bert. "it'll be fun!" "and may we stay a little while?" asked nan. "yes, if you don't bother daddy. here is the letter." a little later nan and bert were in their father's office. the clerks knew the children and smiled at them, and the stenographer, who wrote mr. bobbsey's letters on the clicking typewriter machine, took the twins through her room into their father's private office. as the door opened, bert and nan saw a strange man talking to mr. bobbsey. but what interested them more than this was the sight of two children--a boy and a girl about their own age--in their father's private office. the boy and girl were sitting on chairs, looking at the very same lumber books--those with pictures of big woods in them--that nan and bert often looked at themselves. mr. bobbsey glanced up as the door opened. he saw his two older twins, and, smiling at them, said: "come in, nan and bert. i want you to meet these washington children!" chapter iv miss pompret's china bert and nan looked at one another in some surprise as they stood in the door of their father's private office. what did he mean by saying that they were to come in and meet the "washington children?" who were the "washington children?" nan and bert were soon to know, for their father spoke again. "come on in. these are two of my twins, mr. martin," he added to the gentleman who was sitting near his desk. the two "washington children," looked up from the lumber books they had been reading. no, i am wrong, they had not been reading them--only looking at the pictures. "two of your twins?" repeated mr. martin, with a smile. "do you mean to say you have more twins at home?" "oh, yes, another set. smaller than these. i wish you would see flossie and freddie. come here, bert and nan. this is my friend, mr. martin," he continued, "and these are his children, billy and nell. they live in washington, d.c." so that was what mr. bobbsey meant. at first, nan said afterward, she had a little notion that her father might have meant the boy and girl were the children of general george washington. but a moment's thought told nan that this could not be. general washington's children, supposing him to have had any, would have been grown up into old men and women and would have passed away long ago. but billy and nell martin lived in washington, district of columbia (which is what the letters d.c. stand for) and, bert and nan knew, washington was the capital, or chief city, of the united states. "mr. martin came in to see me on business," explained daddy bobbsey. "he is traveling for a lumber firm, and on this trip he brought his boy and girl with him." "they aren't twins, though," said mr. martin with a nod at nan and bert. "i think it's lovely to be a twin!" said nell, with a smile at nan. "don't you have lots of fun?" "yes, we do," nan said. "i should think you could have fun in this lumberyard," remarked billy martin. "i'd like to live near it." "yes, we play in it," said bert; and now that the "ice had been broken," as the grown folks say, the four children began to feel better acquainted. "did you come down for anything special?" asked mr. bobbsey of bert. "yes, daddy. here's a letter mother gave us for you," the boy answered. "oh, this is the one i have been expecting," said mr. bobbsey to mr. martin. "now we can talk business. bert and nan, don't you want to take billy and nell out in the yard and show them the lake? but don't fall in, and don't climb on the lumber," he added. "oh, i'd love to look at the lake!" cried nell. "and i like to see big piles of lumber," said her brother billy. "the children will be all right," said mr. bobbsey, in answer to a look from mr. martin. "my older twins often play about the lumberyard, and they'll see that billy and nell come to no harm." so while the two men talked over lumber matters, bert and nan showed billy and nell the sights of their father's lumberyard, and took the washington children down to lake metoka, where the blue waters sparkled in the sun. "oh, this is lovely!" exclaimed nell. "it's nicer than washington!" "don't you have a lake there?" asked bert. "no; but we have the potomac river," answered billy. "that's nice, but not as nice as this lake. now let's go and look at the big piles of lumber." "yes, let's," echoed nell. the children tossed some chips into the lake, pretending they were boats, and then they walked around the yard to where long boards and planks were stacked into great piles, waiting to be taken away on boats or wagons. bert asked one of the workmen if they could play with some of the boards, and, receiving permission to do so, they had fun making something they called a house, and then on a see-saw. "oh, i always did love to see-saw!" said the little girl from washington. "we don't get much of a chance to play that way where i come from." "we have see-saw rides lots of times down here," answered nan. "well, that's because your father owns a lumberyard, and you can get plenty of boards to use for a see-saw," said henry. for an hour or more bert and nan entertained the washington children in the lumberyard, and then, as it was getting close to dinner time, nan told bert they had better go back to their father's office. they found mr. martin about to leave. and then mr. bobbsey thought of something. "look here, henry!" he exclaimed to his friend, "there's no need of your going back to that hotel. come out to the house--you and the children--and have dinner with me. i want you and your boy and girl to meet flossie and freddie, and i want you to meet mrs. bobbsey." "well, i'd like to," said mr. martin slowly, while the eyes of nell and billy glowed in delight. "but, perhaps it might bother your wife." "oh, no!" laughed mr. bobbsey. "she likes company. i'll telephone out that we're coming, and dinah, that's our cook, will be delighted to get up something extra. they'll be glad to see you. come out to the house, all of you, and make me a nice visit. can't you stay a day or so?" eagerly nan and bert waited for the answer, for they liked the washington children very much. "oh, no, we can't stay later than this evening," said mr. martin. "i've got other business to look after. but i'll come out to dinner with you." "oh, we'll have lots of fun!" whispered nan to nell. "you'll just love flossie--she's so cute!" "i'll show you my dog snap," said bert to billy. "you ought to have seen him scare a strange dog just before we came down here." "i like dogs," said billy. "we could have one in washington if we had a barn to keep him in." "we've got a barn," went on bert. "you ought to have seen what happened there this morning to flossie and freddie," and then he told about the little twins having been hidden under the hay. mr. bobbsey's automobile was in the lumberyard, and in this the trip was quickly made to the home of the four twins, after mrs. bobbsey had been told, by telephone, that company was coming. nell and billy were glad to see flossie and freddie, and the six children had fun playing around the house and barn with snoop and snap. mr. and mrs. bobbsey wanted mr. martin to stay two or three days with his children, but the washington lumberman said it could not be done this time. "i'm on a business trip," he said, "and i can't spend as much time in visiting and pleasure as i'd like, though i am trying to give billy and nell a good time. this is the first time i have ever taken them on a trip with me." "and we've had such a lovely time!" exclaimed nell. "packs of fun!" added her brother. "i'm sorry we can't stay longer," went on mr. martin. "you folk must come to washington some day." "yes, i expect to," said mr. bobbsey. "i've been counting on going there some day on some business matters." "well, when you come be sure to bring the children," said the father of nell and billy. "i think they would enjoy seeing the white house, the big capitol building, the congressional library, washington's home at mt. vernon and places like that." "could we see the washington monument?" asked nan. she remembered looking at a picture of that in her geography. "oh, yes, i'd show you that, too," said mr. martin. "and could we see the potomac river?" bert wanted to know. "surely!" laughed billy's father. "i'll show you all the sights of washington if you'll come and pay me a visit--all you bobbsey twins!" he added. "i wish we could go!" sighed nan. "perhaps you can," said her father. "have you got any hay in wash'ton?" asked freddie, suddenly, and every one else laughed except himself and flossie. "oh, i guess i could find enough hay for you and your little sister to hide under," answered mr. martin with a laugh, for he had heard the story of what had happened in the barn. a little later mr. martin and his boy and girl had to leave. they said "good-bye," and while the father of the washington children again asked mr. and mrs. bobbsey to come to visit him at his home, nell and billy whispered to nan and bert: "be sure and come, and bring flossie and freddie with you!" "we will!" promised nan, but neither she nor bert guessed what a queer little adventure they were soon to have in washington. a few days later school opened, and the bobbsey twins had to go back to their class-rooms. at first they did not like it, after the long, joyous vacation on the deep, blue sea, but their teachers were kind, and finally the twins began to feel that, after all, school was not such a bad place. thanksgiving day came, bringing a little vacation period, and after church in the morning, the bobbsey twins went home to eat roast turkey and cranberry sauce. then they went out to play with some of their boy and girl friends, having lots of fun in the barn and yard. "but don't slide any more hay down on flossie and freddie!" begged mrs. bobbsey. "we won't!" promised bert and nan, and they kept their word. it was about a week after thanksgiving, and bert and nan were on their way home from school one day, when, as they passed a red brick house on the street next to theirs, they saw, standing on the porch, a pleasant-faced, elderly lady who was looking up and down the avenue. "that's miss pompret," said nan to bert. "i heard mother say she was very rich." "is she?" asked bert. "she looks kind of funny." "that's 'cause she isn't married," returned nan. "some folks call her an old maid, but i don't think she's very old, even if her hair is white. her face looks nice." "yes, but she looks kind of worried now," said bert. "that's the way mother looks when she's worried." they were in front of the house now, and could see miss pompret quite plainly. certainly the elderly lady did look as though something troubled her. "good afternoon, miss pompret!" called nan, as she was about to pass by. bert took off his cap and bowed. "oh, you're half of the bobbsey twins, aren't you?" asked miss pompret, with a smile. "i often see you go past. i only wish you were a little bigger." "bigger? why?" asked bert, in some surprise. "why, then," explained miss pompret, "you might take this letter to the post-office for me. it's very important, and i want it to go out on this mail, but i can't go to the post-office myself. if you bobbsey twins were bigger i should ask you to take it. tell me, is the other set of twins larger than you two?" "no'm; they're smaller," explained nan. "flossie and freddie are lots littler than we are." "but we're big enough to take the letter to the post-office for you, miss pompret," said bert. he had often heard his father and mother speak of this neighbor, and the kindnesses she had done. "are you sure you are big enough to go to the post-office for me?" asked miss pompret. "we often go for daddy and mother," said nan. "well, then, if you think your mother wouldn't mind, i would like, very much, to have you go," said miss pompret. "the letter is very important, but i can not take it myself, as i have company, and i have no one, just now, who can leave. i thought i might see some large boy on the street, but--" "i'm big enough!" exclaimed bert. "yes, i believe you are!" agreed the elderly lady, looking at him through her glasses. "well, i shall be very thankful to you and your sister if you will mail the letter for me. and, on your way back, stop and let me know that you dropped it in the post-office all right." "we will!" promised bert, and nan nodded her head in agreement with him. miss pompret handed over the letter, which was in a large envelope. nan and bert were soon at the post-office with it. the white-haired lady was waiting for them on the porch as they came back along the street. "won't you come in, just for a minute?" she asked, smiling kindly at them. "my maid has just baked a chocolate cake, and i don't believe your mother would mind if you each had a piece." "oh, no'm--she wouldn't mind at all!" said bert quickly. "we like chocolate cake," said nan, "but we didn't go to the post-office for that!" "bless your heart, child, i know you didn't!" laughed their new friend. "please come in!" the chocolate cake was all bert and nan hoped it would be, and besides that miss pompret set out on the table for them each a glass of milk. they looked around the beautiful but old-fashioned room, noting the dark mahogany furniture, the cut glass on the side-board, and, over in one corner, a glass cupboard, through the clear doors of which could be seen some china dishes. miss pompret saw nan looking at this set of china, and the elderly lady smiled as she said: "isn't it beautiful?" "yes," said nan, softly. "i love pretty dishes." "and these are my greatest treasure," said miss pompret. "i am very proud of them. they have been in my family over a hundred years. but there is a sad story about it--a very sad story about the old pompret china." and the lady's face clouded. "did somebody break it?" asked bert. once he had broken a plate of which his mother was very proud, and he remembered how sad she felt. "no, my china wasn't broken," said miss pompret. "in fact, there is a sort of mystery about it." "oh, please tell me!" begged nan. "i like nice dishes and i like stories." she and bert looked at the closet of choice china dishes. children though they were, they could see that the plates, cups, saucers and other dishes were not like the kind set on their table every day. what could miss pompret mean about a "mystery" connected with her set of china? chapter v "what a lot of money!" bert and nan sat up very straight on the chairs in miss pompret's dining room, and looked first at her and then at the china closet with its shiny, glass doors. miss pompret sat up very straight, too, in her chair, and she, also, looked first from nan and bert to the wonderful china, which seemed made partly of egg shells, so fine it was and pretty. miss pompret's dining room was one in which it seemed every one had to sit up straight, and in which every chair had to be in just the right place, where the table legs must keep very straight, too, and where not even a corner of a rug dared to be turned up. in fact it was a very straight, old-fashioned but very beautiful dining room, and miss pompret herself was an old-fashioned but beautiful lady. "now if you will sit very still, and not move, i'll bring out some pieces of my china set and show them to you," said miss pompret. "you were so kind as to take the letter to the post-office for me when i could not go myself, that i feel i ought to reward you to some way." "the chocolate cake was enough," said nan. "yes, it was awful good!" sighed bert. "mother told you not to say 'awful,'" interposed ben's sister. "oh, well, i mean it was terribly nice!" exclaimed the boy. "i'm glad you liked it," went on miss pompret with a smile. "but i must not keep you too long, or your mother will be wondering what has become of you. but i thought you, nan, would be interested in seeing beautiful china. you'll have a home of your own, some day, and nothing is nicer in a nice home than beautiful dishes." "i know that!" cried nan. "my mamma has some very beautiful dishes, and once in a great while she lets me look them over. sometimes, too, we have them on the table--when it's some special occasion like a birthday or visitors." "i don't much like to see the real nice dishes on a table," remarked bert. "i'm always afraid that i'll break one of them, and then i know my mother would feel pretty bad over it." "you must be careful, my boy. you can't handle nice china as you can your baseball or your football," said miss pompret, with a smile. "well, i guess they couldn't treat dishes like baseballs and footballs!" cried nan. "just think of throwing a sugar bowl up into the air or hitting it with a bat, or kicking a teapot all around the lots!" "that certainly wouldn't be very nice," said miss pompret. she went over to the closet, unlocked the glass doors, and set some of the rare pieces out on the lace cover of the dining room table. bert and nan saw that miss pompret handled each piece as though it might be crushed, even in her delicate hands, which were almost as white and thin as a piece of china. "this is the wonderful pompret tableware," went on the old lady. "it has been in my family over a hundred years. my great-grandfather had it, and now it has come to me. i have had it a number of years, and i think more of it than anything else i have. of course, if i had any little children i would care for them more than for these dishes," went on miss pompret. "but i'm a lonely old lady, and you neighborhood children are the only ones i have," and she smiled rather wistfully at nan and bert. carefully dish after dish was taken from the closet and set out for the bobbsey twins to look at. they did not venture to so much as touch one. the china seemed too easily broken for that. "i should think you'd have to be very careful when you washed those dishes," remarked nan, as she saw how light glowed through the side of one of the thin cups. "oh, i am," answered miss pompret. "no one ever washes this set but me. my maid is very careful, but i would not allow her to touch a single piece. i don't use it very often. only when some old and dear friends come to see me is the pompret china used. and then i am sorry to say, i can not use the whole set." "why not?" asked bert. "are you afraid they'll break it?" "oh no," and miss pompret smiled. "i'm not afraid of that. but you see i haven't the whole set, so i can't show it all. one of the sorrows of my life is that part of my beautiful set of china is missing." "there's a lot of it, though," added bert, as he saw a number of shelves covered with the rare plates, cups and saucers. "yes, but the sugar bowl and cream pitcher are missing," went on miss pompret, with a shake of her white head. "they were beautiful. but, alas! they are missing." and she sighed deeply. "where are they?" asked nan. "ah, that's the mystery i am going to tell you about," said miss pompret. "it isn't a very big story, and i won't keep you long. it isn't often i get a chance to tell it, so you must forgive an old lady for keeping you from your play," and again she smiled, in rather a sad fashion, at nan and bert. "oh, we like it here!" exclaimed nan quickly. "it's lots of fun!" added bert. "i like to hear about a mystery." "well," began miss pompret, "as i told you, this set of china has been in our family over a hundred years. it was made in england, and each piece has the mark of the man who made it. see, this is what i mean." she turned over one of the cups and showed the bobbsey twins where, on the bottom, there was the stamp, in blue, of some animal in a circle of gold. "that is the mark of the waredon factory, where this china was made," went on miss pompret. "only china made by mr. waredon can have this mark on it." "it looks like our dog snap," said bert. "oh, no!" laughed miss pompret. "that is supposed to be the british lion. mr. waredon took that as a trade-mark, and at the top of the golden circle, with the blue lion inside, you can see the letter 'j' while at the bottom is the letter 'w.' they stand for the name jonathan waredon, in whose english factory the china was made. each piece has this mark on it, and no other make of china in the world can be rightfully marked like that. "well, now about the mystery. some years ago, before you children were born, i lived in another city. i had the china set there with me, and then it was complete. i had the cream pitcher and the sugar bowl. one day a ragged man came to the house. he was very ragged and poor. i suppose you would call him a tramp. "the cook i then had felt sorry for him, and let him come into the kitchen to have something to eat. as it happened, part of my rare china set was on a table in the same room. i was getting ready to wash it myself, as i would let no one else touch it. "well, when i came out to wash my beautiful dishes the sugar bowl and cream pitcher of the set were gone. they had been on the table when the tramp was eating the lunch the cook gave him, but now they could not be found. the cook and i looked all over for them--we searched the house, in fact, but never found them." "who took them?" asked bert, eagerly. "well, my dear boy, i have never found out. the cook always said the tramp put the sugar bowl and cream pitcher in his pocket when her back was turned to get him a cup of coffee. at any rate, when he was gone the two pieces were gone also, and while i do not want to think badly of any one, i have come to believe that the tramp took my rare dishes." "didn't you ever see him again?" asked nan. "no, my dear, never, as far as i know." "and did you never find the dishes?" bert wanted to know. "never. i advertised for them. i inquired if any boys in the neighborhood might have slipped in and taken them for a joke, but i never found them. to this day," went on miss pompret, "i have never again set eyes on my cream pitcher and sugar bowl. they disappeared as completely and suddenly as though they had fallen down a hole in the earth. the tramp may have taken them; but what would he do with just two pieces? they were too frail for him to use. a man like that would want heavy dishes. perhaps he knew how valuable they were and perhaps he intended asking a reward for bringing them back. but i never heard from him. "so that is why my rare set of pompret china is not complete. the two pieces are missing and i would give a hundred dollars this minute if i could get them back!" "a--a hundred dollars!" exclaimed bert. "yes, my boy. if some one would get me that sugar bowl and pitcher, with the mark of the lion in a golden circle, and the initials 'j' at the top and 'w' at the bottom, i would willingly pay one hundred dollars," said miss pompret. "a--a whole hundred dollars!" gasped bert. "what a lot of money!" chapter vi wonderful news miss alicia pompret began putting back in the glass-doored closet the pieces of rare china that had the blue lion in a circle of gold and the initials "j.w." on the bottom of each piece. nan and bert watched her, and saw how carefully her white hands took up each plate and cup. "a hundred dollars!" murmured bert again. "i'd like to have all that money. i'd buy--er--i'd buy a goat!" "a goat!" exclaimed miss pompret. "yes," went on bert. "freddie nearly thought one once, when we went to the big city, but mother wouldn't let him keep it. now we're back home; and if i had a hundred dollars i'd buy a goat." "well, if you can find my sugar bowl and pitcher i'll be glad to pay you a hundred dollars," said miss pompret with a smile at bert. "but i don't know that i'd like a goat," she added. "do you really mean you'd pay a hundred dollars for two china dishes?" asked nan, her eyes big with wonder. "yes, my dear," said miss pompret. "of course if they were just two ordinary dishes, such as these," and she pointed to some on a side table, "they would not be worth a hundred dollars. but i need just those two pieces--the pitcher and sugar bowl--to make my rare set of china complete again. so if you children should happen to come across them, bring them to me and i'll pay you a hundred dollars. but, of course," she added, "they must be the pieces that match my set--they must have the lion mark on the underside. however," she concluded with a sigh, "i don't suppose you'll ever find them. the tramp must have broken them many long years ago. i'll never see them again." "did you know the tramp's name?" asked bert. "bless you, of course not!" laughed miss pompret. "tramps hardly ever tell their names, and when they do, they don't give the right one. no, i'm sure i'll never see my beautiful dishes again. sometimes i dream that i shall, and i am disappointed when i awaken. but now i mustn't keep you children any longer. i've told you my little mystery story, and i hope you liked it." "yes, we did, very much," answered nan "only it's too bad!" "you aren't sure the tramp took the dishes, are you?" asked bert. "no; and that is where the mystery comes in," said miss pompret. "perhaps he didn't, and, maybe, in some unexpected way, i'll find them again. i hope i do, or that some one does, and i'll pay the hundred dollars to whoever does." "my, that's a lot of money!" murmured bert again, when he and nan were once more on their way home, having said good-bye to miss pompret. "i wish we could find those dishes." "so do i," agreed nan. "but don't call 'em dishes, bert." "what are they?" her brother wanted to know. "why, they're rare china. when i grow up i'm going to have a set just like miss pompret's." "with the dog on the bottom?" "tisn't a dog, it's a lion!" exclaimed nan. "well, it looks like our dog snap," declared bert. they ran on home to find their mother out at the gate looking up and down the street for them. "are you children just getting home from school?" asked mrs. bobbsey. "were you kept in for doing something wrong?" "oh, no'm!" exclaimed nan. "we went to see miss pompret." "and she's going to give us a hundred dollars if we find two of her dishes!" exclaimed bert. "my! what's all this?" asked his mother, laughing. "'tisn't dishes! it's rare china," said nan, and then, between them, she and bert told the story of the little favor they had done for miss pompret, and how she had invited them in, given them cake and milk, and told them the mystery story. "well, you had quite a visit," said mrs. bobbsey. "miss pompret is a dear lady, rather queer, perhaps, but very kind and a good neighbor. i am glad you did her a favor. i have heard, before, about her china, and knew she had some other rare and old-fashioned things in her house. i have been there once or twice. now i want you to go to the store for me. sam is away and dinah needs some things for supper." "i want to go to the store, too!" exclaimed freddie, who came around the corner of the house just then, with his face and hands covered with mud. "oh, my dear child! what have you been doing?" cried his mother. "oh, just makin' pies," answered freddie, rubbing one cheek with a grimy hand. "i made the pies and flossie put 'em in the oven to bake. we made an oven out of some bricks. but we didn't really eat the pies," he added, "'cause they were only mud." "you look as though you had tried to eat them," laughed nan. "come, freddie, i'll wash you clean." "no, i want to go to the store!" he cried. "so do i!" chimed in the voice of flossie, as she, too, marched around the corner of the house, dirtier, if possible, than her little twin brother. "if freddie goes to the store, i want to go with him!" flossie cried. "all right," answered bert. "you go and wash flossie and freddie, nan, and i'll get the express wagon and we'll pull them to the store with us. then we can put the groceries in the wagon and bring them back that way." "that will be nice," put in mrs. bobbsey. "i'll go and see just what dinah wants. run along with nan, flossie and freddie, and let her wash you nice and clean." this just suited the smaller twins, and soon they were being made, by nan's use of soap and water in the bath room, to look a little less like mud pies. while bert got out the express wagon, snap, the big dog, saw his little master, and jumped about, barking in joy. "i don't care if that is a lion on the back of miss pompret's dishes," murmured bert, as he put a piece of carpet in the wagon for flossie and freddie to sit on, "it looks just like you, snap. and i wonder if i could ever find that milk pitcher and sugar bowl and get that hundred dollars. i don't guess i could, but i'd like to awful much. no, i mustn't say 'awful,' but i'd like to a terrible lot. a hundred dollars is a pack of money!" down the street nan and bert pulled flossie and freddie in the little express wagon, with snap running on ahead and barking in delight. this was the best part of the day for him--when the children came home from school. flossie and freddie came first, and then nan and bert, and then the fun started. "now don't run too fast!" exclaimed flossie, as the express wagon began to bounce over the uneven sidewalk. "oh, yes, let's go real fast!" cried freddie. "let's go as fast as the fire engines go." "we can't run as fast as that, freddie," declared nan, who was almost out of breath. "we'll just run regular." and then she and bert pulled the younger twins around for a little ride in the express wagon before they did the errand on which they had been sent. "i had a letter from mr. martin to-day," said mr. bobbsey at the supper table that evening. "he asked to be remembered to you," he said to mrs. bobbsey. "and billy and nell sent their love to you children." "they got safely back to washington, did they?" asked mrs. bobbsey. "yes," her husband answered. "and they said they had had a very nice visit here. they are anxious to have us come to washington to see them." "can we go?" asked nan. "well, perhaps, some day," said her father. "i'd like to go now," murmured bert. "maybe we might see that tramp in washington, and get back miss pompret's dishes." "rare china," muttered nan, half under her breath. "what tramp is that, and what about miss pompret's dishes?" asked daddy bobbsey, as he took his cup of tea from dinah. then he had to hear the story of that afternoon's visit of nan and bert. "oh, i guess miss pompret will never see her two china pieces again," said mr. bobbsey. "if the tramp took them he must have sold them, if he didn't smash them. so don't think of that hundred dollars, bert and nan." "but couldn't we go to washington, anyhow?" bert wanted to know. "well, not right away, i'm afraid," his father answered. "you have to go to school, you know." but a few days after that something happened. about eleven o'clock in the morning bert, nan, flossie and freddie came trooping home. into the house they burst with shouts of laughter. "what's the matter? what is it? has anything happened?" cried mrs. bobbsey. "why are you home from school at such a time of day?" "there isn't any school," explained nan. "no school?" questioned her mother. "and there won't be any for a month, i guess!" added bert. "hurray!" "what do you mean?" asked his surprised mother. "no school for a month?" "no, mother," added nan "the steam boiler is broken and they can't heat our room. it got so cold the teacher sent us home." "an' we came home, too'" added flossie. "we couldn't stay in our school 'cause our fingers were so cold!" "was any one hurt when the boiler burst?" asked mrs. bobbsey. "no," bert said. "it didn't exactly burst very hard, i guess." but mrs. bobbsey wanted to know just what the trouble was, so she called up the principal of the school on the telephone, and from him learned that the heating boiler of the school had broken, not exactly burst, and that it could no longer heat the rooms. "it will probably be a month before we can get a new boiler, and until then there will be no more school," he said. "the children will have another vacation." "a vacation so near christmas," murmured mrs. bobbsey. "i wonder what i can do with my twins?" just then the telephone rang, and mrs. bobbsey listened. it was mr. bobbsey telephoning. he had heard of some accident at the school, and he called up his house, from the lumberyard, to make sure his little fat fairy and fireman, as well as nan and bert, were all right. "yes, they're home safe," said mrs. bobbsey. "but there will be no school for a month." "good!" exclaimed daddy bobbsey. "that will just suit me and the children, too. i'll be home in a little while, and i have some wonderful news for them!" "oh, i wonder what it can be!" exclaimed nan, when her mother told her what daddy bobbsey had said. chapter vii on a trip the bobbsey twins could hardly wait for their daddy to come home after their mother had told them what he said over the telephone. "tell me again, mother, just what he told you!" begged nan. "well, he said he was just as glad as you children were, that there was to be no more school for a month," answered mrs. bobbsey. "though, of course, he was sorry that the steam boiler had broken. and then he said he had some wonderful news to tell us all." "oh, i know what it is!" cried bert. "what?" asked nan. "he's found the tramp that took miss pompret's dishes," went on bert, "and he's got them back--daddy has--and he's going to get the hundred dollars! that's it!" "oh, i hardly think so," said mrs. bobbsey, with a smile. "i don't believe daddy has caught any tramp." "they do sometimes sleep in the lumberyard," remarked bert. "yes, i know," agreed his mother. "but, even if daddy had caught a tramp, it would hardly be the same man who took miss pompret's rare pieces of china--the pitcher and sugar bowl. and if it had been anything like that, daddy would have told me over the telephone." "but what could the wonderful news be?" asked nan. "something too long to talk about until he gets home, i think," answered mother bobbsey. "have patience, daddy will soon be here!" but of course the bobbsey twins could not be patient any more than you could if you expected something unusual. they looked at the clock, they ran to the door several times to look down the street to see if their father was coming, and, at last, when nan had said for about the tenth time: "i wonder what it is!" a step sounded on the front porch. "there's daddy now!" cried bert. eight feet rushed to the front door, and mr. bobbsey was almost overwhelmed by the four twins leaping at him at once. "what is it?" cried bert. "tell us the wonderful news!" begged nan. "have you got another dog for us?" flossie wanted to know. "did you bring me a new toy fire engine?" cried freddie. "maybe it's a goat!" exclaimed flossie. "now wait a minute! wait a minute!" laughed mr. bobbsey, as he kissed each one in turn. "sit down and i'll tell you all about it." he led them into the library, and sat down on a couch, taking flossie and freddie up on his knees, while bert and nan sat close on either side. "now first let me hear all about what happened at school to-day," said mr. bobbsey, who had come home to dinner. "oh, no!" laughed nan. "we want to hear the wonderful news first!" "oh, all right!" laughed her father. "well, then, how would you all like to go off on a trip?" "a trip?" cried bert. "a real trip? to florida?" "well, hardly there again so soon," replied his father. "do you mean a trip to some city?" asked nan. "in a steamboat?" cried freddie. "i want to go on a boat!" "yes, i think perhaps we can go on a boat," said mr. bobbsey. "and in a train, too!" exclaimed flossie. "i want to go on a train!" "and i suppose, if we take this trip, we'll have to go on a train, also," and mr. bobbsey looked over the heads of the children and smiled at his wife who stood in the doorway. "but you haven't told us yet where we are going," objected nan. "is it to new york?" bert wanted to know. "part of it is," his father replied. "oh, is it two trips?" nan asked. "well, not exactly," answered mr. bobbsey. "you might say it has two parts to it, like a puzzle. the first part is to go on a trip to new york, and from there we'll go on a trip to--i'll let you see if you can guess. come on, bert, your turn first." "to uncle william's!" guessed bert. "no," answered his father. "your turn, nan." "to uncle daniel's at meadow brook." "no," and her father smiled at her. "i know!" cried freddie. "we're goin' on the houseboat." "wrong!" said mr. bobbsey. "now what does my little fat fairy have to say?" "are we going swimming?" asked flossie, who loved to splash in the water. "hardly!" laughed daddy bobbsey. "it's too cold. well, none of you has guessed right, so i'll tell you. we're going to washington to visit the martin children who were here a while ago." "oh, to washington!" cried nan. "how nice!" "and shall we see billy and nell?" bert wanted to know. "yes," his father answered, "that's what we'll do. i had a letter from mr. martin the other day, inviting us all to come to his house to pay him a visit," he went on. "i didn't know just when i could go, but to-day i got another letter from another man in washington, saying he wanted to see me about some lumber business. i may have to stay a week or two, so i thought i would take the whole family with me, and make a regular visit of it." "will you take us all?" asked freddie. "yes." "and snap and snoop an' an'--" began flossie. "well, hardly the dog and the cat," explained her father. "just mother, you four twins and i will go to washington." "when can we start?" nan asked. "as soon as your mother can get you ready," replied mr. bobbsey. "i'm ready now," announced freddie. "and shall we stop in new york?" bert demanded. "yes, for a day or so. and now what do you think of my news?" asked mr. bobbsey. "it's just--wonderful!" cried nan. "oh, we'll have such fun with nell and billy!" "and i want to see if i can drop a ball off washington monument," added bert. "oh, you hadn't better try that," his father cautioned him. "you might hit some one. well, then, it's all settled, and we'll go on the trip. how about it, mother?" and he smiled at his wife. "i think it will be very nice to go," she answered. "i like mr. martin and his children very much, and i'm sure we'll like mrs. martin too. it's fortunate that we can all go--that the children will not lose any schooling. for if all the classes stop, and the school is closed, they will all start evenly again when the boiler is fixed. so run along now, my twins, and get ready for lunch. daddy and i have lots to talk about." and so did the bobbsey twins, as you can easily imagine. if i told you all the things that happened in the next few days there would be but little else in this book except the story of getting ready for the journey. and as the trip itself is what you want to hear about, and especially what happened on it, i'll skip the getting ready and go right on with the story. trunks and valises were packed, dinah and sam were told what to do while the bobbseys were away, and the children reminded the colored cook and her husband to be sure to feed snap and snoop plenty of things the dog and cat liked. "oh, i'll look after dem animiles all right, honey lamb!" said fat dinah to freddie. "i won't let 'em starve!" "and maybe i can get another dog in washington," said freddie. "and maybe i can find a cat!" added flossie. "fo' de land sakes! doan brung any mo' catses an' dogses around heah," begged dinah. at last everything was in readiness. mr. bobbsey had written to mr. martin, telling of the coming of the bobbsey twins to washington, after a short stay in new york. the children said good-bye to dinah and sam, as well as to snap and snoop, and then one day they were taken to the railroad station in the automobile. "all aboard!" cried the conductor, as the bobbseys scrambled into the coach of the train that was to take them to new york. "all aboard!" "oh, isn't this fun?" cried nan, as she settled herself in a seat with bert. "great!" he agreed. "i wonder what will happen before we get back." and it was going to be something very odd, i can tell you that much. chapter viii in new york the bobbsey twins had been to so many places, and had so often ridden in railroad trains, that this first part of their trip--journeying in the steam cars--was nothing new to them. they were quite like old travelers; at least nan and bert were. for flossie and freddie there was always sure to be something new and strange on such a long railroad trip. the two older twins had picked out a nice seat in the center of the car, and were comfortably settled, bert kindly letting nan sit next to the window. "you may sit here after a while," nan said to bert. "we'll take turns." "that will be nice," replied bert. but flossie and freddie were not so easily pleased. each of the smaller twins wanted to sit next to the window, and their father and mother knew that soon the little snub noses would be pressed close against the glass, and that the bright eyes would see everything that flashed by as the tram speeded on. but the trouble was that there were not enough seats for flossie and freddie each to have one, and, for a moment, it looked as though there would be a storm, freddie slipped into the only whole vacant seat and took his place next the window. "oh, i want to sit there!" cried flossie. "mother, make freddie give me that place! please do!" "no! i was first!" exclaimed the little boy, and this was true enough. "i want to look out the window and see the cows!" went on flossie, and her voice sounded as though she might cry at any moment. "i want to see the cows!" "and i want to see the horses," declared freddie. "if i'm going to be a fireman i've got to look at horses, haven't i?" he asked his father. "cows are better than horses!" half-sobbed flossie. "mother, make freddie let me sit where i can look out!" "children! children! this isn't at all nice!" exclaimed mrs. bobbsey. "what shall i do?" she asked her husband in a low voice, for several of the passengers were looking at flossie and freddie, whose voices were rather loud. "i'll let flossie have my place," offered nan. "i don't mind sitting in the outside seat. here, flossie, come over here and sit with bert, and i'll sit with freddie." "thank you, very much, nan," said her mother in a low voice. "you are a good girl. i'm sure i don't know what makes flossie and freddie act so. they are usually pretty good on such a journey as this." but nan did not have to give up her place at the window, for a gentleman in the seat across the aisle arose and said to mr. bobbsey with a smile: "let your little girl take my seat near the window. i'm going into the smoking car, and i get off at the next station. i know how i liked to sit near a window, where i could see the horses and cows, when i was a little boy." "oh, thank you!" exclaimed mr. bobbsey. "that is very kind of you." so the change was made. flossie had a seat near one window, and freddie near another, and mr. bobbsey sat with his "little fireman," while mrs. bobbsey took the other half of the seat with the "little fat fairy." nan and bert were together, and so there was peace at last. on rushed the train taking the bobbsey twins to new york; and from there they were to go to washington, where a strange adventure awaited them. nothing very much happened during the first part of the journey. of course, flossie and freddie wanted many drinks of water, as they always did, and for a time they kept bert busy going to the end of the car to fill the drinking cup. but as it was winter and the weather was not warm, the little twins did not want quite as much water as they would have wanted had the traveling been done on a hot day in summer. and at last flossie and freddie seemed to have had enough. they sat looking out of the window and speaking now and then of the many things they saw. "i counted ten horses," announced freddie after a while. "they were mostly on the road. i didn't see many horses in the fields." "no, not very many horses are put out to graze in the fields in the winter, except perhaps on an extra warm day when there isn't any snow," said mr. bobbsey. "and i saw two-sixteen cows!" exclaimed flossie. "i saw them in a barnyard. two-sixteen cows." "there aren't so many cows as that; is there, daddy?" asked freddie. "well, perhaps not quite," agreed mr. bobbsey with a smile. "but flossie saw a few cows, for i noticed them myself." then the smaller twins tried to count the telegraph poles and the trees that flashed past, and soon this made them rather drowsy. flossie leaned back against her mother, and was soon sound asleep, while freddie cuddled up in daddy bobbsey's arms and, in a little while, he, also, was in by-low land. bert and nan took turns sitting next to the window, until the train boy came through with some magazines, and then the older twins were each allowed to buy one, and this kept them busy, looking at the pictures and reading the stories. it was a rather long trip from lakeport to new york, and it was evening when the train arrived in the big city. it was quite dark, and the smaller twins, at least, were tired and sleepy. but they roused up when they saw the crowds in the big station, and noticed the bright lights. "i'm hungry, too!" exclaimed freddie. "i want some supper. oh, dear, i wish dinah was here!" "so do i!" added flossie. "i guess my cat snoop is having a good supper now." "and i guess my dog snap is, too!" went on freddie. "why can't we have supper?" he asked of his father, and several of the passengers, hurrying through the big station, turned to laugh at the chubby little fellow, who spoke very loud. "we'll soon have supper, little fireman," said mr. bobbsey. "we might have eaten on the train, but i thought it best to wait until we reached our hotel, where we shall stay all night." "how long are we going to be in new york?" asked nan. "two or three days," her father replied. "i have some business to look after here. we may stay three days." "that'll be fun!" exclaimed bert. "there's a lot of things i want to see, and we didn't have time when we were here before." the twins had been in new york before, as those of you know who have read the book called "the bobbsey twins in a great city." the hotel was soon reached, and, after being washed and freshened up in the bathroom of their apartment, the bobbsey twins and their father and mother were ready to go down to supper. and not all the bright lights, nor the music which played all during the meal, could stop flossie and freddie from eating, nor bert and nan, either. the twins were very hungry. the next day mrs. bobbsey took nan and flossie shopping with her, while mr. bobbsey took bert and freddie down town with him as the lumber merchant had to see some men on business, and he knew the two boys could wait in the different offices while he talked with his men friends. "we will meet you in the woolworth building," said mr. bobbsey to his wife. "you bring flossie and nan there, and after we go up in the high tower we'll have lunch, and then go to the bronx park to see the animals." "oh, that will be fun!" cried freddie. "i want to see a bear--two bears!" "and i want to see ten--fifteen monkeys!" cried flossie. "well, i hope you all get your wishes!" laughed mother bobbsey. in one of the downtown offices where he had to stop to see a man, mr. bobbsey was kept rather a long time talking business, and freddie and bert got tired, or at least freddie did. bert was so interested in looking out of the high window at the crowds in the streets below, that he did not much care how long his father stayed. but freddie wandered about the outer office, looking at the typewriter which a pretty girl was working so fast that, bert said afterward, you could hardly see her fingers fly over the keys. the girl was too busy to pay much attention to what freddie did until, all of a sudden, she looked down at the floor and exclaimed: "oh, it's raining in here! or else a water pipe has burst!" she pointed to a little puddle of water that had formed under her desk, while another stream was running over the office floor. "why, it isn't raining!" declared bert, for the sun was shining outside. "it can't be!" "then where did the water come from?" asked the girl. "i--i guess i made it come!" confessed freddie, walking out of a corner. "i got a drink from the water tank, but now i can't shut off the handle, and the water's comin' out as fast as anything!" "oh, my!" cried the girl, jumping up with a laugh, "i must shut it off before we have a flood here!" "freddie! what made you do it?" asked bert. "i couldn't help being thirsty, could i?" asked the little boy. "and it wasn't my fault the handle got stuck! i didn't know so much water would come out!" and i suppose it really wasn't his fault. the girl soon shut oft the water at the faucet, and a janitor mopped up the puddle on the floor, so that when mr. bobbsey came out with his friend from the inner office, everything was all right again. and the business man only laughed when he heard what freddie had done. "now we'll go to the woolworth building," said mr. bobbsey to freddie and bert, as they went out on broadway. "i think mother and the girls will be there waiting for us, as i stayed talking business longer than i meant to." and, surely enough, mrs. bobbsey, nan, and flossie were waiting in the lobby of the big woolworth building when mr. bobbsey came up with the two boys. this building is the tallest one in the world used for business, and from the top of the golden tower one can look for miles and miles, across new york bay, up toward the bronx, over to brooklyn and can see towns in new jersey. "we'll go up in the tower and have a view," said mr. bobbsey, "and then we'll get lunch and go to the bronx, where the animals are." they entered one of the many elevators, with a number of other persons who also wanted to go to the woolworth tower, and, in a moment, the sliding doors were closed. "oh!" suddenly exclaimed nan. and flossie, freddie and bert all said the same thing, while mrs. bobbsey clasped her husband's arm and looked rather queer. "what's the matter?" asked her husband. "why, we're going up so fast!" exclaimed the children's mother. "it makes me feel queer!" "this is an express elevator," said mr. bobbsey. "there are so many floors in this tall building that if an elevator went slowly, and stopped at each one, it would take too long to get to the top. so they have some express elevators, that start at the bottom floor, and don't stop until they get to floor thirty, or some such number as that." "are there thirty floors to this building?" asked bert, as the elevator car, like a big cage in a tunnel standing on end, rushed up. "yes, and more," his father answered. "i like to ride fast," said freddie, "i wish we had an elevator like this at home." they had to take another, and smaller elevator, that did not go so fast, to get to the very top of the tower, and from there the view was so wonderful that it almost took away the breath of the bobbsey twins. "my, this is high up!" exclaimed bert, as he looked over the edge of the railing, and down at the people in the streets below, who seemed like ants crawling around. "well, i guess we'd better be going now," said mr. bobbsey, after a bit. "come, children! nan--bert--flossie--why, where is freddie?" he asked, looking around. "isn't he here?" cried mrs. bobbsey, her face turning white. "i don't see him," went on mr. bobbsey. "he must have gone inside." but freddie was not there, nor was he anywhere on the outside platform that surrounded the topmost peak of the tall building. "oh, where is he? what has happened to freddie?" cried his mother. "if he has fallen! freddie!" chapter ix washington at last the startled cries of mrs. bobbsey alarmed a number of other women on the tower platform, and some one asked: "did your little boy fall off?" "i don't know what happened to him!" said mrs. bobbsey, who was now almost crying. "he was here a moment ago, and now he's gone!" "he couldn't have fallen off!" exclaimed mr. bobbsey. "some one would have seen him. i think he must have gone down by himself in the little elevator. i'll ask the man." the elevator, just then, was at the bottom of the tower, but it was soon on its way up, and mrs. bobbsey fairly rushed at the man as he opened the door. "where is my little boy? oh, have you seen my little boy?" she cried. "well, i don't know, lady," answered the elevator man. "what sort of little boy was he?" "he has blue eyes and light hair and--" "let me explain," mr. bobbsey spoke quietly. "my little boy, freddie, was out on the tower platform with us looking at the view, a few minutes ago, and now we can't find him. we thought perhaps he slipped in here by himself and rode down with you." "well, he might have slipped into my elevator when i wasn't looking," answered the man. "i took two or three little boys down on the last load, but i didn't notice any one in particular. better get in and ride to the ground floor. maybe the superintendent or the head elevator man can tell you better than i. get in and ride down with me." "oh, yes, and please hurry!" begged mrs. bobbsey. "oh, what can have happened to freddie?" "i think you'll find him all right," said the elevator man. "no accident has happened or i'd have heard of it." "yes; don't worry!" advised mr. bobbsey. but mrs. bobbsey could not help worrying, and nan, bert and flossie were very much frightened. they were almost crying. even though the bobbseys got in an express elevator after getting out of the small, slower one, it could not go down fast enough to suit freddie's mother. when the ground floor was reached she was the first to rush out. one look around the big corridor of the woolworth building showed mrs. bobbsey that something had happened over near one of the elevators. there was a crowd there, and, for a moment, she was very much frightened. but the next second she saw freddie himself, with a crowd of men around him, and they were all laughing. "oh, freddie! where did you go and what have you been doing?" cried his frightened mother as she caught him up in her arms. "i've been having rides in the elevator," announced the small boy. "and it went as fast as anything! i rode up and down lots of times!" "yes, that's what he did," said the elevator man, with a laugh. "i didn't pay much attention to him at first, but when i saw that he was staying in my car trip after trip, i asked him at what floor he wanted to get out. he said he didn't want to get out at all--that he liked me, and liked to stay in and ride!" and at this the crowd laughed again. "and is that what you have been doing, freddie--riding up and down in the elevator?" asked mr. bobbsey. "yes, and i liked it!" exclaimed freddie. "i wished flossie was with me." "i'm here now!" said the "little fat fairy," laughing. "i can ride with you now, freddie." "no! there has been enough of riding," said mrs. bobbsey. "and you gave me a bad fright, freddie. why did you wander away?" "'cause i liked an elevator ride better than staying up so high where the wind blew," explained the little fellow. and when they asked him more about it he said he had just slipped away from them while they were on the tower platform, gone back into the room and ridden down in the elevator with the other passengers. no one realized that freddie was traveling all by himself, the elevator man thinking the blue-eyed and golden-haired boy was with a lady who had two other children by the hands. freddie rode to the ground floor, and then he just stayed in the express elevator, riding up and down and having a great time, until the second elevator man began to question him. "well, don't ever do it again," said mr. bobbsey, and freddie promised that he would not. after this there was a lunch, and then they all went up to bronx park, traveling in the subway, or the underground railway, which seems strange to so many visitors to new york. but the bobbsey twins had traveled that way before, so they did not think it very odd. "it's just like a big, long tunnel," said bert, and so the subway is. the bronx park is not such a nice place to visit in winter as it is in summer, but the children enjoyed it, and they spent some time in the elephant house, watching the big animals. there was also a hippopotamus there, and oh! what a big mouth he had. the keeper went in between the bars of the hippo's cage, with a pail full of bran mash, and cried: "open your mouth, boy!" "oh, look!" cried bert. and, as they looked, the hippopotamus opened his great, big red jaws as wide as he could, and the man just turned the whole pail full of soft bran into the hippo's mouth! "oh, what a big bite!" cried freddie, and every one laughed. "does he always eat that way?" asked mrs. bobbsey of the keeper. "well, i generally feed him that way when there are visitors here," was the answer. "the children like to see the big red mouth open wide. and here's something else he does." after the hippo, which is a short name for hippopotamus, had swallowed the pail full of bran mash, the keeper took up a loaf of bread from a box which seemed to have enough loaves in it for a small bakery, and cried: "open again, old fellow!" wide open went the big mouth, and right into it the man tossed a whole loaf of bread. and the hippo closed his jaws and began chewing the whole loaf of bread as though it were only a single bite. "oh my!" cried freddie and flossie, and freddie added: "if he came to a party you'd have to make an awful lot of sandwiches!" "i should say so!" laughed the keeper. "one sandwich would hardly fill his hollow tooth, if he had one." the children spent some little time in the bronx park, and enjoyed every moment. they liked to watch the funny monkeys, and see the buffaloes, which stayed outdoors even though it was quite cold. the bobbsey twins spent four days in new york, and every day was a delight to them. they had many other little adventures, but none quite so "scary" as the one where freddie slipped away to ride in the elevator. finally, mr. bobbsey's business was finished, and one evening he said: "to-morrow we go to washington." "hurray!" exclaimed bert. "then i can see billy martin." "and i can see nell. i like her very much," added nan. "and i'm going to see the big monument!" cried freddie. early the next morning the bobbsey family took a train at the big pennsylvania station to go to washington. nothing very strange happened on that trip except that a lady in the same car where the twins rode had a beautiful little white dog, and flossie and freddie made friends with it at once, and had lots of fun playing with the animal. "washington! washington!" called the trainman, after a ride of about five hours. "all out for washington!" "here at last, and i am glad of it," sighed mrs. bobbsey. "i shall be glad to have supper at the hotel and get to bed. i am tired!" but the children did not seem to be tired. they had enjoyed every moment of the trip. in an automobile they rode to their hotel, and soon were in their rooms, for mr. bobbsey had engaged three with a nice bath. he had decided it would be best to stay at a hotel rather than at the martins' house, because there were so many bobbseys; but they expected to visit their friends very often. it was evening when the bobbseys arrived in washington, and too late to go sight-seeing. but on the way to the hotel in the automobile they had passed the capitol, with the wonderful lights showing on the dome, making it look as though it had taken a bath in moon-beams. "oh, it's just lovely here!" exclaimed nan, with a happy little sigh as they went down to supper, or "dinner" as it is generally called, even though it is eaten at night. "scrumptious!" agreed bert. the bobbsey family had a little table all to themselves at one side of the room, and a waiter came up to serve them, mr. bobbsey giving the order. nan and bert and flossie and freddie looked about. it was not the first time they had stopped at a big hotel, but there was always something new and strange and interesting to be seen. bert, who had been gazing about the room, began to look at the dishes, knives and forks the waiter was putting on the table. suddenly the dark-haired boy took hold of the sugar bowl and turned it over, spilling out all the lumps. "why bert! you shouldn't do that," exclaimed his father. "i want to see what's on the bottom of this bowl," bert said. "it looks just like the one miss pompret lost, and if it's the same i'll get a hundred dollars! oh, look, it is the same! nan, i've found her lost sugar bowl!" cried bert. chapter x lost several persons, dining at different tables, looked over to the one where the bobbseys were. they smiled as they heard bert's excited voice and saw him with the empty, overturned sugar bowl in his hand. "yes, this is the very one miss pompret lost!" bert went on. "if we can only find the milk pitcher now we'll have both pieces and we can get the reward. look at the pitcher, nan, and see if it's got the dog--i mean the lion--on as this has." "don't dare turn over the milk!" cried mrs. bobbsey, as nan reached for the pitcher. "spilling the sugar was bad enough. bert, how could you?" "but, mother, that's the only way i could tell if it was miss pompret's!" said the boy, while flossie and freddie looked curiously at the heap of square lumps of sugar where bert had emptied them in the middle of the table. "let me see that bowl, bert," said mr. bobbsey a bit sternly. "i think you are making a big mistake. this isn't at all like the kind of china miss pompret has. hers is much finer and thinner." "but this has got a lion on the bottom, and it's in a circle just like the lion on miss pompret's dishes!" said bert, as he passed the bowl to his father. "are the letters there--the letters 'j.w.'?" nan asked eagerly. "i don't see them," said bert. "but the lion is there. maybe the letters rubbed off, or maybe the tramp scratched 'em off." "no, bert," and mr. bobbsey shook his head, "this sugar bowl has a lion marked on the bottom, it is true, but it isn't the same kind that is on miss pompret's fine china. this tableware is made in trenton, new jersey, and it is new--it isn't as old as that miss pompret showed you. now please pick up the sugar, and don't act so quickly again." "well, it looked just like her sugar bowl," said bert, as he began putting the square lumps back where they belonged. a smiling waiter saw what had happened, and came up with a sort of silver shovel, finishing what bert had started to do. "wouldn't it have been great if we had really found her milk pitcher and sugar bowl?" asked nan. "if we had the hundred dollars we could buy lots of things in washington." "don't count on it," advised mrs. bobbsey. "you will probably never see or hear of miss pompret's missing china. but i'm glad bert overturned the sugar bowl and not the milk pitcher searching for the lion mark." "oh, i wouldn't upset the milk'" exclaimed bert with a laugh. "i knew the sugar wouldn't hurt the tablecloth." so that incident passed, much to the amusement of the other hotel guests, and, really, no great harm was done, for the sugar was easily put back in the bowl. then dinner was served, and for a time the bobbsey twins did not talk very much. they were too busy with their knives, forks and spoons. bert wanted to go out and take a look at the capitol by night, to see the searchlights that were arranged to cast their glow up on the dome from the outside. nan, also, said she would like to take a little walk, and as mrs. bobbsey was tired she said she would stay in with flossie and freddie. so it was arranged, and mr. bobbsey took the two older children out of the hotel. it was still early evening, and the streets were filled with persons, some on foot, some in carriages, and many in automobiles. it was not far from the hotel where the bobbseys were staying to the capitol, and soon bert and nan, with their father, were standing in front of the beautiful structure, with its long flight of broad steps leading up to the main floor. "it's just like the picture in my geography!" exclaimed nan, as she stood looking at it. "but the picture in your book isn't lighted up," objected bert. "well, no," admitted nan. "the lights have not been in place very long," explained mr. bobbsey. "very likely the picture in nan's book was made before some one thought of putting search lamps on the dome." "could we go inside?" bert wanted to know. "i'd like to see where the president lives." "he doesn't live in the capitol," explained nan. "he lives in the white house; doesn't he daddy? our history class had to learn that." "yes, the white house is the home of the president," said mr. bobbsey. "but we could go inside the capitol for a few minutes i guess. the senators and congressmen are having a night session." "what for?" asked nan. "do they have to work at night?" "sometimes." "they don't work," declared bert. "they just talk. i know, 'cause i heard mr. perkins say so down in our post-office at home one day. he said all the senators and congressmen did was talk and talk and talk!" "well, they do talk a lot!" laughed bert's father. "but that is one of the ways in which they work. now we'll go inside for a little while." in spite of the fact that it was night the capitol was a busy place. later mr. bobbsey learned that the senators and congressmen were meeting at night in order to finish a lot of work so they could the sooner end the session--"adjourn," as it is called. bert and nan walked around the tiled corridors. they saw men hurrying here and there, messenger boys rushing to and fro, and many visitors like themselves. the children looked at the pictures and statues of the great men who had had a part in the making of united states history, but, naturally, nan and bert did not care very much for this. "it isn't any fun!" exclaimed bert. "can't we go in and hear 'em talk and talk and talk, like mr. perkins said they did?" "we'll go in and hear the senators and congressmen debate, or talk, as you call it, some other time," said mr. bobbsey. "we mustn't stay too late now on account of having left mother and freddie and flossie at the hotel. i think you've seen enough for the first evening." so, after another little trip about the corridors, bert and nan followed their father outside and down the flight of broad steps. "say, this would be a great place to slide down with a sled if there was any ice or snow!" exclaimed bert. "they wouldn't let him, would they, daddy?" asked nan. "hardly," answered her father. "well, i can have fun some other way," bert said. "i wish i could find miss pompret's dishes and get the hundred dollars." "so do i!" sighed nan. but their father shook his head and told them not to hope or think too much about such a slim chance as that. flossie and freddie were in bed and asleep when mr. bobbsey and bert and nan reached the hotel again, and, after a little talk with their mother, telling her what they had seen, the two older bobbsey twins "turned in," as bert called it, having used this expression when camping on blueberry island, and taking the voyage on the deep, blue sea. because they were rather tired from their trip, none of the bobbseys arose very early the next morning. "it's a real treat to me to be able to lie in bed one morning as long as i like," said mrs. bobbsey, with a happy sigh as flossie crept in with her. "and i don't have to think whether or not dinah will have breakfast on time. i'm having as much fun out of this trip as the children are," she told her husband. "i am glad you are, my dear," he said. "i'll be able to go around with you a little to-day, but after that, for about a week, i shall be quite busy with mr. martin. but mrs. martin and nell and billy will go around with you ant the children." "when are we going to see billy and nell?" asked bert, at the breakfast table. "to-day," answered his father. "i telephoned mr. martin last night that we had arrived, and they expect us to lunch there to-day. but first i thought i'd take the children into the congressional library building. it is very wonderful and beautiful." and it certainly was, as the children saw a little later, when their father led them up the broad steps. the library building was across a sort of park, or plaza, from the capitol. "we will just look around a little here, and then go on to mr. martin's," said mr. bobbsey. "it takes longer than an hour to see all the beautiful and wonderful pictures and statues here." mrs. bobbsey was very much interested in the library, but i can not say as much for flossie and freddie, though nan and bert liked it. but the two smaller bobbsey twins were anxious to get outdoors and "go somewhere." "well, we'll go now," said mr. bobbsey, when he and his wife had spent some little lime admiring the decorations. "come, freddie. where's flossie?" he asked, as he looked around and did not see his "little fat fairy."' "she was here a little while ago," replied nan. "i saw her with freddie." "where did flossie go, freddie-boy?" asked his mother. "up there!" and the little chap pointed to a broad flight of stone steps. "oh, she has wandered away," said mrs. bobbsey. "i'll run up and get her!" offered mr. bobbsey. up the stairs he hurried, but he came back in a little while with a queer look on his face. "i can't find her," he said. "oh, flossie's lost!" cried freddie. "oh, maybe she falled down stairs and got lost!" chapter xi the president really it was nothing new for one of the bobbsey twins to become lost--especially the younger set, flossie and freddie. some years before, when they were younger, it had often happened to nan and bert, but they were now old enough, and large enough, to look after themselves pretty well. but flossie or freddie, and sometimes both of them, were often missing, especially when the family went to some new place where there were strange objects to see, as was now the case in the congressional library. "where do you suppose flossie could have gone?" asked mrs. bobbsey, as she glanced around the big rotunda in which they stood with some other visitors who had come to the city of washington. "i'll have to ask some of the men who are in charge of this building," replied daddy bobbsey. "are you sure you saw flossie go up those stairs, freddie?" he asked the little fireman. "well, she maybe went up, or she maybe went down," answered the boy. "i was lookin' at the pishures on the wall, and flossie was by me. and then--well, she wasn't by me," he added, as if that explained it all. "but i saw a little girl go up the stairs and i thought maybe it was flossie." "but why didn't you tell mother, dear?" asked mrs. bobbsey. "if you had called to me when you saw flossie going away i could have brought her back before she got lost. why didn't you tell me that flossie was going away?" "'cause," answered freddie. "because why?" his father wanted to know. "'cause i thought maybe flossie wanted to slide down a banister of the stairs and maybe you wouldn't let her, and i wanted to see if she could slide down and then i could slide down too!" "well, that's a funny excuse!" exclaimed mr. bobbsey. "i don't believe flossie would slide down any banister here. but she has certainly wandered away, and we'll have to find her. you stay here with the children, so i'll know where to find you," mr. bobbsey said to his wife. "i'll go to look for flossie." "i want to come!" exclaimed nan. "no, you had better stay with mother," her father told her. "but i will take bert along. he can take a message for me in case i have to send one. come along!" he called to nan's brother. "all right, daddy," answered bert. up the big stone stairs went daddy bobbsey and bert. mrs. bobbsey, with a worried look on her face, remained in the big rotunda with nan and freddie. the two children were worried too. "do you s'pose flossie is hurt?" asked nan. "oh, no, i don't believe so," and mrs. bobbsey tried to speak easily. "she has just gone into some room, or down some long hall, and lost her way, i think. you see there are so many rooms and halls in this building that it would be easy for even daddy or me to be lost. but your father will soon find flossie and bring her back to us." "but if they don't find her, mamma?" "oh, they'll be sure to do that, nan. there is nobody around this building who would hurt our little flossie." "what an awful big building it is," remarked nan. "and just think of the thousands and thousands of books! why, i didn't know there were so many books in the whole world! mamma, do you suppose any of the people down here read all these books?" "hardly, nan. they wouldn't have time enough to do that." and now we shall see what happens to mr. bobbsey and bert. flossie's father decided to try upstairs first, as freddie seemed to think that was the way his little sister had gone. "of course, he isn't very sure about it," said mr. bobbsey to bert; "but we may as well start one way as the other. if she isn't upstairs she must be down. now we'll look around and ask questions." they did this, inquiring of every one they met whether a little blue-eyed and flaxen-haired child had been seen wandering about. some whom mr. bobbsey questioned were visitors, like himself, and others were men who worked in the big library. but, for a time, one and all gave the same answer; they had not seen flossie. along the halls and into the different rooms went mr. bobbsey and bert. but no flossie could they find until, at last, they approached a very large room where a man with very white hair sat at a desk. the door of this room was open, and there were many books in cases around the walls. "excuse me," said mr. bobbsey to the elderly gentleman who looked up with a smile as flossie's father and bert entered the room. "excuse me for disturbing you; but have you seen anything of a little girl--" "did she have blue eyes?" asked the old man. "yes!" eagerly answered mr. bobbsey. "and did she have light hair?" "oh, yes! have you seen her?" softly the man arose from his desk and tiptoed over to a folding screen. he moved this to one side, and there, on a leather couch and covered by an office coat, was flossie bobbsey, fast asleep. "oh! oh!" exclaimed bert. "hush!" said the old man softly. "don't awaken her. when she arouses i'll tell you how she came in here. it's quite a joke!" "you stay here, bert," said mr. bobbsey to his son, "and i'll go and get your mother, nan and freddie. i want them to see how cute flossie looks. they'll be glad to know we have found her." so while bert sat in a chair in the old man's office mr. bobbsey hurried to tell his wife and the others the good news. and soon mrs. bobbsey and the rest of the children were peeping at flossie as she lay asleep. and then, suddenly, as they were all looking down at her, the little girl opened her eyes. she saw her mother and father; she saw nan and bert and freddie; and then she looked at the kind old man with the white hair. "did you find a story book for me?" were the first words flossie said. "well, i'm afraid not, my dear," was the old man's answer. "we don't have story books for little girls up here, though there may be some downstairs." "is that what she came in here for--a story book?" asked mr. bobbsey. "i believe it was," answered the old man, with a smile. "i was busy at my desk when i heard the patter of little feet and a little girl's voice asking me for a story book. i looked around, and there stood your little one. i guessed, at once, that she must have wandered away from some visitors in the library, so i gave her a cake i happened to have in my lunch box, and got her to lie down on the sofa, as i saw she was tired. then she fell asleep, and i covered her up and put the screen around her. i knew some one would come for her." "thank you, so much!" exclaimed mrs. bobbsey. "but, flossie, how did you happen to come up here?" "oh, i wanted a story book," explained the little girl, as she sat up. "we have story books in our library, an' there ought to be story books here. i looked in this room an' i saw a lot of books, so i did ask for one with a story in it. i like a story about pigs an' bears an'--an' everything!" finished flossie. "well, i wish i had that kind of story book for you, but i haven't!" laughed the old man. "all my books are very dull, indeed, for children, though when you grow up you may like to read them," and he waved his hand at the many books in the room. so flossie was lost and found again. the old man was one of the librarians, and he had taken good care of the little girl until her family came for her. after thanking him, mr. and mrs. bobbsey led their twins downstairs and mr. bobbsey said: "well, i think we have seen enough of the library for a time. we had better go and see the martins." "oh, yes!" cried bert. "billy said he'd take me to see the president." "and i want to go, too!" added nan. "we'll see!" half promised her mother. in an automobile the bobbsey family rode to where the martin family lived. and you can well believe that billy and nell were glad to see the bobbsey twins once more. mrs. martin welcomed mrs. bobbsey, and soon there was a happy reunion. mr. martin was at his office, and mr. bobbsey said he would go down there to see him. "then couldn't we go out and see the president while mother stays here and visits with mrs. martin?" asked nan. "nell and billy will go with us." "i think they might go," said mrs. martin. "billy and nell know their way to the white house very well, as they often go. it isn't far from here." "well, i suppose they may go," said mrs. bobbsey slowly. "and i want to go, too!" exclaimed freddie. "i want to see the dent." "it isn't a dent--it's president--the head of the united states!" explained bert. "our teacher told us about him, and she said if ever i came to washington i ought to see the president." "i want to see him too," cried flossie. "let all the children go!" said mrs. martin. "i'll send one of my maids to walk along with them to make sure that they keep together. it is a nice day, and they may catch a glimpse of the president. he often goes for a drive from the white house around washington about this time." "well, i suppose it will be a little treat for them," said mrs. bobbsey. "oh, goodie!" shouted freddie. so, a little later, the bobbsey twins, with nell and billy martin and one of the martin maids, were walking toward the white house. "there it is!" exclaimed billy to bert, as they turned the corner and came within view of the executive mansion, as it is often called. "oh, it is white!" cried nan. "just like the pictures!" added bert. "it's got a big iron fence around," observed freddie. "is that so the president can't get out?" "no, i guess it's so no unwanted people can get in," answered nell. the children and the maid walked down the street and looked through the iron fence into the big grounds, green even now though it was early winter. and in the midst of a great lawn stood the white house--the home of the president of the united states. suddenly two big iron gates were swung open. several policemen began walking toward them from the lawn and some from the street outside. "what's the matter?" asked bert. "is there a fire?" "the president is coming out in his carriage," said billy. "if we stand here we can see him! look! here comes the president!" chapter xii washington monument down the white house driveway rolled the carriage, drawn by the prancing horses. it was coming toward the iron gate near which, on the sidewalk, stood the bobbsey twins, with their new friends, billy and nell martin. on the front seat of the carriage, which was an open one, in spite of the fact that the day was cool, though not very cold, sat two men. one drove the horses and the other sat up very straight and still. "i should think he'd have an automobile," remarked bert. "he has," answered billy. "he has an auto--two of 'em, i guess. but lots of times he rides around washington in a carriage just as he's doing now." "that's right," chimed in nell. "sometimes we see the president and his wife in a carriage, like now, and sometimes in a big auto." by this time the carriage, containing the president of the united states, was passing through the gate. a crowd of curious persons, who had seen what was going on, as had the bobbsey twins, came hurrying up to catch a glimpse of the head of the nation. the police officers and the men from the white house ground kept the crowd from coming too close to the president's carriage. the chief executive, as he is often called, saw the crowd of people waiting to watch him pass. some of the ladies in the crowd waved their hands, and others their handkerchiefs, while the men raised their hats. billy put his hand to his cap, saluting as the soldiers do, and bert, seeing this, did the same thing. nell and nan, being girls, were not, of course, expected to salute. as for flossie and freddie they were too small to do anything but just stare with all their eyes. as the president's carriage drove along he smiled, bowed, and raised his hat to those who stood there to greet him. the president's wife also smiled and bowed. and then something in the eager faces of the bobbsey twins and their friends, nell and billy, attracted the notice of the president's wife. she smiled at the eager, happy-looking children, waved her hand to them, and spoke to her husband. he turned to look at the bobbseys and their friends, and he waved his hand, he seemed to like to have the children watching him. and then flossie, with a quick little motion kissed the tips of her chubby, rosy fingers and fluttered them eagerly toward the president's wife. "i threw her a kiss!" exclaimed flossie with a laugh. "i'm gin' to throw one too," exclaimed freddie. and he did. the president's wife saw what the little bobbsey twins had done, and, as quick as a flash, she kissed her hand back to flossie and freddie. "oh, isn't that sweet!" exclaimed a woman in the throng, and when, afterward, nan told her mother what had happened, mrs. bobbsey said that when flossie and freddie grew up they would long remember their first sight of a president of the united states. "well, i guess that's all we can see now," remarked billy, as the president's carriage rolled off down the street and the crowd that had gathered at the white house gate began moving on. the gates were closed, the policemen and guards turned away, and now the bobbsey twins and their friends were ready for something else. "where do you want to go?" asked billy of bert. "oh, i don't know. 'most anywhere, i guess." "could we go to see the washington monument?" asked nan. "i've always wanted to see that, ever since i saw the picture of it in one of daddy's books at home." "i don't believe we'd better go out there alone," said nell. "it's quite a way from here. we'd better have our mothers or our fathers with us. but we can walk along the streets, and go in the big market, i guess." "let's do that!" agreed billy. "there's heaps of good things to eat in the market," he added to bert. "it makes you hungry to go through it." "then i don't want to go!" laughed bert. "i'm hungry now." "i know where we can get some nice hot chocolate," said nell. "it's in a drug store, and mother lets billy and me go there sometimes when we have enough money from our allowance." "oh, i'm going to treat!" cried bert. "i have fifty cents, and mother said i could spend it any way i pleased. come on and we'll have chocolate. it's my treat!" "we may go, mayn't we, jane?" asked nell, of the maid who had accompanied them. "oh, yes," was the smiling answer. "if you go to parson's it will be all right." and a little later six smiling, happy children, and a rosy, smiling maid were seated before a soda counter sipping sweet chocolate, and eating crisp crackers. after that billy and nell took the bobbsey twins to the market, which is really quite a wonderful place in washington, and where, as billy said, it really makes one hungry to see the many good things spread about and displayed on the stands. "i think we've been gone long enough now," said the maid at last. "we had better go back." so, after looking around a little longer at the part of the market where flowers were sold and where old negro women sold queer roots, barks, and herbs, the bobbsey twins and their friends started slowly back toward the martin house. on the way they passed a store where china and glass dishes were sold, and there were many cups, saucers and plates in one of the windows. "wait a minute!" cried bert, as billy was about to pass on. "i want to look here!" "what for?" billy asked. "you don't need any dishes!" "i want to see if miss pompret's sugar bowl and cream pitcher are here," bert answered. "if nan or i can find them we'll get a lot of money, and i could spend my part while i was here." "why bert bobbsey!" cried nan, "you couldn't find miss pompret's things here--in a store like this. they only sell new china, and hers would be secondhand!" "i know it," admitted bert. "but there might be a sugar bowl and pitcher just like hers here, even if they were new." "oh, no!" exclaimed nan. "there couldn't be any dishes like miss pompret's. she said there wasn't another set in this whole country." "well, i don't see 'em here, anyhow!" exclaimed bert, after he had looked over the china in the window. "i guess her things will never be found." "no, i guess not," agreed billy, to whom, and his sister, nan told the story of the reward of one hundred dollars offered by miss pompret for the return of her wonderful sugar bowl and cream pitcher, while bert was looking at the window display. "well, did you have a good time?" asked mrs. bobbsey, when her twins came trooping back. "yes. and we saw the president!" cried nan. and then they told all about it. the bobbseys spent the rest of the day visiting their friends, the martins, and returned to their hotel in the evening. they planned to have other pleasure going about the city to see the sights the next day and the day following. "could we ever go into the house where the president lives?" asked nan of her father that night. "yes, we can visit the white house or, rather, one room in it," said mr. bobbsey. "what they call the 'east room' is the one in which visitors are allowed. perhaps we may go there tomorrow, if mr. martin and i can finish some business we are working on." after breakfast the next morning the bobbsey twins were glad to hear their father say that he would take them to the white house; and, a little later, in company with other visitors, they were allowed to enter the home of the president, and walk about the big room on the east side of the white house. "i'm going to sit down on one of the chairs," said nan. "maybe it will be one that the president once sat on." "very likely it will be," laughed mrs. bobbsey, as nan picked out a place into which she "wiggled." from the chair she smiled at her brothers and sister, and they, too, took turns sitting in the same chair. bert found a pin on the thick green carpet in the room. the carpet was almost as thick and green as the moss in the woods, and how bert ever saw the tiny pin i don't know. but he had very sharp eyes. "what are you going to do with it?" asked his father. "just keep it," the boy answered. "maybe it's a pin the president's wife once used in her clothes." "oh, you think it's a souvenir!" laughed mrs. bobbsey, as bert stuck the pin in the edge of his coat. and for a long time he kept that common, ordinary pin, and he used to show it to his boy friends, and tell them where he found it. "the white house president's pin," he used to call it. "and now," said mr. bobbsey, as they came from the white house, "i think we'll have time to see the monument before lunch." "that's good!" exclaimed nan. "and shall we go up inside it?" "i think so," her father replied. washington monument, as a good many of you know, is not a solid shaft of stone. it is built of great granite blocks, as a building is built, and is, in fact, a building, for it has several little rooms in the base; rooms where men can stay who watch the big pointed shaft of stone, and other rooms where are kept the engines that run the elevator. the bottom part of washington monument is square, and on one side is a doorway. above the base the shaft itself stretches up over five hundred feet in height, and the top part is pointed, like the pyramids of the desert. the monument shaft is hollow, and there is a stairway inside, winding around the elevator shaft. some people walk up the stairs to get to the top of the monument, where they can look out of small windows over the city of washington and the potomac river. but most persons prefer to go up and down in the elevator, though it is slow and, if there are many visitors they have to await their turns. if the bobbseys had walked up inside the monument they would have seen the stones contributed by the different states and territories. each state sent on a certain kind of stone when the monument was being built, and these stones are built into the great shaft. as it happened, there was not a very large crowd visiting the monument the day the bobbseys were there, so they did not have long to wait for their turn in the elevator. "this isn't fast like the woolworth building elevators were," remarked bert as they felt themselves being hoisted up. "no," agreed his father. "but this does very well. this is not a business building, and there is no special hurry in getting to the top." but at last they reached the end of their journey and stepped out of the elevator cage into a little room. there were windows on the sides, and from there the children could look out. "it's awful high up," said nan, as she peeped out. "not as high as the woolworth building," stated bert, who had jotted down the figures in a little book he carried. flossie and freddie had gone around to the other side of the elevator shaft with their mother, to look from the windows nearest the river, and, a moment later, mr. bobbsey, nan and bert heard a cry of: "oh, flossie! flossie! look out! there it goes!" chapter xiii a stray cat mr. bobbsey, who was standing near bert and nan, turned quickly as he heard his wife call and ran around to her side. "what's the matter?" he called. "has flossie fallen?" but one look was enough to show him that the two little bobbsey twins and their mother were all right. but flossie was without her hat, and she had been wearing a pretty one with little pink roses on it. "what happened?" asked mr. bobbsey, while one of the men who stay inside the monument at the top, to see that no accidents happen, came around to inquire if he could be of any help. "it's flossie's hat," explained mrs. bobbsey. "she was taking it off, as she said the rubber band hurt her, when a puff of wind came along---" "and it just blowed my hat right away!" cried flossie. "it just blowed it right out of my hand, and it went out of the window, my hat did! and now i haven't any more hat, and i'll--i'll--an'--an'--" flossie burst into tears. "never mind, little fat fairy!" her father comforted her, as he put his arms around her. "daddy will get you another hat." "but i want that one!" sobbed flossie. "it has such pretty roses on it, an' i liked 'em, even if they didn't smell!" "i guess the little girl's hat will be all right when you get down on the ground," said the monument man. "many people lose their hats up here, and unless it's a man's stiff one, or unless it's raining or snowing, little harm comes to them. i guess your little girl's hat just fluttered to the ground like a bird, and you can pick it up again." "do you think so?" asked mrs. bobbsey. "oh, you'll get her hat back again, ma'am, i'm sure," the man said. "there's lots of boys and young men who stay around the monument, hoping for a chance to earn a stray dime or so by showing visitors around or carrying something. one of them probably saw the hat flutter out of the window, and somebody will pick it up." "well, let's go down and see," suggested mr. bobbsey. "i think we have had all the view we want." "don't cry, flossie," whispered nan consolingly, as she took her little sister by the hand. "we'll get your hat back again." "and the roses, too?" flossie asked. "yes, the roses and everything," her mother told her. "if i were a big, grown-up fireman, i could climb down and get flossie's hat," said freddie. "that's what firemans do. they climb up and down big places and get things--and people," the little boy added after a moment of thought. "well, i don't want my little fireman climbing down washington monument," said mr. bobbsey. "it's safer to go down in the elevator." and, a little later, the bobbsey twins and their father and mother were back on the ground again. once outside the big stone shaft, they saw a boy come running up with flossie's hat in his hand. "oh, look! look!" cried the little girl. "there it is! there it is!" "is this your hat?" the small boy wanted to know. "i saw it blow out of the window, and i chased it and chased it. i was afraid maybe it would blow into the river." "it was very nice of you," said mr. bobbsey, and he gave the boy twenty-five cents, which pleased that small chap very much. flossie's hat was a little dusty, but the pink roses were not soiled, and soon she was wearing it again. then, smiling and happy, she was ready to go with the others to the next sight-seeing place. "where now?" asked bert, as they started away from the little hill on which the monument stands. "i think we'll go to the smithsonian museum," said his father. "there are a few things i want to see, though you children may not be very much interested. then i want to take your mother to the art gallery and after that--well, we'll see what happens next," and he smiled at the bobbsey twins. "i know it will be something nice!" exclaimed nan. "i hope it's something good to eat!" murmured bert. "i'm hungry!" "i'd like to see a fire!" cried freddie. "do they ever have fires in washington, daddy?" "oh, yes, big ones, sometimes. but we really don't want to see any, because a fire means danger and trouble for people." "and wettings, too," put in flossie. "sometimes when freddie plays fire he gets me wet." "well, i'm goin' to be a fireman when i grow up," declared freddie. "and i wish i had my little fire engine now, 'cause i don't like it not to have any fun." "we'll have some fun this afternoon," his father promised him. just as mr. bobbsey had expected, the children were not much amused in the art gallery or the museum. but mrs. bobbsey liked these places, and, after all, as nan said, they wanted their mother to have a good time on this washington trip. after lunch they went again to call on the martins, as mr. bobbsey had to see the father of billy and nell on business. "and where are we going to have some fun?" bert asked, as they journeyed away from their hotel toward the martin house. "you'll see," his father promised. the children tried to guess what it might be, but they could not be sure of anything. it did not take mr. bobbsey long to get through with his business with mr. martin and then the father of the twins said to mrs. martin: "can you let billy and nell come with us on a little trip?" "to be sure. but where are you going?" mrs. martin replied. "i thought we'd take one of the big sight-seeing autos and ride about the city, and perhaps outside a little way," said mr. bobbsey. "nell and billy can tell us the best way to go." "oh, yes! i can do that'" cried billy. "i often take rides that way with my uncle when he comes to washington. come on, nell! we'll get ready." "may we really go?" asked nell, of her mother. "yes, indeed!" was the answer. so, a little later, the bobbsey twins, with billy and nell and mr. and mrs. bobbsey, were on one of the big automobiles. it was not too cold to ride outside, as they were all bundled up warm. through the different parts of the city the sight-seeing car went, a man on it telling the persons aboard about the different places of interest as they were passed. in a little while the machine rumbled out into the quieter streets, where the houses were rather far apart. then the automobile came to a stop, and some one asked: "what's so wonderful to see here?" "nothing," the driver of the car answered. "but i have to get some water for the radiator. we won't be here very long. those who want to, can get out and walk around." "yes, i'll be glad to stretch by legs," said one man with a laugh. he was sitting next to mr. and mrs. bobbsey, and they began talking to him. nan and bert were talking to billy and nell, and, for the time being, no one paid much attention to flossie and freddie, who were in a rear seat. suddenly flossie called to her little brother; "oh, look! there's a cat! it's just like our snoop!" freddie looked to where flossie pointed with her chubby finger. "no, that isn't like our snoop," said the little boy, shaking his head. "yes, 'tis too!" declared his sister. "i'm going to get down and look at it. i like a cat, and i didn't see one close by for a long time." "neither did i," agreed freddie. "if that one isn't like our snoop, it's a nice cat, anyhow." the cat, which seemed to be a stray one, was walking toward the car, its tail held high in the air "like a fishing pole." flossie and freddie were in the rear seat, as i have said, and no one seemed to be paying any attention to them. their father and mother were busy talking to the man who had gotten down to "stretch his legs," and nan and bert, with billy and nell, were busy talking. "let's get down," proposed flossie. "all right," agreed freddie. in another moment the two smaller bobbsey twins had left their seat, climbed down the rear steps of the sight-seeing automobile, and were running toward the stray cat, which seemed to wait for them to come and pet it. chapter xiv stray children "nice pussy! come and let me rub you!" said freddie softly, as he held out his hand toward the stray cat. "yes, come here, snoop!" added flossie, as she walked along with her brother. "'tisn't snoop, and you mustn't call him that name," ordered freddie. "well, he looks like snoop," declared flossie. "but if that isn't his name he won't like to be called by it, no more than if i called you susie when your name's flossie," went on the little boy. "do you s'pose cats know their names?" asked flossie. "course they do!" exclaimed her brother. "don't our snoop know his name when i call him, same as our dog snap does?" "oh, well, but our cat is a very, very, smart cat!" "maybe this one is, too," freddie said. "anyhow, we'll just call him 'puss' or 'kittie,' and he'll like that, 'cause that's a name for any cat." "that's so," agreed flossie. so calling to the stray cat in their soft, little voices, and holding out their hands to pet the animal, flossie and freddie walked farther away from the sight-seeing car, and soon they were petting the cat that, indeed, did look a bit like snoop. they stroked the soft back of the cat, rubbed its ears, and the animal rubbed up against their legs and purred. then, suddenly, the cat heard a dog barking somewhere, and ran down toward the side entrance of a large, handsome house. "oh, come on!" cried freddie to his sister, as he saw the cat running away. "maybe there's some little cats back here, and we could get one to take home with us! come on, flossie!" flossie was willing enough to go, and in a moment they were in the rear yard of one of the big houses, and out of sight from the street where the auto stood, while the man was putting water in the radiator. the cat, once over its fright about the barking dog, seemed quieter now, and let the two little bobbsey twins pet it again. freddie saw a little box-like house in one corner of the yard and cried: "i'm going to look here, flossie! maybe there's kittens in it!" "oh, let me see!" exclaimed the little girl. forgetting, for a time, the stray cat they had started to pet, she and her brother ran over to the little box-like house. "better look out!" exclaimed flossie, as they drew near. "why?" asked freddie. "'cause maybe there's a strange dog in that box." "if there was a dog in this yard i guess this cat wouldn't have come in here," replied freddie. "the cat ran when the other dog barked, and there can't be a dog here, else the cat wouldn't come in." "i wonder what's there?" murmured flossie. "we'll soon find out," her brother said, as he bent over the little house, which was made of some boxes nailed together. there was a tiny window, with a piece of glass in it, and a small door. freddie began to open the little door, and he was not very much afraid, for now the cat was purring and rubbing around his legs, and the little boy felt sure that there could be no dog, or anything else scary, in the box-house, or else the cat would not have come so close. "maybe there isn't anything in there," suggested flossie. "oh, there's got to be something!" declared freddie. "it's a place for chickens, maybe." "it's too little for chickens," said flossie. "well, maybe it's a place for----" that is as far as freddie got in his talk, for, just then, a voice called from somewhere behind the children: "hi there! what do you want?" "oh!" freddie and flossie both called out in surprise as they turned. they saw, standing on the back steps of the big house, a boy about as big as bert. "we came in after this cat," said freddie, and he pointed to the stray pussy that was rubbing against his legs. "is it your cat?" the boy wanted to know. flossie shook her head. "we just followed after him," she said. "he was out on the street, and we saw him, and we got down to rub him, and he heard a dog bark, and he ran in here, and we ran after him." "oh, i see," and the boy on the back steps smiled in a friendly way. "so it isn't your cat." "no," answered freddie, "is it yours?" the boy shook his head. "i never saw the cat before," he answered. "it's a nice one, though, and maybe i'll keep it if you don't want it." "oh, we don't want it!" freddie said quickly. "we have a cat of our own at home. his name is snoop." "and we have a dog, too," added flossie. "but his name is snap. and we have dinah and sam. only they aren't a cat or a dog," she went on. "dinah is our cook and sam's her husband." "where do you live?" the boy asked. "oh, away off," explained freddie. "we live in lakeport, and we go to school." "only now there isn't any school," went on flossie. "we can't have a fire 'cause something broke, and we came to washington." "have you come here to live?" the strange boy questioned. "no, only to visit," explained freddie. "my father has to see mr. martin. do you know mr. martin?" the strange boy shook his head. "i guess he doesn't live around here," he remarked. "i've lived here all my life; but there's nobody named martin on this block. where did you come from?" "offen the auto," explained freddie. "we were riding on the auto with billy martin and nell, and our father and mother and nan and bert and----" "say, there are a lot of you!" cried the boy with a laugh. "it was a big auto," explained flossie. "but the man had to stop and give it some water, so we got down to pet the cat. it's a nice cat." "yes, it's a nice cat all right," agreed the strange boy, and he came down the steps and began to rub the animal. "i like cats," he went on to the children. "what's your names?" "flossie and freddie bobbsey," answered freddie. "what's yours?" "tom walker," was the answer. "i guess i know where you came from. it's one of those big, sight-seeing autos. they often go through this street, but i never saw one stop before. you'd better look to see that it doesn't go off and leave you." "oh, the man said we could get down," returned freddie. "and one man is going to stretch his legs. i'd like to see a man stretch his legs." he went on. "i wonder how far he can stretch them?" "not very far, i guess," remarked tom walker. "but i'm glad to see you, anyhow. i've been sick, and i had to stay home from school, but i'm better now, and i'm going back to-morrow. but i haven't had any one to play with, and i'm glad you came in--you and the cat." "'tisn't our cat!" flossie hastily explained. "oh, i know!" agreed the boy. "but he came in with you." "we thought maybe there were kittens in that box," and freddie pointed to the one he had been about to open. "oh, that was the place where i used to keep my rabbits," said tom. "i haven't any now, but maybe i'll get some more; so i left the little house in the yard. i like rabbits." "so do i!" declared freddie. "and their nose goes sniff-snuff so funny!" laughed flossie. "rabbits eat a lot of cabbage," she said. "if i had something to eat now i would like it." "say, i can get some cookies!" cried tom. "wait, i'll go in the house after some. you wait here!" "we'll wait!" said freddie. into the house bounded tom, and to the cook in the kitchen he called: "oh, please give me some cookies. there's a stray cat in our yard and some stray children, and i want to give 'em something to eat, and----" "my goodness, boy, how you do rattle on!" cried the cook. "what do you mean about stray cats and stray children?" chapter xv "where are they?" freddie and flossie walked slowly up the yard, away from the empty rabbit house, and stood at the foot of the back steps up which tom walker had hurried to ask the cook for something to eat for the "stray children." the little bobbsey twins had not heard what the cook said to tom after he had asked for something to eat. but the cook repeated her question. "what do you mean by stray cats and stray children?" "there are the stray children out in the yard now," answered tom. "they strayed away from some place, just as that dog i kept for a while once did. there was a stray cat, too, but i don't see it now." "stray children, is it?" cried the jolly cook. "oh, look at the little darlin's!" she exclaimed, as she saw the small bobbsey twins standing out in the yard, waiting for tom to come back. freddie and flossie certainly did look very sweet and pretty with their new winter coats and caps on, though it was not very cold. it was not as cold in washington as in lakeport. "do you think he'll bring us anything to eat?" asked freddie of flossie, as they stood there waiting. "i hope he does," the little girl answered. "i'm hungry." "so'm i!" freddie admitted. "i guess that cat was, too. where did he go?" the cat answered himself, as though he knew he was being talked about. he came out from under the back steps, rubbed up against flossie's fat, chubby legs with a mew and a purr, and then, seeing a place where the sun shone nice and warm on the steps, the cat curled up there and began to wash its face, using its paws as all cats do. "please, sarah, can't i have something to eat for the stray children, and maybe for the cat?" again asked tom of the cook. "oh, i dunno!" she answered. "sure an' you're a bother! your mother's out and i don't know what to do. these must be lost children, and, most likely, their father or mother's lookin' all over for 'em now. but i'd better bring 'em in an' keep 'em safe here, rather than let 'em wander about the streets. how did they come into our yard, do you think, tom?" "they just walked in, after the stray cat. they were on one of the big automobiles, and it stopped, so they got off. i told 'em maybe their folks would be looking for them," went on tom, who was older than flossie and freddie. "but they seem to think it's all right." "well, they're lost, as sure as anything," declared the cook. "but it's best to keep 'em here until their folks can come after 'em. i'll give you something for them to eat, tom, and then you must look after 'em, as i'm too busy, getting ready for the party your mother is going to have this night." the kind cook soon got ready a plate of cookies and some glasses of milk for flossie and freddie. and, as tom began to feel hungry himself when he saw something being made ready for his new little friends, a place was set for him, also, on a side table in the dining room. "call 'em in, now!" said the cook. "everything is ready. and is the cat there?" "yes," answered tom, as he looked out and saw the pussy curled up in the sun on the steps. "it's there." "well, i think i'll give it some milk," said the cook. so, a little later, flossie and freddie, the stray children--for that is what they were--sat down to a nice little lunch in a strange, house. tom walker sat down with them, and the stray cat had a saucer of milk in the kitchen. "i looked out in the street," said the cook, as she came back to get freddie another glass of milk, "but i don't see any automobile there. did you really ride here in an auto?" "oh, yes," answered freddie. "and the man on it all the time talked through a red horn, but i didn't know what he said." "that was the man speaking through a megaphone so everybody on the sight-seeing auto would know what they were looking at as they rode along," said tom. "they often pass through here, though i haven't seen any to-day." "but what to do about you children i don't know," said the cook, when flossie and freddie had eaten as much as they wanted. "if you did come here on an auto it's gone now, and there isn't a sign of it. i think you must have come two or three streets away from the car before you turned in here." "oh, no!" exclaimed freddie. "when we got down off the auto we saw the cat and we came in after it. the auto was right out in front." "well, it isn't there now," said the cook. "i guess it must have gone away and taken your folks with it. maybe they're looking for you. but i guess you'll have to stay here until they come to find you. you're too small to be allowed to go about alone." "we like it here," said flossie, settling back comfortably in her chair. "we can stay as long as you want us to." "and we can stay to supper if you ask us," went on freddie. "course mother wouldn't let us ask for an invitation, but if you want to ask us to stay we can't help it." "'specially if you have cake," added flossie, smoothing out her dress. "yes, 'specially cake!" agreed freddie. "oh my!" laughed the cook. "sure an' you're very funny! but i like you. and i only wish i knew where your folks were. but the best i can do is to keep you here until they come. they must know about where they lost you. come, tom, take the stray children out and amuse them. your mother'll be home pretty soon." if tom's mother had been at home she would have at once telephoned and told the police that she had two lost--or stray--children at her house, so that in case mr. and mrs. bobbsey inquired, as they did, they would know that the tots were all right. but mrs. walker was not at home, and the cook did the best she could. she made sure the children were safe and comfortable while they were with her. and, after they had eaten, tom got out some of his toys, and he and flossie and freddie had a good time playing about the house and in the yard. the stray cat wandered away while flossie and freddie were eating their little lunch, and the bobbsey twins did not see him again. now while flossie and freddie were having a pretty good time, eating cookies and drinking milk, there was much excitement on the big sight-seeing car where mr. and mrs. bobbsey, nan, bert, and the other, still had their seats. for some little time after the car had stopped to allow the man to put water in the radiator, neither mr. nor mrs. bobbsey missed their smaller twins. they were busy talking, and bert and nan were looking about and having a good time, talking to billy and nell martin. at last, however, the auto man called: "everything is all right! get on board!" that meant he was going to start off again, and it was not until then that mrs. bobbsey thought to look around to see if flossie and freddie were all right. and, of course, she did not see them. "flossie! freddie! where are you?" called mrs. bobbsey. there was no answer, and the seat which the two smaller children had been in on the big bus, was empty. "oh, daddy!" cried mrs. bobbsey, "flossie and freddie have gone." "gone? gone where?" mr. bobbsey asked, "that's it--i can't say," answered mrs. bobbsey. "the last i saw of them was when the auto stopped." "i saw the two little tots climb down off the rear steps of the car," said the man who had wanted to "stretch his legs." "they seemed to be going after something," he added. "it was a cat," said the woman next to the big man who had last spoken. "i saw the children get down and go toward a stray cat and then i got to thinking of something else." "oh, if it was a cat you might know it!" exclaimed mrs. bobbsey with a laugh. "i guess they're all right. they can't have gone far. probably they are on the other side of the street, looking at some bedraggled kitten." but a look up and down the street did not show flossie and freddie. by this time the auto was all ready to start off again. "but we can't go without flossie and freddie!" cried nan. "i should say not!" exclaimed mrs. bobbsey. "oh, where are they? where can my darlings have gone? what has happened?" chapter xvi the fire bell mrs. bobbsey's cries of alarm, of course, excited all the other passengers who had got back on the sight-seeing auto, ready to start off again. they had had a little rest while the water was being put into the radiator, and the man had "stretched his legs" all he wanted to, it seemed. "the children can't be far away," said mr. bobbsey. "they were here only a moment ago. even if they have wandered off, which is probably what they have done, they can't be far." "they're all right," the man who drove the car assured mr. bobbsey. "i didn't see 'em go away, of course, as i was busy, but i'm sure nothing has happened." "but what shall we do?" cried mrs. bobbsey, and tears came into her eyes. "it does seem as if more things have happened to flossie and freddie since we started on this trip than ever before." "oh, they'll be all right," declared mr. bobbsey. "i'll look around. perhaps they may have gone into one of these houses." "did you look under the seats?" asked bert. "under the seats!" exclaimed billy. "what good would that do? your brother and sister couldn't be under there!" "pooh, you don't know much about flossie and freddie!" answered bert. "they can be in more places than you can think of; can't they, nan?" "yes, they do get into queer places sometimes. but they aren't under my seat," and nan looked, to make sure. "nor mine," added nell, as she looked also. some of the other passengers on the auto did the same thing. mr. bobbsey really thought it might be possible that freddie and flossie, for some queer reason, might have crawled under one of the seats when the big machine stopped for water. but the children were not there. "oh, what shall we do?" exclaimed mrs. bobbsey. "they'll be all right," her husband answered. "they can't be far away." "that's right ma'am," said a fat, jolly-looking man. "some of you go and inquire in the houses near here," suggested the man who drove the auto. "and i'll go and telephone back to the office, and see if they're there." "but how could they be at your automobile office?" mrs. bobbsey wanted to know. "it might easily happen," replied the man. "we run a number of these big machines. one of them may have passed out this way while i was stopping here for water, and perhaps none of us notice it, and the children may have climbed on and gone on that car, thinking it was this one." "they couldn't get on if the auto didn't stop," said billy. "well, maybe it stopped," returned the driver. "perhaps it passed up the next street. the children may have gone down there and gotten on. whatever has happened, your little ones are all right, ma'am; i'm sure of that." "i wish i could be!" sighed mrs. bobbsey. several men volunteered to help mr. bobbsey look for the missing twins, and they went to the doors of nearby houses and rang the bells. but to all the answer was the same. flossie and freddie had not been seen. and the reason for this was that the small bobbsey twins, in following the stray cat, had turned a corner and gone down another street, and were on the block next the one where the auto stood. that was the reason the walker cook, looking out in front, could see no machine, and why it was that none of those who helped mr. bobbsey look for the missing children could find them. "well, this is certainly queer!" exclaimed mr. bobbsey, when at none of the houses was there any word of flossie and freddie. "but what are we to do?" cried his wife. "i think we'd better notify the police," said mr. bobbsey. "that will be the surest way." "yes, i think it will," agreed the auto man. "i telephoned to the office, but they said no lost children had been turned in. get aboard, every one, and i'll drive to the nearest police station." away started the big auto, leaving flossie and freddie behind in the home of tom walker on the next street. and though mr. and mrs. bobbsey, with nan and bert and billy and nell were much worried, flossie and freddie themselves, were having a good time. for they were playing with tom, who showed them his toys, and he told them about the rabbits he used to keep. "i have had as many as six big ones at a time," tom said. "and i had one pair that had the finest red eyes you ever saw." "red eyes!" cried flossie. "what funny rabbits they must have been!" "oh, i know some rabbits have red eyes," declared freddie. "but not very many. bert said so." "i don't believe i'd like to have red eyes," answered his twin sister. "everybody'd think i'd been crying." "they're not red that way," explained tom. "they just have the color red in them; just as some people have black eyes, blue eyes, and brown eyes--like that." "oh! say, i heard nan say once that a girl in her room at school had one black eye and one grey eye. wasn't that funny?" "it certainly was," answered tom. and then he showed the little bobbsey twins a number of picture books and a locomotive which went around a little track. freddie and flossie were having such a good time that they never thought their father and mother might be worried about them. but, after a while, mrs. walker came home. you can well imagine how surprised she was when she found the two lost, strayed children in her house. "and so they got off one of the sight-seeing autos, did they?" cried tom's mother. "oh, my dears! i'm glad you're here, of course, and glad you had a good time with tom. but your mother and father will be much frightened! i must telephone to the police at once." "we'll not be arrested, shall we?" asked freddie anxiously. "no, indeed, my dear! of course not! but your parents have probably already telephoned the police, who must be looking for you. i'll let them know i have you safe." "why, course we're safe!" cried flossie. so mrs. walker telephoned. and, just as she guessed, the police were already preparing to start out to hunt for the missing children. but as soon as they got mrs. walker's message everything was all right. "they're found!" cried mr. bobbsey to his wife, when a police officer telephoned to the hotel to let the father of the small bobbsey twins know that the children were safe. "they're all right!" "where were they?" asked his wife, "all the while they were right around the corner and just in the next street from where our auto was standing." "oh, dear me!" cried mrs. bobbsey, "what a relief." "i should say so!" agreed mrs. martin, who had gone to the hotel, where her friends were staying, to do what she could to help them. "i'll get a taxicab and bring them straight here," said mr. bobbsey. a little later flossie and freddie were back "home" again. that is, if you call a hotel "home," and it was, for the time, to the traveling bobbseys. "what made you do it?" asked flossie's mother, when the story had been told. "what made you go after the stray cat?" "it was such a nice cat!" said the little girl, "and we wanted to see if it was like our snoop," added freddie. "well, don't do such a thing again!" ordered mr. bobbsey. "no, we won't!" promised freddie. "no, but they'll do something worse," said bert in a low voice to his friend billy, who had also come to the hotel. so the little excitement was over, and soon the bobbsey twins were in bed. not, however, before nan had asked her father: "where are you going to take us to-morrow?" "to mount vernon, i think," was his answer. "oh, where washington used to live!" remarked bert. "where--" but right there freddie went to sleep. "yes, and where he is buried," added nan. and then she, too, fell asleep. and she dreamed that flossie and freddie were lost again, and that she started out to find them riding on the back of a big cat while bert rode on a dog, like snap. "and i was so glad when i woke up and, found it was only a dream," said nan, telling nell about it afterward. there are two ways of going to mount vernon from the city of washington. mount vernon is down on the potomac river, and one may travel to it by means of a small steamer, which makes excursion trips, or one can get there in a trolley car. "i think we'll go down by boat and come back by trolley," said mr. bobbsey. "in that way we can see more." "i'd rather go on the boat all the while," said freddie. "maybe i could be a fireman on the boat." "oh, i think they have all the firemen they; need," laughed his father. "is mount vernon an old place?" asked nan, as they were getting ready to leave their hotel after breakfast. "quite old, yes," her father answered. "and do they have old-fashioned things there, like spinning wheels, and old guns and things like those in washington's headquarters that we went to once?" nan went on. "why, yes, perhaps they do," her father said. "why do you ask?" "oh, i was just thinking," went on nan, "that if they had a lot of old-fashioned things there they might have miss pompret's sugar bowl and cream pitcher, and we could get 'em for her." "how could we?" asked bert. "if they were there they'd belong to washington, wouldn't they, daddy?" "well, i suppose all the things in the house once belonged to him or his friends," said mr. bobbsey. "but i don't imagine those two missing pieces of miss pompret's set will be at mount vernon, nan." "no, i don't s'pose so," sighed the little girl. "but, oh, i would like to find 'em!" "and get the hundred dollars reward!" added bert. "don't think too much of that," advised their mother. "of course it would be nice to find miss pompret's dishes, and do her a favor, but i think it is out of the question after all these years that they have been lost." the weather was colder than on the day before, when flossie and freddie had been lost, and the sun shone fitfully from behind clouds. "i think we are going to have a snow storm," said mr. bobbsey, on their way to take the boat for mt. vernon. "oh, goodie!" cried flossie. "i hope it snows a lot!" "so do i!" added freddie. "could we send home for our sled if there's lots of snow, daddy?" he asked. "i hardly think it would be worth while," said his father. "we are not going to be here much more than a week longer. and it would be quite a lot of work to get your sleds here and send them home again. i think you'll get all the coasting and skating you want when we get back to lakeport." "anyway, we're having a nice time while we're here," said nan, with a happy little sigh. "it's fun when freddie and flossie don't get lost," added bert. "i'm going to keep watch of 'em this time." "i'll help," added nan. "oh, here are billy and nell!" she called, waving her hand to their new friends. the martin children were to go to mount vernon with the bobbsey twins, and they now met them near the place from which the boat started. "all aboard!" cried freddie, as they went on the small steamer that was to take them to mount vernon. "all aboard. i'm the fireman!" "there aren't any fires to put out," said, nell, teasing the small chap a little. "yes, there is--a fire in the boiler, and it makes steam," said freddie, who had often looked in the engine room of steamers. "but i'm not that kind of fireman. i put out fires. i'm going to be a real fireman when i grow up," he added. soon they were comfortably seated on board the boat, which after a bit moved out into the potomac. mr. and mrs. bobbsey were talking together. nan, bert, billy and nell were watching another boat which was passing, and flossie was near them. but freddie had slipped away, in spite of what bert had said about going to keep a watchful eye on his small brother. suddenly, when the steamer was well out in the river, there was the loud clanging of a bell, and a voice cried: "fire! fire! fire!" at once every one on the boat jumped up. the women looked frightened, while the men seemed uncertain what to do. "clang! clang! clang!" rang the fire alarm bell. chapter xvii freddie's real alarm "i hope nothing has happened--that the boat isn't on fire," said mrs. bobbsey to her husband. "that would be terrible!" "i hardly think that is it," he said. "there may be a small fire, somewhere on the boat, but, even if there is, they have a way of putting it out. i'll go and see what it is. you stay with the children." but just then, after another clanging of the bell, some one was heard to laugh--the ringing, hearty laugh of a man. "there!" exclaimed mr. bobbsey, "i guess everything is all right. they wouldn't be laughing if there was any danger." "let's go to the fire!" cried bert. "i want to see it!" "so do i!" chimed in his new chum, billy, eagerly. "oh, can't we see it; whatever it is?" begged nan. "first i'll have to make sure there is a fire," replied mr. bobbsey. "i hope there isn't. but, if there should be a small one, and the firemen on the boat are putting it out, and if they let us get near enough to see, and if the smoke isn't too thick--" "oh, daddy! not so many 'ifs' please!" laughed nan. the bobbseys all laughed at this, as did nell and billy. "freddie would like to see the fire, if there is one," remarked nell martin. "oh, that's so! where is freddie?" cried bert. then, for the first time, mr. and mrs. bobbsey noticed that the little blue-eyed and light-haired boy was not with them. but at that moment around the corner of a deck cabin came a man wearing a cap with gold braid around the edge. he was smiling and leading by the hand a little boy. and the little boy was freddie! "oh, there he is!" cried flossie. "freddie, where were you?" she asked. "and did you been to see the fire?" "well, i rather guess he did!" exclaimed the man, who was the captain of the boat. "he was the whole fire himself!" "the whole fire?" cried mr. bobbsey. "do you mean to say that my little boy started a fire?" "oh, nothing as bad as that!" said the captain, and he smiled down on freddie who smiled up at him in return. "no, all your little boy did was to ring the fire alarm bell and then call out 'fire!' but of course that was enough to start things going, and we had quite a good deal of excitement for a time. but it's all right now, and i think he won't do it again." "just what did he do?" asked mrs. bobbsey, as freddie came over to stand beside his mother. he looked rather ashamed. "well, on the deck, back of the wheel-house, which is the little place where i or my men stand to steer the boat, there is a fire alarm bell. it's there for any one to ring who finds the boat on fire, and when the bell is rung all my firemen hurry to put out the blaze," said the captain. "now this little chap of yours went up and rang that bell, and then he cried out 'fire,' as i've told you. then--well, lots of things happened. but i couldn't help laughing when i found out it was a false alarm, and learned just why freddie, as he tells me his name is, rang the bell." "and why was that?" asked mr. bobbsey, quickly. freddie spoke up for himself. "the bell had a sign on it," said the little fellow, "and it said to ring it for a fire. i wanted to see a fire, and so i rang the bell and--and--" freddie's lips began to quiver. he was just ready to cry. "there, there, my little man!" said the captain kindly. "no harm is done. don't worry. it's all right," and he patted freddie on the shoulder. "you see it's just as freddie says," the captain went on. "there is a large sign painted near the bell which reads: 'ring this for a fire.' i suppose it would be better to say; 'ring the bell in case of fire.' i believe i'll have it changed to read that way. anyhow, your little boy saw the sign over the bell, and on the bell is a rope so low that any one, even a child, can reach it. so your freddie just pulled the rope, clanged the bell, and then he cried 'fire!' as loudly as he could. some one else took up the cry, and, there you are!" "and so you rang the bell, did you, freddie, because you wanted to see a fire?" asked the father of the little fellow. "yes," answered flossie's brother. "i wanted to see how they put out a fire on a boat, and the bell said for to ring for a fire, and i wanted a fire, i did; not a big one, just a little one, and so----" "and so you just naturally rang the bell!" laughed the captain. "well, i guess that's partly my fault for having the sign read that way. i'll have it changed. but your little boy is quite smart to be able to read so well," he added. "oh, i go to school!" said freddie proudly, "only there isn't any now on account of--well i guess the boiler got on fire," he added. "he's a regular little fireman," said mr. bobbsey. "he can't read very much, but one of the first words he learned to spell was 'fire,' and he's never forgotten it." the boat was now going on down the river toward mount vernon, and the excitement caused by the false alarm of fire was over. of course freddie had done wrong, though he had not meant to, and perhaps it was not all his fault. however, his father and mother scolded him a little, and he promised never to do such a thing again. i wish i could tell you that the bobbsey twins were interested in mount vernon, but the truth of the matter is that the two younger ones were so busy talking about freddie's fire alarm, and bert and nan, with billy and nell, also laughed so much about it, that they did not pay much attention to the tomb of the great washington, or anything about the place where the first president of the united states once had his home. of course mr. and mrs. bobbsey were interested in the place where the wonderful man had lived, and they looked about the grounds where he had once walked, and they visited the house where he had lived. but, really, the children did not care much for it. "when are we going back?" asked freddie several times. "don't you like it here?" asked his mother. "just think of what a wonderful and beautiful place this is!" "well," said freddie slowly, "i didn't see any fire engines yet." mrs. bobbsey tried not to laugh, but it was hard work. "i think we'd better go back to washington," she said to her husband. "i think so, too," he answered, and back to washington they went. this time they rode on a trolley car, and there was no danger of freddie's sending in an alarm of fire. and on the way home something quite wonderful happened. at least it was wonderful for freddie. he was looking out of the window, when suddenly he gave a yell that startled his father and mother, as well as nan, bert, nell and flossie, and that made the other passengers sit up. "oh, look! there's a fire engine! there's a fire engine!" cried the little chap, pointing; and, surely enough, there was one going along the street. it was bright and shiny, smoke was pouring from it and the horses were prancing. the other bobbsey twins turned to look at it, and bert said: "pooh, that's only coming back from an alarm." "that's so," agreed mr. bobbsey. "the horses are going too slowly to be running to a fire, freddie. they must be coming back." "well, it's a fire engine, anyhow," said freddie, and every one had to agree with him. freddie watched the shiny engine until it was out of sight, and then he talked about nothing else but fires on the way home. tired, but well satisfied with their trip, the bobbsey's reached their hotel, and the martin children went to their home, promising to meet the following day and see more washington sights. it was about the middle of the night that mrs. bobbsey, who slept in the same room with flossie and freddie, felt herself being shaken in bed. she roused up to see, in the dim light, freddie standing near her, and shaking her with his chubby hands. "what is it, dear?" asked mrs. bobbsey, sleepily. "fire!" hoarsely whispered freddie. "the house is on fire, and it's real, too, this time!" chapter xviii the oriental children at first mrs. bobbsey was too sleepy, from having been so quickly awakened, to really understand what freddie was saying. she turned over in bed, so as to get a better look at the small boy, who was in his night gown, and with his hair all tousled and frowsled from the pillow. there was no mistake about it--mrs. bobbsey was not dreaming. her little boy was really standing beside her and shaking her. and once more he said: "wake up, momsie! there's a real fire! this house is on fire, and we've got to get out. i can hear the fire engines!" "oh, freddie! you're walking in your sleep again," said his mother as she sat up, now quite awake--"you have been dreaming, and you're walking in your sleep!" freddie had done this once or twice before, thought not since he had come to washington. "the excitement of going to mount vernon, and your ringing of the fire bell on the boat has made you dream of a fire, freddie," his mother went on. "it isn't real. there isn't any fire in this hotel, nor near here. go back to sleep." "but, momsie, i'm awake now!" cried freddie. "and the fire is real! i can see the red light and i can hear the engine puffin'! look, you can see the light!" freddie pointed to a window near his mother's bed. and, as she looked, she certainly saw a red, flickering light. and then the heard the whistle which she knew came from a fire engine. it was not like a locomotive whistle, and, besides, there were no trains near the hotel! "oh, it is a fire!" cried mrs. bobbsey. "freddie, call your father!" mr. bobbsey slept in the next room with bert, while nan had a little bed chamber next to her mother's, on the other side of the bath room. but there was no need to call mr. bobbsey. in his big, warm bath robe he now came stalking into his wife's room. "don't be frightened," he said. "there's a small fire in the building next to this hotel. but it is almost out, and there is no danger. stay right in bed." "but it's a real fire, isn't it, daddy?" cried freddie. "i heard the engines puffin', and i saw the red light and it woke me up and i comed in and telled momsie; and it's a real fire, isn't it?" "yes, freddie, it's a real fire all right," said mr. bobbsey. "but don't talk so loud, nor get excited. you may awaken the people in the other rooms around us, and there is no need. i was talking to the night clerk of the hotel over the telephone from my room, and he says there is no danger. there is a big brick wall between our hotel and the place next door, which is on fire. the blaze can't get through that." "can't i look out the window and see the engines?" freddie wanted to know. "yes, i guess it would be too bad not to let you see them, as long as they are here, and it's a real fire," answered mrs. bobbsey. "i hope no one was hurt next door," she added to her husband. "i think not," he replied. "the fire is only a small one. it is almost out." so freddie had his dearest wish come true in the middle of the night--he saw some real fire engines puffing away, spouting sparks and smoke, and pumping water on a real fire. of course the little boy could not see the water spurting from the hose, as that was happening inside the burning building. but freddie could see some of the firemen at work, and he could see the engines shining in the light from the fire and the glare of the electric lamps. so he was satisfied. bert and nan were awakened, and they, too, looked out on the night scene. they were glad it was not their hotel which was on fire. as for flossie, she slept so soundly that she never knew a thing about it until the next morning. and then when freddie told her, and talked about it at the breakfast table, flossie said: "i don't care! i think you're real mean, freddy bobbsey, to have a fire all to yourself!" "oh, my dear! that isn't nice to say," said mrs. bobbsey. "we thought it better to let you sleep." "well, i wish i'd seen the fire," said flossie. "i like to look at something that's bright and shiny." "then you'll have a chance to see something like that this afternoon," said mr. bobbsey to his little girl. "where?" asked all the bobbsey twins at once, for when their father talked this way nan and bert were as eager as flossie and freddie. "how would you all like to go to a theater show this afternoon--to a matinee?" asked mr. bobbsey. "oh, lovely!" cried flossie. "could nell and billy go?" asked nan, kindly thinking of her little new friends. "yes, we'll take the martin children," mr. bobbsey promised. "and will there be some red fire in the theater show?" flossie wanted to know. "i think so," said her father. "it is a fairy play, about cinderella, and some others like her, and i guess there will be plenty of bright lights and red fire." "will there be a fire engine?" asked freddie. of course you might have known, without my telling you, that it was freddie who asked that question, but i thought i'd put his name down to make sure. "i don't know about there being a fire engine in the play," said mr. bobbsey. "i hardly think there will be one. but the play will be very nice, i'm sure." "i think so, too," said mrs. bobbsey. "we'll have a fine time." "will there be any cowboys or indians in it?" bert asked. "well, hardly, i think," his father answered. "but if we don't like the play, after we get there, we can come home," he added, his eyes twinkling. "oh, daddy!" cried all the bobbsey twins at once. and then, by the way their father smiled, they knew he was only joking. "oh, we'll stay," laughed bert. "oh, it's snowing!" cried freddie as they left the breakfast table and went to sit in the main parlor of the hotel. "it's snowing, and we can have sleigh rides." "if it gets deep enough," put in bert. "i guess it won't be very deep here, will it, daddy?" "well, sometimes there is quite a bit of snow in washington," answered mr. bobbsey. "we'll have to wait and see." "the snow won't keep us from going to show in the theater; will it?" asked nan. "no," her mother said. "nor to see the show given there," she added, smiling. after a visit to the martins, to tell them of the treat in store, the tickets were purchased, the bobbseys had dinner, and, in due time, the merry little party was at the theater. they were shown to their seats, and then the children looked around, waited eagerly for the curtain to go up, while mr. and mrs. bobbsey talked together. more and more people came in. there were a large number of children, for it was a play especially for them, though, of course, lots of "grown-ups" came also. the musicians entered and took their places on the funny little place back of a brass rail. then came the delicious thrills of the squeaking violins as they were tuned, the tap-tap of the drum, the tinkle of a piano, and the soft, low notes of a flute. "oh, it's going to begin soon," whispered nell to nan. "i hope it's a good show," said bert to his chum billy, and trying to speak as if he went to a matinee every other day at least. "oh, they have pretty good shows here," billy said. "look!" suddenly whispered nan, pointing to a box at their left. "look at the chinese children!" and, surely enough, into a near-by box came several boys and girls about the age of the bobbsey twins, and some almost babies, but they were dressed in beautiful blue, golden and red silken garments. and with them came their father, who also wore a silk robe of blue, embroidered with golden birds. "who are they--some of the actors in the play?" asked bert. "no, that's the chinese minister and some of his family, and i guess some of their friends," explained billy. "i've seen them before. they don't often dress up in the same kind of clothes they wear in china, but they did to-day." "oh, aren't they cute!" said nell to nan. "too lovely for anything!" agreed nan enthusiastically. many eyes were on the box, but the chinese minister and his beautifully dressed children did not seem to mind being looked at. the children were just as much interested in staring about the theater as were the bobbsey twins, and the oriental tots probably thought that the other children were even more queer than the american boys and girls thought the chinese to be. having given a good deal of attention to the chinese children in the box, the bobbseys looked around the theater at the other little folk in the audience. "oh, look at the funny fat boy over there!" cried out freddie in a loud voice. "hush, hush, freddie!" whispered nan quickly. "you mustn't talk so loud. every one will hear you." "but he is awful fat, isn't he?" insisted freddie. "he isn't any fatter than you'll be if you keep on eating so much," remarked bert. "oh, i don't eat any more than i have to," declared the little boy. "when you are really and truly hungry you can't help eating. nobody can!" "and you're hungry most all the time," said bert. "i'm not at all! i'm hungry only when--when--i'm hungry," was freddie's reply. then the orchestra began to play, and, a little later, the curtain went up and the fairy play began. i am not going to tell you about it, because you all know the story of cinderella. there she was, sitting among the ashes of the fire-place, and in came the godmother who made a pumpkin turn into a golden coach, and did all the other things just like the story. the play was a little different from the story in some books. in one scene a bad fairy sets off a lighted fire cracker under the palace of the princess. and on the stage, when this happened, there was a loud banging noise, just as bert and nan had often heard on the fourth of july. "bang'!" went the fire cracker. "oh!" cried nell, and she gave a little jump, she was so surprised. and many other were surprised, too, including the little oriental children. and they were so surprised that the smaller ones burst out crying. "oh dear! oh dear!" they cried, in their own language, of course, and the two smallest hid their faces down in their father's lap and cried salty tears on his beautiful blue robe. but he didn't seem to mind a bit. he patted the heads of the little, sobbing tots, and every one in the theater looked over toward the box, for the crying of the chinese children, who were frightened by the bang of the fire cracker, was very loud crying indeed. chapter xix "oh look!" for a time the actors on the stage, taking part in the fairy play, had to stop. they could not go on because the chinese children were crying so hard. and really it was a strange thing to have happen. then cinderella herself--or at least the young lady who was playing that part--seeing what the matter was, stepped to the front of the stage and said to the chinese minister: "tell your little children there will be no more shooting. they will not be frightened again. i am sorry it happened," and she bowed and kissed her hand to the older boys and girls, in the box. they were not frightened as were the smaller ones. "it is all right. they will be themselves again soon. i thank you," said the chinese minister, rising and bowing to the actress. he spoke in english, but with a queer little twist to his words, just as we would speak queerly if we tried to talk chinese. then the sobbing of the frightened children gradually ceased, and the play went on. but the bobbsey twins were almost as much interested in the queer, beautifully dressed foreign children in the box as they were in the play itself. indeed flossie and freddie looked from the stage to the box and from the box back to the stage again so often that their mother said they would have stiff necks. however, they didn't have, which only goes to show that children's necks can stand a great deal of twisting and turning without getting tired. so the play went on, and very pretty it was. cinderella tried on the glass slipper. it fitted perfectly, and everything came out all right, and she and the prince lived happily forever after. "is that all?" asked flossie, when the curtain went down for the last time, and the people began getting up to leave. "that's all," her mother told her. "didn't you like it?" "oh, yes, it was nice," said flossie. "but they didn't have as much red fire as i wanted to see." "and they didn't have a single fire engine!" sighed freddie. "too bad!" laughed bert. "we'll look for a show for you, freddie, where they have nothing but fire engines!" but, after all, even without quite enough red fire and not a fire engine on the stage, the play was enjoyed by the bobbsey twins and their little friends, the martin children. "where are we going?' asked nan, as they came out of the theater and mr. bobbsey led the children toward a big automobile that stood at the curb. "we are going to the martins for the evening," answered daddy bobbsey. "mr. martin sent down his auto for us, so we don't have to go out in the storm." "it was very kind of him," added mrs. bobbsey. "i like the snow!" cried freddie. "i'm going to make a snow fort, to-morrow, and a snow man." "and i'm going to make a little snow doll!" declared flossie. "wait until you see if there's snow enough," advised bert. "will there be much, do you think?" nan inquired of nell. "well, we don't often have a very heavy fall of snow here," was the answer, "though it sometimes happens. it's snowing hard now." and so it was, and the weather was getting cold, too, almost as cold as back in lakeport. but the bobbseys were used to it. their eyes were shining and their cheeks were red. flossie and freddie tried to catch the drifting snow flakes dancing down from the sky. but there was quite a crowd on the side-walk coming out of the theater, and every one seemed to get in the way of the little bobbsey twins, so they did not have much luck catching the white crystals. into the big, closed auto they piled, and soon they were rolling along the snow-covered streets of washington toward the home of nell and billy martin. mr. and mrs. martin would be waiting at their house to greet the bobbseys. it was dark, now, and the lighted lamps made the snow sparkle like a million diamonds. "oh, it's just lovely!" sighed nan, as she leaned back against the cushions and peered from the window. "it looks just like a fairy play out there," and nell pointed to the glittering snow. "it looks like--like one of those funny christmas cards that twinkle so!" declared freddie. "oh, it will soon be christmas, won't it?" exclaimed flossie, who sat on her mother's lap. "i wonder what i'll get!" "i want something, too!" cried freddie. "oh, won't it be nice at christmas!" "yes, it will soon be here--much sooner than we think," said mr. bobbsey. "shall we go home for christmas?" nan asked. "oh, yes," her father told her. "my business here is nearly finished, and we'll go back to lakeport next week." "aren't we going to buy anything to take home--souvenirs i mean?" added bert. "i promised to bring sam something." "and i want to take dinah a present!" declared nan. "yes, we must do a little shopping for things like that," said mrs. bobbsey. "you children will have a chance next week." and they talked of that, and the things they would buy, until the automobile stopped at the martin house, when they all went inside. after supper, or dinner as it is more often called, the children had fun playing games and looking at picture books, while the older folk talked among themselves. mr. and mrs. martin were quite interested in hearing of how the chinese children cried when the fire cracker went off. "i have never seen any of the ambassadors or the ministers from the oriental countries wear their native dress," said mr. martin. "but there is no reason why they shouldn't." "no," said mr. bobbsey, "there isn't. if we went to a foreign country we would want to wear the clothes we had always worn at home, and we wouldn't like to be stared at for doing it, either." the evening passed pleasantly, but at last mrs. bobbsey noticed that flossie and freddie were getting sleepy, so she said they would have to go back to the hotel and to bed. "and i hope the fire engines don't wake us up to-night," said nan. "i want to sleep." "i do, too," added her mother. nothing happened that night, and in the morning there was enough snow on the ground for the making of a small snow man, at least, and as many snowballs as the children wanted to throw at him. flossie and freddie were warmly dressed, and allowed to play out in a little yard in front of the hotel. it was rather a treat for washington children to have as much snow as they now had, and many were out enjoying it. flossie and freddie played as they did at home, and bert and nan, with nell and billy martin, who came over, watched the smaller twins. "let's throw snowballs at a target," said freddie presently. "i'm going to play i'm a soldier and shoot the cannon." "you haven't any target, freddie bobbsey," declared flossie. "yes, i have, too!" answered her twin brother. "just look here!" freddie had espied a small tin can standing in an areaway not far away. he ran to get this, and then set it up on a near-by iron railing. "there's my target!" he exclaimed; and both he and flossie began to throw snowballs at it and were in high glee when the can tumbled over. thus the fun went on for some time. after lunch mrs. bobbsey said: "now, children, if you wish, you may go out and buy some souvenirs. as long as nell and billy are here to go with you, i will not have to go, since they know their way about the streets near our hotel. i'm going to give you each a certain sum, and you may spend it in any way you like for souvenirs to take home to sam, dinah and your other friends. now start out and have a good time." the snow had stopped and the sun was shining, which meant that the white covering would not last long. but it gave a touch of winter to washington, and the children liked it. down the street went the six children, two by two, the four bobbsey twins and nell and billy martin. flossie and freddie walked together, then came billy and bert, while nan walked with nell. "here's a store where they have nice things," said nell, as they stopped in front of one, the windows of which held all sorts of light and pretty articles, from fans and postcards to vases and pocket knives, some with tiny photographic views of washington set in the handles. "let's go in there and buy something," proposed bert. in they trooped, and you may well believe me when i say that the woman who kept this store had a busy half-hour trying to wait on the four bobbsey twins at once. nell and billy did not want to buy anything, but the bobbseys did. at last, however, each one had bought something, and then bert said: "i know where to go next." "where?" asked nan. "around the corner," her brother answered as they came out of the souvenir shop. "there's a cheaper place there. i looked in the windows yesterday and saw the prices marked. we haven't got much money left, and we've got to go to a cheap place for the rest of our things." "all right," agreed nan, and bert led the way. the other store, just as he said, was only around the corner, and, as he had told his sister, the windows were filled with many things, some of them marked at prices which were very low. suddenly, as nan was peering in through the glass, she gave a startled cry, and, plucking bert by the sleeve, exclaimed: "oh, look!" chapter xx a great bargain bert bobbsey turned to look at his sister nan. she was staring at something in the jumble of articles in the second-hand shop window, and what she saw seemed to excite nan. "what is it? what's the matter?" asked bert, as nan, once more, exclaimed: "look! oh, look!" "is it a fire?" eagerly asked freddie, as he wiggled about to get a better view of the window, since bert and nan stood so near it he could not see very well. "is it a fire?" "oh, you and your fires!" laughed nell, as she put her hands lovingly on his shoulders. "don't you ever think of anything else?" "oh, is it a fire?" asked freddie again. "no, there isn't any fire," answered billy, laughing, as his sister nell was doing, at freddie's funny ideas. "but it's something!" insisted flossie, who had, by this time, wiggled herself to a place beside freddie, and so near the window that she could flatten her little nose against it. "what is it you see, nan?" asked bert. "if it's more souvenirs i don't believe we can buy any. my money is 'most gone." "oh, but we must get these even if we have to go home for more money!" exclaimed nan. "look, bert! right near those old brass candlesticks. see that sugar bowl and pitcher?" "i see 'em!" answered bert. "don't you know whose they are?" rapidly whispered nan. "look at the way they're painted? and see! on the bottom of the sugar bowl is a blue lion! i can't see the letters 'j. w.' but they must be there. oh, bert! don't you know what this means? can't you see? those are miss pompret's missing dishes that she told us she'd give a hundred dollars to get back! and oh, bert! we've got to go in there and buy that sugar bowl and cream pitcher, and we can take 'em back to miss pompret at lakeport, and she'll give us a hundred dollars, and--and--" but nan was so excited and out of breath that she could not say another word. she could just manage to hold bert's sleeve and point at the window of the second-hand shop. at last bert "woke up," as he said afterward. his eyes opened wider, and he stared with all his might at what nan was pointing toward. there, surely enough, among some old candlesticks, a pair of andirons, a bellows for blowing a fire, was a sugar bowl and cream pitcher. and it needed only a glance to make bert feel sure that the two pieces of china were decorated just as were miss pompret's. but there was something more than this. the sugar bowl was turned over so that the bottom part was toward the street. and on the bottom, plainly to be seen, was a circle of gold. inside the circle was a picture of some animal in blue, and nan, at least, felt sure it was a blue lion. as she had said, no letters could be seen, but they might be there. "don't you see, bert?" asked nan, as her brother waited several seconds before speaking. "don't you see that those are miss pompret's dishes?" "well," admitted the bobbsey lad, "they look like 'em." "they surely are!" declared nan. "oh, i'm so excited! let's go right in and buy them. then we'll get a hundred dollars!" she darted away from bert's side, and was about to move toward the door of the shop when billy caught her by the coat sleeve. "wait a minute, nan," he said. "what for?" she asked. "until bert and i talk this over," went on billy, who, though he was not much older than nan, seemed to be, perhaps because he had lived in a large city all his life. "you don't want to rush in and buy those dishes so quick." "why not?" demanded nan. "if i don't get 'em somebody else may, and you know miss pompret offered a reward of a hundred dollars. these are the two pieces missing from her set. her set is 'broken' as she calls it, if she doesn't have this sugar bowl and pitcher." "yes, i remember your telling me about miss pompret's reward," said billy. "but you'd better go a bit slow." "maybe somebody else'll buy 'em!" exclaimed nan. "oh, i don't believe they will," said nell, "this is a quiet street, and this shop doesn't do much business. we only come here once in a while because some things are cheaper. we never bought any second-hand things." "there's nobody coming down the street now," observed bert, who was beginning to agree with billy in the matter. "if we see any one going in that we think will buy the dishes, we can hurry in ahead of 'em. we'll stand here and talk a minute. what is it you want to say, billy?" "well, it's like this," went on the washington boy. "i know these second-hand men. if they think you want a thing they'll charge you a lot of money for it. but if they think you don't want it very much they will let you have it cheap. i know, 'cause a fellow and i wanted to get a baseball glove in here one day. it was a second-hand one, but good. the fellow i was with knew just how to do it. "he went in, and asked the price of a lot of things, and said they were all too high. then he asked the price of the glove, just as if he didn't care much whether he got it or not. the man said it was a dollar, but when jimmie--the boy who was with me--said he only had eighty cents, the man let him have the glove for that." "oh, i see what you mean!" cried nan. "you mean we must try to get a bargain." "yes," said billy. "otherwise, if you go in and want to buy those dishes first thing, the man may want five dollars for 'em." "oh, we haven't that much money!" cried nan, much surprised. "that's why i say we must go slow," said billy. "now you leave this to me and bert." "i think it would be a good idea," declared nell. "all right! i will," agreed nan. "but, oh, i do hope we can get those dishes for miss pompret." "and i hope we can get the reward of a hundred dollars," murmured bert. "i only hope they're the right dishes," said billy. "oh, i'm sure they are," declared nan. "they have the blue lion on and everything. and if they have the letters 'j. w.' on, then we'll know for sure. let's go in and see." "we've got to go slow," declared billy. "mustn't be too fast. let bert and me go ahead." "i want to come in, too!" declared freddie. "i want to buy a whistle. do they have whistles in here?" "i guess so," answered bert. "it will be a good thing to go in and ask for, anyhow." "sort of excuse for going in," suggested nell. "do they have ice cream cones?" asked flossie. "i want something to eat." "i don't believe they have anything to eat in here," said nell. "but we can get that later, flossie. now you and freddie be nice when we go in, and after we come out i'll get you some ice cream." "i'll be good!" promised flossie. "so'll i," agreed freddie. "but i want a whistle, and if they have a little fire engine i want that." "you don't want much!" laughed bert. "well, let's go in!" suggested billy. so, with the two boys in the lead, followed by nell and nan and flossie and freddie, the children entered the second-hand and souvenir store. a bell on the door rang with a loud clang as billy opened it, and when the children stepped inside the shop an old man with a black, curly beard and long black hair that seemed as if it had never been combed, came out from a back room. "what you want to buy, little childrens?" he asked. "i got a lot of nice things, cheap! very cheap!" "well, if you've got something very cheap we might buy it," answered billy, with as nearly a grown-up manner as he could assume. "but we haven't much money." "ha! ha! that's what they all say!" exclaimed the old man. "but everybody has more money that what i has. i'm very poor. i don't hardly make a living i sell things so cheap. what you want to buy, little childrens?" "have you got any whistles or fire engines?" burst out freddie, unable to wait any longer. "whistles? lots of 'em!" exclaimed the man. "here is a finest whistle what ever was. listen to it!" he took one from the show case and blew into it. not a sound came out. "ach! i guess that one is damaged," he said. "but i got other ones. here! listen to this!" the next one blew loud and shrill. "i want that!" cried freddie. "ten cents!" said the man, holding it out to the little boy. "what?" cried billy. "why, i can buy those whistles for five cents anywhere in washington! ten cents? i guess not!" "oh, well, take it for seven cents then," said the man. "what i care if i die poor. take it for seven cents!" "no, sir!" exclaimed billy firmly. "five cents is all they cost, and this is an old one." "oh, well. take it for five then. what i care if you cheats a poor old man? such a boy as you are! take it for five cents!" and he handed the whistle to freddie. but before he could take it nan said, gently: "i think it would be better for him to have a fresh one from the box. that is all dusty." the truth was she did not want freddie to take a whistle the old man had blown into. "oh, well, i gives you a fresh one," he said, and he took a new and shining one from the box. freddie blew it, making a shrill sound. "what else you want to buy, little childrens?" asked the old man. "i sell everythings cheap--everythings!" "ask how much the dishes are," whispered nan to billy. but he shook his head, and looked around the shop. he looked everywhere but at the window where the dishes were. "any sailboats?" asked billy, as if that was all he had come in to inquire about. "sailboats?" cried the man. "sailboats?" "yes, toy sailboats." "no, i haven't got any of them, but i got a nice football. here i show you!" "i don't want a football. you can't play football when the snow is on the ground!" exclaimed bert, as the man started toward some shelves on the other side of the room. "i want a doll," whispered flossie. "just a little doll." "a doll!" exclaimed the man. "sure i gots a fine lot of dolls. see!" quickly he held out a large one with very blue eyes and hair just like flossie's. "only a dollar seventy-five," he said. "very cheap!" "oh, that's too much!" exclaimed nan. "we haven't that much money. she wants only a little ten-cent doll." "oh, well, i have them kinds too!" said the man, in disappointed tones. "here you are!" he held out one that did not appear to be very nice. "you can get those for five cents in the other stores," whispered nell. "better take it," said her brother. "then i'll ask about the dishes." "yes, we'll take it," agreed nan. so flossie was given her doll, and, even though it might have been only five cents somewhere else, she liked it just as well. "what else you wants to buy, childrens?" asked the old man. "i got lots more things so cheap--oh, so very cheap!" billy and bert strolled over to the window. they looked down in. nan crowded to their side. she felt sure, now, that the two pieces of china were the very ones miss pompret wanted. if they could only get that sugar bowl and pitcher! "i wish you had a sailboat!" murmured billy, as if that was all he cared about. then, turning to nan he asked: "would you like that sugar bowl and pitcher?" "oh, yes, i think i would!" she exclaimed, trying not to make her voice seem too eager. "you might have a play party with them," billy went on. if miss pompret could have heard him then i feel sure she would have fainted, or had what dinah would call "a cat in a fit." "you want those dishes?" asked the old man, as he reached over and lifted the sugar bowl and pitcher from his window. "ach! them is a great bargain. i let you have them cheap. and see, not a chip or a crack on 'em. good china, too! very valuable, but they is all i have left. i sells 'em cheap." bert took the sugar bowl and looked closely at it, while nan took the pitcher. the children felt sure these were the same pieces that would fill out miss pompret's set. "look at the mark on the bottom," whispered nan to bert, as the storekeeper hurried to the other side of the room to rescue a pile of chairs which freddie seemed bent on pulling down. "is the blue lion there?" "yes," answered bert, "it is." "and the letters 'j. w.'?" "yes," bert replied. "but, somehow, it doesn't look like the one on miss pompret's plates." "oh, i'm sure it's the same one!" insisted nan. "we've found the missing pieces, bert, and we'll get--" "hush!" cautioned billy, for the old man was coming back. "you want to buy them?" he asked. "i sell cheap. it's a great bargain." "where did they come from?" asked bert. "come from? how shoulds i know. maybe i get 'em at a fire sale, or maybe all the other dishes in that set get broken, and these all what are left. somebody bring 'em in, and i buys 'em, or my wife she buys 'em. how can i tells so long ago?" "oh, well, maybe we might take 'em for the girls to have a play party with their own set of dishes," went on billy. "but i wish you had a toy ship. how much for these dishes--this sugar bowl and pitcher?" "how much? oh, i let you have these very cheap. they is worth five dollars--very rare china--very thin but hard to break. these is a good bargain--a great bargain. you shall have them for--two dollars!" chapter xxi just suppose nan bobbsey gave gasp, just as if she had fallen into a bath tub full of cold water. bert quickly glanced at his friend billy. nell had hurried over to the other side of the room to stop flossie from pulling a pile of dusty magazines from a shelf down on top of herself. billy seemed to be the only one who was not excited. "two dollars?" he repeated. "that's a lot of money." "what? a lot of money for rich childrens? ha! ha! that's only a little moneys!" laughed the man, rubbing his hands. "we aren't rich," said bert. "and i don't believe we have two dollars." he was pretty sure he and nan had not that much, at any rate. "how much you got?" asked the man eagerly. "maybe i let you have these dishes cheaper, but they's worth more as two dollars. how much you all got?" "how much have you?" asked billy of bert. bert pulled some change from his pocket. the two boys counted it. "eighty-seven cents," announced bert, when they had counted it twice. "oh, that isn't half enough!" cried the old man. "i have some money," announced nan, bringing out her little purse. "how much?" asked the man. that seemed to be all he could think about. nan and nell counted the change. it amounted to thirty-two cents. "how much is thirty-two and eighty-seven?" asked nell. bert and billy figured it on a piece of paper. "a dollar and twenty-nine cents," announced, bert. "no, it's only a dollar and nineteen," declared billy, who was a little better at figures than was his chum. "how much?" asked the old man, for the children had done their counting on the other side of the room, and in whispers. "a dollar and nineteen cents!" announced billy. "oh, i couldn't let you have these dishes, for that," said the old man, and he seemed about to take them from the counter where they had been put, to place them back in the window. "wait a minute," said billy. "these dishes are worth only a dollar, but i have fifteen cents i can lend you, bert. that will make a dollar and thirty-four cents. that's all we have and if you don't want to sell the dishes for that, we can go and get 'em somewhere else." nan was about to gasp out: "oh!" but a look from billy stopped her. she saw what he was trying to do. "a dollar thirty-four--that's all the moneys you got?" asked the old man. "every cent we're going to give!" declared billy firmly. "if you'll sell the play dishes for that all right. if you won't--" he seemed about to leave. "oh, well, what i cares if i die in the poor-house?" asked the old man. "here! take 'em. but i am losing money. those is valuable dishes. if i had more i could sell 'em for ten dollars maybe. but as they is all i got take 'em for a dollar and thirty-four. you couldn't make it a dollar thirty-five, could you?" "no," said bert decidedly, "we couldn't!" "oh, dear!" sighed the old man. "take 'em, then." "they're awfully dusty," complained nell, as she looked at the sugar bowl and pitcher. "that's 'cause they're so old and valuable, my dear," snarled the old man. "but my wife she dust them off for you, and i wrap them up, though i ought to charge you a penny for a sheet of paper. but what i care if i dies in the poorhouse." "are you goin' there soon?" asked flossie. "we've got a poorhouse at lakeport, and it's awful nice." "oh, well, little one, maybe i don't go there just yet," said the man who spoke wrong words sometimes. "here, mina!" he called, and a woman, almost as old as he, came from the back room. "wipe off the dust. i have sold the old dishes--the valuable old dishes." "ah, such a bargain as they got!" murmured the old woman. "them is valuable china. such a bargains!" "where did you get them?" asked nan, as the dishes were being wrapped and the old man was counting over the nickels, dimes and pennies of the children's money. "where i get them? of how should i know? maybe they come in by somebody what sell them for money. maybe we buy them in some old house like washington's. it is long ago. we have had them in the shop a long time, but the older they are the better they get. they is all the better for being old--a better bargain, my dear!" and the old woman smiled, showing a mouth from which many teeth were missing. "well, come on," said billy, when the dishes had been wrapped and given to bert, who carried them carefully. "but i wish you had some sailboats," he said to the old man, as if that was all they had come in to buy. "i have some next week," answered the old man. "comes around then and have a big bargains in a sailsboats." "maybe i will," agreed billy. out of the shop walked the bobbsey twins and their chums, the martin children of washington. and the hearts of bert and nan, at least, were beating quickly with excitement and hope. as for flossie, she was holding her doll, and freddie was blowing his whistle. "i'm a regular fire engine now," declared freddie. "don't you hear how the engine is blowing the whistle?" "you'll have everybody looking at you, freddie bobbsey!" exclaimed flossie. "nan, do make him stop his noise." "oh, let him blow his whistle if he wants to," said bert. "it isn't hurting anybody." "i know what i'm going to do when i get home," said flossie. "i'm going to put a brand new dress on this doll, and give her a new hat, too." "that will be nice," said nan. at that moment they had to cross at a street corner which was much crowded. there was a policeman there to regulate the coming and going of the people and carriages and automobiles, and when he blew his whistle the traffic would go up and down one street, and then when he blew his whistle again it would go up and down the other. the policeman had just blown on his whistle, and the traffic was going past the bobbsey twins when freddie gave a sudden loud blow. immediately some of the carriages and automobiles going in one direction stopped short and the others commenced to go the other way. "for gracious sake, freddie! see what you have done," gasped bert. the traffic policeman who stood in the middle of the two streets looked very much surprised. then he saw it was freddie who had blown the whistle, and he shook his finger at the little boy in warning. "he wants you to stop," said nan, and made freddie put the whistle in his pocket for the time being. then the bobbseys and their friends hurried on their way. "i'll give you the fifteen cents as soon as we get back to the hotel, billy," said bert. "oh, that's all right," his chum answered. "i'm in no hurry. do you think we paid too much for the dishes?" "oh, no!" exclaimed nan. "i'd have given the two dollars if i'd had it. why, miss pompret will give us a hundred dollars for these two pieces." "that's fifty dollars apiece!" exclaimed nell. "it doesn't seem that they could be worth that." "oh, but she wants them to make up her set," said bert. "just these two pieces are missing. i wonder how they came to be in that second-hand store?" "maybe the tramp who took them years ago brought them here and sold them," suggested nan. "but i don't suppose we'll ever really find out." eager and excited, the bobbsey twins and their friends walked back toward the hotel. "won't mother and father be surprised when they find we have the pompret china?" asked nan of her brother. "yes," he answered, "i guess they will. but, oh, nan! just suppose!" "suppose what?" she asked, for bert seemed worried over something. "suppose these aren't the right dishes, after all? s'posin' these aren't the ones miss pompret wants?" chapter xxii happy days nan bobbsey was so surprised by what bert said that she stood still in the street and looked at her brother. then she looked at the precious package he was carrying. "bert bobbsey!" she exclaimed, "these must be the same as miss pompret's! why they have the blue lion on, and the circle of gold, and the letters 'j. w.' and--and everything!" "yes, i saw that, too," agreed bert. "but still they might not be the same dishes." "oh, dear!" sighed nan. "and we paid all that money, too!" "oh, i guess they must be the same," put in nell. "anyhow, you can take 'em to the hotel and ask your mother." "yes, mother might know," agreed nan. "and if she says those dishes aren't the ones you want, why we can take 'em back and the man will give us our money," said billy. "oh, he'd never do that!" declared bert. "well, we can ask him," went on the washington lad. "maybe the dishes are miss pompret's, after all," said bert. "i was just s'posin'. and if they aren't, why we can give 'em to dinah for souvenirs. i was going to get her something anyhow." "but they cost a lot of money," objected nan. "well, dinah is awful good to us," said bert. "and she'd like these dishes if they aren't miss pompret's." "but i do hope they are," sighed nan. "think of a whole hundred dollars!" "it would scare me to get all that money," said nell. "oh, i do hope they are the right sugar bowl and pitcher!" back to the hotel hurried the bobbsey twins. flossie and freddie, happy with their toys--the doll and the whistles--did not care much one way or the other about the dishes and the reward. but bert and nan were very much excited. "well, you've been gone rather a long time buying souvenirs," said mrs. bobbsey, when the twins and the martin children came in. "and oh, mother, we've had the most wonderful time!" burst out nan. "we've found miss pompret's missing china dishes--the two she has wanted so long--the ones the tramp took and she's going to give a reward of a hundred dollars for, you know--and--and--" "yes, and i know you're excited!" exclaimed mrs. bobbsey. "now cool down and tell me all about it." "and here are the dishes," added bert, as he set the precious bundle down on the table. "look at 'em, mother, and see if they are the ones like miss pompret's set. you saw her dishes, didn't you?" "yes, but i am not sure i would know them again." "i owe billy fifteen cents," went on bert, as he unwrapped the dishes. "we didn't have money enough. the man wanted two dollars, but billy got him down to a dollar and thirty-four cents." "billy is quite a little bargainer," said mrs. bobbsey, with a smile. "and now to look at the dishes." she carefully examined the sugar bowl and cream pitcher. there was no doubt about the blue lion in the circle of gold being stamped on the bottom of each piece. there were also the initials "j. w." which might stand for jonathan waredon, the man who made such rare china. "well, i should say that these pieces were just like those in miss pompret's set," said mrs. bobbsey, after a pause. "but whether they are exactly the same or not, i can't tell. she would have to look at them herself." "i wish we could hurry home and show them to her," sighed nan. "so do i," said bert. "i want to get that hundred dollars." "well, we'll be going back to lakeport in a few days now," said his mother. "our stay in washington is nearly over." "oh, dear!" sighed nell. "i wish you could stay longer." "so do i," added her brother billy. bert gave billy back the borrowed fifteen cents, and when mr. bobbsey, having been out on lumber business, came home, he, too, said he thought the pieces belonged to miss pompret's set of rare china. "but there is only one sure way to tell," the twins' father said. "miss pompret must see them herself." the few remaining days the bobbsey twins spent in washington were filled with good times. they were nicely entertained by the martins, and went on many excursions to places of interest. but, all the while, bert and nan, at least, were thinking of the sugar bowl and pitcher, and the hundred dollars reward miss pompret had promised. "i do hope we don't have to give the dishes to dinah for souvenirs," said nan to bert. "i hope so, too," he agreed. "anyhow, i bought dinah a red handkerchief with a yellow border and a green center. she likes bright colors." "i bought her something, too, and for sam i got something he can hang on his watch chain," said nan. "so if we have to give dinah the dishes, too, she'll have a lot of souvenirs." at last the day came when the bobbseys must leave washington for lakeport. goodbyes were said to the martins, and they promised to visit the bobbseys at lakeport some time. mr. bobbsey finished his lumber business, and then with trunks and valises packed and locked, and with the precious dishes put carefully in the middle of a satchel which bert insisted on carrying, the homeward trip was begun. not very much happened on it, except that once bert forgot the valise with the dishes in it, having left it in a car, but he thought of it in time and ran back to get it just before the train was about to start away with it. after that he was more careful. "well, honey lambs! i suah is glad to see yo' all back!" cried dinah, as she welcomed the bobbsey twins at their own door. "come right in, i'se got lots fo' yo' all to eat! come in, honey lambs! how am mah little fat fairy and' mah little fireman?" "oh, we're fine, dinah!" said freddie, "and i saw a real fire and i pulled the fire bell on the boat an'--an'--an'--everything!" "bress yo' heart, honey lamb! i guess yo' did!" laughed dinah. "and i got a little doll and my hat blew off the steeple!" cried flossie. "lan' sakes! do tell!" cried dinah. "and we found miss pompret's dishes!" broke in nan. "and we're going to get the hundred dollars reward," added bert. "'cept, of course, if they aren't the right ones you can have 'em for souvenirs, dinah." "bress yo' heart, honey lamb! dinah's got all she wants when yo' all come back. now i go an' git somethin' to eat!" the children--at least nan and bert--were so eager to have miss pompret see the two dishes that they hardly ate any of the good things dinah provided. they wanted to go at once and call on the dear, old-fashioned lady, but their father and mother made them wait. at last, however, when they had all rested a bit, mr. bobbsey took nan and bert with him and went to call on miss pompret. the dishes, carefully washed by mrs. bobbsey, were carried along, wrapped in soft paper. "oh, i am glad to see my little friends again," said miss pompret, as she greeted nan and bert. "did you have a nice time in washington?" "yes'm," answered bert. "and we brought you--" "we found your missing sugar bowl and pitcher!" broke in nan. "anyhow, we hope they're yours, and we paid the old man a dollar and thirty-four cents and--" "you--you found my sugar bowl and pitcher!" exclaimed miss pompret, and mr. bobbsey said, afterward, that she turned a little pale. "really do you mean it--after all these years?" "well, they look like your dishes," said mr. bobbsey. "the children saw them in a second-hand store window, and went in and bought them. i hope, for your sake, they are the right pieces." "i can soon tell," said the old lady. "there is not another set like the ancient pompret china in this country. oh, i am so anxious!" her thin, white hands, themselves almost like china, trembled as she unwrapped the pieces. and then, as she saw them, she gave a cry of joy and exclaimed: "yes! they are the very same! those are the two pieces missing from my set! now it is complete! oh, how thankful i am that i have the pompret china set together again! oh, thank you, children, thank you!" and she threw her arms about nan and kissed her, while she shook hands with bert, much to that young boy's relief. he hated being kissed. "are you sure these are the two pieces from your set?" asked mr. bobbsey. "positive," answered miss pompret. "see? here is the blue lion in the circle of gold, and initials 'j. w.' there can be no mistake. and now how did you find them?" bert and nan told, and related how billy had bargained for the two pieces. they all wondered how the second-hand man had come by them, but they never found out. miss pompret carefully placed the sugar bowl and pitcher in the glass-doored closet with her other pieces. she looked at them for several seconds. they matched perfectly. "now, once more, after many years, my precious set of china is together again," she murmured. she went over to a desk and began to write. a little later she handed a slip of blue paper to mr. bobbsey. "what is this?" he asked. "a check for one hundred dollars," answered miss pompret. "it is the reward i promised for the finding of my china. i have made the check out to you, mr. bobbsey. you can get the money and give half to nan and half to bert." mr. bobbsey slowly shook his head. then he handed the blue check back to miss pompret. "their mother and i couldn't think of letting the children take the hundred dollars just for having discovered your dishes, miss pompret," he said. "i thank you very much, but nan and bert would not want it, themselves," he went on. "they really did not earn the money. it was just good luck; and so, i'm sure, they would rather the money would go to the red cross. wouldn't you?" he asked nan and bert. for a moment only did they hesitate. then with a sigh, which she tried hard to keep back. nan said: "oh, yes. it wouldn't be right to take a hundred dollars just for two dishes." "no," agreed bert, "it wouldn't. please give the money to the red cross." miss pompret looked from the children to their father, then to the china in the closet and next at the check in her white, thin hand. "very well," said the old lady. "since you wish it, i'll give the hundred dollars to the red cross; and very glad i am to do it, mr. bobbsey. i would gladly have paid even more to get back my sugar bowl and pitcher." "it would hardly be right for the children to have so much money," he said. "the red cross needs it for poor and starving children in other lands." "very well," answered miss pompret. "but at least let me give them back the dollar and thirty-four cents they spent to get the dishes. that was their own spending money, i presume." "yes," said mr. bobbsey, "it was. and i don't mind if you give that back." so nan and bert did not really lose anything, and soon the disappointed feeling about not getting the reward wore off. they were glad it was to go to the red cross. and the next morning, when they awakened to find the ground a foot deep in snow, their joy knew no bounds. they forgot all about rewards, china dishes, and even washington. "now for some coasting!" cried bert. "and snow men!" added freddie. "and i'm going to make a snow house for my washington doll!" cried flossie. "oh, i love snow!" ejaculated nan. "it's lovely to have it come so near christmas!" "that's so!" exclaimed bert. "it soon will be christmas! now let's go out and have some fun in the snow!" and they did, rolling and tumbling about, making snow men and houses, and coasting on their sleds. miss pompret wrote mr. bobbsey a letter, stating that she had sent a check for one hundred dollars to the red cross in the names of bert and nan bobbsey. "that was certainly very nice of her," said mrs. bobbsey, when her husband read this letter to her. "well, miss pompret is a very nice lady," answered mr. bobbsey. "i am very glad that the children got those missing dishes back for her." "so am i. she has been greatly worried for years over them." slowly the snow flakes drifted down, another storm following the first. it was the night before christmas. "i wonder what we'll get?" murmured nan as she and bert went up to their rooms. "i hope i get a pair of shoe-hockeys," he said. "and i want a fur coat," said nan. and when christmas morning dawned, with the sun shining on the new, sparkling snow, it also shone on the piles of presents for the bobbsey twins. there were a number for each one, and, in a separate place on the table were two large packages. one was marked for nan and the other for bert, and each bore the words: "from miss alicia pompret, to the little friends who restored my missing china." "oh, mine's a fur coat!" cried nan, as she opened her package. "a fur coat and story books!" "and mine's shoe-hockeys--the best ever!" shouted bert. "and an air rifle and books too!" and so their dreams came true, and it was the happiest christmas they ever remembered. and miss pompret was happy too. the end. the mirrors of washington contents with biographical notes harding, warren g., president of the united states; b. corsica, morrow co., o., nov. , ; educ. student of ohio central coll. (now defunct), iberia, - ; engaged in newspaper business at marion, o., since ; pres. harding pub. co., pubs. star (daily); mem. ohio senate, - ; lt.-gov. of ohio, - ; rep. nominee for gov. of ohio, (defeated); mem. u. s. senate, from ohio, - ; baptist; president of the united states, wilson, woodrow, twenty-eighth president of the united states; b. staunton, va., dec. , ; educ. davidson coll., n. c., - ; a.b., princeton, , a.m., ; grad. in law, u. of va., ; post-grad, work at johns hopkins, - , ph.d., ; (ll.d., wake forest, , tulane, , johns hopkins, , rutgers, , u. of pa., , brown, ; harvard, , williams, , dartmouth, ; litt. d., yale, ); pres. aug. , --oct. , , princeton u.; gov. of n. j., jan. , --mar. , (resigned); nominated for president in dem. nat. conv. baltimore, , and elected nov. , , for term, mar. , -mar. , ; renominated for president in dem. nat. conv., st. louis, , and reelected, nov. , ; for term mar. , -mar. , ; left for france on the troopship "george washington", dec. , , at the head of am. commn. to negotiate peace; returned to u. s., arriving in boston, feb. , ; left new york on d trip to europe, mar. ; arrived in paris, mar. ; signed peace treaty, june , harvey, george (brinton mcclellan), editor; b. peacham, vt., feb. , ; educ. peacham academy; (ll.d., university of nevada, university of vermont, middlebury coll. and erskine coll.). consecutively reporter springfield republican, chicago news, and new york world, - ; ins. commr. of n. j., - ; mng. editor new york world, - ; constructor and pres. various electric railroads, - ; purchased, , and since editor north american review, pres. harper & bros., - ; north am. review pub. co., -; editor and pub. harvey's weekly; dir. audit co. of new york; col. and a.-d.-c. on staffs of govs. green and abbett, of n. j., - ; hon. col. and a.-d.-c. on staffs of govs. heyward and ansel, of s. c.; u. s. ambassador to court of saint james hughes, charles evans, secretary of state; b. at glens falls, n. y., apr. , ; educ. colgate u., - ; a.b., brown u., , a.m., ; ll.b., columbia, ; (ll.d., brown, , columbia, knox, and lafayette, , union, colgate, , george washington, , williams college, harvard, and univ. of pennsylvania, , yale univ., ); admitted to n. y. bar, ; prize fellowship, columbia law sch., - ; nominated for office of mayor of new york by rep. conv., , but declined; gov. of n. y. terms, jan. , -dec. , , jan. , -dec. , ; resigned, oct. , ; apptd., may , , and oct. , , became asso. justice supreme court of u. s.; nominated for president of u. s. in rep. nat. conv., chicago, june , , and resigned from supreme court same day; secretary of state, house, edward mandell, b. houston, tex., july , ; educ. hopkins grammar sch., new haven, conn., ; cornell u., ; active in dem. councils, state and national, but never a candidate for office. personal representative of president wilson to the european governments in , , and ; apptd. by the president, sept., , to gather and organize data necessary at the eventual peace conference; commd. as the special rep. of govt. of u. s. at the inter-allied conference of premiers and foreign ministers, held in paris, nov. , , to effect a more complete coordination of the activities of the entente cobelligerents for the prosecution of the war; designated by the president to represent the u. s. in the supreme war council at versailles, dec. , ; oct. , ; designated by the president to act for the u. s. in the negotiation of the armistice with the central powers; mem. am. commn. to negotiate peace, - hoover, herbert clark, secretary of commerce; engineer; b. west branch, ia., aug. , ; educ. b.a. (in mining engring.), leland stanford, jr., u., ; (ll.d., brown u., u. of pa., harvard, princeton, yale, oberlin, u. of ala., liege, brussels; d.c.l., oxford); asst. ark. geol. survey, , u. s. geol. survey, sierra nevada mountains, ; in w. australia as chief of mining staff of bewick, moreing & co. and mgr. hannan's brown hill mine, ; chief engr. chinese imperial bur. of mines, , doing extensive exploration in interior of china. took part in defense of tientsin during boxer disturbances; chmn. am. relief com. london, - , commn. for relief in belgium, - ; chmn. food com. council of nat. defense, apr.-aug. ; apptd. u. s. food administrator by president wilson, aug. , , resigned june, . secretary of commerce, lodge, henry cabot, senator; b. boston, may , ; educ. a.b., harvard, , ll.b., , ph.d. (history), ; (ll.d., williams, , yale, , clark u., , harvard, , amherst, , also union col., princeton u., and dartmouth coll., and brown, ); admitted to bar, ; editor north american review, - , international review, - ; mem. mass. ho. of rep., , ; mem. th to d congresses ( - ), th mass. dist.; u. s. senator, since ; mem. alaskan boundary tribunal, ; mem. u. s. immigration commn., baruch, bernard mannes, educ. a.b., coll. city of new york, ; mem. of new york stock exchange many yrs.; apptd., , by pres. wilson, mem. advisory commn. of council nat. defense; was made chmn. com. on raw materials, minerals and metals, also commr. in charge of purchasing for the war industries bd., and mem. commn. in charge of all purchases for the allies; apptd. chmn. war industries bd., mar. , ; resigned jan. , ; connected with am. commn. to negotiate peace as member of the drafting com. of the economic sect.; mem. supreme economic council and chmn. of its raw materials div.; am. del. on economics and reparation clauses; economic adviser for the am. peace commn.; mem. president's conf. for capital and labor, oct. root, elihu, ex-secretary of state; senator; b. clinton, n. y., feb. , ; educ. a.b., hamilton coll., , a.m., ; taught at rome acad., ; ll.b., new york u., ; (ll.d., hamilton, , yale, , columbia, , new york u., , williams, , princeton, , u. of buenos aires, , harvard, , wesleyan, , mchill, , union u., , u. of state of n. y., , u. of toronto, , and colgate u., ; dr. polit. science, u. of leyden, ; d.c.l., oxford, ; mem. faculty of political and administrative sciences, university of san marcos, lima, ); admitted to bar, ; u. s. dist. atty. southern dist. of n. y., - ; sec. of war in cabinet of president mckinley, aug. , -feb. , ; sec. of state in cabinet of president roosevelt, july , -jan. , ; u. s. senator from n. y., - ; mem. alaskan boundary tribunal, ; counsel for u. s. in n. atlantic fisheries arbitration, ; mem. permanent court of arbitration at the hague, -; pres. carnegie endowment for internat. peace, ; president hague tribunal of arbitration between great britain, france, spain, and portugal, concerning church property, ; ambassador extraordinary at the head of special diplomatic mission to russia, during revolution, . awarded nobel peace prize for . johnson, hiram warren, senator; b. sacramento, cal., sept. , ; educ. u. of cal., leaving in jr. yr.; began as short-hand reporter; studied law in father's office; admitted to cal. bar, ; mem. staff of pros. attys. in boodling cases, involving leading city officials and almost all pub. utility corpns. in san francisco, - ; was selected to take the place of francis j. heney, after latter was shot down in court while prosecuting abe ruef, for bribery, , and secured conviction of ruef; gov. of cal., - ; reelected for term, - (resigned mar. , ); a founder of progressive party, , and nominee for v.-p. of u.s. on prog. ticket same yr.; u. s. senator from cal. for term - knox, philander chase, ex-secretary of state; b. brownsville, pa., may , ; educ. a.b., mt. union coll., ohio, ; read law in office of h. b. swope, pittsburgh; (ll.d., u. of pa., , yale, , villanova, ); admitted to bar, ; asst. u. s. dist. atty., western dist. of pa., - ; atty.-gen. in cabinets of presidents mckinley and roosevelt, apr. , -june , ; apptd. u. s. senator by governor pennypacker, june , , for unexpired term of matthew stanley quay, deceased; elected u. s. senator, jan., , for term, - ; sec. of state in cabinet of president taft, mar., - ; reelected u. s. senator, for term - lansing, robert, ex-secretary of state; b. at watertown, n. y., oct. , ; educ. a.b., amherst, ; (ll.d., amherst, , colgate, , princeton, , columbia, , union, , u. state of n. y., ); admitted to bar, ; asso. counsel for u. s. in behring sea arbitration, - : counsel for behring sea claims commn., - ; solicitor and counsel for the united states under the alaskan boundary tribunal, ; counsel, north atlantic coast fisheries arbitration at the hague, - ; agent of united states, am. and british claims arbitration, - ; counselor for dept. of state, mar. , -june , ; secretary of state in cabinet of pres. wilson, june , -feb., ; mem. am. commn. to negotiate peace, paris, - penrose, boies, senator; b. phila., nov. , ; educ. a.b., harvard, ; admitted to the bar, ; mem. pa. ho. of rep., - , senate, - (pres. pro tem., , ); u. s. senator, terms, - ; chmn. rep. state com., - ; mem. rep. nat. com. since borah, william edgar, senator; b. at fairfield, ill., june , ; educ. southern ill. acad., enfield, and u. of kan.; admitted to bar, ; u. s. senator from idaho, jan. , ; elected u. s. senator for terms - , - , - warren gamaliel harding every time we elect a new president we learn what a various creature is the typical american. when mr. roosevelt was in the white house the typical american was gay, robustious, full of the joy of living, an expansive spirit from the frontier, a picaresque twentieth century middle class cavalier. he hit the line hard and did not flinch. and his laugh shook the skies. came wilson. and the typical american was troubled about his soul. rooted firmly in the church-going past, he carried the banner of the lord, democracy, idealistic, bent on perfecting that old incorrigible man, he cuts off the right hand that offends him and votes for prohibition and woman suffrage, a round head in a ford. eight years and we have the perfectly typical american, warren gamaliel harding of the modern type, the square head, typical of that america whose artistic taste is the movies, who reads and finds mental satisfaction in the vague inanities of the small town newspaper, who has faith in america, who is for liberty, virtue, happiness, prosperity, law and order and all the standard generalities and holds them a perfect creed; who distrusts anything new except mechanical inventions, the standardized product of the syndicate which supplies his nursing bottle, his school books, his information, his humor in a strip, his art on a screen, with a quantity production mind, cautious, uniformly hating divergence from uniformity, jailing it in troublous times, prosperous, who has his car and his bank account and can sell a bill of goods as well as the best of them. people who insist upon having their politics logical demand to know the why of harding. why was a man of so undistinguished a record as he first chosen as a candidate for president and then elected president? as a legislator he had left no mark on legislation. if he had retired from congress at the end of his term his name would have existed only in the old congressional directories, like that of a thousand others. as a public speaker he had said nothing that anybody could remember. he had passed through a great war and left no mark on it. he had shared in a fierce debate upon the peace that followed the war but though you can recall small persons like mccumber and kellogg and moses and mccormick in that discussion you do not recall harding. to be sure he made a speech in that debate which he himself says was a great speech but no newspaper thought fit to publish it because of its quality, or felt impelled to publish it in spite of its quality because it had been made by harding. he neither compelled attention by what he said nor by his personality. why, then, without fireworks, without distinction of any sort, without catching the public eye, or especially deserving to catch it, was warren harding elected president of the united states? one plausible reason why he was nominated was that given by senator brandegee at chicago, where he had a great deal to do with the nomination. "there ain't any first raters this year. this ain't any or any . we haven't any john shermans or theodore roosevelts. we've got a lot of second raters and warren harding is the best of the second raters." once nominated as a republican his election of course inevitably followed. but to accept mr. brandegee's plea in avoidance is to agree to the eternal poverty of american political life, for most of our presidents have been precisely like warren g. harding, first-class second raters. mrs. harding, a woman of sound sense and much energy, had an excellent instructive answer to the "why." the pictures of the house in marion, the celebrated front porch, herself and her husband were taken to be exhibited by cinema all over the land. she said, "i want the people to see these pictures so that they will know we are just folks like themselves." warren harding is "just folks." a witty woman said of him, alluding to the small town novel which was popular at the time of his inauguration, "main street has arrived in the white house." the average man has risen up and by seven million majority elected an average man president. his defects were his virtues. he was chosen rather for what he wasn't than for what he was,--the inconspicuousness of his achievements. the "just folks" level of his mind, his small town man's caution, his sense of the security of the past, his average hopes and fears and practicality, his standardized americanism which would enable a people who wanted for a season to do so to take themselves politically for granted. the country was tired of the high thinking and rather plain spiritual living of woodrow wilson. it desired the man in the white house to cause it no more moral overstrain than does the man you meet in the pullman smoking compartment or the man who writes the captions for the movies who employs a sort of inaugural style, freed from the inhibitions of statesmanship. it was in a mood similar to that of mr. harding himself when after his election he took senators freylinghuysen, hale, and elkins with him on his trip to texas. senator knox observing his choice is reported to have said, "i think he is taking those three along because he wanted complete mental relaxation." all his life mr. harding has shown a predilection for companions who give him complete mental relaxation, though duty compels him to associate with the hughes and the hoovers. the conflict between duty and complete mental relaxation establishes a strong bond of sympathy between him and the average american. the "why" of harding is the democratic passion for equality. we are standardized, turned out like fords by the hundred million, and we cannot endure for long anyone who is not standardized. such an one casts reflections upon us; why should we by our votes unnecessarily asperse ourselves? occasionally we may indulge nationally, as men do individually, in the romantic belief that we are somebody else, that we are like roosevelt or wilson--and they become typical of what we would be--but always we come back to the knowledge that we are nationally like harding, who is typical of what we are. "just folks" kuppenheimered, movieized, associated pressed folks. men debate whether or not mr. wilson was a great man and they will keep on doing so until the last of those passes away whose judgment of him is clouded by the sense of his personality. but men will never debate about the greatness of mr. harding, not even mr. harding himself. he is modest. he has only two vanities, his vanity about his personal appearance and his vanity about his literary style. the inhibitions of a presidential candidate, bound to speak and say nothing, irked him. "of course i could make better speeches than these" he told a friend during the campaign, "but i have to be so careful." in his inaugural address he let himself go, as much as it is possible for a man so cautious as he is to let himself go. it was a great speech, an inaugural to place alongside the inaugurals of lincoln and washington, written in his most capable english, harding at his best. it is hard for a man to move marion for years with big editorials, to receive the daily compliments of dick cressinger and jim prendergast, without becoming vain of the power of his pen. it is his chief vanity and it is one that it is hard for him who speaks or writes to escape. he has none of that egotism which makes a self-confident man think himself the favorite of fortune. he said after his nomination at chicago, "we drew to a pair of deuces and filled." he did not say it boastfully as a man who likes to draw to a pair of deuces and who always expects to fill. he said it with surprise and relief. he does not like to hold a pair of deuces and be forced to draw to them. he has not a large way of regarding losing and winning as all a part of the game. he hates to lose. he hated to lose even a friendly game of billiards in the marion club with his old friend colonel christian, father of his secretary, though the stake was only a cigar. when he was urged to seek the republican nomination for the presidency he is reported to have said, "why should i. my chances of winning are not good. if i let you use my name i shall probably in the end lose the nomination for the senate. (his term was expiring.) if i don't run for the presidency i can stay in the senate all my life. i like the senate. it is a very pleasant place." the senate is like marion, ohio, a very pleasant place, for a certain temperament. and mr. harding stayed in marion all his life until force--a vis exterior; there is nothing inside mr. harding that urges him on and on--until force of circumstances, of politics, of other men's ambitions, took him out of marion and set him down in washington, in the senate. the process of uprooting him from the pleasant place of marion is reported to have been thus described by his political transplanter, the present attorney general, mr. daugherty: "when it came to running for the senate i found him, sunning himself in florida, like a turtle on a log and i had to push him into the water and make him swim." and a similar thing happened when it came to running for the presidency. it is a definite type of man who suns himself on a log, who is seduced by pleasant places like marion, ohio, whom the big town does not draw into its magnetic field, whose heart is not excited by the larger chances of life. is he lazy? is he lacking in imagination? does he hate to lose? does he want self-confidence? is he over modest? has he no love for life, life as a great adventure? whatever he is, mr. harding is that kind of man, that kind of man to start out with. but this is only the point of departure, that choice to remain in a pleasant place like marion, not to risk what you have, your sure place in society as the son of one of the better families, the reasonable prospect that the growth of your small town will bring some accretion to your own fortunes, the decision not to hazard greatly in new york or chicago or on the frontier. life asks little of you in those pleasant places like marion and in return for that little gives generously, especially if you are, to begin with, well placed, if you are ingratiatingly handsome, if your personality is agreeable--"the best fellow in the world to play poker with all saturday night," as a marionite feelingly described the president to me, and if you have a gift of words as handsome and abundant as your looks. mr. harding is a handsome man, endowed with the gifts that reinforce the charm of his exterior, a fine voice, a winning smile, a fluency of which his inaugural is the best instance; an ample man, you might say. but he is too handsome, too endowed, for his own good, his own spiritual good. the slight stoop of his shoulders, the soft figure, the heaviness under the eyes betray in some measure perhaps the consequences of nature's excessive generosity. given all these things you take, it may be, too much for granted. there is not much to stiffen the mental, moral, and physical fibers. given such good looks, such favor from nature, and an environment in which the struggle is not sharp and existence is a species of mildly purposeful flanerie. you lounge a bit stoop-shoulderedly forward to success. there is nothing hard about the president. i once described him in somewhat this fashion to a banker in new york who was interested in knowing what kind of a president we had. "you agree," he said, "with a friend of harding's who came in to see me a few days ago. this friend said to me 'warren is the best fellow in the world. he has wonderful tact. he knows how to make men work with him and how to get the best out of them. he is politically adroit. he is conscientious. he has a keen sense of his responsibilities. he has unusual common sense.' and he named other similar virtues, 'well,' i asked him, 'what is his defect?' 'oh,' he replied, 'the only trouble with warren is that he lacks mentality.'" the story, like most stories, exaggerates. the president has the average man's virtues of common sense and conscientiousness with rather more than the average man's political skill and the average man's industry or lack of industry. his mentality is not lacking; it is undisciplined, especially in its higher ranges, by hard effort. there is a certain softness about him mentally. it is not an accident that his favorite companions are the least intellectual members of that house of average intelligence, the senate. they remind him of the mental surroundings of marion, the pleasant but unstimulating mental atmosphere of the marion club, with its successful small town business men, its local storekeepers, its banker whose mental horizon is bounded by marion county, the value of whose farm lands for mortgages he knows to a penny, the lumber dealer whose eye rests on the forests of kentucky and west virginia. the president has never felt the sharpening of competition. he was a local pundit because he was the editor. he was the editor because he owned the republican paper of marion. there was no effective rival. no strong intelligence challenged his and made him fight for his place. he never studied hard or thought deeply on public questions. a man who stays where he is put by birth tends to accept authority, and authority is strong in small places. the acceptance of authority implies few risks. it is like staying in marion instead of going to new york or even cleveland. it is easier, and often more profitable than studying hard or thinking deeply or inquiring too much. and mr. harding's is a mind that bows to authority. what his party says is enough for mr. harding. his party is for protection and mr. harding is for protection; the arguments for protection may be readily assimilated from the editorials of one good big city newspaper and from a few campaign addresses. his party is for the remission of tolls on american shipping in the panama canal and mr. harding is for the remission of tolls. mr. root broke with his party on tolls and mr. harding is as much shocked at mr. root's deviation as the matrons of marion would be over the public disregard of the seventh commandment by one of their number. his party became somehow for the payment of colombia's panama claims and mr. harding was for their payment. a story tells just how senator kellogg went to the president to oppose the colombia treaty. after hearing mr. kellogg mr. harding remarked, "well, frank, you have something on me. you've evidently read the treaty. i haven't." a mind accepting authority favors certain general policies. it is not sufficiently inquiring to trouble itself with the details. mr. harding is for all sorts of things but is content to be merely for them. a curious illustration developed in marion, during the visits of the best minds. he said to the newspaper men there one day, "i am for voluntary military training." "what would you train, mr. president," asked one of the journalists, "officers or men?" the president hesitated. at last he said, "i haven't thought of that." "but," said one of his interlocutors, "the colleges are training a lot of officers now." this brought no response. another who had experience in the great war remarked, "in the last war we were lacking in trained non-coms; it would be a good idea to train a lot of them." "yes," rejoined mr. harding eagerly, "that would be a good idea." a more inquiring mind would have gone further than to be "for voluntary military training." a quicker, less cautious, if no more thorough mind would have answered the first question, "what would you train, officers or men?" by answering instantly "both." in that colloquy you have revealed all the mental habits of mr. harding. he was asked once, after he had had several conferences with senator mccumber, senator smoot, representative fordney, and others who would be responsible for financial legislation, "have you worked out the larger details of your taxation policy?" "naturally not!" was his reply. that "naturally" sprang i suppose from his habit of believing that somewhere there is authority. somewhere there would be authority to determine what the larger details of the party's financial policy should be. now, this authority is not going to be any one man or any two men. the president, his friends tell us, is jealous of any assumption of power by any of his advisers. he is unwilling to have the public think that any other than himself is president. a man as handsome as harding, as vain of his literary style as he is, has an ego that is not capable of total self-effacement. he will bow to impersonal authority like that of the party, or invoke the anonymous governance of "best minds," calling rather often on god as a well established authority, but he will not let authority be personal and be called daugherty, or lodge or knox or whomever you will. the president's attitude is rather like that of the average man during the campaign. if you said to a voter on a pullman, "mr. harding is a man of small public experience, not known by any large political accomplishment," he would always answer optimistically, "well, they will see to it that he makes good." asked who "they" were he was always vague and elusive, gods on the mountain perhaps. there is an american religion, the average man's faith: it is "them." "they" are the fountain of authority. as mr. harding knew little competition in marion so he has known little competition in public life which in this country is not genuinely competitive. mr. lloyd george is at the head of the british government because he is the greatest master of the house of commons in a generation and he is chosen by the men who know him for what he is, his fellow members of the house of commons. an american president is selected by the newspapers, which know little about him, by the politicians, who do not want a master but a slave, by the delegates to a national convention, tired, with hotel bills mounting, ready to name anybody in order to go home. the presidency, the one great prize in american public life, is attained by no known rules and under conditions which have nothing in them to make a man work hard or think hard, especially one endowed with a handsome face and figure, an ingratiating personality, and a literary style. the small town man, unimaginative and of restricted mental horizon does not think in terms of masses of mankind. masses vaguely appall him. they exist in the big cities on which he turned his back in his unaudacious youth. his contacts are with individuals. his democracy consists in smiling upon the village painter and calling him "harry," in always nodding to the village cobbler and calling him "bill," in stopping on the street corner with a group, which has not been invited to join the village club, putting his hand on the shoulder of one of them and calling them "fellows." politics in the small town is limited to dealing with persons, to enlisting the support of men with a following at the polls. mr. harding once drew this picture of his idea of politics. "if i had a policy to put over i should go about it this way," he said. "you all know the town meeting, if not by experience, by hearsay. now if i had a program that i wanted to have adopted by a town meeting i should go to the three or four most influential men in my community. i should talk it out with them. i should make concessions to them until i had got them to agree with me. and then i should go into the town meeting feeling perfectly confident that my plan would go through. well it's the same in the nation as in the town meeting, or in the whole world, if you will. i should always go first to the three or four leading men." mr. harding thinks of politics in this personal way. he does not conceive of it as the force of ideas or the weight of morality moving the hearts of mankind. mankind is only a word to him, one that he often uses,--or perhaps he prefers humanity, which has two more syllables--a large loose word that he employs to make his thought look bigger than it really is, something like the stage device for making an ordinary man seem ten feet tall. thus he will never try to move the mass of the people as his predecessors have. he will not "go to the country." he will not bring public opinion to bear as a disciplinary force in his household. he will treat the whole united states as if it were a marion, consulting endless "best minds," composing differences, seeking unity, with the aid of his exceptional tact. this attitude has its disadvantages. if you have a passion for ideas and an indifference for persons you can say "yes" or "no" easily; you may end by being dictatorial and arrogant, as mr. wilson was; but you will not be weak. if, on the contrary, you are indifferent to ideas and considerate of persons you find it hard to say "decided" to any question. and somewhere there must be authority, the passing of the final judgment and the giving of orders. but he compensates for his own defects. almost as good as greatness is a knowledge of your own limitations; and mr. harding knows his thoroughly. out of his modesty, his desire to reinforce himself, has proceeded the strongest cabinet that washington has seen in a generation. he likes to have decisions rest upon the broad base of more than one intelligence and he has surrounded himself for this purpose with able associates. his policies will lack imagination, which is not a composite product, but they will have practicality, which is the greatest common denomination of several minds; and he, moreover, is himself unimaginative and practical. whatever superstructure of world organization he takes part in, behind it will be the reality, a private understanding with the biggest man in sight; for this reason the fall of lloyd george and the succession of a labor government in england will disconcert him terribly. the democratic passion for equality, which dogs the tracks of the great, he mollifies by reminding the nation always that he is "just folks," by opening the white house lawn gates, by calling everyone by his first name. so constant is his aim to appease it that i wonder if he is not sometimes betrayed into addressing his secretary of state as "charley." woodrow wilson the explanation of president wilson will be found in a certain inferiority. when all his personal history becomes known, when his papers and letters have all been published and read, when the memoirs of others have told all that there is to be told, there will stand clear something inadequate, a lack of robustness, mental or nervous, an excessive sensitiveness, over self-consciousness, shrinking from life, a neurotic something that in the end brought on defeat and the final overthrow. he was never quite a normal man with the average man's capacity to endure and enjoy but a strange, impeded, self-absorbed personality. history arranged the greatest stage of all time, and on it placed a lot of little figures, "pigmy minds"--all save one, and he the nearest great, an unworldly person summoned from a cloister, with the vision of genius and the practical incapacity of one who has run away from life, hating men but loving all mankind, eloquent but inarticulate in a large way, incapable of true self expression in his chosen field of political action, so self-centered that he forgot the world's tragedy and merged it into his own, making great things little and little things great, one of "life's ironies," the everlasting refutation of the optimistic notion that when there is a crisis fate produces a man big enough to meet it. the world finds it hard to speak of mr. wilson except in superlatives. a british journalist called him the other day, "the wickedest man in the world." this was something new in extravagance. i asked, "why the wickedest?" he said, "because he was so unable to forget himself that he brought the peace of the world down in a common smash with his own personal fortunes." on the other hand general jan christian smuts, writing with that perspective which distance gives, pronounces it to be not wilson's fault but the fault of humanity that the vision of universal peace failed. civilization was not advanced enough to make peace without vindictiveness possible. this debate goes on and on. mr. wilson is either the worst hated or the most regretted personality of the great war. the place of no one else is worth disputing. lloyd george is the consummate politician, limited by the meanness of his art. clemenceau is the personification of nationality, limited by the narrowness of his view. mr. wilson alone had his hour of superlative greatness when the whole earth listened to him and followed him; an hour which ended with him only dimly aware of his vision and furiously conscious of pin pricks. you observe this inadequacy in mr. wilson, this incapacity to endure, at the outset of his career. it is characteristic of certain temperaments that when they first face life they should run away from it as mr. wilson did when, having studied law and having been admitted to the bar, he abandoned practice and went to teach in a girls' school. that was the early sign in him of that sense of unfitness for the more arduous contacts of life which was so conspicuous a trait during his presidency. he could not endure meeting men on an equal footing, where there was a conflict of wills, a rough clash of minds, where no concession was made to sensitiveness and egotism. some nervous insufficiency causes this shrinking, like the quick retreat from cold water of an inadequate body. commonly a man who runs away from life after the first contact with it hates himself for his flight and there begins a conflict inside him which ends either in his admission of defeat and acknowledgment of his unfitness or in his convincing himself that his real motive was contempt of that on which he turned his back. if he admits to himself that he is really a little less courageous, a little more sensitive, a little less at home in this world, then he is gone. if he does satisfy himself that he is superior, has higher ideals, worthier ends, despises the ordinary arts of success he becomes arrogant, merely in self defense. mr. wilson's "intellectual snobbism" was this kind of arrogance, acquired for moral self preservation, like that of the small boy who when his companions refuse to play with him says to himself that he is smarter than they are, gets higher marks in school, that he has a better gun than they have or that he, when he grows up, will be a great general while they are nobody. almost everyone who feels himself unequal in some direction can satisfy himself that he exceeds in others. it is a common and human sort of arrogance, and mr. wilson had it inordinately. he hated and contemned the law, in which life had given him his first glimpse of his frailty. he would have no lawyers make the peace or draft the covenant of the league of nations. lawyers were pitiful creatures,--he kept one of them near him, mr. lansing, admirably chosen, to remind him of how contemptible they were, living in fear of precedents, writing a barbarous jargon out of deeds and covenants, impeding the freedom of the imagination with their endless citations. he despised politicians, he despised business men, he despised the whole range of men who pursue worldly arts with success. he despised the qualities which he had not himself, but like all men who are arrogant self protectively he was driven to introspection and analyzed himself pitilessly. the public got glimpses of these analyses. sometimes he called that something in him which left him less fit for the world than the average, a little regretfully, "his single track mind." sometimes it leaped to light as an object of pride, his arrogance again, a pride that was "too great to fight," like the common run of men,--in the law courts or on the battlefields. he kept asking himself the question, "why am i not as other men are?", and sometimes his nature would rise up in protest and he would exclaim that he was as other men were and would pathetically tell the world that he was "misunderstood," that he was not cold and reserved but warm and genial and kindly, only largely because the world would see him as he was. but always the one safe recourse, the one assurance of personal stability was arrogance. contempt was the most characteristic habit of his mind. out of office he is no sage looking charitably at the fumbling of his successor. a friend who has seen him since his retirement describes him as watching "with supreme contempt" the executive efforts of mr. harding. washington gossip credits him with inventing the phrase, "the bungalow mind," to describe the present occupant of the white house. another remark of his about the new president is said to have been "i look forward to the new administration with no unpleasant anticipations, except those caused by mr. harding's literary style." there is always his contrast of others with himself to their disadvantage, mentally or morally, as writers, or leaders, or statesmen. so full a life as mr. wilson led in the last dozen or more years ought to have made him less self-conscious. a robuster person would have hated with a certain zest, continued with a certain gaiety, laughed as he fought, found something to respect in his foes, seen the curtain fall upon his own activities with a certain cheerfulness. he seems deficient in resources. he had not that gusto which richly endowed natures ordinarily have. he found no fun in measuring his strength with other men's. there was a certain overstrain about him, which made him cushion himself about with non-resistant personalities. he lacked curiosity. his fine mind seemed to want the energy to interest itself in the details of any subject that filled it, and this was one of his fatal weaknesses at the peace conference. perhaps it was a deficiency of vital force. moreover he came to his great task tired. his life till he was past fifty was one of defeat. there was the early disappointment and turning back from law practice, the giving up of his youthful ambition for a public career to which he had trained himself passionately by the study of public speaking. dr. albert shaw, who was his fellow student at johns hopkins, says that in the university mr. wilson was the finest speaker, except possibly the old president of the college, dr. daniel coit gilman. then there were the long years of poverty as a college professor, when he overworked at writing and university extension lectures, to make his small salary as a teacher equal to the support of his family, his three children and his aged parents. there was his failure at literature, for his "history of the united states" brought him neither fame nor money, the public finding it dull and unreadable. then the crowning unsuccess as president of princeton; for when his luck changed and a political career opened to him as governor of new jersey, with trustees and alumni against him, nothing seemed to be before him but resignation and a small professorship in a southern college. it was a straightened life that he had led when he came to washington for the first time as president, scandalizing the servants of the white house with the scantness of his personal effects. there had been neither the time nor the means nor probably the energy for larger human contacts. and something inherent always held him back from the world, something which diverted him to academic life, which when he was writing his "congressional government", his best book, held him in baltimore, almost a suburb of washington, where he read what he wrote to his fellow-students at johns hopkins, whose livelier curiosity took them often to the galleries of the house and the senate about which he was writing from a distance. those to whom life is kinder than it was during many years to mr. wilson have naturally a zest for it. robuster natures than his even though life averts her face, often preserve a zest for it. conscious of his powers he seems to have fortified himself against failure with scorn. he had a scorn for the intellects of those who succeed by arts which he did not possess. he had scorn for politicians. he had a scorn for wealth. he had a scorn for his enemies. he had a scorn for republicans. he had a scorn for the men with whom he had to deal in europe, the heads of the allied governments. above all he scorned lloyd george, an instinct telling him that the british premier had a thousand arts where he himself, unschooled in conference with equals, had none. he said of lloyd george just before he sailed for paris, suspecting him of treachery to the league of nations, "i shall look him in the eye and say to him damn you, if you do not accept the league i shall go to the people of great britain and say things to them that will shake your government." when he made this threat he could not foresee that the compromise of the peace would leave him with so little character that british liberals, their faith destroyed, should in the end couple his name with their own premier's and exclaim, "your man wilson talks like jesus christ, but he acts like lloyd george!" more than all others he scorned lodge. the massachusetts senator who had put by scholarship for politics and had won the opportunity to do menial service for a political machine hated the man who had chosen scholarship, for whatever motive, and come out with the presidency. you hate the man you might perhaps have been if you had chosen more boldly, more according to your heart--if you are like mr. lodge. a life of demeaning himself to politicians, of waiting for dead men's shoes in the senate, had, however, brought some compensations to lodge, among others an inordinate capacity to hurt. the massachusetts senator could get under the president's skin as no other man could. washington is a place where every whisper is heard in the white house. mr. lodge's favorite private charge uttered in a tone of withering scorn was that the president failed to respond as a man would to the national insult offered by germany in sinking the lusitania because there was something womanish about him and he would tell, to prove it, how wilson went white and almost collapsed over the news that blood had been shed through the landing of american marines at vera cruz. the president hardly failed to hear this. perhaps it reminded him of that something in him which he was always trying to forget, that something which diverted his life toward failure at the outset, which once betrayed him, with a strange mixture of the arrogance and inferiority, into his famous words "too proud to fight." at any rate mutual comprehension and hatred between these two men was instinctive, each having the opposite choice in the beginning and neither in his heart perhaps ever having forgiven himself wholly for his choice. mr. wilson could never get mr. lodge wholly out of his mind in the last two years of his presidency, a disability which prevented him from looking quite calmly and sanely at public questions. the story of the president's appeal for a democratic congress in which has never been fully told, illustrates the bearing this lodge obsession had upon mr. wilson's later fate. when the congressional election was approaching ex-congressman scott ferris, then acting as chairman of the democratic national committee, went to the president and told him that there was danger of losing both houses of congress, the lower house not being important, but the senate as a factor in foreign relations, mr. ferris suggested, was indispensable to the democratic party. mr. wilson was more hopeful but agreed to take under advisement some sort of appeal to the country. it was not desired that this should be anything more than a letter, perhaps to mr. ferris, intended for publication, and pointing out the need of support for the president's policies in the next congress. shortly afterward mr. tumulty, the president's secretary, brought to the shoreham hotel in washington an appeal to the country for a democratic congress and read it to several democrats gathered there for the purpose, including homer s. cummings, who, by that time, had become acting chairman of the democratic national committee and was in charge of the campaign. mr. cummings doubted the wisdom of an appeal, couched in such terms as the one mr. tumulty read. he took it to vance mccormick, chairman of the democratic national committee, who, because he was chairman of the war trade board, was not taking part in the election. mr. mccormick agreed with mr. cummings that the appeal as written would do more harm than good to the democratic party, saying that the war had not been conducted on a partisan basis, that some of his own associates on the war trade board were republicans and that mr. wilson should ask for the reelection of all who had been loyal supporters of the war, whether republicans or democrats. the appeal to the country as it then stood contained a bitter denunciation of senator lodge. what wilson chiefly saw in a republican victory was himself at the mercy of the man he hated worst, the massachusetts senator. mr. mccormick thought that if the president was going to name names he must, at least, denounce claude kitchen, the democratic leader of the house, as well as senator lodge. if mr. wilson would ask for the reelection of those who had been loyal, of whatever party, listing the offenders, of both parties, including mr. lodge if he must, mr. mccormick believed that the impression on the country would be favorable and thus a democratic congress might be elected. being agreed, mr. cummings and mr. mccormick went to the white house and argued for a less partisan appeal. all they accomplished was the striking of mr. lodge's name out of the appeal by convincing mr. wilson that he could not attack the republican senator while ignoring the worse offenses of mr. kitchen and champ clark in his own party. for the rest, the president made the appeal more purely personal and more partisan than before. he could not get the lodge obsession out of his mind. he could not bring himself to ask for the election of members of mr. lodge's party. the wisdom of mr. cummings and mr. mccormick was soon vindicated. the appeal with mr. lodge's name out was only a shade less impolitic than it would have been with his name in. it gave mr. lodge his majority in the senate and turned the peace into a personal issue between the two "scholars in politics." by this time mr. wilson had lost his sense of actuality. he could ask the nation for a congress to his liking as a personal due. he could condemn mr. lodge as an enemy of those purposes with which we entered the war, simply because mr. lodge could hurt him as no other man could. the president had been talking for some months to the whole world and the whole world had listened with profound attention. his mission had taken, unconsciously perhaps, a messianic character. his enemies were the enemies of god. the ordinary metes and bounds of personality had broken down. the state of mind revealed in the appeal as originally written was the state of mind of the peace conference and of the fight over the treaty and the league which succeeded the peace conference. all that happened afterwards, including the pitiful personal tragedy, had become inevitable. for a while at paris amid the triumphs of his european reception and the successes of the first few months up to the adoption of the league covenant mr. wilson forgot mr. lodge, forgot him too completely. it was my fortune to see him at the apex of his career. he was about to sail for america on that visit which he made here in the midst of the treaty making. his league covenant had just been agreed to. the world had accepted him. fate had led him far from those paths of defeat and obscurity into which his sensitiveness and shyness had turned him as a youth. he was elated and confident. he looked marvelously fresh and young, his color warm and youthful, his eye alive with pleasure. he talked long and well, answered questions freely, told stories of his associates at the peace table, especially of one who never read the memoranda his secretaries prepared, who was so deaf that he could not hear a word spoken in conference and who spoke so loudly that no one could interrupt him. "what could one do," mr. wilson asked, "to penetrate a mind like that?" m. clemenceau, who unlike this other commissioner, had eyes and saw not, had ears and neither would he hear, had said to him once, in response to a firm negative, "you have a heart of steel!" "i felt like replying to him," flashed mr. wilson, "i have not the heart to steal!" so well poised, so sure of himself he felt that he could do an extraordinary thing. he could laugh off a mistake. robuster natures accept mistakes as a child accepts tumbles. mistakes for mr. wilson were ordinarily crises for his arrogancy. you may judge, then, how confident he was at that supreme moment. he could brush aside a great mistake lightly. someone asked him, "what about the freedom of the seas?" "the freedom of the seas!" he answered, "i must tell you about that. it's a great joke on me. i left america thinking the freedom of the seas the most important issue of the peace conference. when i got here i found there was no such issue. you see the freedom of the seas concerns neutrals in time of war. but when we have the league of nations there will be no neutrals in time of war. so, of course, there will be no question of the freedom of the seas. i hadn't thought the thing out clearly." from that moment the decline began. mr. wilson had unwisely chosen to have his victory first and his defeats afterward, always bad generalship. compromise followed compromise, each one destructive. the fourteen points were impaired until mr. wilson hated to be reminded of them by lloyd george, in the case of dantzig and the polish corridor. the dawn of a better world grew dubious. the ardor of mankind cooled. they were at first incredulous, then skeptical. the president saw only slowly the consequences of that chaffering to which mr. lloyd george and m. clemenceau led him. he was a poor merchant. he dealt in morals and could cast up no daily balance. he was busy with details for which his mind had no sufficient curiosity or energy. mr. keynes, in his remarkable description of mr. wilson making peace, says that his mind was slow. doubtless it was slow in political trading about the council table, just as a philosopher may be slow in the small talk of a five o'clock tea. mr. wilson was out of his element in the conference; mr. lloyd george and m. clemenceau were in theirs. gradually the conviction entered mr. wilson's soul that what was being destroyed at paris was mr. wilson. the figure of senator lodge began to rise across the atlantic, malevolent and evil, the lodge against whom he had wanted to appeal to the american people. the strain was telling upon him. he had to sit beside his destroyers with that smiling amiability which mr. lansing records in his book. he had to deal with men on a basis of equality, a thing which he had run away from doing in his youth, which all his life had made too great demands upon his sensitive, arrogant nature. one whose duty it was to see him every night after the meetings of the big three reports that he found him with the left side of his face twitching. to collect his memory he would pass his hand several times wearily over his brow. the arduousness of the labor was not great enough to account for this. m. clemenceau at nearly eighty stood the strain and an assassin's bullet as well. mr. lloyd george thrived on what he did. but the issue was not personal with them. neither was assisting, with difficult amiability, at his own destruction. the time came when he might have had back some of the ground he had given. mr. lloyd george offered it to him. he would not have it. what it was proposed to amend was not so much the peace treaty as mr. wilson himself, and he could not admit that he needed amendment. the issue had become personal and mr. lodge, upon mr. wilson's return, with malevolent understanding, kept it personal. the republicans made their fight in the one way that made yielding by the president impossible. they made it nominally on the league but really on mr. wilson. the president might have compromised on the league, but he could not compromise on mr. wilson. of such involvement in self there could be only one end. like a poet of one poem, mr. wilson is a statesman of one vision, an inspiring vision, but one which his own weakness kept him from realizing. his domestic achievements are not remarkable, his administration being one in which movements came to a head rather than one in which much was initiated. he might have cut the war short by two years and saved the world much havoc, if he had begun to fight when the lusitania was sunk. once in the war he saw his country small and himself large; he did not conceive of the nation as winning the war by sending millions of men to france; he saw himself as winning the war by talking across the atlantic. at the peace conference he did not conceive of his country's winning the peace by the powerful position in which victory had left it; he saw himself as winning the peace by the hold he personally had upon the peoples of europe. like napoleon, of whom marshal foch wrote recently, "il oublia qu'un homme ne peut etre dieu; qu'au-dessus de l' individu, il y a la nation," he forgot that man can not be god; that over and above the individual there is the nation. in politics he knew at first better than any other, again to quote foch, that "above men is morality." this knowledge brought him many victories. but at critical junctures, as in his appeal to the voters and in the treaty fight, he forgot that morality was above one man, himself. he excelled in appeals to the heart and conscience of the nation, a gift mr. harding has not; the lesser arts of the politician, tact and skill in the handling and selecting of men, were lacking. he forgot in his greatness and aloofness the national passion for equality; which a more brilliant politician, mr. roosevelt, appeased by acting as the people's court jester, and which a shrewder politician, mr. harding, guards against by reminding the country that he is "just folks"; and in the end the masses turned upon him, like a roman mob on a defeated gladiator. george harvey there is something inscrutably ludicrous in the anxiety, bordering upon consternation, that lurks in the elongated and grotesque shadow that george harvey casts upon washington. the republican fathers, who now feel a sense of responsibility, after a lapse of many years, for the future of party and country, do not yet know how to take him. as a campaign asset his value could be expressed in intelligible terms. but as a party liability, or asset,--many a good republican wishes he knew which,--he remains an enigma. there is not one of the array of elders of either political persuasion who, while laughing at his satirical sword-play, does not watch him covertly out of the corner of the eye, trembling at the potential ruin they consider him capable of accomplishing. with all his weaknesses,--principally an almost hilarious political irregularity,--but two republican hands were raised against him in the senate when he was nominated for the court of saint james. when he rather unbecomingly filliped john bull on the nose in his maiden speech as the premier ambassador, incidentally ridiculing some of his own countrymen's war ideals, president harding and secretary hughes, gravely and with rather obvious emphasis, tried to set the matter aright as best they could. but there was no hint of reprimand; only a fervent hope that the mercurial harvey would remain quiescent until the memory of the episode passed. the quondam editor, now the representative of his country on the supreme council, in which capacity he is even more important than as ambassador, represents a new strain in american politics. his mental habits bewilder the president, shock the proper and somewhat conventional secretary of state, and throw such repositories of national divinity as senators lodge and knox into utter confusion. harvey plays the game of politics according to his own rules, the underlying principle of which is audacity. he knows very well that the weak spot in the armor of nearly all politicians of the old school is their assumption of superiority, a sort of mask of benignant political venerability. they dread satire. they shrink from ridicule. a well-directed critical outburst freezes them. such has been the harvey method of approach. having reduced his subjects to a state of terror, he flatters them, cajoles them, and finally makes terms with them; but he always remains a more or less unstable and uncertain quantity, potentially explosive. there is not much of the present harvey to be gleaned from his earlier experiences, except the pertinacity that has had much to do with his irregular climb up the ladder. he was born in peacham, vermont, where as a boy after school hours he mounted a stool in his father's general store and kept books. at the end of the year his accounts were short a penny. because of this he received no christmas gift not, as he has said, because his father begrudged the copper more than any other vermont storekeeper, but because he was meticulously careful himself and expected the younger generation to be likewise. this experience must have been etched upon harvey's memory; no one can be more meticulous when his interest is aroused. to money he is indifferent, but a misplaced word makes him shudder. writing with him is an exhausting process, which probably accounts for the fact that his literary output has been small. but the same power of analysis and attention to detail have been most effective in his political activities. in these his divination has been prophetic and in his manipulation of contending elements he shows a dexterity that has baffled even the professional politicians. harvey began his journalistic career upon the peacham patriot. thence, with a borrowed ten dollar bill, he went to springfield, serving his apprenticeship on the republican, the best school of journalism in the country at that time. later, on the chicago evening news, on the staff of which were victor lawson, eugene field, and melville stone, he completed his training. when he joined the staff of the new york world at the age of twenty-one he was a competent, if not a brilliant newspaper man. his first important billet was the new jersey editorship. this assignment across the river might very easily have been the first step toward a journalistic sepulcher, but not for harvey. he made use of the post to garner an experience and knowledge of new jersey politics that were to have an important bearing upon the career of woodrow wilson later. at the same time he attracted the attention of joseph pulitzer who appointed him managing editor of the world before he was thirty. while directing the world's policy during the second cleveland campaign, harvey met thomas f. ryan and william c. whitney, the financial backers of the democratic party. this prepared the way for his step from park row to wall street after his break with pulitzer. but the ways of wall street were not for harvey. nevertheless he was cautious enough to help himself to some of the profits that were forthcoming in those days of great amalgamations. with commendable foresight, however much he might have despised the methods then prevalent in the fields of high finance, he acquired enough to make him independent, to follow his own bent, and strangely enough, in the acquiring he came to the conclusion that the republic could not survive if the plundering of the people by the "interests" continued as it was proceeding at that time. he withdrew from the street and eventually purchased the north american review. in the meantime j. p. morgan and company had underwritten the bonds of the harper publishing house and the elder morgan asked harvey to take charge of the institution. this he agreed to do with the understanding that he should be permitted to direct the policy of harper's weekly, one of the assets of the firm, without interference from the bankers. with his peculiar faculty for detecting the weaknesses of financiers and politicians, harvey now had before him an opportunity which was not afforded by the sedate old north american review and he promptly took advantage of it. he had seen enough of the union of finance and politics to place little faith in either of the old parties. one was corrupt and powerful; the other was weak and parasitical. in both organizations money was a compelling consideration. not being accustomed to think in terms of party allegiance harvey decided that the only remedy for a very bad situation was a militant democracy. he had the organ; next he needed the leader. about this time, quite accidentally, he was present at woodrow wilson's inauguration as president of princeton university. the professor appealed to the editor,--why, one can only conjecture. perhaps it was a common abhorrence of machine politics, a passion for phrase turning, for there is a similarity in the methods of the two which separates them from the rank and file of ordinary politicians. harvey scrutinized wilson more carefully, making a political diagnosis by a careful examination of his works, and decided that he was the man to turn the trick. but the gap between the presidency of princeton and the presidency of the united states was too wide to be taken at one leap. harvey concluded that the governorship of new jersey must be the intermediate step. the democratic year of provided the opportunity. the new jersey politicians did not care about the college professor. they had already chosen a candidate, but harvey induced them to change their minds. how this was accomplished is an absorbing political tale, too long to be narrated here. the new jersey political leaders of that period will tell you that if mr. wilson's "forward-looking" men had controlled the convention he never would have been nominated. they will also tell you how joseph patrick tumulty opposed the nomination. they will even whisper that the contests were settled rather rapidly that memorable evening. after the nomination was announced, mr. wilson's managers escorted him to the convention hall where he addressed a group of delegates who were none too enthusiastic. as they motored back to the hotel mr. wilson is reported to have asked: "by the way, gentleman, what was my majority?" to which mr. nugent replied cryptically: "it was enough." the question, at least in the presence of these gentlemen, it is said was never asked again. much has been said about the break between mr. harvey and mr. wilson. the published correspondence gives a fairly accurate picture of what happened at the manhattan club on the morning of the parting. i do not believe that mr. wilson dropped colonel harvey because he feared he was under wall street influence. the harvey version sounds more plausible. according to this the erstwhile university professor had learned the technique of political strategy. he no longer felt that he was in need of guidance. "i was not surprised at the excuse he gave a little later when the break came," said harvey. "i would not have been surprised at any excuse he offered." mr. harvey retired from the campaign. harper's weekly had been wrecked, whether or not by the espousal of the wilson cause, and he sold it to norman hapgood who buried it in due course. george harvey might or might not have had visions of an appointment to the court of st. james at that time. it is at least certain that his disappointment was keen, taking a form of vindictiveness which will survive as a distinct blot upon his career. in the preconvention campaign he aligned himself with the champ clark forces, but it was too late to undo the work he had done. this episode is necessary to an understanding of what happened later. his transfer from the democratic to the republican party was a characteristically bold move. how genuine his later allegiance may be is a question which more than one republican would like to have answered, but there is no doubt of the success of his coup. he is, at least where he wanted to be, occupying the post which he considers, in point of importance, next to the presidency itself, mr. hughes notwithstanding. when the united states entered the war harvey found himself in the secluded position of editor of the north american review. this did not suit his disposition at all and he was very unhappy. he was too old to fight and it was not likely that he would be invited to washington. in the meantime stories of mismanagement in the conduct of the war began to trickle out of the capital in devious undercurrents. the press, in a passive spirit of patriotism, was silent. here was the opportunity. in january, , the first edition of the "north american review war weekly" appeared. its editor announced that its purpose was to help win the war by telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. he defied the creels, the daniels, and the burlesons, adopting the motto, "to hell with the censors and bureaucrats." the journal was an instant success. not only was it read with avidity but the washington politicians were flabbergasted at the audacity of a man who dared to print what the press associations and the dailies would not touch. i do not think there can be any doubt of the genuineness of harvey's motives at this time. his journal was rigidly non-partisan. he spared no one whom he considered as an encumbrance in the winning of the war. the most striking evidence of his attitude toward the republican party at this time is found in the edition of the "weekly" of march , . will h. hays had just been elected chairman of the republican national committee. he made a speech extolling the virtues of his party. of this harvey made a stinging analysis denouncing hays for invoking partisan spirit at so perilous an hour, concluding with this paragraph: "as for mr. hays, with his insufferable claptrap about absolute unity as a blanket under which to gather votes while the very existence of the nation is threatened more ominously than anybody west of the alleghanies--or in washington, for that matter,--seems to realize, the sooner he goes home and takes his damned old party with him, the better it will be for all creation." surely no uncertain language! one might have supposed that the chairman of the republican committee would have done nothing of the kind, but he did. again the harvey method was effective. hays instead of resenting the denunciation wrote harvey a rather abject letter, expressing the fear that he might have made a mistake in discussing politics during the war and asked for an interview. here another harvey characteristic came into play. he did not assume the lofty role of mentor or prophet; he very tactfully and gently tucked the young indianian under his wing. thenceforth there were no more oratorical blunders. mr. hays began to exhibit some capacity for leadership; his speeches improved. from that day until the election of he never made one without george harvey's counsel and approval. this is as typical of harvey as his audacity. he has a gentleness and charm quite unexpected in so savage a commentator. he will discuss and advise but he will not argue; and all of the time he will probe with uncanny accuracy for the weaknesses of those with whom he is dealing. it is rather by the weaknesses of others than by his own strength that he triumphs. eight months after his meeting with hays, harvey came to washington where his shadow was cast over the destinies of the republican party, which at that time consisted of a dozen elements with little in common except a hatred of woodrow wilson. it was an ideal situation for the exercise of harvey's peculiar talents. he met various factional leaders and before many weeks his house became their rendezvous, the g. h. q. of the forces who were to encompass the defeat of wilson. harvey flattered and cajoled and counselled, enjoying himself immensely all of the time. this diversion was much more to his liking than the academic dignity of the editorship of the "north american review". when president wilson sailed away on his disastrous mission to paris, harvey's "weekly" threw aside all restraint. it cut and slashed indiscriminately the president's policies. for the first time harvey took on the guise of a republican among republicans. he even aided and abetted, with amused cynicism, the groping and fumbling of republican leaders who were dazzled at the sudden break in the political clouds which had so long enshrouded them. he helped raise the funds used to counteract the league propaganda and toured the country in opposition to it. the next shift in scenes was as much beyond mr. harvey's power of manipulation as it was beyond most of the republicans who now sagaciously give the impression that their hands were on the ropes. stories have been told of the great part mr. harvey played in the nomination of mr. harding. mr. harvey did not go to chicago with the intention of supporting mr. harding any more than any other of the candidates, except wood and hiram johnson, whom he despised. he and the senate oligarchy that coyly took the credit for nominating mr. harding turned to him when it was manifest that the machinery was stalled. mr. harding owes his nomination to a mob of bewildered delegates. it was not due to a wisely conceived nor brilliantly executed plan. i doubt very much that george harvey and president harding had much in common until harvey was invited to marion. at that time the "irreconcilables" were beginning to be afraid that elihu root and william h. taft were about to induce mr. harding to accept a compromise on the league of nations. harvey served the purpose of restoring the equilibrium. at the same time it is quite probable that the president was impressed by a mind so much more agile than his own. it was reasonably certain that it would not be diverted or misled by the intricacies of european diplomacy. and there was never any doubt of harvey's americanism. the president's selection of mr. harvey for the london post is, of course, accounted for in other ways. there are some persons who profess to believe that mr. harding preferred to have the militant editor in london and his "weekly" in the grave rather than to have him as a censor of washington activities under the new regime. it can be said definitely that a sigh of relief went up from many a republican bosom when the sacrilegious journal was brought to a timely end. and this did not happen, it is to be observed, until the nomination of george harvey to the court of st. james was duly ratified and approved by the senate of the united states. but if the "weekly" has passed, the republicans are still acutely conscious that mr. harvey is alive,--has he not reminded them of it in his first ambassadorial utterances?--and the journal is not beyond resuscitation. that is why washington does not know whether to be chagrined or angry, whether to disavow or to condone. the discomfited republicans frankly do not know what to think of it and probably will not so long as the amazing ambassador makes his own rules. charles evans hughes "mais resiste-t-on a' la vertu? les gens qui n'eurent point de faiblesses sont terribles," observed sylvestre bonnard of the redoubtable therese. this fearsomeness of the good is an old story. horace remarked it, when, walking about near rome, pure of heart and free from sin, he met a wolf. the beast quailed before his virtue and ran away,--to bark at the statue of the she wolf giving suck to romulus, by way of intelligent protest. a similar prevalence of virtue and a similar romantic quality, where it is least to be expected, was disclosed in a recent encounter between charles evans hughes, secretary of state, and one of the irreconcilables, when mr. hughes, integer vitae scelerisque purus had just commissioned colonel george harvey to take the seat once occupied by woodrow wilson in the supreme council. when the news of this appointment reached the capitol, senator brandegee, of connecticut, hurried down to that structure across the street from the white house whose architectural style so markedly resembles the literary style of president harding, the state war and navy building, official residence of mr. hughes. harvey being, in a sort, brandegee's ambassador to the court of saint james, the senator's object was to tell mr. hughes what harvey should do in the supreme council. mr. brandegee has the gift of direct and forceful speech. in his earnestness, he dispenses with the elegancies and amenities. the upper ranges of his voice are not conciliatory. in this tone, he developed views regarding this country's foreign relations with which mr. hughes could not agree. the secretary of state combatted the senator from connecticut precisely as he combats counsel of the other side when a $ , fee is at stake. the discussion was energetic and divergent. mr. brandegee hurried back to the capitol and summoned other senators to his office, all those who were especially concerned about the exposure of colonel harvey to european entanglements. he was excited. his voice was nasal. his language, in that select gathering, did not have to be parliamentary. he told the senators that they could expect the versailles treaty by the next white house messenger; that "that whiskered,"--but nothing lies like direct quotes,--that "that whiskered" secretary of state would soon get us into the league of nations, being able for his purposes to wind president harding about his little finger! his excitement in such an emergency naturally communicated itself to his hearers. what to do? it was unanimously decided that the only adequate course was for senator henry cabot lodge to resign as chairman of the senate foreign relations committee, by way of protest. henry cabot lodge running away from his chairmanship would be henry cabot lodge behaving as romantically as horace's wolf. the good are terrible, as anatole france said in the words with which this sketch begins. it is not so much that you can not resist them, as that they lead you to make such fools of yourselves. mr. hughes prevails, however, not merely by his virtue, but by his intelligence. his is the best mind in washington; to this everyone agrees, and it is not excessive praise, for minds are not common in the government. mr. harding has not a remarkable one, the people having decided by seven million majority that it was best not to have one in the white house, choosing instead, a good heart, excellent intentions, and reasonable common sense. mr. hoover has a fine business instinct, great but diffused mental energy, but hardly an organized mind. from this point the cabinet grades down to the secretary of labor, who, when samuel gompers, jr., his chief clerk, addressed him before visitors as, "mr. secretary," said, "please don't call me, 'mr. secretary,' sam. call me, 'jim.' i'm more used to it." "call me jim" is the mental sea level of the administration, by which altitudes are measured, so let us not exalt mr. hughes' mind unduly, but merely indicate what its habits are. its operations were described to me by a member of the cabinet, who said that no matter what subject was up for discussion at a cabinet meeting, it was always the secretary of state who said the final convincing word about it, summing it all up, saying what everyone else had been trying to say but no one else had entirely succeeded in saying, simplifying it, and all with an air of service, not of self-assertion. mr. harding, speaking to an intimate friend, said he had "two strong advisers,--hughes and hoover." it is a satisfaction, even though it is not a delight, to come in contact with a mind like mr. hughes'; it is so definite, so hard and firm and palpable. you feel sure that it rests somewhere on the eternal verities. it is never agnostic. it has none of the malaise of the twentieth century. mr. justice brandeis, when mr. hughes was governor of new york and a reformer and progressive, said of him, "his is the most enlightened mind of the eighteenth century." i think the justice put it a century or two too late, for by the eighteenth century skepticism had begun to undermine those firm foundations of belief which mr. hughes still possesses. for him a straight line is the shortest distance between two points,--einstein to the contrary, notwithstanding. conclusions rest upon the absolute rock of principle, as morality for his preacher father rested upon the absolute rock of the ten commandments. there is no doubt, no uncertainty, no nuance, no on the one hand, on the other, no discursiveness, no yielding to the seductions of fancy, but a stern keeping of the faith of the syllogism; a thing is so or it is not so. mr. hughes never hesitates. he never says, "i must think about that." he has thought about it. or he turns instantly to his principle and has the answer. you speak of mr. hughes to ten men in the capitol, and nine of them will say to you, "of course it is easy to understand; his is the one real mind in washington." everyone is impressed, for, starting with no other initiation into the mysteries of foreign relations than having had a father born in wales and having spent his vacations in england, probably in the lake region studying the topography of wordsworth's poetry,--a certain oft detected resemblance to wilson must make wordsworth his favorite poet, as he was wilson's,--in ten days was he not a great secretary of state; and in three months the greatest secretary of state? to be sure, back of him was the strongest nation on the earth, left so by the war, the one nation with resources, the creditor of all the others, to which a successful foreign policy would be naturally easy if it could only decide what that policy should be. it was left to mr. hughes to say what it should be. his discovery of the word "interests," amazed washington; it was so obvious, so simple that no one else had thought of it. mr. hughes' mind works like that;--hard, cold, unemotional, not to be turned aside, it simplifies everything, whether it be a treaty fight that has confused everyone else in the land, or a rambling cabinet discussion; whether it be the mess in which the war left europe, or the chaos in which watchful waiting left mexico. his is a mind that delights in formulae. he has one for europe. he has one for mexico. it is an analytical, not a synthetical mind, a lawyer's mind, not a creator's, like wilson's, with, perhaps it may turn out, a fatal habit of over-simplification. life is not a simple thing after all. but effective simplification is instantly overwhelming; and he made his brief announcement, a few days after taking office, that the united states had won certain things as a belligerent, that it had not got them, that he was going after them, that other countries could expect nothing from us until they had recognized our rights and our interests; he had completely routed the senate, which had been opposing wilson's ideals with certain ideals of its own, pitting washington's farewell address against "breaking the heart of the world," in a mussy statement of sentimentality. mr. hughes talked of islands and oil and dollars; and the country came to its senses. mr. wilson had pictured us going into world affairs as an international benefactor; it was sobby and suggested a strain on our pocketbooks. the senate had pictured us staying out of them because our fathers had warned us to stay out and because the international confidence men would cheat us; it was sunday-school-booky and unflattering. mr. hughes said we should go in to the extent of obtaining what was ours, and that we should stay out to the extent of keeping the others from obtaining what certainly was not theirs. it sounded grown-up; as a nation we belonged not to the sob-sisterhood, neither were we tied to the apronstring of the mothers of the constitution. our national self-respect was restored. truly, it required a mind to discover "interests" in the cloud of words that mr. wilson and the senate had raised. of course, it is all clear now, when everybody scorns idealism and talks glibly of interests. "hobbs hints blue, straight he turtle eats; nobbs prints blue, claret crowns his cup." but it was hughes who "fished the murex up," who pulled "interests" out of the deep blue sea of verbal fuddlement. and thinking of our dollars, thanks to mr. hughes, we are made sane and whole, clearsighted and unafraid, standing erect among the nations of the earth asking lustily for yap. our foreign relations had been the subject of passion. mr. hughes made them the subject of reason. mr. wilson could think of nothing but his hatred of lodge, which rendered an agreement with the senate impossible, and his hatred of lloyd george and marshal foch, which rendered cooperation with the allies and through it achievements in the foreign field that would have reconciled the public to his policies, equally impossible. mr. hughes looked at his task objectively. he saw the power of the united states. he saw how easy it was to exert that power diplomatically. he saw the simple and immediate concerns of the united states. foch says that he won the war, "by smoking his pipe," meaning by keeping cool and regarding his means and ends with the same detachment with which he would study an old campaign of napoleon. i do not know on what sedative mr. hughes wins his diplomatic victories, as he does not smoke a pipe;--perhaps by reading the sunday school times. but like the french marshal, he knows the secret of keeping his head. it is a great quality of mind not to lose it when you most need it. mr. hughes has it. perhaps this is why washington remarks his mind; he always has it with him. "i am not thinking of myself in my work here," he said once. "i don't care about immediate acclaim. i am counsel for the people of this country. if a generation from now they think their interests have been well represented, that will be enough." he is coldly objective. mr. hughes comes by his coolness naturally. he was born to it, which is the surest way to come by anything. men have hated him for it, coolness being a disconcerting quality, ever since he emerged from obscurity in new york during the insurance investigation, calling it his "coldness" and adding by way of good measure the further specification, his "selfishness." if the last characterization is to stand, it should be amended to read, his "enlightened selfishness." he has a good eye for his own interests. roosevelt disliked him for it, because when governor and again when candidate for president, he refused to gravitate into the roosevelt solar system, taking up his orbit like the rest of them about the colonel. but think what happened to that system when the great sun of it went out! his political associates in new york hated him, accused him of being "for nothing but hughes," when he quit them in the fight "to hand the government back to the people" and went, on the invitation of president taft, upon the supreme bench. but it was his only way out. if he had gone on working with them, he would still be "handing the government back to the people" along with,--but who were the great figures of ? he knows an expiring issue and its embarrassments by an unerring instinct. he finds a new one, such as "our national interests," with as sure a sense. it is worth while casting a glance at him "smoking his pipe," when other real and false opportunities presented themselves to him; one finds discrimination. he refuses a republican nomination for mayor of new york city when there is not a chance of electing a republican mayor of new york city. he accepts a republican nomination for governor of new york state, when the putting up of hearst as the democratic candidate makes the election of a republican as governor of new york state morally certain. he refuses the republican nomination for president, in , when another, viewing himself and his party less objectively, through vanity perhaps, might have believed that his own nomination was the one thing needed to prevent that year's republican cataclysm. four years later he accepts the republican nomination for president, when as the result showed, there is at least a reasonable chance to win. he takes the post of secretary of state when neglected opportunities lie ready to his hand and when the force of world events requires little more than his intelligent acquiescence to bring him diplomatic success. his discovery of "interests" was no accident. it sprang from that hard unemotional simplifying habit of his mind. when one writes of mr. hughes, men ask, pardonably, "which mr. hughes? the old mr. hughes, or the new mr. hughes?" for he has had, as the literary critics would say, his earlier and his later manner. but it is chiefly manner, a smile recently achieved, a different way of wearing the beard, a little less of the stern moralist, a little more of the man of the world. a connoisseur of hughes, who has studied him for nearly twenty years, after a recent observation, pronounced judgment: "it's the same hughes, a trifle less cold, but just as dry." and the secretary of state himself, when one of the weeklies contained an article on "the new mr. hughes," remarked, "people did not understand me then, that is all." these two eminent authorities being substantially agreed for the first time during many divergent years, there must be something in it. mr. hughes must be a gradually emerging personality. you take that new warmth, recently detected; mr. hughes himself knows it was always there. it is like the light ray of a star which has needed a million years to reach the earth; it was always there but it required a long time to get across. then the beard:--when mr. hughes was "handing the government back to the people" in new york, it was a preacher's beard; you might have encountered its like anywhere among the circuit riders. now it is a foreign secretary's beard; you might encounter it in any european capital,--a world statesman's beard. the change of beard reveals the smile, which was probably always there, and the splendid large teeth. the nose, standing out in bolder relief, is handsomer and more distinguished. you see more of mr. hughes than you used to and you gain by the improved vision. something has dropped from him, however, beside the ends of the whiskers. i met him first when he was about to run for president in . an icy veil, like frozen mist, seemed to hang between us. we talked through it ineffectively. when i saw him again as secretary of state, that chill barrier had fallen away; to recur to my figure, he gradually emerges. mr. hughes of the later manner is, however, i am persuaded after long familiarity with his career, more truly hughesian than the hughes of the earlier manner; just as the henry james of the later manner is more explicitly jamesian than the james of the earlier manner, and the cabot lodge of the present is much more irretrievably cabotian than the cabot lodge who years ago stood with reluctant feet where the twin paths of scholarship and politics meet,--and part. i should say that mr. hughes was bryan plus the advantages, which mr. bryan never enjoyed, of a correct republican upbringing and a mind. the republican upbringing and the mind have come of late years to preponderate. looking at mr. hughes to-day, you could not tell him from a republican, except perhaps by his mind, though such esoteric republicans as brandegee, cabot lodge, and knox profess an ability to distinguish. but when he was "handing the government back to the people" in new york, there was too much bryan about him. the republicans would have none of him, except as a choice of evils,--the greater evil being defeat. they called him ribald names. they referred to him scornfully as "wilson with whiskers," when they ran him, reluctantly, for the presidency in . his opponent being also of the bryan school, and a minister's son at that, hughes striving for an issue, failed to make it clear which was which, a doubt that remained until the last vote from california was finally counted after the election. this was the mr. hughes of the earlier manner. latterly, mr. hughes has succeeded in establishing the distinction which he did not succeed in making during that campaign. when he confronted the task of secretary of state, he carefully studied the international career of woodrow wilson, as a sort of inverse napoleon, a sort of diplomatic bad example. "this," he said to himself, "was a mistake of wilson," and he noted it. "and this," he observed thoughtfully, "was another mistake of wilson. i shall avoid it." "this," he again impressed on his memory, "was where lloyd george and clemenceau trapped him. i shall keep out of that pit." his head, like a book of etiquette, is full of "don'ts," diplomatic "don'ts," all deduced from the experience of wilson. the former president met europe face to face. mr. hughes thanks his stars for the breadth of the atlantic. the former president put his league of nations first on his program. mr. hughes puts his league of nations last, to be set up after every other question is settled. the former president tried to sell the country pure idealism. now as a people we have the habit of wars in which we seek nothing, but after which, in spite of ourselves, a little territory, a few islands, or a region out of which we subsequently carve half a dozen states, is found adhering to us. mr. wilson offered us a war in which, of course, we sought nothing and found, at the end of it, not the customary few trifles of territory, but the whole embarrassing, beggarly world adhering to us. the thumbscrew and the rack could not wring from mr. hughes the admission that we are after anything more lofty than our interests. one of the present secretary's "don'ts" of similar derivation is "don't have a fight with the senate unless you make sure first that you have the public with you." mr. hughes does not run away from fights; he likes them. but believing god to be on the side with the most battalions, and intending scrupulously to observe this last "don't," in order to secure the necessary popular support, he is as secretary of state, "handing the government back to the people," just as he did when governor,--a little less self-consciously, perhaps, a little less noisily, but still none the less truly. he is the most democratic secretary of state this country has ever had, and this includes bryan to whose school, as has just been remarked, he originally belonged. if we are ever to have democratic control of foreign relations, it will be by the methods of mr. hughes, because of the training and beliefs of mr. hughes, and as a consequence of the most undemocratic control of foreign relations which our constitution attempted to fasten upon us. a successful foreign policy requires public understanding and support. the makers of the constitution established in our government a nice balance of powers between the various departments, beautifully adjusted until someone thought of putting a stone into one side of the balance. that stone is the people. the fathers of the constitution had not noticed it. the executive put it into its end of the balance some years ago, and the legislative has been kicking the beam ever since. one nice bit of balancing was that between the senate and the executive on treaty making. in foreign relations, the president can do everything, and he can do nothing without the approval of two thirds of the senate. it is a nice balance, which broke the heart of john hay, frittered away the sentimentalities of mr. bryan, and destroyed mr. wilson. no one ever thought of putting the stone into it until the senate did so two years ago, by discussing the versailles treaty in the open, right before the public. the people got into the scale, and mr. wilson hit the sky. mr. hughes observed what happened. he is determined that the stone this time shall go in on his end of the balance. he talks to the country daily. he takes the people into his confidence, telling all that can be told and as soon as it can be told. he makes foreign relations hold front pages with the stillman divorce case. he makes no step without carrying the country with him. he comes as near conducting a daily referendum on what we shall do for our "interests" as in a country so big as ours can be done; and that is democratic control of foreign relations, initiated by the senate, for its own undoing. into that balance where he is placing the stone, he will put more of mankind's destinies than any other man on earth holds in his hands to-day. his has been a long way up from the shy, sensitive youth that one who knew him when he was beginning the law describes to me. he was then unimaginably awkward, incapable of unbending, a wet blanket socially. an immense effort of will has gone into fashioning the agreeable and habitual diner-out of to-day, into profiting by the mistakes of the new york governorship, of the campaign of . one sees still the traces of the early stiffness; the face is sensitive; the eyes drop, seldom meeting yours squarely; when they do, they are the mild eyes of the church! i suppose the early experiences of the church help him. his attitude toward colonel harvey's and other of the president's diplomatic appointments takes its color from his good father's attitude toward the problem of evil. god put evil in the world, and it is not for man to question. the president sends the harveys abroad; they are not mr. hughes', but his own personal representatives. it is not for mr. hughes to question. he grows a better republican every day. and the republicans of the senate are not reconciled. they feel like the man who saw the hippopotamus: if he should stay to tea, i thought, there won't be much for us. there won't be much for them. enthusiasm grows among them over his admirable fitness for reinterment on the supreme bench. edward m. house the nature of colonel edward m. house was fully revealed by a story of his youth, which he told me at paris in the concluding moments of the peace conference. he was elated and confident. the compromises in which he delighted had been made. the gifts had all been bestowed--of territory which men will have to fight for to keep, of reparations which will never be paid, of alliances which will never be carried out, of a league of nations which the colonel's own nation will never enter. looking the work over with that blindness with which men are struck who are under the dominion of another and stronger man's mind, his gentle soul was flooded with happiness. he was as near boasting as one of his modest habits could be, as his mind turned to the wisdom of his youth which had brought forth this excellent fruit. "i got my first real sight of politics," he said, "when i was a boy in cornell university. my great chum there was young morton, a son of the republican war governor of indiana. the hayes-tilden contest over the presidency was being decided. morton and i used to run away from ithaca to washington during that absorbing fight. by reason of his father's position in the democratic party, he could get in behind the scenes as few young men could; and he took me with him. i saw the whole amazing thing. i made up my mind then and there that only three or four men in this country counted, and that there was little chance of rising to be one of those three or four by the ordinary methods." he was, when he said this, at the apex of his career, behind the scenes of the greatest world congress ever held, following the greatest war the world had ever known. and he had been behind the scenes as had no other man, in europe as a privileged onlooker with both belligerents, and in america as the confidant of tremendous events. he was there, as in his college days, at the hayes-tilden contest, by grace of a friend whose influence had been sufficient to secure him his opportunities. the parallel was in his mind, and he regarded it with self-approval. he had chosen his course and chosen it wisely. it had led him to the greatest peace-making in history. there was a little more self-revelation. he and morton had prepared for college with yale in view. but morton had flunked his entrance examinations at yale and afterward succeeded in passing the cornell tests. house had gone to cornell to be with his friend, an early indication of a capacity for self-effacement, for attachment to the nearest great man at hand who could take him behind the scenes. the mystery of colonel house is that he has been possessed all his life, almost passionately, with that instinct which makes boys run to fires. his fastening upon the favorably placed, whether it was morton in his youth, or wilson in his maturity, was not ordinary self-seeking, not having for its object riches or power or influence. it was merely desire to see for the pure love of seeing. his is a boundless curiosity about both men and events. his eyes are the clue to his character. boardman robinson, with the caricaturist's gift for catching that feature which exhibits character, said to me one day during the war, "i just passed colonel house on the street. the most wonderful seeing eyes i ever saw!" nature had made colonel house all eyes--trivial in figure, undistinguished, slightly ludicrous, almost shambling, shrinking under observation so that he gained a reputation for mystery, with only one feature to catch your attention, a most amazingly fine pair of eyes. it was as if nature had concentrated on those eyes, treating all the puny rest of him with careless indifference. they are eyes that delight in seeing, eyes to seek a place in the first row of the grand stand of world events, eyes that turn steadily outward upon objective reality. not the eyes of a visionary--house got his visions of the brotherhood of man and the rest of it at second-hand from wilson--eyes that glow not with the internal fires of a great soul, but with the intoxication of the spectacle. and with the eyes nature had given house an unerring instinct for getting where, with his small figure, he could see. the ego of the passionate spectator is as peculiar as that of the book collector or the curiosity hunter. given a shoulder tall enough the diminutive house perches upon it, like a small boy watching a circus parade from his father's broad back, whether the shoulder be morton's in his youth, or wilson's in his maturity. some have tried to explain house by saying that he had the vanity of loving familiarity with the great; but i doubt if house cared for kings, as kings, any more than a bibliomaniac cares for jade. he wanted to see; and kings were merely tall objects on which to perch and regard the spectacle. he remained simple and unaffected by his contacts with europe, did none of the vulgar aping of the toady, coming away from the peace conference an unconscious provincial, who said "eye-talian" in the comic-paper way, and fiume pronouncing the first syllable as if he were exclaiming "fie! for shame!"--an unspoiled texan who must have cared as little what kings and potentates thought of him as a newsboy watching a baseball game cares for the accidental company of a bank president. the world has been good to colonel house, according to his standards. he has realized his ambition to the fullest. life has given him all he wanted, the privilege of seeing, more abundantly than to any other in his generation, perhaps in all time; for he is history's greatest spectator. he is glad. his heart is full. he wishes to give in return. he is the kindest-hearted man who has ever had empires at his disposal. he wants to give, give, give. he wants to make happy. he was the fairy godmother of europe, the diplomatic carnegie, who thought it a disgrace to die diplomatically rich. for many months i saw him almost daily at paris. his was a heart of gold, whether in personal or international relations; but a heart of gold does not make a great negotiator. perverse and nationalistic races of men, incredulous of the millenium, keep their hearts of gold at home when they go out to deal with their neighbors. it was difficult for colonel house to say no. he might go so far as to utter the first letter of that indispensable monosyllable; but before he accomplished the vowel, his mind would turn to some happy "formula" passing midway between no and yes. he was fertile in these expedients. daily he would talk of some new "formula," for fiume, for dantzig, for the saar valley, for the occupation of the rhine, for shantung, always happily, always hopefully. the amiable william allen white hit off his disposition perfectly when he said house's daily prayer was, "give us this day our daily compromise." when he split a hair between the south and southwest side, it was not for logistic pleasure; it was to divide it with splendid justice and send each of two rival claimants away happy in the possession of exactly half of the slender filament, so that neither would be empty handed. i never saw a man so overjoyed as he was one day late in april or early in may when m. clemenceau had left his rooms in the hotel crillon with the promise of franco-american defensive alliance. "the old man," he said, "is very happy. he has got what he has been after. i can't tell you just now what it is. but he has got it at last." he had been the donor, for mr. wilson, of the exact southwest side of a hair, the promise to submit, without recommendations, an alliance to the united states senate, which had little prospect of ever being accepted by this country. the sight of the french premier's happiness made him radiant. it was not merely because representatives of foreign governments found colonel house easy to see when they could not gain access to president wilson that kept a throng running to his quarters in the crillon; it was because there they found the line of least resistance. there was the readiest sympathy. there was the greatest desire to accommodate. he sought always for a formula that would satisfy the claims of all. a man so ready to compromise is actuated by no guiding principle. mr. scott, the editor of the "manchester guardian", said when president wilson was in england; "yes, lloyd george is honestly for the league of nations. but that won't prevent him from doing things at paris which will be utterly inconsistent with the principle of such a league. it isn't intellectual dishonesty; but lloyd george hasn't a logical mind. he doesn't understand the implications of his own position." neither did colonel house at paris. the league of nations was an emotion with him, not a principle. it was a tremendous emotion. he spoke of it in a voice that almost broke. i remember his glowing eyes and the little catch in his throat as he said, at paris, "the politicians don't like the league of nations. and if they really knew what it would do to them, they would like it still less." but, for all that naive faith in the wonders it would do, colonel house had not thought out the league of nations, and was quite incapable of thinking it out, for he is not a man of analytical mind; and what mental power he had was inhibited by the glow of his feelings. his temperature was above the thinking point. thus, like mr. lloyd george, he could make compromises that played ducks and drakes with his general position, since he had no real understanding of the league, which was not an intellectual conviction with him, arduously arrived at, but which possessed his soul as by an act of grace, like an old-fashioned religious conversion. he was loyal at heart to mr. wilson and to everything that was mr. wilson's, his mind being absorbed into mr. wilson's, and having no independent existence. there are natures which demand an utter and unquestioning loyalty in those to whom they yield their confidence, and mr. wilson's was of that sort, as a remark of his about secretary colby will indicate. when mr. lansing was removed from office, the country was astounded to learn that he was to be succeeded by bainbridge colby. the president communicated his decision first to one of the few who then had access to his sick room. this adviser ventured to expostulate. "mr. colby," he said, "is brilliant, but he is uncertain. his whole career has lacked stability. he is not known to have the qualities which the nation has been taught to expect in a secretary of state." "at any rate," replied the president sharply, "he is loyal." at any rate, colonel house was loyal. the ego of mr. wilson demanded and received utter loyalty from him, a loyalty that forbade thinking, forbade criticism, forbade independence of any sort. moreover, colonel house was in contact with a mind much stronger than his, with a personality much more powerful than his. he was caught into the wilson orbit. he revolved about mr. wilson. he got his light from mr. wilson, who had that power, which colonel roosevelt had, of irradiating minor personalities. colonel house was nothing until he gravitated to mr. wilson. he is going back to be nothing to-day, nothing but a kind, lovable man, a gentle soul rather unfitted for the world, with an extraordinary capacity for friendship and sympathy, and that fine pair of eyes. i remember at paris the affecting evidences of the little man's loyalty to his great friend, of whom he could not speak without emotion. he was never tired of dilating upon the wonder of president wilson's mind: "i never saw," he would say, "so quick a mind, with such a capacity for instant understanding. the president can go to the bottom of the most difficult question as no one else in the world can." house's endless "formulae" always bore the self-effacing condition, "if mr. wilson approves." "if mr. wilson approves" was the d. v. of colonel house's religion. too much awe of another mind is not good for your own, or carries with it certain implications about your own. colonel house's loyalty to mr. wilson did not, however, make him hate the men at paris who stood across the president's path. the personal representative's heart was too catholic for that. he-- liked what e're he looked on and his looks went everywhere. he had a kindly feeling for the "old man," clemenceau. he was a warm friend of orlando, with whom mr. wilson had his quarrel over fiume. he though well of lloyd george, whom mr. wilson went abroad hating. the peace conference was to him a personal problem. peace was peace between wilson and clemenceau and lloyd george and orlando. compromises were an accommodation among friends. i never saw a man so utterly distressed as he was when president wilson threatened to break up the peace conference and sent for the george washington to take him home from brest. it was as if his own dearest friends had become involved in a violent quarrel. he did not see the incident in terms of the principles involved, but only as the painful interruption of kindly personal relations. men speak of him sometimes as the one of our commissioners who knew europe; and europeans, appreciating his sympathy, have fostered this idea by referring to his understanding of european problems. but the europe colonel house knew was a personal europe. the countries on his map were lloyd george, clemenceau, and orlando. the problems of his europe were lloyd george, clemenceau, and orlando. he knew what lloyd george wanted. he knew what clemenceau wanted. he knew what orlando wanted. that was enough. his kindness of heart, his desire for pleasant personal relations, his incapacity to think in terms of principles, whether of the league of nations or not, betrayed him in the matter of shantung. whether the peace conference should return shantung to china, or leave it to japan to return to china was to him, he often said, "only a question of method. there is no principle involved." the japanese were a sensitive people, why should a kind heart question the excellence of their intentions with respect to china? shantung would of course be returned. it was only a question of how. the simple heart of colonel house did not save him, either as a diplomat or as a friend. the failures at paris plunged mr. wilson into depression in which he went as far down into the valley as he had been up on the heights during his vision--of a world made better by his hand. in his darker moments he saw nothing but enmity and disloyalty about him--even, a little later, "usurpation" in the case of the timorous and circumspect mr. lansing. colonel house says that he does not yet know what caused the breach between the president and himself. relations stopped; that was all. this is what occurred: shortly after colonel house had convinced the president that the disposal of shantung was only a question of method he disappeared from paris "to take a rest"; and it became known that after all he was not to sit in the council of the league of nations representing america, as mr. wilson had originally intended. at this time, a close friend of president wilson and one of his most intimate advisers, said to me, "the most insidious influence here is the social influence." british entertainment of members of the house family had been marked and assiduous, and the flattery had had its effect, though not probably upon the colonel, who remained unspoiled by social contacts to the last. nevertheless, a member of mr. wilson's family had called the president's attention to the social forces that the british were bringing to bear. the president by this time was in a mood to be made angry and suspicious. doubt was lodged in his mind. and when he found this country critical of the shantung settlement, that doubt became a conviction; the british through social attentions, had wheedled house into a position favorable to their allies, the japanese. the loyal house was convicted of the one unforgivable offense, disloyalty. when the casting off of house became, later, in this country unmistakable, i inquired regarding it of the friend and adviser of the president whom i have just mentioned, and he repeated to me, forgetting that he used them before, the exact words he had said at paris, "the most insidious influence at the peace conference was the social influence." the most insidious influence with colonel house was the kindness of his own heart. he had too many friends. his view of international relations was too personal. principles will make a man hard, cold, and unyielding, and colonel house had no principles, or had them only parrot-like from mr. wilson. he was the human side of the president, who for those contacts which his office demanded had found a human side necessary and accordingly annexed the amiable texan. wilson's human side had offended him, and he cut it off, accordingly to the scriptural injunction against the offending right hand. the act was cruel, but it was just, as just as the dismissal of mr. lansing; for house failed wilson at paris, being one of wilson's greatest sources of weakness there. his excessive optimism, his kindheartedness, his credulity, his lack of independence of mind, his surrender of his imagination to a stronger imagination, his conception of politics not as morals but as the adjustment of personal differences, left wilson without a capable critical adviser at the conference. when house talked to wilson, it was a weaker wilson talking to the real wilson. colonel house in retirement and since the breach, is still colonel house, kindhearted and unobtrusive. he has seen, and he is satisfied. he has a fine and perhaps half-unconscious loyalty to the great man from whose shoulders he surveyed the world. his is an ego that brushes itself off readily after a fall and asks for no alms of sympathy. he does not, like mr. lansing, fill five hundred octavo pages with "i told you so," and you can not conceive of his using that form of self-justification. i hope to see him some day playing santa claus in a children's christmas celebration at a village church! herbert hoover one reads in the press daily of hughes and hoover, or mellen and hoover, or davis and hoover, or wallace and hoover. if it is a question of foreign relations, it is the secretary of state and hoover. if it has to do with using our power as a creditor nation to compel the needy foreigners to buy here, in spite of the tariff wall we are going to erect against their selling here, it is the secretary of the treasury and hoover. if strikes threaten, it is the secretary of labor and hoover. if the farmers seek more direct access to the markets, it is the secretary of agriculture and hoover. it is always "and hoover." what mr. hughes does not know about international affairs--and that is considerable--mr. hoover does. what mr. mellen does not know about foreign finance--and that is less--mr. hoover does. what mr. davis does not know about labor--and that is everything--mr. hoover does. what mr. wallace does not know about farm marketing--and that is nothing--mr. hoover does. herbert hoover is the most useful supplement of the administration. he possesses a variety of experiences, gained in making money abroad, in administering the belgian relief, in husbanding the world's food supply after our entrance into the war, in helping write the peace treaty, which no one else equals. he is as handy as a dictionary of dates or a cyclopedia of useful information, invaluable books, which never obtain their just due; for no one ever signs his masterpiece with the name of its coauthor, thus, by "john smith and the cyclopedia of useful information." a bad particle to ride into fame behind, that word "and," begetter of much oblivion! who can say what goes after the "and" which follows the name mckinley, or hayes, or cleveland, or even roosevelt? who has sufficient "faith in massachusetts" to remember long the decorous dissyllable connected by "and" with the name harding? the link, "and," is not strong enough to hold. you recall the "and"; that is all; as in the case of that article of food, origin of many "calories," to use mr. hoover's favorite word, in the quick-serve resorts of the humble, where it supplements ably and usefully, but without honorable mention, slender portions of beef, pork, and ham. to describe briefly, in a phrase, what has happened to hoover; two years ago, it was "hoover"; to-day, it is "and hoover." why the connective? because, to put it bluntly, however great his other gifts are--and they are remarkable--he lacks political intelligence. he reminds one now of a great insect caught in the meshes of a silken web. he struggles this way and that. he flutters his wings, and the web of politics fastens itself to him with a hundred new contacts. facing possible elimination from public life, he accepted a dull and unromantic department under president harding. he was told that he could "make something of it." modern greeks bearing gifts always bring you an opportunity which "you, and you alone, can make something of." he is trying to make something of it, something more than mr. harding and the party advisers intended when they gave him the secretaryship of commerce. he is trying to dramatize some turn of fate and be once more a "big figure." he is tireless. he arrives at his office fabulously early. clerks drop in their tracks before he leaves at night. he has time to see everyone who would see him; for he can never tell when "the man with the idea" will knock at his door. unlike the british naval officer charged with the duty of examining inventions to win the war, who is described by guedalla as sitting like an inverted micawber "waiting for something to turn down," he is waiting for something to turn up. he does more than wait; he works twenty hours a day trying to turn something up. and he will turn something up. the chances are that he will do as much for the infant foreign trade of this country as alexander hamilton did for the infant finances of this country. he promises to be the most useful cabinet officer in a generation. but this is less than his ambition. if he were an unknown man, it would be enough; but you measure him by the stature of hoover of the belgian relief. like the issue of great fathers, he is eclipsed by a preceding fame. as well be the son of william shakespeare as the political progeny of hoover, the food administrator! the war spoiled life for many men; for wilson, for baruch, for hoover. after its magnificent amplifications of personality, it is hard to descend to every day, and be not a tremendous figure, but a successful secretary of an unromantic department. he might concentrate with advantage to his future fame. a brief absence from front pages, under the connective "and," would cause the public heart to grow fonder when he did "make something" of his own department. but two disqualifications stand in his way;--his lack of political intelligence, and his consequent inability to make quick decisions in a political atmosphere. his present diffusion of his energies springs, i think, from indecision; for in politics he can not make up his mind, as he can in business, where the greatest profit lies. i first heard of this weakness of his when he was food administrator in washington, and when other members of the wilson war administration, equal in rank with him and having to cooperate with him, complained frequently of his slowness. he had able subordinates, they said, the leading men in the various food industries, and they had to make up his mind for him. i set this charge down, at the time, to jealousy and prejudice, mr. hoover being always an outsider in the wilson administration; but the long delay and immense difficulty he made over deciding, although all his life a republican, whether he was or was not a republican in the campaign of , seemed all the proof of indecision that was needed. it sounds like heresy about one who has been advertised as he has; but remember that we know little about him except what the best press agents in history have said of him. he achieved his professional success in the orient, far from observation, and his financial success far from american eyes. his public career in the relief of belgium and in the administration of food was the object of world-wide good will. and, moreover, indecision in politics is common enough among men who are strong and able in other activities. mr. taft was a great judge but wrecked his administration as president by inability to make up his mind. senator kellogg was a brilliantly successful lawyer; but in public life he is so hesitant that minnesota politicians speak of him as "nervous nelly," and even mr. taft, during the treaty fight, rebuked him to his face for lack of courage. mr. hoover's face is not that of a decisive character. the brow is ample and dominant; there is vision and keen intelligence; but the rest of the face is not strong, and it wears habitually a wavering self-conscious smile. this smile, as if everybody were looking at him, makes him remind one as he comes out of a cabinet meeting of a small boy in a classroom carrying a bouquet of flowers up to his teacher. he has, moreover, a strain of pessimism in his nature, which may account for his indecision. you catch him in moods of profound depression. he was in one just before his appointment to the cabinet, when his european relief work was not going to his liking, and when the politicians, he felt, were forcing him into a position of little scope and opportunity. in politics, he has enough vanity and self-consciousness to be aware constantly of forces opposed to him, covert, hostile, unscrupulous, personal forces--forces that he does not understand. give him a mining problem, he can reckon with the forces of nature that have to be overcome. give him a problem of finance, he knows the enmities of finance. he is in his element. in politics he is not. he is baffled. an illustrative incident occurred in the spring of , when both parties were talking of him as their candidate for president and he was uncertain whether he was a republican or not. mr. hearst, in his newspapers, published an attack upon him, saying that he was more briton than american, and to prove it printed a list of british corporations of which he was a director. all his suspicions were aroused over this everyday occurrence of politics. where had mr. hearst obtained the unfortunate information? he saw plots and treachery. someone in his confidence must have betrayed him for money. a careful investigation was made, and it was discovered that the editor had drawn upon "who's who," to which mr. hoover himself had furnished the information before he began thinking of the presidency. the politicians tricked him so completely in the preconvention campaign of that he has the best reasons for distrusting himself. he was always, during that campaign, a candidate for the republican nomination to the presidency. at the very time when his spokesman, julius barnes, was saying for him that he could not choose between the two parties until he had seen their candidates and read their platforms, and when the democrats were most seriously impressed with his availability, the manager of his paper in washington said to me, "this talk of hoover for the democratic nomination is moonshine. he won't take it." "why not," i asked him. "because," he replied, "he does not think it is worth having," a quite practical reason which differed wholly from the official explanation that mr. hoover was waiting to see which party was progressive so that he might oppose reaction. his subsequent support of the more conservative candidate and the more conservative party bore out the truth of what his newspaper manager had said. and in reality, mr. hoover is as conservative as mr. harding himself, being a large capitalist with all the conservatism of the capitalist class. a little while ago, mr. roosevelt had made it unfashionable to admit that you were conservative. you wished it to be understood that you were open-minded--"forward looking," as mr. wilson, who turned reactionary at the test, called it; that you were broad, sympathetic, free from mean prejudices, progressive, in short. our very best reactionaries of to-day all used to call themselves progressive. some still do. the young editor of a metropolitan newspaper, born to great wealth, and imbibing all the narrowness of the second generation, once asked me in those bright days when everybody was thrilling over his "liberality," "would you call me a radical, or just a progressive?" he was "just a progressive." in a somewhat similar sense, mr. hoover was quite unconsciously "just a progressive"--a belated follower of a pleasant fashion, having lived abroad too long when he made his announcement to note the subtle changes that had taken place in our thinking--the rude shock that russia had given to our "liberality." but living abroad, it is only fair to add, has created a difference between his conservatism and that, let us say, of judge gary. he has grown used to labor unions and even to labor parties, so that they do not frighten him. his is conservatism, none the less, definite conservatism, if more enlightened than the obscurant american variety. his hesitation and indecision in the spring of thus did not spring from doubt of the republican party's progressiveness. he always desired the republican nomination; but his vanity would suffer by the open seeking of it and the defeat which seemed likely; and his sensitiveness would suffer from the attacks, like that of mr. hearst, which an open candidacy would entail; for he is at once vain and thin-skinned. springing thus from reluctance to make up his mind, the announcement was received as the evidence of a very large mind. among the public, mr. hoover was taken for a man who cared more for principle than for party or for politics. among the politicians, he assumed the proportions of a portent, with a genius for politics second only to that of roosevelt himself, who in a difficult situation could take the one position and say the one thing that might force his nomination. the democrats pricked up their ears. mr. wilson, sick and discouraged, began to entertain hopes of a candidate who would save the democracy from ruin. homer cummings, national chairman of mr. wilson's party, began to regard mr. hoover's possible nomination favorably. the republican managers became alarmed. they knew from mr. hoover's friends that he, as his washington newspaper manager had said, thought the democratic nomination not worth having; but they feared lest by the course he was pursuing he might make it worth having, might take it, and might rob them of the election which they felt safely theirs. if they could induce him to declare his republicanism, the democrats would drop him, the public would cease to be interested in him as a dramatic personality too big for party trammels, and they themselves could ignore him. it was decided to have him read out of the republican party as a warning to him of how he was imperiling his hopes of the only nomination he valued, and at the same time have republican leaders go to him or his friends and advise him and them that if he would only declare his republicanism, a popular demand would force his nomination at chicago. senator penrose was chosen as the republican whose pontifical damnation would most impress mr. hoover. the late w. murray crane, whom i have heard described at mr. roosevelt's dinner table as "the uriah heap of the republican party," was the emissary who would advise mr. hoover to confess the error of his ways and seek the absolution of penrose. a diary kept at republican national headquarters in new york reveals the visits there at the time the plan was made of mr. crane and others who took part in the enterprise. mr. penrose got up from a sick bed and thundered: under no circumstances would he permit the nomination of mr. hoover. the plot succeeded. in a few days, mr. hoover declared that he would not take the democratic nomination. the democrats dropped him. the public was bewildered by his finding out that he was a republican after saying that he could not tell whether he was one or not until he had seen the republican candidate and the platform. at the chicago convention he received the support of mr. crane, governor miller, of new york, and, on the last ballot, of william allen white, who having voted for harding on the just previous ballot, said he wanted to "leave the bandwagon and ride with the undertaker." this guilelessness of mr. hoover in politics will prevent him from realizing his larger ambitions; but is a source of strength to him in his present position, with american business men who have learned to distrust politicians. at any rate, he is no politician; he thinks as business men think; his interests are their interests; and when he comes to them bearing gifts,--the aid and cooperation of the united states government in their efforts to win foreign trade,--they do not take him for a greek. he possesses great special knowledge which they desire: he knows much about economics and enjoys the advantage of believing that he knows all; he has immense prestige, as a result of all the advertising he received during the war; they come to washington and sit at his feet like children; he gives them fatherly lectures, even upon the morals of their business, which must be clean, to enter this foreign trade of his, with the government behind it. they make mental resolutions of reform. to no politician, to no one, even with an instinct for politics, would they listen as they listen to him. he speaks to american business with immense authority. his selection is an example of that unusual instinct for putting the right man in the right place which president harding has, when he chooses to exercise it. the post was disappointing to mr. hoover; but it was the one in which he will be most useful. not a lawyer, he would hardly have done for secretary of state, in spite of his exceptional knowledge of foreign conditions. not a banker, he lacked the technical equipment for secretary of the treasury. not a politician, he should have, and he has a place in which there are the least possible politics. mr. harding denatured him politically by giving him the one business department in the cabinet. even hiram johnson may come no longer to hate him. for his present task, besides his special knowledge, his remarkable industry, his tireless application to details, he has one great gift, his extraordinary talent for publicity. there is no one in washington, not even mr. hughes, who knows so well as he does how to advertise what he is doing. as business recovers and foreign trade develops, the magazine pages will blossom with articles about what american enterprise is achieving in foreign lands, about the cooperation between american business and the american government, and, once more, about mr. hoover. finding markets for american wares all over the earth will be made a romance only second in interest to the feeding of belgium. it was not an accident that he was better advertised than any general, admiral, or statesman of the war. it was not all due to the good will of the public, to the work which he did in belgium and in this country, nor to the extraordinary press agents whose services he was able to command because of that good will. back of it all was his own instinct for publicity, his sense of what interests the people, his assiduous cultivation of editors and reporters. he has magazine and newspaper contacts only exceeded by those of roosevelt in his time, and a sense of the power of publicity only exceeded by roosevelt's. when he was threatening to win the democratic nomination for the presidency in spite of the fact that he was not a democrat, a supporter of mcadoo complained bitterly to me, "confound him! he has a genius for self-advertising. he is not half the man mcadoo is. he hasn't mcadoo's courage, optimism, force, or general statesmanship; but he has this infernal talent for getting himself in the papers. there is not much to him but press agenting; but how can you beat that?" but though his own name has come to count for more than the causes he represents, so that the best way to obtain aid is to ask for it with "hoover" in big letters and with the suffering children of central europe in small letters, still he remains only a name to the american people. they know that he always wears a blue suit of clothes cut on an invariable model, which he adopted years ago. they know that he worked his way through college as a waiter. they know that he grew rich as a mining engineer in the east. that is all. they think of him as a symbol of efficiency, as one who may save their money, as one who may find markets for them and develop their trade, as one who may help the world upon its feet again after the war, as a superman, if you will; but not as a man, not as a human being. all his advertising has made him appeal to the american imagination, but not to the american heart. he is a sort of efficiency engineer, installing his charts and his systems into public life,--and who loves an efficiency engineer? there are no stories about him which give him a place in the popular breast. it is impossible to interest yourself in hoover as hoover; in hoover as the man who did this, or the man who did that, or the man who will do this or that, yes,--but not in hoover, the person. the reason is that he has little personality. on close contact, he is disappointing, without charm, given to silence, as if he had nothing for ordinary human relations which had no profitable bearing on the task in hand. his conversation is applied efficiency engineering; there is no lost motion, though it is lost motion which is the delight of life. at dinner, he inclines to bury his face in his plate until the talk reaches some subject important to him, when he explodes a few facts, and is once more silent. had he a personality with his instinct for publicity, he would be another roosevelt. but he is a bare expert. i doubt if he really thinks of human beings as human beings; on the contrary, some engineering graph represents humanity in his mind. it is characteristic of him that he always speaks of the relief of starving populations not in terms of human suffering, but in terms of chemistry. the people, of whatever country he may be feeding, have so many calories now, last month they had so many calories; if they had ten calories more, they could maintain existence. many times have i heard this formula. it is a weakness in a democracy to think of people in terms of graphs, and their welfare in terms of calories; that is, if you hope to be president of that democracy-- not if you are content to be its excellent secretary of commerce. when he came to washington as a food administrator, he brought with him an old associate, a professor from california. a few days later the professor's wife arrived and went to live at the same house where mr. hoover and her husband resided. mr. hoover knew her well. she and her husband had long been his friends. he met her in the hall, shook hands with her, welcomed her and then lapsed into silence. after some moments, he said, "well,--" and hesitated. "mr. hoover," she said, "i know you are a busy man. you don't have to stand here trying to think of something to say to me. i know you well enough not to be offended if you don't talk to me at all while i am here." he laughed and took her at her word. he had the habit of too great relevancy to be human. if he could have said more than "well" to that woman, he might have been president. henry cabot lodge when henry cabot lodge was elected to congress thirty-four years ago there were no portents in the heavens, but there was rejoicing in his native city of boston and in many other places. it was hailed as the dawn of a new era. young, he was only thirty-seven, well educated, a teacher of history, and with six serious books to his credit, he was a new figure in politics; providence, moving in its mysterious way, had designed him to redeem politics from its baseness and set a shining example. everything was in his favor; he was not only learned, so learned, in fact, that he was promptly dubbed the "scholar in politics," but he was rich, and therefore immune from all sordid temptation; he was a gentleman. mr. lodge's forbears had been respectable tradesmen who knew how to make money and to keep it--and the latter trait is strongly developed in their senatorial descendant. from them he inherited a fortune; he had been educated in a select private school and then gone through harvard, whence he emerged with an ll.b. and a ph.d. attached to his name. by all the established canons he was a "gentleman" as well as a scholar. in the intervals between teaching and writing he had found time to be admitted to the boston bar. with that equipment it could be safely predicted mr. lodge would go far. he has. to-day he is the leader of the republican party in the senate of the united states. he early justified the promise. while still a congressional freshman he drafted and introduced into the house the "force bill," which came to a violent death in the senate. that bill was not only a prophecy but it is a resume of mr. lodge's career. it is partisanship gone mad. on the pretense that it was intended to secure fair elections in the south, but actually, as described by a member of the house at the time, to prevent elections being held in several districts, it placed the election machinery in the control of the federal government, which, through the chief supervisor of elections, to be appointed by the president, and his praetorian guard of deputy marshals, would have controlled every election and returned an overwhelming republican majority from the southern states. the bill was typical of mr. lodge and the way he plays politics. the force bill would probably have ended ingloriously the political career of any other man, but mr. lodge had the luck of being a gentleman born in boston. boston is slow to forget. a quarter of a century after the civil war, boston still remembered that conflict, its heart still bled for the negro deprived of his vote; and a boston gentleman could do no wrong--to the democratic party. the house amused mr. lodge, but it was too promiscuous for a person of his delicate sensibilities who shrank from intimate contact with the uneducated and the socially unwashed. henry cabot lodge always creates the impression that it is a condescension on his part to god to have allowed him to create a world which is not exclusively possessed by the cabots and the lodges and their connections. all that is only an unfortunate manner. he is really the friend of the people, abominating snobbishness and aristocratic pretensions; in his younger days, when he was campaigning for congress, he was known to have slapped a constituent on the back and called him familiarly by his first name; even now, although he has long ceased to be a politician and has been canonized as a statesman, the old impulses are strong in him. when the time draws near for his reelection to the senate, he goes back to massachusetts, there to take part with the common people in their simple pleasures, and affably to extend a cold and clammy hand to voters, who still venerate him as a scholar in politics and a gentleman. so it will be easily understood why one of mr. lodge's temperament should early have cast his covetous eye on the senate, and at the first opportunity moved over to that more select atmosphere, which he did in . when senator lodge entered public life the flagrant spoils system was rampant. a little band of earnest men was fighting to reform the civil service so as to make it a permanent establishment with merit and fitness the tests for appointment instead of political influence. it was a cause naturally to appeal to the "best people" of boston, and mr. lodge, being one of them, having inflexible principles and a high code of honor, threw himself eagerly into the reform movement and became its apostle. his principles were so stern and unyielding, he demanded such an exalted standard of private and public morality, that, although he worshipped the republican party with a devotion almost as great as the memory of that grandfather who laid the foundation of the family fortunes, with a sorely stricken heart he was compelled to differ with mr. blaine and to flirt with those ruperts of american politics, the mugwumps. "the man who sets up as being much better than his age is always to be suspected," says a historian, "and cato is perhaps the best specimen of the rugged hypocrite that history can produce." as a summary of the character of cato, this is admirable, but no one would call mr. lodge "rugged." mr. lodge's principles, it has been observed, are inflexible and rest on solid foundation, but like good steel they can bend without breaking. an ardent civil service reformer, a champion of public morality, so long as offices were being awarded to the faithful, he saw no reason why he should be the victim of his own self denying ordinance. early in his career he became a very successful purveyor of patronage, developing a keen scent for vacant places or a post filled by a democrat. as a theoretical civil service reformer mr. lodge left nothing to be desired; as a practical spoilsman he had few equals. a senator's usefulness to his friends is much greater than that of a member of the house, and if a senator works his pull for all that it is worth he can accomplish much. mr. lodge was not idle. with his grandfathers and his fortune mr. lodge inherited a violent and bitter dislike of england. probably no man--not even the most extreme irish agitator--is more responsible for the feeling existing against england than mr. lodge; because the outspoken irish agitator is known for what he is and treated accordingly; carrying out mr. roosevelt's thought, he will be execrated by decent people; but mr. lodge, posing as the impartial historian and the patriotic statesman, is applauded. just as mr. lodge gained a certain fame when he was a member of the house from the force bill, which his own party repudiated, so he signalized his admission into the senate by proposing to force england to adopt free silver. it was an opportunity to strike at england in a vital spot; it was as statesmanlike and patriotic as his attempt to deprive the south of their representatives. mr. cleveland was fighting with splendid courage to save the country from free silver, caring nothing for politics and animated solely by the highest and most disinterested motives, and mr. lodge was thinking only of his spite. president cleveland, said a boston paper, deserved and had the right to expect mr. lodge's support, instead of which "we find our junior senator introducing a legislative proposition intended to appeal at once to the anti-british prejudices of a good many americans, and to the desire of the then preponderating sentiment of the country to force a silver currency upon the american people. it was an effort to strike at england." mr. lodge proposed that all imports from great britain or her colonies should pay duties double those of the regular rates, and any article on the free list should be made dutiable at thirty-five per cent; these additional and discriminating duties were to remain in force until great britain assented to and took part in an international agreement "for the coinage and use of silver." mr. lodge's free silver amendment shared the same tomb with his force bill; in the senate fortunately there were men with broader vision and less passion. in his biography in the congressional directory (written by himself) and in the numerous biographies and sketches which have been published with such frequency (mr. lodge has a weakness for seeing himself in print) curiously enough no mention can be found either of the force bill or the attempt to coerce england with a silver club. one can only explain this reticence by excessive modesty. two years later mr. lodge deserted his silver allies and was as enthusiastic in support of the gold standard as he had previously been zealous for the purification of the civil service. a boston paper said that he "was made to realize, by the influences brought to bear upon him, that he must advocate the gold standard or else provoke the active hostility of the prominent business men of this state." that perhaps is as infamous as anything ever written. that any influences, even those "of the prominent business men of massachusetts," could cause mr. lodge to swerve from his convictions no one will believe. he must have had convictions when he sought to drive england to a silver standard, he must have been convinced that it was for the good of the united states as well as the whole world, he must have satisfied himself, for mr. lodge never permits his emotions to control his intelligence, that his action was wise and patriotic. but although mr. lodge will not surrender his convictions he has no scruples about consistency. mr. lodge's principles are so stern that he refused to consent to colombia being paid for the territory seized by president roosevelt. mr. lodge made a report (this was when mr. wilson was president, and i mention it merely as an historical fact) in which he denounced colombia's claim as blackmail, resented it as an insult to the memory of mr. roosevelt, and declared in approved copybook fashion (being fond of platitudes), that friendship between nations cannot be bought. later (this was when mr. harding was president, and i mention it merely as an historical fact) as chairman of the committee on foreign relations, he brought in a report urging the ratification of the treaty, and discovered that mr. roosevelt had really been in favor of the treaty, expunged the unpleasant word blackmail from his lexicon, and sapiently observed, so impossible is it for him not to indulge in platitudes, that sometimes a nation has to pay more for a thing than it is really worth; a reflection that would have done credit to the oracular wisdom of captain jack bunsby. mr. lodge attacked the treaty of peace with germany while it was still in process of negotiation and severely criticised mr. wilson for not having consulted the senate. that the senate has no right to ask about the details of a treaty before the president sends it in for ratification is a constitutional axiom which mr. lodge, with his customary mental infidelity, caressed at one time and spurned at another. when the treaty with spain was before the senate (that was when mr. mckinley was president, and i mention it merely as an historical fact) it was attacked by some of the democrats. to silence these criticisms mr. lodge said, "we have no possible right to break suddenly into the middle of a negotiation and demand from the president what instructions he has given to his representatives. that part of treaty making is no concern of ours." the democrats attempted to defeat the ratification of the treaty, and if that was done, said mr. lodge, "we repudiate the president and his action before the whole world, and the repudiation of the president in such a matter as this is, to my mind, the humiliation of the united states in the eyes of the civilized world." the president could not be sent back to say to spain "with bated breath" (even in his most solemn moments mr. lodge cannot resist the commonplace) "we believe we have been too victorious and that you have yielded us too much and that i am very sorry that i took the philippines from you." but that was precisely what mr. lodge demanded should and must be done when mr. wilson brought back the peace treaty. inconsistency, as i have before remarked, mr. lodge cares nothing about, but his patriotism and partisanship are so inextricably intertwined that it is always difficult to discover whether in his loftiest flights it is the patriot who pleads or the partisan who intrigues. thus, in the debate on the spanish treaty, mr. lodge delivered himself of these noble sentiments: "i have ideals and beliefs which pertain to the living present, and a faith in the future of my country. i believe in the american people as they are to-day and in the civilization they have created," and many more beautiful words to the same effect. it was the language of a statesman with aspirations and convictions. it sounded splendidly. mr. lodge is a classical scholar, and one wonders whether he remembers his epictetus: "but you utter your elegant words only from your lips; for this reason they are without strength and dead, and it is nauseous to listen to your exhortations and your miserable virtue; which is talked of everywhere." it was the late senator wolcott, one of the most brilliant orators of his day, who explained why mr. lodge's oratory left men cold. wolcott was commenting on a speech delivered by lodge a few days earlier and someone said to him that men listened to lodge with eyes undimmed. "to bring tears from an audience," said wolcott, "the speaker must feel tears here (and he pointed to his throat), but lodge can speak for an hour with nothing but saliva in his throat." mr. lodge's dislike of mr. wilson was almost malignant. rumor ascribes it to professional jealousy. before mr. wilson came into prominence mr. lodge was the only scholar in politics, but mr. wilson was so far his superior in erudition, especially in mr. lodge's chosen profession of history, that he resented being deprived of his monopoly. perhaps there is another reason. mr. lodge has cherished two ambitions, neither of which has been gratified. the presidency has been the ignis fatuus he has pursued; he was the residuary legatee of mr. roosevelt's bankrupt political estate in , it will be recalled; last year, after his fight on the treaty, he considered himself the logical candidate and believed he had the nomination in his grasp. he has longed to be secretary of state, and it was a bitter disappointment when mr. harding did not invite him to enter the cabinet. mr. lodge is a curious and not uninteresting study in psychology. he has no great talent, but he is not without some ability; in his youth he was an industrious plodder and fond of study. he has read much but absorbed little; he is well educated in the narrow sense of the schoolmaster, but he has no philosophic background; his is the parasitic mind that sucks sustenance from the brains of others and gives nothing in return. he is without the slightest imagination and is devoid of all sense of humor; and without these two, imagination, which is the gift of the poet, and humor, which is the dower of the philosopher, no man can see life whole. he has genius almost for misunderstanding public sentiment. to him may be applied junius' characterization of the duke of grafton: "it is not that you do wrong by design, but that you should never do right by mistake." with all these defects, the defects of heritage and environment and temperament, so much was expected from mr. lodge, and so much he might have done, that it is a disappointment he has accomplished so little. he has been thirty-four years in congress, and his career can be summed up in three achievements--the force bill, the attempt to wreck england by driving her to silver coinage, and the part he took in defeating the treaty of peace with germany. the force bill and the silver amendment his biographers have charitably forgotten; will the future biographer deal as gently with the closing years of his life? and if so, what material will the biographer have? macaulay, reviewing barere's memoirs--and allowing for the difference in time and manners and morals there is a strange similarity between the leader of the french revolution and the leader of the senate--said, "we now propose to do him, by the blessing of god, full and signal justice." we think we may say, with proper humility, that, by the blessing of god, we have done senator henry cabot lodge full and signal justice. bernard m. baruch a clever woman magazine writer once asked bernard m. baruch for some information about the peace treaty. the question was not in his special field, the economic sections of the treaty, and he told her so. "it took him one sentence to say that he could not tell me what i wanted to know," she described the interview afterward. "and then he talked to me for two hours about himself. he told me of his start in life as a three-dollar-a-week clerk, how rich he was, his philosophy of life; how you should recognize defeat when it was coming, accept it before it was complete and overwhelming and start out afresh, how liberal and advanced were his social views, how with all his wealth he was ready to accept a capital tax as perhaps the best way out of the bog in which the war had left the world, how democratic he was in his relations with his employees and his servants. it all seemed as amazing to him as if he were describing someone else, or as if it had just happened the day before." perhaps it is only to women and to journalists that men talk so frankly about themselves, to the most romantic and best trained listening sex and profession, who perforce survey the heights from below. but this young woman's experience was, i have reason to believe, a common one. is it vanity? you say that a man who talks so much about himself must be vain. to conclude that he is vain is not to understand mr. baruch. is a child vain when it brings some little childish accomplishment, some infantile drawing on paper, and delightedly and frankly marvels at what he has done? it is given to children and to the naive openly to wonder at themselves without vanity, with a deep underlying sense of humility, and in mr. baruch's case the unaffected delight in himself proceeds from real humility. after twenty-five years in the jungle of wall street, there is--contradictions multiply in his case--much of the child about mr. baruch, simple, trustful--outside of wall street,--incapable of concealment,--outside of wall street--of that which art has taught the rest of us to conceal. his humility makes him wonder; his naivete makes him talk quite frankly, unrestrained by the conventions that balk others. after all, is not wondering at yourself a sign of humility? a vain man, become great by luck, by force of circumstances, by the possession of gifts which he does not himself fully understand, would still take himself for granted. he would not be a romance to himself, but a solid, unassailable fact. for baruch the great romance is baruch, the astonishing plaything of fate, who started life as a three-dollar-a-week broker's clerk; made millions, lost millions, made millions again, lost millions again; finally, still young, quit wall street with a fortune that left the game of the market dull and commonplace, seeking a new occupation for his energies; became during the war next to the president, the most powerful man in washington; emerged from the war, which wrecked most reputations, with a large measure of credit, prepared by the amazing past for an equally amazing future. a career like that makes it impossible for the man who knows it best not to expect anything. why not the "disraeli of america?"--a phrase he once, rather confidentially, employed concerning his anticipated future. did you ever see a portrait bust smiling, not softly with the eyes or with a slight relaxation of the mouth, but firmly, definitely, lastingly smiling, with some inward source of satisfaction? look at jo davidson's bust of baruch, among the famous men at the peace conference. i once saw the various sketches in clay that went to the making of that portrait--the subject was proving elusive to the sculptor. there were two obvious traits to be represented; the unusual knot in the brow between the eyes and the smile, without which it was evident that you had not baruch. the extraordinary concentration in the forehead was easy enough to transfer to clay; but the smile kept defying the artist. when a smile was traced in the clay it softened the face out of character, destroyed that intensity which the central massing of the brow denoted; and when the smile was deleted the face lost all its brilliance, became merely intense, concentrated, racial, acquisitive perhaps, clearly not mr. baruch's face. ultimately the sculptor succeeded in wedding a smile to that brow, and the bust went on exhibition with those of wilson, foch, house, clemenceau, and the others; but the union was never more than a compromise, a marriage of convenience for the artist. that smile is as inevitable a part of baruch as his engaging naivete in talking about himself. it is always there, brilliant, unrelated to circumstances. it does not spring from a sense of humor,--mr. baruch, like the rest of the successful, has not a marked sense of humor; a sense of the irony of fate he has, perhaps, but not more. it does not denote gaiety, nor sympathy, nor satire; it is not kind nor yet unkind; it does not relax the features, which remain tense as ever even when smiling; it suggests satisfaction, self-confidence, and a secret inner source of contentment. it is with mr. baruch when he is tired, or ought to be tired; the romance of baruch is an internal spring of refreshment. it does not leave him when he is angry, if he is ever angry; the romance of baruch diverts him. though always there, it is not a fixed smile, a mask, something worn for the undoing of wall street; it is a real smile. somewhere subconsciously there abides the picture of the poor clerk become amazingly rich, of power in washington, of a beckoning future with possibilities as extraordinary as the wonders of the past. life is not logical, dull, commonplace, a tissue of cause and effect; it proceeds delightfully by daily miracles. the american disraeli is no further away to-day than was the baruch of to-day from the baruch of yesterday. enough to account for a smile in marble, bronze, or in whatever metal the human face is made of. take the miracle of the war administration. it was not vanity but humility, the kind of humility that would have saved wilson, that served mr. baruch there. he came to washington out of wall street and wall street is always anathema. more than that he came out of that part of wall street which is beyond the pale; he did not belong to the right monied set there; which is to be anathema with that part of the community to which wall street itself is not anathema; moreover he had been unjustly accused in connection with the famous wall street "leak." and he entered an administration which was the center of much prejudice and hatred. yet he was modest enough, however, to assume that his personality did not count, that it was the work to be done which mattered, and that he could depend upon the friendliness both of the republicans and of the great industrial interests of the country to that work if it should be properly done. the belief mr. wilson has and a much lesser man, hiram johnson, has, that men are thinking exclusively about them personally and not about the causes they advocate or the measures they propose is a more dangerous form of vanity than the habit of admiring oneself audibly. it requires colossal egotism to imagine the existence of many enemies and mr. baruch is genuinely humble in the matter of enmity. after watching him during the war, in an administration which was enemy mad, i fancy he counts his genuine foes on the fingers of one hand. moreover he was quite impersonal about his task. he did not do everything himself on the theory that no one else was quite big enough to do it. there is no practical snobbism about him. his knowledge of the industries of the country was that of the speculator; it was not that of the practical industrialist, and he knew it. he surrounded himself with the best men he could find. he trusted them implicitly, his habit being not to distrust men until he finds that they can be trusted but to trust them unless he finds that they cannot be trusted--also a modest and naive trait. he was never tired of praising legg, replogle, summers, and the other business men whom he brought to washington, praising himself, of course, for his skill in choosing them--he never achieves self-forgetfulness--but giving them full credit for the work of the war industries board. and he inspired an extraordinary loyalty among his associates, big and little. he treated the republicans as he treated big business as if all had only one interest, above politics and personalities, and that was to win the war. and when president wilson, in response to republican criticism of the war organization, gave him real power to mobilize american industry, the republicans applauded the bestowal of authority as constructive and took credit to themselves for accomplishing it. baruch and hoover, alone of the business men who came to washington during the war achieved real successes in the higher positions, and he showed vastly the greater capacity of the two to operate in a political atmosphere. a man who was nothing but a wall street speculator, not an industrial organizer, organized successfully the biggest industrial combination the world has ever seen; a man who was suspect of american business got on admirably with american business, and a man who had not been in politics accomplished the impossible task of adjusting himself to work under political conditions. it is another chapter in the romance of baruch. he cannot explain it, so why should not he wonder about it quite openly and quite delightedly, with all his engaging naivete? that inability to explain anything is one of the characteristics of mr. baruch. when you begin to apprehend it you begin to see why he is a romance to himself. he cannot explain himself to himself, nor to anyone else, no matter how much he tries. and even more, he cannot explain his opinions, his conclusions, his decisions to anyone in the world with all the words at his command. he can never give reasons. mentally nature has left him, after a manner, incommunicado. his mind does not proceed as other men's minds do. the author of the "mirrors of downing street" describes lord northcliffe's mind as "discontinuous." if i had never talked to lord northcliffe i should be led to suppose that his mind resembled mr. baruch's. but the british journalist's mental operations are a model of order and continuity compared to those of the former american war industries chairman. like the heroes of the ancient poems mr. baruch's mind has the faculty of invisibility. you see it here; a moment later you see it there, and for the life of you cannot tell how it got from here to there, a gift of incalculability which must have been of great service in wall street, but which does not promote understanding nor communication. and the more mr. baruch tries to give you the connecting links between here and there the worse off you are, both of you. the ordinary mind is logical and is confined within the three dimensions of the syllogism. you watch it readily enough shut in its little cage whose walls are the major premise, the minor premise, and the conclusion. there is no escape as we say, from the conclusion. there is no escape anywhere. but mr. baruch's mind escapes easily. it possesses the secret of some fourth mental dimension, known only to the naive and the illogical, or perhaps supralogical. he has brilliant intuitions, hunches, premonitions, the acute perceptions of some two or three extra senses that have been bred or schooled out of other men. perhaps he is like lloyd george, who is not logical but achieves his successes through two or three senses which ordinary men have not; however, unlike lloyd george, he cannot simulate logic and, after jumping to his conclusions, reduce them to the understanding of the three-dimensional mind. it is a grief to him that he cannot; for if he could make a speech, that is to say, translate himself, that figure of disraeli would, he thinks, be less remote. but when your mental operations are a succession of miracles, you may have brilliant intuitions and extraordinary prevision about the mineral supplies necessary to win the war,--which he had--you may have wonder, like the naive and the poets, about that extraordinary thing yourself, or about that still more extraordinary thing which is life or destiny, but you cannot move the masses. still there are compensations. a perfectly logical mind would have explained all the wonder away, reduced the miracle of personality to a stolid operation of cause and effect, quite self-approbatively no doubt, and made mr. baruch talk of himself as the rest of the great do, modestly, after this fashion: "behold me! i am what i am because when i was nine years old i saved nine cents and resolved then and there always to save as many cents each year as i was years old. young man, save!" there is no fun in being not a wonder but a copy book. and a perfectly logical mind would flirt with disraeli warily. it would say, "one does not at fifty change from business to politics with success. disraeli didn't start out in wall street. as the germans say, 'what will become vinegar sours early.'" mr. baruch slips easily through the three sides of this reasoning. life is not logical. fate is not logical. he is not logical. he has had his taste of public life under wilson and he wants more. i venture to say that he would give every one of his many millions and be as poor, well, poorer than any member of the present cabinet, to be in the place mr. hughes occupies to-day. everyone who knows him has heard him say that when he entered office he resolved to quit business because he learned so much as head of the war industries board that it would be improper for him ever to go into the market again. there is more to it than that; public life has given him a profound distaste for mere money-making. he wrote to senator kenyon the other day that he had not made a dollar since he went to work for the government. i believe that to be true for i have found him an extraordinarily truthful and honest man. he has that desire for public distinction which is so often characteristic of his race. he has the idealism, a characteristic also of the race which gave to the world two great religions. he has the same passion for public service now that he once had for the market. and he belongs to a race, which, in spite of all our national catholicity on the subject of races, has never yet produced its disraeli in america, and to a party out of power, perhaps for a long time, and he spent his youth learning a trade which is not the trade he would follow now. all of this accounts for his restlessness. he is still youthful and has enormous energies and no occupation for them. he loves personal publicity and has an instinct for it, not so keen as hoover's or will h. hays', but still keen. whither shall he turn? to the organization of his party? there he may buy the right to be lampooned and in the end, if his party succeeds, to be introduced into the cabinet apologetically, as hays and daugherty were, on the plea that the president must appoint a number of party workers. to the senate? it is a body which affords escape from the boredom of small town life for men who have grown rich on the frontier or in the dull middle west. it carries with it an excuse to live in washington, some social position there, and a title envied in marion, reno, butte, or salt lake city. senators who start young serve long and obediently, suppressing all their natural instincts for self-expression, and attain if they are lucky the scant distinction of a committee chairmanship in a legislature that has steadily tended toward submergence. to the house? individuals are lost in the house. and the presidency comes to few, and by chance. knowing his ambition for public distinction and his wealth, men go to him every day to sell him the road to power and influence, and, if you will, public service. let him have the democratic organization on condition of paying its debts and financing its activities. one faction of the democratic party recently sought control, spreading the understanding that mr. baruch would, in the event of its success, open wide his pocket book. after the meeting of the national committee at which this faction met its defeat i said to a prominent member of the victorious group: "now that you have won you will probably get baruch's money. he is restless, eager to find an outlet for his energies, less interested in any personality than in his party. hang on and wait and he must come to you." "do you know," he replied, lowering his voice confidentially, "that is just the way i diagnose it." and at this very time the republicans, hearing much of mr. baruch's money and its use to build up such an intensive organization for the democrats, as chairman hays with a million or two at his disposal had erected for them, considered seriously whether or not it would not be wise themselves to occupy mr. baruch's energies and divert his ambitions away from party organization. they debated putting mr. baruch on the commission to reorganize the executive departments of the government. all had their eyes on the same ambition and the same wealth! several daily newspapers in new york, and i know not how many magazines and weeklies, have been offered at one time or another to mr. baruch, for it is known that one of his ideas of public service is to own and edit a great liberal journal, a "manchester guardian" of america. but an opportunity to buy a newspaper in new york is an opportunity to invest $ , , or $ , , , to lose $ , or more for several years thereafter and to become the national figure that mr. ochs is, or mr. reid is, or mr. munsey is, certainly something far short of the american disraeli or even the baruch of the war industries board. mr. baruch, you will observe, has no vulgar illusions about what money will buy. he likes money. it brings with it a certain personal enlargement. it adds to the romance of himself in his own eyes, as well as in the eyes of others. it procures the flattering ears of journalists, and a place on front pages, and, if one inclines toward ostentation, even the ownership of a newspaper itself. but money will not buy a commanding place in public life. and even if it would buy such a place he would not be content to do other than earn one. he wants to repeat the thrills of his youth in the market, in the thrills of a second youth in washington. he is incurably romantic. to sum him all up in a sentence--he has an extraordinary sense of wonder and an unequalled sense of reality, the sense of wonder directed toward himself, the sense of reality directed largely but not exclusively elsewhere. elihu root elihu root might have been so much publicly and has been so little that a moral must hang somewhere upon his public career. he might have been many things. he might have been president of the united states if his party ever could have been persuaded to nominate him. he might have been one of the great chief justices of the supreme court if a president could have been persuaded to appoint him. he might have given to the united states senate that weight and influence which have disappeared from it, if he had had a passion for public service. he might have been secretary of state in the most momentous period of american foreign relations if a certain homely instinct in mr. harding had not led him to prefer the less brilliant mr. hughes. he might have made history. but he has not. out of his eight years in the cabinet and six years in the senate nothing constructive came that will give his name a larger place in history than that of rufus choate, another remarkable advocate who was once attorney general. distrust has always barred his way, distrust of a mind and character to which problems appear as exercises in ingenuity rather than questions of right and justice. his greatest opportunity for constructive statesmanship was offered in the making of the new york state constitution. but when it became known that mr. root had dominated the constitutional convention, that the proposed constitution was mr. root's constitution, that was enough; the voters rejected it in the referendum. distrust spoiled the mission to russia during the war. the russians distrusted him while he was with them. president wilson distrusted his report when he returned. and mr. wilson's successor equally distrusted him when he chose a man to finish the work which mr. wilson had badly done or to correct the work that mr. wilson had left undone at paris. light on president harding's attitude toward mr. root is thrown by an incident at marion during the campaign. the republican candidate had made his speech of august th in which he indicated his views upon the league of nations. two days later a newspaper arrived in marion containing a dispatch from abroad where mr. root then was, at work upon the international court. the correspondent represented mr. root as "amazed" at the position mr. harding had taken. the candidate came to the headquarters early that morning. one of the headquarters attaches handed him a copy of the paper. mr. harding read the dispatch and was angry. "that man root," he exclaimed, "has done more harm to the republican party than any other man in it! he is always pursuing some end of his own or of some outside interest." he started away; then turned back, still angry, and added: "you remember the panama canal tolls incident. that was an example of the kind of trouble he has always been making for the party." many reasons have been given why the president passed over the obvious man for secretary of state. mr. root himself, who would have taken the place gladly as an opportunity for his extremely keen intelligence, but who did not seek it, thinks that the senate, flushed with its recent victory over mr. wilson and desiring itself to dominate foreign relations, conspired to prevent his choice. the senators did oppose mr. root, but their lack of influence with the president has been sufficiently exposed by events. the real obstacle to mr. root's appointment was mr. harding's distrust of him, the instinctive feeling of a simple direct nature against a mind too quick, too clever, too adroit, too invisible in many of its operations. mr. harding, being commonplace himself, likes a more commonplace kind of greatness than mr. root's. those who were close to him said the president feared that mr. root would "put something over on him." a certain moral quality in mr. hughes outweighed mr. root's special experience and wider reputation. mr. roosevelt used to tell a story boastfully of his own practicality which throws much light on mr. root and upon the reason for mr. root's comparative failure as a public man. "when i took panama," he would say, "i found all the members of my cabinet helpful except one. mr. root readily found numerous precedents. mr. taft was sympathetic and gave every assistance possible. mr. knox alone was silent. at last i turned to him in the cabinet meeting and i said, 'i should like to hear from the attorney general on the legality of what we are doing.' mr. knox looked up and said, 'mr. president, if i were you i should not have the slightest taint of legality about the whole affair.'" such was mr. root. public questions always were likely to occur to him first as exercises in mental adroitness rather than as moral problems. his extremely agile mind finds its chief pleasure in its own agility. then he was always the advocate, always instinctively devoting himself to bolstering up another man's cause for him. "he is a first class second," said senator penrose, objecting to him as a candidate for president at the republican convention of , "but he is not his own man." he is always someone else's mouthpiece and publicly he is chiefly remembered as mr. roosevelt's mouthpiece. when he came to new york and made the speech that elected hughes governor and made possible hughes as secretary of state he said, "i speak for the president." he equally spoke for the president when he delivered that other remembered address, warning the states that unless they mended their ways the federal government would absorb their vitality. the law is a parasitic profession and mr. root's public career is parasitic. he lacks originality, he lacks passion--there is no place for passion in that clear mind--he lacks force. he elucidates other men's ideas, works out or puts into effect their policies, presents their case, is, by temperament, by reason of gifts amounting almost to genius, of defects that go with those gifts always and everywhere, the lawyer. his public career has been controlled by this circumstance. i doubt if he ever had a real love of public life. he turned to it late, after he had made his success in the profession of his choice, and he carried over into it the habits of the law. he always seemed to be taking cases for the public. he took a case for mr. mckinley as secretary of war because the war department needed reorganization and the case promised to be interesting. he took a case for mr. roosevelt as secretary of state because mr. roosevelt was the most interesting client in the world. he took a case for new york state, to remodel its constitution, a case that ended disastrously. he took a case for mr. wilson in russia and another, the league of nations, to form its international court for it. he was willing to take a case for mr. harding to make a going concern of the world for him following the smash-up of the war, something like the task of counsel of a receivership, the most interesting receivership of all time. for a few years mr. roosevelt made public life interesting to mr. root who, it looked then, might devote the rest of his career to national affairs. it was a sparkling period for america. we have never had an "age" in the history of this country like the age of elizabeth or the age of louis xiv, or the age of lorenzo, the magnificent; time is too short and democracy too rigid for such splendors; but the nearest equivalent to one was the "age," let us call it that, of theodore roosevelt. there was the central figure--an age must have a central figure--a buoyant personality with a renaissance zest for life, and a renaissance curiosity about all things known, and unknown, and a boundless capacity for vitalizing everyone and everything with which he came in contact. dull moments were unknown. knighthood was once more in flower, wearing frock coats and high hats and reading all about itself in the daily press. lances were tilted at malefactors of great wealth, in jousts where few were unhorsed and no blood spilled. fair maidens of popular rights were rescued; great deeds of valor done. legends were created, the legend of leonard wood, somewhat damaged in the last campaign, the legend of the tennis cabinet, with its garfields and its pinchots, now to be read about only in the black letter books of the early twentieth century, and the legend of elihu root, still supported in a measure by the evidences of his highly acute intelligence, but still like everything else of those bright days, largely a legend. roosevelt, the magnificent, made men great with a word, and his words were many. his great were many likewise, great statesmen, great public servants, great writers, great magazine editors, great cowboys from the west, great saints and great sinners, great combinations of wealth and great laws to curb them; everything in scale and that a great scale. mr. root acquired his taste for public life in that "age" just as mr. hoover, mr. baruch and a dozen others did theirs in the moving period of the great war. it is easy to understand how. like all remarkable ages this age was preceded by discoveries. the united states had just fought a war which had ended in a great victory, over spain. the american people were elated by their achievement, aware of their greatness, talked much and surely of "destiny," the period in washington being but a reflection of their own mood. their mental horizon had been immensely widened by the possession, gained in the war, of some islands in the pacific whose existence we had never heard of before. until that time there had been for us only two nations in the world, the united states and england, the country with which we had fought two wars, and innumerable national campaigns. historically there had of course been another country as friendly as england had sometimes been inimical, france, but france had ceased to be a nation and became a succession of revolutions. manila bay had been a series of revelations, besides teaching us that philippines is spelled with two "ps" and only one "l." we had there discovered germany, a country whose admirals had bad sea manners. we knew at once that our next war would be with germany, although the day before dewey said, "you may fire when you are ready, gridley," we would as soon have thought that our next war would be with patagonia. there too we had an interesting and surprising experience with england, hitherto known chiefly for her constant designs on the national dinner pail. she behaved in striking and pleasing contrast with germany. blood, on that bright day, may , , began to be thicker than water. learning once more had come out of the east. from manila bay flowed such a tide of new ideas, such a reassessment of old conceptions as had not visited the world since the discovery of greek and latin letters put an end to the middle ages. perceiving our widened interest, john hay, as secretary of state, took our foreign relations on a grand cook's tour of the world. he showed us europe and the orient. in honor of manila bay he invented that brilliant fiction, the "open door" in the east. turning our attention to the world we discovered the general staff. hitherto our army had fought mostly with the scattered indian tribes of the west and you cannot use a general staff in conducting six separate wars at once, each no bigger than a good-sized riot. but as admiral perry had opened the eyes of the hermit kingdom of japan, so admiral whatever-his-name-was who consented to be sunk by dewey, the unremembered hero of this great enlightenment, had opened the eyes of this hermit republic of the west to the world across the seas. we had to have a general staff. mr. root, as secretary of war, gave us one, faithfully copied from the best european models. roosevelt, the magnificent, stood by and said "bully." everything was of this order; so it was to a tremendously interesting job that mr. root succeeded when he took the place of john hay as secretary of state. the mood of the hour was expansive and a luminous personality pervaded the national life. but public service cannot always be so interesting as it is at its fullest moments. the luminous personality went out. and mr. root's next experience, in the united states senate, was disillusioning. the senate is a body in which you grow old, ungracefully waiting for dead men's shoes. the infinite capacity for taking pains which senators have is not genius. if the gods have been good to you, as they were to henry cabot lodge, you enter the upper house young, a scholar and idealist, with the hope of the presidency as the reward of generous service. where the race is to the slow you lay aside your winged gifts one by one and your ambition centers finally not on the presidency but on some committee chairmanship clung to by a pertinacious octogenarian. hope deferred makes you avaricious of little favors, until when a british journalist writes of you as one did of henry cabot lodge, making his speech before the last republican national convention at chicago, that you "looked like an elderly peer addressing a labor gathering," your cup of happiness, is full to the brim, as henry cabot lodge's was,--whether because you are compared to a lord or because other people, lesser than senators, are put into their proper inferior place. mr. lodge is the perfect flower of the senate. it is a flower that does not bloom in a night. it is almost a century plant. into this senate came mr. root, full stature, as he might walk into the supreme court of the united states, preceded by his reputation. on olympus one may spring full grown like minerva from the head of jove. but not in the senate, where strong prejudice exists against any kind of cerebral generation. a young senator from ohio, mr. harding, arrived in the upper house early enough to see the portent of mr. root there. he keeps to this day a sense of its unbecomingness. from his desk on the floor mr. root talked to the country, but the senate did not listen. one does not speak in the senate by the authority of intellect or of personality. one speaks by the authority of dead men's shoes. not being a big committee chairman, mr. root was not of counsel in the big cases. he tried to associate himself with counsel but the traditions of the senate and the jealousy of senators were against him. he had not the passion for public service that makes reed smoot and wesley jones miraculously patient with the endless details of legislation. after six years he quit. "i am tired of it," he said to senator fall, "the senate is doing such little things in such a little way." it was different from public life under roosevelt where one did not notice size of what they did--one has not yet noticed the size of what they did--for the grandeur of the way they did it. i have said that mr. root's mind with its advocate's bent always occupied itself with the justification of other men's views, his chief's or his party's. there was one notable exception, his break with the republicans while he was in the senate on the question of discriminating in favor of american shipping through the panama canal. a clever lawyer's argument can be made that when the united states said "all nations" in its treaty with great britain regarding the canal it meant all nations except itself. but mr. root declined to make it, holding that plain morality and a greater respect for the obligations of a treaty than bethman hollweg expressed when he called them scraps of paper required this country to charge just the same tolls for american ships using the canal as for british ships or any other ships using it. the general republican argument is that thus interpreted, the hay-pauncefote treaty is so foolish and so inconvenient a treaty that mr. hay must not have meant what he said when he wrote it, and really did mean something that he wholly failed to say. the reasons for contending that mr. hay meant no tolls for the united states and tolls for england, when he wrote the same tolls for everybody are highly ingenious and as it was a democratic president who was asserting that mr. hay used language in its ordinary sense, mr. root as a republican might have been expected to declare that mr. hay used it in quite the reverse of its ordinary sense. but he did not. he supported the democratic president and treated the republican position as if it had not the slightest taint of legality in it, to the lasting shock of mr. harding, on whose side the precedents are, for nations do say "all nations," and are later found to mean all nations but themselves when their virtuous promises to make no exceptions in their own favor turn out to be inconvenient. when mr. root took a high moral stand on the treaty it was said among republican senators that he was thinking more of the transcontinental railroads which were fighting competition by water than he was of the sanctity of international engagements. the probability is that he was probably thinking more of john hay and elihu root than he was of either. he was in the cabinet when john hay as secretary of state made the treaty. senator lodge, the only other senator to agree with mr. root and disagree with his party about the meaning of all nations, was john hay's closest friend. probably both of them, intimately associated with mr. hay, had their part in the making of the treaty. they had perhaps the sensitiveness of authors about their capacity to say exactly what they meant. they wanted to recognize their own international piece when it was put on the stage by the commercially minded producers of the senate. the history of the hay-pauncefote treaty is interesting and unfamiliar. attaching pauncefote's name to the treaty was a delicate act of international courtesy since there is pauncefote's word for it, privately spoken, that he had nothing to do with the writing of it. hay draughted the treaty by himself probably with the cognizance of root and lodge, the great lawyer who was his associate in the cabinet and his closest personal friend in the capitol. hay then handed it to pauncefote, the british minister here. pauncefote transmitted it to the foreign office in london which received it with surprise and probably with satisfaction, for the clayton-bulwer treaty which it in a sense revived, had been forgotten for nearly half a century. delay is the rule of foreign offices. perhaps mr. hay's treaty was not so generous as it seemed on first reading, a suspicion which seems to have been justified by the interpretation put upon it by the final authority upon international engagements, the republican national convention at chicago. and if it was as generous as it seemed let not america think great britain too eager in accepting it, let america pay a little to overcome the reluctance of great britain in setting her approval upon the new contract. at last, after much apparent hesitation, the foreign office agreed to the new treaty in consideration of america's throwing in, with it an arbitration of the bering sea dispute. president roosevelt interpreted mr. hay's arbitration contract much as the republican national convention interpreted mr. hay's treaty, by appointing american arbitrators who promised beforehand, in giving a fair and impartial hearing to the canadian claims, always to vote for the american position and to resign and be succeeded by others if they found that they could not do so. why, then, the prevailing distrust of mr. root? his public morals regarding the hay-pauncefote treaty were better than those of his party, even if we accept the view that they were dictated by nothing more than a certain mental integrity, a certain consistency with himself. he was as virtuous in the taking of the panama canal as the virtuous mr. roosevelt. he had the advocate's honesty of being true to his client, whether his client was the public or the great corporations. mentality was uppermost in him, so that he took primarily a logical rather than a moral view of all questions; but also so much that he could not pretend, could not act, and thus he was more honest than the politicians. his statesmanship was discontinuous, being an interesting avocation rather than a career. of it little has been permanent. his general staff soon lapsed into incompetence; if it had not, it might have been the danger to american national life that the german general staff was to german national life. recently it was merged with the high command. as secretary of state he was not creative, mr. harding turning back to the solid ground of american international policy, rested upon john hay's open door and knox's dollar diplomacy. root in foreign relations merely succeeded with the senate where hay had failed. always the advocate, he takes other men's ideas, hay's or wilson's and justifies them or makes them practical. his new york constitution failed, being unjustly suspected. his world court has little better hope of acceptance, for mr. hughes is not a voluntary sharer of glory. in spite of it all, some greatness remains, the impression of a powerful though limited intelligence. his career was to give us a moral. it is: if you have an adroit and energetic mind you will find public affairs uninteresting; except in their occasional phases. if you have such a mind and must enter politics, hide it; otherwise democracy will distrust you. whatever you do, be dull. hiram johnson hiram johnson would have enjoyed the french revolution, if accident had made him radical at that time. he would have been stirred by the rising of the people; he would have given tongue to their grievances in a voice keyed to lash them to greater fury. he would have been excited by it as he never has been by the little risings of the masses which he has made vocal. in all the noisy early phases of it, he would have made the loudest noise. and he would have gone to the block when the real business of the revolution began with the fanatics at its helm. in the russian revolution, he would have been a kerensky; and he would have fled when the true believers in change arrived. he is the orator of emeutes, who is fascinated by a multitude in a passion. johnson is not a revolutionary. not in the least, not any more than henry cabot lodge is. but revolution has a fierce attraction for him. he once said to me, speaking bitterly during the campaign, of mr. harding's prospective election, "the war has set back the people for a generation. they have bowed to a hundred repressed acts. they have become slaves to the government. they are frightened at the excesses in russia. they are docile; and they will not recover from being so for many years. the interests which control the republican party will make the most of their docility. in the end, of course, there will be a revolution, but it will not come in my time." that "it will not come in my time" was said in a tone of regret. it was not so much that the senator wanted revolution. i do not believe he did. but he wanted his chance, that outburst of popular resentment which would bring him to the front, with the excitement, the sense of power that would come from the response of the nation when his angry voice translated into words its elemental passion. turbulent popular feeling is breath in johnson's nostrils. twice he has thoroughly enjoyed its intoxication. his political life was blank paper when the tumult of popular indignation swept california at the time francis j. heney, who was prosecuting the san francisco grafters, was shot in the court room. he had thought nothing politically, he had felt nothing politically. he had neither convictions, nor passions, nor morals, politically speaking. he grew up in soil which does not produce lofty standards. something of the mining-camp spirit still hung over california, which had been settled by adventurers, forty-niners, gold seekers, men who had left the east to "make a new start" where there was pay dirt. the state had a wild zest for life which was untrammeled by puritanism. san francisco had its barbary coast and in every restaurant its private dining rooms for women. johnson himself was sprung from a father who was a "railroad lawyer," the agent of privileges in procuring special favors, by methods once well known, from the state legislature. the atmosphere of his youth was not one to develop a sensitive conscience or a high conception of public morals. johnson at this time was a practicing attorney, not noted for the quality of his community service. the administration of san francisco had been a scandal for years. few cared. it was a "corrupt and contented" city. the corruption grew worse. lower and meaner grafters rose to take the place of the earlier and more robust good fellows who trafficked in the city o' shame. graft lost class, and lost caste. it was ultimately exposed in all its shocking indecency. the light and licentious town developed a conscience. public indignation arose and reached its height, when the grafters ventured too far in the shooting of the attorney charged with their prosecution. johnson then felt for the first time something he had never felt before--the stirring of the storm of angry popular feeling. it woke something in him, something that he did not know existed before--his instinct for the expression of public passion; his love of the platform with yelling multitudes in front of him. he threw himself into the fray on the side of civic virtue. the disturbance to the complacency of san francisco disturbed the complacency of the state, which had calmly endured misgovernment for many years. misgovernment procured by the railroad, the public utility corporations, the other combinations of wealth, through their agents, and through the corrupt politicians. johnson became the spokesman of public protest and the reform governor of the state. after that came battling for the lord at armageddon--the most intoxicating experience in american political history, for a man of johnson's temperament. it was a revolution, not in a government, but in a party. bonds were loosed. immense personal enlargement came to those who had known the ties of regularity. it was an hour of freedom, unbridled political passion, unrestrained political utterance. docility did not exist. vast crowds thrilled with new hopes yelled themselves hoarse over angry words. association with roosevelt on the progressive ticket lifted johnson from a local to a national importance. the whole country was the audience which leaped at his words. it was a revolution in tittle, a taste, a sample of what the real thing would be, with its breaking of restraints, its making of the mob a perfect instrument to play upon, its unleashing of passion to which to give tongue. johnson has felt its wild stimulation and like a man who has used drugs the habit is upon him. moreover, his one chance lies that way. i have said that he is, by accident, radical. let us imagine a great outburst of popular passion for reaction. and suppose that johnson was, when it arrived, a political blank, as he was when heney was shot. johnson would have raised his angry voice against radicalism, just as readily as for it. the essential thing with him is popular passion, not a political philosophy. he has no political philosophy. he has no real convictions. he does not reason or think deeply. his mentality is slight. he is the voice of many; instinctively he gives tongue to what the many feel; that is all. suppose the strong-lunged californian were a political blank, just reaching the national consciousness, when the reaction against wilson began and when the public swung to conservatism. you know those vast tin amplifiers employed in big convention halls, or in out-door meetings, to carry the voice of the speaker to the remotest depths of the audience; johnson is a vast tin amplifier of the voice of the mass. when the people had become "docile" he would have thundered "docility" to the uttermost bounds of the universe, if he had not by earlier utterances been definitely placed on the side opposed to docility. but he had been definitely placed in the battle of armageddon. a thousand ennuies located him for all political time. no convictions hold him where he is in case there be profit in changing sides; other men habitually conservative would have the preference over him on the other side. in this sense he is accidently radical, accidently because he happened to emerge in politics at a radical moment. that takes into account only the mental background of his political position. there is an element that was not chance. public passion is almost invariably radical, springing as it does from the resentment of inequality, and johnson is the tongue of public passion. is he dangerous? he is, only if public passion becomes dangerous and only up to the point where the speakers of revolution pass from the stage and the doers of it rig up their chopping blocks. at present he furnishes the words, the ugly words, which men throw instead of stones at the objects of their hate. he is the safety valve of gathering passion. men listen to him and feel that they have done something to vindicate their rights. they applaud him to shake the roof, and vote for mr. harding. it is customary to speak of his magnetism over crowds. he has no magnetism in personal contact. he walks toward you as if he were about to deliver a blow, an impression that is strengthened by his square menacing figure. his voice is unpleasant. his smile is wry. he not unusually has a complaint to make against the public, against the press, against fate, against you personally. he is not interested in people, as roosevelt was to so an amazing degree, and as magnetic persons usually are. he is cold, hard, and selfish. his quarrels are numerous, with the campaign managers of the armageddon fight, with his own campaign manager of , with the newspaper correspondents. he is habitually pessimistic, and pessimism and magnetism do not go together. his complaint that the people were docile and would not recover their confidence and self-assertion in his time, was a bit of his inevitable gloom. his dark habit of thought hung over his campaign for the presidential nomination of , preventing his making a real effort in many states, and lay in the way of his success. he has few friends, love having been left out of his make-up. i do not speak of family affection--but love in its larger implications. those who surround him--clerks and secretaries--have the air of repressed, starving personalities. that which gathers the crowds and sets them shouting is not his magnetism but the perfect expression of their passion. for them and for it he is a sounding board. his voice with its hard angry tone, its mechanical rise and fall, has the ring of a hundred guillotines in operation. having little culture, unintellectual, he is primitive as the mass before him. he talks their language and an instinct all his own gives him an exact sense of their emotions. and what he says leaves the impression of tremendous sincerity. his sincerity does not arise from reasoned convictions but from hatred; deep and abiding hatred. senator borah once said, "the difference between johnson and me is that i regard questions from the point of view of principles while he regards them from the point of view of personalities. when a man opposes me i do not become angry at him. on the next issue he may agree with me. when a man opposes johnson he hates him. he feels that the opposition is directed personally against him, not against the policy that separates them." johnson's opponents are the elements of reaction, the malefactors of great wealth, the supporters of that social inequality which the crowd resents. they stood in his path in california. they made impossible his nomination at chicago. when the bitter enders, during the treaty fight, planned to send him on a tour of the country, these monied men closed their pocketbooks, exclaiming to senator knox, "what do you mean to do? advertise this man johnson and make him the republican candidate for president? not with our money." only the raising of a fund by senator mccormick and some of the old progressives, gave him his chance to speak. he hates them and when he attacks them it is with all the force and sincerity of his soul. it is no mere question of hatred, such as roosevelt would employ to dramatize and make personal the issues he was representing to the people; it is bitter, revengeful detestation. it makes johnson the most sincere man before the country to-day. and that pessimistic strain in his nature causes the darkness of his diatribe to seem all the more true. but he swallows for expediency as other men swallow their convictions for it, and wrath is the bitterer dose. during the campaign he trafficked with senator penrose, the representative of hated wealth, for support at chicago, offering, it has not been disclosed what considerations, for his aid. he was ready at that time to take back his speech advocating the government ownership of railroads, a gesture against "the interests," made at the bidding of hearst, at the beck of whose agents he is prone to bestir himself. it must be an irksome livery, that of hearst, for he hates all service and overshadowing. equally irksome is his service to regularity under the rod of the republican party. but he bows to it, and supports harding whom he hates. he bobs up like a jack-in-the-box and makes his laudatory speech whenever the name of roosevelt comes up, though in his heart he must reverence none too deeply that overshadowing personality. he has no roots except in the mob and no hope except in its aroused resentment against inequality. not being interested in individuals he has not that personal organization possessed by roosevelt, with his army of correspondents, friends and idolators, in every hamlet. and of course he has little hope of ever controlling his party organization. he is curiously alone. "there are only three men in the world whom i trust," he once said to a friend. there is no reason to regard this as an exaggeration. his attitude toward his associates in the senate is this: "if i were crossing a desert with any one of them and there was only one water bottle, i should insist upon carrying that bottle." on such pessimism and distrust it is impossible to build political success. it can come only when his pessimism and distrust coincide with like pessimism and distrust in the masses. he waits the day, but gloomily, without confidence. philander chase knox "i like knox and i admire him tremendously, but i will not ask him to be my secretary of state. he is too indifferent." this characterization of the junior senator from pennsylvania, attributed to his late colleague president harding, summarizes very aptly his strength and his weakness. one can very easily admire him and, when he drops the mask of dignity, which seems almost pompous in so diminutive a figure, one cannot help liking him. but in spite of his successes,--which his enemies attribute to luck, and he probably attributes to intellectual superiority,--he has never quite achieved greatness and will probably go down in history as one of the lesser luminaries in the political heavens. knox is indifferent, especially to those who do not know him intimately. it is not because he has been without ambition. on the contrary he has longed to soar like the eagle but he has the wings of the sparrow and whatever exertion he has made has ended in a feeble and futile fluttering. i doubt if any man in public life has had so many honors thrust upon him. he has held three great offices of the republic without so much as raising a hand for any of them. unlike most men he did not travel the mucky road of politics to reach washington nor compromise with circumstance to gain distinction. three presidents invited him to sit at their cabinet tables. three times the republican machine in pennsylvania invited him to sit in the senate. with graceful dignity he accepted all of these invitations not, indeed, unconscious of the fact that the selection in each case was a very happy one. i do not mean by this that he is conceited. he is merely conscious of the fact that intellectually he is somewhat superior to his colleagues, most of whom, strangely enough, quite agree with him. they consult him and accept his counsel with almost childlike faith. to the mediocre politicians and provincial lawyers who constitute the bulk of the senate and house of representatives, he is a figure apart, who looks upon their antics with a kindly, but never amused, tolerance. "i know nothing of politics," he said to me a short time ago. "i have never been interested in politics as such." this remark is rather enigmatical to the average member, who would, ordinarily, look upon the author as a dolt or pretender. they do not dare to do either in the case of mr. knox; therefore, the conclusion that he is indifferent. never have the men associated with mr. knox questioned his capacity. robert lansing, when he was secretary of state, said of him; "senator lodge will not understand the treaty but he will fight for it for political reasons. senator knox will understand it thoroughly." the observation seems almost prophetic in the light of what has since been disclosed. mr. lansing's faith in mr. knox's judgment seems to have been fully justified. i know of no one who has held more steadfastly the respect of colleagues in the senate or at the cabinet table, nor who has been more easily successful up to a certain point or so singularly unsuccessful beyond it. he has done valiant service for his country but he has failed lamentably to reach the heights from which he could look upon broader horizons. in the early days of his career no one strove more whole heartedly. destiny smiled upon him and the white house seemed to beckon. he was not unaware of the opportunity nor was there anyone more eager to grasp it. but he discovered that he could not stir the enthusiasm that begets political power. the secret, which enabled many other men, many of whom he despised, to succeed, was not his. a temperamental dislike of the methods of politicians was followed by a strong animosity towards those who crossed his political path and some of those who went along beside it. he became hypercritical of those with whom he associated and allowed a natural germ of cynicism to develop and flourish within him. little by little he has withdrawn from the active combat, a philosopher in politics enamored of public life but unwilling to suffer the inconveniences it involves. it is no wonder then that his colleagues in the senate, especially the younger members, are somewhat in fear of the incisive tongue, for he wields it frequently and contemptuously. when after his election, mr. harding went south with senator frelinghuysen, senator davis elkins, and senator hale, the older senators, not, perhaps, without a tinge of disappointment at having been left out, marveled at the entourage the president had selected for himself, but knox was cynically undisturbed. "it is quite simple," he said, "i see nothing mysterious about it at all. the president wants relaxation--complete mental relaxation." no less biting was his comment on robert lansing when that gentleman started on the high road of public service as counselor of the state department. the bandy-legged messenger who guards the door of the secretary of state is the negro, eddie savoy. eddie, in his way, is a personage. for forty years he has ushered diplomatists in and out of the secretary's office; his short bent figure gives the only air of permanence to an institution which seems to be in a constant state of flux. when the lansing appointment was announced mr. knox observed: "i would as soon ask eddie savoy an opinion on foreign affairs as robert lansing." the roots of mr. knox's superciliousness dip down deep into the relationships begun a score of years ago. to understand him as he is it is necessary to understand him as he was when his career was before him. william mckinley asked him to become attorney general in his cabinet. he was then forty-two years old, a political nobody. what reputation he had was confined to pittsburg and a selected few of the steel millionaires in wall street, but among the selected few were names to be conjured with, such as andrew carnegie and henry c. frick. whether president mckinley's interest in knox was spontaneous or prompted by mr. frick i do not know. mr. knox likes to believe that mr. frick did not enter into the equation. mr. knox declined, saying that he could not sacrifice his lucrative practice but that in four years he would accept the invitation if the president cared to renew it. it was renewed. at the age of forty-six, mr. knox quit the bar for politics, or, as he would say, statecraft. his appointment evoked a storm of protest from such immaculate journals as the new york world. they dubbed him, "frick's man," and predicted that the department of justice would be turned into a wall street anteroom for the convenience of the capitalistic combinations then flouting the sherman anti-trust law. the charges, of course, were as wide of the mark as most of the ebullitions of the yellow journals. mr. knox began his public career by attacking the northern securities merger, against the judgment of some of the highest-paid lawyers of the country. the supreme court sustained him. it was the greatest victory the government ever won under the sherman law. thereafter mr. knox, who had been labeled a corporation lawyer, was proclaimed a trust buster. by the time he was fifty he had become the greatest attorney general in a half century. certainly the mark he set has never been reached by any of his successors. when mr. roosevelt came into the white house mr. knox was at the pinnacle of his career and was as much admired by his new chief as by his martyred predecessor. in ability mr. roosevelt considered him next to elihu root, for which mr. root was never quite forgiven. it is generally known that president roosevelt believed that mr. root was the best qualified man in the country to succeed him, but at the same time, being an astute politician, he knew that he could not be elected. his attitude to his secretary of state was the same as senator lodge's toward himself, when he said in : "i know that i would make an excellent president, but i realize that i would make a poor candidate." root being out of it because of this obvious defect, president roosevelt proceeded to groom mr. knox for the nomination. mr. knox at the president's suggestion, prepared and delivered several speeches in the hope that he would awaken popular enthusiasm. the attempt failed dismally. there was not a responsive throb, not even a vague echo. mr. knox knew that he possessed not the merest shred of the leadership necessary to a presidential candidate. he went back to the senate, where he had succeeded matthew quay upon his resignation from the cabinet, sadder if wiser, while william h. taft draped upon his broad shoulders the mantle of roosevelt. mr. knox has never quite recovered from that disappointment, but he did not altogether abandon hope. he accepted a place in the taft cabinet as secretary of state, more for the opportunities it offered than for the pleasure of the associations, for mr. knox's attitude toward president taft was never more than passive tolerance tinged with contempt. this new venture was no more successful than the old. he made it quite evident that a new regime was to be established in the state department. the policies originated by john hay and developed with singular brilliancy by mr. root were shunted into the background and a new era was proclaimed. it is unnecessary to comment on the dismal essay at "dollar diplomacy" and the mexican policy of that period. the simple fact is that mr. knox's name is not associated with a single successful foreign policy. some might have succeeded but unfortunately the energy displayed at the outset of his career in this new field was soon dissipated. mr. knox disliked the methods of diplomacy. he lacked both the patience and the finesse. he went to the department, over which he was supposed to preside, but rarely. for weeks at a time washington saw nothing of him. the administration of the department was left largely to huntington wilson, whose ineptitude was colossal. fortunately for mr. knox the extent of his failure was somewhat screened from public view by the dust and clatter of the collapse of the taft administration, but it left its mark on him. he had failed dismally to eclipse his predecessor, elihu root. he had eliminated himself from all consideration as one of the very great statesmen of his period. he was a bitterly disappointed man. not only his associates but the members of the diplomatic corps were made to feel the sting of his resentment against overwhelming circumstances. such references as that directed at the french ambassador, m. jules jusserand, now dean of the diplomatic corps, whom he called "the magpie," cost him many friends. upon the inauguration of president wilson mr. knox slipped quietly away to valley forge. public life, however, still had for him its attractions, and when senator oliver retired, he returned to the senate. during the war his great talents were dormant. he merely came and went, a curious little detached figure apparently quite unresponsive to the emotions which swept the country during that eventful period. with the signing of the armistice he aroused himself from his apparent torpor. although he was quite without feeling during the stress and storm, the situation created by the presentation of the treaty of versailles with its interwoven league of nations stirred his intellectual interest. he became the leader of the little band of "irreconcilables" who girded their armor to prevent what they regarded as a catastrophic sacrifice of american interests. at the same time mr. knox narrowly missed another opportunity to lift himself conspicuously above the heads of stump speakers who, for the most part, to-day comprise the senate. during that memorable fight senator lodge incurred the enmity at one time or another of every faction in the senate. he could not be trusted to maintain the same position over night, shifting as expediency demanded until most of his colleagues, particularly the irreconcilables, were exasperated beyond endurance. at one of the most critical periods senator borah appealed to senator knox to wrest the leadership from the massachusetts senator, with intimations that he would have the support of the "bitter enders" at the forthcoming convention at chicago. mr. knox does not love mr. lodge but he refused to consider the proposal. he was indifferent. his last great political opportunity went glimmering. as i have said mr. knox can be very charming but i doubt that he sincerely admires any of the public men with whom he has been associated, or can call any of them, from the purely personal viewpoint, his friends, with the possible exception of andrew mellon, whom he caused to be appointed secretary of the treasury. of course, he likes many of his colleagues, after a fashion, especially those who admire him, but that is another matter. the intimacy usually implied in the term friendship does not enter into such relations. for some of the more important men he has known, he has shown a very distinct dislike. it is said of him that he thought president harding overlooked a real opportunity when he failed to invite him to become secretary of state, but his disappointment was somewhat mollified by the fact that mr. root was not asked to take the post. mr. knox prefers to look upon mr. root as a lucky lawyer who has taken to himself much of the credit of john hay's great work. he shows an even less regard for mr. lodge's talents. and he is doubtful of mr. hughes. his attitude towards the secretary of state dates back to the insurance scandals. at that time mr. frick asked mr. knox to make an investigation and suggest a course of action to avert a national disaster. this mr. knox did in his thorough and painstaking way. a little later, when mr. hughes was appointed to make a public inquiry, the knox report was laid before him, and according to the author of it, he followed precisely the lines therein indicated creating for himself a national reputation and laying the foundation of a public career. credit was not given mr. knox. it has been suggested that the incident might have been an illustration of two great minds seeking the same channel. mr. knox does not think so. in spite of his disappointments and failures, the dignified little senator from pennsylvania who has been so many times on the verge of greatness, seems to think that he could have done just a little better than any of those who have achieved it, had circumstance given him the opportunity. perhaps he might. it is a compliment that few men merit to be called merely indifferent. robert lansing he who believes in luck should study the career of robert lansing. mr. lansing probably thinks that the goddess of chance played him a scurvy trick, after having admitted him to the olympian heights, to break him as suddenly as she made him. robert lansing's real misfortune was not knowing how to play his luck. it is curious the fear men have of death. the former secretary of state's only hope of immortality was to commit political suicide, and he lacked the courage or the vision to fall upon his sword. when woodrow wilson was elected president for the first time he appointed mr. bryan secretary of state. the opinion mr. wilson entertained of mr. bryan we all know. mr. wilson was not given to letting his thoughts run wild, but on one occasion, with pen in hand, he permitted himself the luxury of saying what he thought and expressed the pious hope that somebody would knock the distinguished nebraskan into a cocked hat and thus dispose of the perpetual candidate who was the old man of the sea to the democratic party. circumstances alter cases; mr. wilson as a private citizen could say and think what he pleased; as president he was compelled to make mr. bryan secretary of state. as mr. bryan knew nothing of history and less of european politics and had a superb disdain of diplomacy--diplomacy according to the tenets of bryanism being an unholy and immoral game in which the foreign players were always trying to outmaneuver the virtuous and innocent american--he was provided with a political nurse, mentor, and guardian in the person of john bassett moore, who had a long and brilliant career as an international lawyer and diplomatist. mr. bryan busied himself with finding soft jobs for deserving democrats, preaching and inculcating the virtues of grape juice to the diplomatic corps, and concocting plans whereby the sword was to be beaten into a typewriter and war become a lost art. meanwhile mr. moore was doing the serious work of the department. no two men were more unlike than mr. bryan and mr. moore; mr. bryan a bundle of loosely tied emotions to whom a catchy phrase or an unsound theory is more precious than a natural law or the wisdom of the philosopher; mr. moore an intellect who has subordinated his emotions, and to whom facts are as important as mathematics to an engineer. it was an incompatible union; it could not last. mr. moore became impatient of his chief's vagaries and, about a year later, returned to the dignified quiet of columbia university. this was early in . now for the random way in which chance weaves her skein. mr. moore went out of the department and left the office of counselor vacant, an office, up to that time, so little known that the public, if it gave the matter any thought, believed its occupant was the legal adviser of the department, while, as a matter of fact, he is the under secretary, which is now the official designation. at this stage of his career mr. lansing was connected with the department as an adviser on international affairs and had represented the united states in many international arbitrations. he was known to a small and select circle of lawyers specializing in international law, but to the public his name meant nothing. he had always been a good democrat, although he was married to the daughter of the late john w. foster, who wound up a long and brilliant diplomatic life as secretary of state in president harrison's cabinet after mr. blaine's resignation. mr. lansing had made washington his home for many years, and when the new democratic administration came into power he believed his services to the party entitled him to recognition, and he sought the appointment of third assistant secretary of state. the third assistant secretary is the official social secretary of the government. when royalty or other distinguished persons come to this country as the guests of the nation the third assistant secretary is the master of ceremonies. he has to see that all the forms are properly complied with and nothing happens to mar the visitors' enjoyment; he sends out invitations, in the name of the state department, to the funerals of ambassadors or the inauguration of the president. but for some reason mr. lansing's praiseworthy ambition was defeated. mr. moore had knowledge, learning, and experience, but he was denied the gift of divination. had he known that a few months later a half crazed youth in an unheard of place was to be the unconscious agent to set the whole world aflame, undoubtedly he would have put up with mr. bryan's curious ideas and peculiar methods and stuck to his desk at the state department, and mr. lansing would never have been heard of. but at the turning point in mr. moore's career his luck deserted him and mr. lansing became the beneficiary. mr. lansing, who would have been satisfied with the appointment of third assistant secretary of state, a minor place in the hierarchy, was appointed by mr. wilson counselor of the department of state. the appointment created no excitement. in march, , foreign affairs had little interest for the american people. there was mexico, of course, and japan; there were the usual routine questions to form the customary work of the department; but the skies were serene; murder, rape, and sudden death no one thought of; lloyd's, which will gamble on anything from the weather to an ocean tragedy, would have written a policy at a ridiculously low premium on the maintenance of the peace of europe; any statesman rash enough to have predicted war for the united states within three years would have aroused the concern of his friends and the professional solicitude of his physician. apparently mr. lansing had tumbled into an easy and dignified post which would not unduly tax his physical or mental strength. he could congratulate himself upon his good fortune. a few months later the situation changed. the state department became not only the center about which the whole machinery of the government revolved but on it was focused the attention of the country and the thoughts of europe. the counselor of the department was lifted out of his obscurity; despatches to the belligerents signed "lansing" were published in the newspapers, statements were issued by him, he was interviewed; he received ambassadors, and when an ambassador visited the state department the nerve centers of the whole world were affected. again, a few months later, in june, , mr. bryan kindly accommodated mr. wilson by knocking himself into a cocked hat, and mr. lansing was appointed secretary of state. few men had risen so rapidly. he had no reason to complain of his luck. mr. wilson made some extraordinary appointments--a close observer has said he could read motives but not men--and his appointment of mr. lansing at a time of crisis would have been inexplicable were it not logical as mr. wilson reasoned. mr. wilson did not invite as his associates his intellectual equals or those who dared to oppose him; it was necessary that the state department should have a titular head, but mr. wilson was resolved to be his own secretary of state and take into his own hands the control of foreign policy. no great man, no man great enough to be secretary of state when the world was in upheaval, would have consented to that indignity; no man jealous of his own self-respect could have remained mr. wilson's secretary of state for long. a secretary of state or any other member of the cabinet must of course subordinate his judgment to that of the president, for the president is the final court of appeal. but mr. wilson went further than that; he heaped almost unparalleled affront upon mr. lansing; he made the great office of secretary of state ridiculous, and he invested its incumbent with no greater authority than that of a copyist. perhaps mr. wilson reads men better than his critics believed; perhaps mr. wilson had fully taken the measure of mr. lansing and knew how far he could go. nature never intended mr. lansing to be a leader of men, to fight for a great cause, or to engage in physical or intellectual combat. his life has been too soft for that, and he is naturally indolent. he is fond of, and has more than the amateur's appreciation for, music, painting, poetry, and the classics of literature. he has dabbled in verse, he sketches and he has written, but without brilliancy. accident made him a lawyer, but he was really intended to be an artist; he would have produced no masterpiece, for genius is not in him, but he would have been happy in his work and perhaps have given inspiration to men of greater talent. without being a fanatic or dogmatic, he is strongly religious; religion to him has a meaning and is not merely a convention; he has a code which he has always observed and ideals which he has preserved; he is charitable in his judgments and has never allowed his prejudices to influence his actions; he is, to use a word so often misapplied, a gentleman, and his motto is noblesse oblige. typical of the standard he sets for himself was the admirable restraint he showed after his abrupt dismissal from the cabinet. he neither sought vindication through the newspapers, nor posed as a victim, nor soothed his feelings by denunciations of the president; he did not make a nuisance of himself by inflicting the recital of his grievances upon his friends or hinting darkly at revelations. he kept quiet and went about his affairs as a gentleman should. why, it may be asked, should a man with so many fine qualities have cut such a sorry figure? the answer perhaps is that he suffers from the defects of his qualities, fine as we must admit them to be; too fine, perhaps, for a coarser world. when a weak and somewhat easy-going man, immensely pleased with his own exalted position, has to deal with a man of iron will, ruthless in his methods, he is necessarily at a disadvantage. considering mr. lansing's temperamental defects and the effect of his training, his failure is no mystery. until mr. lansing became secretary of state he had never known responsibility. practically his entire life had been spent as a subordinate, carrying out with zeal and intelligence the tasks assigned to him, but always in obedience to a stronger mind. nothing more weakens character or intellect than for a man habitually to turn to another for direction or inspiration; always to play the part of an inferior to a mental superior. for years mr. lansing had been connected with many international arbitrations which, theoretically, was a magnificent training for a future secretary of state, and actually would have destroyed the creative and administrative usefulness of a much stronger man than robert lansing. in the whole mummery of international relations there is nothing more farcical than an international arbitration. it is always preceded by great popular excitement. a ship is seized, a boundary is run a few degrees north or south of the conventional line, something else equally trivial fires the patriotic heart. the flag has been insulted, the offending nation is a land grabber, national honor must be vindicated. secretaries of state write notes, ambassadors are instructed, the press becomes rabid, speeches are made; the public is advised to remain calm, but it is also assured there will be no surrender. after a few weeks the public forgets about the insult or the way in which it has been robbed; but the responsible officials who have never allowed themselves to become excited, continue the pleasing pastime of writing notes. months, sometimes years, drag on, then a new secretary of state or a foreign minister, to clean the slate, proposes that the childish business be ended by an international arbitration. more weeks, more often months, are spent in agreeing upon the terms of reference, and finally the dispute goes before an "impartial arbitral tribunal." both sides appoint agents and secretaries, an imposing array of counsel, technical experts; and as the counsel are always well paid they have a conscientious obligation to earn their fees. more months are required to prepare the case, which frequently runs into many printed volumes; and the more volumes the better pleased everybody is, as size denotes importance. the arbitrators, although they are governed by principles of law, know what is expected of them, and they rarely disappoint. almost invariably their decision is a compromise, so nicely shaded that while neither side can claim victory neither side suffers the humiliation of defeat. as by that time both nations have long forgotten the original cause of the quarrel their people are quite content when they are told the decision is in their favor. as junior counsel mr. lansing's name appears in many international arbitrations, and it was precisely the work for which he was fitted. if mr. lansing had been a man of more robust fiber, he would have returned his portfolio to mr. wilson as early as , for the president was writing notes to the belligerents and did not, even as a perfunctory courtesy, consult his secretary of state; he made it only too patent he did not consider his advice worth asking. mr. lansing was too fond of his official prominence to surrender it easily, and that is another curious thing about the man. somewhat vain, holding himself in much higher estimation than the world did, few men have so thoroughly enjoyed office as he. but he remained the quiet and unassuming gentleman he had always been; and he certainly could not have deluded himself into believing that there was a still higher office for him to occupy. mr. lansing could not screw up his courage to resign in . the following year the united states was at war and he naturally could not desert his post; but in mr. lansing was given another opportunity, and still he was obdurate. he has told us in his public confession that he tried to persuade the president not to go to paris. mr. wilson, as usual, remained unpersuaded, and mr. lansing humbly followed in his train. then, of course, mr. lansing could not resign, but in paris he was even more grossly humiliated; he was completely shut out from the president's confidence; he wrote letters to mr. wilson which the president did not deign to answer; so little did mr. lansing know what was being done that he sought information from the chinese delegates! it sounds incredible, it seems even more incredible that a secretary of state should put himself in such an undignified position, and having done so should invite the world to share his ignominy. but he has set it down in his book as if he believed it was ample defense, instead of realizing that it is condemnation. curious contradictions! one might expect a sensitive man, a man who has never courted publicity, who has none of the genius of the self-advertiser, to crave forgetfulness for the paris episode, to shrink from publicly exposing himself and his humiliations, but mr. lansing seemingly revels in his self-dissection. the president slaps his face; in his pride he summons all the world to look upon the marks left by the executive palm. he feels the sting, and he enters upon an elaborate defense to show it is the stigmata of martyrdom. a treaty was framed of which he disapproved, yet he could sign it without wrench of conscience. unreconciled to resignation in paris, he returned to washington as if nothing had happened, again to resume his subservient relations to the president. opportunity, we are told, knocks only once at a man's door, but while opportunity thundered at mr. lansing's portal "his ear was closed with the cotton of negligence." early in mr. wilson dismissed him, brutally, abruptly, with the petulance of an invalid too tired to be fair; for a reason so obviously disingenuous that mr. lansing had the sympathy of the country. he should either have told the truth then and there or forever have held his peace; and had he remained mute out of the mystery would have grown a myth. the fictitious lansing would have become an historical character. but he must needs write a book. it does not make pleasant reading. it does not make its author a hero. it does, however, answer the question the curious asked at the time of his appointment: "why did the president make mr. lansing secretary of state?" boies penrose the most striking victim of the american propensity for exaggeration is the senior senator from pennsylvania, boies penrose. he has a personality and contour that lend themselves to caricature. only a few deft strokes are needed to make his ponderous figure and heavy jowl the counterpart of a typical boss, an institution for which the american people have a pardonable affection in these days of political quackery. for, when the worst is said of the imposing array of bosses from tweed down to the present time, they could be forgiven much because they were what they were. that is why, perhaps, the altogether fanciful picture of penrose, propped on his pillows with his telephone at his bedside directing the embattled delegates at chicago, who in sheer desperation turned to warren g. harding, is dwelt upon fondly by a deluded public. penrose does not despise the appurtenances of bossism. if the truth were told he probably likes the idea of being represented as the hard-fisted master of party destinies. he knows that such a reputation inspires awe if not respect, on the part of the rank and file, from the humble precinct worker to the gentleman of large affairs who provides the necessary campaign funds. it has its value, sentimental as well as practical, for the american people likes to set up its own political idols. the politicians who for the moment guide the destinies of the nation are so misdrawn, so illuminated with virtues and endowed with vices quite foreign to them, that they frequently achieve a personality quite fictitious, but which, none the less, passes current in the popular mind as genuine. nothing could be more grotesque, for example, than the picture of senator smoot, who is merely a sublimated messenger boy, as one of the arbiters of the republican policies; or of senator lodge, by sheer strength of leadership, restraining the discordant republican elements in the senate from kicking over the traces. this is journalist "copy" written for a popular imagination which finds the truth too tepid. boies penrose serves the purpose of appeasing national appetite for what the magazine editors call "dynamic stuff." but the real boies penrose is not all as he is pictured. at a cursory glance he might appear to be a physiological, psychological, and political anachronism. at least he is sufficiently different from his colleagues to be, if not actually mysterious, not easily understandable. there is something fundamental about him. he inspires a certain awe which may not be magnetic but has the same effect upon those who surround him; where he sits is the head of the table. i doubt if lodge or knox or hughes could ever fathom the secret of his power; they are not cast in the same mould. his colleagues smile at his idiosyncracies--behind his back--but they approach him with the respect due to a master. many of them admire him, not a few hate him, but all of them fear him. it is rather a singular thing that senator la follette, himself at the pinnacle of his championship of the wisconsin progressive idea, was probably on friendlier terms with the senior senator from pennsylvania than any of the other leaders of those reactionary forces with whom he was tilting. he knew where penrose stood and it is not at all improbable that behind the penrose reticence there was a modicum of admiration for the methods of the redoubtable little colleague, who in his way, was a more inexorable boss than penrose himself ever dreamed of being. the mutual understanding was there, even if it never became articulate. penrose has peculiarities which put him in a niche quite his own. he eschews conversation as an idle affectation. he dislikes to shake hands, preferring the chinese fashion of holding his on his own expansive paunch. when he finds it necessary to talk at all he speaks the precise truth as he sees it without consideration for the feelings of those he happens to be addressing. the results are frequently so ludicrous, particularly when he enters a colloquy on the senate floor, that he is given credit for a much more pronounced sense of humor than he actually possesses. i doubt that he is always conscious of the element of humor and i suspect that if he realized that his observations were to evoke laughter he would deliberately choose a less satirical or flippant method of expression. this temperamental characteristic was illustrated by an episode in the senate chamber not long ago. penrose, entering, found his chair occupied by a democratic colleague who had overestimated his capacity for the doubtful stuff that is purveyed in these days of volsteadism and whose condition was apparent to everyone on the floor and in the galleries. penrose is, perhaps, the most widely known personage in the senate. his towering figure makes him conspicuous. but the most of the myriads of trippers who visit the capitol do not know one senator from another. they rely for identification upon little charts showing the arrangements of the seats on the floor each one of which is labeled with a senator's name. now penrose, might or might not have suspected that these trippers following their charts, would pick out the snoring recumbent figure as his own. he decided to remove all possibility of error and addressing the chair with usual solemnity said, "mr. president, i desire the chair to record the fact that the seat of the senior senator from pennsylvania has not been occupied by himself at the present session. it is occupied by another." the galleries roared; the somnolent senator shambled over to his own side of the aisle and senator penrose was given credit, by the unwise, for humor quite unintended. life with mr. penrose is a much more serious business than most people imagine. and it became even more serious a little while ago when illness laid hold of him and his brother, a physician, prescribed dietary rules restricting the freedom that he had once exercised without restraint. there was something lion-like in the gaunt figure in the rolling chair which he occupied when he returned to the senate from his sick bed. it was amazing that he recovered; it was even more amazing that he should have submitted to the rigorous rules laid down by his doctor, even if that doctor was his own brother. the bated breath with which pennsylvania politicians awaited bulletins from his bedside was a striking acknowledgment of the power he wields. the evolution of boies penrose is an amusing commentary upon american politics in more ways than one. three years after he was graduated from harvard college he was elected to the pennsylvania state legislature on a reform ticket. his election was made the occasion for great rejoicing on the part of the good people of philadelphia. and well might they rejoice. they had at last driven a wedge into the sinister political machine that had brought the city of brotherly love into disrepute as a boss-ridden municipality. their young leader had wealth, which has its advantages, and social position, which to a philadelphian is as dear as life itself. moreover he had ability and all that makes for success. his fame as a reform leader spread throughout the land and across the seas. james bryce, in his first edition of his american commonwealth cited him as an example of the sterling type of young americans who were arousing themselves at that time to rescue the municipal and state governments from the grip of the vicious boss system. in the subsequent editions of the american commonwealth you will find no reference to mr. penrose. something had happened to him and to the reform movement. whether he was struck by a bolt from the heavens or a bolt from matthew stanley quay is immaterial. the fact is that after a few years' residence in harrisburg, the seat of the government of the commonwealth of pennsylvania, he counseled with himself and solemnly decided that providence had never selected him to be the apostle of the political millenium. most men are born radicals and die conservatives. the development is gradual and represents the result of years of experience. but penrose repented while there was time to make amends for his error. he sought a very short cut. he went directly from the legislature to the republican organization of philadelphia and stood as its candidate for mayor. but his late friends, the reformers, happened to be in the ascendency that year and he was defeated. the story told of him at that time, whether true or not, that he announced his willingness to take as his bride any estimable young lady the organization might select, since the fact that he was a bachelor was given by his henchmen as the reason of his defeat, is typical of him. the "organization," the republican party, constitutes his political creed and philosophy. he has devoted his life to it. the "party" is his life, his religion, his family, his hobby. down in his soul he believes that the destiny of the american people is so inextricably interwoven with its fortunes that its destruction would be nothing less than national hari kari. he does not believe that the republican party is perfect, but he believes that it is as perfect as any political organization is ever likely to be. he has no illusions concerning the men it chooses for high places. he is never disturbed by stories of political corruption or graft unless they are serious enough to jeopardize forthcoming elections. otherwise they are merely unpleasant incidents that arise in the life of every business organization. if he were supreme he would not tolerate political corruption, any more than he would tolerate murder; but since he is not supreme and cannot dictate to all men, he accepts their efforts in the interest of the organization even though their hands may be slightly soiled. like the wise general who raises a volunteer army he is not meticulous in the choice of his privates, providing they are capable of performing the tasks assigned to them. no seeker after souls ever believed the end justifies the means more sincerely than boies penrose believes his vote-seekers are justified in stretching the code a bit for the benefit of the organization--particularly if it is actually endangered. just as he believes in the republican party he believes in a high tariff--the higher the better. prosperity without protection is inconceivable. during a washington career of more than twenty years he has been constantly caricatured as the tool of the interests--the man upon whom they could rely to raise the tariff wall an inch or two for their personal benefit. he has raised it whenever he has had the opportunity to do so, but not for the reason assigned. he is no man's tool. the suggestion that boies penrose personally has ever profited financially through politics is too absurd to be entertained for a moment. of course, he expects the interests, whom the party serves with tariff protection, to save the party at the polls and they usually do so. but that in the opinion of the senior senator from pennsylvania is the essence of sound politics. unbelievable as it may sound in these days, senator penrose actually thinks that most men are dependent for their daily bread upon the success of a very small group of financiers, magnates, or whatever you care to call the great leaders of the world of business. years of experience has convinced him that the human race is composed, for the most part, of hopelessly improvident people and that a great part of the globe would be depopulated through starvation and disease if it were not for the foresight, ability, and thrift of the handful of leaders whom divine providence has provided. he looks upon himself as one of the instruments of providence and he sincerely believes that the policies which he has supported since his early experience with the reformers are responsible for the happiness and prosperity of many a family. he would consider it the height of absurdity for any of these poor, worthy, but ignorant people to expect the comforts which they have enjoyed without the protection afforded their employers by the republican party. by this somewhat unpopular method of reasoning, he believes that he of all the men in public life has made the most persistent and consistent fight for the masses. it is undoubtedly this calm faith and sincere belief in his own rectitude which has enabled him to hold the tremendous power he has exerted since nelson aldrich retired from the senate. i have presented his political philosophy in some detail because he is probably the most misjudged man in washington. people are inclined to look upon him as a glorified boss who deals in politics as other men deal in commodities;--it is hardly a fair estimate of the man. he considers himself the chosen leader of the most intelligent people of a great commonwealth who is rendering tremendous service to the country. i do not agree with that estimate either. but taken all and all it seems to me that the country owes him a debt of gratitude for having been sincere when another course would have been more profitable. it is a relief to find one at least who has never been called a hypocrite. senator penrose does not hate democrats; he does not consider them important enough for that; he merely despises them. they are to his mind an inferior class of human beings who should not be intrusted with the affairs of the nation. reformers irritate him. they are either self-seeking hypocrites or deluded. in neither case has he the time nor inclination to listen to their suggestions or heed their maledictions. he had an abiding hatred for theodore roosevelt when he was in the white house, but he supported him loyally so long as he was the leader of the party. when colonel roosevelt bolted the hatred ran the last gamut. he was classed as an arch criminal for having smashed the organization. penrose is an enigma to those who know him only casually, especially those who view life through the rose glasses of culture. they marvel at the extent to which he has been able to dictate to men who appear to be his superiors. i have heard him called a cave man by some, by others a boor; but he is neither. he observes the amenities of life so far as they are necessary, but only so far. he is impatient of mediocrity; he will not tolerate stupidity and he loathes hypocrisy. i would not say that he has bad manners; he has none at all. throughout the recent eclipse of the republican party, which began with the roosevelt default, no member remained more steadfast than the pennsylvania leader. he accepted the inevitable and bided his time like the politicians of the old school of which he is one of the few conspicuous surviving examples. expediency does not enter into his make-up; he made no effort to keep himself in the limelight, for he is by the party, of the party, and for the party. now that the party is back again, in power, more than one of his colleagues suspect that penrose, if his health permits, will emerge from the background as the real leader of the senate majority. his political past is against him. but he knows men and his tutelage under aldrich has not been forgotten. william e. borah taken at its best, life, to william e. borah, is little more than a troublesome pilgrimage to the grave. this does not mean that he is a misanthrope or a seer of distorted vision. on the contrary his sympathies are broad and he has an elusive charm, more apparent in the early years of his political career than now. but, for some reason, probably temperamental, he is in the habit of dwelling upon the dangers that beset the republic--dangers which are sometimes very real. nevertheless an hour in his presence is more often than not depressing; it leaves one with a sense of impending calamity. there are few bright spots on his horizon. it is not altogether to his discredit that his more venerable colleagues look upon him as a young man--he is fifty-six; nor does it imply merely arrested political development. for all of his pessimism he maintains a certain freshness, if belligerency, of spirit which is puzzling not only to those who have long since accustomed themselves to the party yoke but to those whom experience has taught the art of compromise. for borah hates the discipline that organization entails, in spite of his respect for organization, and he dislikes compromise however often he is driven to it. this may be accounted for by the fact that he was not obliged to fight his way laboriously upward on the lower rungs of politics--he landed in the senate from an idaho law office in one pyrotechnical leap when he was only forty two--and by the fact that in his make-up he is singularly unpolitical. disassociating him from his senatorial environment it is much easier to imagine him as a devotee of academic culture, a university professor, a moral crusader, even a poet, than as a politician. there is in his make-up an underlying celtic strain which may account for his moodiness, his emotionalism, and his impulsiveness. these characteristics are constantly cropping up. for many years he has buried himself in a somber suite of rooms in the senate office building as far away from his colleagues as he could get. there he lives in an atmosphere of academic quiet. there he reads and studies incessantly, far from the maddening crowd of politics. this detachment has probably bred a suspicion that marks his actions. he has no intimates, no associates who call him "bill." he is not a social being. he is rarely seen where men and women congregate. he is virtually unknown in that strange bedlam composed largely of social climbers and official poseurs called washington society. he neither smokes, drinks, nor plays. what relaxation he gets is on the back of a western nag in rock creek park where he may be seen any morning cantering along--alone. he does not ride for pleasure; his physician ordered it and it is a very businesslike matter. if he experiences any of the exhilaration that comes to men in the saddle he contrives to conceal it. on the floor of the senate he is quite a different person. there his unmistakable genius for oratory is given full sweep and when he speaks his colleagues usually listen, not because they agree with what he says but because they are charmed by the easy and melodious flow of his words. there is a hint of ingersoll in his speeches which are full of alliteration and rhythmic phrases. he has a sense of form sadly lacking in his stammering and inarticulate colleagues, for oratory in the senate is probably at its lowest ebb. but, strangely enough, it is only occasionally that he makes a lasting impression. his eloquence ripples like water and leaves scarcely more trace. mr. borah's entire political career has been characterized by an impulsiveness which has given him a halo of popularity but has never enabled him to garner the fruits of plodding labor. at one time or another this has led him to break with nearly every faction with which he has been identified. the "regular" republicans have felt that they never could rely upon him; the "progressive" element has found him inconstant and at intervals he has threatened to pull down the party house of the republicans and to bring destruction to one or other of the leaders whom he dislikes. this was illustrated by an observation he made to me one spring morning in when the republican attitude toward the league of nations was still in the formative process. borah was "convinced" that elihu root and will h. hays were conspiring to induce the republicans to accept the league and he said, quite seriously, that he had about come to the conclusion that it would be necessary to wreck the republican party to save the country. root, he told me, was pro-british to the last degree and hays, he said, was cajoled by the great international bankers who trembled at the delay of peace. "if such men are to lead the republican party," he declared, "the sooner it is destroyed the better." of course, he did not take the stump. he has failed so often to carry out his threats of rebellion that they no longer inspire the fear they once did. although he has repeatedly turned against the organization he has managed to escape being an outlaw. this singular trait of political conservatism came conspicuously into play in when roosevelt turned upon the machine. all through the stormy days of that stormy chicago convention senator borah could be found at the side of that one leader for whom he had a consistent regard. he was with him up to the very last moment before the die was cast. he was almost successful at the eleventh hour in inducing mr. roosevelt to abandon his mad project. they were closeted together on the evening of the clamorous meeting of the progressives in a hotel across the street. "we have come to the parting of the ways, colonel," borah said to his chief. "this far i have gone with you. i can go no further." he urged roosevelt not to take the step which would mean the disruption of the party and defeat. roosevelt wavered. but before he could reach the decision borah sought a committee from the outlaw meeting, burst into the room, and enthusiastically announced that the stage was set for the demonstration that was to mark a new political era. roosevelt, hat in hand, turned to borah and said, "you see, i can't desert my friends now." the ex-president went his way and borah came back to the old republican fold. from that time to this he has followed his own way which, fortunately for the republican party, has been within organization limits, but his relations with his fellows are neither intimate nor serene. some of the republicans, who can be forgiven for not understanding a man who respects neither party decrees nor traditions, feel that borah is so american that he possesses one of the characteristics of the aboriginal indian--in other words, that he is cunning, that he will not play the game according to organization rules. he has a habit of making too many mental reservations. i am not quite sure that these allegations could be supported before an impartial tribunal. i am rather inclined to the belief that to maintain his position in the senate borah has had to become a shrewd trader. fortunately for himself he is too much of a personage to be ignored or suppressed, and manages to be a power in a party which has no love for him. he is virtually a party to himself. he cannot be controlled by the ordinary political methods. his constituency is small and evidently devoted to him and his state is remote; he is not compelled to do the irksome political chores that cost senators their political independence. however doubtful he might be as a positive asset his dexterity and power of expression are such that he would be very dangerous as a liability. a report that borah is on the rampage affects republican leaders very much as a run on a bank affects financial leaders. they are not quite sure when either is going to stop. borah knows that most of the men with whom he is dealing are clay and estimates with uncanny accuracy the degree to which he can compel them to meet his demands. this method has not always been successful. it was singularly unsuccessful in the case of senator penrose. borah is the antithesis of penrose, whom he dislikes intensely. several years ago he interpreted a remark made by the senator from pennsylvania to another senator as a thrust at his own political ethics, or lack of them. it was a petty affair at most and penrose never admitted the accuracy of borah's construction, but borah has had nothing to do with him since. when the present congress was in process of organization borah announced that he would bolt the party caucus if penrose were slated for the chairmanship of the finance committee to which he was entitled according to the rule of seniority. it was a ticklish situation. the republicans had a bare majority in the senate and if any of them deserted the organization it might mean democratic control. the leaders were disturbed and tried to mollify the defiant senator from idaho with every means at hand even giving assurance that the senator from pennsylvania would vote against the peace treaty and the league of nations which was supposed to represent his vital interest at that time. he refused to compromise and announced that penrose must go. he was offered every committee assignment that he or his friends wanted, and accepted them, but as a matter of right. penrose was determined not to be displaced to satisfy what he regarded as a colleague's whim. he sat silent in his office receiving reports from hour to hour on borah's state of mind. on the day before the caucus borah whispered that he intended to make charges against the pennsylvania leader that would provide a sensation regardless of any effect they might have upon the party or the country. the report was brought to penrose. instead of trembling he sent word to borah that he might say what he pleased concerning his political career but that if he made any personal charges he would regret them to his dying day. borah appeared to understand. he did not even attend the caucus and penrose was duly elected. whether he was trading for committee assignments or initiated the fight on political grounds is a question he alone can answer, if anyone should have the temerity to ask it. the same violence of his likes and dislikes is shown in his attitude toward the british and his espousal of the irish cause. at the time of the visit of the british mission to washington, vice-president marshall designated senator borah a member of the committee appointed to escort the british visitors into the chamber. this borah resented as a personal affront. "marshall has a distorted sense of humor," he said. "he knows i dislike the british and that i despise the hypocrite balfour." this feeling was probably due in large measure to the irish lineage which borah can trace in his ancestry as well as a temperamental dislike of the british methods of maintaining control over subject peoples. it is difficult to label senator borah from a political standpoint. his most striking characteristic is his inconsistency. for a long time in the early days of the progressive movement he displayed a marked inclination to be "irregular" and he is to be found voting for most measures for which the "progressives" claimed sponsorship, but when the more radical leaders began to advocate the recall of the judiciary, borah rose up and delivered an invective the memory of which lingers in the capitol. it was one of the few speeches he has made that had a permanent effect and, strangely enough, it was the kind of speech that might have well been delivered by root or knox. there has always been reason to believe that borah was never more enamored of la follette in his prime, or of hiram johnson, than he has been of the "reactionary" leaders with whom he has been oftentimes in open conflict. when the latter deluded himself with the hope of securing the republican nomination, borah was supposed to be his chief supporter. when johnson had eliminated lowden and wood, and seemed to have eliminated harding, borah showed more interest in the knox candidacy. he wanted knox at the head of the ticket mainly because he knew that knox was an implacable foe of the league of nations. on that fateful friday night in chicago when the signs of the trend toward harding had begun to appear, the senator from idaho was anxious and prepared to place knox's name in nomination and begged johnson to swing his delegates in that direction. borah has succeeded very well in concealing his own ambitions, possibly because he is more cautious than some of his impetuous colleagues, or because the opportunity has never come for an avowal. but among those who have followed his career there is a very strong suspicion that his one great desire was to be the successor of roosevelt. this might be one reason for his antagonism toward the politicians of the old regime, such as penrose, who have barred his way in that direction, and his fitful devotion to progressivism championed by others. the failure to realize this ambition might account in some measure for his later reticence and his suspicion of politicians in general. he has shown a pronounced distrust of them. the only exception has been the audacious ambassador to the court of saint james who in his review and in his weekly flattered the senator from idaho with an absence of restraint that might have made a more trusting person skeptical. the senator from idaho has too many years before him to justify predictions concerning his career. whatever faults he might have they do not entirely obscure his virtues. it is possible that the occasion might arise for him to serve as the spokesman of a popular cause, which he would do with undoubted earnestness and eloquence, in which event he might still become a dominating figure in american politics. produced from scanned images of public domain material from the google print project.) the judicial murder --of-- mary e. surratt. david miller dewitt. baltimore: john murphy & co. . copyright, , by david miller dewitt. "_oceans of horse-hair, continents of parchment, and learned-sergeant eloquence, were it continued till the learned tongue wore itself small in the indefatigable learned mouth, cannot make the unjust just. the grand question still remains, was the judgment just? if unjust, it will not and cannot get harbour for itself, or continue to have footing in this universe, which was made by other than one unjust. enforce it by never such statuting, three readings, royal assents; blow it to the four winds with all manner of quilted trumpeters and pursuivants, in the rear of them never so many gibbets and hangmen, it will not stand, it cannot stand. from all souls of men, from all ends of nature, from the throne of god above, there are voices bidding it: away! away!_" past and present. contents. page. preliminary chapter i. the reign of terror, chapter ii. the bureau of military (in)justice, part i. the murder. chapter i. the opening of the court. was she ironed? chapter ii. animus of the judges. insults to reverdy johnson and general edward johnson, chapter iii. conduct of the trial, chapter iv. arguments of the defense, chapter v. charge of judge bingham, chapter vi. verdict, sentence and petition, chapter vii. the death warrant and execution, chapter viii. was it not murder? the milligan case, part ii. the vindication. chapter i. setting aside the verdict. discharge of jefferson davis, chapter ii. reversal on the merits. trial of john h. surratt, chapter iii. the recommendation to mercy, chapter iv. trial of joseph holt, chapter v. andrew johnson signs another death warrant, chapter vi. conclusion, preliminary. chapter i. the reign of terror. the assassination of abraham lincoln burst upon the city of washington like a black thunder-bolt out of a cloudless sky. on monday, the d of april, , richmond was taken. on the succeeding sunday (the ninth), general lee with the main army of the south surrendered. the rebellion of nearly one-half the nation lay in its death-throes. the desperate struggle for the unity of the republic was ending in a perfect triumph; and the loyal people gave full rein to their joy. every night the streets of the city were illuminated. the chief officers of the government, one after another, were serenaded. on the evening of tuesday, the eleventh, the president addressed his congratulations to an enthusiastic multitude from a window of the white house. on the night of thursday (the thirteenth) edwin m. stanton, the secretary of war, and ulysses s. grant, the victorious general of the army of the north, were tumultuously greeted with banners and music and cannon at the residence of the secretary. the next day, friday the th, was the fourth anniversary of the surrender of fort sumter to the south, and that national humiliation was to be avenged by the restoration of the flag of the united states to its proper place above the fort by the hand of the same gallant officer who had been compelled to pull it down. in the evening, a torch-light procession perambulated the streets of the federal capital. enthusiastic throngs filled the theatres, where the presence of great officials had been advertised by huge placards, and whose walls were everywhere festooned with the american flag. after four years of agonizing but unabating strain, all patriots felt justified in yielding to the full enjoyment of the glorious relaxation. suddenly, at its very zenith, the snap of a pistol dislimns and scatters this great jubilee, as though it were, indeed, the insubstantial fabric of a vision. at half past ten that night, from the box of the theatre where the president is seated, a shot is heard; a wild figure, hatless and clutching a gleaming knife, emerges through the smoke; it leaps from the box to the stage, falls upon one knee, recovers itself, utters one shout and waves aloft its bloody weapon; then turns, limps across in front of the audience and disappears like a phantom behind the scenes. simultaneously, there breaks upon the startled air the shriek of a woman, followed close by confused cries of "water! water!" and "the president is shot!" for the first few moments both audience and actors are paralyzed. one man alone jumps from the auditorium to the stage and pursues the flying apparition. but, as soon as the hopeless condition of the president and the escape of the assassin begin to transpire, angry murmurs of "burn the theatre!" are heard in the house, and soon swell into a roar in the street where a huge crowd has already assembled. the intermingling throng surges into the building from every quarter, and mounts guard at every exit. not one of the company of actors is allowed to go out. the people seem to pause for a moment, as if awaiting from heaven a retribution as sudden and awful as the crime. all their joy is turned to grief in the twinkling of an eye. the rebellion they had too easily believed to be dead could still strike, it seemed, a fatal blow against the very life of the republic. a panic seizes the multitude in and around the theatre, and from the theatre spreads, "like the night," over the whole city. and when the frightened citizens hear, as they immediately do, the story of the bloody massacre in the house of the secretary of state, occurring at the same hour with the murder of the president, the panic swells into a reign of terror. the wildest stories find the quickest and most eager credence. every member of the cabinet and the general of the army have been, or are about to be, killed; the government itself is at a standstill; and the lately discomfited rebels are soon to be in possession of the capital. patriotic people, delivering themselves over to a fear of they know not what, cry hoarsely for vengeance on they know not whom. the citizen upon whose past loyalty the slightest suspicion can be cast cowers for safety close to his hearth-stone. the terror-stricken multitude want but a leader cool and unscrupulous enough, to plunge into a promiscuous slaughter, such as stained the new-born revolution in france. a leader, indeed, they soon find, but he is not a danton. he is a leader only in the sense that he has caught the same madness of terror and suspicion which has seized the people, that he holds high place, and that he has the power and is in a fit humor to pander to the panic. edwin m. stanton was forced by the tremendous crisis up to the very top of affairs. vice-president johnson, in the harrowing novelty of his position, was for the time being awed into passive docility. the secretary of state was doubly disabled, if not killed. the general of the army was absent. the secretary of war without hesitation grasped the helm thus thrust into his hand, but, alas! he immediately lost his head. his exasperation at the irony of fate, which could so ruthlessly and in a moment wither the triumph of a great cause by so unexpected and overwhelming a calamity, was so profound and intense, his desire for immediate and commensurate vengeance was so uncontrollable and unreasoning, as to distort his perception, unsettle his judgment, and thus cause him to form an estimate of the nature and extent of the impending danger as false and exaggerated as that of the most panic-stricken wretch in the streets. personally, besides, he was unfitted in many respects for such an emergency. though an able and, it may be, a great war-minister, he exerted no control over his temper; he habitually identified a conciliatory and charitable disposition with active disloyalty; and, being unpopular with the people of washington by reason of the gruffness of his ways and the inconsistencies of his past political career, he had reached the unalterable conviction that the capital was a nest of sympathizers with the south, and that he was surrounded by enemies of himself and his country. when, therefore, upon the crushing news that the president was slain, followed hard the announcement that another assassin had made a slaughter-house of the residence of the minister's own colleague, self-possession--the one supreme quality which was indispensable to a leader at such an awful juncture--forsook him and fled. before the breath was out of the body of the president, the secretary had rushed to the conclusion, unsupported as yet by a shadow of testimony, that the acts of booth and of the assailant of seward (at the moment supposed to be john h. surratt) were the outcome of a widespread, numerous and powerful conspiracy to kill, not only the president and the secretary of state, but all the other heads of the departments, the vice-president and the general of the army as well, and thus bring the government to an end; and that the primary moving power of the conspiracy was the defunct rebellion as represented by its titular president and his cabinet, and its agents in canada. this belief, embraced with so much precipitation, immediately became more than a belief; it became a fixed idea in his mind. he saw, heard, felt and cherished every thing that favored it. he would see nothing, would hear nothing, and hated every thing, that in the slightest degree militated against it. upon this theory he began, and upon this theory he prosecuted to the end, every effort for the discovery, arrest, trial and punishment of the murderers. he was seconded by a lieutenant well-fitted for such a purpose--general lafayette c. baker, chief of the detective force. in one of the two minority reports presented to the house of representatives by the judiciary committee, on the impeachment investigation of , this man and his methods are thus delineated: "the first witness examined was general lafayette c. baker, late chief of the detective police, and although examined on oath, time and again, and on various occasions, it is doubtful whether he has in any one thing told the truth, even by accident. in every important statement he is contradicted by witnesses of unquestioned credibility. and there can be no doubt that to his many previous outrages, entitling him to an unenviable immortality, he has added that of wilful and deliberate perjury; and we are glad to know that no one member of the committee deems any statement made by him as worthy of the slightest credit. what a blush of shame will tinge the cheek of the american student in future ages, when he reads that this miserable wretch for years held, as it were, in the hollow of his hand, the liberties of the american people. that, clothed with power by a reckless administration, and with his hordes of unprincipled tools and spies permeating the land everywhere, with uncounted thousands of the people's money placed in his hands for his vile purposes, this creature not only had power to arrest without crime or writ, and imprison without limit, any citizen of the republic, but that he actually did so arrest thousands, all over the land, and filled the prisons of the country with the victims of his malice, or that of his masters." in this man's hands secretary stanton placed all the resources of the war department, in soldiers, detectives, material and money, and commanded him to push ahead and apprehend all persons suspected of complicity in the assumed conspiracy, and to conduct an investigation as to the origin and progress of the crime, upon the theory he had adopted and which, as much as any other, baker was perfectly willing to accept and then, by his peculiar methods, establish. forthwith was ushered in the grand carnival of detectives. far and wide they sped. they had orders from baker to do two things: i.--to arrest all the "suspect." ii.--by promises, rewards, threats, deceit, force, or any other effectual means, to extort confessions and procure testimony to establish the conspiracy whose existence had been postulated. at two o'clock in the morning of saturday, the fifteenth, they burst into the house of mrs. surratt and displaying the bloody collar of the coat of the dying lincoln, demanded the whereabouts of booth and surratt. it being presently discovered that booth had escaped on horseback across the navy yard bridge with david herold ten minutes in his rear, a dash was made upon the livery-stables of washington, their proprietors taken into custody, and then the whole of lower maryland was invaded, the soldiers declaring martial law as they progressed. ford's theatre was taken and held by an armed force, and the proprietor and employees were all swept into prison, including edward spangler, a scene-shifter, who had been a menial attendant of booth's. the superstitious notion prevailed that the inanimate edifice whose walls had suffered such a desecration was in some vague sense an accomplice; the secretary swore that no dramatic performance should ever take place there again; and the suspicion was sedulously kept alive that the manager and the whole force of the company must have aided their favorite actor, or the crime could not have been so easily perpetrated and the assassin escaped. on the night of the fifteenth (saturday) a locked room in the kirkwood house, where vice president johnson was stopping, which had been engaged by george a. atzerodt on the morning of the fourteenth, was broken open, and in the bed were found a bowie-knife and a revolver, and on the wall a coat (subsequently identified as herold's), in which was found, among other articles, a bank book of booth's. the room had not been otherwise occupied--atzerodt, after taking possession of it, having mysteriously disappeared. on the morning of the seventeenth (monday), at baltimore, michael o'laughlin was arrested as a friend of booth's, and it was soon thought that he "_resembled extremely_" a certain suspicious stranger who, it was remembered, had been seen prowling about secretary stanton's residence on the night of the th, when the serenade took place, and there doing such an unusual act as inquiring for, and looking at, general grant. on the same day at fort monroe, samuel arnold was arrested, whose letter signed "sam" had been found on saturday night among the effects of booth. on the night of the seventeenth, also, the house of mrs. surratt with all its contents was taken possession of by the soldiers, and mrs. surratt, her daughter, and all the other inmates were taken into custody. while the ladies were making preparations for their departure to prison, a man disguised as a laborer, with a sleeve of his knit undershirt drawn over his head, a pick-axe on his shoulder, and covered with mud, came to the door with the story that he was to dig a drain for mrs. surratt in the morning; and that lady asseverating that she had never seen the man before, he was swept with the rest to headquarters, and there, to the astonishment of everybody, turned out to be the desperate assailant of the sewards. during these few days washington was like a city of the dead. the streets were hung with crape. the obsequies, which started on its march across the continent the colossal funeral procession in which the whole people were mourners, were being celebrated with the most solemn pomp. no business was done except at military headquarters. men hardly dared talk of the calamity of the nation. everywhere soldiers and police were on the alert to seize any supposed or denounced sympathizer with the south. mysterious and prophetic papers turned up at the white house and the war department. women whispered terrible stories of what they knew about the "great crime." to be able to give evidence was to be envied as a hero. and still the arch-devil of the plot could not be found! the lower parts of maryland seethed like a boiling pot, and the prisons of washington were choking with the "suspect" from that quarter. lloyd--the drunken landlord of the tavern at surrattsville, ten miles from washington, at which booth and herold had stopped at midnight of the fatal friday for carbines and whisky--after two days of stubborn denial was at last frightened into confession; and doctor mudd, who had set booth's leg saturday morning thirty miles from washington, was in close confinement. all the intimate friends of the actor in washington, in baltimore, in philadelphia, in new york and even in montreal were in the clutches of the government. surratt himself--the pursuit of whom, guided by weichman, his former college-chum, his room-mate, and the favorite guest of his mother, had been instant and thorough--it was ascertained, had left canada on the th of april and was back again on the th. but where was booth? where herold? where atzerodt? on the th, the secretary of war applied the proper stimulus by issuing a proclamation to the following effect: "$ , reward will be paid by this department for the apprehension of the murderer of our late beloved president. "$ , reward for the apprehension of john h. surratt, one of booth's accomplices. "$ , reward for the apprehension of herold, another of booth's accomplices. "liberal rewards will be paid for any information that shall conduce to the arrest of either of the above-named criminals or their accomplices. "all persons harboring or secreting the said persons, or either of them, or aiding or assisting in their concealment or escape, will be treated as accomplices in the murder of the president and the attempted assassination of the secretary of state, and shall be subject to trial before a military commission and the punishment of death." what is noteworthy about this document is that stanton had already made up his mind as to the guilt of the persons named as accomplices of booth; that he needed only their arrest, being assured of their consequent conviction; and that he had already determined that their trial and the trial of all persons connected with the great crime, however remotely, should be had before a military tribunal, and that the punishment to follow conviction should be death. at four o'clock in the morning of the very day this proclamation was issued, atzerodt was apprehended at the house of his cousin in montgomery county, md., about twenty-two miles northward of washington, by a detail of soldiers, to whom, by the way, notwithstanding the arrest preceded the proclamation, $ , reward was subsequently paid. with atzerodt his cousin, richter, was taken also. o'laughlin, payne, arnold, atzerodt and richter, as they were severally arrested, were put into the custody of the navy department and confined on board the monitor _saugus_, which on the morning of saturday, when the president died, had been ordered to swing out into the middle of the river opposite the navy yard, prepared to receive at any hour, day or night, dead or alive, the arch-assassin. each of these prisoners was loaded with double irons and kept under a strong guard. on the d, atzerodt, by order of the secretary of war, was transferred to the monitor _montauk_, to separate him from his cousin, and payne, in addition to his double irons, had a ball and chain fastened to each ankle by the direction of the same officer. on the next day spangler, who had hitherto been confined in the old capitol prison, was transferred to one of the monitors and presumably subjected to the same treatment. on the same day the following order was issued: "the secretary of war requests that the prisoners on board iron-clads belonging to this department for better security against conversation shall have a canvass bag put over the head of each and tied around the neck, with a hole for proper breathing and eating, but not seeing, and that payne be secured to prevent self-destruction." all of which was accordingly done. and still no booth! it seems as though the secretary were mad enough to imagine that he could wring from providence the arrest of the principal assassin by heaping tortures on his supposed accomplices. at length, in the afternoon of the th--wednesday, the second week after the assassination--col. conger arrived with the news of the death of booth and the capture of herold on the early morning of that day; bringing with him the diary and other articles found on the person of booth, which were delivered to secretary stanton at his private residence. in the dead of the ensuing night, the body of booth, sewed up in an old army blanket, arrived, attended by the dog-like herold; and the living and the dead were immediately transferred to the _montauk_. herold was double ironed, balled and chained and hooded. the body of booth was identified; an autopsy held; the shattered bone of his neck taken out for preservation as a relic (it now hangs from the ceiling of the medical museum into which ford's theatre was converted, or did before the collapse); and then, with the utmost secrecy and with all the mystery which could be fabricated, under the direction of col. baker, the corpse was hurriedly taken from the vessel into a small boat, rowed to the arsenal grounds, and buried in a grave dug in a large cellar-like apartment on the ground floor of the old penitentiary; the door was locked, the key removed and delivered into the hands of secretary stanton. no effort was spared to conceal the time, place and circumstances of the burial. false stories were set afloat by baker in furtherance of such purpose. stanton seemed to fear an escape or rescue of the dead man's body; and vowed that no rebel or no rebel sympathizer should have a chance to glory over the corpse, or a fragment of the corpse, of the murderer of lincoln. chapter ii. the bureau of military (in)justice. mingling with the varied emotions evoked by the capture and death of the chief criminal was a feeling of deepest exasperation that the foul assassin should after all have eluded the ignominious penalty of his crime. thence arose a savage disposition on the part of the governing powers to wreak this baffled vengeance first, on his inanimate body; secondly, on the lives of his associates held so securely in such close custody; and thirdly, on all those in high places who might be presumed to sympathize with his deeds. it was too horrible to imagine that the ghost of the martyred lincoln should walk unavenged. so stupendous a calamity must of necessity be the outcome of as stupendous a conspiracy, and must in the very justice of things be followed by as stupendous a retribution. a sacrifice must be offered and the victims must be forthcoming. to employ the parallel subsequently drawn by general ewing on the trial of the conspirators: on the funeral pyre of patroclus must be immolated the twelve trojan captives. they were sure of payne and of herold. they held arnold and o'laughlin and atzerodt and spangler and doctor mudd--all the supposed satellites of booth, save one. john h. surratt could not be found. officers in company with weichman and holahan, boarders at his mother's house, who in the terror of the moment had given themselves up on the morning of the fifteenth, traced him to canada, as has already been noticed, but had there lost track of him. they had returned disappointed; and now weichman and holahan were in solitary confinement. notwithstanding the large rewards out for his capture, as to him alone the all-powerful government seemed to be baffled. one consolation there was, however--if they could not find the son, they held the mother as a hostage for him, and they clung to the cruel expectation that by putting her to the torture of a trial and a sentence, they might force the son from his hiding place. in the meanwhile the bureau of military justice, presided over by judge-advocate-general holt, had been unceasingly at work. general baker with his posse of soldiers and detectives scoured the country far and wide for suspected persons and witnesses, hauled them to washington and shut them up in the prisons. then the bureau of military justice took them in hand, and, when necessary, by promises, hopes of reward and threats of punishment, squeezed out of them the testimony they wanted. colonel henry l. burnett, who had become an expert in such proceedings from having recently conducted the trial of milligan before a military tribunal at indianapolis, was brought on to help judge holt in the great and good work. in the words of general ewing in his plea for dr. mudd: "the very frenzy of madness ruled the hour. reason was swallowed up in patriotic passion, and a feverish and intense excitement prevailed most unfavorable to a calm, correct hearing and faithful repetition of what was said, especially by the suspected. again, and again, and again the accused was catechised by detectives, each of whom was vieing with the other as to which should make the most important discoveries, and each making the examination with a preconceived opinion of guilt, and with an eager desire, if not determination, to find in what might be said the proofs of guilt. again, the witnesses testified under the strong stimulus of a promised reward for information leading to arrest and followed by convictions." the bureau conducted the investigation on the preconceived theory, adopted, as we have seen, by the secretary of war, that the confederate government was the source of the conspiracy; and, by lavishing promises and rewards, it had no difficulty in finding witnesses who professed themselves to have been spies on the rebel agents in canada and who were ready to implicate them and through them the president of the defunct confederacy in the assassination. richard montgomery and sanford conover, who had been in personal communication with these agents during the past year, were eagerly taken into the employ of the bureau, and made frequent trips to canada, to return every time laden with fresh proofs of the complicity of the rebels. to illustrate how the bureau of military justice dealt with witnesses who happened to have been connected more or less closely with booth, and who were either reluctant or unable to make satisfactory disclosures, here are two extracts from the evidence given on the trial of john h. surratt in . the first is from the testimony of lloyd, the besotted keeper of the surratt tavern: "i was first examined at bryantown by colonel wells. i was next examined by two different persons at the carroll prison. i did not know either of their names. one was a military officer. i think some of the prisoners described him as colonel foster. i saw a man at the conspiracy trial as one of the judges who looked very much like him. * * * i told him i had made a fuller statement to colonel wells than i could possibly do to him under the circumstances, while things were fresh in my memory. his reply was that it was not full enough, and then commenced questioning me whether i had ever heard any person say that something wonderful or something terrible was going to take place. i told him i had never heard anyone say so. said he i have seen it in the newspapers. "he jumps up very quick off his seat, as if very mad, and asked me if i knew what i was guilty of. i told him, under the circumstances i did not. he said you are guilty as an accessory to a crime the punishment of which is death. with that i went up stairs to my room." the next is from the testimony of lewis j. carland, to whom weichman confessed his remorse after the execution of mrs. surratt: "he [weichman] said it would have been very different with mrs. surratt if he had been let alone; that a statement had been prepared for him, that it was written out for him, and that he was threatened with prosecution as one of the conspirators if he did not swear to it. he said that a detective had been put into carroll prison with him, and that this man had written out a statement which he said he had made in his sleep, and that he had to swear to that statement." let us add another; it is so short and yet so suggestive. it is from the testimony of james j. gifford, who was a witness for the prosecution on both trials. "q.--do you know mr. weichman? "a.--i have seen him. "q.--were you in carroll prison with him? "a.--yes, sir. "q.--did he say in your presence that an officer of the government had told him that unless he testified to more than he had already stated they would hang him too? "a.--i heard the officer tell him so." after a fortnight of such wholesale processes of arrest, imprisonment, inquisition, reward and intimidation, the bureau of military justice announced itself ready to prove the charges it had formulated. thereupon two proclamations were issued by president johnson. one, dated may the first, after stating that the attorney general had given his opinion "that all persons implicated in the murder of the late president, abraham lincoln, and the attempted assassination of the hon. william h. seward, secretary of state, and in an alleged conspiracy to assassinate other officers of the federal government at washington city, and their aiders and abettors, are subject to the jurisdiction of and legally triable before a military commission," ordered st, "that the assistant adjutant-general (w. a. nichols) detail nine competent military officers to serve as a commission for the trial of said parties, and that the judge-advocate-general proceed to prefer charges against said parties for their alleged offences, and bring them to trial before said military commission." d, "that brevet major-general hartranft be assigned to duty as special provost-marshal-general for the purpose of said trial and attendance upon said commission, and the execution of its mandates." the other proclamation, dated may nd, after reciting that "it appears from evidence in the bureau of military justice, that the atrocious murder of the late president, abraham lincoln, and the attempted assassination of the hon. william h. seward, secretary of state, were incited, concerted, and procured by and between jefferson davis, late of richmond, va., and jacob thompson, clement c. clay, beverly tucker, george n. sanders, william c. cleary, and other rebels and traitors against the government of the united states, harbored in canada," offered the following rewards: "$ , for the arrest of jefferson davis. "$ , for the arrest of clement c. clay. "$ , for the arrest of jacob thompson, late of mississippi. "$ , for the arrest of geo. n. saunders. "$ , for the arrest of beverly tucker. "$ , for the arrest of wm. c. cleary, late clerk of clement c. clay. "the provost-marshal-general of the united states is directed to cause a description of said persons, with notice of the above rewards, to be published." at this date the president of the defunct confederacy was a fugitive, without an army; and bands of u. s. cavalry were already on the scout to intercept his flight. military justice, however, was too impatient to await the arrest of the prime object of its sword; and in obedience to the first proclamation proceeded without delay to organize a court to try the prisoners selected from the multitude undergoing confinement as the fittest victims to appease the shade of the murdered president. over some of the "suspect" the judge-advocates for a time vacillated, whether to include them in the indictment or to use them as witnesses; but, after a season of rigid examinations, renewed and revised, they at last concluded that such persons would be more available in the latter capacity. on the third day of may the funeral car, which, leaving washington on the twenty-first of april, had borne the body of the lamented lincoln through state after state, arrived at last at springfield; and on the following day the cherished remains were there consigned to the tomb. on the sixth, by special order of the adjutant-general, a military commission was appointed to meet at washington on monday, the eighth day of may, or as soon thereafter as practicable, "for the trial of david e. herold, george a. atzerodt, lewis payne, michael o'laughlin, edward spangler, samuel arnold, mary e. surratt, samuel a. mudd and such other prisoners as may be brought before it, implicated in the murder of the late president and in the attempted assassination of the secretary of state and in an alleged conspiracy to assassinate other officers of the federal government at washington city, and their aiders and abettors. by order of the president of the united states." and so, all things being in readiness, let the curtain rise. part i. the murder. chapter i. the opening of the court. on the ninth day of may the commission met but only to adjourn that the prisoners might employ counsel. on the same day, two of its members, general cyrus b. comstock and colonel horace porter--names to be noted for what may have been a heroic refusal--were relieved from the duty of sitting upon the commission, and two other officers substituted in their stead. so that tuesday, may th, --twenty-six days after the assassination, a period much too short for the intense excitement and wild desire for vengeance to subside--may properly be designated as the first session of the court. on the early morning of that day--before daylight--jefferson davis had been captured, and was immediately conducted, not to washington to stand trial for his alleged complicity in the assassination, but to fort monroe. on the next day clement c. clay, also, surrendered himself to the united states authorities, and was sent, not to washington to meet the awful charge formulated against him, but to the same military fortress. the room in which the commission met was in the northeast corner of the third story of the old penitentiary; a building standing in the u. s. arsenal grounds at the junction of the potomac with the eastern branch, in a room on the ground floor of which the body of booth had been secretly buried. its windows were guarded by iron gratings, and it communicated with that part of the prison where the accused were now confined, by a door in the western wall. the male prisoners had been removed some days before from the monitors to the penitentiary, where mrs. surratt was already incarcerated, and each of them, including the lady, was now immured in a solitary cell under the surveillance of a special guard. around a table near the eastern side of this room sat, resplendent in full uniform, the members of the court. at the head as president was major-general david hunter--a stern, white-headed soldier, sixty-three years old; a fierce radical; the first officer to organize the slaves into battalions of war; the warm personal friend of lincoln, at the head of whose corpse he had grimly sat as it rested from place to place on the triumphal progress to its burial, and from whose open grave he had hurried, in no very judicial humor to say the least, to take his seat among the judges of the accused assassins. on his right sat major-general lew wallace, a lawyer by profession; afterwards the president of the court-martial which tried and hung henry wirz; but now, by a sardonic freak of destiny, known to all the world as the tender teller of "ben hur, a tale of the christ." to the right of general wallace sat brevet brigadier-general james a. ekin and brevet colonel charles a. tompkins; about whom the only thing remarkable is that they had stepped into the places of the two relieved officers, colonel tompkins being the only regular army officer on the board. on the left of general hunter sat, first, brevet major-general august v. kautz, a native of germany; next, brigadier-general robert s. foster, who may or may not have been the "colonel foster" alluded to in the testimony of lloyd quoted above, as threatening the witness and as afterwards being seen by him on the commission--the presence of an officer, previously engaged by the government in collecting testimony against the accused, as one of the judges to try him not being considered a violation of military justice. next sat brigadier-general thomas mealey harris, a west virginian, and the author of a book entitled "calvinism vindicated;" next, brigadier-general albion p. howe, and last, lieutenant-colonel david r. clendenin. not one of these nine men could have withstood the challenge which the common law mercifully puts into the hands of the most abandoned culprit. they had come together with one determined and unchangeable purpose--to avenge the foul murder of their beloved commander-in-chief. they dreamt not of acquittal. they were, necessarily, from the very nature of their task, _organized to convict_. the accused were asked, it is true, whether they had any objections to any member of the court. but this was the emptiest of forms, as bias is no cause of challenge in military procedure, and peremptory challenges are unknown. moreover, it was nothing but a cruel mockery to offer to that trembling group of prisoners an opportunity, which, if any one of them had the temerity to embrace, could only have resulted in barbing with the sting of personal insult the hostile predisposition of the judges. at the foot of the table around which the court sat--the table standing parallel with the north side of the room--there was another, around which were gathered the three prosecuting officers, who, according to military procedure, were also members of the commission. first, was brigadier-general joseph holt, the judge-advocate of the u. s. army, and the recorder of the commission. during his past military career he had distinguished himself on many a bloody court-martial. second, designated by general holt as first assistant or special judge-advocate, was hon. john a. bingham, of ohio--long a representative in congress, then for a short interval a military judge-advocate, now a representative in congress again, and to become in the strange vicissitudes of the near future, one of the managers of the impeachment of president johnson, whom he now cannot praise too highly. he was one of those fierce and fiery western criminal lawyers, gifted with that sort of vociferous oratory which tells upon jurors and on the stump, by nature and training able to see but one side to a case and consequently merciless to his victims. his special function was to cross-examine and brow-beat the witnesses for the defense, a branch of his profession in which he was proudly proficient, and, above all, by pathetic appeals to their patriotism and loyalty, and by measureless denunciations of the murder of their commander-in-chief and of the rebellion, to keep up at a white heat the already burning passions of the officers composing the tribunal. next to him came colonel henry l. burnett; brought from indiana where he had won recent laurels in conducting the trial of milligan for treason before a military commission--laurels, alas! soon to be blasted by the decision of the u. s. supreme court pronouncing that and all other military commissions for the trial of citizens in places where the civil courts are open illegal, and setting free the man this zealous public servant had been instrumental in condemning to death. in the centre of the room was a witness-stand facing the court. to the left of the witness-stand a table for the official reporters. along the western side and directly opposite the court was a platform about a foot high and four feet broad, with a strong railing in front of it. this was the prisoners' dock. the platform was divided near the left hand or southern corner by the doorway which led to the cells. in front of the southern end of the dock and behind the witness-stand was the table of the prisoners' counsel. at the appointed hour the door in the western side opens and an impressive and mournful procession appears. six soldiers armed to the teeth are interspersed among seven male prisoners and one woman. first walks samuel arnold, the young baltimorean, who is to sit at the extreme right (_i. e._, of the spectators), followed close by his armed guard; next, dr. samuel t. mudd and a soldier; next, edward spangler and a soldier; next, michael o'laughlin, another baltimorean, and his soldier; next, george b. atzerodt and a soldier; next, lewis payne, a tall gladiator, though only twenty years old, and his soldier; and then david e. herold, looking like an insignificant boy, who is to sit next the door. as they enter, their fetters clanking at every step, they turn to their left and take seats on the platform in the order named, the six soldiers being sandwiched here and there between two of the men. each of these prisoners, during the entire trial, was loaded down with irons made as massive and uncomfortable as possible. their wrists were bound with the heaviest hand-cuffs, connected by bars of iron ten inches long (with the exception of dr. mudd, whose hand-cuffs were connected by a chain), so that they could not join their hands. their legs were weighed down by shackles joined by chains made short enough to hamper their walk. in addition to these fetters, common to all, payne and atzerodt had, attached by chains to their legs, huge iron balls, which their guards had to lift and carry after them whenever they entered or left the court room. last, there emerges from the dungeon-like darkness of the doorway the single female prisoner, mary e. surratt. she, alone, turns to her right and, consequently, when she is seated has the left hand corner of the platform to herself. but she is separated from her companions in misery by more than the narrow passage-way that divides the dock; for she is a lady of fair social position, of unblemished character and of exemplary piety, and, besides, she is a mother, a widow, and, in that room amongst all those soldiers, lawyers, guards, judges and prisoners, the sole representative of her sex. her womanhood is her peculiar weakness, yet still her only shield. is she too ironed? the unanimous testimony of eye-witnesses published at the time of the trial is, that, though not hand-cuffed, she was bound with iron "anklets" on her feet. and this detail, thus universally proclaimed in the northern press and by loyal writers, was mentioned not as conveying the slightest hint of reprobation, but as constituting, like the case of the male prisoners, a part of the appropriate treatment by the military of a person suffering under such a charge. and, moreover, no contemporaneous denial of this widespread circumstance was anywhere made, either by provost-marshal, counsel, judge-advocate or member of the court. it passed unchallenged into history, like many another deed of shame, over which it is a wonder that any man could glory, but which characterized that period of frenzy. eight years after, during the bitter controversy between andrew johnson and joseph holt over the recommendation of mercy to mrs. surratt, general hartranft, the former special provost-marshal in charge of the prisoners, first broke silence and, coming to the aid of the sorely-tried ex-judge-advocate, sent him a vehement categorical denial that mrs. surratt was ever manacled at any time, or that there was ever a thought of manacling her in any one's mind. now, what force should be given to such a denial by so distinguished an officer, so long delayed and in the face of such universal contemporaneous affirmation? no one knows how close and exclusive the charge of the prisoners by the special provost-marshal was, nor how liable to interruption, interference and supersession by the omnipotent bureau of military justice, or by the maddened secretary of war and his obsequious henchmen. at the time the naked assertion was made, to heap indignities upon the head of the only woman in the whole country whom the soldiery took for granted was the one female fiend who helped to shed the blood of the martyred president, was so consonant with the angry feeling, in military circles, that an officer, having only a general superintendence over the custody and treatment of what was called "a band of fiends," would be very likely to overlook such a small matter as that the she-assassin was not exempted, in one detail, from the contumelies and cruelties it was thought patriotic to pile upon her co-conspirators. the only wonder ought to be that they relieved her from the hand-cuffs. they appear to have discriminated in the case of dr. mudd also, substituting a chain for an inflexible bar so that he for one could move his hands. there may have been some unmentioned physical reasons for both of these alleviations, but we may rest assured that neither sex, in the one case, nor profession in the other, was among them. general hartranft (or any other general) never denied, or thought it necessary to deny, that the seven male prisoners sat through the seven weeks of the trial, loaded, nay tortured, with irons. and there is no doubt that this unspeakable outrage, if thought of at all at the trial by the soldiery--high or low--so far from being thought of as a matter of reprobation, was a subject of grim merriment or stern congratulation. eight years, however, passed away--eight years, in which a fund of indignation at such brutality, above all to a woman, had been silently accumulating, until at length to a soldier, whose beclouding passions of the moment had in the meantime cooled down, its weight made every loop-hole of escape an entrance for the very breath of life. the entire atmosphere had changed, and denials became the order of the day. memory is a most convenient faculty; and to forget what the lapse of years has at last stamped with infamy is easy, when the event passed at the time as a mere matter of course. leaving these tardy repudiators of an iniquity, the responsibility for which in the day of its first publication they tacitly assumed with the utmost complacency, to settle the question with posterity;--we insist that the preference is open to writers upon the events of the year to rely upon the unprejudiced and unchallenged statements of eye-witnesses; and, therefore, we do here reaffirm that mary e. surratt walked into the court-room, and sat during her trial, with shackles upon her limbs. at this late day it is a most natural supposition that these nine stalwart military heroes, sitting comfortably around their table, arrayed in their bright uniforms, with their own arms and their own legs unfettered, must have felt at least a faint flush of mingled pity, shame and indignation, as they looked across that room at that ironed row of human beings. culprits arraigned before them, guarded by armed soldiery, without arms themselves--why, in the name of justice, drag them into court and force them to sit through a long trial, bound with iron, hand and foot? was it to forestall a last possible effort of reckless and suicidal despair? these brave warriors could not have feared the naked arm of payne, nor have indulged the childish apprehension that seven unarmed men and one unarmed woman might overpower six armed soldiers and nine gallant officers, and effect their escape from the third story of a prison guarded on all sides with bayonets and watched by detective police! and yet, so far as appears, no single member of the court, to whom such a desecration of our common humanity was a daily sight for weeks, thought it deserving of notice, much less of protest. there is but one explanation of this moral insensibility, and that applies with the same force to the case of the woman as to those of the men. it is, that the accused were _already doomed_. for them no humiliation could be thought too deep, no indignity too vile, no hardship too severe, because their guilt was predetermined to be clear. and the members of the military commission, as they looked across the room at that sorry sight, saw nothing incongruous with justice, or even with the most chivalrous decorum, that the traitorous murderers of their beloved commander-in-chief should wear the shackles which were the proper precursors of the death of ignominy, they were resolved the outlaws should not escape. we, civilians, must ever humbly bear in mind that the rule of the common law, that every person accused of crime is presumed to be innocent until his guilt is established beyond a reasonable doubt--a rule the benignity of which is often sneered at by soldiers as giving occasion for lawyers' tricks and quibbles, and as an impediment to swift justice, is reversed in military courts, where every person accused of crime is presumed to be _guilty_ until he himself prove his innocence. after the prisoners had been seated, and the members of the commission, the judge-advocates and the official reporters sworn in, the accused were severally arraigned. there was but one charge against the whole eight. carefully formulated by the three judge-advocates upon the lines of the theory adopted by the secretary of war, and which gen. baker and the bureau of military justice had been moving heaven and earth to establish, it was so contrived as to allege a crime of such unprecedented, far-reaching and profound heinousness as to be an adequate cause of such an unprecedented and profound calamity. the eight prisoners were jointly and severally charged with nothing less than having, in aid of the rebellion, "_traitorously_" conspired, "together with one john h. surratt, john wilkes booth, jefferson davis, george n. sanders, beverley tucker, jacob thompson, william c. cleary, clement c. clay, george harper, george young and others unknown, to kill and murder" "abraham lincoln, late president of the united states and commander-in-chief of the army and navy thereof, andrew johnson, then vice-president, wm. h. seward, secretary of state, and ulysses s. grant, lieutenant-general;" and of having, in pursuance of such "traitorous conspiracy," "together with john wilkes booth and john h. surratt" "traitorously" murdered abraham lincoln, "traitorously" assaulted with intent to kill, william h. seward, and lain in wait "traitorously" to murder andrew johnson and ulysses s. grant. on this elastic comprehensive charge, in which treason and murder are vaguely commingled, every one of the men, and mary e. surratt, were arraigned, plead not guilty, and were put upon trial. there is no doubt, by the way, that the secretary of war would have been included as one of the contemplated victims, had not edwin m. stanton borne so prominent a part in the prosecution; and it was for this reason, and not because of any change in the evidence, that general grant stood alone, as the mark of o'laughlin. to this single charge there was, also, but a single specification. this document alleged that the design of all these traitorous conspirators was, to deprive the army and navy of their commander-in-chief and the armies of their commander; to prevent a lawful election of president and vice-president; and by such means to aid and comfort the rebellion and overthrow the constitution and laws. it then alleged the killing of abraham lincoln by booth in the prosecution of the conspiracy, and charged the murder to be the act of the prisoners, as well as of booth and john h. surratt. it then alleged that spangler, in furtherance of the conspiracy, aided booth in obtaining entrance to the box of the theatre, in barring the door of the theatre box, and in effecting his escape. then, that herold, in furtherance of the conspiracy, aided and abetted booth in the murder, and in effecting his escape. then, that payne, in like furtherance, made the murderous assault on seward and also on his two sons and two attendants. then, that atzerodt, in like furtherance, at the same hour of the night, lay in wait for andrew johnson with intent to kill him. then, that michael o'laughlin, in like furtherance, on the nights of the th and th of april, lay in wait for general grant with like intent. then, that samuel arnold, in prosecution of the conspiracy, "did, on or before the th day of march, , and on divers other days and times between that day and the th day of april, , combine, conspire with and counsel, abet, comfort and support" booth, payne, atzerodt, o'laughlin and their confederates. then, "that, in prosecution of the conspiracy, mary e. surratt, on or before the th of march, , and on divers other days and times between that day and the th of april, , received, entertained, harbored and concealed, aided and assisted" booth, herold, payne, john h. surratt, o'laughlin, atzerodt, arnold and their confederates, "with the knowledge of the murderous and traitorous conspiracy aforesaid, and with intent to aid, abet and assist them in the execution thereof, and in escaping from justice." and, lastly, that in prosecution of the conspiracy samuel a. mudd did from on or before the th day of march, to the th of april "advise, encourage, receive, entertain, harbor and conceal, aid and assist" booth, herold, payne, john h. surratt, o'laughlin, atzerodt, mary e. surratt, arnold and their confederates, in its execution and their escape. after the prisoners, who as yet had no counsel, had pleaded not guilty to the charge and specification, the court adopted rules of proceeding--one of which was that the sessions of the court should be secret, and no one but the sworn officers and the counsel for the prisoners, also sworn to secrecy, should be admitted, except by permit of the president of the commission; and that only such portions of the testimony as the judge-advocate should designate should be made public. on the next day (thursday, may th), mr. thomas ewing, jr. and mr. frederick stone appeared as counsel for dr. mudd, and mr. frederick a. aiken and mr. john w. clampitt for mrs. surratt; and on the succeeding day ( th), mr. frederick stone appeared for herold "at the earnest request of his widowed mother and estimable sisters;" general ewing for arnold (and on monday, the th, for spangler); mr. walter s. cox for o'laughlin, and mr. william e. doster for payne and atzerodt. by the rules of the commission no counsel could appear for the prisoners unless he took the "iron-clad oath" or filed evidence of having taken it. so supersensitive was the loyalty of the court that it could not brook the presence of a "sympathizer with the south," even in such a confidential relation as counsel for accused conspirators in aid of the rebellion. the demeanor of the court towards the counsel for the defense, reflecting as in a mirror the humor of the judge-advocates, was highly characteristic. sometimes they were treated with haughty indifference, sometimes with ironical condescension, often with contumely, generally with contempt. their objections were invariably overruled, unless acceded to by the judge-advocate. the commission could not conceal its secret opinion that they were engaged in a disreputable and disloyal employment. this statement must be somewhat qualified, however, so far as it relates to general ewing. he was, or had been recently, of equal rank in the army of the union with the members of the court. he was a brother-in-law of general sherman, and he had acquired a high reputation for gallantry and skill, as well as loyalty, during the war. that such a distinguished fellow-soldier should appear to defend the fiendish murderers of their beloved commander-in-chief--outlaws they were detailed as a court to hang--evidently perplexed and disconcerted these military judges and tended in some degree to curb the over-bearing insolence of the special judge-advocate. thus, this able lawyer and gallant officer and noble man was enabled to be "the leading spirit of the defense;" and, as we shall see, he wrought the miracle of plucking from the deadly clutches of the judge-advocates the lives of every one of the men he defended. but this instance was a most notable exception. as a rule, even the silent presence of the counsel for the accused jarred upon the feelings of the court, and their vocal interference provoked, at intervals, its outspoken animadversion. a trifling incident will serve to illustrate. the witnesses, while giving their testimony, were required to face the court, so that they necessarily turned their backs on the counsel for the prisoners who were placed some distance behind the witness-stand. these counsel were also forced to cross-examine the witnesses for the prosecution, and interrogate their own, without seeing their faces; and as often as a witness in instinctive obedience to the dictates of good manners would turn round to answer a question, the president of the court would check him by a "sharp reprimand" and the stern admonition: "face the court!" the confusion of a witness, especially for the defense, when thundered at in this way by general hunter, and the reiterated humiliation of counsel implied in the order, seem to have only called forth the wonder that witnesses "would persist in turning towards the prisoners' counsel!" clearly these lawyers were an unmeaning, an impeding, an offensive, though unavoidable, superfluity. chapter ii. animus of the judges. on saturday, the th of may, an incident occurred which throws much light upon the judicial temper of the court at the very beginning of the trial. on that day reverdy johnson appeared as counsel for mrs. surratt. admitted to the bar in , senator of the united states as far back as , attorney-general of the united states as long ago as , and holding the position of senator of the united states again at that very moment; having taken the constitutional oath in all the courts including the supreme court of the united states at whose bar he was one of the most eminent advocates; three years after this time to be minister plenipotentiary to england; as he stood there, venerable both in years and in honors, appearing at great personal and professional sacrifice, gratuitously, for a woman in peril of her life, one would have thought him secure at least from insult. yet no sooner did he announce his intention, if the court would permit him at any time to attend to his imperative duties elsewhere, to act as counsel, than the president of the commission read aloud a note he had received from one of his colleagues objecting "to the admission of reverdy johnson as a counsel before this court on the ground that he does not recognize the moral obligation of an oath that is designed as a test of loyalty;" and, in support of the objection, referring to mr. johnson's letter to the people of maryland pending the adoption of the new constitution of . the following colloquy then took place: "mr. johnson.--may i ask who the member of the court is that makes that objection? "the president.--yes, sir, it is general harris, and, if he had not made it, i should have made it myself. "mr. johnson.--i do not object to it at all. the court will decide if i am to be tried. "the president.--the court will be cleared. "mr. johnson.--i hope i shall be heard. "general ekin.--i think it can be decided without clearing the court. "general wallace.--i move that mr. johnson be heard. "the president and others.--certainly. "mr. johnson.--is the opinion here to which the objection refers? "the president.--i think it is not." it was discovered, farther on, that general harris by his own admissions had not even seen the opinion since he had read it a year ago, and that his objection, involving so grave an attack upon the moral character of so distinguished a man, was based upon a mere recollection of its contents after that lapse of time. naturally, the gray-haired statesman and lawyer was indignant at this premeditated insult. in his address to the court he repudiated with scorn the interpretation put upon his letter by his accuser. he explained the circumstances under which the opinion was delivered; that the maryland convention had prescribed an oath to the voter which they had no right to exact; "and all that the opinion said, or was intended to say, was, that to take the oath voluntarily was not a craven submission to usurped authority, but was necessary in order to enable the citizen to protect his rights under the then constitution; and that there was no moral harm in taking an oath which the convention had no authority to impose." among other things he said: "there is no member of this court, including the president, and the member that objects, who recognizes the obligation of an oath more absolutely than i do; and there is nothing in my life, from its commencement to the present time, which would induce me for a moment to avoid a comparison in all moral respects between myself and any member of this court. "if such an objection was made in the senate of the united states, where i am known, i forbear to say how it would be treated. "i have lived too long, gone through too many trials, rendered the country such services as my abilities enabled me, and the confidence of the people in whose midst i am has given me the opportunity, to tolerate for a moment--come from whom it may--such an aspersion upon my moral character. i am glad it is made now, when i have arrived at that period of life when it would be unfit to notice it in any other way. "i am here at the instance of that lady (pointing to mrs. surratt) whom i never saw until yesterday, and never heard of, she being a maryland lady; and thinking that i could be of service to her, and protesting as she has done her innocence to me--of the facts i know nothing--because i deemed it right, i deemed it due to the character of the profession to which i belong, and which is not inferior to the noble profession of which you are members, that she should not go undefended. i knew i was to do it voluntarily, without compensation; the law prohibits me from receiving compensation; but if it did not, understanding her condition, i should never have dreamed of refusing upon the ground of her inability to make compensation." general harris, in reply, insisted that the remarks of mr. johnson, explanatory of the letter, corroborated his construction. "i understand him to say that the doctrine which he taught the people of his state was, that because the convention had framed an oath, which was unconstitutional and illegal in his opinion, therefore it had no moral binding force, and that people might take it and then go and vote without any regard to the subject matter, of the oath." mr. johnson, interrupting, denied having said any such thing. general hunter, thereupon, to help his colleague out, had the remarks read from the record. mr. johnson assenting to the correctness of the report, general harris continued: "if that language does not justify my conclusion, i confess i am unable to understand the english language;" and then repeated his construction of the letter. after he had concluded, mr. johnson endeavored to show the author of "calvinism vindicated" that he did not understand the english language, by pointing out the distinction between stating "there was no harm in taking an oath, and telling the people of maryland that there would be no harm in breaking it after it was taken." again repelling the misconstruction attempted to be put upon his words, he proceeded to open a new line as follows: "but, as a legal question, it is something new to me that the objection, if it was well founded in fact is well founded in law. who gives to the court the jurisdiction to decide upon the moral character of the counsel who may appear before them? who makes them the arbiters of the public morality and professional morality? what authority have they, under their commission, to rule me out, or to rule any other counsel out, upon the ground, above all, that he does not recognize the validity of an oath, even if they believed it?" general harris, in rejoinder, stated that under the rules adopted by the commission gentlemen appearing as counsel for the accused must either produce a certificate of having taken the oath of loyalty or take it before the court, and that therefore the court had a right to inquire whether counsel held such opinions as to be incompetent to take the oath. he then expressed his gladness "to give the gentleman the benefit of his disclaimer. it is satisfactory to me, but it is, i must insist, a tacit admission that there was some ground for the view upon which my objection was founded." mr. johnson closed this irritating discussion by saying: "the order under which you are assembled gives you no authority to refuse me admission because you have no authority to administer the oath to me. i have taken the oath in the senate of the united states--the very oath that you are administering; i have taken it in the circuit court of the united states; i have taken it in the supreme court of the united states; and i am a practitioner in all the courts of the united states in nearly all the states; and it would be a little singular if one who has a right to appear before the supreme judicial tribunal of the land, and who has a right to appear before one of the legislative departments of the government whose law creates armies, and creates judges and courts-martial, should not have a right to appear before a court-martial. i have said all that i proposed to say." the president of the court, who had already made himself a party to this gross insult to a distinguished counsel--as if disappointed that the affair was about to end so smoothly--here burst out: "mr. johnson has made an intimation in regard to holding members of this court personally responsible for their action. "mr. johnson.--i made no such intimation; did not intend it. "the president.--then i shall say nothing more, sir. "mr. johnson.--i had no idea of it. i said i was too old to feel such things, if i even would. "the president.--i was going to say that i hoped the day had passed when freemen from the north were to be bullied and insulted by the humbug chivalry; and that, for my own part, i hold myself personally responsible for everything i do here. the court will be cleared." on reopening, the judge-advocate read a paper from general harris withdrawing his objection because of mr. johnson's disclaimer. general wallace remarked that it must be known to every member of the commission that mr. senator johnson had taken the oath in the senate of the united states. he therefore suggested that the requirement of his taking the oath be dispensed with. "the suggestion was acquiesced in, _nem. con._ "mr. johnson.--i appear, then, as counsel for mrs. surratt." in reviewing, at this distance of time, the foregoing scene, it is scarcely possible to realize the state of mind of a member of a tribunal claiming at least to be a court of justice, that could prompt such an onslaught--so shocking to the universal expectation of dignity and decorum, not to say absolute impartiality, in a judge. the interpretation put upon the letter of reverdy johnson to his constituents by generals harris and hunter was the ordinary, ill-considered, second-hand version circulated by blind party hostility. this is clearly shown by the fact that the objection of general harris was not founded upon a recent perusal of the letter, but upon his own recollection of the impression it made in his own party circles the year before. when, on the next wednesday, general harris, having in the meantime looked it up, presented a copy of the incriminated opinion, prefacing a request that it be made a part of the record by the sneering remark that "the honorable gentleman ought to be very thankful to me for having made an occasion for him to disclaim before the country any obliquity of intention in writing that letter;" and, on the suggestion of general hunter, the letter was read; every fair minded man ought to have been convinced that it was open to such a malign misconstruction only by an unscrupulous political enemy. but suppose for a moment that their own hasty and uncharitable construction was correct, what right--what color of justification--did that give these two military judges to make that letter of the year before the pretext for a sudden attack in open court upon such a man as reverdy johnson, and on the consecrated occasion of his appearing as counsel for a lady on trial for her life? as to general harris' argument that the requirement of an oath gave the commission a right to inquire whether the written opinions of a counsel chosen for a defendant, previously delivered as a party leader, were of such a character as to render him incompetent to take an oath which the supreme court of the united states and the senate of the united states had recognized his competency to take; why, it is charitable to suppose--and his subsequent claim would have been scouted as preposterous in any law-court in the world. with regard to general hunter, his ferocious personal defiance, hurled from the very bench, demonstrated in a flash his preëminent unfitness for any function that is judicial even in a military sense. it is manifest that this whole attack, whether concerted or not, was not made from any conscientious regard for the sanctity of an oath, nor from any sensitive fear that reverdy johnson, as an oath-breaker, might contaminate the tribunal; but it was either a mere empty ebullition of party spleen, or of party hatred towards a distinguished democrat, or it was made with a deliberate design to rob a poor woman of any probable advantage such eminent counsel might procure for her. and whether the latter terrible suspicion be well founded or not, true it is that this cruel result, notwithstanding the withdrawal of the objection, did not fail of full accomplishment. reverdy johnson, though suffered to appear as counsel, was virtually out of the case. he was present only at rare intervals during the trial, and sent in his final argument to be read by one of his juniors. the court had put its brand upon him, and to any subsequent effort of his it turned an indifferent countenance and a deaf ear. he, forsooth, had "sympathized" with the rebellion and that was enough! his appearance worked only harm to his client, if harm could be done to one whom the court believed to have been also a sympathizer with rebellion, and who was already doomed to suffer in the place of her uncaptured son. another incident, occurring after the testimony on behalf of the prisoners had begun, will illustrate still more clearly, if possible, the mental attitude of the court. among the witnesses sworn on the first day of the trial in secret session was one von steinacker, who, according to his own statement, had been in the confederate army, on the staff of major-general edward johnson. he told the usual cock-and-bull story about seeing booth in virginia, in , consorting with the rebel officers and concocting the assassination of lincoln. at the time of his examination he was a prisoner of war, but after he had given his testimony he was discharged. the counsel for the defense knowing nothing of the witness did not cross-examine him at all. but, subsequently, they discovered that, after having once been convicted of an attempt to desert, he had at last succeeded in deserting the union army, and had entered the service of the confederates; that he had been convicted of theft by a court-martial; and that his whole story was a fiction. thereupon, as soon as possible, the counsel for mrs. surratt applied for the recall of the witness for cross-examination, so as to lay the basis for his contradiction and impeachment; and they embodied the facts they were ready to prove in a paper which was signed by reverdy johnson and the other counsel for mrs. surratt. this application seems to have strangely disturbed the judge-advocates and aroused the ire of the court. the prosecuting officers professed to have no knowledge of the whereabouts of the witness; and general wallace, moved from his wonted propriety, delivered himself as follows: "i, for my part, object to the appearance of any such paper on the record, and wish to say now that i understand distinctly and hold in supreme contempt, such practices as this. it is very discreditable to the parties concerned, to the attorneys, and, if permitted, in my judgment will be discreditable to the court." mr. clampitt, with the most obsequious deference to the court, deprecated any such reflection upon the conduct of counsel and alluded to their duty to their unfortunate clients. but this humble apology was declared not satisfactory to the general or to the court; and the application was not only refused but the paper was not allowed to go upon the record. however, this summary method of keeping facts out of sight availed nothing. mrs. surratt's counsel had caused to be summoned as a witness, to contradict and impeach von steinacker, edward johnson, the very major-general on whose staff the witness had sworn he had been. general johnson, a distinguished officer in the confederate army, was taken prisoner in and had been in confinement since, as such, at fort warren. from thence he had been brought to attend before the commission in obedience to a subpoena issued by the court. on the th of may, he was called as a witness and appeared upon the stand to be sworn. as he stood there, in his faded uniform, bearing, doubtless, traces of the six months' imprisonment from which he had come at the command of the court, facing the officers of the army he had so often encountered, and with his back turned upon the woman on whose behalf he had been summoned; general albion p. howe deemed it his duty as an impartial judge to make the following attack upon him. after stating that it was well known that "the person" before the court had been educated at the national military academy, and had since for many years held a commission in the u. s. army, and had therefore taken the oath of allegiance, this gallant officer and upright judge proceeded: "in , it became my duty as an officer to fire upon a rebel party, of which this man was a member, and that party fired upon, struck down, and killed loyal men that were in the service of the government. i understand that he is brought here now as a witness to testify before this court, and he comes here as a witness with his hands red with the blood of his loyal countrymen, shed by him or by his assistants, in violation of his solemn oath as a man and his faith as an officer. i submit to this court that he stands in the eye of the law as an incompetent witness, because he is notoriously infamous. to offer as a witness a man who stands with this character, who has openly violated the obligations of his oath, and his faith as an officer, and to administer the oath to him and present his testimony, is but an insult to the court and an outrage upon the administration of justice. i move that this man, edward johnson, be ejected from the court as an incompetent witness on account of his notorious infamy on the grounds i have stated." general ekin welcomed the opportunity to distinguish himself by seconding the motion and characterizing the appearance of the witness before the commission, "with such a character" as "the height of impertinence!" in his haste to insult a fallen foe, he seems to have forgotten that the witness had no alternative but to come. the counsel for the prisoner humbly reminded the court that the prosecution itself had sworn as its own witnesses men who had borne arms against the government. the judge-advocate saw that the members of the court had gone too far, and, after calling their attention to the familiar rule that the record of conviction in a judicial proceeding was the only basis of a total rejection of a witness, proceeded to provide a channel for the relief of the court by suggesting that they could discredit the witness upon the ground stated, although they could not declare him incompetent to testify. the assertion is confidently made that in the whole annals of english criminal jurisprudence, full as they are of instances of the grossest unfairness to persons on trial, no such outrage upon the administration of justice as the foregoing can be found. to find its parallel you must go to the records of the french revolutionary tribunal. what are we to think of the complaint of a union general, that "a rebel party" fired (first? no! but that when "it became his duty as an officer to fire upon a rebel party" the rebel party fired) back? what in mars' name did this warrior expect? would he have had kinder feelings towards his brave adversary if, in response to his own volley, the confederate general had tamely laid down his arms, or played the coward and run? nowadays, when the blue and the gray meet, charges of infamy are no longer heard, but the more deadly the past warfare, the greater the reciprocal respect. however, this unprovoked assault upon an unoffending officer, powerless to repel it, although it did not result in his ejection from the court, effectually disposed of general johnson as a witness. in answer to the questions of counsel he calmly gave his testimony, which exploded both von-steinacker and his story. judge bingham confined his cross-examination to eliciting the facts, that the witness had graduated from west point, served in the u. s. army until , resigned, and joined the confederate army. the court paid no attention to his direct testimony because he had fired upon union men when they had fired upon him. the foregoing incidents conclusively show (were any such demonstration necessary) that a board of nine military officers, fresh from service in the field in a bloody civil war, with all the fierce prejudices naturally bred by such a conflict hot within their bosoms, was the most unfit tribunal possible to administer impartial justice to eight persons charged with the murder of the commander-in-chief of the army to which every member of the court belonged, committed in aid of that rebellion which during four years of hard fighting they had helped to suppress. chapter iii. the conduct of the trial. the whole conduct of the trial emphasizes this conclusion. the court, in weighing the evidence, adopted and acted upon the following proposition; that any witness, sworn for any of the prisoners, who had enlisted in the confederate service, or had at any time expressed secession sentiments, or sympathized in any way with the south, was totally unworthy of credit. the court went a step farther, and adopted the monstrous rule that participation in the rebellion was evidence of participation in the assassination! this assertion now seems incredible, but it is fully attested by the record. at one stage of the trial, the judge-advocate asked a witness whether or not the prisoner arnold had been in the military service of the rebels. general ewing, his counsel, strenuously objected to this question on the ground, that it tended to prove the prisoner guilty of another crime than the one for which he was on trial, and thus to prejudice him in the eyes of the court. judge holt remarked: "how kindred to each other are the crimes of treason against a nation and assassination of its chief magistrate. "the murder of the president * * * was preëminently a political assassination. "when, therefore, we shall show, on the part of the accused, acts of intense disloyalty, bearing arms in the field against the government, we show with him the presence of an animus towards the government which relieves this accusation of much, if not all, of its improbability." he asserted that such a course of proof was constantly resorted to in criminal courts; and when general ewing challenged him (as well he might) to produce any authorities for such a position, he called upon the indomitable bingham to state them. the special judge-advocate responded, but he courteously, but unmistakably, shied away from his colleague's position and put the competency of the testimony upon another ground, viz.: that where the intent with which a thing was done is in issue, other acts of the prisoner which tend to prove the intent may be given in evidence. here he was dealing with a familiar principle, and could cite any number of cases. he then proceeded to apply his good law. how? by claiming that conspiracy to murder having been laid in the charge, "_with the intent to aid the rebellion_," that was the intent in issue here, and therefore to prove that a man was in the rebellion went to prove that intent. at the request of general ewing he read the allegation which ran "in aid of the rebellion," and not "_with intent_ to aid," and the counsel pointed out that that was "an allegation of fact, and not of intent;" but the judge insisted that it was in effect an allegation of intent--implied if not expressed. general ewing then replied to his adversary's argument by showing that such an allegation was an unnecessary allegation. conspiracy to murder and attempted murder were crimes done with _intent to kill_; and it was a matter of no moment in pleading to allege a general intent to aid the rebellion. courts had no right to violate the laws of evidence because the prosecution has seen fit to violate the laws of pleading. judge bingham contended (and cited authorities) for his familiar law, and then again in applying it triumphantly asked: "when he [arnold] entered it (_i. e._, the rebellion) he entered into it to aid it, did he not?" "mr. ewing. he did not enter into that to assassinate the president." at this, the assistant judge-advocate rising to the decisive and culminating point of his argument gave utterance to the following proposition: "yes: he entered into it to assassinate the president; and everybody else that entered into the rebellion entered into it to assassinate everybody that represented the government, that either followed the standard in the field, or represented its standard in the counsels. that is exactly why it is germane." and, thereupon, the commission immediately overruled the objection. general ewing told the exact truth, without a particle of rhetorical exaggeration, when, in the closing sentence of his argument against the jurisdiction of the commission, he exclaimed: "indeed, the position taken by the learned assistant judge-advocate * * * goes to this--and even beyond it--namely, that participation in the rebellion was participation in the assassination, and that the rebellion itself formed part of the conspiracy for which these men are on trial here." throughout the whole trial, the commission took the law from the judge-advocates with the unquestioning docility usually manifested by a jury on such matters in civil courts. in truth, the main function of a judge-advocate appears to be to furnish law to the court, as in civil courts the main function of the judge is to furnish law to the jury. consequently, his exposition of the law on any disputed point--whether relative to modes of procedure, or to the competency of testimony, or even to questions of jurisdiction--instead of standing on the same level with the antagonistic exposition of counsel for the accused as an argument to be weighed by the court against its opposite in the equal scales of decision, was at all times authoritative, like the opinion of a judge overruling the contention of a lawyer. this, surely, was bad enough for a defendant; but, what was still more fatal to his chances of fair dealing, this habit of domination, acquiesced in by the court on questions of law, had the effect (as is also seen in civil courts) of giving the same superior force to the expositions of questions of fact by the judge-advocate. and as this office combined the functions of a prosecuting officer with the functions of a judge, there could be no restraints of law, custom or personal delicacy, against the enforcement, with all the powers of reasoning and appeal at command, the conclusion of the judge-advocate upon the matters of fact. in a word, the judgment of the prosecuting officer--the retained counsel for the government, the plaintiff in the action--ruled with absolute sway, both on the law and on the facts, the judgment of the commission; the members of which, for that matter, were also in the pay of the government. it may, therefore, be readily anticipated with how little impartiality the trial was conducted. mrs. surratt (as did the rest of the accused) plead to the jurisdiction of the commission on the grounds ( ) that she was not and had not been in the military service of the united states, and ( ) that when the crimes charged were committed the civil courts were open in washington; both of which allegations were admitted and were notoriously true. whatever might be the indifference with which the rights of the men to a constitutional trial may have been viewed, it was so utterly incongruous with the spirit of military jurisprudence and so unprecedented in practice to try a woman by court-martial, that had mrs. surratt been alone before that commission we venture to say those nine soldiers could not have brought themselves, or allowed the judge-advocate to bring them, to the overruling of her plea. as it was, however, the court-room was cleared of all save the members of the commission and the three judge-advocates; and after a season of what is called "deliberation" (which meant the further enforcement of the opinion of the prosecuting officers upon the point under discussion, where necessary), the court reopened and "the judge-advocate announced that the pleas * * * had been overruled by the commission." mrs. surratt (as did the other prisoners) then asked for a separate trial; a right guaranteed to her in all the civil courts of the vicinage. it was denied to her, without discussion, as a matter of course. and yet no one now can fail to recognize the grievous disadvantage under which this one woman labored, coupled in a single trial with such culprits as payne who confessed his guilt, and herold who was captured with booth. in fact, the scheme of trial contrived by the judge-advocates on a scale comprehensive enough to embrace the prisoners, the canadian exiles and the confederate cabinet, would not work on a trial of mrs. surratt alone. of this pet plan they were highly proud and greatly enamoured. to it, everything--the rights of woman as well as man; considerations of equity and of common fairness--must be made to give way. to the maintenance of this scheme in its integrity, they had marshalled the witnesses, and they guided the commission with a firm hand so that not a jot or tittle of its symmetry should be marred. this determined purpose is indicated by the starting-point they chose for the testimony. on friday, the twelfth, the first witness was sworn, and his name was richard montgomery. his testimony, as well as that of the other witnesses sworn that day, was taken in secret session, and no portion of it was allowed to reach the public until long after the trial. it was all directed to establish the complicity of the rebel agents in canada and through them the complicity of jefferson davis and other officers of the "confederacy" in the assassination. in other words, this testimony was given to prove the guilt, not of the men much less of the woman on trial, but of the men included in the charge but not on trial; and whom, as it now appears, the united states never intended to try. to connect the defunct confederacy in the person of its captive chief with the murder of the president would throw a halo of romantic wickedness about the crime, and chime in with the prevalent hatred towards every human being in any way connected with the rebellion. this class of testimony continued to be introduced every now and then during the trial--whenever most convenient to the prosecution--and as often as it was given the court-room was cleared of spectators and the session secret; the isolated counsel for mrs. surratt, utterly at a loss to imagine the connection of such testimony, given under such solemn precautions, with their own client, and knowing nothing whatever of the witnesses themselves, must have looked on in bewildered amazement, and had no motive for cross-examination. the chief witnesses who gave this carefully suppressed evidence were spies upon the rebel agents in canada paid by the united states, and, at the same time, spies upon the united states paid by the rebel agents. they were, of course, ready to swear to as many conversations with these agents, both before and after the assassination, in which those agents implicated themselves and the heads of government at richmond in the most reckless manner, as the judge-advocates thought necessary or advisable. the head, parent and tutor of this band of witnesses was a man called sanford conover. after giving his testimony before the commission, he went to canada and again resumed his simulated intimacy with the confederates there, passing under the name of james w. wallace. an unauthorized version of his testimony having leaked out and appearing in the newspapers, he was called to account for it by his canadian friends. he then made and published an affidavit that the person who had given testimony before the commission was not himself but an imposter, and at the same time also published an offer of $ reward for the arrest of "the infamous and perjured scoundrel who secretly personated me under name of sanford conover, and deposed to a tissue of falsehood before the military commission at washington." being reclaimed by the government from his canadian perils, he appeared again before the court after the testimony had been closed and the summing up of all the prisoners' counsel had been completed (june th); when he testified that his affidavit had been extorted from him by the confederates in canada by threats of death at the point of a pistol. this man conover was subsequently (in ) tried and convicted of perjury and sent to the penitentiary; and with him the whole structure of perjured testimony, fabricated for reward by him and montgomery and their co-spies, fell to the ground. secretary seward testified before the judiciary committee of the house of representatives, in , that, "the testimony of these witnesses was discredited and destroyed by transactions in which sanford conover appeared and the evidence of the alleged complicity of jefferson davis thereupon failed." but, at the period of the trial, when the passionate desire for vengeance was at its height, any plausible scoundrel, whose livelihood depended on the rewards for wholesale perjury, and who was sure to be attracted to washington by the scent of his favorite game, was thrice welcome to the bureau of military justice. any story, no matter how absurd or incredible, provided it brought jefferson davis within conjectural fore-knowledge of the assassination, was greedily swallowed, and, moreover, was rewarded with money and employment. these harpies flocked, like buzzards, around the doors of the old penitentiary, and all--black and white, from richmond, from washington and from montreal--were eager, for a consideration, to swear that davis and benjamin were the instigators of booth and surratt. and such testimony as it was! for the most part the sheerest hearsay! the private impressions of the witness! in one instance, his recollection of the contents of a letter the witness had heard read or talked about, the signature of which, although he did not see it himself, he heard was the signature of jefferson davis!! testimony wholly inadmissible under the most elementary rules of evidence, but swept before the commission in the absence of counsel for the parties implicated and under the immunity of a secret session. for example: a blind man, who had been, at an undated period during the war, a hanger-on around the camp at richmond, being asked whether he had heard any conversations among the rebel officers in regard to the contemplated assassination, answered: "in a general way, i have heard sums offered, to be paid with a confederate sum, for any person or persons to go north and assassinate the president." being pressed to name the amount and by what officers, he answered: "at this moment, i cannot tell you the particular names of shoulder-straps, &c. "q.--do you remember any occasion--some dinner occasion? "a.--i can tell you this: i heard a citizen make the remark once, that he would give from his private purse $ , , in addition to the confederate amount, to have the president assassinated; to bring him to richmond dead or alive, for proof. "q.--i understood you to say that it was a subject of general conversation among the rebel officers? "a.--it was. the rebel officers, as they would be sitting around their tent doors, would be conversing on such a subject a great deal. they would be saying they would like to see his head brought there, dead or alive, and they should think it could be done; and i have heard such things stated as that they had certain persons undertaking it." in the introduction of evidence against mrs. surratt, as well as the others on trial, the judge-advocates allowed themselves the most unlimited range. narrations of all sorts of events connected with the progress of the war--historical, problematical or fabulous--having no relevancy to the particular charge against her, or them, but deadly in their tendency to steel the minds of the court against her, were admitted without scruple or hesitation. seven soldiers who had been prisoners of war at libby prison, belle island or andersonville were called and testified, in all its ghastly details, to the terrible treatment they and their fellow-prisoners had undergone. three witnesses were sworn to prove that the rebel government buried a torpedo under the centre of libby prison, to be fired if the u. s. troops entered richmond. letters found in the richmond archives were read, offering to rid the world of the confederacy's deadliest enemies, and projecting wholesale destruction to property in the north. testimony was allowed to be given of the burning of u. s. transports and bridges by men in the confederate service; of the raids from canada into the united states; of the alleged plot in all its horrible features to introduce the yellow-fever into northern cities by infected clothing, testified to by the villain who swore he did it for money. it is scarcely to be credited, yet it is a fact, that the confession of robert kennedy, hung in march previous for attempting to burn the city of new york, was read in evidence; as was also a letter from a confederate soldier, detailing the blowing up of vessels by a torpedo and the killing of union men at city point, indorsed by a recommendation of the operator to favor. on june th, after the testimony had been closed and the summing up of counsel for the defense ended, the case was reopened and there was introduced an advertisement clipped from the "selma dispatch" of december st, , wherein some anonymous lunatic offered, if furnished $ , , , to cause the lives of lincoln, seward and johnson to be taken before the first of march. the prosecution closed its direct testimony on may th, reserving the right (of which we have seen they availed themselves from time to time) thereafter to call further witnesses on the character of the rebellion and the complicity of its leaders in the assassination. out of about one hundred and fifty witnesses sixty-six gave testimony of that kind. of the remaining eighty-four about fifty testified to the circumstances attending the assassination, the pursuit and capture of booth and herold, and the terrific assault of payne on william h. seward and his household. of the remaining thirty-four there were nine whose testimony was directed to the incrimination of mrs. surratt. the important witnesses against her were three soldiers testifying under the eye of their superior officers as to her non-recognition of payne, and two informers who had turned state's evidence to save their own necks, who connected her with booth. the witnesses for the defense, for the most part, were treated by the special judge-advocate as virtual accomplices of the accused; and, as soon as, by a searching cross-examination, he had extorted from them a reluctant admission of the slightest sympathy with the south (as in almost every case he was able to do), he swept them aside as impeached, and their testimony as unworthy of a moment's consideration. a former slave, who announced himself or herself as ready to give evidence against his or her former master, was a delicious morsel for the bureau of military justice; and several such were sworn for the prosecution. while, on the other hand, nothing so exasperated the loyal bingham or so astonished the court as the apparition of an old slave-woman, summoned by the defense, eagerly endeavoring to exculpate her former master. several priests testified as to the good character of mrs. surratt as a lady and a christian, but the effect of their testimony was immediately demolished in the eyes of the court, when, on cross-examination, although they refused to substantiate what the judge-advocate called "her notorious intense disloyalty," they could not remember that they had ever heard her "utter one loyal sentiment." chapter iv. arguments for the defense. the testimony for the several defenses of the eight accused closed on the th of june, and the testimony in rebuttal ended on the th, with the evidence of the physicians on the sanity of payne. thereupon, general ewing endeavored to extract from the judge-advocate an answer to the two following questions: first.--whether his clients were on trial for but one crime, viz.: conspiracy, or four crimes, viz.: conspiracy, murder, attempt at murder, lying in wait? and second.--by what statute or code of laws the crimes of "traitorously" murdering, or "traitorously" assaulting with intent to kill, or "traitorously" lying in wait, were defined, and what was the punishment affixed? the judge-advocate's reply to the first question was, in substance, that all the accused were charged with conspiring to assassinate the president and the other members of the government named, and further, with having executed that conspiracy so far as the assassination of the president and the assault on the secretary of state were concerned, and "to have attempted its execution so far as concerns the lying in wait and other matters." assistant judge-advocate bingham added: "the act of any one of the parties to a conspiracy in its execution is the act of every party to that conspiracy; and therefore the charge and specification that the president was murdered in pursuance of it by the hand of booth, is a direct and unequivocal charge that he was murdered by every one of the parties to this conspiracy, naming the defendants by name. "mr. ewing.--i understand * * * but i renew my inquiry, whether these persons are charged with the crime of conspiracy alone, and that these acts of murdering, assaulting, and lying in wait, were merely acts done in execution of that conspiracy. "mr. bingham (interrupting).--and not crimes? "mr. ewing.--or whether they are charged with four distinct crimes in this one charge? "mr. bingham.--'where parties are indicted for a conspiracy, and the execution thereof, it is but one crime at the common law. and that as many * * * overt acts in the execution of the conspiracy as they are guilty of, may be laid in the same count.' "mr. ewing.--it is then, i understand, one crime with which they are charged. "mr. bingham.--one crime all round, with various parts performed. "mr. ewing.--the crime of conspiracy. "mr. bingham.--it is the crime of murder as well. it is not simply conspiring but executing the conspiracy treasonably and in aid of the rebellion. "mr. ewing.--i should like an answer to my question, if it is to be given: how many crimes are my clients charged with and being tried for? i cannot tell. "mr. bingham.--we have told you, it is all one transaction." general ewing, not being able to get an answer intelligible to himself to the first question, then respectfully asked an answer to the second: by what code or statute the crime was defined and the punishment provided? "the judge-advocate.--i think the common law of war will reach that case. this is a crime which has been committed in the midst of a great civil war, in the capital of the country, in the camp of the commander-in-chief of our armies, and if the common law of war cannot be enforced against criminals of that character, then i think such a code is in vain in the world. "mr. ewing.--do you base it, then, only on the law of nations? "the judge-advocate.--the common law of war. "mr. ewing.--is that all the answer to the question? "the judge-advocate.--it is the one i regard as perfectly appropriate to give. "mr. ewing.--i am as much in the dark now as to that as i was in reference to the other inquiry." it is significant that the ready special judge-advocate rendered no aid to his colleague on the latter branch of the inquiry. according to the theory of the prosecution, then, mary e. surratt was tried, as a co-conspirator of jefferson davis and seven of his agents, of the seven men tried with her, and of booth and her own son, for the crime of "traitorous conspiracy" to murder the president, vice-president, secretary of state and lieutenant-general, of the united states; and for the following crimes committed in pursuance thereof: . assassination of the president, with booth. . attempt to murder the secretary of state, his two sons and two attendants (five crimes instead of one), with payne. . lying in wait to kill the vice-president, with atzerodt. . lying in wait to kill the lieutenant-general, with o'laughlin. eight separate species of crimes, beside the generic one of "traitorous conspiracy." and she, a citizen, a non-combatant, a woman, was tried on this nine-fold, omnibus charge, jointly with seven men, under "the common law of war"! * * * * * on the th of june (friday), mr. clampitt read the argument of reverdy johnson against the jurisdiction of the commission--one of the most cogent and convincing ever delivered in a court of justice. the supreme court of the united states, subsequently (december, ), in deciding the milligan case, did but little more than reiterate the propositions maintained by this great lawyer. he opened his address by reminding the court that the question of their jurisdiction to try and sentence the accused was for the court alone to decide, and that no mandate of the president, if in fact and in law the constitution did not tolerate such tribunals in such cases, could protect any member of the commission from the consequences of his illegal acts. he then advanced and proved the following propositions: that none but military offenses are subject to the jurisdiction of military courts, and that the offenders when they commit such offenses must be subject to military jurisdiction--in other words, must belong to the army or navy; that the president himself had no right to constitute military courts of his own motion, but that such power must first be exercised by congress under the constitutional grant to that body to make rules for the government and regulation of the land and naval forces; that, by the fifth and sixth amendments of the constitution, every person, except those belonging to the land or naval forces or to the militia in active service in time of war, and, being such, committing a military or naval crime, is guaranteed an investigation by a grand jury as a preliminary to trial, and a speedy and public trial by an impartial jury. he then took up and examined the grounds on which the jurisdiction of the commission was sought to be maintained. calling the court's attention to the constitutional provision that, if the institution of such commission was an incident to the war power, that power was lodged exclusively in congress and not at all in the president, and, therefore, congress only could authorize such tribunals, he showed that, neither by the articles of war nor by the two acts, relied on, passed during the rebellion, had congress ever authorized any such tribunal; and that a military commission like the present and under present circumstances "is not to be found sanctioned, or the most remotely recognized, or even alluded to, by any writer on military law in england or the united states, or in any legislation of either country." and, in this connection, he pronounced the suggestion that the civil courts and juries of the district of columbia could not safely be relied upon for the trial of these cases, "an unjust reflection upon the judges, upon the people, upon the marshal, an appointee of the president, by whom the juries were summoned, and upon our civil institutions themselves;" and he closed his remarks upon this branch of his subject by saying that the foregoing suggestion, "upon another ground, is equally without force. it rests on the idea that the guilty only are ever brought to trial; that the only object of the constitution and laws in this regard is to afford the means to establish alleged guilt; that accusation, however made, is to be esteemed _prima facie_ evidence of guilt, and that the executive should be armed, without other restriction than his own discretion, with all the appliances deemed by him necessary to make the presumption from such evidence conclusive. never was there a more dangerous theory. the peril to the citizen from a prosecution so conducted, as illustrated in all history, is so great that the very elementary principles of constitutional liberty, the spirit and letter of the constitution itself repudiated it." after depicting the peril to the rights of the citizen of confiding to the option of the executive the power of substituting a secret for a public tribunal for the trial of offenses, he established the following propositions: that the creation of a court is an exclusively legislative function; that constitutional guarantees are designed for times of war as well as times of peace; that the power to suspend the writ of habeas corpus carries with it only the temporary suspension of the right to inquire into the cause of the arrest, and does not extend in any way over the other rights of the accused. the distinguished advocate then further maintained that, conceding the articles of war provide for a military court like this, yet the offense charged in the present case being nothing less than treason could not under the provision of the constitution, regulating the trial of treason, be tried by a military commission; and, also, that under the articles of war persons who were not and never had been in the army were not subject to military law. and, in order to illustrate this branch of his argument as forcibly as possible, passing in review the guaranteed and historic rights of accused persons on trials before civil courts, he arrayed the open and flagrant violations of these rights which had been permitted by the commission on the present trial: first, in the character of the pleadings, which for indefiniteness and duplicity would not have been tolerated by any civil tribunal. second, as to the rules of evidence, which, according to the judge-advocate, allowed proof of separate and distinct offenses alleged to have been committed, not only by the parties on trial, but by other persons, and which the accused, however innocent, could not be supposed able to meet. third, he quoted lord holt to show that in a civil court "these parties could not have been legally fettered during their trial." referring to the row of miserable beings weighed down with shackles as they had entered the court-room, as they confronted their epauletted judges, and as they departed to their solitary cells, day by day, for more than a month, he repeated the words of the great jurist, then years old: "hearing the clanking of chains, though no complaint was made to him, he said, 'i should like to know why the prisoner is brought in ironed. let them be instantly knocked off. when prisoners are tried they should stand at their ease.'" then, characterizing the claim, that martial law prevailing in the district of columbia therefore warranted the commission, as alike indefensible and dangerous, and at the same time irrelevant because martial law had never been proclaimed and the civil courts were in the full and undisturbed exercise of all their functions, the counsel drove this point home as follows: "we learn, and the fact is doubtless true, that one of the parties, the very chief of the alleged conspiracy, has been indicted, and is about to be tried before one of those courts. if he, the alleged head and front of the conspiracy, is to be and can be so tried, upon what ground of right, of fairness or of policy, can the parties who are charged to have been his mere instruments be deprived of the same mode of trial?" at the close of his speech he recurs to the warning that the president's command can furnish no justification to the members of the tribunal. if their function were only to act as aides to the president to enable him to discharge his prerogative of punishment, and is to that extent legal, then it is only so because the president might have dispensed with the court altogether, and ordered the punishment of the culprits without any formal trial. no, he warned them, in the most courtly and courteous manner, they could not shield themselves behind the president. "responsibility to personal danger can never alarm soldiers who have faced * * * death on the battle-field. but there is a responsibility that every gentleman, be he soldier or citizen, will constantly hold before him and make him ponder--responsibility to the constitution and laws of his country and an intelligent public opinion--and prevent his doing anything knowingly that can justly subject him to the censure of either. i have said that your responsibility is great. if the commission under which you act is void and confers no authority, whatever you may do may involve the most serious personal liability." he then cited the case of governor wall, hung in london in for murder--a soldier, under his government in the island of goree, having been whipped to death by sentence of a regimental court-martial, twenty years before. "in that instance want of jurisdiction in the court-martial was held to be fatal to its judgment as a defense for the death that ensued under it. in this, if the commission has no jurisdiction, its judgment for the same reason will be of no avail, either to judges, secretary of war, or president, if either shall be called to a responsibility for what may be done under it." the learned counsel then added: "the opinion i have endeavored to maintain is believed to be the almost unanimous opinion of the profession and certainly is of every judge or court who has expressed any." and he cited the then recent charge of judge bond to the grand jury at baltimore, in which the judge declared in reference to such military commissions as the present, that, "such persons exercising such unlawful jurisdiction are liable to indictment by you as well as responsible in civil actions to the parties." and he quoted to the court that portion of the charge of judge rufus w. peckham to a grand jury in new york city, delivered during the progress of this very trial, wherein the right of a military commission to try was denied: "a great crime has lately been committed that has shocked the civilized world. every right-minded man desires the punishment of the criminals, but he desires that punishment to be administered according to law, and through the judicial tribunals of the country. no star-chamber court, no secret inquisition, in this nineteenth century, can ever be made acceptable to the american mind. * * * * * "grave doubts, to say the least, exist in the minds of intelligent men, as to the constitutional right of the military commission at washington to sit in judgment upon the prisoners now on trial for their lives before that tribunal. thoughtful men feel aggrieved that such a commission should be established in this free country, when the war is over, and when the common law courts are open and accessible to administer justice according to law, without fear or favor. * * * "the unanimity with which the leading press of our land has condemned this mode of trial ought to be gratifying to every patriot." on the twenty-third, general ewing, too, assailed the jurisdiction of the court in a short but powerful speech from which are taken the following extracts: "the jurisdiction of the commission has to be sought _dehors_ the constitution, and against its express prohibition. it is, therefore, at least of doubtful validity. if that jurisdiction do not exist; if the doubt be resolved against it by our judicial tribunals, when the law shall again speak, the form of trial by this unauthorized commission cannot be pleaded in justification of the seizure of property or the arrest of persons, much less the infliction of the death penalty. in that event, however fully the recorded evidence may sustain your findings, however moderate may seem your sentences, however favorable to the accused your rulings on the evidence, your sentence will be held in law no better than the rulings of judge lynch's courts in the administration of lynch law. "our judicial tribunals, at some future day * * * will be again in the full exercise of their constitutional powers, and may think, as a large proportion of the legal profession think now, that your jurisdiction in these cases is an unwarranted assumption; and they may treat the judgment which you pronounce and the sentence you cause to be executed, as your own unauthorized acts. "conviction may be easier and more certain in this military commission, than in our constitutional courts. inexperienced as most of you are in judicial investigation, you can admit evidence which the courts would reject, and reject what they would admit, and you may convict and sentence on evidence which those courts would hold to be wholly insufficient. means, too, may be resorted to by detectives, acting under promise or hope of reward, and operating on the fears or the cupidity of witnesses, to obtain and introduce evidence, which cannot be detected and exposed in this military trial, but could be readily in the free, but guarded, course of investigation before our regular judicial tribunals. the judge-advocate, with whom chiefly rests the fate of these citizens, is learned in the law, but from his position he can not be an impartial judge, unless he be more than a man. he is the prosecutor in the most extended sense of the word. as in duty bound, before this court was called, he received the reports of detectives, pre-examined the witnesses, prepared and officially signed the charges, and, as principal counsel for the government, controlled on the trial the presentation, admission and rejection of evidence. in our courts of law, a lawyer who has heard his client's story, if transferred from the bar to the bench, may not sit in the trial of the cause, lest the ermine be sullied through the partiality of counsel. this is no mere theoretical objection--for the union of prosecutor and judge works practical injustice to the accused. the judge-advocate controls the admission and rejection of evidence--knows what will aid and what will injure the case of the prosecution, and inclines favorably to the one and unfavorably to the other. the defense is met with a bias of feeling and opinion on the part of the judge who controls the proceedings of the court, and on whom, in great measure, the fate of the accused depends, which morals and law alike reject." whatsoever else may be pleaded in excuse or palliation of the acts of the commission, it can never be said that its members were driven on by an overpowering sense of their duty as soldiers, in blind ignorance of the constitution and the law. each and every officer was made fully aware of his awful responsibility and apprised of the precarious footing of his authority. chapter v. charge of judge bingham. from the sixteenth to the twenty-seventh of june the time was consumed by the summing up of the several counsel for the prisoners on the facts disclosed by the evidence; and on the last mentioned day and the succeeding one, special judge-advocate bingham delivered his address in answer to all the foregoing pleas, both as to the jurisdiction of the court and also as to the merits of the case. this long, carefully prepared and yet impassioned speech may be fairly considered as embodying the very proof-charge of the prosecution. indeed, under the rules of military procedure, it occupies the place and performs the functions of the judge's charge in the common-law courts. as such, it deserves a closer analysis and a more extended examination than can be given to it here. the briefest and most cursory review, however, will suffice to show its tone and temper. after a solemn asseveration of his desire to be just to the accused, and a warning to the court that "a wrongful and illegal conviction or a wrongful and illegal acquittal * * * would impair somewhat the security of every man's life and shake the stability of the republic," the learned advocate specifically declares, that the charge "is not simply the crime of murdering a human being" but a "combination of atrocities," committed as charged upon the record, "in pursuance of a treasonable conspiracy entered into by the accused with one john wilkes booth, and john h. surratt, upon the instigation of jefferson davis, jacob thompson, george n. sanders and others, with intent thereby to aid the existing rebellion and subvert the constitution and laws of the united states." a denunciation of the rebellion as "itself simply a criminal conspiracy and a gigantic assassination"; the following glowing period--"now that their battalions of treason are broken and flying before the victorious legions of the republic, the chief traitors in this great crime against your government secretly conspire with their hired confederates to achieve by assassination what they in vain attempt by wager of battle";--and the unequivocal announcement that "it is for this secret conspiracy in the interest of the rebellion, formed at the instigation of the chief in that rebellion, and in pursuance of which the acts charged and specified are alleged to have been done, and with the intent laid, that the accused are upon trial": finish the exordium. the speaker then tackles the question of jurisdiction, which, he remarks by the way, "as the court has already overruled the plea," he would pass over in silence, "but for the fact that a grave and elaborate argument has been made by the counsel for the accused, not only to show want of jurisdiction, but to arraign the president of the united states before the country and the world as a usurper of power over the lives and the liberties of the prisoners." he dexterously evades the force of the argument that the civil courts of the district were open when the crime was committed, by asserting that "they were only open * * * and are only open at this hour by force of the bayonet;" and he claims that the president acting by a military force had as much right to try the co-conspirators of booth, as to pursue, capture and kill the chief criminal himself; which, if true, leads us into the maintenance of the monstrous doctrine that the president by a summary order might have strung up the culprits without the interposition of any court. he then enters upon an argument to show that the commission, from the very nature of its organization, cannot decide that it is no court, and he ridicules the idea that these nine subordinate military officers could question the authority of their commander-in-chief. in this connection, he gently rebukes mr. ewing for his bold statement to the commission: "you, gentlemen, are no court under the constitution!" reminding him that "not many months since he was a general in the service of the country and as such in his department in the west proclaimed and enforced martial law;" and asks him whether he is "quite sure he will not have to answer for more of these alleged violations of the rights of citizens than any of the members of the court?" he professes his high regard for general ewing as a military commander who has made a "liberal exercise of this power," and facetiously wishes "to know whether he proposes, by his proclamation of the personal responsibility awaiting all such usurptions," that he himself shall be "drawn and quartered." after disposing of general ewing in this gingerly manner, he compensates himself for the slight restraint by pouring the vials of his unstinted wrath upon reverdy johnson; representing him as "denouncing the murdered president and his successor," as making "a political harangue, a partisan speech against his government and country, thereby swelling the cry of the armed legions of sedition and rebellion that but yesterday shook the heavens." he characterizes one of the most temperate and dignified of arguments as "a plea in behalf of an expiring and shattered rebellion," and "a fit subject for public condemnation." he calls upon the people to note, "that while the learned gentleman [mr. johnson], as a volunteer, without pay, thus condemns as a usurpation the means employed so effectually to suppress this gigantic insurrection, the new york news, whose proprietor, benjamin wood, is shown by the testimony upon your record to have received from the agents of the rebellion $ , , rushes into the lists to champion the cause of the rebellion, its aiders and abettors, by following to the letter his colleague [mr. johnson], and with greater plainness of speech, and a fervor intensified doubtless by the $ , received, and the hope of more, denounces the court as a usurpation and threatens the members with the consequences." and he interrupts his tirade against one of the greatest men this country has produced to burst forth into the following grandiloquent apostrophe: "youngest born of the nations! is she not immortal by all the dread memories of the past--by that sublime and voluntary sacrifice of the present, in which the bravest and noblest of her sons have laid down their lives that she might live, giving their serene brows to the dust of the grave, and lifting their hands for the last time amidst the consuming fires of battle!" after a brief defense of the secret sessions of the commission, the learned advocate enters upon his circumstantial reply to the argument of mr. johnson, into which it is not worth while to follow him, as the main points of his contention have been rendered obsolete by the supreme court of the united states. suffice it to say, he holds that the president of the united states has the power, of his own motion, to declare martial law in time of war, over the whole united states, whether the states are within the theatre of the war or not; and that president lincoln exercised this power by his proclamation of september, , by virtue of which martial law prevailed over the whole north, including, of course, the district of columbia, on the day of the assassination; and, farther, that certain subsequent acts of congress, though not in express terms yet by fair implication, had ratified the proclamation. he contends, in consequence, that "nothing can be clearer than that citizen and soldier alike, in time of civil or foreign war, are triable by military tribunals for all offences of which they may be guilty, in the interest of, or in concert with the enemy;" and that "these provisions, therefore, of your constitution for indictment and trial by jury in civil courts of _all crimes_ are * * * silent and inoperative in time of war when the public safety requires it." listen to this judicial expounder of constitutional law! "here is a conspiracy organized and prosecuted by armed traitors and hired assassins, receiving the moral support of thousands in every state and district, who pronounced the war for the union a failure, and your now murdered but immortal commander-in-chief a tyrant. "it is in evidence that davis, thompson, and others * * * agreed and conspired with others to poison the fountains of water which supply your commercial metropolis, and thereby murder its inhabitants; to secretly deposit in the habitation of the people and in the ships in your harbor inflammable materials, and thereby destroy them by fire; to murder by the slow and consuming torture of famine your soldiers, captives in their hands; to import pestilence in infected clothes to be distributed in your capital and camps, and thereby murder the surviving heroes and defenders of the republic. "i claim that the constitution itself * * * by express terms, has declared whatever is necessary to make the prosecution of the war successful, may be done, and ought to be done, and is therefore constitutionally lawful. "who will dare to say that in the time of civil war no person shall be deprived of life, liberty and property, without due process of law? this is a provision of your constitution, than which there is none more just and sacred in it; it is, however, only the law of peace, not of war. "in time of war the civil tribunals of justice are wholly or partially silent, as the public safety may require; * * * the limitations and provisions of the constitution in favor of life, liberty and property are therefore wholly or partially suspended." he makes allusion to the recent re-election of president lincoln, as ratifying any doubtful exercise of power by him: "the voice of the people, thus solemnly proclaimed, by the omnipotence of the ballot * * * ought to be accepted, and will be accepted, i trust, by all just men, as the voice of god." he concludes his plea in favor of the jurisdiction of the commission, by declaring that for what he had uttered in its favor "he will neither ask pardon nor offer apology," and by quoting lord brougham's speech in defence of a bill before the house of lords empowering the viceroy of ireland to apprehend and detain all irishmen _suspect_ of conspiracy. the special judge-advocate then proceeds to sum up the evidence, in doing which he leaves nothing to the free agency of the court. he, first, by a review of the testimony of the montgomeries and conovers, proves to his own and, presumably, to the court's satisfaction, that "davis, thompson, cleary, tucker, clay, young, harper, booth and john h. surratt did combine and conspire together in canada to kill and murder abraham lincoln, andrew johnson, wm. h. seward and ulysses s. grant." "surely no word further need be spoken to show that john wilkes booth was in this conspiracy; that john h. surratt was in this conspiracy; and that jefferson davis, and his several agents named, in canada, were in this conspiracy. "whatever may be the conviction of others, my own conviction is that jefferson davis is as clearly proven guilty of this conspiracy as is john wilkes booth, by whose hand jefferson davis inflicted the mortal wound upon abraham lincoln." after such utterances as these, it is hardly necessary to state that this impartial judge declares every single person on trial, as well as john h. surratt, guilty beyond the shadow of a doubt. "that john h. surratt, george a. atzerodt, mary e. surratt, david e. herold, and louis payne entered into this conspiracy with booth, is so very clear upon the testimony, that little time need be occupied in bringing again before the court the evidence which establishes it. "it is almost imposing upon the patience of the court to consume time in demonstrating the fact, which none conversant with the testimony of this case can for a moment doubt, that john h. surratt and mary e. surratt were as surely in the conspiracy to murder the president as was john wilkes booth himself." he lets out the secret that the mother is on trial as a substitute for her son, whom the secretary of war and the bureau of military justice had failed to capture, by saying: "nothing but his conscious coward guilt could possibly induce him to absent himself from his mother, as he does, upon her trial." after having reiterated over and over again, with all the authority of his office, what he had for hours endeavoured to enforce by all the resources of his intellect, that the guilt "of all these parties, both present and absent" is proved "beyond any doubt whatever," and "is no longer an open question;" he closes by formally, and with a very cheap show of magnanimity, leaving "the decision of this dread issue" to the court. chapter vi. the verdict, sentence and petition. with the loud and repeated denunciations of this elaborate and vindictive harangue, full as it was of rhetorical appeals to the members of the commission to avenge the murder of "their beloved commander-in-chief," and of repeated and most emphatic assurances of the undoubted guilt of each and every one of the prisoners, as well as of all their alleged accomplices, still ringing in the ear of the court; the room is for the last time cleared of spectators, counsel for the prisoners and reporters; the mournful procession of the accused marches for the last time from the dock to their solitary cells, their fetters clanking as they go; and the commission meets to deliberate upon its verdict. but who remains in the room, meets with the court and participates in its secret and solemn deliberations? who but colonel burnett, the officer who had so zealously conducted the preliminary examinations of the witnesses and marshalled the evidence for the prosecution? who but recorder joseph holt, the head of the bureau of military justice, the left hand of stanton as baker was his right? who but john a. bingham, the special judge-advocate, who had so mercilessly conducted the trial, assailing counsel, browbeating witnesses for the defense, declaring that all participants in the rebellion were virtually guilty of the assassination, and who had just closed his long speech, in which he had done his utmost to stir up the commission to the highest pitch of loyalty, unreasoning passion and insatiable desire for vengeance? where can we look in the history of the world for a parallel to such a spectacle? a woman of refinement and education, thrown together in one mass with seven men, to be tried by nine soldiers, for the crime of conspiring with jefferson davis, the arch-enemy of every member of the tribunal, to kill, and killing, the beloved commander-in-chief of every member of the tribunal; three experienced criminal lawyers eagerly engaging in the task of proving her guilty; pursuing it for days and weeks with the unrelenting vigor of sleuth-hounds; winding up by reiterating in the most solemn manner their overwhelming conviction of her guilt; and then all three being closeted with the court to take part in making up the doom of death! and here let us pause to consider one feature of the trial and of the summing up of judge bingham, which has not yet been noticed because it deserves special and prominent remark. it appeared from the testimony on the part of the prosecution, unmistakably, that, during the fall of and the winter of - , booth was brooding over a wild plot for the capture of the president (either on one of his drives, or in the theatre, where the lights were to be turned off), then hurrying off the captive to lower maryland, thence across the potomac, and thence to richmond; thereby to force an exchange of prisoners, if not, possibly, a cessation of the war. it was a plot of the kind to emanate from the disordered brain of a young, spoiled, dissipated and disappointed actor. during this period, booth made some trifling and miserably inadequate preparations, and endeavored to enlist some of his associates in its execution; and, by his personal ascendency over them, he did in fact entangle, in a more or less vague adhesion to the plot, arnold, o'laughlin, atzerodt, payne, herold, john h. surratt, lloyd, and, possibly, dr. mudd and weichman. on the fall of richmond, and the surrender of lee, this any-how impracticable scheme was necessarily abandoned. indeed, the proof showed that arnold and o'laughlin had deserted their leader some time before. it further appeared in the testimony that it was not until after the forced abandonment of this plot and the desertion of most of his adherents, that booth, plunged as he was into the depths of chagrin and despair because of the collapse of the rebellion, suddenly, as a mere after-thought, the offspring of a spirit of impotent revenge, seized upon the idea of murder, which was not in fact brought to the birth until the afternoon of the fourteenth, when he was first informed of the promised attendance of president lincoln and general grant at the theatre. now, the existence of the plot to capture, although it looked forth from the evidence steadily into their faces, the judge-advocates bound themselves not to recognize. in the first place, such a concession would forever demolish the preconceived theory of the secretary of war, colonel baker and the bureau of military justice, that the conspiracy to murder emanated from the confederate government through its canadian agents, by pointing directly to another plot than the one to kill as that in which these agents had been interested. the horrid monster of a widespread, treasonable conspiracy to overthrow the government, which had been conjured up in the imagination of the secretary of war and then cherished in the secret recesses of the bureau of military justice, would have immediately shrunk into the comparatively simple case of an assassination of the president and an attempted assassination of the secretary of state, by two worthless villains suddenly seizing opportunity by the forelock to accomplish their murderous purpose. and, in the next place, the concession of such a plot as a fact would go far to establish the innocence of mrs. surratt, arnold, o'laughlin and mudd, as well as that of john h. surratt, by explaining such suspicious circumstances as the frequent rendezvous of booth, payne and others at mrs. surratt's house, which practice, as it was proved, ceased altogether on the fall of richmond and the immediate departure of the son to canada. to the judge-advocates, if not to the court, any evidence looking towards innocence was most distasteful and unwelcome. they were in no mood to reconcile what they considered the damning proofs of a conspiracy to kill their "beloved commander-in-chief" with the innocence of the fettered culprits before them, by admitting a plot to capture, into which nevertheless those same proofs fitted with surprising consistency. besides, in the eyes of bingham and holt, complicity in a plot to capture, although unexecuted, was proof of complicity in the plot to murder, and also of itself deserved death. in this direction, therefore, the judge-advocates were mole-eyed. on the contrary, they hailed the slightest indication of guilt with a glow of triumph. in the direction of guilt, they were lynx-eyed. consequently, they bent every energy to identify the plot to capture with the plot to kill. they introduced anonymous letters, dropped letters; a letter mailed nearly a month after the assassination directed to j. w. b.; a letter in cipher, purporting to be dated the day after the assassination, addressed to john w. wise, signed "no five," found floating in the water at morehead city, north carolina, as late as the first of may; this last, the most flagrant violation and cynical disregard of the law of evidence on record. they did more. they labored to keep out all reference to the plot to capture. and it was for this reason, that the judge-advocates deliberately suppressed the diary found on the body of booth. its contents demonstrated the existence of the plot to capture. instead of allowing the officer who testified to the articles taken from the dead body of booth to make a detailed statement in response to one general question as to what they were, the examining counsel shows him first the knife, then the pistols, then the belt and holster, then a file with a cork at one end, then a spur, then the carbine, then the bills of exchange, then the pocket-compass; following the exhibition of every article with the interrogatory, "did you take this from the corpse of the actor?" but no diary was exhibited or even spoken of, although, as has been mentioned, it was carried by this same officer and colonel baker to secretary stanton on the night following the capture. that these judge-advocates had carefully searched through the diary for items they could use against the prisoners, is shown by their calling one of the proprietors of the "national intelligencer," as a witness, to contradict the statement that booth had left a written article, setting forth the reasons for his crime, for publication in that paper--a statement found only in the diary whose very existence they kept secret. therefore, when judge bingham came to review the evidence, he utterly refused to recognize in the testimony any such thing as a plot to capture; he shut his eyes to it and obstinately ignored it; he scornfully swept it aside as an absurdity it would be waste of time to combat; and he twisted every circumstance which looked to a connection, however remote, with an abandoned plot to kidnap, into a proof, solid and substantial, of complicity in the plot to murder. and, therefore, when this same thorough-going advocate, with his two emulous associates, proceeded in secret conclave with the members of the commission to go over the testimony for the purpose of making up their verdict and sentence, he summarily stifled any hint as to the possibility of a plot to capture; he banished from the minds of the court, if they ever entertained such a purpose, any attempt to reconcile the circumstantial evidence with the existence of such a plot; and, besides, he held it up to the condemnation of those military men as equally heinous and as deserving the same punishment as the actual assassination. thus, the presence of these prosecutors during the deliberations of the court must have exerted a deadly influence (if any influence were necessary) against the prisoners, and benumbed any impartiality and freedom of judgment which might otherwise have lodged in the members of the commission. the commission, with its three attending prosecuting officers, held two secret sessions--thursday and friday, the th and th of june; on the first day from o'clock in the morning until o'clock in the evening, on the second day, probably, during the morning only. the record of the proceedings is meagre, but contains enough to show the lines of the discussion which, in such an unexpected manner through one whole day, prolonged the deliberations of a tribunal organized solely to obey the predetermination of a higher power, and even made necessary an adjournment over night. there was no difficulty with the verdicts, except in the case of spangler, over the degree of whose guilt a majority of the commission presumed for the first time to differ with the judge-advocates. they would unite in a conviction of the crime of assisting booth to escape from the theatre with knowledge of the assassination, but they would go no farther. they would not find him a participant in the "traitorous conspiracy." this poor fellow, as we can see _now_, was clearly innocent of the main charge; but that was no reason, _then_, why the commission should find him so. there was more testimony pointing to his complicity with booth on the fatal night than there was against arnold or o'laughlin or even mrs. surratt; and judge bingham, the guardian and guide of the court, had pronounced it "conclusive and brief." the testimony of the defense, however, appears overwhelmingly convincing, and, moreover, his case was admirably managed by general ewing. for all the rest there was no mercy in the verdict. every one was found guilty of the charge as formulated (eliminating spangler); that is, in the judgment of the commission, they had, each and all, been engaged in a treasonable conspiracy with jefferson davis, john h. surratt, john wilkes booth and the others named, to kill abraham lincoln, president, andrew johnson, vice-president, wm. h. seward, secretary of state, u. s. grant, lieutenant-general; and that in pursuance of such conspiracy they (the prisoners) together with john h. surratt and j. wilkes booth, had murdered abraham lincoln, assaulted with intent to kill w. h. seward, and lain in wait with intent to kill andrew johnson and u. s. grant. this was the deliberate judgment of the commission as guided by judge-advocates holt, burnett and bingham. with the same breath with which they pronounced the guilt of mrs. surratt, they pronounced also the guilt of her son, of jefferson davis, of clement c. clay, of george h. sanders, of beverly tucker. and there can be no doubt that if these men had also been upon trial, they all would have been visited with the same condemnation and would have met the same doom. the commission, further, found herold, atzerodt, payne and arnold guilty of the specification as formulated (eliminating spangler); mrs. surratt guilty, except that she had not harbored and concealed arnold or o'laughlin; dr. mudd guilty, except that he had not harbored or concealed payne, john h. surratt, o'laughlin, atzerodt or mrs. surratt; and, strangest of all, they found o'laughlin guilty of the specification, _except that he had not lain in wait for general grant with intent to kill him_, which was the very part in the conspiracy he was charged in the specification with having undertaken. it should be recollected that, in the first moments of the panic succeeding the assassination, stanton and his subordinates had included among the objects of the conspiracy, as if to complete its symmetry, the murder of the secretary of war, himself. afterwards, probably because of the attitude of stanton relative to the prosecution, grant was substituted as the victim of o'laughlin and not of booth; stanton's son having discovered a resemblance of the captured o'laughlin to the mysterious visitor at his father's house during the serenade on the night of the th of april, when general grant was also present. this pretty romance, the testimony on behalf of o'laughlin effectually dissipated on the trial, but the indomitable bingham still insisted on holding the prisoner to a general complicity with the plot. in this instance, as well as in that of spangler, there may have been some dissension between a majority of the officers and the judge-advocates, but, taken altogether, the eight verdicts could not have cost the commission much time. it was organized to convict, and it did convict. so that it was not until the court, having made up its verdicts, proceeded to affix its sentences, that the three advocates, still assisting at the work of death, encountered the unforeseen difficulties which compelled a prolongation of the session. the crime or crimes of which the prisoners were all pronounced guilty (with the possible exception of spangler's) were capital, and the secretary of war, on the eve of the assembling of the commission, had already denounced against such offenses (not excepting spangler's) the punishment of death. the sentence, however, under the rules governing military commissions, was wholly within the power of the court, which, no matter what the nature of the verdict, could affix any punishment it saw fit, from a short imprisonment up to the gallows. its two-fold function was, like a jury to find a verdict, not only, but, like the judge in a common-law court, to pronounce sentence; and, unlike such a judge, in pronouncing sentence, the commission was confined within certain limits by no statute. although the whole proceedings of the court must be subjected to the final approval of the president, yet its members were clothed alike with the full prerogative of justice and the full prerogative of clemency. there was one limit, however. while a majority could find the verdict and prescribe every other punishment, it required two-thirds of the commission to inflict the penalty of death. four officers, therefore, could block the way to the scaffold, and five could mitigate any sentence, to any degree, and for any, or for no reason. the commission must have taken up the cases for sentence in the order adopted in the formal charge. as to the first three--herold, atzerodt and payne--there could have been no dissent or hesitation. the commission, with hardly a moment's deliberation, must have ratified the judgment of the judge-advocates and condemned the prisoners to be hung by the neck until dead. the sentences of death formally declare in every instance that two-thirds of the commission concur therein, but, as to these three, we can scarcely be in error in stating the court was unanimous. it was not until the cases of the next three--o'laughlin, spangler and arnold--were reached, that symptoms of dissatisfaction with the sweeping doom of death, so confidently pronounced by judge bingham in his charge, first began to show themselves amongst the members of the court. it seems that now, after having joined with the counsel in pronouncing capital punishment upon the three most prominent culprits, the majority could no longer whet their appetite for blood so as to keep it up to the same fierce edge as that of the judge-advocates. the deviations from the charge and specification, the court had finally prescribed in the verdicts against o'laughlin and spangler, were not thought by the prosecutors to be of such importance as to warrant a softening of the sentence. but here the loyalty of some members of the commission began to falter, and refuse to bear the strain. they had found o'laughlin guilty of the "traitorous conspiracy," and spangler guilty of aiding booth to escape, and arnold guilty in the same degree as herold, atzerodt and payne, but in none of these cases could the attending advocates extort a two-thirds vote for death. in the case of spangler, owing, it is said, to the impression made by general ewing and the influence of general wallace, they were compelled to allow a sentence of but six years imprisonment. and in the case of the two others--convicted co-conspirators with booth and davis though they were--these prosecuting officers had to rest satisfied with but life-long imprisonment. it was too evident that five members of the commission had slipped the bloody rein. three lives had they taken. henceforth they would stop just this side the grave. at this point--when the commission had sentenced to death three men and had just declined to sentence to death two more whom it had pronounced guilty of the same crime--at this point it was, that the sentence of mary e. surratt came up for determination. now, the crimes of which arnold had been found guilty were both in law and in fact the same of which she had been found guilty. even the particular allegation in the specification is the same in both cases, except some immaterial variance in the verbiage and in the names of co-conspirators. of course, it will be presumed that the commission had found the woman guilty without being pressed. but, equally of course, it will not be doubted that, in determining the sentence which should follow the verdict, the question of exercising the same mercy as the commission had just exercised in the case of a man convicted of the same crime, must have arisen in the case of the woman. and, the question once having arisen, the first impulse of the majority, if inclined still to mercy, must have been to exert their own unquestioned function, and, as in the other cases, mitigate the sentence themselves. they would have, originally, no motive to thrust upon the president, who was to know comparatively nothing of the evidence, the responsibility of doing that thing, which they themselves who had heard the whole case thought ought to be done, and which in a parallel case they had just done. even if they believed the woman's crime had a deeper tinge of iniquity than either arnold's or mudd's (of which the respective verdicts, however, give no hint), but that nevertheless her age and sex ought to save her from the scaffold, they need not have turned to the president for mercy on such a ground. the woman clothed upon by her age and sex had sat for weeks bodily before them. this very mitigation was what a majority of the court had power to administer. the reason of the mitigation was a matter of no moment. the court could commute for "age and sex" as well as the president, and, for that matter, could state the reason for the milder penalty in the sentence itself. therefore, it may be taken for granted that here the judge-advocates again found that two-thirds of the court would not concur in the infliction of the death penalty. nay, that even a majority could not be obtained. five out of the nine officers announced themselves in favor of imprisonment for life. here, indeed, was a coil! the prosecutors were at their wits' ends. and lo! when they passed on to consider the last case, that of dr. mudd, the same incomprehensible reluctance to shed more blood did but add to their discomfiture. the verdict indeed had been easily obtainable, but the coveted death-sentence would not follow. the whole day had been spent in these debatings. the expedient of adjourning over to the next day, perhaps, was now tried; and the dismayed judge-advocates, with but three out of the eight heads they had made so sure of, and their "female fiend" likely to slip the halter, hurry away to consult with their chief. edwin m. stanton, as he had presided over the whole preparatory process, so too had kept watch over the daily progress of the trial from afar. every evening his zealous aide-de-camps made report for the day and took their orders for the morrow. after the death of booth and the escape of john h. surratt, the condemnation to death of the mother of the fugitive had become his one supreme aim. the condemnation of the other prisoners was to him either a matter of no doubt or was a minor affair. three heads of the band of assassins stood out in bloody prominence--booth, john h. surratt and payne. the first had been snatched from his clutches by a death too easy. payne, with hand-cuffs and fetters and chains and ball and hood, he might be confident, could not evade his proper doom. surratt, by the aid of some inscrutable, malignant power, had contrived to baffle all the efforts of his widespread and mighty machinery of military and detective police. but he had the mother, the friend of booth and the entertainer of payne; and she, the relentless secretary with his accordant lackeys had sworn, should not fail to suffer in default of the self-surrender of her son. she, moreover, was to be made an example and a warning to the women of the south, who, in the judgment of these three patterns of heroism, had "unsexed" themselves by cherishing and cheering fathers, brothers, husbands and sons on the tented field. in the conclave which stanton and his two co-adjutors held, either during the recesses of the prolonged session of the first day, or most likely during the night of the adjournment, it was resolved, that if the manly reluctance of five soldiers to doom a woman to the scaffold could be overcome in no other way, to employ as a last resort the "_suggestion_," that the court formally condemn her to death, and then, as a compromise, the soft-hearted five petition the president to commute--the three plotters trusting to the chances of the future, with the petition in their custody and the president under their dominion, to render ineffectual this forced concession to what they scorned as a weak sentimentalism. this suggestion of what was in truth a most extraordinary device--a petition to the president to do what the court could do itself--could not have emanated from the merciful majority of the court, which subsequently did sign the fatal document. _they_, at least, were sincere, and, if let alone, would have proceeded immediately to embody their own clemency in a formal sentence, as they had done with o'laughlin and arnold, and as they were about to do with mudd. had there been but one, or two, or three dissentients, so that they were powerless in the face of two-thirds of the commission; or even had there been four--a number sufficient to block a death-sentence but not sufficient to dictate the action of the court, then, indeed, recourse to the clemency of the executive might have been a natural proceeding. but a clear majority had no need to look elsewhere for a power of commutation which they themselves possessed in full vigor, and which, in all probability, after the first three death-penalties, they had determined to apply in every one of the other cases. neither could the suggestion have been made by one of the minority, because none of them signed the petition to the last. the four must have been steadfast and uncompromising for blood. the whole scheme proceeded from a quarter outside the court--a quarter which, on the one hand, was possessed by an overmastering revengeful passion, such as was required to point the five officers to a seeming source of mercy to which they might appeal and thus avoid the exercise of their own prerogative in antagonism to their four brethren, and, on the other hand, harbored some secret knowledge or malign intent that the petition would or should be, in fact, an empty form; from a quarter, in short, where the desire for the condemnation to death of mrs. surratt was all-controlling and where the condition of the president was well known. they, who suggested the death-sentence and the petition as a substitute for the milder penalty, were surely all on the side of death, and hoped, if they did not believe, that the prayer of the petition would be of no avail; else they would not have adopted such a circuitous method to do what the five officers could immediately have accomplished themselves. in one word, the contrivers of the device of petition were not those who desired to save the bare life of the convicted she-conspirator, but were those who would be satisfied with nothing less than her death on the scaffold. the suggestion was wholly sinister and malevolent. on the other hand, the majority of the court did really desire that her punishment should not exceed that of arnold, o'laughlin and mudd, and they certainly would never have had recourse to a petition to the president, had they not been cheated into believing that that method of proceeding was likely to effectuate what they had full power to do. never would these five soldiers, or any two of them, have given their voices for the death of this woman, had they dreamed for a moment that their signing of the petition was, and was meant to be, but a farce. they would not have played such a ghastly trick under the shadow of the gibbet. accordingly, when the commission reassembled, either after recess or adjournment, the reinvigorated counsellors immediately unfolded their plan. we can almost hear their voices, in that upper room of the old penitentiary, as they alternately urge on the court. holt, making a merit of yielding in the cases of spangler, of o'laughlin, of arnold and of mudd, denounces the universal disloyalty of the women of the south, and pleads the necessity of an example. bingham, holding up both mother and son as equally deep-dyed in blood with booth and payne, both insinuates and threatens at the same time, that, if "_tenderness_," forsooth, is to be shown because of the age and sex of such a she-assassin, then, for the sake of the blood of their murdered commander-in-chief, do not his own soldiers show it, but let his successor take the fearful responsibility. one of the five gives way, and now there is a majority for death. one more appeal! the life of the woman trembles in the balance. once more to the breach! the supreme reserve is at last brought forward--an argument much in use with judge-advocates in cases of refractory courts-martial, as a last resort--that the president will not allow a hair of her head to be harmed, but that _terror_, terror, is necessary; in this instance, to force the son to quit his hiding place, the life of the mother must be the bait held out to catch the unsurrendering son. we will hang him and then free the woman's neck. another vote comes over. two-thirds at last concur, and her doom is sealed. they sentence "mary e. surratt to be hanged by the neck until she be dead." judge bingham sits down and embodies the memorable "suggestion" in writing as follows: [it is without address.] "the undersigned, members of the military commission detailed to try mary e. surratt and others for the conspiracy and the murder of abraham lincoln, late president of the united states, &c., respectfully pray the president, in consideration of the sex and age of the said mary e. surratt, if he can, upon all the facts in the case, find it consistent with his sense of duty to the country, to commute the sentence of death, which the court have been constrained to pronounce, to imprisonment in the penitentiary for life. respectfully submitted." general ekin copies it on a half-sheet of legal-cap paper, and the five officers, viz.: generals hunter, kautz, foster and ekin, and colonel tompkins, sign the copy; general ekin keeping the draft of bingham as a memento of so gentle an executioner. the commission then proceeds to the next and last case, and, again exercising its prerogative of clemency, sentences dr. mudd to imprisonment for life. it is now friday noon. the result of the two-days' secret session, consisting of a succinct statement of the verdict and sentence in every case, in the foregoing order, is redacted into a record. the presiding officer signs, and the recorder countersigns it. it is placed in the hands of the judge-advocate, together with the petition to the president. there is an adjournment without day. the members disperse, and the work of the military commission is over. chapter vii. the death warrant and the execution. from friday afternoon, the thirtieth of june, through saturday, sunday, monday and tuesday, the first four days of july, the record of the findings and sentences remained under the seal of sworn secrecy in the custody of the judge-advocate-general. to consummate the work of the commission, the signature of the president to a warrant approving its action and directing the execution of its judgment was necessary. but, during this interval, as it was given out from the white house, president johnson was too ill to attend to public business. in the meantime, the city, and even the whole country to its very borders, were agitated by the question: what is to be the fate of mrs. surratt? the doom of the male culprits was for the moment forgotten in the intense anxiety over hers. despite the seven-fold seal of secrecy which covered the proceedings of the secret sessions, whispers of a recommendation of mercy filled the air. in the war department, the main source of anxiety, at the same time, must have been this superfluous paper--the distressing outcome of an unsuspected sentimental weakness in five of our chosen men. after the final adjournment of the commission, the unobtrusive, unaddressed half-sheet had been fastened to the record of the sentences by the same narrow yellow silk ribbon which held its own sheets together, and to which it now dangled as a last leaf, or back. a safety-valve to the misplaced chivalry of the court--it had served its purpose, and was henceforth useless. that it should now turn itself into an implement of evil, minister to the cause of rebellion and assassination, cause "our own andy" to flinch at last and thus the she-fiend of the bureau escape her doom! it would be treason to suffer it. upon that resolve, the triumvirate of stanton, holt and bingham had once for all determined. indestructible, inconcealable, omnipotent, indeed, must that paper be, which could thwart their united purpose. at length, on the morning of wednesday, the fifth, preston king, who, in those days, was a favored guest at the white house, announced in the judge-advocate's office that the president was so much better as to be able to sit up; and at a later hour in the day, general holt, in pursuance of an appointment, started on his solemn errand. the volumes of testimony taken before the commission by official stenographers, daily reports of which had been furnished, he, of course, did not carry with him. in the interview that was to come, there would be no time and no inclination to read over bulky rolls of examinations and cross-examinations of witnesses. from aught that appears, the president was not expected to read over the evidence, nor was it customary in such cases. it may have been the duty of the secretary of war or the attorney-general to scrutinize the testimony, either from day to day or at the close of the trial. but all that the president was supposed to know about the merits of the case appears to have been derived from what any of his cabinet saw fit to inform him, from what he himself casually and unofficially read, but, especially and principally, from what the judge-advocate was now coming to tell him. as to the guilt of the accused, and especially of mrs. surratt, his mind had long ago been made up for him by his imperious war minister, from whose despotic sway he had not as yet recovered energy enough to free himself. he was still in that brief introductory period of his presidency which may be called his stanton apprenticeship; still eager "to make treason odious;" full of threatenings to hang davis and other southern leaders. he had not yet awakened from the state of semi-stupefaction into which his sudden and awful elevation seems to have thrown him; and, in this state, he must have been extremely averse to dwelling on any of the circumstances of the assassination to which he owed his high place. the idea of clemency to any one of the band of assassins, male or female, which his war-secretary's court might convict, would have been intolerable to his imagination and sickening to his sense of security. what andrew johnson, at this moment, wanted was to push away from his mind all thoughts of the tragic end of his predecessor, and to allow retributive vengeance to take the most summary course with the least possible knowledge and trouble to himself. and this mood of the presidential mind was well known to the judge-advocate-general, as he entered the president's room. he brought with him so much of the record of the proceedings of the commission as was necessary to the accomplishment of his errand--viz.: the record of the findings and sentences, which the president was to endorse. this document consisted of a few sheets of legal-cap paper fastened together at the top, written on both sides in the fashion of legal papers, _i. e._, beginning at the top of the first page and, on reaching the bottom, turning up the paper and writing on the back from the bottom to top. it was a document complete in itself, the written record ending on the first page of the last half-sheet--thus leaving blank the remainder of that page and the whole of the obverse side; ample room for the death-warrant. to this record, but forming no part of it, the petition, as we have said, had been affixed, but in such a manner as to be easily separable without mutilation. he must also have brought with him his official report of the trial--styled "the formal brief review of the case," which was subsequently appended to the regular report of the judge-advocate-general to the secretary of war and transmitted to the congress in december following--because it is addressed "to the president," is dated "_july , _," and is signed "j. holt." it recites the verdicts and sentences; justifies its brevity by referring to "the full and exhaustive" argument of judge bingham; certifies to the regularity and fairness of the proceedings; and recommends the execution of the sentences; _but it makes no mention of the petition, or any "suggestion" of mercy_. the judge-advocate could have anticipated no difficulty in obtaining the approval of the president, conscious as he was that the grounds of such approval were to be furnished to the president by himself. the approval being had, the fixing of the day of execution could cause no disagreement. his only possible source of embarrassment was the petition for commutation. but it would be strange, indeed, if a few apt words could not further emasculate the mild, hypothetical language in which his colleague, bingham, had seen fit to clothe that paper. he found the president "alone," and (as he himself says) "waiting for" him, "very pale, as if just recovered from a severe illness." "without delay" he "proceeded to discharge the duty which brought" him "into his presence." what took place at this "confidential interview" (as holt calls it) can never be precisely known; the distinguished interlocutors having subsequently risen into unappeasable quarrel over the presence or absence of the petition, and given contradictory versions. whatever the truth may be, it is evident that everything went smoothly at the moment. the judge-advocate was not disappointed. no difficulty was encountered. what was done was done quickly and at once. the record may have been read over; but this was hardly necessary, as the bare mention of the several sentences would convey a correct summary of its contents. he may have read the "brief review of the case" he had prepared. as judge holt relates, he said to the president, "frankly, as it was his official duty to do," that in his judgment "the proceedings of the court were regular, and its findings and sentences justified by the evidence, and that the sentences should be enforced." and this was what he had written in his "brief review." what more could the successor of the murdered lincoln want? his approval must have been spontaneous and immediate. as holt says, "at that time mr. johnson needed no urging." mention may have been made of the curious weakness infecting some members of "our court" towards the wicked woman, who, as johnson seems then to have thought, "had kept the nest that hatched the egg;" but only to be scouted by both judge-advocate and president as most reprehensible and actually _disloyal_. their unanimity over the salutary effect of the hanging of this one woman on the female rebels was more than fraternal. and it is probable that no more explicit mention of an actual petition was made by judge holt in his conversation with the president than was made in his written report to the president, dated the same day, and which he had with him at the time. the day of execution was fixed upon with the same alacrity. "make it as soon as possible, so that the disagreeable business may be over; say the day after to-morrow--friday, the seventh." and, thereupon, everything being agreed upon, judge holt turns over the papers to the last page of the record and spreads it upon the table. beginning, a few lines below the signature of "d. hunter, president" which closes the record, with the date, "executive mansion, july th, ," "with his own hand" he writes out the death warrant. as this includes the approval of the sentences, the appointment of the day and hour of execution, and the designation of the place of confinement of those condemned to imprisonment, the bottom of the page is reached before he completes his task. if he had turned up the page and continued his writing on the obverse side from the bottom down, as all the foregoing had been written, then the petition of mercy, unaddressed as it was, would have been, if still attached, directly beneath the eye of the president as he signed the death-warrant. but, as now appears from the record itself, the careful judge-advocate did not turn up the page from the bottom. on the contrary, reverting to the layman's way of writing papers, he whisks the whole record over, and continues the writing of the death-warrant on the back of the last half-sheet of the record _from the top to the bottom_--by this change of method, either throwing the petition under the leaves of the record, or, if disengaged, leaving it _upside down_. when he has thus finished his draft he shoves it over to the president. the president signs it with tremulous hand. the "confidential interview" is at an end; and the judge-advocate, taking up the papers, hurries out and over to the department of war. at this moment the petition disappears from view. we hear no more of it. thrust as a convenient succedaneum into the hands of the majority of the commission, ignored, suppressed or slurred over when before the president, it had served its pitiful purpose. neither the adjutant-general nor any of his clerks, appear to have noticed it, although the record must have been copied more than once in his office. it seems to have sunk suddenly into oblivion; its very existence became the subject of dispute. it was omitted from the authorized published proceedings of the commission. it was omitted from the annual report of the judge-advocate. the disloyal paper must have been laid alongside the suppressed "diary," there to repose unseen until the impeachment of johnson and the trial of surratt summoned them together into the light of day. * * * * * on the morning of thursday, the sixth day of july, the six days ominous silence of the war-department is broken. an order issues from the adjutant-general's office which, bearing date the day before and reciting the findings and death-sentences of the commission and the death-warrant of the president, commands major-general hancock to see execution done, on the seventh, between the hours of ten and two. this order was read to mrs. surratt at noon. she had all along been encouraged to hope. she, herself, had never been able to realize the possibility of a capital condemnation in her own case. and, here, suddenly, was death, with violence and shame, within twenty-four hours. she sank down under the blow. in faltering accents she protested that she had no hand in the murder of the president, and pleaded for a few days more time to prepare for death. during the remainder of the day and throughout the night, she was so prostrated by physical weakness and mental derangement as to necessitate medical aid to keep her alive and sane. the cries of her daughter could be heard in the still darkness outside the prison. at five o'clock in the morning, the mother (with the three condemned men), was removed to a solitary cell on the first floor, preparatory to the execution. in the meantime, when it first became known that, by the sentence of the commission and the direction of the president, mrs. surratt was to die by the rope on the same scaffold with payne, herold and atzerodt within twenty-four hours, a chill of despairing terror froze the blood of her relatives and friends, a thrill of consternation swept over the body of the citizens, and dark misgivings disturbed even the most loyal breasts. a stream of supplicants at once set in towards the executive mansion--not only friends and acquaintances of the condemned woman, but strangers, high-placed men, and women too, who were haunted by doubts of her guilt and could in some degree realize her agony. but even this expiring effort of sympathy, the powers behind the president had anticipated. apprehensive that andrew johnson, at the last moment, might yield to distressing importunities for more time, they had already taken measures that their sick man's wish to hear nothing till all was over should be scrupulously respected. preston king and general james lane undertook to keep the door and bar all access to the president during the dreadful interval between the promulgation of the sentence and its execution. it was rumored that they, with a congenial crew, held high revelry around their passive chief in his private apartments. be this as it may, no supplicant--friend, acquaintance or stranger--was allowed to gain access to the president. the priests, who had attested upon her trial the good character, the piety and the general worth of their parishioner, instinctively turned their steps to the white house to beg for clemency, or, at least, a respite. they were repulsed from its door. in ghastly mockery, they were told to go to ---- judge holt. at last, the daughter of the victim made her way to the very threshold of the president's room. frenzied with grief she assailed the portal with her cries for admission to plead for her dying mother. she was denied admittance. in the extremity of her despair she lay down upon the steps, and, in the name of god, appealed to the president and to the wardens, only to listen to her prayer. the grim guardians of the door held it shut in her face. denied, thus, even an appeal to executive clemency, the friends of the poor woman, as a last most desperate resort, invoked the constitution of their and her country through the historic writ of habeas corpus. on the morning of the day of the execution, they found a judge (judge wylie; all honor to his memory!) who had the independence and courage to grant the writ. at half-past eleven, general hancock appeared before the judge and made return that by order of the president the habeas corpus was suspended and therefore he did not produce the body. the order of the president dated ten o'clock, same morning, was annexed to the return and directed the general to proceed with the execution. no sooner had the guarantees of the constitution been, thus, finally set at naught, than the cell-doors were thrown open and the prisoners summoned to their doom. as the enfeebled widow raised her trembling limbs from off the coarse mattress which alone separated her body from the stone floor of her dungeon, she strove, in broken words, to assure the soldiers, who had come to bind her arms behind her back and tie cords around her skirts above and below the knee, of her utter, yet helpless innocence. her confessor, who stood by her until the last, gently pointed out to her the uselessness of such appeals, at such a moment, and directed her hopes towards heaven. amid the tolling of the bells, sending a shudder through the silent population of the city, and heralded by the tramp of armed men, the death-march of the doomed woman and the doomed men begins. the still breathing men and still breathing woman are clothed already in their shrouds. as she totters first along the corridor, accompanied by her priest and requiring two soldiers to hold her erect, the very extremity of her helplessness and woe bears witness in her favor. even the bloody payne, who walks next behind her, has broken through that stolid indifference to his own fate, so remarkable as to indicate insanity, to clear her from all complicity with the assassination. herold and atzerodt, who follow, though themselves speechless with terror, seem to wave her mute acquittal, as they stumble along into the swift-coming darkness. they reach the prison-yard. they mount the high scaffold. they are seated in four chairs facing the four dangling nooses, while the death-warrant is once more read. their graves, already dug, are in full sight close by. their coffins stand by the side of the open graves. they are raised up and pushed forward upon the two drops, herold and atzerodt on one, mrs. surratt and payne on the other; the half-conscious woman still supported by the two guards. the ropes are adjusted. the hoods drawn over the face. the signal is given. the two drops fall. surrounded by the unpitying soldiery, headed by the unpitying hartranft, the woman and the men hang writhing in the agonies of an ignominious death. when pronounced dead, the bodies are cut down. they are laid out on the top of the coffins. a hurried post-mortem examination is made. and, then, at four o'clock in the afternoon, they are inclosed in the coffins and buried side by side. the soldiers depart with flourish of trumpet and beat of drum. silence descends on the grounds of the old arsenal; broken only by the pace of the sentinel set to guard the four corpses. the daughter may beg the stern secretary to yield up the body of her murdered mother, that she may place it in consecrated ground. but she will beg in vain. and so ended the fell tragedy. and so did brave soldiers avenge the murder of their "beloved commander-in-chief." methinks their beloved commander-in-chief, could his freed spirit have found a mortal voice, would have spurned, with indignant horror, the savage sacrifice of a defenseless woman to appease his gentle shade. chapter viii. was it not murder? and now what shall be said as to this taking of human life? maintaining the most rigorous allegiance to the simple unadulterated truth, what can be said? arraigned at the bar of the common law as expounded by the precedents of centuries, and confronted by plain provisions of the constitution of the united states, which need no exposition and yet have been luminously expounded; but one thing can be said. had mary e. surratt the right guaranteed by the constitution to a trial singly and alone, in a regularly constituted civil court, and by a jury of the vicinage, the individuals of which she might select by challenge, both for cause, in all cases, and without cause to a certain number, before she could be legally convicted of any crime whatever, or be lawfully punished by the most trivial loss of property or the minutest injury to limb, to say nothing of the brutal crushing out of her life? that's the unevadable question which the ages put and will continue to put. and upon its precisely truthful answer, depend the character and color of the acts of every person who had lot or part in the execution of this woman. * * * * * on the st day of october, --while the war was still raging--lambdin p. milligan, a citizen of the united states and a resident of indiana, was arraigned before a military commission convened by the commanding general of that military district, at indianapolis, on the following charges preferred against him by henry l. burnett, judge-advocate of the department of the west: . conspiracy against the government of the united states. . affording aid and comfort to the rebels. . inciting insurrection. . disloyal practices. . violation of the laws of war. there were also specifications, the substance of which was that milligan had joined and aided a secret society, known as the order of american knights or sons of liberty, for the purpose of overthrowing the government and authorities of the united states; had communicated with the enemy; conspired to seize munitions of war in the arsenals, and to liberate prisoners; resisted and encouraged resistance to the draft: at or near indianapolis, in indiana, "a state within the military lines of the army of the united states, and the theatre of military operations, and which had been and was constantly threatened to be invaded by the enemy." on these charges and specifications, milligan was subjected to a lengthy trial by this military commission which finally found him guilty on all the charges and sentenced him to be hanged. the record was approved by the commanding general, and then transmitted to president lincoln, who held it long under advisement, and was so holding it when he was killed. his successor, at about the same time that he summoned the commission to try mrs. surratt, at length approved the findings and ordered the sentence to be executed on friday, the th day of may, . but this object-lesson to the commission sitting at that date in the old penitentiary was intercepted. on the th of may, milligan brought the record before the united states circuit court by a petition for his discharge, and, the two judges differing upon the main question of the jurisdiction of the commission, the cause was certified under the statute to the supreme court of the united states; in deference to which action the president suspended the execution. the argument before that high tribunal coming on in the winter of - , a great array of counsel appeared upon both sides; david d. field, james a. garfield and jeremiah s. black for the prisoner, and attorney-general speed and benjamin f. butler for the united states. the counsel for the government followed the same line as did judge bingham in his argument on the "conspiracy trial;" the counsel for the prisoner on their side, only enlarging, emphasizing and enforcing the argument of reverdy johnson. at the close of the term the court unanimously decided that the military commission had no jurisdiction to try milligan; that its verdict and sentence were void; and ordered the defendant discharged. at the next term, the court handed down two opinions--one the opinion of the court, read by judge davis, in which four of his colleagues concurred, and one by chief-justice chase, in which three of his colleagues concurred. the two opinions agreed that, as matter of law, the president could not of his own motion authorize such a commission, and that, as matter of fact, the congress had not authorized such a commission; and therefore they were at one in their conclusion. but they differed in this; that, whereas the majority of the court held that not even the congress could authorize such a court, the minority, while agreeing that the congress had not exercised such a power, were of opinion that such a power was lodged in that branch of the government. the attempt has often been made to distinguish the case of mrs. surratt from that of milligan by alleging that washington at the time of the assassination was within the theatre of military operations, and actually under martial law, whereas indiana at the time of the commission of milligan's alleged offenses was not. now, it must be admitted that at the time of the murder of president lincoln the war had swept far away from the vicinity of the capital. there had been no confederate troops near it since early's raid in the summer of , and no enemy even in the shenandoah valley since october. it must also be admitted, and was, in fact, proved on the trial, that the civil courts were open and in full and unobstructed discharge of their functions. as for the reiterated affirmation of judge bingham that the courts were only kept open by the protection of the bayonet; that is precisely what was affirmed by general butler, in his argument before the supreme court, to have been the fact in indiana. none of the counsel in the milligan case claimed that a military commission could possibly have jurisdiction to try a simple citizen in a state where there was no war or rumors of war. "we do fully agree, that if at the time of these occurrences there were no military operations in indiana, if there was no army there, if there was no necessity of armed forces there, * * * then this commission had no jurisdiction to deal with the relator, and the question proposed may as well at once be answered in the negative." they contended, as the very basis of their case, that the acts of milligan "took place in the theatre of military operations, within the lines of the army, in a state which had been, and then was constantly threatened with invasion." and, in fact, the record in so many words so stated, and the statement was uncontroverted by the relator. general butler with great earnestness put the question: "if the court takes judicial notice that the courts are open, must it not also take judicial notice how, and by whose protection, and by whose permission they were so open? that they were open because the strong arm of the military upheld them; because by that power these sons of liberty and knights of the american circle, who would have driven them away, were arrested, tried and punished. "if the soldiery of the united states, by their arms, had not held the state from intestine domestic foes within, and the attacks of traitors without; had not kept the ten thousand rebel prisoners of war confined in the neighborhood from being released by these knights and men of the order of the sons of liberty; there would have been no courts in indiana, no place in which the circuit judge of the united states could sit in peace to administer the laws." moreover, the opinion of the minority judges bases their contention that congress had the power, if it had chosen to exercise it, to authorize such a military commission, upon this very fact. "in indiana, for example, at the time of the arrest of milligan and his co conspirators, it is established by the papers in the record, that the state was a military district; was the theatre of military operations, had been actually invaded, and was constantly threatened with invasion. it appears, also, that a powerful secret association, composed of citizens and others, existed within the state, under military organization, conspiring against the draft, and plotting insurrection, the liberation of the prisoners of war at various depots, the seizure of the state and national arsenals, armed co-operation with the enemy, and war against the national government." not one of which circumstances (except that it was a military district) can be truthfully predicated of the district of columbia at the time of the assassination. as for actual martial law, there was no declaration of martial law claimed for the city of washington, other than the proclamation of the president which applied as well to indiana, and, indeed, to the whole north. we are justified, therefore, in saying, that the supreme court of the united states, in this case of milligan, pronounced the final condemnation of the whole proceedings of the military commission which tried and condemned mary e. surratt; declaring, with all the solemn force of a determination of the highest judicial tribunal known to this nation, that every one of its acts, from its creation by the president to its transmission of its record of doom to the president, was in direct contravention of the constitution of the united states and absolutely null and void. that illustrious court, speaking by judge david davis, thus enunciates the law: "the constitution of the united states is a law for rulers and people, equally in war and in peace, and covers with the shield of its protection all classes of men, at all times, and under all circumstances. no doctrine, involving more pernicious consequences, was ever invented by the wit of man than that any of its provisions can be suspended during any of the great exigencies of government. such a doctrine leads directly to anarchy or despotism." "from what source did the military commission * * derive their authority?" "it is not pretended that the commission was a court ordained or established by congress." "they cannot justify on the mandate of the president; because he is controlled by law and has his appropriate sphere of duty, which is to execute not to make the law; and there is no unwritten criminal code to which resort may be had as a source of jurisdiction." "the laws and usages of war can never be applied to citizens in states which have upheld the authority of the government and where the courts are open and their processes unobstructed. and no usage of war could sanction a military trial there for any offence whatever of a citizen in civil life, in nowise connected with the military service. congress could grant no such power; and to the honor of our national legislature be it said it has never been provoked by the state of the country even to attempt its exercise." "all other persons," (_i. e._, all other than those in the military and naval service) "citizens of states where the courts are open, if charged with crime, are guaranteed the inestimable privilege of trial by jury. this privilege is a vital principle, underlying the whole administration of criminal justice; it is not held by sufferance, and cannot be frittered away on any plea of state or political necessity." "it is claimed that martial law covers with its broad mantle the proceedings of this military commission." "martial law cannot arise from a threatened invasion. the necessity must be actual and present; the invasion real, such as effectually closes the courts and deposes the civil administration." "martial law can never exist where the courts are open, and in the proper and unmolested exercise of their jurisdiction. it is also confined to the locality of actual war." had the swift process by which this unfortunate woman was hurried to the scaffold been interrupted by a stay to allow a review by the same high tribunal which rescued milligan from the jaws of death, it cannot be doubted that in her case, as in his, the same conclusions would have been reached, viz.: st. "one of the plainest constitutional provisions was, therefore, infringed when" (mary e. surratt) "was tried by a court not ordained and established by congress, and not composed of judges appointed during good behavior." nd. "another guarantee of freedom was broken when" (mary e. surratt) "was denied a trial by jury;" that, in her case, as in his, the court would have set the prisoner free; there would have been no hanging, no felon's grave, and not even an ulterior attempt at a constitutional trial. for it is remarkable that although the military tribunal which tried milligan pronounced him guilty of crimes deserving a traitor's death; the seeming strength of the evidence must have melted away, strangely enough, when subjected to the prospective investigation of constitutional courts, as there was not even a subsequent effort on the part of the government to call him to account. let us add, as a final corollary to this exposition of the constitution by the supreme court, the following remark: that the ground and argument employed by attorney general speed in his opinion upon the right of the president to order the trial of the alleged assassins by military commission, and by judge-advocate bingham in his address to that commission, involve a _reductio ad absurdum_, or, rather, a _reductio ad monstrosum_, that is, a _reductio ad absurdum quia monstrosum_. for, that ground and that argument, invoked to uphold and sanction the trial of civilians by military commissions, necessarily and inevitably go farther, and proclaim the right of president johnson, alone, of his own motion and without the interposition of a formal court, whether military commission or drum-head court-martial, to have commanded the immediate execution of every person whom he might believe to be guilty of participation in the assassination of his predecessor or in the presumed attempt upon himself. the conclusion forced upon us, therefore,--the one only thing to be said--is, that the hanging of mary e. surratt was nothing less than the crime of murder. murder, not only in the case of the private soldiers who dragged her to the scaffold and put the rope about her neck; they, at least can plead the almost irresistible force of military discipline. but murder, also, in the case of the major-general whose sword gave the signal for the drop to fall. general and soldiers are in the precise position, before the law, of a mob of lynchers carrying out the judgment of a lynch court. murder, not only in the case of the one military officer who superintended the details of the execution. he, too, though with much less force, can plead that he was the mere bailiff of what he believed to be a competent court. but murder, also, on the part of the nine military officers and the three advocates who tried and sentenced this woman to death. these men, in the forum of the law, stand in the precise position of any nine policemen steered by any three police attorneys in the city of new york, who should dare to try, convict and sentence to death a citizen of that city. murder, not only on the part of the commission and its lawyers; they too might, possibly, plead--though with still diminishing force--that, although they were warned and took the awful responsibility, still they believed in their competency. but murder, also, in the president of the united states, who appointed the court, approved its findings, and commanded the execution of its sentence. he stands before the law in the same position as though, sweeping aside all empty forms, he had seized a sword and with his own hand cut off the head of the woman, without the mockery of a trial. in our frame of government, there is surely no room for such a twi-formed barbarian-despot, as a president having the power to pick out from the army, of which he is the commander-in-chief, the members of a court to try and punish with death, at his option, any one of the citizens, for an abortive attempt on his own life. and it was murder, not only in the case of the president; he, too, but with scarcely audible voice, might plead the coercion of his situation--sitting as he did in the seat of the murdered lincoln. but it was murder, also, in the secretary of war, who initiated the iniquitous process, pushed on the relentless prosecution, shut his own ears and the ears of the president to all pleas for mercy, presided like a moloch over the scaffold, and kept the key of the charnel-house, where, beside the unpitied carcasses of the reputed ruffians forced upon her in her ordeal of torture and in the hour of death, the slaughtered lady lay mouldering in her shroud. here, at least, the plea of mitigation exhales in a cry like that of payne, "i was mad!" weigh the extenuating circumstances in whatever scale you may; extend as much mercy as possible to those who showed no mercy in their day of power--still, the offense of every one and all, who had hand, part or lot in this work of death, contains every element which, under the most rigorous definition of the law, makes up the crime of murder. the killing was there. the unlawful killing was there. the premeditated design to effect death was there. the belief of the perpetrators, that they had a right to kill, or that they were commanded to kill by an overruling power, before a court of law avails not a whit. ignorance of the constitution as well as the law excuses no man, be he civilian or soldier, president or assassin, war-minister or payne. murder it essentially was, and as such it should be denounced to the present and future generations. garrett davis told no more than the exact truth when he declared in his place in the senate of the united states: "there is no power in the united states, in time of war or peace, that can legitimately and constitutionally try a civilian who is not in the naval or military service of the united states, or in the militia of a state in the actual service of the united states, by a court-martial or by a military commission. it is a usurpation, and a flagitious usurpation of power for any military court to try a civilian, and if any military court tries a civilian and sentences him to death and he is executed under the sentence, the whole court are nothing but murderers, and they may be indicted in the state courts where such military murders are perpetrated; and if the laws were enforced firmly and impartially every member of such a court would be convicted, sentenced and punished as a murderer." although the actual guilt of any of the victims constitutes no legal defense to this fearful charge, yet as the unquestioning obedience which the soldier yields, as a matter of course, to the commands of his superior officer must alleviate, if it do not wipe away, the guilt of the members of the commission, in the forum of morals; so the ascertainment that the sufferers on the scaffold and in prison, in fact, deserved their doom, cannot but blunt the edge of our condemnation of the iniquity of the trial, as well as weaken our pity for the condemned and our sense of shame over the tyrannous acts of the government. a word or two, therefore, will be appropriate in respect to the sufficiency of the testimony to establish the guilt of the accused. i. as to arnold and o'laughlin, it may be said in one emphatic word, that there was no evidence at all against them of complicity in the plot to kill. the letter of arnold to booth shows, when fairly construed, that, if the writer had conspired with the actor, he conspired to abduct; and, also, for the time being, even that conspiracy he had abandoned. he was at fort monroe for the two weeks prior to the assassination. his confession, used on the trial against himself not only but also against o'laughlin because he was mentioned in it as present at a meeting of the conspirators, was a confession only of a conspiracy to abduct which had been given up. the condemnation of these two men was brought about by the conduct of judge bingham, to which we have drawn attention, in systematically shutting his eyes to the existence of any conspiracy to capture, and employing the letter and confession as proof that both these men were guilty of conspiracy to murder. ii. as to dr. mudd, the evidence leaves it doubtful whether or not he recognized booth under his disguise on the night he set his broken leg, and therefore whether he may have been an accessory after the fact or not; but the testimony of the informer weichman, by which chiefly if not solely the prosecution sought to implicate the doctor in the conspiracy to murder, was greatly damaged, if not completely broken down, by the proof on the part of the defense that dr. mudd had not been in washington from november or december, , until after the assassination. iii. as to payne, his guilt of the assault on seward in complicity with booth was clear, and confessed by himself. he was but twenty years of age, of weak mind, entirely dominated by the superior intellect and will of booth. he claimed he acted under the command of his captain. he was so stolidly indifferent during the trial as to raise suspicion of his sanity, and he repeatedly expressed his wish for the termination of the trial so that he might cease to live. iv. as to the boy herold, it was manifest that, as the mere tool and puppet of booth, he was acquainted beforehand with the design of his master to kill the president, but there is no evidence that he aided or abetted booth in the actual assassination in any way except to participate in his flight after he had got out of washington. v. as to atzerodt, for whom there appears to have been no pity or sign of relenting, it is nevertheless a fact, that the testimony to his lying in wait for andrew johnson is so feeble as to be almost farcical. the poor german was a coward and never went near johnson. there is no circumstance in the evidence inconsistent with his own confession, that he was in the plot to capture, knew nothing of the design to murder until o'clock on the evening of the th, and then refused to enact the part assigned him by booth. indeed, it would appear as if the commission, by a sort of proleptic vision of the future course of the president in his desperate struggle with the congress, in grim irony actually hung atzerodt because he did _not_ kill andrew johnson. vi. and as to mrs. surratt, the only witnesses of importance against her are weichman and lloyd. without their testimony the case for the prosecution could not stand for a moment. weichman, a boarder and intimate in her house, the college chum of her son, and, equally with him, the associate of payne, atzerodt, herold and booth, who, frightened almost to death at the outlook, was swearing, under a desperate strain, to clear his own skirts from the conspiracy and thus save his threatened neck:--weichman's testimony before the commission, even at such a pass, is for some reason quite vague and indefinite, and only becomes deadly when supplemented by lloyd's. this man lloyd it was who, in fact, furnished the only bit of evidence directly connecting mrs. surratt with the crime. he testifies to two conversations he had with her--one on the th and the other on the th of april--when she alluded to the weapons left weeks before at the hotel at surrattsville owned by her and kept by lloyd--on the th, that the "shooting-irons" would be wanted soon; on the th, that they would be called for that night. lloyd, himself, however, admits, and it is otherwise clearly shown, that on the th he was so drunk as hardly to be able to stand up. lloyd, also, was deeply implicated in the conspiracy to capture if not to assassinate. he had aided the fugitive assassins to escape, had kept their weapons hidden in his house, and he had, for two days after his arrest, denied all knowledge of booth and herold's stopping at his hotel at midnight after the murder. he had been placed in solitary confinement and threatened with death. his nervous system, undermined by debauchery, gave way; his terrors were startling to witness and drove him well-nigh mad, and, at last, in a moment of distraction, he turned against mrs. surratt and her son. like weichman's, his, also, was the frenzied effort of a terror-stricken wretch to avoid impending death by pushing someone forward to take his place. reverdy johnson, at the close of his plea to the jurisdiction of the court, let fall the following words, no less weighty for their truth than their force: "this conclusion in regard to these witnesses must be, in the minds of the court, and is certainly strongly impressed upon my own, that, if the facts which they themselves state as to their connection and intimacy with booth and payne are true, their knowledge of the purpose to commit the crimes and their participation in them, is much more satisfactorily established than the alleged knowledge and participation of mrs. surratt." moreover, the testimony of both these witnesses, suborned as they were alike by their terrors and their hopes, is perfectly reconcilable with the alternative hypothesis, either that the woman in what she did was an innocent dupe of the fascinating actor, or that she was unaware of the sudden transformation of the long-pending plot to capture, of which she might have been a tacit well-wisher, into an extemporaneous plot to kill. much stress was laid by mr. bingham on her solemn denial of any prior acquaintance with payne when confronted with him on the night of her arrest. but it is more than probable that the non-recognition was unsimulated, because of the disguise and pitiable plight of the desperado, who had been hidden in the mud of the suburbs three days and three nights, and, also, because the non-recognition was shared with her by the other ladies of the house. besides, that a woman, caught in the toils in which booth and her own son had unwittingly involved her, under the terror of recent arrest and imminent imprisonment, should have shrunk from any acknowledgment of this midnight intruder, even to the extent of falsehood, certainly is in no wise incompatible with innocence. these are the only circumstances by which mrs. surratt is brought nearer than conjectural connection with the assassination, and the force of these is greatly weakened by the testimony in her defense. it is neither necessary, nor relevant to this exposition, to enter into a lengthy discussion upon the _pros_ and _cons_ of her case. her innocence has been demonstrated in a more decisive manner by subsequent events, and stands tacitly admitted by the acts of the officers of the government. few impartial hearers would have said then, and no impartial readers will say now, that the testimony against her is so strong as to render her innocence a mere fanciful or even an improbable hypothesis. no one can say that a jury, to a trial by which she was entitled under the constitution, would have pronounced her guilty, and every one will admit that had her sentence been commuted to imprisonment for life, as five of her judges recommended, she would have been pardoned with arnold, spangler and mudd, and might have been living with her daughter to-day. the circumstances of the whole tragedy warrant the assertion that, had john h. surratt been caught as were the other prisoners, he, and not she, would have been put upon trial; he, and not she, would have been condemned to death; he, and not she, would have died by the rope. if he was innocent, then much more was she. mary e. surratt, i repeat, suffered the death of shame, not for any guilt of her own, but as a vicarious sacrifice for the presumed guilt of her fugitive son. part ii. the vindication. chapter i. setting aside the verdict. when the president of the united states, the secretary of war, the military commission, the judge-advocates, and the executioner-general had buried the woman against whose life the whole military power of the government, fresh from its triumph over a gigantic rebellion, had been levelled;--buried her broken body deep beneath the soil of the prison-yard, in close contact with the bodies of confessed felons; flattened the earth over her grave, replaced the pavement of stone, locked the door of entrance to the charnel-house and placed the key in the keeping of the stern secretary;--they may have imagined that the iniquity of the whole proceeding was hidden forever. but, _horribile dictu!_ the ghost of mary e. surratt would not down. it troubled the breast of the witness weichman. it haunted the precincts of the bureau of military justice. it pursued bingham into the house of representatives. it blanched the laurels of the great war minister. politics, history and the very vicissitudes of human events seemed subservient to the vindication of this humble victim. hardly had the delivery of the prisons of washington, which followed the close of the trial, taken place, before the man who, as he himself swore, always had been treated as a son by the woman he betrayed, began to make advances to her sorrowing friends. he pretended to make confession of his perjury. he told a friend that his testimony would have been very much more favorable had it not been dictated to him by the officers who had him in charge; that the meeting of lloyd and mrs. surratt was accidental, as she and he (weichman) had already started for home before lloyd returned, and only turned back because the buggy was discovered to be broken. the traitor soon discovered that he made no headway by such disclosures, but only met with a sterner repulse and a deeper loathing. his troubled soul then turned to another quarter. it has been stated that his testimony on the trial was somewhat indefinite and inconclusive. complaints had been uttered by the officers conducting the prosecution. it was proved upon a subsequent occasion that one of these officers had actually threatened the witness that he would hang as an accomplice in the assassination did he not make his evidence more satisfactory. it appeared, also, that the secretary of war had promised to protect and take care of him. driven back by mrs. surratt's friends from his attempt at propitiation, weichman resolved that he would yet earn his reward by retouching his former testimony so as to make it more definite and telling. he saw, at last, that to save himself from everlasting ignominy he must, as far as in him lay, make sure of the guilt of his victim. actuated by these or similar motives, he, on the th day of august, , wrote out, and swore to, a statement in which he, by a suspicious exercise of memory, detailed conversations with mrs. surratt and significant incidents, all pointing to complicity with booth, no mention of which had been made on the trial, and which this candid witness stated "_had come to my_ (his) _recollection since the rendition of my_ (his) _testimony_." this affidavit, containing (if true) more evidence of the guilt of mrs. surratt than his whole testimony on the trial, but, on the other hand, drawn up to suit himself without fear of cross-examination--he transmitted to colonel burnett, who, as though he, too, distrusted the sufficiency of the evidence against the dead woman as it had been actually given on the trial, was careful to append the _ex parte_ statement to the published report. weichman, at length, gets his reward in the shape of a clerkship in the custom house at philadelphia. but the final breaking down of the fabric of testimony against the leaders of the rebellion, as instigators of the assassination, threw consternation into the bureau of military justice and the cabinet. jefferson davis was still confined in fort monroe, and two companies of united states soldiers, who had fought and shed each other's blood in their eagerness to be the first to seize the fugitive, were already quarreling over the $ , reward for his arrest as an accomplice of booth. clement c. clay, for whose arrest $ , reward had been offered, as another accomplice, was also still in the hands of the authorities. jacob thompson, george n. sanders and beverly tucker, for the arrest of each of whom $ , had been offered, were still at large. every one of these men, it should be borne in mind, had been pronounced guilty by the military board which had condemned mrs. surratt. john h. surratt, her son, for whose capture an enormous reward had been offered both by the government and by the city of washington, and whom the military commission had condemned as the go-between of the president of the confederacy and his agents in canada in the instigation of the murderous conspiracy, and also as the active aider and abettor of both booth and payne in the perpetration of their bloody crimes; he, too, had so far eluded all efforts to find even his whereabouts. it is only fair to presume that the astute lawyers connected with the bureau of military justice must have had serious misgivings from the first, concerning the testimony of the spies, montgomery, conover and others, going to implicate davis and the canadian rebels in the assassination. such testimony was hearsay or secondary evidence at best; and they could have cherished no hope that such loose talk and the fragmentary repetition of letters heard read would ever be allowed to pass muster by an impartial judge in a civil court. and they had reason to believe that public opinion would not tolerate the experiment of another military commission. as early as july, , an attempt was made to buy the papers of jacob thompson, among which it was supposed were the criminatory letters of davis; and attorney-general speed was dispatched with $ , government money to effect the purchase. william c. cleary, for whom $ , reward had been offered as one of the conspirators, and who had just been found guilty by the military commission, was to deliver the letters and receive the money. speed met cleary at the clifton house, but the latter, in the meanwhile, had seen in a newspaper a portion of the testimony before the military commission implicating him, and he utterly refused to give up the papers, as he had to rely upon them, as he said, to vindicate himself. the shadows thus began to darken over the credibility of the corps of spies that the bureau had employed. indictments for perjury against montgomery, conover and other paid witnesses began to be talked of. friends, and enemies as well, of the imprisoned ex-president began to clamor for his trial or release. even the implicated agents in canada showed a bold front, and professed a willingness to meet the terrible charge if guaranteed a trial by jury. a jury! a jury of twelve men! trial by jury! if there was anything that could shake the souls of the members of the bureau of military justice, it was to hear of trial by jury. it was a damnable institution. it impeded justice. it screened the guilty. it was beyond control. it could not be relied on to convict. and yet it was to this tribunal they foresaw they must come. in september, , embarrassing news arrived at the department of state. the consul at liverpool informed the american minister at london that john h. surratt was in england and could be extradited at any time. here was the villain who was, with booth, the prime mover of the conspiracy and the active accomplice of booth and payne in their work of blood. at least, so the military commission found, who hung his mother in his stead. and yet the united states government informed mr. adams, and mr. adams so informed the consul, that the government did not intend to prosecute. on the th of november ensuing, the war department, by general order, revoked the "rewards offered for the arrest of jacob thompson, beverly tucker, george n. sanders, william s. cleary and john h. surratt." where now was the redoubtable bingham who, over and over again, had assured the commission he guided of the unmistakable guilt of all these persons? the whole theory of the secretary of war, which he had preconceived in the midst of the panic following the assassination, that the murder of the president was the outcome of a deep-laid and widespread conspiracy, of which jefferson davis was the head and booth and payne the bloody hands--this theory, which the bureau of military justice, aided by baker and his detectives, had so sedulously labored to establish, and which judge bingham had so persistently pressed upon the nine military men who composed the court, to the exclusion of any such hypothesis as a plot to capture--this preconceived theory all at once fell to the ground. the perjured spies, who had been the willing and paid tools to build it up, were about to be unmasked and their poisoned fangs drawn. after no great interval, conover was, in fact, convicted of perjury in another case, and sentenced to imprisonment in the albany penitentiary. the whole prosecution of the so-called conspirators, from its inception to its tragic close, turned out to have been founded on an enormous blunder. the findings of the commission were falsified. whatever the guilt of the doomed victims, they were not guilty of the crime of which they were convicted. the terrible conspiracy, stretching from richmond to canada, and from canada back to washington, involving statesmen and generals, and crowning the wickedness of rebellion with the medusa-head of assassination, shrank into the comparatively common-place and isolated offense of the murder of lincoln and the assault upon seward, suddenly concocted by booth, on the afternoon of the th of april, in wild despair over the collapse of the rebellion. in such a predicament, the hanging of mrs. surratt could not have been a pleasing reminiscence to the secretary of war, to judge-advocate holt, or to the hangers-on of the bureau of military justice. at such a moment they certainly had no use for her son john. on the th of november, preston king, who held one side of the door of the white house while the daughter of mrs. surratt pleaded for admission, walked off a ferry-boat into the hudson river, with two bags of shot in the pockets of his overcoat, and was seen no more. this event might have passed as a startling coincidence, to be interpreted according to the feelings of the hearer, had it not been followed by the suicide of senator james s. lane, who held the other side of the door, and who, on the th day of july, , blew his brains out on the plains of kansas. that these two men had together stood between the president and the filial suppliant for mercy, in a case of life and death, and that, then, within a year, both had perished by their own hands, aroused whispers in the air, caused a holding of the breath and a listening, as if to catch the faint but increasing cry of innocent blood, coming up from the ground. when the congress met in december, , the leaders of the dominant party were in a fierce and bitter humor. the rebellion had been suppressed, the south subjugated and its chiefs captured, yet no one--not even the arch-traitor davis--had been hung. and, more deeply exasperating still, the man they had elected vice-president, and who had thus succeeded the martyred lincoln, upon whom their hopes had been fixed to make treason odious, to hang the leaders higher than haman, and to set aside the humane policy of reconstruction his predecessor had already outlined and substitute a more radical and retributive method--this man, whose precious life had been providentially spared from the pistol of the assassin to be the moses of the colored people, and for harboring any such blasphemous purpose as lying in wait for him, a court, appointed by himself and whose sentence he himself had approved, had hung a bewildered german--why this man had already shown himself a renegade, was bent on a general amnesty, appeared to have forgotten the assassination, was already hobnobbing with southern traitors, and was attempting to carry out a policy of reconstruction in the south, the result of which could be nothing less than the dethronement of the party who had brought the war for the union to a triumphant end. these men resolved that such treachery should be balked at whatever cost. ignorant as yet of the tainted character and of the break-down of the evidence adduced to show confederate complicity in the assassination, the house of representatives passed resolutions calling for the trial of jefferson davis for treason and for the other crimes with which he was charged; the ill-starred bingham, once again in the house, insisting that the confederate chief should be put upon trial before a military tribunal for the same offense of which his former court had found him guilty in his absence. the house appointed a committee to investigate the complicity of davis and others in the assassination, and in july, , through its chairman, mr. boutwell, made a report, followed by a resolution, "that it is the duty of the executive department of the government to proceed with the investigation of the facts connected with the assassination of the late president without unnecessary delay, that jefferson davis and others named in the proclamation of president johnson of may d, , may be put upon trial," which was adopted _nem. con._ in this action, little as they reeked, these radical politicians were the unconscious tools of that nemesis which stalks after lawlessness and triumphant crime. this resolution, and the news that john h. surratt had been betrayed by one of his comrades in the papal zouaves into the hands of the roman authorities, who had detained him to await the order of the american government, and that the prisoner had escaped from his guard and fled to malta, forced the department of war to revoke the order of november, , withdrawing the reward for the arrest of the fugitive. meanwhile the great contest over the reconstruction of the south waxed fiercer and fiercer. congress, during this session, became farther and farther alienated from the president, so that when that body met in december, , the reckless majority in both houses united in the resolve to get rid of andrew johnson, not indeed by the bloody method employed by booth, but by the no less efficient, though more insidious and less bold, expedient of impeachment by the house and conviction by the senate. no sooner had congress convened than mr. boutwell made an attack upon the executive for its dilatory action in the arrest of john h. surratt, stating that he had reason to believe that the government knew where the assassin was the may before. a committee appointed to investigate the matter made a report just at the close of the session obliquely censuring the executive department for its lack of diligence in effecting the arrest. on january th, , the famous ashley introduced his resolutions impeaching andrew johnson. the judiciary committee, to which they were referred, took testimony during the winter and made a report at the close of the session that it was unable to complete the investigation, and handed it over to the fortieth congress. that congress met immediately at the close of the thirty-ninth, and the testimony already taken was referred to the judiciary committee of its house, which proceeded with the matter during the spring and summer, and in november, , after the recess; with the final result of a failure to pass the resolution of impeachment reported by a bare majority of the committee. in process of this investigation all sorts of accusations and charges were made against the president. his enemies now employed the very same weapons against him which had been employed to convict the alleged assassins of his predecessor and the alleged conspirators against his own life. general baker and his detectives, conover and his allies, appear once more upon the scene. they actually invaded the privileged quarters of the white house and stationed spies in the very private apartments of the president. this time, however, they are ready to swear, and in fact do swear, not to having seen letters from jefferson davis to his agents in canada advising assassination, but letters from andrew johnson to davis squinting in that direction. they actually charged the president with being an accomplice in the assassination of abraham lincoln. forgetting that a human being had been hung for lying in wait to kill andrew johnson as a part of a general conspiracy to murder the heads of the government, these desperate men propose to impeach the president for being an accomplice in his own attempted murder. ashley openly denounced him, in the house of representatives on the th of march, , as "the man who came into the presidency through the door of assassination," and alluded to the "dark suspicion which crept over the minds of men as to his complicity in the assassination plot," and "the mysterious connection between death and treachery which this case presents." ashley had private interviews in the jail with conover and cleaver, who were confined there for their crimes, and they assured him of the guilt of andrew johnson. they furnished him with memoranda and letters purporting to show that andrew johnson and booth were in communication with each other before the murder of lincoln, and that booth had said before his death that if andrew johnson dared go back on him he would have him hung higher than haman. to such preposterous stuff, from professional perjurers, did the zealous ashley seriously incline. it was during this investigation that the evidence given by secretaries seward and stanton and by attorney-generals speed and stansbery, demonstrated the utter futility of an attempt to establish complicity in the assassination on the part of davis, thompson and the rest, by witnesses who had been shown, in other cases, to be unworthy of a moment's belief. while the impeachers were in the very act of pursuing the president as an accomplice in the murder of abraham lincoln, while the mighty bingham, who had so eloquently defended president johnson before the military commission against the charge of usurpation of power, and so bitterly denounced jefferson davis for alluding to johnson as "the beast," now, with a complete change of tune, was clamoring for the impeachment of "his beloved commander-in-chief;"--jefferson davis, himself, is brought, by direction of the secretary of war, in obedience to a writ of habeas corpus, before the united states court at richmond; there, without a word of remonstrance, transferred to the custody of the civil authority; and forthwith discharged on bail, horace greeley, who had never seen him before, becoming one of his bondsmen. since that day in may, , no attempt has ever been made to call the ex-president of the southern confederacy to account as one of the conspirators in the murder of lincoln. clay had been let go on parole as long before as april th, ; his property was restored to him in february, ; and proceedings under an indictment found against him for treason and conspiracy, indefinitely suspended on the th of march of the same year. thompson and sanders and tucker returned to their country and appeared unmolested amongst us. jefferson davis died recently full of years and honors. at the death of thompson, the flags of the interior department were lowered half-mast. tucker was appointed to office not long ago by president harrison. and all this, notwithstanding the judge-advocate had assured the military commission that the guilt of these men was as clear as the guilt of booth or of surratt, notwithstanding the military commission under his guidance so found, and, had these men been present before that tribunal, would doubtless have hung them on the same scaffold with mrs. surratt. it was during this same investigation, that the diary of booth, which had been so carefully concealed by the war department and the bureau of military justice from the military commission, was unearthed. its publication produced a profound sensation, as it made clear the reality of a plan to capture the president; a plan, which had been blasted by the collapse of the rebellion and, only at the last moment and without consultation, arbitrarily superseded by a hurried resolution to kill. when produced by judge holt before the committee, its mutilated condition gave rise to a terrible suspicion. holt, himself, and stanton were confident the book was in the same condition as when they first saw it. colonel conger, also, though not positive, thought it was unchanged since he took it from the dead body of booth. but, to the great wonder of everybody, the distinguished detective, general baker, testified, and stuck to it with emphasis when recalled, that, when he first examined the diary before it was lodged with the secretary of war, there were no leaves missing and no stubs, although the diary, as exhibited to the committee, showed by means of the stubs remaining that sixteen or twenty leaves had been cut or torn out. the disclosures made by the production of the diary, together with the fact of its suppression, stirred the soul of general butler; and, in this way, it came about that the ghost of mrs. surratt stalked one day into the house of representatives. judge bingham, in his rollicking way, was upbraiding general butler for having voted for jefferson davis fifty times as his candidate for president, and slurring his war record by calling him "the hero of fort fisher;" when, suddenly, at the petrific retort of his adversary that "the only victim of the gentleman's prowess was an innocent woman hung upon the scaffold!" the spectre stood before him, forcing, as from "white lips and chattering teeth," the exclamation of macbeth: "thou canst not say i did it!" "look to the true and brave and honorable men who found the facts upon their oaths and pronounced the judgment!" he retorted, clutching at the self-soothing sophistry of the murderer of banquo, ignoring the fact that he himself was a part of the tribunal and virtually dictated the judgment. another discovery was made by the judiciary committee in the "article" which, as recorded in his diary, booth had left behind him for publication in the national intelligencer. john matthews, a fellow actor and an intimate friend of the assassin, testified that on the afternoon of the th of april booth had met him in the street and left with him a letter directed to that newspaper, to be delivered in the morning. the witness was on the stage of the theatre that night at the time the fatal shot was fired, and, in the confusion that followed, he called to mind the communication. hurrying to his lodgings he opened the envelope, read the letter, and, fearing to be compromised by the possession of such a document, burnt it up. the substance of the letter, as near as matthews could recollect, was that for a long time he (booth) had devoted his money, time and energies to the accomplishment of an end, but had been baffled. "the moment has at length arrived when my plans must be changed. the world may censure me for what i do; but i am sure that posterity will justify me." and the communication was signed (all the names being in the hand-writing of booth): "men who love their country better than gold or life. j. w. booth, ---- payne, ---- atzerodt, ---- herold." the significance of this piece of testimony was negative. the name of surratt was not there. one suggestive circumstance was called out in the testimony of secretary seward and general eckert. it appeared that payne before his trial had talked with general eckert about his motives and movements in the assault upon the disabled secretary of state, the particulars of which conversation eckert had related to seward, after the recovery of the latter from his wound, and had promised to reduce to writing. among other things, payne had said that he and booth were in the grounds in front of the white house on the night of tuesday, the th of april, when abraham lincoln made his speech of congratulation on the fall of richmond and the surrender of lee; and that on that occasion booth tried to persuade him to shoot the president as he stood in the window, but that he would take no such risk; and that booth, turning away, remarked: "that is the last speech he will ever make." such an incident is consistent only with the theory that the assassination plot was concocted at the last moment as a forlorn hope, and that, if there had been any conspiracy, it was a conspiracy to capture. it is easy to see why the bureau of military justice suppressed this testimony also, because, although it bears hard upon payne himself, and herold, and possibly john surratt, it renders it highly improbable that mrs. surratt was aware of any design to kill. even such a fragmentary review, as the foregoing, of the public history of the two years succeeding the execution--which any reader may complete, as well as test, for himself by referring to the congressional globe of that period, to the printed reports of the committee, and to the leading newspapers of the day--is sufficient to indicate how the general tendency of events, and every event in its place, appear to have conspired to the accomplishment of one result,--the setting aside, in the public mind, of the verdict of the military commission in the case of mrs. surratt. this was not done by a direct assault upon that tribunal, or upon its mode of procedure; not even upon the character of the witnesses against the particular culprit, nor upon the weakness of the case made against her. these points of attack were all passed by, and the verdict was taken on the flank. the condemnation of the woman was subverted by the _wind_, so to speak, of passing events. the irrepressible conflict between the president and the congress; the consequent schism in the very ranks of the triumphant conquerors; the insane charge against andrew johnson of complicity in a conspiracy against his own life, supported by the incredible statements of the very witnesses who were responsible for the charge of complicity against jefferson davis and others; the final and complete exposure of the fiction of a conspiracy to assassinate, either by the confederate authorities, or anybody else; and the true, historical character of the assassination of abraham lincoln;--all combined to shake the edifice of guilt, which the bureau of military justice had so carefully built up around their helpless victim, upon such an aerial foundation. whilst the gradual abatement of that furious uncharitableness, which in the hey-day of the war could find nothing not damnable in the southern people, and no secessionist who was not morally capable either of murder or of perjury in its defense or concealment, was, surely but imperceptibly, clearing up the general atmosphere of public opinion, and thus preparing for the cordial reception of such a measure of retributive justice, as time, with his sure revenges, was daily disclosing to be more and more inevitable. the milligan decision dissipated the technical jurisdiction of the commission. but lawyers could still distinguish, and the hyperloyal could still maintain the essential rightfulness of the verdict. but the explosion of the great assassination conspiracy; the nol-pros. of the awful charge against jefferson davis, clement c. clay, jacob thompson, and their followers--a crime, which, if capable of proof, no government on earth would have dared to condone--discredited forever the judgment of the military commission, reopened wide all questions of testimony, of character, of guilt or innocence, and summoned the silent and dishonored dead to a new and benignant trial. chapter ii. reversal upon the merits. the new trial was in fact at hand. in the summer of the year , the interest excited by the investigation of the judiciary committee of the house of representatives, referred to in the last chapter, suddenly became merged into the intenser and more widespread interest excited by the trial of john h. surratt in the criminal court of the district of columbia. surratt, after escaping from his captors in italy by leaping down a precipice, fled to malta and thence to alexandria, where, on the st of december, , he was recaptured and taken on board the united states vessel "swatara." in this vessel, bound hand and foot, the prisoner arrived at washington on the st of february following. thus the radicals in congress, impelled by their growing enmity to the president over the reconstruction contest, by scattering abroad sinister intimations that the cause of his remissness in bringing to punishment the accomplices of the convicted assassins was fear for himself of a full investigation of the assassination, succeeded at last in forcing the executive department, apprehensive, as it had good reason to be, of the shadows which any future trial in the civil courts was likely to reflect back upon the military commission, and aware of the breaking down of the case against the canadian confederates and jefferson davis, face to face with the necessity of ratifying the conviction of the mother by securing the conviction of the son. on the one hand, the radicals, in blind ignorance of the true inwardness of affairs, clamored for the trial, in the hope that the guilt of the prisoner's supposed accomplices, davis and company, and possibly of the president himself, might be detected. on the other hand, the administration, now that the man had been forced upon its hands, knowing the futility of the hope of its enemies, pushed on the trial in the hope that, with its powerful appliances, a result could be obtained which would vindicate the verdict of the military commission. no one on either side, however, so much as dreamed of renewing the iniquity of a trial by court-martial. amid the silence of the holts and the binghams and the stantons, surratt was duly indicted by a grand jury for the murder of "one abraham lincoln," and for conspiring with booth, payne, atzerodt, herold and mary e. surratt to murder "one abraham lincoln," which conspiracy was executed by booth. there was no averment about the traitorous conspiracy to murder the heads of government, in aid of the rebellion; nor were the names of dr. mudd, o'laughlin, arnold or spangler, then undergoing punishment on the dry tortugas, inserted as parties to the conspiracy; nor was any mention made of seward or johnson or grant, as among the contemplated victims. all was precise and perspicacious, as is required in pleadings in the civil courts. the loose, vague, indefinite and impalpable charges permissible, seemingly, on military trials, gave place to plain and simple allegations, such as an accused person might reasonably be expected to be able to meet. on monday, june , , while the investigation before the judiciary committee of the house was still going on, while the sensation produced by the sight of booth's diary and by matthews' disclosures was still fresh, while the echoes of the encounter of bingham and butler still lingered in the air, the momentous trial came on. great and unprecedented preparations had been made by the prosecution. again the country was ransacked for witnesses, as in the palmy days of baker and his men. again the montgomeries and other canada spies haunted the precincts of the district attorney's office, willing as ever to swear to anything necessary to make out the case for the prosecution. even the voice of conover was heard, _de profundis clamavi_, from his dungeon cell. the bureau of military justice started into active life, and holt and his satellites bestirred themselves as though fully conscious of the impending crisis. indeed, every one of these officials, from the president and the secretary of war down to the meanest informer and hired hangman, who had had anything to do with the trial and execution of mary e. surratt, felt as if he, too, was to be put on trial in the trial of her son. a court recognized in, and drawing its life and jurisdiction from, the constitution was to act as a court of appeal to review the process and judgment of that extra-constitutional tribunal, which had, summarily and without legal warrant, put a free american woman to a felon's death. a daniel in the shape of a jury--a common law jury--a jury of civilians--unadorned by sword, epaulette or plume--a jury guaranteed by the bill of rights--a daniel had come to judgment! the shylocks of the days of arbitrary power dropped their sharpened knives and ejaculated, "is that the law?" great, assuredly, must have been the flurry of the once omnipotent bureau, when it was ascertained that the tribunal before which it must come could not be "organized to convict;" that there could be no soldiery around the court, no shackles on the prisoners or the witnesses for the defense, no prosecuting officers in the jury room. everything must be done decently and in order, with the same calm dignity, unruffled composure, the same presumption of the innocence of the accused, as though the murdered man had been the humblest citizen of the land. one great advantage, however, the prosecution managed to secure. a judge was selected to preside whom they could rely on, as "organized to convict." but this was the sole reminiscence of the unbridled reign of the military only two years before. a jury of twelve intelligent men, some of them the best citizens of the district, was speedily obtained to the evident satisfaction of both the people and the prisoner,--and the succeeding monday, the th, the struggle began. as we have given the names of the members of the court which tried the mother, we may be pardoned for giving the names of the jurors who tried the son. although there were no major-generals among them, they are entitled to the honor of being within, and not without, the ægis of the constitution. the jurors were w. b. todd, robert ball, j. russell barr, thomas berry, george a. bohrer, c. g. schneider, james y. davis, columbus alexander, william mclean, benjamin morsell, b. e. gittings, w. w. birth. they were thus spoken of by the district attorney: "it is a matter of mutual congratulation that a jury has been selected agreeable to both parties; the representatives of the wealth, the intelligence, and the commercial and business character of this community; gentlemen against whose character there cannot be a whisper of suspicion. i would trust you with my life and my honor; and i will trust you with the honor of my country." the scene which the court-room presented, when the assistant district attorney arose to open the case for the united states, afforded a speaking contrast to the scene presented at the opening of the military commission. the court was not held in a prison, and there was an entire absence of the insignia of war. the doors of the court-room were wide open to the entrance of the public, not locked up in sullen suspicion, and the keys in the hands of the prosecuting officer. the counsel for the prisoner confronted the jury and the witness-stand upon an equal line with the counsel for the united states; and there was neither heard, seen, nor surmised, in the words or bearing of edwards pierrepont, the leading counsel for the prosecution, any of the insolence and supercilious condescension shown in the words and bearing of john a. bingham. as the prisoner entered the court and advanced to the bar, no clank of fetters jarred upon the ear; and, as he sat at his ease by the side of his counsel, like a man presumed to be innocent, the recollection of that wan group of culprits, loaded down with iron, as they crouched before their imperious doomsmen, must have aroused a righteous wrath over the barbarous procedure of the military, in comparison with the benign rules of the civil, tribunals. the atmosphere surrounding the court and the trial seemed, also, to be free from passion and prejudice, when contrasted with the tremendous excitement and the thirst for blood, which permeated the surroundings of the military commission. although the bureau of military justice had busied itself in the prosecution, and thrust its aid on the office of the district attorney; although the whole weight of the federal administration was thrown in the same direction to vindicate, if possible, the signature of the president to the death warrant of the victims of his military court; and notwithstanding the presence upon the bench of a judge "organized to convict:" still, so repellant to partial passion were the precincts of what might fitly be styled a temple of justice, a neutral spectator might feel reliance that in that chamber innocence was safe. but there was one sentiment hovering over the trial and dwelling in all bosoms, which clothed the proceedings with a peculiar awfulness. all felt that the dead mother was on trial with the living son. she had been executed two years before for the same crime with which he was now charged. and, as he stood in the flesh, with upraised hand, looking at the jury which held his life in its hands, it required no great effort of fancy to body forth the image of his mother, standing beside him, murmuring from shadowy lips the plea of not guilty, amid the feeble repetitions of which, to her priest, she had died upon the scaffold. to convict her son, now, by the unanimous verdict of twelve men, and punish him according to law, would go far to condone the unconstitutional trial and illegal execution of the mother. whereas, on the other hand, the acquittal of her son of the same crime, by the constitutional tribunals of the country, would forever brand the acts of the military commission as murder under the forms of military rule. this dread alternative met the prosecution at the threshold of the trial, oppressed them with its increasing weight during its progress, and tarried with them even at its close. it appeared in the indictment, where the name of the mother, as one of the conspirators, was associated with the name of her son. it appeared in the examination of the jurors, when judge pierrepont endeavored to extract from them whether they had formed or expressed an opinion as to the guilt or the innocence of the prisoner, not only, but also as to the guilt or the innocence of his mother. it appeared during the taking of testimony, where evidence bearing upon the guilt of mrs. surratt alone was admitted at all times as evidence against her son. it appeared in the argument of the district attorney, when he compares the mother of the prisoner to herodias and lucrezia borgia, and "traces her connection with the crime" and "leaves it to the jury to say whether she was guilty;" where he pleads, like antony, in behalf of the members of the military commission that they were "all honorable men," and were not to be blamed for obeying the orders of the president. it appeared in the arguments of the counsel for the prisoner, when mr. merrick taunted the government that they were pressing for a verdict to "vindicate the fearful action they had committed;" when he appealed to the jury to "deal fairly by this young man," "even if the reputation of joseph holt should not have the vindication of innocent blood;" when he invoked the spirit of mrs. surratt as a witness for her son, and rebuked the prosecution for objecting to the admission of her dying declaration when they were putting her again on trial though dead; when mr. bradley charged that for four weeks and more they had been trying mrs. surratt and not her son, and denounced weichman and lloyd, avowing that "the proof against her was not sufficient to have hung a dog" and was "rotten to the core." it appeared in the speech of judge pierrepont, when he flourished the record of the military commission before the jury, and asserted that the recommendation of mrs. surratt to mercy was attached to it; in his avowal of his belief in her guilt; in his extolling the jury as a tribunal far more fit for the trial of such crimes than any military court; and in his covert threat that the people would punish the city of washington by the removal of the capitol, if the jury, by their verdict, did not come up to the high standard erected for them. and, lastly, it appeared in the charge of the judge, which is a model of what a one-sided charge ought to be. it opens with the words of the old testament: "whoso sheddeth man's blood, by man shall his blood be shed." then follows a sneer at the "sentimental philosophers," who were opposed to capital punishment. then the court inveighs against some imaginary advocates, who argued that to kill a king was a greater crime than to kill a president; and then casts an imputation upon the integrity of the decision in the milligan case, as "predicated upon a misapprehension of historic truth," and that therefore "we could not perhaps have looked for a more rightful deduction," "all loyal hearts" being "unprepared for such an announcement." the judge, then, holds that the court will take judicial cognizance that the crime charged was the murder of the president of the united states, and a more heinous offense than the murder of a simple individual. he, then, complacently sets aside the rule of sir matthew hale, implicitly followed since, as he himself admits, by "writers and judges seeming contented with his reasons or indisposed to depart from his principles," as "not very satisfactory to my (the judge's) mind;" and accordingly he declares that, in felonies of such high grade, as in cases of treason, there can be no accessories before the fact, but all are principals; and, to support this conclusion, he then cites and details at length two cases, apparently overruling sir matthew beforehand; (as he says) "reported in that book of highest authority known among christian nations, decided by a judge from whose decision there can be no appeal and before whose solemn tribunal all judges and jurors will in the great day have their verdict and judgments passed in review." one, the case "of naboth and ahab, contained in the st chapter of the first book of kings," the other, "that of david and uriah, recorded in the th chapter of second samuel;" at the end of the statement of which case the judge remarks, "this judgment of the lord was not that david was accessory before the fact of this murder, but was guilty as the principal, because he procured the murder to be done. it was a judgment to the effect that he who does an act by another does it himself, whether it be a civil or a criminal act." this extraordinary deliverance closes with an echo of judge pierrepont's warning to the jury, to uphold by their verdict the district of columbia, as a place for "the public servants, commissioned by the people of the nation, to do their work safe and sacred from the presence of unpunished assassins within its borders." it would be foreign to our purpose, as well as tedious to the reader, to examine in detail the testimony given on this trial. one conclusion--and that is the important thing--is certain. it is true, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that the prosecution made an incomparably stronger case against surratt than was made against his mother. they had but one culprit at whom to direct their aim, and they made a far more desperate and thorough-going effort to convict, because of the known unreliability of a jury to do what the prosecution might tell them to do without the aid of proof. before a military commission, tossed about by the passions of its members and steered by judge-advocates, the accusers could afford to be careless of gaps in their scheme of proof, missing links in the chain of circumstantial evidence. not so now and here. vehement affirmation without evidence availed nothing. curses against treason, traitors, disloyalty, apostrophes to the imperiled union, tears over the beloved commander-in-chief, could fill no void in the testimony. of course, there was no such outrage against not only the elementary rules of evidence, but against ordinary decent fairness, as an attempt to introduce testimony of the horrors of libby prison and andersonville; but the door looking in that direction was opened as wide as possible by the eager judge. all the material testimony given upon the "conspiracy trial" against mrs. surratt, not only, but also against payne, herold, atzerodt, arnold and o'laughlin, was reproduced here. the direct testimony on the part of the united states occupied from june th to july th, and in that period eighty-five witnesses were examined. on the conspiracy trial, the direct case consumed the time from may th to may th, and about one hundred and thirty witnesses were examined against the eight accused persons, not only, but also against the eight accessories, headed by jefferson davis, included in the charge, the testimony ranging over the whole rebellion and including libby, andersonville, canada, st. albans, and projected raids on new york, washington and other cities. every witness, whose testimony on the former trial had the remotest bearing upon the question of the guilt or innocence of mrs. surratt, once more showed his face and retold his story. lloyd was there, compelled, despite his superstitious reluctance to speak against a woman now she was dead, to rehearse the tale which his terrors had evolved out of his drunken imagination. this time, however, his sottish memory or failure of memory, his fright at the time of his arrest, his repeated denials of the visit of booth and herold, his temptations and bribes to accuse his landlady, were, under the keen cross-examination of the counsel for the prisoner, fully exposed. weichman "came also:" this time with his story carefully elaborated, touched and retouched here and there, and written down beforehand. he had been engaged for three or four months in aiding the prosecution, had prepared a carefully detailed statement for the use of the assistant district attorney, and now openly acknowledged that "his character was at stake" in this trial, and that he "intended to do all he could to help the prosecution." he had conned over and over again the report of his evidence on the conspiracy trial, had corrected it to meet objections subsequently made and to eliminate discrepancies and contradictions, and had thus brought its several disjointed parts into some logical sequence; he then had added to it the incidents and conversations disclosed for the first time in the affidavit sent to colonel burnett, which was appended to the published report of the trial, to which allusion has been made; and, now, in the final delivery of his deadly charge, coolly averring that his memory was much more distinct now than at the time of the former trial two years ago, he, with a superadded concentrated venom, flavored his narrative with a few damning incidents never heard of before--one, the most poisonous of all, that on the evening of the fatal th, while booth was about his murderous work, mrs. surratt was pacing her parlor floor begging her pious boarder "to pray for her intentions." this time, however, the witness did not escape unscathed. when he emerged from the skillful hands of mr. bradley, his malicious and sordid _animus_ laid bare,--his self-contradictions, his studied revisions, his purposeful additions to his testimony, exposed--his intimacy with the conspirators, his terrified repentance, his abject self-surrender and his cowardly eagerness to shift his peril upon the head of his protectress,--and then his simulated remorse and his later recantation--all made clear--he was an object of loathing to gentlemen; a stumbling block to the philanthropist; to the indifferent, an enigma; and to the common man, a perpetual provocation to a breach of the peace. twelve witnesses testified that they saw john h. surratt in washington on the th of april, only one of whom had testified to that effect on the other trial. it is curious now to discern how the memory of the witnesses, it may be unconsciously, swerved under pressure toward the mark of identification. the witnesses for the defense established that the prisoner was in elmira on the afternoon of the th, made it more than probable he was there on the th, and almost certain he was there on the th. the prosecution, under the force of this proof, suddenly conceded his presence in elmira on the th, and then, by the accident of a special train and the testimony of a ferryman whom the notorious montgomery unearthed in the very crisis of the emergency, contrived with much straining to land him in washington at o'clock on the morning of the fatal day. any calm observer, reading the account of the trial now, can see plainly that the truth is, the prisoner had not been in washington since the rd of april. the production of booth's diary by the prosecuting officers was forced upon them by the popular indignation over its suppression before the military commission; otherwise, it is clear they would not have been guilty of such a mistake in tactics as its introduction as a part of the case for the united states. its opening sentences--"until to-day nothing was ever thought of sacrificing to our country's wrongs. for six months we had worked to capture. but our cause being almost lost something decisive and great must be done"--settled the question of a plot to kidnap suddenly given up; and the testimony of weichman indicated the hour of abandonment. that every conceivable effort to obtain the conviction of the prisoner was made, and that a most formidable array of circumstances was marshalled against him, compared to which the two disconnected pieces of evidence which were so magnified against his mother seem weak indeed, will be controverted by no sane person. from june th to august th--nearly two months--the contest went on. on the last-mentioned day, which was wednesday, judge fisher delivered his remarkable charge, and a little before noon the jury retired. at one o'clock in the afternoon of saturday, the th, after a session of three days and three nights, a communication was received from the jury to the effect that they stood as at first, nearly equally divided, that they could not possibly agree, and the health of several of their numbers was becoming seriously impaired. the court, notwithstanding the protest of the prisoner, discharged the jury, and the prisoner was remanded to jail. there he did not long remain, however. every one recognized the futility of another trial. the strength of the proof of the prisoner's presence in elmira on the day of the assassination wrought a reaction of public opinion in his favor. the administration was glad to escape with less than an unequivocal condemnation. the bureau of military justice was silent. john h. surratt was quietly let go. this obscure occurrence, the discharge of john h. surratt, which caused not a ripple on the surface of human affairs, nevertheless constituted a cardinal event; for it worked a national estoppel. when that young man stepped forth from the threshold of the prison, to which the united states had brought him in irons from egypt across the mediterranean and the atlantic, not to follow his mother to the scaffold and a felon's grave, but to walk the earth a living, free man,--the innocence of the mother was finally and forever established by the universal acknowledgment of all fair men. no condemnation of the military commission could be so heavy, and at the same time so indubitably final, as the simultaneous conviction arrived at by all men, that if the son had been tried by such a tribunal he would assuredly have been put to death, and that if the mother had been reserved to calmer times and the tribunal guaranteed by the constitution to every man and woman, she would now have been living with her daughter, instead of lying, strangled to death, beneath the pavement of a prison. chapter iii. the recommendation to mercy. the worst was still behind. it was left to time to disclose the astounding fact, that all the military machinery of the war department, its bureaus, its court, its judge-advocates, its unconstitutional, anti-constitutional and extra-constitutional processes, would not have compassed the death of this helpless woman, had not the prosecutors, in the last extremity, called in the help of fraud. it has been narrated in the chronological order of events, how five members of the military commission were, in all probability, beguiled into the abdication of their own power of commutation and did, as matter of fact, sign a paper "praying" the president, "if he could find it consistent with his sense of duty to the country," to commute the death sentence of mrs. surratt; how that the paper may have been carried to the president by judge holt and have been present at the confidential interview when the death warrant was composed; and how that judge holt, in drafting the death warrant, went out of his way to so write it out, as in fact, if not by design, to withdraw from the eye of the president, as he signed it, this paper praying him to withhold his signature. but it should be borne in mind that all this was shrouded in the deepest secrecy. that there had been any hesitation among the members of the commission in fixing the sentence of mrs. surratt--any more than in the cases of herold, atzerodt and payne--much more that it had been found necessary to resort to a petition to the president, was entirely unknown to the public at large. as to what had taken place in the sessions of the court when the sentences were made up, every member thereof and the three judge-advocates were sworn to secrecy; and, outside these officers, the knowledge of the petition was confined to the secretary of war (possibly the attorney-general) and one or two subordinates in the war department. the record of the findings and sentences, to which the petition was attached, was kept from the official reporters, and not a soul outside a close coterie in the war department was allowed to set eyes on it. in the recital of the death sentences in the order of the adjutant-general directing their execution, the sentence of the woman differed in no respect from the three sentences of the men which preceded it. so far as the public eye could discover, there was not a gleam of mercy for the woman in the bosom of the commission. it is true, that even before the execution there were rumors that the court had united in a recommendation to mercy, and it was stated in the newspapers of the th and th of july that five members of the commission had signed such a recommendation and the whole court concurred in it. it is also certain, that almost immediately after the execution the story sprang up that the president had never been allowed to see the recommendation which the court had addressed to him. but all these statements remained without corroboration from any authentic source, and could not stand before the indubitable facts of the sentence, its approval by the president, and its summary execution. the single indication that in all these reports the paper is miscalled "a recommendation to mercy" shows of itself that the real nature of the secret was well kept. in november, , there appeared a volume compiled by benn pitman styled "the recorder to the commission," claiming to be "an authentic record of the trial of the assassins of the late president," to which was prefixed a certificate "to its faithfulness and accuracy" by colonel burnett, who had been assigned by judge holt to superintend the compilation and "made responsible for its strict accuracy." this work, so authenticated, was on its face intended by its compiler to be a complete history "for future use and reference" of the proceedings of the commission, from the order of the president convening it to the approval of the president of its findings and sentences. it had for frontispiece portraits of the conspirators and a map of portions of maryland and virginia showing the route of booth, and for afterpiece a diagram of the stage of ford's theatre and a diagram of the streets in its vicinity. beside matter strictly of record, such as the testimony and the findings and sentences, it included the arguments of all the counsel, the approval of the president, the order changing the place of imprisonment from albany to the dry tortugas, the proceedings under the writ of habeas corpus in the case of mrs. surratt; and (in the appendix) the opinion of attorney-general speed; army instructions in ten sections; a proclamation of president lincoln; a poisonous affidavit of weichman, inclosed in a letter to colonel burnett; and an affidavit of captain dutton, who took dr. mudd to the dry tortugas, giving the confessions the captain swears the doctor made on the way, sent to general holt in obedience to his request for such information. nevertheless, amid all this wealth of illustration, there is not the faintest allusion to any such thing as a recommendation to mercy, in the volume. on the one hand, pittman may not have seen the paper. his findings and sentences are obviously taken from the order of the adjutant-general, and not from the original record, as he puts them in the same order, which is not the order of the record. but, if he never saw the paper, it must have been purposely kept from his knowledge, and thus from the knowledge of the public, by some person interested in its suppression. and colonel burnett, who had himself attached the paper "at the end" of the record, instead of certifying to the "faithfulness and accuracy" of a compilation omitting it, ought rather to have insisted that so important and interesting a document, about the existence of which so much talk had arisen, be at last given to the world. on the other hand, if pitman knew of the paper, he certainly would not have voluntarily left it out of his book for the reason, he himself felt constrained afterwards to assign, that "it formed no part of the proceedings, was not mentioned in open session;" since he had given room to so much matter, not of record, solely for the purpose of adding interest and completeness to his work, and this critical document could add so much to the one and its absence detract so much from the other. moreover, in december, the report of the judge-advocate-general to the secretary of war appeared, in which the trial was reviewed, and to which the report to the president, dated july th, , was appended. but in both the existence of the petition was ignored. whatever may have been the true inwardness of these significant omissions, their inevitable effect was to convince the mass of the people of the non-existence of a recommendation to mercy; and the petition of the five officers might have reposed in silence in the secret archives of the war department, had it not been for the alienation of the president from the party which had elected him, his gradual gravitation towards his own section, and finally his revolt from the sway of stanton. during this period, the rumors that the court had recommended mrs. surratt to the clemency of the executive and that the paper had never reached the executive, coupled with stories that from the close of the trial to the hour of the execution the president had been kept under confinement and in a state of semi-stupefaction by a band of reckless partisans who were bound there should be no clemency, grew louder and louder. but they were never traceable to any reliable source. in fact, the coolness which had been for a long time growing between andrew johnson and edwin m. stanton did not break out into an open rupture until as late as the month of march, . the other members of the cabinet, which johnson had inherited from lincoln, who disagreed with johnson on the question of reconstruction, harlan, dennison and speed, resigned, on account of that disagreement, in the summer of ; but stanton stayed on. when the tenure of office bill was passed by the congress in february, , the secretary of war was still so much in accord with the president as to unite with the other members of the reconstructed cabinet in an emphatic condemnation of the bill as unconstitutional, and to be asked by the president to draft his veto message. but, on the passage of that act over the veto, stanton, thinking his tenure of office secure, at last threw off the double-faced mask he seems to have worn in every cabinet to which he ever had the honor to belong. from that time he stood alone in the cabinet, irreconcilable in his hostility to every move of his chief, in open league with his chief's active enemies, and determined to remain where he was not wanted and could only act as a hindrance and a spy. in this perilous state of affairs, a secret like that of the petition of the five officers burned towards disclosure. yet, so far as is at present ascertainable, no authoritative affirmation of the existence of such a paper, on the one hand, and no authoritative denial that it had been presented to the president, on the other, had yet been made. upon such an arrangement of combustible material, the trial of john h. surratt acted like a spark of fire. on the second day (june th, ), during the impanelling of the jury, mr. pierrepont, the leading counsel for the united states, alluding to the rumors then flying about, took occasion to predict that the government on that trial would set all these false stories at rest. among other things he said: "it has likewise been circulated through all the public journals that after the former convictions, when an effort was made to go to the president for pardon, men active here at the seat of government prevented any attempt being made or the president being even reached for the purpose of seeing whether he would not exercise clemency; whereas the truth, and the truth of the record which will be presented in this court, is that all this matter was brought before the president and presented to a full cabinet meeting, where it was thoroughly discussed; and after such discussion, condemnation and execution received not only the sanction of the president but that of every member of his cabinet." the testimony in the case closed, however, and the summing up began, and there had been no attempt at a fulfillment of this prediction. on thursday afternoon, august st, mr. merrick, the junior counsel for the prisoner, then nearing the close of his address, twitted the prosecution with this breach of its promise in these words: "where is your record? why didn't you bring it in? did you find at the end of the record a recommendation to mercy in the case of mrs. surratt that the president never saw? you had the record here in court. "mr. bradley: and offered it once and withdrew it? "mr. merrick: yes, sir; offered it and then withdrew it. "did you find anything at the close of it that you did not like? why didn't you put that record in evidence, and let us have it here?" stung by the necessity of making some answer to this defiant challenge, mr. pierrepont on the moment sent for the record. and in response to the summons, judge-advocate holt, who naturally must have followed the prosecution and trial with the most absorbing anxiety, on that very afternoon brought the record "with his own hand," "with his own voice" told its history, in the presence of "three gentlemen," to mr. pierrepont, and then left the papers with him. on the succeeding day, august nd, mr. bradley, the senior counsel of the prisoner, renewed the attack: "it was boastfully said in the opening of this case that they would vindicate the conduct of the law officers of the government engaged in the conspiracy trials. they would produce booth's diary; they would show that the judgment of the court was submitted to the cabinet and fully approved; that no recommendation for mercy for mrs. surratt--that no petition for pardon to the government--had been withheld from the president. is it so?" the next morning, saturday, august d, mr. pierrepont began his address to the jury. having kept possession of the record since thursday afternoon, and having been made acquainted with its history by judge-advocate holt in such an impressive manner, he, thus, in his exordium, at last, redeemed the promise of the prosecution: "the counsel certainly knew when they were talking about that tribunal" (_i. e._ the military commission), "and when they were thus denouncing it, that president johnson * * * ordered it with his own hand, that president johnson * * * signed the warrant that directed the execution, that president johnson * * * when that record was presented to him, laid it before his cabinet, and that every single member voted to confirm the sentence, and that the president with his own hand wrote his confirmation of it, and with his own hand signed the warrant. i hold in my hand the original record, and no other man as it appears from that paper ordered it. no other one touched this paper, and when it was suggested by some of the members of the commission that in consequence of the age and the sex of mrs. surratt, it might possibly be well to change her sentence to imprisonment for life, he signed the warrant for her death with the paper right before his eyes--and there it is (handing the paper to mr. merrick). my friend can read it for himself." this is the first appearance in public of the precious record. on wednesday, july th, , andrew johnson put his name to the death-warrant written on its back by judge holt. and, now, two years after, emerging from its hiding-place, it is flung upon a table in a court-room by the counsel for the united states. even now it seems to be destined to a most unsatisfactory publication. for the counsel of the prisoner decline to look at it, because (as mr. merrick subsequently explained), "he mistrusted whatever came from the judge-advocate-general's office;" because it "had been carefully withheld until all opportunity had passed for taking evidence in relation to it;" and because the official report of the trial contained no recommendation of mercy. the mysterious roll of paper, consequently, lies there unopened, until judge holt comes to reclaim it that same afternoon; and that officer is careful, when receiving it back, to repeat over again, before other witnesses, the same history of the document, he had told before to the counsel for the prosecution, and which that counsel had just retold to the jury. but that had been said and done which must blow away the atmosphere of unwholesome secrecy which had so long enveloped this addendum to the record. the explicit declaration of the counsel for the united states, made in a crowded court-room on so celebrated a trial, with the "identical paper" in his hand, that the president had laid the record before his cabinet and "every single member voted to confirm the sentence," and that the president had signed the death-warrant with the "suggestion" of commutation "right before his eyes," was immediately published far and wide, and must have been read on sunday, the th, or at latest on monday, the th, by the president himself. and the president was certainly astounded. by a most singular providence, judge holt himself, in a letter written to himself, at his request, by his chief clerk, and published by him in for another purpose, has furnished independent proof that the president was now for the first time startled into sending for the record. here is what chief clerk wright says: "on the th day of august, , mr. stanton, the secretary of war, sent for me, and in the presence of general grant asked me who was in charge of the bureau in your absence. i informed him colonel winthrop. he requested i should send him over to him, which i did. the colonel returned and asked me for the findings and sentence of the conspiracy trial, telling me he had to take it to the president. on taking the portion of the record referred to from the bundle, i found, from the frequent handling of it, several of the last leaves had torn loose from the ribbon fastening, and to secure them i put the eyelet in one corner of it." the judge-advocate-general, though in court on saturday getting back the record and retelling its history, was absent, it would appear, from his office on monday, or was considered absent by stanton, who it also appears was still secretary of war and in communication with johnson. it was thought best to employ a deputy to carry the papers to the president. holt, probably, had no stomach for another "confidential interview," with the identical record in his hand. let andrew johnson himself tell what followed. the statement is from his published reply to holt in , and was made with no reference to, and apparently with no recollection of, the foregoing incidents of the john h. surratt trial: "having heard that the petition had been attached to the record, i sent for the papers on the th day of august, , with a view of examining, for the first time, the recommendation in the case of mrs. surratt. "a careful scrutiny convinced me that it was not with the record when submitted for my approval, and that i had neither before seen nor read it." it may have been only a coincidence, but on this very day, monday, august th, , and necessarily after the sending for the record, because that was done through the secretary of war, the following interesting missive was dispatched by the president to that member of his cabinet: "sir: public considerations of a high character constrain me to say that your resignation as secretary of war will be accepted." stanton immediately replied: "public considerations of a high character constrain me not to resign before the next meeting of congress." and, on the th, he was suspended from office. but andrew johnson was not the only interested personage who read the explicit declaration of mr. pierrepont. the statement that every member of the cabinet voted to confirm the sentence of mrs. surratt, with the record, including, of course, the recommendation, before them, must have been read also by william h. seward, edwin m. stanton, hugh mcculloch, and gideon welles, the members of that "full cabinet" who still remained in office. they surely knew the truth of the statement, if it was true, or its falsity, if it was false. if it was true, is it not perfectly inconceivable that the president, conscious that these four of his confidential advisers had seen the record and voted to deny the petition, would have dared to enact the comedy of sending for the record, and then brazenly assert that the petition had not been attached to it when before him, and that he had neither seen nor read it? and if he had been guilty of so foolhardy a course of action, now was the time for the judge-advocate to fortify the declaration which he had inspired mr. pierrepont to make, by appealing to these members of the cabinet to confront their shameless chief with their united testimony, and forever silence the "atrocious accusation." from his course of proceeding at a later day, it is not probable that he made any such attempt. at all events, he got no help from seward, from mcculloch or from welles. nay, he got no help to sustain his history of the record, even from stanton. if help came from that quarter at all, it was to shield him from the awakened wrath of the hood-winked executive, by drawing the fire upon the head of his department. but what the judge-advocate-general did do, in view of the crisis, is sufficiently apparent. he took immediate measures to retract all that portion of mr. pierrepont's declaration of saturday, which expressed or implied any knowledge on the part of the cabinet of the disputed paper. the counsel for the united states had continued his speech to the jury all day monday, apparently unconscious of the tempestuous effect of his statement of saturday, and of the predicament in which it had involved his informant. in the evening, he must have had a "confidential interview" with judge holt. for, on rising to resume his speech on tuesday morning, the th of august, from no apparent logical cause arising from the course of his argument, he saw fit to recur to the now absent record, and to interpolate the following perfectly insulated and seemingly superfluous piece of information: "you will recollect, gentlemen, when a call was made several days ago by mr. merrick * * asking that we should produce the record of the conspiracy trial, that i brought the original record here and handed it to counsel. i then stated that as a part of that record was a suggestion made by a part of the court that tried the conspirators, that, if the president thought it consistent with his public duty, they would suggest, in consideration of the sex and age of one of those condemned, that a change might be made in her sentence to imprisonment for life. i stated that i had been informed that when that record was before the president, and when he signed the warrant of execution, that recommendation was then before him. i want no misunderstanding about that, and i do not intend there shall be any. that is a part of the original record which i here produced in court. it is in the hand-writing of one of the members of that court, to wit, general ekin. the original of that is now in his possession and in the hand-writing of hon. john a. bingham. when the counsel called for that record, i sent the afternoon of that day to the judge-advocate-general, in whose possession these records are. he brought it to me with his own hand, and told me with his own voice, in the presence of three other gentlemen, that that identical paper, then a part of the record, was before the president when he signed the warrant of execution, and that he had a conversation with the president at that time on the subject. that is my authority. subsequently to this, having presented it here, the judge-advocate-general called to receive it back, and reiterated in the presence of other gentlemen the same thing. that is my knowledge and that is my authority." here we have, then, the final statement of his side of the case, made by judge holt, through the mouth of counsel, revised and corrected under the stress of the occurrences at the white house and the negatory attitude of the members of the cabinet present on the spot. stripped of the allegation that the record was laid before the cabinet and voted upon by every member of the cabinet, its affirmations, carefully confined to "the confidential interview" between the president and the judge-advocate, go no farther than that "the identical paper" was "before the president," when he signed the death warrant, and they had a conversation "on the subject." "he wants no misunderstanding" and does "not intend there shall be any." the counsel in great detail relates how he came by his facts. "that is my knowledge and that is my authority." of course it is open to everybody to believe, if he choose, that the talk of the cabinet meeting and of the unanimous vote of its members against the petition, was a mere rhetorical exaggeration of a simple narrative of holt relating the incidents of an interview between the president and himself, struck off by judge pierrepont in the full fervor of his eloquence; but, nevertheless, it remains true that the judge-advocate, until the catastrophe befell, was satisfied it should stand, rhetoric and all; because he "reiterated the same thing" on saturday, _after_ the counsel had concluded his statement, and on monday the counsel continued his address all day without being advised of the necessity for any retraction. be this as it may, there is now, at the last, no appeal by the judge-advocate to the members of the cabinet, all of whom were living, as witnesses to the president's knowledge of the petition of mercy. he abandons hope of corroboration from members of the cabinet, and he takes his stand upon the single categorical affirmation, that the "identical paper" formed part of the record when the record was before the president in . and, singular as it may appear, this is the very thing that the president does not categorically deny; he only infers the contrary from the appearance of the record in . the single categorical negation of the president is that he neither saw nor read the recommendation. and, singular as it may appear, this the judge-advocate does not categorically affirm; he leaves it to be inferred from his averment of the presence of the paper and a conversation on the subject. in short, the statements of the two disputants are not contradictory. both may be true. and, when we recollect the feeble state of health of the president at the time of the "confidential interview" and his mood of mind towards the distasteful task forced upon him in a season of nervous debility; when we recollect the mode and manner the judge-advocate adopted of writing out the death warrant; it will seem extremely probable that both statements _are_ true. the president made no "careful scrutiny" of the record in , or he would not have needed to do so in . the judge-advocate, inspired by his master, would not be too officious in pointing out to the listless and uninquiring executive the superfluous little paper. he might do his whole duty, by conversing on the subject of the commutation of the sentence of the one woman condemned, and, then, by so placing the roll of papers for the president's signature to the death warrant as to bring the modest "suggestion" of the five officers "_right before his eyes_," though upside down. if the sick president did not carefully scrutinize the papers, was that the judge-advocate's fault? nay, in writing out the death warrant in the inspired way he did, this zealous patriot may have felt even a pious glow, in thus lending himself as an instrument to ward off a frustration of divine justice. alas! one may easily lose one's self in endeavoring to trace out the abnormal vagaries of the "truly loyal" mind, at that period of hysterical patriotism. * * * * * after these incidents on the surratt trial, and at the white house, there could be no more mystery about the recommendation to mercy. it was historically certain that such a document, or rather a "suggestion," did in fact emanate from the commission, and was at some time affixed to the record. left out of pitman's official compilation, nevertheless it was there. the only question about it which could any longer agitate the people was, had it been suppressed? and this, unfortunately, was now narrowed down to a mere question of veracity between the president and his subordinate officer, as to what occurred at the confidential interview; and which, moreover, threatened to resolve itself into a maze of special pleading about the lack of attention, on the part of the executive, and the duty of thorough explanation, on the part of the judge-advocate, in the delicate task of approving the judgment of a military commission. whether this unsatisfactory and ticklish state of the issue was the cause or not, nothing was done in consequence of these revelations of the surratt trial. the president, indeed, plunged as he was in the struggle to get rid of stanton, which finally led to his impeachment, and remembering his own remissness in not scrutinizing the papers before he signed the death-warrant, could have had but little inclination to provoke another conflict, on such precarious grounds, by attempting the removal of the incriminated subordinate of his rebellious secretary. he kept possession of the record, however, long enough to subject it to a thorough inspection by himself and his advisers, for (as appears from the letter of the chief clerk already quoted) it was not returned to the judge-advocate-general's office until december, . the judge-advocate, on his part, remained likewise passive and displayed no eagerness for a vindication by a court of inquiry. he pleads in , as excuse for his non-action, that "it would have been the very madness of folly" for him "to expose his reputation to the perils of a judicial proceeding in which his enemy and slanderer would play the quadruple role of organizer of the court, accuser, witness and final judge." forgetting the "history" he had told mr. pierrepont, and then withdrawn, in , he actually claims that he "was not aware that any member of mr. johnson's cabinet knew of his having seen and considered the recommendation," and that he "was kept in profound ignorance of" "this important information" "_through the instrumentality of mr. stanton_"! but, were it credible that the judge-advocate "supposed," as he says, "that this information was confined to" the president and himself, (not even his master, stanton, knowing anything of the petition), even in that case the "perils" of an investigation, which he affects to dread, were all on the side of his adversary. the necessity for the president of the united states, himself, to come forward as the one sole witness to his own accusation--especially when the charge involved an admission of his own delinquency, and was to be met by the loud and defiant denial of his arraigned subordinate--was enough, of itself, to deter the chief magistrate of a great nation from descending into so humiliating a combat. but, to lay no stress upon this consideration, it must be manifest to any one acquainted with the state of public feeling at the time, that the single, uncorroborated testimony of the maligned, distrusted andrew johnson, branded as a traitor by the triumphant republican party, on the eve of impeachment, a hostile army under his nominal command, stanton harnessed on his back, unfriendly private secretaries pervading his apartments, and detectives in his bed-chamber; in support of such a "disloyal" charge, disclosing, as it was sure to be asserted, a latent remorse for the righteous fate of the she-assassin; would have been hailed in all military circles with derision. the popular, the eminently loyal, the politically sound judge-advocate, backed by stanton, bingham and burnett, by his bureau and his court, by general grant and the army, had certainly nothing to fear. but, though this hero of so many courts-martial appears to have had no mind for a dose of his own favorite remedy, he began, in his characteristic secret way, to collect testimony corroborative of his version of the confidential interview. he writes no letter to a single cabinet officer. but, immediately after the close of the john h. surratt trial (august , ), he writes to general ekin reminding him of an interview, soon after the execution, in which he (holt) mentioned that the president had seen the petition; and he obtains from that officer the information he sought. in january, , he quietly procures from two clerks in his office, letters testifying to the condition of the record when it arrived from the commission, when the judge-advocate took it to carry to the president, and when he brought it back. it is needless to say that, though these clerks state that the page, on which the petition was written, and the page, on which the latter portion of the death-warrant was written, are "directly face to face to each other;" they do not notice that, when the death-warrant was signed, the page, on which the petition was written, must have been, either under the other pages of the record, or upside down. in this same month, the resolution of the senate refusing to concur in the suspension of stanton was adopted (january th, ). general grant, the secretary of war _ad interim_, in violation of his promise to the president, as alleged by the latter, thereupon surrendered the office to the favorite war-minister, who thus forced himself back among the confidential advisers of the president. on the st of february, the president, with one last desperate stroke, removed him from office; and on the th, andrew johnson was impeached for this "high crime." in the midst of his troubles, the president finds time to pardon dr. mudd (feb. th), who soon returns to his family and friends. the impeachment trial ends may th, the president escaping conviction by but one vote; and stanton at last lets go his hold on the war office. in december, , the judge-advocate is privately seeking testimony from the rev. j. george butler, of washington, the minister who attended atzerodt in his last moments, whose letter of the th is most satisfactory on johnson's belief in the guilt of mrs. surratt, but most unsatisfactory in regard to the petition of mercy. on the st of march, , among the last acts of his stormy administration, the president undid, as far as he could then undo, the work of the military commission by setting arnold and spangler free; o'laughlin having died from the effects of the climate. had the five officers of the military commission been permitted to exercise their power of mitigating the sentence of mrs. surratt, as they did in the cases of these men, or had the executive granted their prayer for clemency; the president might have signalized the close of his term by a still more memorable pardon, and the mother, rescued from death by mercy, would have joined the son, rescued from death by justice. during the four years of the first administration of president grant, while andrew johnson was fighting his way back to his old place, among the people of tennessee, the story of the suppressed recommendation ever and anon circulated anew with unquenchable vitality. the reappearance of mudd, spangler and arnold, as free men; the "doubtful" death of stanton, "with such maimed rites" of burial, as might "betoken the corse, they follow, did with desperate hand fordo its own life;" every incident connected in any way with the tragedy of the woman's trial and death, and every prominent event in the career of the men who had surrounded the illstarred successor of the murdered lincoln in the awful hour of his accession, revived the irrepressible question; and the friends of mrs. surratt's memory, and the friends of johnson, alike, each by their own separate methods, on every such opportunity, appealed and re-appealed to the public, asserting again and again the suppression of the plea for mercy, propagating what general holt brands as "the atrocious accusation," or, as he elsewhere characterizes their actions, "for long years wantonly and wickedly assailing" the ex-judge-advocate. and yet, during all these years, the baited hero is silent. he lies low. as far as appears, he makes no further efforts to secure testimony. his friend and old associate, bingham, is by his side, yet he makes no appeal to him. he keeps close by him the letters he has already secured to substantiate his own version of the confidential interview. but he seeks for no cabinet testimony. his stern master in the war department, after the acquittal of the president, lays down his sceptre, and then, though the deadliest enemy of johnson, is allowed to die in silence. seward lives on and is asked to give no help. the ex-judge-advocate still lies low. at length came the appointed time. william h. seward died on the th day of october, . on the th day of february, , gen. holt makes his appeal for testimony from the officers of johnson's first cabinet, by letter to john a. bingham, requesting him to furnish his recollections of the late stanton and the late seward. on march th, , he writes to james speed, ex-attorney-general, inclosing a copy of bingham's reply. on may st, , he writes to james harlan, ex-secretary of the interior, inclosing a copy of bingham's reply. in july, , he writes to general mussey, once johnson's private secretary; and, in august, armed with the answers of these correspondents and with the letters he had gathered in and , and unprovoked by any revivification of the old charge, he rushes into the columns of the washington chronicle with his formidable "vindication." chapter iv. the trial of joseph holt. on the threshold of his vindication, gen. holt revives the discredited and apparently forgotten declaration made by mr. pierrepont on the trial of john h. surratt, and stakes his whole case upon the establishment of the truth of the allegation that the petition for commutation, attached as it was to the record of the findings and sentences of the military commission, was the subject of consideration at a meeting of the cabinet of president johnson, and its prayer rejected with the concurrence of the members present at such meeting. so long as the contention is limited to what took place during that momentous hour between the president and himself, "alone," with the light thrown upon it by the record including the endorsed death-warrant and the affixed paper, he exhibits a certain lack of confidence in the strength of his defense. for, although he prints the "circumstantial evidence," as he calls it, to sustain his own version of the "confidential interview" (consisting of the two letters from his former clerk, heretofore alluded to, and the letter from gen. mussey saying that the "acting president" told him of the recommendation "about that time"), he confesses it was not until he recently had secured certain testimony that the petition had been considered by officers of the cabinet, that he at length felt his case strong enough to warrant a public challenge of his adversary, and himself justified in submitting it to the public. in short, we have a sort of reversal of the position of six years before. _then_, after having at first put forward the assertion that the petition was considered by the cabinet, the judge-advocate summarily suppresses that branch of his case, and puts into the foreground the explicit asseveration of the identical paper being "right before the president's eyes" when he signed the death-warrant. "he wants no misunderstanding about that." _now_, while he keeps in mind, it is true, this version of the confidential interview, he relegates it to the rear, and constitutes the cabinet consideration the very citadel of his cause. as to what takes place at a meeting of the cabinet, its members of course are the first, if not the only, witnesses. and it is a matter of surprise that general holt, so far as is apparent, never, in all these past years, applied to any one of them to substantiate so essential a part of his vindication. he states that he has always been satisfied that the matter must have been considered in the cabinet, and adds that "from the confidential character of cabinet deliberations" he has "thus far been denied access to this source of information." but he does not say when, or to whom, he applied for such "access," or how he had been "denied." it is certain, from what he says elsewhere, that he never applied to stanton or to seward; he admits in a subsequent communication that he never applied to mcculloch, welles or dennison; and, from the tenor of their letters now in reply to his, it appears he never applied before to harlan or to speed. and these are all the members of the cabinet of president johnson in july, . moreover, he does not, even now, in , make application in the first instance to an ex-cabinet officer. his first application is made to john a. bingham, his old colleague in the prosecution of mrs. surratt, for cabinet information in the shape of conversations with the two ministers, who, after so many years of unsolicited silence in life, are now silent, beyond the reach of solicitation, in death. and it is not until he has secured the desired information, which he would have us believe was entirely unexpected, that he is stirred up to the necessity of a public vindication of his character; and then he selects the two of the surviving ministers of the cabinet, known to be hostile to the ex-president, as the objects of solicitation, sending them, as a spur to their recollections, the letter containing the reminiscences of his serviceable ally. but, by some fatality, the industrious inquirer takes nothing by his somewhat complicated manoeuvre. the letters he produces from cabinet officers afford him no assistance. judge harlan can recall only an informal discussion by three or four members of the cabinet (seward, stanton, himself and probably speed) of the question of the commutation of the sentence of mrs. surratt because of her sex; which, she being the one woman under condemnation, would surely arise in a tribunal of gentlemen, whether there was a recommendation or not, as in fact it did even among the stern soldiers of the military commission. but the writer, who, as senator from the state of iowa, had voted for the conviction of president johnson, makes the positive declaration, that "no part of the record of the trial, the decision of the court, or the recommendation of clemency was at that time or ever at any time read in my (his) presence." he remembers, with undoubting distinctness, inquiring at the time whether the attorney-general had examined the record, and was told that the whole case had been carefully examined by the attorney-general and the secretary of war; and he states that the question was never submitted to the cabinet for a formal vote. this letter is most significant, both for what it says and for what it refrains from saying. its positive statement annihilates the story of a "full cabinet" when "the vote of every member" was adverse, and indeed of any cabinet meeting whatever, where the paper was present and considered--such a story as judge pierrepont first gathered from the "voice" of holt; and the absence of all affirmation that the writer had either seen or heard of the recommendation, while he expressly states that it was never read in his presence (considering the occasion and object of the letter and the bias of the ex-senator), warrants the conclusion that such a document was not mentioned at the informal cabinet consultation he describes. in any view, the letter furnishes no support to holt's contention. the writer expressly negatives the presence of the record and the paper, and he does not affirm that such a petition was alluded to, in terms, in the discussion in the presence of the president; which he surely would have done, in aid of his sorely tried friend, if such had been the fact. the judge-advocate fares even worse at the hands of the ex-attorney-general. here is a man who knew, if any other member of the cabinet except stanton knew, whether the paper in question ever came up for discussion before the president in his cabinet. he goes so far as to say that, after the findings and before the execution, he saw the paper attached to the record "in the president's office;" a statement which reminds us of another of the same elusive and evasive character, (that the paper was "_before the president_"), and, like that, affirms nothing one way or the other as to the consciousness of the president of its presence. and then he proceeds as follows: "i do not feel at liberty to speak of what was said at cabinet meetings. in this i know i differ from other gentlemen" (presumably an allusion to the seward and stanton of bingham's letter), "but feel constrained to follow my own sense of propriety." his friend's necessity would have been met by something less than a repetition of what was _said_ at cabinet meetings. he had only to tell whether he saw a certain paper (not in the president's office), but at a meeting of the president and his advisers, or knew of the recognition there of its mere existence;--a revelation which would not have violated the most punctilious sense of official propriety; and he feels constrained to withhold the least ray of light upon so simple a question. the witness "declines to answer." ten years after the present controversy, judge holt, feeling acutely this weak point in his vindication, again appeals to speed, in the most moving tones, to break his unaccountable silence and rescue his friend's gray head from "the atrocious accusation," "known to him to be false in its every intendment," with which that perfidious monster, dead now eight years, and, (as holt significantly quotes), "gone to his own place," sought "to blacken the reputation of a subordinate officer holding a confidential interview with him." and, strange to say, speed first neglects even to reply to holt's repeated communications for six months, and then just opens his lips to whisper, "i cannot say more than i have said." he had offered in private (if we may credit holt) to write a letter to his aggrieved friend, giving him the desired information, "but not to be used until after holt's death;" a proposition quite naturally discouraged by holt, who made this sensible reply: "that a letter thus strangely withheld from the public would not, when it appeared, be credited." but, when repeatedly implored to spread "the desired information" before the public, he again declines to answer. james speed would not tell the truth, when by telling the truth he might relieve his old friend in "the closing hours of his life" from a most damnable calumny, because, forsooth, "of his sense of propriety." he could not violate the secrecy of a cabinet meeting, held nearly twenty years before; a secrecy which he had good reason to believe had already been broken, in the professed interest of truth, by three of his own colleagues, and, in the alleged interest of a most foul falsehood, by the president himself. before the judge finally gives up his old associate as hopeless, he craftily points out to him a way by which the ex-cabinet officer may give his testimony without violating the most punctilious sense of propriety, not only, but without departing one iota from the literal truth. since his first letter, general holt informs him: "i have learned that although you gained the information while a member of the cabinet, it was not strictly in your capacity as such, but that at the moment i laid before the president the record of the trial, with the recommendation for clemency on behalf of mrs. surratt, you chanced to be so situated as to be assured by the evidence of your own senses that such petition of recommendation was by me presented to the president, and was the subject of conversation between him and myself." does this mean that speed was an unseen spectator of the confidential interview, and witnessed the writing of the death-warrant? at all events, for some reason, the ex-attorney-general was afraid to accept this opportunity to equivocate. holt may well wonder at speed's obstinate silence. he exclaims: "it is a mystery to me." it will be a mystery to every one, provided the black charge was false. but, on the hypothesis that the charge was true, that the paper was suppressed, either actually or virtually, there is no mystery. had speed known that the paper was, not only "_before_" the president, but considered by him, either in or out of the cabinet, it is beyond the limit of human credulity to believe, for a moment, that, with all possible motives to lead him to succor his friend, and with none to lead him to shield the character of his dead political foe, he would not have uttered the one decisive word in the controversy. and he comes as near doing so as he dares, evidently. he shows, in , a yearning to help his old friend--a yearning so strong that we may be sure it was not the frivolous pretext of "official propriety" which constrained him, then, much less in . if he, too, as holt said of stanton, feared the resentment of the dethroned johnson in life, he certainly could not have feared the resentment of johnson's ghost after death. he must be numbered among those who, "with arms encumbered thus, or this head-shake, or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase, as, _'well, well, we know;' or 'we could, an' if we would;' or 'if we list to speak;' or 'there be, an' if they might;'_" "ambiguously give out" to know what they are sworn "never to speak of." if there was any oath-guarding "fellow in the cellarage," rest assured it was not the pale wraith of the hood-winked johnson, but the blood-boltered spectre of his once wide-ruling minister of war. * * * * * amid such a dearth of direct explicit testimony of members of the cabinet about a disputed cabinet incident, it is curious and interesting to watch the assiduous ex-judge-advocate, with the most ingenious and industrious sophistry, attempt to extract corroboration from the statements of the two ex-cabinet officers, whom he has induced to speak, where in truth no corroboration can be found. after all his efforts, he is forced at last to fall back upon the single testimony of the one man without whose encouraging information he frankly informs us he would not have dared to come before the people, and upon whom he brings himself to believe he might safely rest his defense. that man is john a. bingham, now, as once before, special assistant judge-advocate to joseph holt. during the eight years which had elapsed since their crowning achievement of hanging a woman for the murder of abraham lincoln, these two men had lived, for a considerable portion of the time, in the same city. they were together in the contest over reconstruction and impeachment, standing in the front rank of the enemies of johnson. they were both at the capital during the trial of john h. surratt, when the ghastly reminiscences of the trial of the mother along with seven chained men must have drawn the two military prosecutors into a most sympathetic union. and yet when, in february, , joseph holt sits down in washington to write his letter of inquiry to john a. bingham, then in the same city, he would have us believe that he had never before poured into the bosom of his old colleague his own sufferings over the frightful calumny so long poisoning the very air he breathed, never before told him his embarrassment over the difficulty to elicit evidence from cabinet officials, never before besought his friend for his own powerful testimony on the side of his persecuted fellow-official. he writes to his former assistant, as though the information were now communicated for the first time, that the president and he were alone when the record was presented and the death-warrant signed; that he had always been satisfied the petition was considered in a cabinet meeting, but has hitherto been unable to obtain any evidence upon that point; and then, in an artless, ingenuous manner, as if putting the question for the first time, asks his correspondent whether or not he had had a conversation with william h. seward, secretary of state under president johnson, in reference to the petition, and "if so, state as nearly as you may be able to do all he said on the subject;" with a like request as to edwin m. stanton, secretary of war. with a diviner's skill he selects the two members of the cabinet who are then dead; and, not to disappoint him, bingham, in a letter from washington six days later, informs him that he has struck the two-fold mark. with the same apparent artlessness which characterizes the letter of inquiry, this useful advocate now, as if for the first time, discloses to his long-tried colleague, that he did indeed have a conversation with each of the eminent men he had hit upon, who are now, alas! dead. judge bingham is a most willing witness. he relates with great circumstantiality that "after the military commission had tried and sentenced the parties" he "prepared the form of the petition to the president." he then gives the form thus prepared as he now recollects it (in which there are two significant mistakes); he states that he wrote it with his own hands, that general ekin copied it, and the five signed the copy; as if all this particularity had any relevance to the question at issue, as if the point in dispute was the existence of the paper, and not its suppression at a critical moment after it was written. he affects to believe it necessary to state to his old colleague, that he "deemed it his duty to call the attention of secretary stanton to the petition, and did call his attention to it before the final action of the president;"--as if it were among the possibilities, that the head of the war department could in any case have overlooked so important a paper, much less that the imperious chief of this very prosecution could have been kept in ignorance, one hour, of what was done by his tools. the special assistant, however, at last comes to the point: "after the execution, the statement to which you refer was made that president johnson had not seen the petition for the commutation of the death sentence upon mrs. surratt. i afterwards called at your office, and, without notice to you of my purpose, asked for the record in the case of the assassins. it was opened and shown me, and there was then attached to it the petition, copied and signed as hereinbefore stated." oh, what an artless pair of correspondents! the former special assistant tells the former judge-advocate how he played the detective on him to his friend's justification; "_without notice of my purpose_"! "soon thereafter i called upon secretaries stanton and seward, and asked if this petition had been presented to the president before the death-sentence was by him approved, and was answered by each of those gentlemen that the petition was presented to the president, and was duly considered by him and his advisers, before the death-sentence upon mrs. surratt was approved, and that the president and the cabinet upon such consideration were a unit in denying the prayer of the petition; mr. stanton and mr. seward stating that they were present." in weighing the credibility of this statement, so conclusive if true, two considerations should be borne in mind. . that we have here, not the testimony of either seward or stanton, but the testimony of a man who, if the paper was in fact suppressed, must have been a participant in the foul deed. for no one will believe, for a moment, that joseph holt would have dared to perpetrate, if he could, or could have perpetrated, if he dared, so unspeakable a wickedness, without the knowledge and coöperation of his fiery leader in the conduct of the trial. . if this decisive information was in the possession of judge bingham at so early a date as "soon after the execution," why had he not communicated it to his distressed partner while stanton and seward lived? he had taken pains to obtain it to meet the ugly stories that were even then circulating against the judge-advocate. he knew it at the time of the struggle at close quarters over the petition during the surratt trial, and he must have been cognizant of the fact, that for the lack of it, that officer had been forced to withdraw the allegation of a full cabinet consideration of the petition, which he had at first prompted the counsel of the united states boldly and publicly to make. after the trial the reports grew louder and louder, until it was everywhere said that andrew johnson habitually declared that he had never seen the paper. holt ran hither and thither collecting testimony from all available quarters. hear holt himself: "every time the buzz of this slanderous rumor reached him (bingham) during the last eight years--which was doubtless often--his awakened memory must have reminded him that he held in his keeping proof that this rumor was false." why did not his former assistant even relieve his tremendous anxiety by telling him that he had evidence which would blow the calumny into the air? general holt, in a letter in reply to bingham's, dated at washington the next day, which he also prints in his vindication, says: "it would have been fortunate indeed, could i have had this testimony in my possession years ago." he calls its concealment "a sad, sad mockery." yes; and why was judge bingham willing to perpetrate such a "mockery," and continue the "mockery" until stanton's death, and then until seward's death, which occurred only a few months before he at last enlightens his colleague? can the most credulous of men believe that, during all these years, he was guilty of such cruelty as not even to whisper such welcome intelligence into the ears of his sorely distressed brother officer? and what shall we say of william h. seward? if that great man told judge bingham in what the judge, after seward was dead, first says he did, why had william h. seward kept silent so many years, and at last died and made no sign? he must have heard the charge, so infamous if false, and, if judge bingham be believed, he must have known it to be false. he must have heard the statement of judge pierrepont in open court in . he must have known of the president's sending for the record and of the explosion thereupon in the department of war. why did he not at that crisis come forward with the proof of which the judge-advocate was so dreadfully in need? the secretary of state could not have intrenched himself behind the inviolability of proceedings of cabinet meetings, as did the over-scrupulous attorney-general, because, according to judge bingham, he himself had betrayed the secret long before. and why did not judge bingham force him to speak, or else make public his interview with him, while seward was alive and could either affirm or contradict it? no, these two eminent lawyers, yoked together as the common mark of what they call a "most atrocious slander," originating with a president of the united states, bruited about everywhere both in official and private circles, wait eight long years, and until after the death of the head of that president's cabinet, from whose lips one of them at least had heard at its very inception a solemn refutation of the black lie, before they venture to proclaim it to the world. mr. bingham admits in his letter that, in , "he desired to make" the facts he had ascertained "public." why did he not "make public" what seward had told him, while seward was living? he furnishes no answer to this question, and until he does, his testimony on the matter is tainted with a most reasonable suspicion. and, besides, what we know of the situation of the secretary of state at the time of the execution of mrs. surratt, of his subsequent career, and of his lofty character as a man, is sufficient to stamp the account of judge bingham as incredible. william h. seward, one of the most distinguished statesmen of the era of the civil war, one of the most illustrious founders of the republican party, and one of the most trusted advisers of abraham lincoln, remained in the cabinet of andrew johnson until the close of his administration. he united in the pardon of mudd, spangler and arnold. he stood by the president fearlessly in the dark days of the impeachment, and when the president had become the target of the daily curses of thousands of seward's former political friends. had he known that the accusation against general holt was false, and at the same time heard the daily reiteration of its truth from the lips of his chief, he would not have remained an hour in the cabinet of such a monumental slanderer. so far from allowing the ceremonial restraints of cabinet rules to make him a silent accomplice in a foul falsehood, he would have proclaimed the truth, if necessary, even from the steps of the capitol. mr. seward, at the time of the execution of mrs. surratt, could have but barely recovered from the broken jaw and broken arm from which he was suffering, when he bore the savage assault of payne, and from the grievous wounds which that mad ruffian inflicted. one of his sons was still incapacitated because of injuries from the same hand, and his wife died june st, . it is not at all probable that, in such dolorous circumstances, he would be required to give close attention to a subject entirely outside of the duties of his department, and in which his personal feelings as a sufferer were so deeply involved. he said himself under oath to a congressional committee: "having been myself a sufferer in that business, the subject would be a delicate one for me to pursue without seeming to be over-zealous or demonstrative." in spite of the eight-years-embalmed testimony of a hundred binghams, we would not believe that the uncomplaining victim of payne voted to deny the petition of mercy. while no attempt is made to explain the silence of seward during his lifetime, or the silence of judge bingham himself regarding the information he got from seward, this willing witness does give a most singular and perplexing explanation of his long silence regarding the information he got from stanton. he says: (in the same letter) "having ascertained the fact as stated, i then desired to make the same public, and so expressed myself to mr. stanton, who advised me not to do so, but to rely upon the final judgment of the people." general holt, in a subsequent article, states that stanton "enjoined upon the judge silence in reference to the communication." we are called upon to believe that the secretary of war, at the very first interview with judge bingham, when, upon the theory of the truth of the information, there could have been no conceivable motive for its concealment, advised his inquiring friend to suppress a fact essential to the refutation of a despicable slander, blotting the fair name of a brother officer. not only this; but that the secretary continued the injunction of silence during all the years the terrible charge was being bandied about on the lips of men to the daily torment of the poor man so cruelly assailed. as general holt says: "it was a deliberate and merciless sacrifice of me, so far as he could accomplish it." and he "enforced" the "silence" up to the day of his death. but we ask what reason had the "great war minister" "to perpetrate so pitiless an outrage?" why, in the days of the trial of john h. surratt, why, in the days of his stern enmity towards the president, when his removal furnished the main ground of impeachment, did he not once speak out for his slandered servant, or even unlock the sealed lips of the obedient bingham and suffer him to tell the truth? general holt, in , on affirming in the text of his article that "messrs. seward and stanton declared the truth to judge bingham," adds the following explanatory note: "this praise was certainly due to mr. seward, but not, in strictness, to mr. stanton, since on making the communication to judge bingham, he endeavored and successfully, to prevent him from giving it publicity. "the fear of andrew johnson's resentment, added to a determination on his part to leave my reputation--then under fire from his silence--to its fate, sufficiently explain his otherwise inexplicable conduct." but does it? is this in truth a sufficient explanation? stanton, the stern war minister, fear the resentment of andrew johnson! when was he taken with it? when he bearded the president in his cabinet? when he defied him in the war department, and scattered his missive of removal to the winds? or did he wait to begin to fear him until the president retired to private life, just escaping conviction by impeachment, and shorn of all popularity north or south? the preposterous nature of the cause assigned casts suspicion upon the assignor himself. as to the second cause, we are at a loss to conceive why mr. stanton should harbor such motiveless malignity against the reputation of his former colleague, then his pliant subordinate, and always his friend. we need, in this regard, an explanation of the explanation. if it be true, it settles the character of stanton for all time. but, it appears, in the words of general holt, that "while he (stanton) lived, this enforced silence was scrupulously obeyed." again we ask why? why should bingham have obeyed the "advice," even if given by stanton so long before? why should the associate of holt, in the prosecution and execution of mrs. surratt, have ministered to the malignity of stanton, scrupulously obeyed his base injunction, and never even told his beloved fellow-laborer on the field of courts-martial, that he possessed such secret sacred testimonials in his favor? the general gives us no explanation of this "inexplicable conduct." surely, the undaunted bingham--who, as manager on the impeachment trial, so clawed the character of the arraigned president, could have had no "fear of the resentment of andrew johnson." and, unless the masterful stanton held some secret back to feather his "advice," or lend weight to his injunction of silence, we see no reason why the fear of stanton should have closed the lips of the voluble special judge-advocate. he surely could not have joined in the fine irony of the secretary, that it would be better for their mutual friend, although "under fire," "to rely on the judgment of the people." but another, and a final, explanation is necessary. the great war minister died in december, . holt more than hints that "providence" shortened his life so that he should no longer "perpetrate so pitiless an outrage" as keeping bingham's mouth shut. why, then, do we hear nothing from judge bingham for three years more? in the words of holt, "after the secretary had, amid the world's funeral pomp, gone down into his sepulchre, the truth came up out of the grave to which he had consigned it," and was "resurrected and openly announced by judge bingham." but why was the resurrection delayed until february, ? he does not tell us. why should "the buzz of this slanderous rumor" (to use holt's own words), "sadly recall to him that, though holding that proof, he was not yet privileged to divulge it?" there is no answer to this; none. the "scrupulosity" of bingham did not end with the providential taking off of stanton, but prolonged its reverential obedience to the advice of the dead, until his great colleague also was summoned from the scene. such resurrected truth, like the suggested letter of speed to be used only after poor holt's death, seems doubly obnoxious to the latter's own common sense remark: "thus strangely withheld from the public, it would not, when it appeared, be credited." * * * * * on the whole, it is exceedingly doubtful whether judge bingham's testimony does not do more harm than good to general holt's case. it is the testimony of an accomplice, if the charge it is meant to refute is true. its subject-matter is hearsay, withheld, so long as the direct evidence was attainable, for no good reason, or for a reason assigned which will not stand a moment's examination. this interchange of letters between two associates in infamy, if infamy there were, the one applying for, and the other disclosing ostensibly for the first time, at so late a day, decisive information, which, in the ordinary course of things, the one must have asked for or the other revealed, and both talked over from the beginning, wears upon the face all the features of a collusive correspondence. no one acquainted with the facts can be induced to credit what both these men state upon the threshold of their correspondence, and upon the truth of which their credibility is staked for all time, that, if two such conversations with judge bingham actually took place, this co-victim of a common charge would ever have withheld all knowledge of such important testimony from his brother in affliction for eight years, and until the lips of his two eminent interlocutors, whose confirmation would have at once and for ever crushed the calumny, were closed in death. and, with this incontrovertible assertion, we dismiss john a. bingham to keep company with richard montgomery and sanford conover, two witnesses who were once the subjects of his own fervid eulogy. another aspect of the case must for a moment detain us. under the admitted fact that the president approved the death-sentence on wednesday, july th, it is by no means clear how we are to find room for this supposed cabinet meeting. the natural construction of bingham's letter would lead us to believe that the cabinet meeting, which the two secretaries are said to have described, was a regular consultation between "the president and his advisers," held _before_ the "confidential interview" at which the president "approved the death-sentence;" and that the entire cabinet voted on the question raised by the petition, because it was "a unit in denying the prayer." this is but another version of the "full cabinet" of judge pierrepont's first statement, and forcibly suggests that the two have an identical origin--at first withdrawn under compulsion while seward lived, at last brought forward again after his death. and every one, on such construction, would expect to hear the voices of mcculloch, welles and dennison, still living in , and accessible to the ex-judge-advocate. he states in his "refutation," that he "had satisfactory reasons for believing that they were not there;" but he could not have gathered those reasons from judge bingham or his letter, which really is only consistent with the presence of some, if not all, of the three; and it is naturally to be inferred he got them from the ex-members themselves in letters repudiating all knowledge of the petition;--letters he takes care not to publish. again: the cabinet meeting described in judge bingham's letter cannot be made to square with the meeting described in the letter of judge harlan. the former was a regular cabinet meeting, the latter was an informal discussion by a few members of the cabinet. at the one, the petition was "duly considered," at the other, neither record nor petition was present. at the one, "a formal vote" was taken upon the "question as to mrs. surratt's case;" at the latter, her case "was never submitted to a formal vote." but--not to dwell further on dispensable points--it is enough to say that _any_ cabinet meeting whatever, for the consideration of the petition, held _before_ the president's approval of the death-sentence, is, on the admitted facts of the case, an impossibility. indeed holt himself, when driven to the question, does not claim that there was. the record was in the custody of the judge-advocate from the th of june until that officer carried it to the president on the th of july, and during that interval the president was sick-a-bed. it was general holt, as he himself states, who first "drew his attention to the recommendation," and "the president then and there read it in my (his) presence." and this was at the confidential interview on wednesday, july th. there could have been no meeting of the president and his cabinet at which the record and petition were present and discussed, "before the approval of the death-sentence;" which confessedly was done at the confidential interview. when this impossibility was pointed out by andrew johnson, general holt, in his "refutation," with great show of indignation, denounces such an argument as "intensely disingenuous." while conceding at once that from the adjournment of the commission to the th of july, the president "had been sick in bed, and had, of course, had no opportunity of conferring with any members of his cabinet;" he proceeds to show what his idea of intense ingenuousness is, by claiming that what "messrs. seward and stanton" (of bingham's letter) "clearly meant was, that before the president had _finally_ and _definitely_ approved the sentences in question," the recommendation to mercy "had been considered by him and his advisers in cabinet meeting;" and therefore such a meeting might have been held _after_ the signature to the death-warrant, say on wednesday afternoon ( th), or on thursday, the th. and he, now, once again, as in the days of the surratt trial, abandons all idea of a "full" or regular cabinet meeting, and endeavors, with the most transparent sophistry, to identify the informal discussion of judge harlan's letter with the cabinet council of judge bingham. but alas! for the ingenuous general! circumstances are too strong for him. for there is no more room for a cabinet meeting, formal or informal, to do what judge bingham's informants are said to relate--_i. e._ consider, and then vote upon the petition--_after_ the confidential interview than _before_. it is agreed on all hands that the president approved of the death-sentence on wednesday, at the confidential interview between holt and himself, and, at that very time, and by the same warrant, appointed friday the th, for the executions. the whole matter was begun and ended in an hour. there was neither opportunity, nor, if there had been, use, to hold a cabinet consultation upon the question of commutation after that. the president had reviewed the record, and, without consultation with any human being but holt, put his name to the death-warrant. why consult his confidential advisers after he had decided the whole matter? holt himself says that, at this private interview, it was not he, but andrew johnson, who had fully made up his mind that mrs. surratt must be put to death; that the president needed no urging or advice on that subject; that he inveighed against the women of the south with a ferocity which reminds us of the loyal bingham himself. holt says that the president himself, without a suggestion from him, was "prompt and decided" "as to _when_ the execution should take place," "and in the same spirit too, in which he subsequently suspended the writ of habeas corpus, he fixed the friday following." why call in his "advisers" after he had, with the approval of his judgment and his conscience, put his hand to the work of blood! besides, if he needed such a supererogatory endorsement of his "advisers," there was no time to get it. the record with the death-warrant went direct to the adjutant-general's office that very wednesday. holt cannot remember whether he took it or not, nor can the adjutant-general remember when or how he received it. but this is of no consequence. the order for the execution was drawn on that day, the necessary copies made that day; it was promulgated on the morning of thursday the th, and on that day at _noon_, the warrant for her death, within twenty-four hours, was read to the fainting woman in her cell. all day long, on the th, the white house was besieged by her friends, her priests and her daughter, to obtain a reprieve. the guardians of the president had no time to hold cabinet consultations over foregone dooms of death. they were too busy intercepting verbal prayers for mercy, holding shut the doors of the president's private room, sending away all petitioners, for a few more hours' life, to the merciful judge-advocate, making sure that there should be four pine coffins and four newly dug graves, and that the habeas corpus should not leave one empty. hold a cabinet meeting after the president had signed the bloody warrant, and stanton had once clutched it! reopen the perilous question to hear welles and dennison, and mcculloch and seward, to say nothing of harlan and speed and stanton, discuss a petition addressed to the president who had already denied it! "five members of our court have been suborned by their feelings to swerve from their duty. we run no more risks of soft-hearted gallantry this time amid the members of the cabinet. let the funeral games begin." the ex-judge-advocate insists that the signature to the death-warrant was a matter of very little moment. the president could withdraw it at any time. but would he have us believe that, after the president had dispatched such a fatal missive to the officer whose sole duty, with regard to it, consisted in the promulgation of an order for its execution within twenty-four hours, such action was simply provisional and, according to usage, still subject to rescission by a cabinet vote? desperate, indeed, must be the necessities of a defence, which drive the defendant on the forlorn hope of identifying a cabinet meeting, voting as a unit to deny a petition for clemency, "_before the death-warrant was approved_," with a cabinet discussion of the petition, _after_ the death-warrant, fixing the execution on the next day but one, had been signed by the president, (who is represented as urgent and eager at the moment of his signature to exact in the shortest time the extremest penalty); on the ground that the latter was held _before_ the theoretical _animus revocandi_ of the executive had become technically inoperative with the last sigh of the condemned. * * * * * it has been suggested by one of his subordinate officers that the secretary of war having seen the petition as soon as the record came to his department, it is inconceivable that, at some moment between the th and the th, the matter should not have been discussed by him with the president. of course, there can be no doubt that stanton knew all about the recommendation. but, (and this obvious answer seems to have altogether escaped the attention of his friend), if the paper was in fact suppressed, it was suppressed with stanton's own knowledge. indeed, his must have been the master-hand. he it was who kept the late vice-president up to the mark of severity as long as the bloody humor lasted. he was the sovereign, and bingham and holt but his vassals. everybody will give them the credit of not having dared to dream of suppression without the electrifying nod of their imperious lord. and, from the long silence of one, if not both, of his slaves, it would appear, that he not only directed the suppression of the paper, but was too proud to deny, or suffer his minions to deny, it to his dying day. chapter v. andrew johnson signs another death-warrant. let us turn from the case made by general holt, which on a cursory inspection seems so strong, but the seeming strength of which, on a closer scrutiny, dissipates itself among such perplexing questions, and lands us at last in the "enjoined silence" of stanton, to the first public, authoritative charge made by the ex-president. it appeared, november th, , in the same newspaper which had published general holt's vindication, to which it was a reply. for it must be remembered that it was joseph holt, for eight years the accused, and not andrew johnson, for eight years the accuser, at the bar of rumor, who first threw down his gage in the public arena, defying his secret antagonist to come forth. the gallant knight chose his own good time; and, at last, surrounded with sponsors, both clerical and martial, with banners flying and a most sonorous peal of trumpets, he burst into the lists, as though he would fain hope by noise and show to over-awe his dreaded adversary into submissive silence. his thunders availed nothing. his glove had no sooner reached the ground than it was taken up. let us hear the plain, straightforward statement of andrew johnson. there are no mysteries to unravel, no explanations to explain. "the findings and sentences of the court were submitted on the th of july (he and i being alone), were then and there approved by the executive, and taken by the judge-advocate-general to the war department, where on the same afternoon the order to carry them into effect was issued. mr. speed, doubtless, saw the record, but it must have been in the department of war, and not in the executive office." after thus quietly disposing of mr. speed's evidence, he proceeds:-- "the record of the court was submitted to me by judge holt in the afternoon of the th day of july, . instead of entering the executive mansion in the usual way, he gained admission by the private or family entrance to the executive office. the examination of the papers took place in the library, and he and i alone were present. the sentences of the court in the cases of herold, atzerodt and payne, were considered in the order named, and then the sentence in the case of mrs. surratt. in acting upon her case no recommendation for a commutation of her punishment was mentioned or submitted to me." he then states that the question of sex was discussed alone; holt insisting upon carrying out the sentence without discriminating as to sex; that a woman unsexed was worse than a man; that too many females had abetted traitors during the war, and that there was a necessity an example should be made. "he was not only in favor of the approval of the sentence but its execution on the earliest practicable day. "upon the termination of our consultation, judge holt wrote the order approving the sentences of the court. i affixed my name to it, and, rolling up the papers, he took his leave, carrying the record with him, and departing as he had come through the family or private entrance." and there we must leave him. true, he rejoined, in december, in another very long article, contributed to the same newspaper, in which he endeavored to break the force of several points made in johnson's answer, and dwelt with much insistence on the abstention of the president from making any open charge against him, and on his adversary's present silence with regard to general mussey's letter. but there is nothing new in the way of testimony, except two sympathizing letters from generals ekin and hunter, respectively; the former of which might be construed by the uncharitable as evidence that general holt, at the time of the execution, was already forestalling anticipated accusation by defending himself in private to his friends; the latter is a tribute from the grim president of the military commission to the judge-advocate's _tenderness_ to the prisoners before that body, of which the printed record of the trial affords such striking illustrations. this lengthy "refutation," as it was entitled, upon the whole added little, if any, strength to the "vindication." his accuser, on his side, resting content with his one single explicit public utterance, paid no attention to it. and when, at the present hour, we calmly survey the relative standing, the position, the character and career of the two combatants, the circumstances surrounding the momentous confidential interview, the silent testimony of the record with the significant twist of the death-warrant, the nature of the accusation, the mysteries enveloping the belated defense, the probable motives actuating each, the thirst for blood which for a time maddened the leading spirits of the war department, the passivity of johnson for the few weeks after his sudden and sombre inauguration, and for the same period the wild and reckless predominance of stanton;--what valid reason exists why we should discredit, or even suspect for a moment, the veracity of the ex-president? andrew johnson looms up in history a very different figure from the one discerned by his enemies, both north and south, amid the passions of his epoch. he was no inebriate, as he was stigmatized because of the unfortunate incident at his inauguration as vice-president. he was no weak, frightened tool, as he appeared to be at the bloody crisis of his accession to the presidency. he was no apostate from his section, as he was cursed by the south for being at the breaking out of the war. he was no traitor to the north, as he was denounced by the impeachers for the mere endeavor to carry out the reconstruction policy of his lamented predecessor. he was not the garrulous fool, he was called in ridicule when he "swung around the circle." he is now recognized, when his career is reviewed as a whole, as a man temperate in his habits, firm, self-willed and honest; as a statesman, intelligent though uncultured, sometimes profound and always sincere; and as a union-loving, non-sectional, earnest patriot. his impeachment is looked back upon by the whole country with shame. his impeachers are already, themselves, both impeached and convicted at the bar of history. in sober truth, so unique and perfect a triumph never capped and completed the career of roman warrior or modern ruler of men, as when, but little more than a year after his reply to general holt, the ex-president--once again the chosen representative of that state whose rebellious people he had coerced with an iron hand as military governor during the civil war--took his seat in that body, before which he had been arraigned on the impeachment of the house of representatives and had escaped conviction by but a single vote. with the words of holt's denunciation still fresh in their remembrance, the citizens of washington loaded the desk of the retributive senator with flowers; and, when he advanced, amidst so many colleagues who had condemned him as judges, to take the oath of office, and again when, a few days later, his voice, which had before been heard pleading for the imperiled union, was from the same place once more heard pleading for the imperiled constitution, the crowded galleries and corridors gave him a conquering hero's welcome. when in the following summer he died, his body was followed to its grave in the mountains by what it is hardly an exaggeration to call the whole people of his state. when congress reassembled, the senate and the house clothed themselves with crape. one of his former judges, who had voted him guilty of high crimes and misdemeanors (morton, of indiana), thus spoke of him in the senate: "in every position in life he showed himself to be a man of ability and courage, and i believe it proper to say of andrew johnson that his honesty has never been suspected; that the smell of corruption was never upon his garments." the same senator related that when johnson, as the newly appointed military governor, arrived at nashville "he was threatened with assassination on the streets and in the public assemblies, but he went on the streets; he defied those dangers; he went into public assemblies, and on one occasion went into a public meeting, drew his pistol, laid it on the desk before him, and said: 'i have been told that i should be assassinated if i came here. if that is to be done then it is the first business in order, and let that be attended to.' no attempt having been made he said: 'i conclude the danger has passed by;' and then proceeded to make his speech." again the senator said: "after i had voted for his impeachment, and met him accidentally, he wore the same kindly smile as before, and offered me his hand. i thought that showed nobility of soul. there were not many men who could have done that." the man, of whom two such incidents could be truthfully related, could never have invented so foul a charge against an innocent subordinate. a senator from a neighboring state, (mccreery), on the same mournful occasion said of him: "when he went to greeneville he was a stranger, and a tailor's "kit," his thimbles and his needles, were probably the sum-total of his earthly possessions; at his death, the hills and the valleys and the mountains and the rivers, sent forth their thousands to testify to the general grief at the irreparable loss. "i honor him for that manly courage which sustained him on every occasion, and which never quailed in presence of opposition, no matter how imposing. i honor him for that independence of soul which had no scorn for the lowly, and no cringing adulation for the exalted. i honor him for that sterling integrity which was beyond the reach of temptation, and which, at the close of his public service, left no blot, no stain upon his escutcheon. i honor him for that magnanimity which after the war cloud had passed, and the elements had settled, would have brought every citizen under the radiant arch of the bow of peace and pardon." another senator (paddock, of nebraska) gave utterance to the following unchallenged statement: "i believe, sir, notwithstanding the fact that a painful chapter relating to the official acts of andrew johnson was made in this very chamber, that no senator here present will refuse to-day to join me in the declaration that he was essentially an honest man; aye, sir, a patriot in the fullest sense of the term." yet another (bogy, of missouri), said: "his last election to a seat on this floor as senator was the work of his own hands, brought about by his own indomitable will and pluck, the reward of a long and terrible contest, continuing for seven years, unsuccessful for a time, and appearing to all the world besides himself as utterly hopeless; nevertheless, finally he was triumphant. from what i have learned from those who are familiar with this, his last contest, he exhibited more openly his true and peculiar nature, than at any other period of his life--which was to fight with all his might and all his ability, asking no quarter and granting none; and although like bloody richard now and then unhorsed, still to fight and never surrender, until victory perched upon his banner." senator bayard said: "friend or foe alike must admit his steady, unshaken love of country; his constant industry; his simple integrity and honesty; his courage of conviction, that never faltered." * * * * * truly, the solemn word of a man, of whom such things can be said, is no light thing,--to be thrust aside by windy abuse or vociferous denial. now, what conceivable motive had such a man, seated in the chair of the chief magistracy of this republic, surrounded by cabinet officers who had been the advisers of his predecessor, to invent, in the first place, so horrible a story as that a friendly subordinate officer had deliberately, in a case of life and death, suppressed so vital a document? for it is contradictory of historical fact, that he never openly made the charge until the year . this may be true of the period from about the time of the execution up to the disclosures of the john h. surratt trial in . but our review of the incidents of that trial, which general holt in his refutation seemed to have totally forgotten, proves, beyond the possibility of controversy, that the president then first thought himself driven to inspect the record to ascertain the existence of such a paper, and then first, after the discovery that there was in fact a recommendation, at once, and at all times afterwards, openly asserted that he had not seen it or read it. every one around him knew that he so said. stanton, his great enemy, seward, his great friend, knew it. bingham, at the very beginning when stanton forbade him to refute it; bingham, when butler pierced his shield in the house of representatives, and bingham, when at the bar of the senate as manager of the impeachment he belabored his old-time commander-in-chief, knew it; holt, when he delivered his contradiction through judge pierrepont to the surratt jury, and when he felt the shadows darkening over his head because of the "inexplicable conduct" of the great war minister in "perpetuating the pitiless outrage," knew it, and recognized the president of the united states as the responsible author of the tremendous accusation. if holt is to be credited, the president must have known that four at least of his confidential advisers stood ready to shatter the baseless calumny. what conceivable motive, we ask again, to invent such a story--so easy of refutation, so ruinous to himself, if refuted? the necessity to make some reply to this pressing question seems to have driven both general holt himself and his defenders into the maintenance of the most absurd, antagonistic and untenable positions. holt's theory on this subject in his "refutation" is even ingenious in its absurdity. he would have us believe that when johnson originally fabricated the calumny, "he had not yet broken with the republican party, and was, doubtless, in his heart at least, a candidate for reëlection," of course by that party. if this is true, then the "fabrication" was made before the fall of , for by that time the president was in full swing of opposition to the men who had elected him vice-president. during this brief transitory period, according to holt, johnson discovered that the hostility of the catholics (especially, as may be inferred, those of the republican party), on account of his signature to the death-warrant of mrs. surratt, would blast this otherwise felicitous prospect. accordingly, to abate this uncomfortable hostility, this republican candidate concocted the vile slander and set it secretly and anonymously circulating among his friends and followers;--even his greed for reëlection being not strong enough to give full effect to his cowardly policy by openly clearing his own skirts. could the fatuity of folly farther go? the dream of andrew johnson as a republican candidate for president had ceased to be possible even before the execution of mrs. surratt. the catholics who could be conciliated by any such story might be numbered on johnson's fingers. and the undisguised signature to the death-warrant could be obliterated by no plea of abatement which the petitioner dared not avow. on the other hand, the other suggestion put forward, if not by holt himself; by several of his defenders, viz.: that the president propagated the lie "to curry favor with the south in the hope to be elected to the presidency," has the one merit of being in direct antagonism to the foregoing theory, but nevertheless is yet more flimsy and preposterous. at the time he invented the story, if invention it was, (as holt appears to have perceived), the road to the presidency was to curry favor with the north and not with the down-trodden south. and after johnson had escaped conviction and removal by but one vote, and had retired from office execrated by the north and distrusted even yet by the south, the chance of the presidency for such a character as he was popularly considered then--especially by truckling to the discredited south--could only look fair in the imagination of a lunatic. no southern man has seriously thought of being, or has been seriously thought of as, a candidate for president of either political party since the termination of the war, let alone the one southerner reputed to have been false alternately to both parties and both sections. besides, andrew johnson never apologized for his appointment of the military commission, for his approval of its judgment, or for his signature to the death-warrant. he pardoned dr. mudd on the very eve of the impeachment trial. and he pardoned the two remaining prisoners just before he went out of office. and he may, therefore, be held to have thus signified his reawakened reverence for constitutional rights as expounded in the milligan decision. but in no other way did he ever acknowledge that in taking the life of mary e. surratt he had done wrong. on the contrary, he defended his action in his answer of , and he justified his denial of the habeas corpus, which the ex-judge-advocate had the exquisite affrontery to cast up against him. that a president in his situation could cherish aspirations--or hope--of reëlection, based on such a phantom foundation as the whining plea that he would have commuted the unlawful sentence of a woman, hung by his command, to imprisonment for life, had he been permitted to see the petition of five of her judges;--such an imputation can only be made by men mad enough to believe him to have been the accomplice of booth and atzerodt. finally, let us sternly put the question:--what right has holt to ask us, on the word of himself and his associates, to reject the testimony of andrew johnson, who at the best was their accomplice or their tool? he, and his associates, demanded the life of atzerodt for barely imagining the death of so precious a vice-president. he, and his associates, hounded the woman to the scaffold, welcoming with delight the stories of spies, informers, personal enemies, false friends, against her, and meeting with contumely and violence the least scrap of testimony in her favor. he suppressed the "diary." why may he not have been bad enough to suppress the recommendation? two of the same band of woman-stranglers kept back from the president the petition for mercy, which wailed out from the lips of the stricken daughter. why should he not have kept back the timorous suggestion of five officers, who were so soft-hearted as to "discriminate" as to sex? his fate will be--and therein equal and exact justice will be done him--to go down through the ages, stealing away, in the dusk of the evening, from the private entrance of the white house, bearing the fatal missive--the last feeble hope of the trembling widow crushed in his furtive hand. chapter vi. conclusion. that the petition for commutation was a device of the triumvirate of prosecutors to secure the coveted death-sentence, employed in reliance upon the temporary ascendency of the chief of the three over the beleaguered president, and upon the momentary pliability, heedlessness, or, it may be, semi-stupefaction of the successor of the murdered lincoln, to smother the offensive prayer:--such an hypothesis alone seems adequate in any degree to reconcile the apparent contradictions, clear up the perplexities and solve the mysteries, which hang around this dark affair. it furnishes the only rational answer to the else insoluble question, how it happened that a court, a majority of whose members had the inclination and the power to lower the punishment of the solitary woman before them to life-long imprisonment, as the court did with the three men who were tried with her and convicted of the same crime, did nevertheless, by at least a two-thirds vote, condemn her to die by the rope. it lights up the else inscrutable prohibition by stanton of a public exculpation of his subordinate officer, softened by the sardonic admonition "to rely" for justification "on the final judgment of the people." a source of glorification, rather, it should be, that no maudlin pity for a woman had been suffered to intercept the death-stroke of a righteous vengeance. it accounts for the "scrupulous obedience" of bingham, not only until stanton's death, but three years after, until seward, too, had gone. stanton knew the petition had been suppressed or made invisible; seward, that the petition never had been before the cabinet. it throws a glimmer, faint it is true, on the shameful attitude of speed, eight years after the death of johnson--still shutting his ears to the repeated appeals of his agonized friend, and still falling back on his propriety. according to judge harlan, the whole record had been examined by the attorney-general, as well as the secretary of war. speed, too, under the spell of stanton, may have fingered the obnoxious paper, which might nip the bloody consummate flower of his "_common law of war_." it furnishes the only plausible reason why such an historic document did not appear in the published official record of the proceedings of the military commission, in november, , or in the reports of the judge-advocate, first, to the president, and, second, to the congress. it illumines with a baleful light the atmosphere of sinister secrecy, in which this adjunct to the record, for no lawful reason, has been enshrouded; the mysterious incidents at the surratt trial, such as the tardy and reluctant production, the faltering and imperfect exhibition, and the hasty withdrawal of the "roll of papers;" the two statements of mr. pierrepont; the shrinking of the "full cabinet meeting" into a "confidential interview," until after seward's death; and the singularly equivocal language that the petition was "_before the president_" when he signed the warrant. and, finally, when it is considered that the suppression of the paper was not the overt act of any one man, but the result of a strictly formal presentation of the record on the part of the judge-advocate, aided, it may be, by a timely sleight-of-hand in writing the order of approval, and of a blind carelessness on the part of the president in the examination of the papers; this hypothesis goes far to explain the reluctance of general holt to rest his defense on his own evidence of the confidential interview, his eager grasping after cabinet corroboration, and the abstention of both judge-advocate and president from taking official action upon the charge, the one for vindication, the other for punishment. * * * * * and so the history of this murder of a woman by the forms of military rule slowly unrolls itself, to disclose, as its appropriate finis, the writer of the death-warrant struggling in the meshes of his own fraud. the draughtsman of the unaddressed petition for commutation, after waiting eight years for death to clear the way, comes to the help of his old colleague, only to be caught in the same net. the entangled twain call up the sullen shade of their departed master, and force him to father the trick he fain would have scorned. these three are the men who, when the summary methods of martial law would else have failed to crush out entirely the life of their victim, contrived to attain their bloody end by cool and deliberate chicanery. the other actors on the scene may plead the madness of the time. for these three no such plea is open. they superadded to the common madness of the time the particular malice of the felon. upon their three heads should descend the full weight of criminal turpitude involved in this most unnatural execution. they sat upon the thrones of power. they dragged a woman from her humble roof and thrust her into a dungeon. they chose nine soldiers to try her for the murder of their commander-in-chief. they chained her to the bar along with seven men. they baited her for weeks with their montgomerys and conovers, their weichmans and lloyds, the spawn of their bureau, dragooned by terror or suborned by hope. they shouted into the ears of the court appeal on appeal for her head. and, when at last five of their chosen sons sickened at the task, and shrank from shedding a woman's blood, they procured the death-sentence by a trick. they forged the death-warrant by another. they turned thimble-riggers under the very shadow of the gallows. they cheated their own court. they cheated their own president. they cheated the very executioner. they sneaked a woman into the arms of death by sleight-of-hand. they played their confidence game with the king of terrors. they managed to hide the cheat from the country until they quarreled with their new commander-in-chief. then ensued an interval of ambiguous mutterings, dark equivocations, private accusation, private defenses. from one side: "i never saw the paper." from the other: "it was right before his eyes." the twin ex-judge-advocates, at length, brace each other up to the sticking-point and venture on an appeal to the public. the ex-president, thus driven at bay, fulminates the secret infamy in all its foul extent to the whole world. thereupon, great nemesis finds her opportunity, and makes these once high-placed, invulnerable woman-slayers the sport of her mighty hands. every one, as if coerced by some magic power, comes at last to act as though he were afraid of the other, and, willing or unwilling, contrives to show how profoundly base the others are. stanton slinks mysteriously into the shadow of death, refusing to cut his co-conspirator down from the gibbet where the dreaded johnson has swung him. bingham, standing like an indian with a single female scalp bleeding from his girdle, presses his finger to his lips until stanton and seward die. speed, with the obnoxious petition pressed again and again to his nostrils, feebly yet persistently refuses to open his mouth. holt pictures the dead johnson exulting even in hell over the silence of his old attorney-general; blasts the character of stanton by ascribing his injunction of silence to a motive the most diabolic; and, unconscious seemingly that he does it, at the same time ruins the credit of bingham by extolling his "scrupulous obedience" to such an infernal command. johnson unwittingly proclaims the pardon of the slain woman in his anxiety to show that he signed her death-warrant through ignorance, forced upon him by the ineffable depravity of the men in whom he was compelled to trust. this controversy over the petition of clemency was the only thing needed to round out and decorate the entire, complete and perfect iniquity of the whole drama. it is immaterial and indifferent to history where the truth lies between these combatants in so unsavory a strife. each one tears off the burning brand of shame, not to extinguish it, but to pass it on to his colleague. if we credit holt, it is difficult to conceive the malignity of soul of andrew johnson, who could invent so foul a charge, the meanness of spirit of edwin m. stanton, who, knowing its blackness, could forbid the promulgation of the truth, the cowardly silence of john a. bingham, whose lips the death of the dreaded stanton alone could unclose. if we credit johnson, then in all the crowded catalogue of inquisitors, persecutors, cruel or pettifogging prosecuting officers, devil's advocates and murderous septembrisers, there is not one who would not spurn with profane emphasis association with holt or bingham or stanton. as the choicest specimen in this shower of accusations and counter-accusations, listen to the tender-hearted ex-judge-advocate of --once the stony head of the death-dealing bureau--rebuking andrew johnson for his cold-blooded cruelty! "i would have shuddered to propose the brief period of two days within which the sentences should be executed, for with all the mountain of guilt weighing on the heads of those convicted culprits i still recognized them as human beings, with souls to be saved or lost, and could not have thought for a moment of hurrying them into the eternal world, as cattle are driven to the slaughter-pen, without a care for their future." listen again to the former expounder of the "common law of war" before the military commission, as he arraigns the ex-president for his disregard of the writ of habeas corpus: "the object of which was, and the effect of which would have been, had it been obeyed, to delay the execution of mrs. surratt at least until the questions of law raised had been decided by the civil courts of the district; yet this writ was, by the express order of the president, rendered inoperative. and so, under this presidential mandate, the execution proceeded. * * * but for his direct intervention and defiant action on the writ, whatever might have been the final result, it is perfectly apparent her life would not then have been taken." once more. hear j. holt, the recorder of the commission! "as chief magistrate he was, under the constitution," (hear him!) "the depositary of the nation's clemency and mercy to the condemned, and a pressing responsibility rested upon him as such _to hear the victims of the law before he struck them down_." (the italics are his who wrote out the death-warrant.) "did he do this? on the contrary, * * he gave * * a peremptory order to admit nobody seeking to make an appeal in behalf of the prisoners, saying that he would 'see no one on this business.' "he closed his door, his ears, and his heart against every appeal for mercy in her behalf, and hurried this hapless woman almost unshrived to the gallows." what a picture is this! the minion of stanton, the colleague of bingham, the tutor of weichman, the tutor of lloyd, the procurer of the death-warrant, weeping over the empty grave in the arsenal, which, after his master's relentless watch was over, had at length given up its dead! here we are forced to stop. after such an exhibition, we can linger no longer over this miserable scramble to shirk responsibility. its only consequence of historic importance, after all, is the light it casts upon the memory of the sacrificial victim. out of the cloud of mutual vituperation, which covers the men who, among them, somehow, compassed her slaughter, her innocence rises clearer and clearer, like the images of retribution from the foul fumes of the witches' cauldron. her vindication must be held to be final, complete and unassailable, when john a. bingham is anxious to acquaint the country that he drafted a petition to save her life; when j. holt pretends to weep for her; when andrew johnson is forced, by the inexorable pressure of events, to confess that when he signed her death-warrant he knew not what he did. * * * * * as we let fall the curtain at the close of this dark and shameful tragedy, let us endeavor to anticipate the verdict of history. the execution of mary e. surratt is the foulest blot on the history of the united states of america. it was a violation of the most sacred provisions of that constitution, whose enforcement was the vaunted purpose of the war. it was a violation of the fundamental forms and principles of criminal jurisprudence, centuries older than the constitution. it was a violation of that even-handed justice, which is said to rule in the armies of heaven and among the inhabitants of the earth. it was a violation of those chivalrous impulses which spring unbidden to the manly breast in the presence of woman. it was a violation of the benign precepts of jesus, which enjoin tenderness to the fatherless and the widow. it was a violation of the magnanimity of the brave soldier, which scorns to wound the weak, the fallen and the helpless. it was a violation of even the common instincts of fairness, which subsist, as a matter of course, between man and man. it was unconstitutional. it was illegal. it was unjust. it was inhumane. it was unholy. it was pusillanimous. it was mean. and it was each and all of these in the highest or lowest degree. it resembles the acts of savages, and not the deeds of civilized men. the annals of modern times will be searched in vain to furnish its parallel. execrations rise to our lips, as we read, in the pages of macaulay, of the hanging of alice lisle, and the burning of elizabeth gaunt. but alice lisle and elizabeth gaunt were indicted by grand juries, tried by petit juries, found guilty, and sentenced, in strict accordance with criminal procedure. the forms of law, which the bigoted james, and even the infamous jeffrey, were careful to observe, were swept aside by holt and bingham and stanton, with a sneer. we turn aside with sickening horror from the recital of the murderous orgies of the terrorists of the french revolution--shedding the blood of the young, the tender, the beautiful, the brave. but the terrorists of france could plead the excuse, that they were driven to madness by the thought, that the invading hosts, encompassing the new-born republic, were drawing nearer and nearer, every hour, with vengeance and counter-revolution perched upon their banners; and a merciful destiny granted them the grace to expiate their bloody deeds on the same scaffold as their victims. but, in the case of mary e. surratt, not a single redeeming feature relieves "the deep damnation of her taking off." alas! alas! right in the centre of the glory which beams from the triumph of the union and emancipation, there hangs a dark figure--casting an eclipsing shadow--ever widening--ever deepening--in the eyes of all the coming generations of the just. transcriber's notes: passages in italics are indicated by _italics_. in the original text, the list on pages - skips from to . fifty glimpses of washington and its neighborhood. * * * * * reproduced from recent photographs. * * * * * chicago and new york: rand, mcnally & co., publishers, . woodward & lothrop, th, th, and f streets, washington, d. c. copyright, , by rand, mcnally & co. [illustration: the mall--view looking southwest from near the department of agriculture. bureau of engraving washington monument. potomac river.] and printing. [illustration: the capitol--east front.] [illustration: the capitol--west front.] [illustration: view looking west from the capitol. botanical garden. pennsylvania avenue.] [illustration: bronze statue of james a. garfield. southwestern entrance to capitol grounds. by j. q. a. ward.] [illustration: capitol vista from soldiers' home.] [illustration: the hall of the house of representatives--capitol.] [illustration: the senate chamber--capitol.] [illustration: the marble room or senate lobby--capitol.] [illustration: the rogers bronze door--capitol.] [illustration: the treasury department--fifteenth street, n. w., from pennsylvania avenue to g street.] [illustration: the bureau of engraving and printing--northeast corner b and fourteenth streets, s. w.] [illustration: pennsylvania avenue--looking east from treasury department.] [illustration: diplomatic room, department of state.] [illustration: departments of state, war, and navy--seventeenth street, between new york avenue and g street, n. w.] [illustration: the post office department--seventh, eighth, e, and f streets, n. w.] [illustration: the pension office--judiciary square, fourth, fifth, and g streets, n. w.] [illustration: the bartholdi fountain--botanical garden.] [illustration: the smithsonian institution. the mall, near b and tenth streets, s. w.] [illustration: view from base of the washington monument. departments of state, the white treasury albaugh's war, and navy. house. department. opera house.] [illustration: the washington monument--height, / feet.] [illustration: the white house--north front.] [illustration: the white house--south front.] [illustration: the east room--white house.] [illustration: the red room--white house.] [illustration: the state dining room--white house.] [illustration: the blue room--white house.] [illustration: the mall--view looking east from department of agriculture.] [illustration: the chinese legation--corner fourteenth street and yale avenue, n. w.] [illustration: thomas circle--view looking north from junction vermont avenue and fourteenth street, n. w.] [illustration: equestrian statue of maj.-gen. george h. thomas--thomas circle. j. q. a. ward.] [illustration: bronze statue admiral david g. farragut farragut square, intersection connecticut avenue and i street, n. w. by mrs. vinnie ream hoxie.] [illustration: equestrian statue of gen. winfield scott. scott circle, intersection sixteenth street, massachusetts and rhode island avenues, n. w. by h. k. brown.] [illustration: the lafayette memorial. lafayette square, executive avenue and fifteenth st., n. w. by falquier and mercie.] [illustration: equestrian statue of george washington. washington circle, intersection pennsylvania and new hampshire avenues, n. w. by clark mills.] [illustration: bronze statue of admiral samuel f. dupont. dupont circle, intersection of new hampshire, massachusetts, and connecticut avenues, n. w. by launt thompson.] [illustration: the soldiers' home.] [illustration: u. s. naval observatory--extension of massachusetts avenue, near rockville pike.] [illustration: the baltimore sun building. f street, between thirteenth and fourteenth streets, n. w.] [illustration: the church of the covenant.] southeast corner eighteenth and n streets, n. w. [illustration: interior church of the ascension--northwest corner massachusetts avenue and twelfth street, n.w.] [illustration: residence of hon. j. b. henderson--sixteenth street and florida avenue, n. w.] [illustration: residence of l. z. leiter, esq.--new hampshire avenue and p street, n. w.] [illustration: residence of hon. levi p. morton. southwest corner rhode island avenue and fifteenth street, n. w.] [illustration: the corcoran gallery of arts. northeast corner executive avenue and seventeenth street, n. w.] [illustration: marine hospital service and coast survey. southwest corner new jersey avenue and b street, s. e.] [illustration: the british legation. northwest corner connecticut avenue and n street, n. w.] [illustration: the masonic temple--northwest corner ninth and f streets, n. w.] [illustration: washington loan and trust co.'s building. southwest corner ninth and f streets, n. w.] [illustration: the library of congress--first, second, b, and east capitol streets, s. e.] [illustration: the naval monument. pennsylvania avenue near western entrance to capitol grounds.] [illustration: arlington house--formerly the home of general robert e. lee.] [illustration: the sheridan gate--arlington.] [illustration: the mcclellan gate--arlington.] [illustration: tomb of the unknown dead--arlington.] [illustration: tomb of general philip h. sheridan--arlington.] [illustration: the temple of fame--arlington.] [illustration: the amphitheater--arlington.] [illustration: the tomb of george washington--mount vernon.] [illustration: george washington's mansion--mount vernon.] [illustration: the cabin-john bridge--length of span, feet; height, feet.] table of contents page albaugh's opera house amphitheater, arlington arlington house baltimore sun building bartholdi fountain blue room, white house botanical garden british legation bureau of engraving and printing , cabin-john bridge capitol, the , capitol vista from soldiers' home chinese legation church of the ascension church of the covenant corcoran gallery of art diplomatic room, department of state dupont, statue of admiral samuel francis east room, white house farragut, statue of admiral david g. garfield, statue of james a. henderson, residence of hon. j. b. house of representatives, hall of the lafayette memorial leiter, residence of l. z. library of congress mall, the , marble room, capitol marine hospital service and u. s. coast survey masonic temple morton, residence of hon. levi p. mcclellan gate, arlington naval monument naval observatory navy department pennsylvania avenue , pension office post office department red room, white house roger's bronze door, capitol scott, statue of gen. winfield senate chamber sheridan gate, arlington sheridan, tomb of gen. philip h. smithsonian institution soldiers' home state department , state dining room, white house temple of fame, arlington thomas circle thomas, statue of maj.-gen. george h. tomb of the unknown dead, arlington treasury department , view from base of washington monument view looking west from the capitol war department , washington loan and trust co.'s building washington's mansion, mount vernon washington monument , , washington, statue of george washington, tomb of george white house, the , , * * * * * transcriber's notes: page , "eight" changed to "eighth" (seventh, eighth, e, and) page , "amphitheatre" changed to "amphitheater" to match photo caption (amphitheatre, arlington) page , the numbers were cut off of the original image on the final column of the table of contents. all but one of the numbers could be ascertained by checking the original. the entry for the war department was unclear as it was clearly a single number, but the war department shows up on pages and . these were both included in the table of contents. united states national museum bulletin contributions from the museum of history and technology paper , pages - white house china of the lincoln administration in the museum of history and technology _margaret brown klapthor_ smithsonian press washington, d.c. [illustration: white house collection figure : a table setting showing the lincoln china being used for a luncheon during the administration of president lyndon b. johnson.] _margaret brown klapthor_ white house china of the lincoln administration _in the museum of history and technology_ _this article on the china of the administration of president abraham lincoln is intended to be the first of a series of articles on presidential china based on the collection in the smithsonian institution. from contemporary records in national archives, newspaper articles and family records it is our hope to assemble material which will ultimately present the story of white house and presidential china of every administration. myths and facts surrounding this interesting topic will be examined and presented to assist the many collectors of this porcelain as well as others who admire and appreciate its historical interest._ _in this first article, the author describes the efforts of mrs. abraham lincoln to acquire porcelain suitable for official entertaining in the white house._ the author: _margaret brown klapthor is associate curator of political history in the smithsonian institution's museum of history and technology._ when mrs. lincoln arrived at the white house in she found the pantry sadly deficient in elegant tableware to set a state dinner. the last official state service had been purchased by the white house during the administration of president franklin pierce (it is the china known popularly as the "red edge" set), and not enough of that was left to serve a large dinner party. theodore r. davis, who designed the state china purchased during the administration of president rutherford b. hayes, wrote an article, published in the may issue of the _ladies' home journal_, on the "presidential porcelain of a century." he records that in he saw the state dining room of the white house set up for the formal dinner given for the visiting prince of wales, and that "the dishes were more or less odd, but generally comprised what was known as the 'red edge set'." chinaware was not the only thing needed in the executive mansion in the opinion of mary todd lincoln. fortunately for her, congress was accustomed to appropriating $ , to refurnish the president's house to the taste of each new first lady. this money became available to her when the special session was convened in april , and mrs. lincoln set out the next month on a shopping trip to new york and philadelphia. she was accompanied by a favorite cousin, mrs. elizabeth todd grimsley, who had come to washington for the inauguration in march and stayed on at the white house with the lincolns for six months. the ladies' arrival in new york city on may , was duly noted in the city newspaper. on may , , _the new york daily tribune_ records under the heading _personal_: mrs. lincoln employed the greater portion of wednesday forenoon in making purchases. among other places she visited the establishments of lord & taylor, and messrs. e. v. haughwout and co. at the latter establishment she ordered a splendid dinner service for the white house in "solferino" and gold with the arms of the united states emblazoned on each piece. the purchases also include some handsome vases and mantle ornaments for the blue and green rooms. the firm of e. v. haughwout and co. whose bill head identifies it as "importers and decorators of french china" was accustomed to executive mansion patronage. under the name of haughwout and dailey they had sold a dinner service to president pierce in .[ ] during mrs. lincoln's may visit, haughwout's must have shown her a handsome specimen plate they had exhibited at the crystal palace exhibition in new york in which had been made for president pierce's approval. a picture of the plate in the haughwout and dailey display is shown in the catalog of the exhibition where it is identified as "a specimen plate of a dinner service manufactured for the president of the united states with the american eagle and blue band in alhambra style."[ ] president pierce evidently did not like the design as the service he subsequently purchased from haughwout and dailey had a plain red band and was not the one manufactured for his approval and exhibited in new york. [illustration: figure .--plate illustrated in the catalog of the crystal palace exhibition, . (smithsonian photo .)] mary todd lincoln was delighted with the plate displayed at the crystal palace exhibition and ordered a complete dinner service of that design. her only change was to have a wide "solferino" border painted on the service instead of the blue border specified for the plate. this bright purplish-red color had become extremely fashionable since its discovery in , and it provided another variation of mrs. lincoln's favorite color, which she indulged in personal attire as well as in room decor. mrs. lincoln probably first saw and gave her approval to the elegant new china when she returned to new york for more shopping in august. the china was delivered on september , , with a bill itemized as follows:[ ] one fine porcelain dining service of one hundred, and ninety pieces ... ... decorated royal purple, and double gilt, with the arms of the united states, on each piece, for the presidential mansion ... namely ... [illustration: figure .--plate, compote, and small platter from the purple-bordered state china used during the administration of president abraham lincoln, (usnm ace. ; smithsonian photo -a.)] two bowls for salad four shells do pickles four meat platters inch four do do do four do do do two do do do two do do do two do do do four fish do various sizes, and forms two butter dishes, with drainers, and covers. six uncovered vegetable dishes or bakers. ninety-six dinner plates inch forty-eight soup do do four large water pitchers. two bowls for ice. eleven hundred, and ninety-five dollars. one fine porcelain dessert service, consisting of two hundred and eight pieces ... ... richly decorated to match dining set ... namely. two stands for custard cups thirty-six do do eight high comportiers for fruit. two do do large do do four shell do two bowls for strawberries two dessert sugars six round high baskets for fruit. two oval do do do do sixty dessert plates inch thirty-six after dinner coffees. eight hundred, and thirty-seven dollars. one fine breakfast, and tea service, containing two hundred, and sixty pieces, richly decorated to match dinner service ... namely. forty-eight tea plates - / inch thirty-six preserve do - / do thirty-six coffees for breakfast twenty-four egg cups thirty-six teas eight plates for cake seven hundred, and fifty nine dollars. four small sevres centre pieces for bon bons, decorated to match dinner service @ twenty-five = one hundred two large centre pieces, sevres, supported by "white pelicans and decorated to match dinner service @ one hundred = two hundred two punch bowls, decorated to match dinner service @ fifty = one hundred packages four dollars total amount three thousand, one hundred and ninety-five dollars. the picture of the design presented for president pierce's inspection in which appears in the catalog of the new york crystal palace exhibition[ ] is proof of the readiness with which symbolism is read into a design which came into existence long before the symbol is appropriate. writing in edwin atlee barber says of the lincoln china that the design for the decoration, selected after much consultation among officials at washington, was added in new york by the importer. it consisted of a spirited rendering of the arms of the united states--the american eagle mounted on the national shield and beneath it the motto _e pluribus unum_. this design was engraved and then transferred to the china as an outline to be filled in with color. the border of the plate, a gold guilloche, or cable, of two strands entwined and, thus, mutually strengthening each other, was intended to signify the union of the north and south.[ ] the same idea was meant to be conveyed in the central design: "though clouds surround our country, the sunlight is breaking through." the explanation of the symbolism of the design, while appropriate for the lincoln administration, could hardly have been true for the china which was originally designed for presidential use in . [illustration: figure .--letterhead of e. v. haughwout & co., from whom the purple set was ordered. (smithsonian photo -a.)] tradition identifies the blanks on which the design of the lincoln china was painted as being imported from the haviland factory in limoges, france. the original china bears no maker's mark, however, as this was more than ten years before the haviland factory started to mark their ware.[ ] the earliest positive link of the lincoln china to haviland and company seems to be an affidavit which theodore r. davis attached to a lincoln plate in saying "this plate one of the lincoln set made by haviland & co. was used by president garfield when upon his death bed. the plate was broken in bringing it from the president's room and was given by wm. crump to theo. r. davis sept. ." the plate is now in the collections of the state historical society of wisconsin. it is possible that theodore davis, a personal friend of theodore haviland, had derived directly from mr. haviland this manufacturer identification of the china which haughwout decorated. [illustration: figure .--lincoln plate which bears affidavit of theodore r. davis. (_courtesy of the state historical society of wisconsin._)] the official dinner service so delighted mrs. lincoln that she ordered a similar set for herself. on the personal service the initials "m. l." were substituted for the arms of the united states as decoration. mrs. grimsley says "... this latter, i know, was not paid for by the district commissioner, as was most unkindly charged when it was stored away."[ ] it has been suggested that the personal china was paid for by a withdrawal of $ . from the president's account with the bank of riggs and co. [illustration: figure .--custard cup from the purple-bordered state china used during the administration of president abraham lincoln. (usnm acc. ; smithsonian photo -g.)] the personal china was an indiscreet purchase, at best, and mrs. lincoln was soon accused of buying the china out of public funds. in the midst of the campaign in which lincoln ran for re-election in an opposition newspaper, _the new york world_, published a bitter attack on the president and his wife charging that the bill submitted by haughwout for the state service had been padded to include the cost of the personal china.[ ] according to the paper's editorial, the deceit was discovered when the amount of the bill was questioned by a clerk in the treasury department and "honest abe," when cornered, made payment out of his own pocket. this story seems to be refuted by the evidence on the haughwout bill, which was signed by the comptroller for payment on september , , within two weeks after the china was received, and only three after president lincoln had approved the bill. the extent to which this controversy spoiled mrs. lincoln's pleasure in the handsome purple service perhaps can be measured by the fact that after president lincoln was re-elected, she purchased another large china service for the white house. a bill, recently discovered at the national archives, documents the new set as being ordered by mrs. lincoln from j. k. kerr of chestnut street, philadelphia, whose establishment, known as china hall, specialized in french and english china and glassware. dated january , , the bill was for:[ ] extra large french china, dining, dessert and coffee service, decorated on a white ground, delicate buff border with burnished gold lines consisting of the following pieces. dozen dining plates } dozen soup plates } dozen dessert plates } dozen ice cream, or peaches & cream } plates deep } large dish for head of table } foot dish } second course head & foot dishes } more dishes } more dishes } more dishes } vegetable dishes with covers } more vegetable dishes with covers } sauce tureens } $ sauce boats } stands for sauce boats } pickle shells } salad bowls } custard stands } custard cups with covers } large rich oval fruit baskets } smaller round do } fruit comports shell form for fruit } do do high round } dessert sugar bowls with covers } after dinner coffee cups & saucers } large dish for fish } records show that the china was brought to washington by harnden express, as there is a voucher "for freight on casks from philadelphia, pennsylvania to washington, d.c., mkd mrs. a. lincoln $ . . china from j. kerr phila. pa. for dinner." it is signed "j. k. kerr" "mrs. lincoln" and is dated february , .[ ] two weeks later, on february , kerr sent a bill for some additions to the service as follows:[ ] dozen coffee cups & saucers delicate buff border & gilt . . water pitchers do do . . do smaller do do . . do do do do . . do do do do . . bowls do do . . package . ----- ----- . two months later president abraham lincoln was assassinated. the china so recently ordered could hardly have been used by mrs. lincoln, and evidently payment had not been made, for it is recorded that at one of the first conferences which b. b. french, commissioner of public buildings and grounds, had with president johnson in april , he sought the president's approval of payment for a purchase of china by mrs. lincoln.[ ] [illustration: figure :--coffee cup from the purple-bordered state china used by president abraham lincoln at dinner at the white house on the night of his assassination. (usnm acc. ; smithsonian photo -d.)] [illustration: figure .--letterhead of j. k. kerr, from whom the buff set was ordered. (smithsonian photo -b.)] [illustration: figure .--gravy boat and soup bowl from the buff-bordered french porcelain ordered by mrs. lincoln for the white house in . (usnm acc. ; smithsonian photo -y.)] [illustration: figure .--pieces from the buff-bordered service displayed in the china room in the white house. (_photo by abbie rowe, courtesy national park service._)] [illustration: figure .--soup bowl from the royal worcester service used at the summer white house at the soldiers' home during the administration of president abraham lincoln. (usnm acc. ; smithsonian photo -f.)] despite commissioner french's concern, the account was not completely settled until a year after the china had been delivered. the first bill is receipted as paid on august , , at which time it was endorsed "received from b b french c. p. bgs the above amnt of two thousand three hundred & thirty two dollars in full of this account." (the difference between this amount and that given above is accounted for by the fact that the original order included dozen goblets and dozen wineglasses of various sizes, costing a total of $ . .) the second bill was paid on february , . the inventory made when mrs. lincoln turned over the white house to president johnson lists under china and glassware "one full set china," which was certainly this buff and gold service, and " small remnants of china sets nearly all broken up," which must have included the remaining pieces of the royal-purple service.[ ] evidently, the johnsons decided to use the purple china, because we find that in less than a year they ordered replacement pieces for it. a bill from e. v. haughwout, dated january , [ ] lists-- to the following articles of rich china ware with arms & crests of the u.s. to replace the pieces broken & lost of the solferino sett viz salad dish, pickles, custard cups, } egg cups, dishes-- / -, / -, } / -, / -, / -inch } comports /high, /low, & /shell } dessert sugars, round baskets } butter dishes, dinner plates } dessert plates, tea plates } soup " , preserve " } breakfast coffees, black coffees } teas, cake plate, pitchers } ice bowl } . even with this second order, which almost equalled the original in size and cost, the purple set did not last; early in the administration of president grant not enough of it was left to set the table in the state dining room satisfactorily. those who handled the lincoln set grew weary, it is said, of the constant breakage and became convinced that not careless handling but "bad luck in the china itself" was destroying both the dishes and the patience of those who were responsible for them.[ ] the story of the china associated with the lincoln administration must also include a service used by the lincolns at the summer white house which they maintained on the grounds of the soldiers' home in washington, d.c. recently, the quartermaster corps of the army turned over to the white house for the china collection some pieces of royal worcester china used in the house at the time of president lincoln's occupancy. it has a wide border of tiny gray and yellow flowers in a diaper design, with a multicolored floral wreath in the center of the plate. this use of english china and the informal design of the set is noteworthy, as almost every set of official china up to this time had been french, and french china continued to be used at the white house until almost the end of the th century. it is appropriate in this discussion of the lincoln china to mention the number of commemorative reproductions which were made for sale to the general public as souvenirs in the last quarter of the th century. the earliest of these reproduction pieces seem to be some which are marked on the back "fabriqué par haviland & co./pour/j. w. boteler & bro./washington." the firm of j. w. boteler and brother is first listed in the washington city directory in and it was in existence until when the name of the firm was changed to j. w. boteler & son. the dates of boteler & brother encompasses the period of the celebration of the centennial of the united states in . this celebration created intense interest in the presidency and objects which symbolized the office, providing a ready market for copies of the lincoln china. indeed several different pieces of white house china have been brought to our attention with family legends that they were purchased at the "world's fair." in each case it has been clear that the "fair" meant the centennial exposition in philadelphia in . two reproduction plates have been brought to the smithsonian institution for examination. on both of these the words "administration/abraham lincoln" were stamped on the back in red. it is well for collectors of white house china to remember that the original pieces of the lincoln service did not bear any mark on the reverse. [illustration: figure .--drawing of the mark found, in red, on the two plates submitted to the museum for identification.] [illustration: figure .--obverse of lincoln plate bearing the mark of j. w. boteler and bro. (smithsonian photo .)] the excellent quality of the pieces bearing the boteler mark may explain a persistent legend that edward lycett was associated with the lincoln service.[ ] mr. lycett came to this country from england in and thereafter was identified with the development and expansion of the art of china painting in america until the turn of the century. many sources credit mr. lycett with painting the second order of the lincoln service on commission of john vogt & co. of new york city. as the records establish the fact that the second order for the china was made to e. v. haughwout & co., just as was the first, we can only speculate that perhaps mr. lycett painted the commemorative china which bears the mark of j. w. boteler & brother and of haviland & co. which is so beautifully hand painted to match the official white house china. [illustration: figure .--mark of j. w. boteler & bro. used on reverse of lincoln plate. (smithsonian photo -l.)] in the collections of the smithsonian's museum of history and technology are the following pieces of the royal-purple set of lincoln china: plate and -handled custard cup. gift of col. theodore barnes, (usnm accession , cat. nos. and ). dinner coffee cup and saucer, gift of mr. lincoln isham (usnm accession , cat. no. . ). this cup and saucer are the ones which were used by president lincoln at dinner on the night of april , , just before he attended the performance at ford's theater at which he was assassinated. the following pieces are in the smithsonian institution on loan from the white house (accessions and ). from the purple set: small oval platter meat platter compotes oval fruit basket coffee cup and saucer water pitcher fish platter dinner plate shallow bowl soup bowl. from the set with the buff band: soup bowl gravy boat. u.s. government printing office; for sale by superintendent of documents, u.s. government printing office washington, d.c. price cents footnotes: [ ] national archives, record group , government accounting office, miscellaneous treasury accounts, receipted account , voucher . [ ] _official catalog of the new york exhibition of the industry of all nations_, . new york, . [ ] national archives, record group , general accounting office, miscellaneous treasury accounts, receipted account . [ ] loc. cit. (footnote ). [ ] edwin atlee barber, "the pioneer of china painting in america," _the ceramic monthly_ (september ), vol. , no. , pp. - . [ ] letter from charles haviland at limoges, france, to theodore haviland in the united states dated march , , in the archives of haviland & co., inc.: "it would certainly be a good thing to stamp all our china with our name if: st our china was better than any one else or at least as good and nd if we made enough for our trade. without that it would turn against us and learn people that by ordering through vogt or nittal they could get gibus or julieus china which is better than ours. and if ours was the best but we did not make enough to fill orders there would be a complaint when we gave other manufacturer's china. so our first aim must be to manufacture as well or better than any body else and to make all we sell----_then & then only_ it will be a capital thing to stamp all our make with our name." their goal was finally achieved in . [ ] elizabeth todd grimsley, "six months in the white house," _journal, illinois state historical society_, vol. , nos. - , pp. - . [ ] _the new york world_, september , . [ ] national archives, record group , general accounting office, miscellaneous treasury accounts, receipted account , voucher . [ ] ibid., voucher . [ ] ibid., voucher . [ ] george fort milton, _the age of hate: andrew johnson and the radicals_ (new york: coward-mccann, inc., ), p. . [ ] national archives, records of commissioner of public buildings and grounds, inventory of the lincoln administration, . [ ] op. cit. (footnote ), voucher . [ ] theodore r. davis, "presidential porcelain of a century," _the ladies' home journal_ (may ), p. . [ ] edwin atlee barber, loc. cit. (footnote ). the gilded age a tale of today by mark twain and charles dudley warner part . chapter lv. henry brierly took the stand. requested by the district attorney to tell the jury all he knew about the killing, he narrated the circumstances substantially as the reader already knows them. he accompanied miss hawkins to new york at her request, supposing she was coming in relation to a bill then pending in congress, to secure the attendance of absent members. her note to him was here shown. she appeared to be very much excited at the washington station. after she had asked the conductor several questions, he heard her say, "he can't escape." witness asked her "who?" and she replied "nobody." did not see her during the night. they traveled in a sleeping car. in the morning she appeared not to have slept, said she had a headache. in crossing the ferry she asked him about the shipping in sight; he pointed out where the cunarders lay when in port. they took a cup of coffee that morning at a restaurant. she said she was anxious to reach the southern hotel where mr. simons, one of the absent members, was staying, before he went out. she was entirely self-possessed, and beyond unusual excitement did not act unnaturally. after she had fired twice at col. selby, she turned the pistol towards her own breast, and witness snatched it from her. she had seen a great deal with selby in washington, appeared to be infatuated with him. (cross-examined by mr. braham.) "mist-er.....er brierly!" (mr. braham had in perfection this lawyer's trick of annoying a witness, by drawling out the "mister," as if unable to recall the name, until the witness is sufficiently aggravated, and then suddenly, with a rising inflection, flinging his name at him with startling unexpectedness.) "mist-er.....er brierly! what is your occupation?" "civil engineer, sir." "ah, civil engineer, (with a glance at the jury). following that occupation with miss hawkins?" (smiles by the jury). "no, sir," said harry, reddening. "how long have you known the prisoner?" "two years, sir. i made her acquaintance in hawkeye, missouri." "m.....m...m. mist-er.....er brierly! were you not a lover of miss hawkins?" objected to. "i submit, your honor, that i have the right to establish the relation of this unwilling witness to the prisoner." admitted. "well, sir," said harry hesitatingly, "we were friends." "you act like a friend!" (sarcastically.) the jury were beginning to hate this neatly dressed young sprig. "mister......er....brierly! didn't miss hawkins refuse you?" harry blushed and stammered and looked at the judge. "you must answer, sir," said his honor. "she--she--didn't accept me." "no. i should think not. brierly do you dare tell the jury that you had not an interest in the removal of your rival, col. selby?" roared mr. braham in a voice of thunder. "nothing like this, sir, nothing like this," protested the witness. "that's all, sir," said mr. braham severely. "one word," said the district attorney. "had you the least suspicion of the prisoner's intention, up to the moment of the shooting?" "not the least," answered harry earnestly. "of course not, of course-not," nodded mr. braham to the jury. the prosecution then put upon the stand the other witnesses of the shooting at the hotel, and the clerk and the attending physicians. the fact of the homicide was clearly established. nothing new was elicited, except from the clerk, in reply to a question by mr. braham, the fact that when the prisoner enquired for col. selby she appeared excited and there was a wild look in her eyes. the dying deposition of col. selby was then produced. it set forth laura's threats, but there was a significant addition to it, which the newspaper report did not have. it seemed that after the deposition was taken as reported, the colonel was told for the first time by his physicians that his wounds were mortal. he appeared to be in great mental agony and fear; and said he had not finished his deposition. he added, with great difficulty and long pauses these words. "i--have --not--told--all. i must tell--put--it--down--i--wronged--her. years --ago--i--can't see--o--god--i--deserved----" that was all. he fainted and did not revive again. the washington railway conductor testified that the prisoner had asked him if a gentleman and his family went out on the evening train, describing the persons he had since learned were col. selby and family. susan cullum, colored servant at senator dilworthy's, was sworn. knew col. selby. had seen him come to the house often, and be alone in the parlor with miss hawkins. he came the day but one before he was shot. she let him in. he appeared flustered like. she heard talking in the parlor, i peared like it was quarrelin'. was afeared sumfin' was wrong: just put her ear to--the--keyhole of the back parlor-door. heard a man's voice, "i--can't--i can't, good god," quite beggin' like. heard--young miss' voice, "take your choice, then. if you 'bandon me, you knows what to 'spect." then he rushes outen the house, i goes in--and i says, "missis did you ring?" she was a standin' like a tiger, her eyes flashin'. i come right out. this was the substance of susan's testimony, which was not shaken in the least by severe cross-examination. in reply to mr. braham's question, if the prisoner did not look insane, susan said, "lord; no, sir, just mad as a hawnet." washington hawkins was sworn. the pistol, identified by the officer as the one used in the homicide, was produced washington admitted that it was his. she had asked him for it one morning, saying she thought she had heard burglars the night before. admitted that he never had heard burglars in the house. had anything unusual happened just before that. nothing that he remembered. did he accompany her to a reception at mrs. shoonmaker's a day or two before? yes. what occurred? little by little it was dragged out of the witness that laura had behaved strangely there, appeared to be sick, and he had taken her home. upon being pushed he admitted that she had afterwards confessed that she saw selby there. and washington volunteered the statement that selby, was a black-hearted villain. the district attorney said, with some annoyance; "there--there! that will do." the defence declined to examine mr. hawkins at present. the case for the prosecution was closed. of the murder there could not be the least doubt, or that the prisoner followed the deceased to new york with a murderous intent: on the evidence the jury must convict, and might do so without leaving their seats. this was the condition of the case two days after the jury had been selected. a week had passed since the trial opened; and a sunday had intervened. the public who read the reports of the evidence saw no chance for the prisoner's escape. the crowd of spectators who had watched the trial were moved with the most profound sympathy for laura. mr. braham opened the case for the defence. his manner was subdued, and he spoke in so low a voice that it was only by reason of perfect silence in the court room that he could be heard. he spoke very distinctly, however, and if his nationality could be discovered in his speech it was only in a certain richness and breadth of tone. he began by saying that he trembled at the responsibility he had undertaken; and he should, altogether despair, if he did not see before him a jury of twelve men of rare intelligence, whose acute minds would unravel all the sophistries of the prosecution, men with a sense, of honor, which would revolt at the remorseless persecution of this hunted woman by the state, men with hearts to feel for the wrongs of which she was the victim. far be it from him to cast any suspicion upon the motives of the able, eloquent and ingenious lawyers of the state; they act officially; their business is to convict. it is our business, gentlemen, to see that justice is done. "it is my duty, gentlemen, to untold to you one of the most affecting dramas in all, the history of misfortune. i shall have to show you a life, the sport of fate and circumstances, hurried along through shifting storm and sun, bright with trusting innocence and anon black with heartless villainy, a career which moves on in love and desertion and anguish, always hovered over by the dark spectre of insanity--an insanity hereditary and induced by mental torture,--until it ends, if end it must in your verdict, by one of those fearful accidents, which are inscrutable to men and of which god alone knows the secret. "gentlemen, i, shall ask you to go with me away from this court room and its minions of the law, away from the scene of this tragedy, to a distant, i wish i could say a happier day. the story i have to tell is of a lovely little girl, with sunny hair and laughing eyes, traveling with her parents, evidently people of wealth and refinement, upon a mississippi steamboat. there is an explosion, one of those terrible catastrophes which leave the imprint of an unsettled mind upon the survivors. hundreds of mangled remains are sent into eternity. when the wreck is cleared away this sweet little girl is found among the panic stricken survivors in the midst of a scene of horror enough to turn the steadiest brain. her parents have disappeared. search even for their bodies is in vain. the bewildered, stricken child--who can say what changes the fearful event wrought in her tender brain--clings to the first person who shows her sympathy. it is mrs. hawkins, this good lady who is still her loving friend. laura is adopted into the hawkins family. perhaps she forgets in time that she is not their child. she is an orphan. no, gentlemen, i will not deceive you, she is not an orphan. worse than that. there comes another day of agony. she knows that her father lives. who is he, where is he? alas, i cannot tell you. through the scenes of this painful history he flits here and there a lunatic! if he, seeks his daughter, it is the purposeless search of a lunatic, as one who wanders bereft of reason, crying where is my child? laura seeks her father. in vain just as she is about to find him, again and again-he disappears, he is gone, he vanishes. "but this is only the prologue to the tragedy. bear with me while i relate it. (mr. braham takes out a handkerchief, unfolds it slowly; crashes it in his nervous hand, and throws it on the table). laura grew up in her humble southern home, a beautiful creature, the joy, of the house, the pride of the neighborhood, the loveliest flower in all the sunny south. she might yet have been happy; she was happy. but the destroyer came into this paradise. he plucked the sweetest bud that grew there, and having enjoyed its odor, trampled it in the mire beneath his feet. george selby, the deceased, a handsome, accomplished confederate colonel, was this human fiend. he deceived her with a mock marriage; after some months he brutally, abandoned her, and spurned her as if she were a contemptible thing; all the time he had a wife in new orleans. laura was crushed. for weeks, as i shall show you by the testimony of her adopted mother and brother, she hovered over death in delirium. gentlemen, did she ever emerge from this delirium? i shall show you that when she recovered her health, her mind was changed, she was not what she had been. you can judge yourselves whether the tottering reason ever recovered its throne. "years pass. she is in washington, apparently the happy favorite of a brilliant society. her family have become enormously rich by one of those sudden turns, in fortune that the inhabitants of america are familiar with--the discovery of immense mineral wealth in some wild lands owned by them. she is engaged in a vast philanthropic scheme for the benefit of the poor, by, the use of this wealth. but, alas, even here and now, the same, relentless fate pursued her. the villain selby appears again upon the scene, as if on purpose to complete the ruin of her life. he appeared to taunt her with her dishonor, he threatened exposure if she did not become again the mistress of his passion. gentlemen, do you wonder if this woman, thus pursued, lost her reason, was beside herself with fear, and that her wrongs preyed upon her mind until she was no longer responsible for her acts? i turn away my head as one who would not willingly look even upon the just vengeance of heaven. (mr. braham paused as if overcome by his emotions. mrs. hawkins and washington were in tears, as were many of the spectators also. the jury looked scared.) "gentlemen, in this condition of affairs it needed but a spark--i do not say a suggestion, i do not say a hint--from this butterfly brierly; this rejected rival, to cause the explosion. i make no charges, but if this woman was in her right mind when she fled from washington and reached this city in company--with brierly, then i do not know what insanity is." when mr. braham sat down, he felt that he had the jury with him. a burst of applause followed, which the officer promptly, suppressed. laura, with tears in her eyes, turned a grateful look upon her counsel. all the women among the spectators saw the tears and wept also. they thought as they also looked at mr. braham; how handsome he is! mrs. hawkins took the stand. she was somewhat confused to be the target of so many, eyes, but her honest and good face at once told in laura's favor. "mrs. hawkins," said mr. braham, "will you' be kind enough to state the circumstances of your finding laura?" "i object," said mr. mcflinn; rising to his feet. "this has nothing whatever to do with the case, your honor. i am surprised at it, even after the extraordinary speech of my learned friend." "how do you propose to connect it, mr. braham?" asked the judge. "if it please the court," said mr. braham, rising impressively, "your honor has permitted the prosecution, and i have submitted without a word; to go into the most extraordinary testimony to establish a motive. are we to be shut out from showing that the motive attributed to us could not by reason of certain mental conditions exist? i purpose, may, it please your honor, to show the cause and the origin of an aberration of mind, to follow it up, with other like evidence, connecting it with the very moment of the homicide, showing a condition of the intellect, of the prisoner that precludes responsibility." "the state must insist upon its objections," said the district attorney. "the purpose evidently is to open the door to a mass of irrelevant testimony, the object of which is to produce an effect upon the jury your honor well understands." "perhaps," suggested the judge, "the court ought to hear the testimony, and exclude it afterwards, if it is irrelevant." "will your honor hear argument on that!" "certainly." and argument his honor did hear, or pretend to, for two whole days, from all the counsel in turn, in the course of which the lawyers read contradictory decisions enough to perfectly establish both sides, from volume after volume, whole libraries in fact, until no mortal man could say what the rules were. the question of insanity in all its legal aspects was of course drawn into the discussion, and its application affirmed and denied. the case was felt to turn upon the admission or rejection of this evidence. it was a sort of test trial of strength between the lawyers. at the end the judge decided to admit the testimony, as the judge usually does in such cases, after a sufficient waste of time in what are called arguments. mrs. hawkins was allowed to go on. chapter lvi. mrs. hawkins slowly and conscientiously, as if every detail of her family history was important, told the story of the steamboat explosion, of the finding and adoption of laura. silas, that its mr. hawkins, and she always loved laura, as if she had been their own, child. she then narrated the circumstances of laura's supposed marriage, her abandonment and long illness, in a manner that touched all hearts. laura had been a different woman since then. cross-examined. at the time of first finding laura on the steamboat, did she notice that laura's mind was at all deranged? she couldn't say that she did. after the recovery of laura from her long illness, did mrs. hawkins think there, were any signs of insanity about her? witness confessed that she did not think of it then. re-direct examination. "but she was different after that?" "o, yes, sir." washington hawkins corroborated his mother's testimony as to laura's connection with col. selby. he was at harding during the time of her living there with him. after col. selby's desertion she was almost dead, never appeared to know anything rightly for weeks. he added that he never saw such a scoundrel as selby. (checked by district attorney.) had he noticed any change in, laura after her illness? oh, yes. whenever, any allusion was made that might recall selby to mind, she looked awful--as if she could kill him. "you mean," said mr. braham, "that there was an unnatural, insane gleam in her eyes?" "yes, certainly," said washington in confusion. all this was objected to by the district attorney, but it was got before the jury, and mr. braham did not care how much it was ruled out after that. "beriah sellers was the next witness called. the colonel made his way to the stand with majestic, yet bland deliberation. having taken the oath and kissed the bible with a smack intended to show his great respect for that book, he bowed to his honor with dignity, to the jury with familiarity, and then turned to the lawyers and stood in an attitude of superior attention. "mr. sellers, i believe?" began mr. braham. "beriah sellers, missouri," was the courteous acknowledgment that the lawyer was correct. "mr. sellers; you know the parties here, you are a friend of the family?" "know them all, from infancy, sir. it was me, sir, that induced silas hawkins, judge hawkins, to come to missouri, and make his fortune. it was by my advice and in company with me, sir, that he went into the operation of--" "yes, yes. mr. sellers, did you know a major lackland?" "knew him, well, sir, knew him and honored him, sir. he was one of the most remarkable men of our country, sir. a member of congress. he was often at my mansion sir, for weeks. he used to say to me, 'col. sellers, if you would go into politics, if i had you for a colleague, we should show calhoun and webster that the brain of the country didn't lie east of the alleganies. but i said--" "yes, yes. i believe major lackland is not living, colonel?" there was an almost imperceptible sense of pleasure betrayed in the colonel's face at this prompt acknowledgment of his title. "bless you, no. died years ago, a miserable death, sir, a ruined man, a poor sot. he was suspected of selling his vote in congress, and probably he did; the disgrace killed' him, he was an outcast, sir, loathed by himself and by his constituents. and i think; sir"---- the judge. "you will confine yourself, col. sellers to the questions of the counsel." "of course, your honor. this," continued the colonel in confidential explanation, "was twenty years ago. i shouldn't have thought of referring to such a trifling circumstance now. if i remember rightly, sir"-- a bundle of letters was here handed to the witness. "do you recognize, that hand-writing?" "as if it was my own, sir. it's major lackland's. i was knowing to these letters when judge hawkins received them. [the colonel's memory was a little at fault here. mr. hawkins had never gone into detail's with him on this subject.] he used to show them to me, and say, 'col, sellers you've a mind to untangle this sort of thing.' lord, how everything comes back to me. laura was a little thing then. 'the judge and i were just laying our plans to buy the pilot knob, and--" "colonel, one moment. your honor, we put these letters in evidence." the letters were a portion of the correspondence of major lackland with silas hawkins; parts of them were missing and important letters were referred to that were not here. they related, as the reader knows, to laura's father. lackland had come upon the track of a man who was searching for a lost child in a mississippi steamboat explosion years before. the man was lame in one leg, and appeared to be flitting from place to place. it seemed that major lackland got so close track of him that he was able to describe his personal appearance and learn his name. but the letter containing these particulars was lost. once he heard of him at a hotel in washington; but the man departed, leaving an empty trunk, the day before the major went there. there was something very mysterious in all his movements. col. sellers, continuing his testimony, said that he saw this lost letter, but could not now recall the name. search for the supposed father had been continued by lackland, hawkins and himself for several years, but laura was not informed of it till after the death of hawkins, for fear of raising false hopes in her mind. here the distract attorney arose and said, "your honor, i must positively object to letting the witness wander off into all these irrelevant details." mr. braham. "i submit your honor, that we cannot be interrupted in this manner we have suffered the state to have full swing. now here is a witness, who has known the prisoner from infancy, and is competent to testify upon the one point vital to her safety. evidently he is a gentleman of character, and his knowledge of the case cannot be shut out without increasing the aspect of persecution which the state's attitude towards the prisoner already has assumed." the wrangle continued, waxing hotter and hotter. the colonel seeing the attention of the counsel and court entirely withdrawn from him, thought he perceived here his opportunity, turning and beaming upon the jury, he began simply to talk, but as the grandeur of his position grew upon him --talk broadened unconsciously into an oratorical vein. "you see how she was situated, gentlemen; poor child, it might have broken her, heart to let her mind get to running on such a thing as that. you see, from what we could make out her father was lame in the left leg and had a deep scar on his left forehead. and so ever since the day she found out she had another father, she never could, run across a lame stranger without being taken all over with a shiver, and almost fainting where she, stood. and the next minute she would go right after that man. once she stumbled on a stranger with a game leg; and she was the most grateful thing in this world--but it was the wrong leg, and it was days and days before she could leave her bed. once she found a man with a scar on his forehead and she was just going to throw herself into his arms,` but he stepped out just then, and there wasn't anything the matter with his legs. time and time again, gentlemen of the jury, has this poor suffering orphan flung herself on her knees with all her heart's gratitude in her eyes before some scarred and crippled veteran, but always, always to be disappointed, always to be plunged into new despair--if his legs were right his scar was wrong, if his scar was right his legs were wrong. never could find a man that would fill the bill. gentlemen of the jury; you have hearts, you have feelings, you have warm human sympathies; you can feel for this poor suffering child. gentlemen of the jury, if i had time, if i had the opportunity, if i might be permitted to go on and tell you the thousands and thousands and thousands of mutilated strangers this poor girl has started out of cover, and hunted from city to city, from state to state, from continent to continent, till she has run them down and found they wan't the ones; i know your hearts--" by this time the colonel had become so warmed up, that his voice, had reached a pitch above that of the contending counsel; the lawyers suddenly stopped, and they and the judge turned towards the colonel and remained far several seconds too surprised at this novel exhibition to speak. in this interval of silence, an appreciation of the situation gradually stole over the, audience, and an explosion of laughter followed, in which even the court and the bar could hardly keep from joining. sheriff. "order in the court." the judge. "the witness will confine his remarks to answers to questions." the colonel turned courteously to the judge and said, "certainly, your honor--certainly. i am not well acquainted with the forms of procedure in the courts of new york, but in the west, sir, in the west--" the judge. "there, there, that will do, that will do! "you see, your honor, there were no questions asked me, and i thought i would take advantage of the lull in the proceedings to explain to the, jury a very significant train of--" the judge. "that will do sir! proceed mr. braham." "col. sellers, have you any, reason to suppose that this man is still living?" "every reason, sir, every reason. "state why" "i have never heard of his death, sir. it has never come to my knowledge. in fact, sir, as i once said to governor--" "will you state to the jury what has been the effect of the knowledge of this wandering and evidently unsettled being, supposed to be her father, upon the mind of miss hawkins for so many years!" question objected to. question ruled out. cross-examined. "major sellers, what is your occupation?" the colonel looked about him loftily, as if casting in his mind what would be the proper occupation of a person of such multifarious interests and then said with dignity: "a gentleman, sir. my father used to always say, sir"-- "capt. sellers, did you; ever see this man, this supposed father?" "no, sir. but upon one occasion, old senator thompson said to me, its my opinion, colonel sellers"-- "did you ever see any body who had seen him?" "no, sir: it was reported around at one time, that"-- "that is all." the defense then sent a day in the examination of medical experts in insanity who testified, on the evidence heard, that sufficient causes had occurred to produce an insane mind in the prisoner. numerous cases were cited to sustain this opinion. there was such a thing as momentary insanity, in which the person, otherwise rational to all appearances, was for the time actually bereft of reason, and not responsible for his acts. the causes of this momentary possession could often be found in the person's life. [it afterwards came out that the chief expert for the defense, was paid a thousand dollars for looking into the case.] the prosecution consumed another day in the examination of experts refuting the notion of insanity. these causes might have produced insanity, but there was no evidence that they have produced it in this case, or that the prisoner was not at the time of the commission of the crime in full possession of her ordinary faculties. the trial had now lasted two weeks. it required four days now for the lawyers to "sum up." these arguments of the counsel were very important to their friends, and greatly enhanced their reputation at the bar but they have small interest to us. mr. braham in his closing speech surpassed himself; his effort is still remembered as the greatest in the criminal annals of new york. mr. braham re-drew for the jury the picture, of laura's early life; he dwelt long upon that painful episode of the pretended marriage and the desertion. col. selby, he said, belonged, gentlemen; to what is called the "upper classes:" it is the privilege of the "upper classes" to prey upon the sons and daughters of the people. the hawkins family, though allied to the best blood of the south, were at the time in humble circumstances. he commented upon her parentage. perhaps her agonized father, in his intervals of sanity, was still searching for his lost daughter. would he one day hear that she had died a felon's death? society had pursued her, fate had pursued her, and in a moment of delirium she had turned and defied fate and society. he dwelt upon the admission of base wrong in col. selby's dying statement. he drew a vivid, picture of the villain at last overtaken by the vengeance of heaven. would the jury say that this retributive justice, inflicted by an outraged, and deluded woman, rendered irrational by the most cruel wrongs, was in the nature of a foul, premeditated murder? "gentlemen; it is enough for me to look upon the life of this most beautiful and accomplished of her sex, blasted by the heartless villainy of man, without seeing, at the-end of it; the horrible spectacle of a gibbet. gentlemen, we are all human, we have all sinned, we all have need of mercy. but i do not ask mercy of you who are the guardians of society and of the poor waifs, its sometimes wronged victims; i ask only that justice which you and i shall need in that last, dreadful hour, when death will be robbed of half its terrors if we can reflect that we have never wronged a human being. gentlemen, the life of this lovely and once happy girl, this now stricken woman, is in your hands." the jury were risibly affected. half the court room was in tears. if a vote of both spectators and jury could have been taken then, the verdict would have been, "let her go, she has suffered enough." but the district attorney had the closing argument. calmly and without malice or excitement he reviewed the testimony. as the cold facts were unrolled, fear settled upon the listeners. there was no escape from the murder or its premeditation. laura's character as a lobbyist in washington which had been made to appear incidentally in the evidence was also against her: the whole body of the testimony of the defense was shown to be irrelevant, introduced only to excite sympathy, and not giving a color of probability to the absurd supposition of insanity. the attorney then dwelt upon, the insecurity of life in the city, and the growing immunity with which women committed murders. mr. mcflinn made a very able speech; convincing the reason without touching the feelings. the judge in his charge reviewed the, testimony with great show of impartiality. he ended by saying that the verdict must be acquittal or murder in the first, degree. if you find that the prisoner committed a homicide, in possession of her reason and with premeditation, your verdict will be accordingly. if you find she was not in her right mind, that she was the victim of insanity, hereditary or momentary, as it has been explained, your verdict will take that into account. as the judge finished his charge, the spectators anxiously watched the faces of the jury. it was not a remunerative study. in the court room the general feeling was in favor of laura, but whether this feeling extended to the jury, their stolid faces did not reveal. the public outside hoped for a conviction, as it always does; it wanted an example; the newspapers trusted the jury would have the courage to do its duty. when laura was convicted, then the public would tern around and abuse the governor if he did; not pardon her. the jury went out. mr. braham preserved his serene confidence, but laura's friends were dispirited. washington and col. sellers had been obliged to go to washington, and they had departed under the unspoken fear the verdict would be unfavorable, a disagreement was the best they could hope for, and money was needed. the necessity of the passage of the university bill was now imperative. the court waited, for, some time, but the jury gave no signs of coming in. mr. braham said it was extraordinary. the court then took a recess for a couple of hours. upon again coming in, word was brought that the jury had not yet agreed. but the, jury, had a question. the point upon which, they wanted instruction was this. they wanted to know if col. sellers was related to the hawkins family. the court then adjourned till morning. mr. braham, who was in something of a pet, remarked to mr. o'toole that they must have been deceived, that juryman with the broken nose could read! chapter lvii. the momentous day was at hand--a day that promised to make or mar the fortunes of hawkins family for all time. washington hawkins and col. sellers were both up early, for neither of them could sleep. congress was expiring, and was passing bill after bill as if they were gasps and each likely to be its last. the university was on file for its third reading this day, and to-morrow washington would be a millionaire and sellers no longer, impecunious but this day, also, or at farthest the next, the jury in laura's case would come to a decision of some kind or other--they would find her guilty, washington secretly feared, and then the care and the trouble would all come back again, and these would be wearing months of besieging judges for new trials; on this day, also, the re-election of mr. dilworthy to the senate would take place. so washington's mind was in a state of turmoil; there were more interests at stake than it could handle with serenity. he exulted when he thought of his millions; he was filled with dread when he thought of laura. but sellers was excited and happy. he said: "everything is going right, everything's going perfectly right. pretty soon the telegrams will begin to rattle in, and then you'll see, my boy. let the jury do what they please; what difference is it going to make? to-morrow we can send a million to new york and set the lawyers at work on the judges; bless your heart they will go before judge after judge and exhort and beseech and pray and shed tears. they always do; and they always win, too. and they will win this time. they will get a writ of habeas corpus, and a stay of proceedings, and a supersedeas, and a new trial and a nolle prosequi, and there you are! that's the routine, and it's no trick at all to a new york lawyer. that's the regular routine --everything's red tape and routine in the law, you see; it's all greek to you, of course, but to a man who is acquainted with those things it's mere--i'll explain it to you sometime. everything's going to glide right along easy and comfortable now. you'll see, washington, you'll see how it will be. and then, let me think ..... dilwortby will be elected to-day, and by day, after to-morrow night be will be in new york ready to put in his shovel--and you haven't lived in washington all this time not to know that the people who walk right by a senator whose term is up without hardly seeing him will be down at the deepo to say 'welcome back and god bless you; senator, i'm glad to see you, sir!' when he comes along back re-elected, you know. well, you see, his influence was naturally running low when he left here, but now he has got a new six-years' start, and his suggestions will simply just weigh a couple of tons a-piece day after tomorrow. lord bless you he could rattle through that habeas corpus and supersedeas and all those things for laura all by himself if he wanted to, when he gets back." "i hadn't thought of that," said washington, brightening, but it is so. a newly-elected senator is a power, i know that." "yes indeed he is.--why it, is just human nature. look at me. when we first came here, i was mr. sellers, and major sellers, captain sellers, but nobody could ever get it right, somehow; but the minute our bill went, through the house, i was col. sellers every time. and nobody could do enough for me, and whatever i said was wonderful, sir, it was always wonderful; i never seemed to say any flat things at all. it was colonel, won't you come and dine with us; and colonel why don't we ever see you at our house; and the colonel says this; and the colonel says that; and we know such-and-such is so-and-so because my husband heard col. sellers say so. don't you see? well, the senate adjourned and left our bill high, and dry, and i'll be hanged if i warn't old sellers from that day, till our bill passed the house again last week. now i'm the colonel again; and if i were to eat all the dinners i am invited to, i reckon i'd wear my teeth down level with my gums in a couple of weeks." "well i do wonder what you will be to-morrow; colonel, after the president signs the bill!" "general, sir?--general, without a doubt. yes, sir, tomorrow it will be general, let me congratulate you, sir; general, you've done a great work, sir;--you've done a great work for the niggro; gentlemen allow me the honor to introduce my friend general sellers, the humane friend of the niggro. lord bless me; you'll' see the newspapers say, general sellers and servants arrived in the city last night and is stopping at the fifth avenue; and general sellers has accepted a reception and banquet by the cosmopolitan club; you'll see the general's opinions quoted, too --and what the general has to say about the propriety of a new trial and a habeas corpus for the unfortunate miss hawkins will not be without weight in influential quarters, i can tell you." "and i want to be the first to shake your faithful old hand and salute you with your new honors, and i want to do it now--general!" said washington, suiting the action to the word, and accompanying it with all the meaning that a cordial grasp and eloquent eyes could give it. the colonel was touched; he was pleased and proud, too; his face answered for that. not very long after breakfast the telegrams began to arrive. the first was from braham, and ran thus: "we feel certain that the verdict will be rendered to-day. be it good or bad, let it find us ready to make the next move instantly, whatever it may be:" "that's the right talk," said sellers. "that braham's a wonderful man. he was the only man there that really understood me; he told me so himself, afterwards." the next telegram was from mr. dilworthy: "i have not only brought over the great invincible, but through him a dozen more of the opposition. shall be re-elected to-day by an overwhelming majority." "good again!" said the colonel. "that man's talent for organization is something marvelous. he wanted me to go out there and engineer that thing, but i said, no, dilworthy, i must be on hand here,--both on laura's account and the bill's--but you've no trifling genius for organization yourself, said i--and i was right. you go ahead, said i --you can fix it--and so he has. but i claim no credit for that--if i stiffened up his back-bone a little, i simply put him in the way to make his fight--didn't undertake it myself. he has captured noble--. i consider that a splendid piece of diplomacy--splendid, sir!" by and by came another dispatch from new york: "jury still out. laura calm and firm as a statue. the report that the jury have brought her in guilty is false and premature." "premature!" gasped washington, turning white. "then they all expect that sort of a verdict, when it comes in." and so did he; but he had not had courage enough to put it into words. he had been preparing himself for the worst, but after all his preparation the bare suggestion of the possibility of such a verdict struck him cold as death. the friends grew impatient, now; the telegrams did not come fast enough: even the lightning could not keep up with their anxieties. they walked the floor talking disjointedly and listening for the door-bell. telegram after telegram came. still no result. by and by there was one which contained a single line: "court now coming in after brief recess to hear verdict. jury ready." "oh, i wish they would finish!" said washington. "this suspense is killing me by inches!" then came another telegram: "another hitch somewhere. jury want a little more time and further instructions." "well, well, well, this is trying," said the colonel. and after a pause, "no dispatch from dilworthy for two hours, now. even a dispatch from him would be better than nothing, just to vary this thing." they waited twenty minutes. it seemed twenty hours. "come!" said washington. "i can't wait for the telegraph boy to come all the way up here. let's go down to newspaper row--meet him on the way." while they were passing along the avenue, they saw someone putting up a great display-sheet on the bulletin board of a newspaper office, and an eager crowd of men was collecting abort the place. washington and the colonel ran to the spot and read this: "tremendous sensation! startling news from saint's rest! on first ballot for u. s. senator, when voting was about to begin, mr. noble rose in his place and drew forth a package, walked forward and laid it on the speaker's desk, saying, 'this contains $ , in bank bills and was given me by senator dilworthy in his bed-chamber at midnight last night to buy --my vote for him--i wish the speaker to count the money and retain it to pay the expense of prosecuting this infamous traitor for bribery. the whole legislature was stricken speechless with dismay and astonishment. noble further said that there were fifty members present with money in their pockets, placed there by dilworthy to buy their votes. amidst unparalleled excitement the ballot was now taken, and j. w. smith elected u. s. senator; dilworthy receiving not one vote! noble promises damaging exposures concerning dilworthy and certain measures of his now pending in congress. "good heavens and earth!" exclaimed the colonel. "to the capitol!" said washington. "fly!" and they did fly. long before they got there the newsboys were running ahead of them with extras, hot from the press, announcing the astounding news. arrived in the gallery of the senate, the friends saw a curious spectacle--every senator held an extra in his hand and looked as interested as if it contained news of the destruction of the earth. not a single member was paying the least attention to the business of the hour. the secretary, in a loud voice, was just beginning to read the title of a bill: "house-bill--no. , ,--an-act-to-found-and-incorporate-the knobs- industrial-university!--read-first-and-second-time-considered-in- committee-of-the-whole-ordered-engrossed and-passed-to-third-reading-and- final passage!" the president--"third reading of the bill!" the two friends shook in their shoes. senators threw down their extras and snatched a word or two with each other in whispers. then the gavel rapped to command silence while the names were called on the ayes and nays. washington grew paler and paler, weaker and weaker while the lagging list progressed; and when it was finished, his head fell helplessly forward on his arms. the fight was fought, the long struggle was over, and he was a pauper. not a man had voted for the bill! col. sellers was bewildered and well nigh paralyzed, himself. but no man could long consider his own troubles in the presence of such suffering as washington's. he got him up and supported him--almost carried him indeed--out of the building and into a carriage. all the way home washington lay with his face against the colonel's shoulder and merely groaned and wept. the colonel tried as well as he could under the dreary circumstances to hearten him a little, but it was of no use. washington was past all hope of cheer, now. he only said: "oh, it is all over--it is all over for good, colonel. we must beg our bread, now. we never can get up again. it was our last chance, and it is gone. they will hang laura! my god they will hang her! nothing can save the poor girl now. oh, i wish with all my soul they would hang me instead!" arrived at home, washington fell into a chair and buried his face in his hands and gave full way to his misery. the colonel did not know where to turn nor what to do. the servant maid knocked at the door and passed in a telegram, saying it had come while they were gone. the colonel tore it open and read with the voice of a man-of-war's broadside: "verdict of jury, not guilty and laura is free!" chapter lviii. the court room was packed on the morning on which the verdict of the jury was expected, as it had been every day of the trial, and by the same spectators, who had followed its progress with such intense interest. there is a delicious moment of excitement which the frequenter of trials well knows, and which he would not miss for the world. it is that instant when the foreman of the jury stands up to give the verdict, and before he has opened his fateful lips. the court assembled and waited. it was an obstinate jury. it even had another question--this intelligent jury--to ask the judge this morning. the question was this: "were the doctors clear that the deceased had no disease which might soon have carried him off, if he had not been shot?" there was evidently one jury man who didn't want to waste life, and was willing to stake a general average, as the jury always does in a civil case, deciding not according to the evidence but reaching the verdict by some occult mental process. during the delay the spectators exhibited unexampled patience, finding amusement and relief in the slightest movements of the court, the prisoner and the lawyers. mr. braham divided with laura the attention of the house. bets were made by the sheriff's deputies on the verdict, with large odds in favor of a disagreement. it was afternoon when it was announced that the jury was coming in. the reporters took their places and were all attention; the judge and lawyers were in their seats; the crowd swayed and pushed in eager expectancy, as the jury walked in and stood up in silence. judge. "gentlemen, have you agreed upon your verdict?" foreman. "we have." judge. "what is it?" foreman. "not guilty." a shout went up from the entire room and a tumult of cheering which the court in vain attempted to quell. for a few moments all order was lost. the spectators crowded within the bar and surrounded laura who, calmer than anyone else, was supporting her aged mother, who had almost fainted from excess of joy. and now occurred one of those beautiful incidents which no fiction-writer would dare to imagine, a scene of touching pathos, creditable to our fallen humanity. in the eyes of the women of the audience mr. braham was the hero of the occasion; he had saved the life of the prisoner; and besides he was such a handsome man. the women could not restrain their long pent-up emotions. they threw themselves upon mr. braham in a transport of gratitude; they kissed him again and again, the young as well as the advanced in years, the married as well as the ardent single women; they improved the opportunity with a touching self-sacrifice; in the words of a newspaper of the day they "lavished him with kisses." it was something sweet to do; and it would be sweet for a woman to remember in after years, that she had kissed braham! mr. braham himself received these fond assaults with the gallantry of his nation, enduring the ugly, and heartily paying back beauty in its own coin. this beautiful scene is still known in new york as "the kissing of braham." when the tumult of congratulation had a little spent itself, and order was restored, judge o'shaunnessy said that it now became his duty to provide for the proper custody and treatment of the acquitted. the verdict of the jury having left no doubt that the woman was of an unsound mind, with a kind of insanity dangerous to the safety of the community, she could not be permitted to go at large. "in accordance with the directions of the law in such cases," said the judge, "and in obedience to the dictates of a wise humanity, i hereby commit laura hawkins to the care of the superintendent of the state hospital for insane criminals, to be held in confinement until the state commissioners on insanity shall order her discharge. mr. sheriff, you will attend at once to the execution of this decree." laura was overwhelmed and terror-stricken. she had expected to walk forth in freedom in a few moments. the revulsion was terrible. her mother appeared like one shaken with an ague fit. laura insane! and about to be locked up with madmen! she had never contemplated this. mr. graham said he should move at once for a writ of 'habeas corpus'. but the judge could not do less than his duty, the law must have its way. as in the stupor of a sudden calamity, and not fully comprehending it, mrs. hawkins saw laura led away by the officer. with little space for thought she was, rapidly driven to the railway station, and conveyed to the hospital for lunatic criminals. it was only when she was within this vast and grim abode of madness that she realized the horror of her situation. it was only when she was received by the kind physician and read pity in his eyes, and saw his look of hopeless incredulity when she attempted to tell him that she was not insane; it was only when she passed through the ward to which she was consigned and saw the horrible creatures, the victims of a double calamity, whose dreadful faces she was hereafter to see daily, and was locked into the small, bare room that was to be her home, that all her fortitude forsook her. she sank upon the bed, as soon as she was left alone--she had been searched by the matron--and tried to think. but her brain was in a whirl. she recalled braham's speech, she recalled the testimony regarding her lunacy. she wondered if she were not mad; she felt that she soon should be among these loathsome creatures. better almost to have died, than to slowly go mad in this confinement. --we beg the reader's pardon. this is not history, which has just been written. it is really what would have occurred if this were a novel. if this were a work of fiction, we should not dare to dispose of laura otherwise. true art and any attention to dramatic proprieties required it. the novelist who would turn loose upon society an insane murderess could not escape condemnation. besides, the safety of society, the decencies of criminal procedure, what we call our modern civilization, all would demand that laura should be disposed of in the manner we have described. foreigners, who read this sad story, will be unable to understand any other termination of it. but this is history and not fiction. there is no such law or custom as that to which his honor is supposed to have referred; judge o'shaunnessy would not probably pay any attention to it if there were. there is no hospital for insane criminals; there is no state commission of lunacy. what actually occurred when the tumult in the court room had subsided the sagacious reader will now learn. laura left the court room, accompanied by her mother and other friends, amid the congratulations of those assembled, and was cheered as she entered a carriage, and drove away. how sweet was the sunlight, how exhilarating the sense of freedom! were not these following cheers the expression of popular approval and affection? was she not the heroine of the hour? it was with a feeling of triumph that laura reached her hotel, a scornful feeling of victory over society with its own weapons. mrs. hawkins shared not at all in this feeling; she was broken with the disgrace and the long anxiety. "thank god, laura," she said, "it is over. now we will go away from this hateful city. let us go home at once." "mother," replied laura, speaking with some tenderness, "i cannot go with you. there, don't cry, i cannot go back to that life." mrs. hawkins was sobbing. this was more cruel than anything else, for she had a dim notion of what it would be to leave laura to herself. "no, mother, you have been everything to me. you know how dearly i love you. but i cannot go back." a boy brought in a telegraphic despatch. laura took it and read: "the bill is lost. dilworthy ruined. (signed) washington." for a moment the words swam before her eyes. the next her eyes flashed fire as she handed the dispatch to her m other and bitterly said, "the world is against me. well, let it be, let it. i am against it." "this is a cruel disappointment," said mrs. hawkins, to whom one grief more or less did not much matter now, "to you and, washington; but we must humbly bear it." "bear it;" replied laura scornfully, "i've all my life borne it, and fate has thwarted me at every step." a servant came to the door to say that there was a gentleman below who wished to speak with miss hawkins. "j. adolphe griller" was the name laura read on the card. "i do not know such a person. he probably comes from washington. send him up." mr. griller entered. he was a small man, slovenly in dress, his tone confidential, his manner wholly void of animation, all his features below the forehead protruding--particularly the apple of his throat--hair without a kink in it, a hand with no grip, a meek, hang-dog countenance. a falsehood done in flesh and blood; for while every visible sign about him proclaimed him a poor, witless, useless weakling, the truth was that he had the brains to plan great enterprises and the pluck to carry them through. that was his reputation, and it was a deserved one. he softly said: "i called to see you on business, miss hawkins. you have my card?" laura bowed. mr. griller continued to purr, as softly as before. "i will proceed to business. i am a business man. i am a lecture-agent, miss hawkins, and as soon as i saw that you were acquitted, it occurred to me that an early interview would be mutually beneficial." "i don't understand you, sir," said laura coldly. "no? you see, miss hawkins, this is your opportunity. if you will enter the lecture field under good auspices, you will carry everything before you." "but, sir, i never lectured, i haven't any lecture, i don't know anything about it." "ah, madam, that makes no difference--no real difference. it is not necessary to be able to lecture in order to go into the lecture tour. if ones name is celebrated all over the land, especially, and, if she is also beautiful, she is certain to draw large audiences." "but what should i lecture about?" asked laura, beginning in spite of herself to be a little interested as well as amused. "oh, why; woman--something about woman, i should say; the marriage relation, woman's fate, anything of that sort. call it the revelations of a woman's life; now, there's a good title. i wouldn't want any better title than that. i'm prepared to make you an offer, miss hawkins, a liberal offer,--twelve thousand dollars for thirty nights." laura thought. she hesitated. why not? it would give her employment, money. she must do something. "i will think of it, and let you know soon. but still, there is very little likelihood that i--however, we will not discuss it further now." "remember, that the sooner we get to work the better, miss hawkins, public curiosity is so fickle. good day, madam." the close of the trial released mr. harry brierly and left him free to depart upon his long talked of pacific-coast mission. he was very mysterious about it, even to philip. "it's confidential, old boy," he said, "a little scheme we have hatched up. i don't mind telling you that it's a good deal bigger thing than that in missouri, and a sure thing. i wouldn't take a half a million just for my share. and it will open something for you, phil. you will hear from me." philip did hear, from harry a few months afterward. everything promised splendidly, but there was a little delay. could phil let him have a hundred, say, for ninety days? philip himself hastened to philadelphia, and, as soon as the spring opened, to the mine at ilium, and began transforming the loan he had received from squire montague into laborers' wages. he was haunted with many anxieties; in the first place, ruth was overtaxing her strength in her hospital labors, and philip felt as if he must move heaven and earth to save her from such toil and suffering. his increased pecuniary obligation oppressed him. it seemed to him also that he had been one cause of the misfortune to the bolton family, and that he was dragging into loss and ruin everybody who associated with him. he worked on day after day and week after week, with a feverish anxiety. it would be wicked, thought philip, and impious, to pray for luck; he felt that perhaps he ought not to ask a blessing upon the sort of labor that was only a venture; but yet in that daily petition, which this very faulty and not very consistent young christian gentleman put up, he prayed earnestly enough for ruth and for the boltons and for those whom he loved and who trusted in him, and that his life might not be a misfortune to them and a failure to himself. since this young fellow went out into the world from his new england home, he had done some things that he would rather his mother should not know, things maybe that he would shrink from telling ruth. at a certain green age young gentlemen are sometimes afraid of being called milksops, and philip's associates had not always been the most select, such as these historians would have chosen for him, or whom at a later, period he would have chosen for himself. it seemed inexplicable, for instance, that his life should have been thrown so much with his college acquaintance, henry brierly. yet, this was true of philip, that in whatever company he had been he had never been ashamed to stand up for the principles he learned from his mother, and neither raillery nor looks of wonder turned him from that daily habit had learned at his mother's knees.--even flippant harry respected this, and perhaps it was one of the reasons why harry and all who knew philip trusted him implicitly. and yet it must be confessed that philip did not convey the impression to the world of a very serious young man, or of a man who might not rather easily fall into temptation. one looking for a real hero would have to go elsewhere. the parting between laura and her mother was exceedingly painful to both. it was as if two friends parted on a wide plain, the one to journey towards the setting and the other towards the rising sun, each comprehending that every, step henceforth must separate their lives, wider and wider. chapter lix. when mr. noble's bombshell fell, in senator dilworthy's camp, the statesman was disconcerted for a moment. for a moment; that was all. the next moment he was calmly up and doing. from the centre of our country to its circumference, nothing was talked of but mr. noble's terrible revelation, and the people were furious. mind, they were not furious because bribery was uncommon in our public life, but merely because here was another case. perhaps it did not occur to the nation of good and worthy people that while they continued to sit comfortably at home and leave the true source of our political power (the "primaries,") in the hands of saloon-keepers, dog-fanciers and hod-carriers, they could go on expecting "another" case of this kind, and even dozens and hundreds of them, and never be disappointed. however, they may have thought that to sit at home and grumble would some day right the evil. yes, the nation was excited, but senator dilworthy was calm--what was left of him after the explosion of the shell. calm, and up and doing. what did he do first? what would you do first, after you had tomahawked your mother at the breakfast table for putting too much sugar in your coffee? you would "ask for a suspension of public opinion." that is what senator dilworthy did. it is the custom. he got the usual amount of suspension. far and wide he was called a thief, a briber, a promoter of steamship subsidies, railway swindles, robberies of the government in all possible forms and fashions. newspapers and everybody else called him a pious hypocrite, a sleek, oily fraud, a reptile who manipulated temperance movements, prayer meetings, sunday schools, public charities, missionary enterprises, all for his private benefit. and as these charges were backed up by what seemed to be good and sufficient, evidence, they were believed with national unanimity. then mr. dilworthy made another move. he moved instantly to washington and "demanded an investigation." even this could not pass without, comment. many papers used language to this effect: "senator dilworthy's remains have demanded an investigation. this sounds fine and bold and innocent; but when we reflect that they demand it at the hands of the senate of the united states, it simply becomes matter for derision. one might as well set the gentlemen detained in the public prisons to trying each other. this investigation is likely to be like all other senatorial investigations--amusing but not useful. query. why does the senate still stick to this pompous word, 'investigation?' one does not blindfold one's self in order to investigate an object." mr. dilworthy appeared in his place in the senate and offered a resolution appointing a committee to investigate his case. it carried, of course, and the committee was appointed. straightway the newspapers said: "under the guise of appointing a committee to investigate the late mr. dilworthy, the senate yesterday appointed a committee to investigate his accuser, mr. noble. this is the exact spirit and meaning of the resolution, and the committee cannot try anybody but mr. noble without overstepping its authority. that dilworthy had the effrontery to offer such a resolution will surprise no one, and that the senate could entertain it without blushing and pass it without shame will surprise no one. we are now reminded of a note which we have received from the notorious burglar murphy, in which he finds fault with a statement of ours to the effect that he had served one term in the penitentiary and also one in the u. s. senate. he says, 'the latter statement is untrue and does me great injustice.' after an unconscious sarcasm like that, further comment is unnecessary." and yet the senate was roused by the dilworthy trouble. many speeches were made. one senator (who was accused in the public prints of selling his chances of re-election to his opponent for $ , and had not yet denied the charge) said that, "the presence in the capital of such a creature as this man noble, to testify against a brother member of their body, was an insult to the senate." another senator said, "let the investigation go on and let it make an example of this man noble; let it teach him and men like him that they could not attack the reputation of a united states-senator with impunity." another said he was glad the investigation was to be had, for it was high time that the senate should crush some cur like this man noble, and thus show his kind that it was able and resolved to uphold its ancient dignity. a by-stander laughed, at this finely delivered peroration; and said: "why, this is the senator who franked his, baggage home through the mails last week-registered, at that. however, perhaps he was merely engaged in 'upholding the ancient dignity of the senate,'--then." "no, the modern dignity of it," said another by-stander. "it don't resemble its ancient dignity but it fits its modern style like a glove." there being no law against making offensive remarks about u. s. senators, this conversation, and others like it, continued without let or hindrance. but our business is with the investigating committee. mr. noble appeared before the committee of the senate; and testified to the following effect: he said that he was a member of the state legislature of the happy-land-of-canaan; that on the --- day of ------ he assembled himself together at the city of saint's rest, the capital of the state, along with his brother legislators; that he was known to be a political enemy of mr. dilworthy and bitterly opposed to his re-election; that mr. dilworthy came to saint's rest and reported to be buying pledges of votes with money; that the said dilworthy sent for him to come to his room in the hotel at night, and he went; was introduced to mr. dilworthy; called two or three times afterward at dilworthy's request--usually after midnight; mr. dilworthy urged him to vote for him noble declined; dilworthy argued; said he was bound to be elected, and could then ruin him (noble) if he voted no; said he had every railway and every public office and stronghold of political power in the state under his thumb, and could set up or pull down any man he chose; gave instances showing where and how he had used this power; if noble would vote for him he would make him a representative in congress; noble still declined to vote, and said he did not believe dilworthy was going to be elected; dilworthy showed a list of men who would vote for him--a majority of the legislature; gave further proofs of his power by telling noble everything the opposing party had done or said in secret caucus; claimed that his spies reported everything to him, and that-- here a member of the committee objected that this evidence was irrelevant and also in opposition to the spirit of the committee's instructions, because if these things reflected upon any one it was upon mr. dilworthy. the chairman said, let the person proceed with his statement--the committee could exclude evidence that did not bear upon the case. mr. noble continued. he said that his party would cast him out if he voted for mr, dilworthy; dilwortby said that that would inure to his benefit because he would then be a recognized friend of his (dilworthy's) and he could consistently exalt him politically and make his fortune; noble said he was poor, and it was hard to tempt him so; dilworthy said he would fix that; he said, "tell, me what you want, and say you will vote for me;" noble could not say; dilworthy said "i will give you $ , ." a committee man said, impatiently, that this stuff was all outside the case, and valuable time was being wasted; this was all, a plain reflection upon a brother senator. the chairman said it was the quickest way to proceed, and the evidence need have no weight. mr. noble continued. he said he told dilworthy that $ , was not much to pay for a man's honor, character and everything that was worth having; dilworthy said he was surprised; he considered $ , a fortune--for some men; asked what noble's figure was; noble said he could not think $ , too little; dilworthy said it was a great deal too much; he would not do it for any other man, but he had conceived a liking for noble, and where he liked a man his heart yearned to help him; he was aware that noble was poor, and had a family to support, and that he bore an unblemished reputation at home; for such a man and such a man's influence he could do much, and feel that to help such a man would be an act that would have its reward; the struggles of the poor always touched him; he believed that noble would make a good use of this money and that it would cheer many a sad heart and needy home; he would give the, $ , ; all he desired in return was that when the balloting began, noble should cast his vote for him and should explain to the legislature that upon looking into the charges against mr. dilworthy of bribery, corruption, and forwarding stealing measures in congress he had found them to be base calumnies upon a man whose motives were pure and whose character was stainless; he then took from his pocket $ , in bank bills and handed them to noble, and got another package containing $ , out of his trunk and gave to him also. he---- a committee man jumped up, and said: "at last, mr. chairman, this shameless person has arrived at the point. this is sufficient and conclusive. by his own confession he has received a bribe, and did it deliberately. "this is a grave offense, and cannot be passed over in silence, sir. by the terms of our instructions we can now proceed to mete out to him such punishment as is meet for one who has maliciously brought disrespect upon a senator of the united states. we have no need to hear the rest of his evidence." the chairman said it would be better and more regular to proceed with the investigation according to the usual forms. a note would be made of mr. noble's admission. mr. noble continued. he said that it was now far past midnight; that he took his leave and went straight to certain legislators, told them everything, made them count the money, and also told them of the exposure he would make in joint convention; he made that exposure, as all the world knew. the rest of the $ , was to be paid the day after dilworthy was elected. senator dilworthy was now asked to take the stand and tell what he knew about the man noble. the senator wiped his mouth with his handkerchief, adjusted his white cravat, and said that but for the fact that public morality required an example, for the warning of future nobles, he would beg that in christian charity this poor misguided creature might be forgiven and set free. he said that it was but too evident that this person had approached him in the hope of obtaining a bribe; he had intruded himself time and again, and always with moving stories of his poverty. mr. dilworthy said that his heart had bled for him--insomuch that he had several times been on the point of trying to get some one to do something for him. some instinct had told him from the beginning that this was a bad man, an evil-minded man, but his inexperience of such had blinded him to his real motives, and hence he had never dreamed that his object was to undermine the purity of a united states senator. he regretted that it was plain, now, that such was the man's object and that punishment could not with safety to the senate's honor be withheld. he grieved to say that one of those mysterious dispensations of an inscrutable providence which are decreed from time to time by his wisdom and for his righteous, purposes, had given this conspirator's tale a color of plausibility,--but this would soon disappear under the clear light of truth which would now be thrown upon the case. it so happened, (said the senator,) that about the time in question, a poor young friend of mine, living in a distant town of my state, wished to establish a bank; he asked me to lend him the necessary money; i said i had no, money just then, but world try to borrow it. the day before the election a friend said to me that my election expenses must be very large specially my hotel bills, and offered to lend me some money. remembering my young, friend, i said i would like a few thousands now, and a few more by and by; whereupon he gave me two packages of bills said to contain $ , and $ , respectively; i did not open the packages or count the money; i did not give any note or receipt for the same; i made no memorandum of the transaction, and neither did my friend. that night this evil man noble came troubling me again: i could not rid myself of him, though my time was very precious. he mentioned my young friend and said he was very anxious to have the $ now to begin his banking operations with, and could wait a while for the rest. noble wished to get the money and take it to him. i finally gave him the two packages of bills; i took no note or receipt from him, and made no memorandum of the matter. i no more look for duplicity and deception in another man than i would look for it in myself. i never thought of this man again until i was overwhelmed the next day by learning what a shameful use he had made of the confidence i had reposed in him and the money i had entrusted to his care. this is all, gentlemen. to the absolute truth of every detail of my statement i solemnly swear, and i call him to witness who is the truth and the loving father of all whose lips abhor false speaking; i pledge my honor as a senator, that i have spoken but the truth. may god forgive this wicked man as i do. mr. noble--"senator dilworthy, your bank account shows that up to that day, and even on that very day, you conducted all your financial business through the medium of checks instead of bills, and so kept careful record of every moneyed transaction. why did you deal in bank bills on this particular occasion?" the chairman--"the gentleman will please to remember that the committee is conducting this investigation." mr. noble--"then will the committee ask the question?" the chairman--"the committee will--when it desires to know." mr. noble--"which will not be daring this century perhaps." the chairman--"another remark like that, sir, will procure you the attentions of the sergeant-at-arms." mr. noble--"d--n the sergeant-at-arms, and the committee too!" several committeemen--"mr. chairman, this is contempt!" mr. noble--"contempt of whom?" "of the committee! of the senate of the united states!" mr. noble--"then i am become the acknowledged representative of a nation. you know as well as i do that the whole nation hold as much as three-fifths of the united states senate in entire contempt.--three-fifths of you are dilworthys." the sergeant-at-arms very soon put a quietus upon the observations of the representative of the nation, and convinced him that he was not, in the over-free atmosphere of his happy-land-of-canaan: the statement of senator dilworthy naturally carried conviction to the minds of the committee.--it was close, logical, unanswerable; it bore many internal evidences of its, truth. for instance, it is customary in all countries for business men to loan large sums of money in bank bills instead of checks. it is customary for the lender to make no memorandum of the transaction. it is customary, for the borrower to receive the money without making a memorandum of it, or giving a note or a receipt for it's use--the borrower is not likely to die or forget about it. it is customary to lend nearly anybody money to start a bank with especially if you have not the money to lend him and have to borrow it for the purpose. it is customary to carry large sums of money in bank bills about your person or in your trunk. it is customary to hand a large sure in bank bills to a man you have just been introduced to (if he asks you to do it,) to be conveyed to a distant town and delivered to another party. it is not customary to make a memorandum of this transaction; it is not customary for the conveyor to give a note or a receipt for the money; it is not customary to require that he shall get a note or a receipt from the man he is to convey it to in the distant town. it would be at least singular in you to say to the proposed conveyor, "you might be robbed; i will deposit the money in a bank and send a check for it to my friend through the mail." very well. it being plain that senator dilworthy's statement was rigidly true, and this fact being strengthened by his adding to it the support of "his honor as a senator," the committee rendered a verdict of "not proven that a bribe had been offered and accepted." this in a manner exonerated noble and let him escape. the committee made its report to the senate, and that body proceeded to consider its acceptance. one senator indeed, several senators--objected that the committee had failed of its duty; they had proved this man noble guilty of nothing, they had meted out no punishment to him; if the report were accepted, he would go forth free and scathless, glorying in his crime, and it would be a tacit admission that any blackguard could insult the senate of the united states and conspire against the sacred reputation of its members with impunity; the senate owed it to the upholding of its ancient dignity to make an example of this man noble --he should be crushed. an elderly senator got up and took another view of the case. this was a senator of the worn-out and obsolete pattern; a man still lingering among the cobwebs of the past, and behind the spirit of the age. he said that there seemed to be a curious misunderstanding of the case. gentlemen seemed exceedingly anxious to preserve and maintain the honor and dignity of the senate. was this to be done by trying an obscure adventurer for attempting to trap a senator into bribing him? or would not the truer way be to find out whether the senator was capable of being entrapped into so shameless an act, and then try him? why, of course. now the whole idea of the senate seemed to be to shield the senator and turn inquiry away from him. the true way to uphold the honor of the senate was to have none but honorable men in its body. if this senator had yielded to temptation and had offered a bribe, he was a soiled man and ought to be instantly expelled; therefore he wanted the senator tried, and not in the usual namby-pamby way, but in good earnest. he wanted to know the truth of this matter. for himself, he believed that the guilt of senator dilworthy was established beyond the shadow of a doubt; and he considered that in trifling with his case and shirking it the senate was doing a shameful and cowardly thing--a thing which suggested that in its willingness to sit longer in the company of such a man, it was acknowledging that it was itself of a kind with him and was therefore not dishonored by his presence. he desired that a rigid examination be made into senator dilworthy's case, and that it be continued clear into the approaching extra session if need be. there was no dodging this thing with the lame excuse of want of time. in reply, an honorable senator said that he thought it would be as well to drop the matter and accept the committee's report. he said with some jocularity that the more one agitated this thing, the worse it was for the agitator. he was not able to deny that he believed senator dilworthy to be guilty--but what then? was it such an extraordinary case? for his part, even allowing the senator to be guilty, he did not think his continued presence during the few remaining days of the session would contaminate the senate to a dreadful degree. [this humorous sally was received with smiling admiration--notwithstanding it was not wholly new, having originated with the massachusetts general in the house a day or two before, upon the occasion of the proposed expulsion of a member for selling his vote for money.] the senate recognized the fact that it could not be contaminated by sitting a few days longer with senator dilworthy, and so it accepted the committee's report and dropped the unimportant matter. mr. dilworthy occupied his seat to the last hour of the session. he said that his people had reposed a trust in him, and it was not for him to desert them. he would remain at his post till he perished, if need be. his voice was lifted up and his vote cast for the last time, in support of an ingenious measure contrived by the general from massachusetts whereby the president's salary was proposed to be doubled and every congressman paid several thousand dollars extra for work previously done, under an accepted contract, and already paid for once and receipted for. senator dilworthy was offered a grand ovation by his friends at home, who said that their affection for him and their confidence in him were in no wise impaired by the persecutions that had pursued him, and that he was still good enough for them. --[the $ , left by mr. noble with his state legislature was placed in safe keeping to await the claim of the legitimate owner. senator dilworthy made one little effort through his protege the embryo banker to recover it, but there being no notes of hand or, other memoranda to support the claim, it failed. the moral of which is, that when one loans money to start a bank with, one ought to take the party's written acknowledgment of the fact.] chapter lx. for some days laura had been a free woman once more. during this time, she had experienced--first, two or three days of triumph, excitement, congratulations, a sort of sunburst of gladness, after a long night of gloom and anxiety; then two or three days of calming down, by degrees --a receding of tides, a quieting of the storm-wash to a murmurous surf-beat, a diminishing of devastating winds to a refrain that bore the spirit of a truce-days given to solitude, rest, self-communion, and the reasoning of herself into a realization of the fact that she was actually done with bolts and bars, prison, horrors and impending, death; then came a day whose hours filed slowly by her, each laden with some remnant, some remaining fragment of the dreadful time so lately ended--a day which, closing at last, left the past a fading shore behind her and turned her eyes toward the broad sea of the future. so speedily do we put the dead away and come back to our place in the ranks to march in the pilgrimage of life again. and now the sun rose once more and ushered in the first day of what laura comprehended and accepted as a new life. the past had sunk below the horizon, and existed no more for her; she was done with it for all time. she was gazing out over the trackless expanses of the future, now, with troubled eyes. life must be begun again--at eight and twenty years of age. and where to begin? the page was blank, and waiting for its first record; so this was indeed a momentous day. her thoughts drifted back, stage by stage, over her career. as far as the long highway receded over the plain of her life, it was lined with the gilded and pillared splendors of her ambition all crumbled to ruin and ivy-grown; every milestone marked a disaster; there was no green spot remaining anywhere in memory of a hope that had found its fruition; the unresponsive earth had uttered no voice of flowers in testimony that one who was blest had gone that road. her life had been a failure. that was plain, she said. no more of that. she would now look the future in the face; she would mark her course upon the chart of life, and follow it; follow it without swerving, through rocks and shoals, through storm and calm, to a haven of rest and peace or shipwreck. let the end be what it might, she would mark her course now --to-day--and follow it. on her table lay six or seven notes. they were from lovers; from some of the prominent names in the land; men whose devotion had survived even the grisly revealments of her character which the courts had uncurtained; men who knew her now, just as she was, and yet pleaded as for their lives for the dear privilege of calling the murderess wife. as she read these passionate, these worshiping, these supplicating missives, the woman in her nature confessed itself; a strong yearning came upon her to lay her head upon a loyal breast and find rest from the conflict of life, solace for her griefs, the healing of love for her bruised heart. with her forehead resting upon her hand, she sat thinking, thinking, while the unheeded moments winged their flight. it was one of those mornings in early spring when nature seems just stirring to a half consciousness out of a long, exhausting lethargy; when the first faint balmy airs go wandering about, whispering the secret of the coming change; when the abused brown grass, newly relieved of snow, seems considering whether it can be worth the trouble and worry of contriving its green raiment again only to fight the inevitable fight with the implacable winter and be vanquished and buried once more; when the sun shines out and a few birds venture forth and lift up a forgotten song; when a strange stillness and suspense pervades the waiting air. it is a time when one's spirit is subdued and sad, one knows not why; when the past seems a storm-swept desolation, life a vanity and a burden, and the future but a way to death. it is a time when one is filled with vague longings; when one dreams of flight to peaceful islands in the remote solitudes of the sea, or folds his hands and says, what is the use of struggling, and toiling and worrying any more? let us give it all up. it was into such a mood as this that laura had drifted from the musings which the letters of her lovers had called up. now she lifted her head and noted with surprise how the day had wasted. she thrust the letters aside, rose up and went and stood at the window. but she was soon thinking again, and was only gazing into vacancy. by and by she turned; her countenance had cleared; the dreamy look was gone out of her face, all indecision had vanished; the poise of her head and the firm set of her lips told that her resolution was formed. she moved toward the table with all the old dignity in her carriage, and all the old pride in her mien. she took up each letter in its turn, touched a match to it and watched it slowly consume to ashes. then she said: "i have landed upon a foreign shore, and burned my ships behind me. these letters were the last thing that held me in sympathy with any remnant or belonging of the old life. henceforth that life and all that appertains to it are as dead to me and as far removed from me as if i were become a denizen of another world." she said that love was not for her--the time that it could have satisfied her heart was gone by and could not return; the opportunity was lost, nothing could restore it. she said there could be no love without respect, and she would only despise a man who could content himself with a thing like her. love, she said, was a woman's first necessity: love being forfeited; there was but one thing left that could give a passing zest to a wasted life, and that was fame, admiration, the applause of the multitude. and so her resolution was taken. she would turn to that final resort of the disappointed of her sex, the lecture platform. she would array herself in fine attire, she would adorn herself with jewels, and stand in her isolated magnificence before massed, audiences and enchant them with her eloquence and amaze them with her unapproachable beauty. she would move from city to city like a queen of romance, leaving marveling multitudes behind her and impatient multitudes awaiting her coming. her life, during one hour of each day, upon the platform, would be a rapturous intoxication--and when the curtain fell; and the lights were out, and the people gone, to nestle in their homes and forget her, she would find in sleep oblivion of her homelessness, if she could, if not she would brave out the night in solitude and wait for the next day's hour of ecstasy. so, to take up life and begin again was no great evil. she saw her way. she would be brave and strong; she would make the best of, what was left for her among the possibilities. she sent for the lecture agent, and matters were soon arranged. straightway, all the papers were filled with her name, and all the dead walls flamed with it. the papers called down imprecations upon her head; they reviled her without stint; they wondered if all sense of decency was dead in this shameless murderess, this brazen lobbyist, this heartless seducer of the affections of weak and misguided men; they implored the people, for the sake of their pure wives, their sinless daughters, for the sake of decency, for the sake of public morals, to give this wretched creature such a rebuke as should be an all-sufficient evidence to her and to such as her, that there was a limit where the flaunting of their foul acts and opinions before the world must stop; certain of them, with a higher art, and to her a finer cruelty, a sharper torture, uttered no abuse, but always spoke of her in terms of mocking eulogy and ironical admiration. everybody talked about the new wonder, canvassed the theme of her proposed discourse, and marveled how she would handle it. laura's few friends wrote to her or came and talked with her, and pleaded with her to retire while it was yet time, and not attempt to face the gathering storm. but it was fruitless. she was stung to the quick by the comments of the newspapers; her spirit was roused, her ambition was towering, now. she was more determined than ever. she would show these people what a hunted and persecuted woman could do. the eventful night came. laura arrived before the great lecture hall in a close carriage within five minutes of the time set for the lecture to begin. when she stepped out of the vehicle her heart beat fast and her eyes flashed with exultation: the whole street was packed with people, and she could hardly force her way to the hall! she reached the ante-room, threw off her wraps and placed herself before the dressing-glass. she turned herself this way and that--everything was satisfactory, her attire was perfect. she smoothed her hair, rearranged a jewel here and there, and all the while her heart sang within her, and her face was radiant. she had not been so happy for ages and ages, it seemed to her. oh, no, she had never been so overwhelmingly grateful and happy in her whole life before. the lecture agent appeared at the door. she waved him away and said: "do not disturb me. i want no introduction. and do not fear for me; the moment the hands point to eight i will step upon the platform." he disappeared. she held her watch before her. she was so impatient that the second-hand seemed whole tedious minutes dragging its way around the circle. at last the supreme moment came, and with head erect and the bearing of an empress she swept through the door and stood upon the stage. her eyes fell upon only a vast, brilliant emptiness--there were not forty people in the house! there were only a handful of coarse men and ten or twelve still coarser women, lolling upon the benches and scattered about singly and in couples. her pulses stood still, her limbs quaked, the gladness went out of her face. there was a moment of silence, and then a brutal laugh and an explosion of cat-calls and hisses saluted her from the audience. the clamor grew stronger and louder, and insulting speeches were shouted at her. a half-intoxicated man rose up and threw something, which missed her but bespattered a chair at her side, and this evoked an outburst of laughter and boisterous admiration. she was bewildered, her strength was forsaking her. she reeled away from the platform, reached the ante-room, and dropped helpless upon a sofa. the lecture agent ran in, with a hurried question upon his lips; but she put forth her hands, and with the tears raining from her eyes, said: "oh, do not speak! take me away-please take me away, out of this. dreadful place! oh, this is like all my life--failure, disappointment, misery--always misery, always failure. what have i done, to be so pursued! take me away, i beg of you, i implore you!" upon the pavement she was hustled by the mob, the surging masses roared her name and accompanied it with every species of insulting epithet; they thronged after the carriage, hooting, jeering, cursing, and even assailing the vehicle with missiles. a stone crushed through a blind, wounding laura's forehead, and so stunning her that she hardly knew what further transpired during her flight. it was long before her faculties were wholly restored, and then she found herself lying on the floor by a sofa in her own sitting-room, and alone. so she supposed she must have sat down upon the sofa and afterward fallen. she raised herself up, with difficulty, for the air was chilly and her limbs were stiff. she turned up the gas and sought the glass. she hardly knew herself, so worn and old she looked, and so marred with blood were her features. the night was far spent, and a dead stillness reigned. she sat down by her table, leaned her elbows upon it and put her face in her hands. her thoughts wandered back over her old life again and her tears flowed unrestrained. her pride was humbled, her spirit was broken. her memory found but one resting place; it lingered about her young girlhood with a caressing regret; it dwelt upon it as the one brief interval of her life that bore no curse. she saw herself again in the budding grace of her twelve years, decked in her dainty pride of ribbons, consorting with the bees and the butterflies, believing in fairies, holding confidential converse with the flowers, busying herself all day long with airy trifles that were as weighty to her as the affairs that tax the brains of diplomats and emperors. she was without sin, then, and unacquainted with grief; the world was full of sunshine and her heart was full of music. from that--to this! "if i could only die!" she said. "if i could only go back, and be as i was then, for one hour--and hold my father's hand in mine again, and see all the household about me, as in that old innocent time--and then die! my god, i am humbled, my pride is all gone, my stubborn heart repents --have pity!" when the spring morning dawned, the form still sat there, the elbows resting upon the table and the face upon the hands. all day long the figure sat there, the sunshine enriching its costly raiment and flashing from its jewels; twilight came, and presently the stars, but still the figure remained; the moon found it there still, and framed the picture with the shadow of the window sash, and flooded, it with mellow light; by and by the darkness swallowed it up, and later the gray dawn revealed it again; the new day grew toward its prime, and still the forlorn presence was undisturbed. but now the keepers of the house had become uneasy; their periodical knockings still finding no response, they burst open the door. the jury of inquest found that death had resulted from heart disease, and was instant and painless. that was all. merely heart disease. chapter lxi. clay hawkins, years gone by, had yielded, after many a struggle, to the migratory and speculative instinct of our age and our people, and had wandered further and further westward upon trading ventures. settling finally in melbourne, australia, he ceased to roam, became a steady-going substantial merchant, and prospered greatly. his life lay beyond the theatre of this tale. his remittances had supported the hawkins family, entirely, from the time of his father's death until latterly when laura by her efforts in washington had been able to assist in this work. clay was away on a long absence in some of the eastward islands when laura's troubles began, trying (and almost in vain,) to arrange certain interests which had become disordered through a dishonest agent, and consequently he knew nothing of the murder till he returned and read his letters and papers. his natural impulse was to hurry to the states and save his sister if possible, for he loved her with a deep and abiding affection. his business was so crippled now, and so deranged, that to leave it would be ruin; therefore he sold out at a sacrifice that left him considerably reduced in worldly possessions, and began his voyage to san francisco. arrived there, he perceived by the newspapers that the trial was near its close. at salt lake later telegrams told him of the acquittal, and his gratitude was boundless--so boundless, indeed, that sleep was driven from his eyes by the pleasurable excitement almost as effectually as preceding weeks of anxiety had done it. he shaped his course straight for hawkeye, now, and his meeting with his mother and the rest of the household was joyful--albeit he had been away so long that he seemed almost a stranger in his own home. but the greetings and congratulations were hardly finished when all the journals in the land clamored the news of laura's miserable death. mrs. hawkins was prostrated by this last blow, and it was well that clay was at her side to stay her with comforting words and take upon himself the ordering of the household with its burden of labors and cares. washington hawkins had scarcely more than entered upon that decade which carries one to the full blossom of manhood which we term the beginning: of middle age, and yet a brief sojourn at the capital of the nation had made him old. his hair was already turning gray when the late session of congress began its sittings; it grew grayer still, and rapidly, after the memorable day that saw laura proclaimed a murderess; it waxed grayer and still grayer during the lagging suspense that succeeded it and after the crash which ruined his last hope--the failure of his bill in the senate and the destruction of its champion, dilworthy. a few days later, when he stood uncovered while the last prayer was pronounced over laura's grave, his hair was whiter and his face hardly less old than the venerable minister's whose words were sounding in his ears. a week after this, he was sitting in a double-bedded room in a cheap boarding house in washington, with col. sellers. the two had been living together lately, and this mutual cavern of theirs the colonel sometimes referred to as their "premises" and sometimes as their "apartments"--more particularly when conversing with persons outside. a canvas-covered modern trunk, marked "g. w. h." stood on end by the door, strapped and ready for a journey; on it lay a small morocco satchel, also marked "g. w. h." there was another trunk close by--a worn, and scarred, and ancient hair relic, with "b. s." wrought in brass nails on its top; on it lay a pair of saddle-bags that probably knew more about the last century than they could tell. washington got up and walked the floor a while in a restless sort of way, and finally was about to sit down on the hair trunk. "stop, don't sit down on that!" exclaimed the colonel: "there, now that's all right--the chair's better. i couldn't get another trunk like that --not another like it in america, i reckon." "i am afraid not," said washington, with a faint attempt at a smile. "no indeed; the man is dead that made that trunk and that saddle-bags." "are his great-grand-children still living?" said washington, with levity only in the words, not in the tone. "well, i don't know--i hadn't thought of that--but anyway they can't make trunks and saddle-bags like that, if they are--no man can," said the colonel with honest simplicity. "wife didn't like to see me going off with that trunk--she said it was nearly certain to be stolen." "why?" "why? why, aren't trunks always being stolen?" "well, yes--some kinds of trunks are." "very well, then; this is some kind of a trunk--and an almighty rare kind, too." "yes, i believe it is." "well, then, why shouldn't a man want to steal it if he got a chance?" "indeed i don't know.--why should he?" "washington, i never heard anybody talk like you. suppose you were a thief, and that trunk was lying around and nobody watching--wouldn't you steal it? come, now, answer fair--wouldn't you steal it? "well, now, since you corner me, i would take it,--but i wouldn't consider it stealing. "you wouldn't! well, that beats me. now what would you call stealing?" "why, taking property is stealing." "property! now what a way to talk that is: what do you suppose that trunk is worth?" "is it in good repair?" "perfect. hair rubbed off a little, but the main structure is perfectly sound." "does it leak anywhere?" "leak? do you want to carry water in it? what do you mean by does it leak?" "why--a--do the clothes fall out of it when it is--when it is stationary?" "confound it, washington, you are trying to make fun of me. i don't know what has got into you to-day; you act mighty curious. what is the matter with you?" "well, i'll tell you, old friend. i am almost happy. i am, indeed. it wasn't clay's telegram that hurried me up so and got me ready to start with you. it was a letter from louise." "good! what is it? what does she say?" "she says come home--her father has consented, at last." "my boy, i want to congratulate you; i want to shake you by the hand! it's a long turn that has no lane at the end of it, as the proverb says, or somehow that way. you'll be happy yet, and beriah sellers will be there to see, thank god!" "i believe it. general boswell is pretty nearly a poor man, now. the railroad that was going to build up hawkeye made short work of him, along with the rest. he isn't so opposed to a son-in-law without a fortune, now." "without a fortune, indeed! why that tennessee land--" "never mind the tennessee land, colonel. i am done with that, forever and forever--" "why no! you can't mean to say--" "my father, away back yonder, years ago, bought it for a blessing for his children, and--" "indeed he did! si hawkins said to me--" "it proved a curse to him as long as he lived, and never a curse like it was inflicted upon any man's heirs--" "i'm bound to say there's more or less truth--" "it began to curse me when i was a baby, and it has cursed every hour of my life to this day--" "lord, lord, but it's so! time and again my wife--" "i depended on it all through my boyhood and never tried to do an honest stroke of work for my living--" "right again--but then you--" "i have chased it years and years as children chase butterflies. we might all have been prosperous, now; we might all have been happy, all these heart-breaking years, if we had accepted our poverty at first and gone contentedly to work and built up our own wealth by our own toil and sweat--" "it's so, it's so; bless my soul, how often i've told si hawkins--" "instead of that, we have suffered more than the damned themselves suffer! i loved my father, and i honor his memory and recognize his good intentions; but i grieve for his mistaken ideas of conferring happiness upon his children. i am going to begin my life over again, and begin it and end it with good solid work! i'll leave my children no tennessee land!" "spoken like a man, sir, spoken like a man! your hand, again my boy! and always remember that when a word of advice from beriah sellers can help, it is at your service. i'm going to begin again, too!" "indeed!" "yes, sir. i've seen enough to show me where my mistake was. the law is what i was born for. i shall begin the study of the law. heavens and earth, but that brabant's a wonderful man--a wonderful man sir! such a head! and such a way with him! but i could see that he was jealous of me. the little licks i got in in the course of my argument before the jury--" "your argument! why, you were a witness." "oh, yes, to the popular eye, to the popular eye--but i knew when i was dropping information and when i was letting drive at the court with an insidious argument. but the court knew it, bless you, and weakened every time! and brabant knew it. i just reminded him of it in a quiet way, and its final result, and he said in a whisper, 'you did it, colonel, you did it, sir--but keep it mum for my sake; and i'll tell you what you do,' says he, 'you go into the law, col. sellers--go into the law, sir; that's your native element!' and into the law the subscriber is going. there's worlds of money in it!--whole worlds of money! practice first in hawkeye, then in jefferson, then in st. louis, then in new york! in the metropolis of the western world! climb, and climb, and climb--and wind up on the supreme bench. beriah sellers, chief justice of the supreme court of the united states, sir! a made man for all time and eternity! that's the way i block it out, sir--and it's as clear as day--clear as the rosy-morn!" washington had heard little of this. the first reference to laura's trial had brought the old dejection to his face again, and he stood gazing out of the window at nothing, lost in reverie. there was a knock-the postman handed in a letter. it was from obedstown. east tennessee, and was for washington. he opened it. there was a note saying that enclosed he would please find a bill for the current year's taxes on the , acres of tennessee land belonging to the estate of silas hawkins, deceased, and added that the money must be paid within sixty days or the land would be sold at public auction for the taxes, as provided by law. the bill was for $ --something more than twice the market value of the land, perhaps. washington hesitated. doubts flitted through his mind. the old instinct came upon him to cling to the land just a little longer and give it one more chance. he walked the floor feverishly, his mind tortured by indecision. presently he stopped, took out his pocket book and counted his money. two hundred and thirty dollars--it was all he had in the world. "one hundred and eighty . . . . . . . from two hundred and thirty," he said to himself. "fifty left . . . . . . it is enough to get me home . . . .. . . shall i do it, or shall i not? . . . . . . . i wish i had somebody to decide for me." the pocket book lay open in his hand, with louise's small letter in view. his eye fell upon that, and it decided him. "it shall go for taxes," he said, "and never tempt me or mine any more!" he opened the window and stood there tearing the tax bill to bits and watching the breeze waft them away, till all were gone. "the spell is broken, the life-long curse is ended!" he said. "let us go." the baggage wagon had arrived; five minutes later the two friends were mounted upon their luggage in it, and rattling off toward the station, the colonel endeavoring to sing "homeward bound," a song whose words he knew, but whose tune, as he rendered it, was a trial to auditors. chapter lxii philip sterling's circumstances were becoming straightened. the prospect was gloomy. his long siege of unproductive labor was beginning to tell upon his spirits; but what told still more upon them was the undeniable fact that the promise of ultimate success diminished every day, now. that is to say, the tunnel had reached a point in the hill which was considerably beyond where the coal vein should pass (according to all his calculations) if there were a coal vein there; and so, every foot that the tunnel now progressed seemed to carry it further away from the object of the search. sometimes he ventured to hope that he had made a mistake in estimating the direction which the vein should naturally take after crossing the valley and entering the hill. upon such occasions he would go into the nearest mine on the vein he was hunting for, and once more get the bearings of the deposit and mark out its probable course; but the result was the same every time; his tunnel had manifestly pierced beyond the natural point of junction; and then his, spirits fell a little lower. his men had already lost faith, and he often overheard them saying it was perfectly plain that there was no coal in the hill. foremen and laborers from neighboring mines, and no end of experienced loafers from the village, visited the tunnel from time to time, and their verdicts were always the same and always disheartening--"no coal in that hill." now and then philip would sit down and think it all over and wonder what the mystery meant; then he would go into the tunnel and ask the men if there were no signs yet? none--always "none." he would bring out a piece of rock and examine it, and say to himself, "it is limestone--it has crinoids and corals in it--the rock is right" then he would throw it down with a sigh, and say, "but that is nothing; where coal is, limestone with these fossils in it is pretty certain to lie against its foot casing; but it does not necessarily follow that where this peculiar rock is coal must lie above it or beyond it; this sign is not sufficient." the thought usually followed:--"there is one infallible sign--if i could only strike that!" three or four tines in as many weeks he said to himself, "am i a visionary? i must be a visionary; everybody is in these days; everybody chases butterflies: everybody seeks sudden fortune and will not lay one up by slow toil. this is not right, i will discharge the men and go at some honest work. there is no coal here. what a fool i have been; i will give it up." but he never could do it. a half hour of profound thinking always followed; and at the end of it he was sure to get up and straighten himself and say: "there is coal there; i will not give it up; and coal or no coal i will drive the tunnel clear through the hill; i will not surrender while i am alive." he never thought of asking mr. montague for more money. he said there was now but one chance of finding coal against nine hundred and ninety nine that he would not find it, and so it would be wrong in him to make the request and foolish in mr. montague to grant it. he had been working three shifts of men. finally, the settling of a weekly account exhausted his means. he could not afford to run in debt, and therefore he gave the men their discharge. they came into his cabin presently, where he sat with his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands--the picture of discouragement and their spokesman said: "mr. sterling, when tim was down a week with his fall you kept him on half-wages and it was a mighty help to his family; whenever any of us was in trouble you've done what you could to help us out; you've acted fair and square with us every time, and i reckon we are men and know a man when we see him. we haven't got any faith in that hill, but we have a respect for a man that's got the pluck that you've showed; you've fought a good fight, with everybody agin you and if we had grub to go on, i'm d---d if we wouldn't stand by you till the cows come home! that is what the boys say. now we want to put in one parting blast for luck. we want to work three days more; if we don't find anything, we won't bring in no bill against you. that is what we've come to say." philip was touched. if he had had money enough to buy three days' "grub" he would have accepted the generous offer, but as it was, he could not consent to be less magnanimous than the men, and so he declined in a manly speech; shook hands all around and resumed his solitary communings. the men went back to the tunnel and "put in a parting blast for luck" anyhow. they did a full day's work and then took their leave. they called at his cabin and gave him good-bye, but were not able to tell him their day's effort had given things a mere promising look. the next day philip sold all the tools but two or three sets; he also sold one of the now deserted cabins as old, lumber, together with its domestic wares; and made up his mind that he would buy, provisions with the trifle of money thus gained and continue his work alone. about the middle of the after noon he put on his roughest clothes and went to the tunnel. he lit a candle and groped his way in. presently he heard the sound of a pick or a drill, and wondered, what it meant. a spark of light now appeared in the far end of the tunnel, and when he arrived there he found the man tim at work. tim said: "i'm to have a job in the golden brier mine by and by--in a week or ten days--and i'm going to work here till then. a man might as well be at some thing, and besides i consider that i owe you what you paid me when i was laid up." philip said, oh, no, he didn't owe anything; but tim persisted, and then philip said he had a little provision now, and would share. so for several days philip held the drill and tim did the striking. at first philip was impatient to see the result of every blast, and was always back and peering among the smoke the moment after the explosion. but there was never any encouraging result; and therefore he finally lost almost all interest, and hardly troubled himself to inspect results at all. he simply labored on, stubbornly and with little hope. tim staid with him till the last moment, and then took up his job at the golden brier, apparently as depressed by the continued barrenness of their mutual labors as philip was himself. after that, philip fought his battle alone, day after day, and slow work it was; he could scarcely see that he made any progress. late one afternoon he finished drilling a hole which he had been at work at for more than two hours; he swabbed it out, and poured in the powder and inserted the fuse; then filled up the rest of the hole with dirt and small fragments of stone; tamped it down firmly, touched his candle to the fuse, and ran. by and by the i dull report came, and he was about to walk back mechanically and see what was accomplished; but he halted; presently turned on his heel and thought, rather than said: "no, this is useless, this is absurd. if i found anything it would only be one of those little aggravating seams of coal which doesn't mean anything, and--" by this time he was walking out of the tunnel. his thought ran on: "i am conquered . . . . . . i am out of provisions, out of money. . . . . i have got to give it up . . . . . . all this hard work lost! but i am not conquered! i will go and work for money, and come back and have another fight with fate. ah me, it may be years, it may, be years." arrived at the mouth of the tunnel, he threw his coat upon the ground, sat down on, a stone, and his eye sought the westering sun and dwelt upon the charming landscape which stretched its woody ridges, wave upon wave, to the golden horizon. something was taking place at his feet which did not attract his attention. his reverie continued, and its burden grew more and more gloomy. presently he rose up and, cast a look far away toward the valley, and his thoughts took a new direction: "there it is! how good it looks! but down there is not up here. well, i will go home and pack up--there is nothing else to do" he moved off moodily toward his cabin. he had gone some distance before he thought of his coat; then he was about to turn back, but he smiled at the thought, and continued his journey--such a coat as that could be of little use in a civilized land; a little further on, he remembered that there were some papers of value in one of the pockets of the relic, and then with a penitent ejaculation he turned back picked up the coat and put it on. he made a dozen steps, and then stopped very suddenly. he stood still a moment, as one who is trying to believe something and cannot. he put a hand up over his shoulder and felt his back, and a great thrill shot through him. he grasped the skirt of the coat impulsively and another thrill followed. he snatched the coat from his back, glanced at it, threw it from him and flew back to the tunnel. he sought the spot where the coat had lain--he had to look close, for the light was waning--then to make sure, he put his hand to the ground and a little stream of water swept against his fingers: "thank god, i've struck it at last!" he lit a candle and ran into the tunnel; he picked up a piece of rubbish cast out by the last blast, and said: "this clayey stuff is what i've longed for--i know what is behind it." he swung his pick with hearty good will till long after the darkness had gathered upon the earth, and when he trudged home at length he knew he had a coal vein and that it was seven feet thick from wall to wall. he found a yellow envelope lying on his rickety table, and recognized that it was of a family sacred to the transmission of telegrams. he opened it, read it, crushed it in his hand and threw it down. it simply said: "ruth is very ill." chapter lxiii. it was evening when philip took the cars at the ilium station. the news of, his success had preceded him, and while he waited for the train, he was the center of a group of eager questioners, who asked him a hundred things about the mine, and magnified his good fortune. there was no mistake this time. philip, in luck, had become suddenly a person of consideration, whose speech was freighted with meaning, whose looks were all significant. the words of the proprietor of a rich coal mine have a golden sound, and his common sayings are repeated as if they were solid wisdom. philip wished to be alone; his good fortune at this moment seemed an empty mockery, one of those sarcasms of fate, such as that which spreads a dainty banquet for the man who has no appetite. he had longed for success principally for ruth's sake; and perhaps now, at this very moment of his triumph, she was dying. "shust what i said, mister sederling," the landlord of the ilium hotel kept repeating. "i dold jake schmidt he find him dere shust so sure as noting." "you ought to have taken a share, mr. dusenheimer," said philip. "yaas, i know. but d'old woman, she say 'you sticks to your pisiness. so i sticks to 'em. und i makes noting. dat mister prierly, he don't never come back here no more, ain't it?" "why?" asked philip. "vell, dere is so many peers, and so many oder dhrinks, i got 'em all set down, ven he coomes back." it was a long night for philip, and a restless one. at any other time the swing of the cars would have lulled him to sleep, and the rattle and clank of wheels and rails, the roar of the whirling iron would have only been cheerful reminders of swift and safe travel. now they were voices of warning and taunting; and instead of going rapidly the train seemed to crawl at a snail's pace. and it not only crawled, but it frequently stopped; and when it stopped it stood dead still and there was an ominous silence. was anything the matter, he wondered. only a station probably. perhaps, he thought, a telegraphic station. and then he listened eagerly. would the conductor open the door and ask for philip sterling, and hand him a fatal dispatch? how long they seemed to wait. and then slowly beginning to move, they were off again, shaking, pounding, screaming through the night. he drew his curtain from time to time and looked out. there was the lurid sky line of the wooded range along the base of which they were crawling. there was the susquehannah, gleaming in the moon-light. there was a stretch of level valley with silent farm houses, the occupants all at rest, without trouble, without anxiety. there was a church, a graveyard, a mill, a village; and now, without pause or fear, the train had mounted a trestle-work high in air and was creeping along the top of it while a swift torrent foamed a hundred feet below. what would the morning bring? even while he was flying to her, her gentle spirit might have gone on another flight, whither he could not follow her. he was full of foreboding. he fell at length into a restless doze. there was a noise in his ears as of a rushing torrent when a stream is swollen by a freshet in the spring. it was like the breaking up of life; he was struggling in the consciousness of coming death: when ruth stood by his side, clothed in white, with a face like that of an angel, radiant, smiling, pointing to the sky, and saying, "come." he awoke with a cry--the train was roaring through a bridge, and it shot out into daylight. when morning came the train was industriously toiling along through the fat lands of lancaster, with its broad farms of corn and wheat, its mean houses of stone, its vast barns and granaries, built as if, for storing the riches of heliogabalus. then came the smiling fields of chester, with their english green, and soon the county of philadelphia itself, and the increasing signs of the approach to a great city. long trains of coal cars, laden and unladen, stood upon sidings; the tracks of other roads were crossed; the smoke of other locomotives was seen on parallel lines; factories multiplied; streets appeared; the noise of a busy city began to fill the air;--and with a slower and slower clank on the connecting rails and interlacing switches the train rolled into the station and stood still. it was a hot august morning. the broad streets glowed in the sun, and the white-shuttered houses stared at the hot thoroughfares like closed bakers' ovens set along the highway. philip was oppressed with the heavy air; the sweltering city lay as in a swoon. taking a street car, he rode away to the northern part of the city, the newer portion, formerly the district of spring garden, for in this the boltons now lived, in a small brick house, befitting their altered fortunes. he could scarcely restrain his impatience when he came in sight of the house. the window shutters were not "bowed"; thank god, for that. ruth was still living, then. he ran up the steps and rang. mrs. bolton met him at the door. "thee is very welcome, philip." "and ruth?" "she is very ill, but quieter than, she has been, and the fever is a little abating. the most dangerous time will be when the fever leaves her. the doctor fears she will not have strength enough to rally from it. yes, thee can see her." mrs. bolton led the way to the little chamber where ruth lay. "oh," said her mother, "if she were only in her cool and spacious room in our old home. she says that seems like heaven." mr. bolton sat by ruth's bedside, and he rose and silently pressed philip's hand. the room had but one window; that was wide open to admit the air, but the air that came in was hot and lifeless. upon the table stood a vase of flowers. ruth's eyes were closed; her cheeks were flushed with fever, and she moved her head restlessly as if in pain. "ruth," said her mother, bending over her, "philip is here." ruth's eyes unclosed, there was a gleam of recognition in them, there was an attempt at a smile upon her face, and she tried to raise her thin hand, as philip touched her forehead with his lips; and he heard her murmur, "dear phil." there was nothing to be done but to watch and wait for the cruel fever to burn itself out. dr. longstreet told philip that the fever had undoubtedly been contracted in the hospital, but it was not malignant, and would be little dangerous if ruth were not so worn down with work, or if she had a less delicate constitution. "it is only her indomitable will that has kept her up for weeks. and if that should leave her now, there will be no hope. you can do more for her now, sir, than i can?" "how?" asked philip eagerly. "your presence, more than anything else, will inspire her with the desire to live." when the fever turned, ruth was in a very critical condition. for two days her life was like the fluttering of a lighted candle in the wind. philip was constantly by her side, and she seemed to be conscious of his presence, and to cling to him, as one borne away by a swift stream clings to a stretched-out hand from the shore. if he was absent a moment her restless eyes sought something they were disappointed not to find. philip so yearned to bring her back to life, he willed it so strongly and passionately, that his will appeared to affect hers and she seemed slowly to draw life from his. after two days of this struggle with the grasping enemy, it was evident to dr. longstreet that ruth's will was beginning to issue its orders to her body with some force, and that strength was slowly coming back. in another day there was a decided improvement. as philip sat holding her weak hand and watching the least sign of resolution in her face, ruth was able to whisper, "i so want to live, for you, phil!" "you will; darling, you must," said philip in a tone of faith and courage that carried a thrill of determination--of command--along all her nerves. slowly philip drew her back to life. slowly she came back, as one willing but well nigh helpless. it was new for ruth to feel this dependence on another's nature, to consciously draw strength of will from the will of another. it was a new but a dear joy, to be lifted up and carried back into the happy world, which was now all aglow with the light of love; to be lifted and carried by the one she loved more than her own life. "sweetheart," she said to philip, "i would not have cared to come back but for thy love." "not for thy profession?" "oh, thee may be glad enough of that some day, when thy coal bed is dug out and thee and father are in the air again." when ruth was able to ride she was taken into the country, for the pure air was necessary to her speedy recovery. the family went with her. philip could not be spared from her side, and mr. bolton had gone up to ilium to look into that wonderful coal mine and to make arrangements for developing it, and bringing its wealth to market. philip had insisted on re-conveying the ilium property to mr. bolton, retaining only the share originally contemplated for himself, and mr. bolton, therefore, once more found himself engaged in business and a person of some consequence in third street. the mine turned out even better than was at first hoped, and would, if judiciously managed, be a fortune to them all. this also seemed to be the opinion of mr. bigler, who heard of it as soon as anybody, and, with the impudence of his class called upon mr. bolton for a little aid in a patent car-wheel he had bought an interest in. that rascal, small, he said, had swindled him out of all he had. mr. bolton told him he was very sorry, and recommended him to sue small. mr. small also came with a similar story about mr. bigler; and mr. bolton had the grace to give him like advice. and he added, "if you and bigler will procure the indictment of each other, you may have the satisfaction of putting each other in the penitentiary for the forgery of my acceptances." bigler and small did not quarrel however. they both attacked mr. bolton behind his back as a swindler, and circulated the story that he had made a fortune by failing. in the pure air of the highlands, amid the golden glories of ripening september, ruth rapidly came back to health. how beautiful the world is to an invalid, whose senses are all clarified, who has been so near the world of spirits that she is sensitive to the finest influences, and whose frame responds with a thrill to the subtlest ministrations of soothing nature. mere life is a luxury, and the color of the grass, of the flowers, of the sky, the wind in the trees, the outlines of the horizon, the forms of clouds, all give a pleasure as exquisite as the sweetest music to the ear famishing for it. the world was all new and fresh to ruth, as if it had just been created for her, and love filled it, till her heart was overflowing with happiness. it was golden september also at fallkill. and alice sat by the open window in her room at home, looking out upon the meadows where the laborers were cutting the second crop of clover. the fragrance of it floated to her nostrils. perhaps she did not mind it. she was thinking. she had just been writing to ruth, and on the table before her was a yellow piece of paper with a faded four-leaved clover pinned on it--only a memory now. in her letter to ruth she had poured out her heartiest blessings upon them both, with her dear love forever and forever. "thank god," she said, "they will never know" they never would know. and the world never knows how many women there are like alice, whose sweet but lonely lives of self-sacrifice, gentle, faithful, loving souls, bless it continually. "she is a dear girl," said philip, when ruth showed him the letter. "yes, phil, and we can spare a great deal of love for her, our own lives are so full." appendix. perhaps some apology to the reader is necessary in view of our failure to find laura's father. we supposed, from the ease with which lost persons are found in novels, that it would not be difficult. but it was; indeed, it was impossible; and therefore the portions of the narrative containing the record of the search have been stricken out. not because they were not interesting--for they were; but inasmuch as the man was not found, after all, it did not seem wise to harass and excite the reader to no purpose. the authors the gilded age a tale of today by mark twain and charles dudley warner part . chapter xix. mr. harry brierly drew his pay as an engineer while he was living at the city hotel in hawkeye. mr. thompson had been kind enough to say that it didn't make any difference whether he was with the corps or not; and although harry protested to the colonel daily and to washington hawkins that he must go back at once to the line and superintend the lay-out with reference to his contract, yet he did not go, but wrote instead long letters to philip, instructing him to keep his eye out, and to let him know when any difficulty occurred that required his presence. meantime harry blossomed out in the society of hawkeye, as he did in any society where fortune cast him and he had the slightest opportunity to expand. indeed the talents of a rich and accomplished young fellow like harry were not likely to go unappreciated in such a place. a land operator, engaged in vast speculations, a favorite in the select circles of new york, in correspondence with brokers and bankers, intimate with public men at washington, one who could play the guitar and touch the banjo lightly, and who had an eye for a pretty girl, and knew the language of flattery, was welcome everywhere in hawkeye. even miss laura hawkins thought it worth while to use her fascinations upon him, and to endeavor to entangle the volatile fellow in the meshes of her attractions. "gad," says harry to the colonel, "she's a superb creature, she'd make a stir in new york, money or no money. there are men i know would give her a railroad or an opera house, or whatever she wanted--at least they'd promise." harry had a way of looking at women as he looked at anything else in the world he wanted, and he half resolved to appropriate miss laura, during his stay in hawkeye. perhaps the colonel divined his thoughts, or was offended at harry's talk, for he replied, "no nonsense, mr. brierly. nonsense won't do in hawkeye, not with my friends. the hawkins' blood is good blood, all the way from tennessee. the hawkinses are under the weather now, but their tennessee property is millions when it comes into market." "of course, colonel. not the least offense intended. but you can see she is a fascinating woman. i was only thinking, as to this appropriation, now, what such a woman could do in washington. all correct, too, all correct. common thing, i assure you in washington; the wives of senators, representatives, cabinet officers, all sorts of wives, and some who are not wives, use their influence. you want an appointment? do you go to senator x? not much. you get on the right side of his wife. is it an appropriation? you'd go 'straight to the committee, or to the interior office, i suppose? you'd learn better than that. it takes a woman to get any thing through the land office: i tell you, miss laura would fascinate an appropriation right through the senate and the house of representatives in one session, if she was in washington, as your friend, colonel, of course as your friend." "would you have her sign our petition?" asked the colonel, innocently. harry laughed. "women don't get anything by petitioning congress; nobody does, that's for form. petitions are referred somewhere, and that's the last of them; you can't refer a handsome woman so easily, when she is present. they prefer 'em mostly." the petition however was elaborately drawn up, with a glowing description of napoleon and the adjacent country, and a statement of the absolute necessity to the prosperity of that region and of one of the stations on the great through route to the pacific, of the, immediate improvement of columbus river; to this was appended a map of the city and a survey of the river. it was signed by all the people at stone's landing who could write their names, by col. beriah sellers, and the colonel agreed to have the names headed by all the senators and representatives from the state and by a sprinkling of ex-governors and ex-members of congress. when completed it was a formidable document. its preparation and that of more minute plots of the new city consumed the valuable time of sellers and harry for many weeks, and served to keep them both in the highest spirits. in the eyes of washington hawkins, harry was a superior being, a man who was able to bring things to pass in a way that excited his enthusiasm. he never tired of listening to his stories of what he had done and of what he was going to do. as for washington, harry thought he was a man of ability and comprehension, but "too visionary," he told the colonel. the colonel said he might be right, but he had never noticed anything visionary about him. "he's got his plans, sir. god bless my soul, at his age, i was full of plans. but experience sobers a man, i never touch any thing now that hasn't been weighed in my judgment; and when beriah sellers puts his judgment on a thing, there it is." whatever might have been harry's intentions with regard to laura, he saw more and more of her every day, until he got to be restless and nervous when he was not with her. that consummate artist in passion allowed him to believe that the fascination was mainly on his side, and so worked upon his vanity, while inflaming his ardor, that he scarcely knew what he was about. her coolness and coyness were even made to appear the simple precautions of a modest timidity, and attracted him even more than the little tendernesses into which she was occasionally surprised. he could never be away from her long, day or evening; and in a short time their intimacy was the town talk. she played with him so adroitly that harry thought she was absorbed in love for him, and yet he was amazed that he did not get on faster in his conquest. and when he thought of it, he was piqued as well. a country girl, poor enough, that was evident; living with her family in a cheap and most unattractive frame house, such as carpenters build in america, scantily furnished and unadorned; without the adventitious aids of dress or jewels or the fine manners of society--harry couldn't understand it. but she fascinated him, and held him just beyond the line of absolute familiarity at the same time. while he was with her she made him forget that the hawkins' house was nothing but a wooden tenement, with four small square rooms on the ground floor and a half story; it might have been a palace for aught he knew. perhaps laura was older than harry. she was, at any rate, at that ripe age when beauty in woman seems more solid than in the budding period of girlhood, and she had come to understand her powers perfectly, and to know exactly how much of the susceptibility and archness of the girl it was profitable to retain. she saw that many women, with the best intentions, make a mistake of carrying too much girlishness into womanhood. such a woman would have attracted harry at any time, but only a woman with a cool brain and exquisite art could have made him lose his head in this way; for harry thought himself a man of the world. the young fellow never dreamed that he was merely being experimented on; he was to her a man of another society and another culture, different from that she had any knowledge of except in books, and she was not unwilling to try on him the fascinations of her mind and person. for laura had her dreams. she detested the narrow limits in which her lot was cast, she hated poverty. much of her reading had been of modern works of fiction, written by her own sex, which had revealed to her something of her own powers and given her indeed, an exaggerated notion of the influence, the wealth, the position a woman may attain who has beauty and talent and ambition and a little culture, and is not too scrupulous in the use of them. she wanted to be rich, she wanted luxury, she wanted men at her feet, her slaves, and she had not--thanks to some of the novels she had read--the nicest discrimination between notoriety and reputation; perhaps she did not know how fatal notoriety usually is to the bloom of womanhood. with the other hawkins children laura had been brought up in the belief that they had inherited a fortune in the tennessee lands. she did not by any means share all the delusion of the family; but her brain was not seldom busy with schemes about it. washington seemed to her only to dream of it and to be willing to wait for its riches to fall upon him in a golden shower; but she was impatient, and wished she were a man to take hold of the business. "you men must enjoy your schemes and your activity and liberty to go about the world," she said to harry one day, when he had been talking of new york and washington and his incessant engagements. "oh, yes," replied that martyr to business, "it's all well enough, if you don't have too much of it, but it only has one object." "what is that?" "if a woman doesn't know, it's useless to tell her. what do you suppose i am staying in hawkeye for, week after week, when i ought to be with my corps?" "i suppose it's your business with col. sellers about napoleon, you've always told me so," answered laura, with a look intended to contradict her words. "and now i tell you that is all arranged, i suppose you'll tell me i ought to go?" "harry!" exclaimed laura, touching his arm and letting her pretty hand rest there a moment. "why should i want you to go away? the only person in hawkeye who understands me." "but you refuse to understand me," replied harry, flattered but still petulant. "you are like an iceberg, when we are alone." laura looked up with wonder in her great eyes, and something like a blush suffusing her face, followed by a look of langour that penetrated harry's heart as if it had been longing. "did i ever show any want of confidence in you, harry?" and she gave him her hand, which harry pressed with effusion--something in her manner told him that he must be content with that favor. it was always so. she excited his hopes and denied him, inflamed his passion and restrained it, and wound him in her toils day by day. to what purpose? it was keen delight to laura to prove that she had power over men. laura liked to hear about life at the east, and especially about the luxurious society in which mr. brierly moved when he was at home. it pleased her imagination to fancy herself a queen in it. "you should be a winter in washington," harry said. "but i have no acquaintances there." "don't know any of the families of the congressmen? they like to have a pretty woman staying with them." "not one." "suppose col. sellers should, have business there; say, about this columbus river appropriation?" "sellers!" and laura laughed. "you needn't laugh. queerer things have happened. sellers knows everybody from missouri, and from the west, too, for that matter. he'd introduce you to washington life quick enough. it doesn't need a crowbar to break your way into society there as it does in philadelphia. it's democratic, washington is. money or beauty will open any door. if i were a handsome woman, i shouldn't want any better place than the capital to pick up a prince or a fortune." "thank you," replied laura. "but i prefer the quiet of home, and the love of those i know;" and her face wore a look of sweet contentment and unworldliness that finished mr. harry brierly for the day. nevertheless, the hint that harry had dropped fell upon good ground, and bore fruit an hundred fold; it worked in her mind until she had built up a plan on it, and almost a career for herself. why not, she said, why shouldn't i do as other women have done? she took the first opportunity to see col. sellers, and to sound him about the washington visit. how was he getting on with his navigation scheme, would it be likely to take him from home to jefferson city; or to washington, perhaps? "well, maybe. if the people of napoleon want me to go to washington, and look after that matter, i might tear myself from my home. it's been suggested to me, but--not a word of it to mrs. sellers and the children. maybe they wouldn't like to think of their father in washington. but dilworthy, senator dilworthy, says to me, 'colonel, you are the man, you could influence more votes than any one else on such a measure, an old settler, a man of the people, you know the wants of missouri; you've a respect for religion too, says he, and know how the cause of the gospel goes with improvements: which is true enough, miss laura, and hasn't been enough thought of in connection with napoleon. he's an able man, dilworthy, and a good man. a man has got to be good to succeed as he has. he's only been in congress a few years, and he must be worth a million. first thing in the morning when he stayed with me he asked about family prayers, whether we had 'em before or after breakfast. i hated to disappoint the senator, but i had to out with it, tell him we didn't have 'em, not steady. he said he understood, business interruptions and all that, some men were well enough without, but as for him he never neglected the ordinances of religion. he doubted if the columbus river appropriation would succeed if we did not invoke the divine blessing on it." perhaps it is unnecessary to say to the reader that senator dilworthy had not stayed with col. sellers while he was in hawkeye; this visit to his house being only one of the colonel's hallucinations--one of those instant creations of his fertile fancy, which were always flashing into his brain and out of his mouth in the course of any conversation and without interrupting the flow of it. during the summer philip rode across the country and made a short visit in hawkeye, giving harry an opportunity to show him the progress that he and the colonel had made in their operation at stone's landing, to introduce him also to laura, and to borrow a little money when he departed. harry bragged about his conquest, as was his habit, and took philip round to see his western prize. laura received mr. philip with a courtesy and a slight hauteur that rather surprised and not a little interested him. he saw at once that she was older than harry, and soon made up his mind that she was leading his friend a country dance to which he was unaccustomed. at least he thought he saw that, and half hinted as much to harry, who flared up at once; but on a second visit philip was not so sure, the young lady was certainly kind and friendly and almost confiding with harry, and treated philip with the greatest consideration. she deferred to his opinions, and listened attentively when he talked, and in time met his frank manner with an equal frankness, so that he was quite convinced that whatever she might feel towards harry, she was sincere with him. perhaps his manly way did win her liking. perhaps in her mind, she compared him with harry, and recognized in him a man to whom a woman might give her whole soul, recklessly and with little care if she lost it. philip was not invincible to her beauty nor to the intellectual charm of her presence. the week seemed very short that he passed in hawkeye, and when he bade laura good by, he seemed to have known her a year. "we shall see you again, mr. sterling," she said as she gave him her hand, with just a shade of sadness in her handsome eyes. and when he turned away she followed him with a look that might have disturbed his serenity, if he had not at the moment had a little square letter in his breast pocket, dated at philadelphia, and signed "ruth." chapter xx. the visit of senator abner dilworthy was an event in hawkeye. when a senator, whose place is in washington moving among the great and guiding the destinies of the nation, condescends to mingle among the people and accept the hospitalities of such a place as hawkeye, the honor is not considered a light one. all, parties are flattered by it and politics are forgotten in the presence of one so distinguished among his fellows. senator dilworthy, who was from a neighboring state, had been a unionist in the darkest days of his country, and had thriven by it, but was that any reason why col. sellers, who had been a confederate and had not thriven by it, should give him the cold shoulder? the senator was the guest of his old friend gen. boswell, but it almost appeared that he was indebted to col. sellers for the unreserved hospitalities of the town. it was the large hearted colonel who, in a manner, gave him the freedom of the city. "you are known here, sir," said the colonel, "and hawkeye is proud of you. you will find every door open, and a welcome at every hearthstone. i should insist upon your going to my house, if you were not claimed by your older friend gen. boswell. but you will mingle with our people, and you will see here developments that will surprise you." the colonel was so profuse in his hospitality that he must have made the impression upon himself that he had entertained the senator at his own mansion during his stay; at any rate, he afterwards always spoke of him as his guest, and not seldom referred to the senator's relish of certain viands on his table. he did, in fact, press him to dine upon the morning of the day the senator was going away. senator dilworthy was large and portly, though not tall--a pleasant spoken man, a popular man with the people. he took a lively interest in the town and all the surrounding country, and made many inquiries as to the progress of agriculture, of education, and of religion, and especially as to the condition of the emancipated race. "providence," he said, "has placed them in our hands, and although you and i, general, might have chosen a different destiny for them, under the constitution, yet providence knows best." "you can't do much with 'em," interrupted col. sellers. "they are a speculating race, sir, disinclined to work for white folks without security, planning how to live by only working for themselves. idle, sir, there's my garden just a ruin of weeds. nothing practical in 'em." "there is some truth in your observation, colonel, but you must educate them." "you educate the niggro and you make him more speculating than he was before. if he won't stick to any industry except for himself now, what will he do then?" "but, colonel, the negro when educated will be more able to make his speculations fruitful." "never, sir, never. he would only have a wider scope to injure himself. a niggro has no grasp, sir. now, a white man can conceive great operations, and carry them out; a niggro can't." "still," replied the senator, "granting that he might injure himself in a worldly point of view, his elevation through education would multiply his chances for the hereafter--which is the important thing after all, colonel. and no matter what the result is, we must fulfill our duty by this being." "i'd elevate his soul," promptly responded the colonel; "that's just it; you can't make his soul too immortal, but i wouldn't touch him, himself. yes, sir! make his soul immortal, but don't disturb the niggro as he is." of course one of the entertainments offered the senator was a public reception, held in the court house, at which he made a speech to his fellow citizens. col. sellers was master of ceremonies. he escorted the band from the city hotel to gen. boswell's; he marshalled the procession of masons, of odd fellows, and of firemen, the good templars, the sons of temperance, the cadets of temperance, the daughters of rebecca, the sunday school children, and citizens generally, which followed the senator to the court house; he bustled about the room long after every one else was seated, and loudly cried "order!" in the dead silence which preceded the introduction of the senator by gen. boswell. the occasion was one to call out his finest powers of personal appearance, and one he long dwelt on with pleasure. this not being an edition of the congressional globe it is impossible to give senator dilworthy's speech in full. he began somewhat as follows: "fellow citizens: it gives me great pleasure to thus meet and mingle with you, to lay aside for a moment the heavy duties of an official and burdensome station, and confer in familiar converse with my friends in your great state. the good opinion of my fellow citizens of all sections is the sweetest solace in all my anxieties. i look forward with longing to the time when i can lay aside the cares of office--" ["dam sight," shouted a tipsy fellow near the door. cries of "put him out."] "my friends, do not remove him. let the misguided man stay. i see that he is a victim of that evil which is swallowing up public virtue and sapping the foundation of society. as i was saying, when i can lay down the cares of office and retire to the sweets of private life in some such sweet, peaceful, intelligent, wide-awake and patriotic place as hawkeye (applause). i have traveled much, i have seen all parts of our glorious union, but i have never seen a lovelier village than yours, or one that has more signs of commercial and industrial and religious prosperity --(more applause)." the senator then launched into a sketch of our great country, and dwelt for an hour or more upon its prosperity and the dangers which threatened it. he then touched reverently upon the institutions of religion, and upon the necessity of private purity, if we were to have any public morality. "i trust," he said, "that there are children within the sound of my voice," and after some remarks to them, the senator closed with an apostrophe to "the genius of american liberty, walking with the sunday school in one hand and temperance in the other up the glorified steps of the national capitol." col. sellers did not of course lose the opportunity to impress upon so influential a person as the senator the desirability of improving the navigation of columbus river. he and mr. brierly took the senator over to napoleon and opened to him their plan. it was a plan that the senator could understand without a great deal of explanation, for he seemed to be familiar with the like improvements elsewhere. when, however, they reached stone's landing the senator looked about him and inquired, "is this napoleon?" "this is the nucleus, the nucleus," said the colonel, unrolling his map. "here is the deepo, the church, the city hall and so on." "ah, i see. how far from here is columbus river? does that stream empty----" "that, why, that's goose run. thar ain't no columbus, thout'n it's over to hawkeye," interrupted one of the citizens, who had come out to stare at the strangers. "a railroad come here last summer, but it haint been here no mo'." "yes, sir," the colonel hastened to explain, "in the old records columbus river is called goose run. you see how it sweeps round the town--forty-nine miles to the missouri; sloop navigation all the way pretty much, drains this whole country; when it's improved steamboats will run right up here. it's got to be enlarged, deepened. you see by the map. columbus river. this country must have water communication!" "you'll want a considerable appropriation, col. sellers. "i should say a million; is that your figure mr. brierly." "according to our surveys," said harry, "a million would do it; a million spent on the river would make napoleon worth two millions at least." "i see," nodded the senator. "but you'd better begin by asking only for two or three hundred thousand, the usual way. you can begin to sell town lots on that appropriation you know." the senator, himself, to do him justice, was not very much interested in the country or the stream, but he favored the appropriation, and he gave the colonel and mr. brierly to and understand that he would endeavor to get it through. harry, who thought he was shrewd and understood washington, suggested an interest. but he saw that the senator was wounded by the suggestion. "you will offend me by repeating such an observation," he said. "whatever i do will be for the public interest. it will require a portion of the appropriation for necessary expenses, and i am sorry to say that there are members who will have to be seen. but you can reckon upon my humble services." this aspect of the subject was not again alluded to. the senator possessed himself of the facts, not from his observation of the ground, but from the lips of col. sellers, and laid the appropriation scheme away among his other plans for benefiting the public. it was on this visit also that the senator made the acquaintance of mr. washington hawkins, and was greatly taken with his innocence, his guileless manner and perhaps with his ready adaptability to enter upon any plan proposed. col. sellers was pleased to see this interest that washington had awakened, especially since it was likely to further his expectations with regard to the tennessee lands; the senator having remarked to the colonel, that he delighted to help any deserving young man, when the promotion of a private advantage could at the same time be made to contribute to the general good. and he did not doubt that this was an opportunity of that kind. the result of several conferences with washington was that the senator proposed that he should go to washington with him and become his private secretary and the secretary of his committee; a proposal which was eagerly accepted. the senator spent sunday in hawkeye and attended church. he cheered the heart of the worthy and zealous minister by an expression of his sympathy in his labors, and by many inquiries in regard to the religious state of the region. it was not a very promising state, and the good man felt how much lighter his task would be, if he had the aid of such a man as senator dilworthy. "i am glad to see, my dear sir," said the senator, "that you give them the doctrines. it is owing to a neglect of the doctrines, that there is such a fearful falling away in the country. i wish that we might have you in washington--as chaplain, now, in the senate." the good man could not but be a little flattered, and if sometimes, thereafter, in his discouraging work, he allowed the thought that he might perhaps be called to washington as chaplain of the senate, to cheer him, who can wonder. the senator's commendation at least did one service for him, it elevated him in the opinion of hawkeye. laura was at church alone that day, and mr. brierly walked home with her. a part of their way lay with that of general boswell and senator dilworthy, and introductions were made. laura had her own reasons for wishing to know the senator, and the senator was not a man who could be called indifferent to charms such as hers. that meek young lady so commended herself to him in the short walk, that he announced his intentions of paying his respects to her the next day, an intention which harry received glumly; and when the senator was out of hearing he called him "an old fool." "fie," said laura, "i do believe you are jealous, harry. he is a very pleasant man. he said you were a young man of great promise." the senator did call next day, and the result of his visit was that he was confirmed in his impression that there was something about him very attractive to ladies. he saw laura again and again daring his stay, and felt more and more the subtle influence of her feminine beauty, which every man felt who came near her. harry was beside himself with rage while the senator remained in town; he declared that women were always ready to drop any man for higher game; and he attributed his own ill-luck to the senator's appearance. the fellow was in fact crazy about her beauty and ready to beat his brains out in chagrin. perhaps laura enjoyed his torment, but she soothed him with blandishments that increased his ardor, and she smiled to herself to think that he had, with all his protestations of love, never spoken of marriage. probably the vivacious fellow never had thought of it. at any rate when he at length went away from hawkeye he was no nearer it. but there was no telling to what desperate lengths his passion might not carry him. laura bade him good bye with tender regret, which, however, did not disturb her peace or interfere with her plans. the visit of senator dilworthy had become of more importance to her, and it by and by bore the fruit she longed for, in an invitation to visit his family in the national capital during the winter session of congress. chapter xxi. o lift your natures up: embrace our aims: work out your freedom. girls, knowledge is now no more a fountain sealed; drink deep until the habits of the slave, the sins of emptiness, gossip and spite and slander, die. the princess. whether medicine is a science, or only an empirical method of getting a living out of the ignorance of the human race, ruth found before her first term was over at the medical school that there were other things she needed to know quite as much as that which is taught in medical books, and that she could never satisfy her aspirations without more general culture. "does your doctor know any thing--i don't mean about medicine, but about things in general, is he a man of information and good sense?" once asked an old practitioner. "if he doesn't know any thing but medicine the chance is he doesn't know that:" the close application to her special study was beginning to tell upon ruth's delicate health also, and the summer brought with it only weariness and indisposition for any mental effort. in this condition of mind and body the quiet of her home and the unexciting companionship of those about her were more than ever tiresome. she followed with more interest philip's sparkling account of his life in the west, and longed for his experiences, and to know some of those people of a world so different from here, who alternately amused and displeased him. he at least was learning the world, the good and the bad of it, as must happen to every one who accomplishes anything in it. but what, ruth wrote, could a woman do, tied up by custom, and cast into particular circumstances out of which it was almost impossible to extricate herself? philip thought that he would go some day and extricate ruth, but he did not write that, for he had the instinct to know that this was not the extrication she dreamed of, and that she must find out by her own experience what her heart really wanted. philip was not a philosopher, to be sure, but he had the old fashioned notion, that whatever a woman's theories of life might be, she would come round to matrimony, only give her time. he could indeed recall to mind one woman--and he never knew a nobler--whose whole soul was devoted and who believed that her life was consecrated to a certain benevolent project in singleness of life, who yielded to the touch of matrimony, as an icicle yields to a sunbeam. neither at home nor elsewhere did ruth utter any complaint, or admit any weariness or doubt of her ability to pursue the path she had marked out for herself. but her mother saw clearly enough her struggle with infirmity, and was not deceived by either her gaiety or by the cheerful composure which she carried into all the ordinary duties that fell to her. she saw plainly enough that ruth needed an entire change of scene and of occupation, and perhaps she believed that such a change, with the knowledge of the world it would bring, would divert ruth from a course for which she felt she was physically entirely unfitted. it therefore suited the wishes of all concerned, when autumn came, that ruth should go away to school. she selected a large new england seminary, of which she had often heard philip speak, which was attended by both sexes and offered almost collegiate advantages of education. thither she went in september, and began for the second time in the year a life new to her. the seminary was the chief feature of fallkill, a village of two to three thousand inhabitants. it was a prosperous school, with three hundred students, a large corps of teachers, men and women, and with a venerable rusty row of academic buildings on the shaded square of the town. the students lodged and boarded in private families in the place, and so it came about that while the school did a great deal to support the town, the town gave the students society and the sweet influences of home life. it is at least respectful to say that the influences of home life are sweet. ruth's home, by the intervention of philip, was in a family--one of the rare exceptions in life or in fiction--that had never known better days. the montagues, it is perhaps well to say, had intended to come over in the mayflower, but were detained at delft haven by the illness of a child. they came over to massachusetts bay in another vessel, and thus escaped the onus of that brevet nobility under which the successors of the mayflower pilgrims have descended. having no factitious weight of dignity to carry, the montagues steadily improved their condition from the day they landed, and they were never more vigorous or prosperous than at the date of this narrative. with character compacted by the rigid puritan discipline of more than two centuries, they had retained its strength and purity and thrown off its narrowness, and were now blossoming under the generous modern influences. squire oliver montague, a lawyer who had retired from the practice of his profession except in rare cases, dwelt in a square old fashioned new england mile away from the green. it was called a mansion because it stood alone with ample fields about it, and had an avenue of trees leading to it from the road, and on the west commanded a view of a pretty little lake with gentle slopes and nodding were now blossoming under the generous modern influences. squire oliver montague, a lawyer who had retired from the practice of his profession except in rare cases, dwelt in a square old fashioned new england groves. but it was just a plain, roomy house, capable of extending to many guests an unpretending hospitality. the family consisted of the squire and his wife, a son and a daughter married and not at home, a son in college at cambridge, another son at the seminary, and a daughter alice, who was a year or more older than ruth. having only riches enough to be able to gratify reasonable desires, and yet make their gratifications always a novelty and a pleasure, the family occupied that just mean in life which is so rarely attained, and still more rarely enjoyed without discontent. if ruth did not find so much luxury in the house as in her own home, there were evidences of culture, of intellectual activity and of a zest in the affairs of all the world, which greatly impressed her. every room had its book-cases or book-shelves, and was more or less a library; upon every table was liable to be a litter of new books, fresh periodicals and daily newspapers. there were plants in the sunny windows and some choice engravings on the walls, with bits of color in oil or water-colors; the piano was sure to be open and strewn with music; and there were photographs and little souvenirs here and there of foreign travel. an absence of any "what-pots" in the corners with rows of cheerful shells, and hindoo gods, and chinese idols, and nests of use less boxes of lacquered wood, might be taken as denoting a languidness in the family concerning foreign missions, but perhaps unjustly. at any rate the life of the world flowed freely into this hospitable house, and there was always so much talk there of the news of the day, of the new books and of authors, of boston radicalism and new york civilization, and the virtue of congress, that small gossip stood a very poor chance. all this was in many ways so new to ruth that she seemed to have passed into another world, in which she experienced a freedom and a mental exhilaration unknown to her before. under this influence she entered upon her studies with keen enjoyment, finding for a time all the relaxation she needed, in the charming social life at the montague house. it is strange, she wrote to philip, in one of her occasional letters, that you never told me more about this delightful family, and scarcely mentioned alice who is the life of it, just the noblest girl, unselfish, knows how to do so many things, with lots of talent, with a dry humor, and an odd way of looking at things, and yet quiet and even serious often--one of your "capable" new england girls. we shall be great friends. it had never occurred to philip that there was any thing extraordinary about the family that needed mention. he knew dozens of girls like alice, he thought to himself, but only one like ruth. good friends the two girls were from the beginning. ruth was a study to alice; the product of a culture entirely foreign to her experience, so much a child in some things, so much a woman in others; and ruth in turn, it must be confessed, probing alice sometimes with her serious grey eyes, wondered what her object in life was, and whether she had any purpose beyond living as she now saw her. for she could scarcely conceive of a life that should not be devoted to the accomplishment of some definite work, and she had-no doubt that in her own case everything else would yield to the professional career she had marked out. "so you know philip sterling," said ruth one day as the girls sat at their sewing. ruth never embroidered, and never sewed when she could avoid it. bless her. "oh yes, we are old friends. philip used to come to fallkill often while he was in college. he was once rusticated here for a term." "rusticated?" "suspended for some college scrape. he was a great favorite here. father and he were famous friends. father said that philip had no end of nonsense in him and was always blundering into something, but he was a royal good fellow and would come out all right." "did you think he was fickle?" "why, i never thought whether he was or not," replied alice looking up. "i suppose he was always in love with some girl or another, as college boys are. he used to make me his confidant now and then, and be terribly in the dumps." "why did he come to you?" pursued ruth you were younger than he." "i'm sure i don't know. he was at our house a good deal. once at a picnic by the lake, at the risk of his own life, he saved sister millie from drowning, and we all liked to have him here. perhaps he thought as he had saved one sister, the other ought to help him when he was in trouble. i don't know." the fact was that alice was a person who invited confidences, because she never betrayed them, and gave abundant sympathy in return. there are persons, whom we all know, to whom human confidences, troubles and heart-aches flow as naturally its streams to a placid lake. this is not a history of fallkill, nor of the montague family, worthy as both are of that honor, and this narrative cannot be diverted into long loitering with them. if the reader visits the village to-day, he will doubtless be pointed out the montague dwelling, where ruth lived, the cross-lots path she traversed to the seminary, and the venerable chapel with its cracked bell. in the little society of the place, the quaker girl was a favorite, and no considerable social gathering or pleasure party was thought complete without her. there was something in this seemingly transparent and yet deep character, in her childlike gaiety and enjoyment of the society about her, and in her not seldom absorption in herself, that would have made her long remembered there if no events had subsequently occurred to recall her to mind. to the surprise of alice, ruth took to the small gaieties of the village with a zest of enjoyment that seemed foreign to one who had devoted her life to a serious profession from the highest motives. alice liked society well enough, she thought, but there was nothing exciting in that of fallkill, nor anything novel in the attentions of the well-bred young gentlemen one met in it. it must have worn a different aspect to ruth, for she entered into its pleasures at first with curiosity, and then with interest and finally with a kind of staid abandon that no one would have deemed possible for her. parties, picnics, rowing-matches, moonlight strolls, nutting expeditions in the october woods,--alice declared that it was a whirl of dissipation. the fondness of ruth, which was scarcely disguised, for the company of agreeable young fellows, who talked nothings, gave alice opportunity for no end of banter. "do you look upon them as i subjects, dear?" she would ask. and ruth laughed her merriest laugh, and then looked sober again. perhaps she was thinking, after all, whether she knew herself. if you should rear a duck in the heart of the sahara, no doubt it would swim if you brought it to the nile. surely no one would have predicted when ruth left philadelphia that she would become absorbed to this extent, and so happy, in a life so unlike that she thought she desired. but no one can tell how a woman will act under any circumstances. the reason novelists nearly always fail in depicting women when they make them act, is that they let them do what they have observed some woman has done at sometime or another. and that is where they make a mistake; for a woman will never do again what has been done before. it is this uncertainty that causes women, considered as materials for fiction, to be so interesting to themselves and to others. as the fall went on and the winter, ruth did not distinguish herself greatly at the fallkill seminary as a student, a fact that apparently gave her no anxiety, and did not diminish her enjoyment of a new sort of power which had awakened within her. chapter xxii. in mid-winter, an event occurred of unusual interest to the inhabitants of the montague house, and to the friends of the young ladies who sought their society. this was the arrival at the sassacua hotel of two young gentlemen from the west. it is the fashion in new england to give indian names to the public houses, not that the late lamented savage knew how to keep a hotel, but that his warlike name may impress the traveler who humbly craves shelter there, and make him grateful to the noble and gentlemanly clerk if he is allowed to depart with his scalp safe. the two young gentlemen were neither students for the fallkill seminary, nor lecturers on physiology, nor yet life assurance solicitors, three suppositions that almost exhausted the guessing power of the people at the hotel in respect to the names of "philip sterling and henry brierly, missouri," on the register. they were handsome enough fellows, that was evident, browned by out-door exposure, and with a free and lordly way about them that almost awed the hotel clerk himself. indeed, he very soon set down mr. brierly as a gentleman of large fortune, with enormous interests on his shoulders. harry had a way of casually mentioning western investments, through lines, the freighting business, and the route through the indian territory to lower california, which was calculated to give an importance to his lightest word. "you've a pleasant town here, sir, and the most comfortable looking hotel i've seen out of new york," said harry to the clerk; "we shall stay here a few days if you can give us a roomy suite of apartments." harry usually had the best of everything, wherever he went, as such fellows always do have in this accommodating world. philip would have been quite content with less expensive quarters, but there was no resisting harry's generosity in such matters. railroad surveying and real-estate operations were at a standstill during the winter in missouri, and the young men had taken advantage of the lull to come east, philip to see if there was any disposition in his friends, the railway contractors, to give him a share in the salt lick union pacific extension, and harry to open out to his uncle the prospects of the new city at stone's landing, and to procure congressional appropriations for the harbor and for making goose run navigable. harry had with him a map of that noble stream and of the harbor, with a perfect net-work of railroads centering in it, pictures of wharves, crowded with steamboats, and of huge grain-elevators on the bank, all of which grew out of the combined imaginations of col. sellers and mr. brierly. the colonel had entire confidence in harry's influence with wall street, and with congressmen, to bring about the consummation of their scheme, and he waited his return in the empty house at hawkeye, feeding his pinched family upon the most gorgeous expectations with a reckless prodigality. "don't let 'em into the thing more than is necessary," says the colonel to harry; "give 'em a small interest; a lot apiece in the suburbs of the landing ought to do a congressman, but i reckon you'll have to mortgage a part of the city itself to the brokers." harry did not find that eagerness to lend money on stone's landing in wall street which col. sellers had expected, (it had seen too many such maps as he exhibited), although his uncle and some of the brokers looked with more favor on the appropriation for improving the navigation of columbus river, and were not disinclined to form a company for that purpose. an appropriation was a tangible thing, if you could get hold of it, and it made little difference what it was appropriated for, so long as you got hold of it. pending these weighty negotiations, philip has persuaded harry to take a little run up to fallkill, a not difficult task, for that young man would at any time have turned his back upon all the land in the west at sight of a new and pretty face, and he had, it must be confessed, a facility in love making which made it not at all an interference with the more serious business of life. he could not, to be sure, conceive how philip could be interested in a young lady who was studying medicine, but he had no objection to going, for he did not doubt that there were other girls in fallkill who were worth a week's attention. the young men were received at the house of the montagues with the hospitality which never failed there. "we are glad to see you again," exclaimed the squire heartily, "you are welcome mr. brierly, any friend of phil's is welcome at our house" "it's more like home to me, than any place except my own home," cried philip, as he looked about the cheerful house and went through a general hand-shaking. "it's a long time, though, since you have been here to say so," alice said, with her father's frankness of manner; "and i suspect we owe the visit now to your sudden interest in the fallkill seminary." philip's color came, as it had an awkward way of doing in his tell-tale face, but before he could stammer a reply, harry came in with, "that accounts for phil's wish to build a seminary at stone's landing, our place in missouri, when col. sellers insisted it should be a university. phil appears to have a weakness for seminaries." "it would have been better for your friend sellers," retorted philip, "if he had had a weakness for district schools. col. sellers, miss alice, is a great friend of harry's, who is always trying to build a house by beginning at the top." "i suppose it's as easy to build a university on paper as a seminary, and it looks better," was harry's reflection; at which the squire laughed, and said he quite agreed with him. the old gentleman understood stone's landing a good deal better than he would have done after an hour's talk with either of it's expectant proprietors. at this moment, and while philip was trying to frame a question that he found it exceedingly difficult to put into words, the door opened quietly, and ruth entered. taking in the, group with a quick glance, her eye lighted up, and with a merry smile she advanced and shook hands with philip. she was so unconstrained and sincerely cordial, that it made that hero of the west feel somehow young, and very ill at ease. for months and months he had thought of this meeting and pictured it to himself a hundred times, but he had never imagined it would be like this. he should meet ruth unexpectedly, as she was walking alone from the school, perhaps, or entering the room where he was waiting for her, and she would cry "oh! phil," and then check herself, and perhaps blush, and philip calm but eager and enthusiastic, would reassure her by his warm manner, and he would take her hand impressively, and she would look up timidly, and, after his' long absence, perhaps he would be permitted to good heavens, how many times he had come to this point, and wondered if it could happen so. well, well; he had never supposed that he should be the one embarrassed, and above all by a sincere and cordial welcome. "we heard you were at the sassacus house," were ruth's first words; "and this i suppose is your friend?" "i beg your pardon," philip at length blundered out, "this is mr. brierly of whom i have written you." and ruth welcomed harry with a friendliness that philip thought was due to his friend, to be sure, but which seemed to him too level with her reception of himself, but which harry received as his due from the other sex. questions were asked about the journey and about the west, and the conversation became a general one, until philip at length found himself talking with the squire in relation to land and railroads and things he couldn't keep his mind on especially as he heard ruth and harry in an animated discourse, and caught the words "new york," and "opera," and "reception," and knew that harry was giving his imagination full range in the world of fashion. harry knew all about the opera, green room and all (at least he said so) and knew a good many of the operas and could make very entertaining stories of their plots, telling how the soprano came in here, and the basso here, humming the beginning of their airs--tum-ti-tum-ti-ti --suggesting the profound dissatisfaction of the basso recitative--down --among--the--dead--men--and touching off the whole with an airy grace quite captivating; though he couldn't have sung a single air through to save himself, and he hadn't an ear to know whether it was sung correctly. all the same he doted on the opera, and kept a box there, into which he lounged occasionally to hear a favorite scene and meet his society friends. if ruth was ever in the city he should be happy to place his box at the disposal of ruth and her friends. needless to say that she was delighted with the offer. when she told philip of it, that discreet young fellow only smiled, and said that he hoped she would be fortunate enough to be in new york some evening when harry had not already given the use of his private box to some other friend. the squire pressed the visitors to let him send for their trunks and urged them to stay at his house, and alice joined in the invitation, but philip had reasons for declining. they staid to supper, however, and in; the evening philip had a long talk apart with ruth, a delightful hour to him, in which she spoke freely of herself as of old, of her studies at philadelphia and of her plans, and she entered into his adventures and prospects in the west with a genuine and almost sisterly interest; an interest, however, which did not exactly satisfy philip--it was too general and not personal enough to suit him. and with all her freedom in speaking of her own hopes, philip could not, detect any reference to himself in them; whereas he never undertook anything that he did not think of ruth in connection with it, he never made a plan that had not reference to her, and he never thought of anything as complete if she could not share it. fortune, reputation these had no value to him except in ruth's eyes, and there were times when it seemed to him that if ruth was not on this earth, he should plunge off into some remote wilderness and live in a purposeless seclusion. "i hoped," said philip; "to get a little start in connection with this new railroad, and make a little money, so that i could came east and engage in something more suited to my tastes. i shouldn't like to live in the west. would you? "it never occurred to me whether i would or not," was the unembarrassed reply. "one of our graduates went to chicago, and has a nice practice there. i don't know where i shall go. it would mortify mother dreadfully to have me driving about philadelphia in a doctor's gig." philip laughed at the idea of it. "and does it seem as necessary to you to do it as it did before you came to fallkill?" it was a home question, and went deeper than philip knew, for ruth at once thought of practicing her profession among the young gentlemen and ladies of her acquaintance in the village; but she was reluctant to admit to herself that her notions of a career had undergone any change. "oh, i don't think i should come to fallkill to practice, but i must do something when i am through school; and why not medicine?" philip would like to have explained why not, but the explanation would be of no use if it were not already obvious to ruth. harry was equally in his element whether instructing squire montague about the investment of capital in missouri, the improvement of columbus river, the project he and some gentlemen in new york had for making a shorter pacific connection with the mississippi than the present one; or diverting mrs. montague with his experience in cooking in camp; or drawing for miss alice an amusing picture of the social contrasts of new england and the border where he had been. harry was a very entertaining fellow, having his imagination to help his memory, and telling his stories as if he believed them--as perhaps he did. alice was greatly amused with harry and listened so seriously to his romancing that he exceeded his usual limits. chance allusions to his bachelor establishment in town and the place of his family on the hudson, could not have been made by a millionaire, more naturally. "i should think," queried alice, "you would rather stay in new york than to try the rough life at the west you have been speaking of." "oh, adventure," says harry, "i get tired of new york. and besides i got involved in some operations that i had to see through. parties in new york only last week wanted me to go down into arizona in a big diamond interest. i told them, no, no speculation for me. i've got my interests in missouri; and i wouldn't leave philip, as long as he stays there." when the young gentlemen were on their way back to the hotel, mr. philip, who was not in very good humor, broke out, "what the deuce, harry, did you go on in that style to the montagues for?" "go on?" cried harry. "why shouldn't i try to make a pleasant evening? and besides, ain't i going to do those things? what difference does it make about the mood and tense of a mere verb? didn't uncle tell me only last saturday, that i might as well go down to arizona and hunt for diamonds? a fellow might as well make a good impression as a poor one." "nonsense. you'll get to believing your own romancing by and by." "well, you'll see. when sellers and i get that appropriation, i'll show you an establishment in town and another on the hudson and a box at the opera." "yes, it will be like col. sellers' plantation at hawkeye. did you ever see that?" "now, don't be cross, phil. she's just superb, that little woman. you never told me." "who's just superb?" growled philip, fancying this turn of the conversation less than the other. "well, mrs. montague, if you must know." and harry stopped to light a cigar, and then puffed on in silence. the little quarrel didn't last over night, for harry never appeared to cherish any ill-will half a second, and philip was too sensible to continue a row about nothing; and he had invited harry to come with him. the young gentlemen stayed in fallkill a week, and were every day at the montagues, and took part in the winter gaieties of the village. there were parties here and there to which the friends of ruth and the montagues were of course invited, and harry in the generosity of his nature, gave in return a little supper at the hotel, very simple indeed, with dancing in the hall, and some refreshments passed round. and philip found the whole thing in the bill when he came to pay it. before the week was over philip thought he had a new light on the character of ruth. her absorption in the small gaieties of the society there surprised him. he had few opportunities for serious conversation with her. there was always some butterfly or another flitting about, and when philip showed by his manner that he was not pleased, ruth laughed merrily enough and rallied him on his soberness--she declared he was getting to be grim and unsocial. he talked indeed more with alice than with ruth, and scarcely concealed from her the trouble that was in his mind. it needed, in fact, no word from him, for she saw clearly enough what was going forward, and knew her sex well enough to know there was no remedy for it but time. "ruth is a dear girl, philip, and has as much firmness of purpose as ever, but don't you see she has just discovered that she is fond of society? don't you let her see you are selfish about it, is my advice." the last evening they were to spend in fallkill, they were at the montagues, and philip hoped that he would find ruth in a different mood. but she was never more gay, and there was a spice of mischief in her eye and in her laugh. "confound it," said philip to himself, "she's in a perfect twitter." he would have liked to quarrel with her, and fling himself out of the house in tragedy style, going perhaps so far as to blindly wander off miles into the country and bathe his throbbing brow in the chilling rain of the stars, as people do in novels; but he had no opportunity. for ruth was as serenely unconscious of mischief as women can be at times, and fascinated him more than ever with her little demurenesses and half-confidences. she even said "thee" to him once in reproach for a cutting speech he began. and the sweet little word made his heart beat like a trip-hammer, for never in all her life had she said "thee" to him before. was she fascinated with harry's careless 'bon homie' and gay assurance? both chatted away in high spirits, and made the evening whirl along in the most mirthful manner. ruth sang for harry, and that young gentleman turned the leaves for her at the piano, and put in a bass note now and then where he thought it would tell. yes, it was a merry evening, and philip was heartily glad when it was over, and the long leave-taking with the family was through with. "farewell philip. good night mr. brierly," ruth's clear voice sounded after them as they went down the walk. and she spoke harry's name last, thought philip. chapter xxiii. "o see ye not yon narrow road so thick beset wi' thorns and briers? that is the path of righteousness, though after it but few inquires. "and see ye not yon braid, braid road, that lies across the lily leven? that is the path of wickedness, though some call it the road to heaven." thomas the rhymer. phillip and harry reached new york in very different states of mind. harry was buoyant. he found a letter from col. sellers urging him to go to washington and confer with senator dilworthy. the petition was in his hands. it had been signed by everybody of any importance in missouri, and would be presented immediately. "i should go on myself," wrote the colonel, "but i am engaged in the invention of a process for lighting such a city as st. louis by means of water; just attach my machine to the water-pipes anywhere and the decomposition of the fluid begins, and you will have floods of light for the mere cost of the machine. i've nearly got the lighting part, but i want to attach to it a heating, cooking, washing and ironing apparatus. it's going to be the great thing, but we'd better keep this appropriation going while i am perfecting it." harry took letters to several congressmen from his uncle and from mr. duff brown, each of whom had an extensive acquaintance in both houses where they were well known as men engaged in large private operations for the public good and men, besides, who, in the slang of the day, understood the virtues of "addition, division and silence." senator dilworthy introduced the petition into the senate with the remark that he knew, personally, the signers of it, that they were men interested; it was true, in the improvement of the country, but he believed without any selfish motive, and that so far as he knew the signers were loyal. it pleased him to see upon the roll the names of many colored citizens, and it must rejoice every friend of humanity to know that this lately emancipated race were intelligently taking part in the development of the resources of their native land. he moved the reference of the petition to the proper committee. senator dilworthy introduced his young friend to influential members, as a person who was very well informed about the salt lick extension of the pacific, and was one of the engineers who had made a careful survey of columbus river; and left him to exhibit his maps and plans and to show the connection between the public treasury, the city of napoleon and legislation for the benefit off the whole country. harry was the guest of senator dilworthy. there was scarcely any good movement in which the senator was not interested. his house was open to all the laborers in the field of total abstinence, and much of his time was taken up in attending the meetings of this cause. he had a bible class in the sunday school of the church which he attended, and he suggested to harry that he might take a class during the time he remained in washington, mr. washington hawkins had a class. harry asked the senator if there was a class of young ladies for him to teach, and after that the senator did not press the subject. philip, if the truth must be told, was not well satisfied with his western prospects, nor altogether with the people he had fallen in with. the railroad contractors held out large but rather indefinite promises. opportunities for a fortune he did not doubt existed in missouri, but for himself he saw no better means for livelihood than the mastery of the profession he had rather thoughtlessly entered upon. during the summer he had made considerable practical advance in the science of engineering; he had been diligent, and made himself to a certain extent necessary to the work he was engaged on. the contractors called him into their consultations frequently, as to the character of the country he had been over, and the cost of constructing the road, the nature of the work, etc. still philip felt that if he was going to make either reputation or money as an engineer, he had a great deal of hard study before him, and it is to his credit that he did not shrink from it. while harry was in washington dancing attendance upon the national legislature and making the acquaintance of the vast lobby that encircled it, philip devoted himself day and night, with an energy and a concentration he was capable of, to the learning and theory of his profession, and to the science of railroad building. he wrote some papers at this time for the "plow, the loom and the anvil," upon the strength of materials, and especially upon bridge-building, which attracted considerable attention, and were copied into the english "practical magazine." they served at any rate to raise philip in the opinion of his friends the contractors, for practical men have a certain superstitious estimation of ability with the pen, and though they may a little despise the talent, they are quite ready to make use of it. philip sent copies of his performances to ruth's father and to other gentlemen whose good opinion he coveted, but he did not rest upon his laurels. indeed, so diligently had he applied himself, that when it came time for him to return to the west, he felt himself, at least in theory, competent to take charge of a division in the field. chapter xxiv. the capital of the great republic was a new world to country-bred washington hawkins. st. louis was a greater city, but its floating. population did not hail from great distances, and so it had the general family aspect of the permanent population; but washington gathered its people from the four winds of heaven, and so the manners, the faces and the fashions there, presented a variety that was infinite. washington had never been in "society" in st. louis, and he knew nothing of the ways of its wealthier citizens and had never inspected one of their dwellings. consequently, everything in the nature of modern fashion and grandeur was a new and wonderful revelation to him. washington is an interesting city to any of us. it seems to become more and more interesting the oftener we visit it. perhaps the reader has never been there? very well. you arrive either at night, rather too late to do anything or see anything until morning, or you arrive so early in the morning that you consider it best to go to your hotel and sleep an hour or two while the sun bothers along over the atlantic. you cannot well arrive at a pleasant intermediate hour, because the railway corporation that keeps the keys of the only door that leads into the town or out of it take care of that. you arrive in tolerably good spirits, because it is only thirty-eight miles from baltimore to the capital, and so you have only been insulted three times (provided you are not in a sleeping car--the average is higher there): once when you renewed your ticket after stopping over in baltimore, once when you were about to enter the "ladies' car" without knowing it was a lady's car, and once when you asked the conductor at what hour you would reach washington. you are assailed by a long rank of hackmen who shake their whips in your face as you step out upon the sidewalk; you enter what they regard as a "carriage," in the capital, and you wonder why they do not take it out of service and put it in the museum: we have few enough antiquities, and it is little to our credit that we make scarcely any effort to preserve the few we have. you reach your hotel, presently--and here let us draw the curtain of charity--because of course you have gone to the wrong one. you being a stranger, how could you do otherwise? there are a hundred and eighteen bad hotels, and only one good one. the most renowned and popular hotel of them all is perhaps the worst one known to history. it is winter, and night. when you arrived, it was snowing. when you reached the hotel, it was sleeting. when you went to bed, it was raining. during the night it froze hard, and the wind blew some chimneys down. when you got up in the morning, it was foggy. when you finished your breakfast at ten o'clock and went out, the sunshine was brilliant, the weather balmy and delicious, and the mud and slush deep and all-pervading. you will like the climate when you get used to it. you naturally wish to view the city; so you take an umbrella, an overcoat, and a fan, and go forth. the prominent features you soon locate and get familiar with; first you glimpse the ornamental upper works of a long, snowy palace projecting above a grove of trees, and a tall, graceful white dome with a statue on it surmounting the palace and pleasantly contrasting with the background of blue sky. that building is the capitol; gossips will tell you that by the original estimates it was to cost $ , , , and that the government did come within $ , , of building it for that sum. you stand at the back of the capitol to treat yourself to a view, and it is a very noble one. you understand, the capitol stands upon the verge of a high piece of table land, a fine commanding position, and its front looks out over this noble situation for a city--but it don't see it, for the reason that when the capitol extension was decided upon, the property owners at once advanced their prices to such inhuman figures that the people went down and built the city in the muddy low marsh behind the temple of liberty; so now the lordly front of the building, with, its imposing colonades, its, projecting, graceful wings, its, picturesque groups of statuary, and its long terraced ranges of steps, flowing down in white marble waves to the ground, merely looks out upon a sorrowful little desert of cheap boarding houses. so you observe, that you take your view from the back of the capitol. and yet not from the airy outlooks of the dome, by the way, because to get there you must pass through the great rotunda: and to do that, you would have to see the marvelous historical paintings that hang there, and the bas-reliefs--and what have you done that you should suffer thus? and besides, you might have to pass through the old part of the building, and you could not help seeing mr. lincoln, as petrified by a young lady artist for $ , --and you might take his marble emancipation proclamation, which he holds out in his hand and contemplates, for a folded napkin; and you might conceive from his expression and his attitude, that he is finding fault with the washing. which is not the case. nobody knows what is the matter with him; but everybody feels for him. well, you ought not to go into the dome anyhow, because it would be utterly impossible to go up there without seeing the frescoes in it--and why should you be interested in the delirium tremens of art? the capitol is a very noble and a very beautiful building, both within and without, but you need not examine it now. still, if you greatly prefer going into the dome, go. now your general glance gives you picturesque stretches of gleaming water, on your left, with a sail here and there and a lunatic asylum on shore; over beyond the water, on a distant elevation, you see a squat yellow temple which your eye dwells upon lovingly through a blur of unmanly moisture, for it recalls your lost boyhood and the parthenons done in molasses candy which made it blest and beautiful. still in the distance, but on this side of the water and close to its edge, the monument to the father of his country towers out of the mud--sacred soil is the, customary term. it has the aspect of a factory chimney with the top broken off. the skeleton of a decaying scaffolding lingers about its summit, and tradition says that the spirit of washington often comes down and sits on those rafters to enjoy this tribute of respect which the nation has reared as the symbol of its unappeasable gratitude. the monument is to be finished, some day, and at that time our washington will have risen still higher in the nation's veneration, and will be known as the great-great-grandfather of his country. the memorial chimney stands in a quiet pastoral locality that is full of reposeful expression. with a glass you can see the cow-sheds about its base, and the contented sheep nimbling pebbles in the desert solitudes that surround it, and the tired pigs dozing in the holy calm of its protecting shadow. now you wrench your gaze loose, and you look down in front of you and see the broad pennsylvania avenue stretching straight ahead for a mile or more till it brings up against the iron fence in front of a pillared granite pile, the treasury building-an edifice that would command respect in any capital. the stores and hotels that wall in this broad avenue are mean, and cheap, and dingy, and are better left without comment. beyond the treasury is a fine large white barn, with wide unhandsome grounds about it. the president lives there. it is ugly enough outside, but that is nothing to what it is inside. dreariness, flimsiness, bad taste reduced to mathematical completeness is what the inside offers to the eye, if it remains yet what it always has been. the front and right hand views give you the city at large. it is a wide stretch of cheap little brick houses, with here and there a noble architectural pile lifting itself out of the midst-government buildings, these. if the thaw is still going on when you come down and go about town, you will wonder at the short-sightedness of the city fathers, when you come to inspect the streets, in that they do not dilute the mud a little more and use them for canals. if you inquire around a little, you will find that there are more boardinghouses to the square acre in washington than there are in any other city in the land, perhaps. if you apply for a home in one of them, it will seem odd to you to have the landlady inspect you with a severe eye and then ask you if you are a member of congress. perhaps, just as a pleasantry, you will say yes. and then she will tell you that she is "full." then you show her her advertisement in the morning paper, and there she stands, convicted and ashamed. she will try to blush, and it will be only polite in you to take the effort for the deed. she shows you her rooms, now, and lets you take one--but she makes you pay in advance for it. that is what you will get for pretending to be a member of congress. if you had been content to be merely a private citizen, your trunk would have been sufficient security for your board. if you are curious and inquire into this thing, the chances are that your landlady will be ill-natured enough to say that the person and property of a congressman are exempt from arrest or detention, and that with the tears in her eyes she has seen several of the people's representatives walk off to their several states and territories carrying her unreceipted board bills in their pockets for keepsakes. and before you have been in washington many weeks you will be mean enough to believe her, too. of course you contrive to see everything and find out everything. and one of the first and most startling things you find out is, that every individual you encounter in the city of washington almost--and certainly every separate and distinct individual in the public employment, from the highest bureau chief, clear down to the maid who scrubs department halls, the night watchmen of the public buildings and the darkey boy who purifies the department spittoons--represents political influence. unless you can get the ear of a senator, or a congressman, or a chief of a bureau or department, and persuade him to use his "influence" in your behalf, you cannot get an employment of the most trivial nature in washington. mere merit, fitness and capability, are useless baggage to you without "influence." the population of washington consists pretty much entirely of government employee and the people who board them. there are thousands of these employees, and they have gathered there from every corner of the union and got their berths through the intercession (command is nearer the word) of the senators and representatives of their respective states. it would be an odd circumstance to see a girl get employment at three or four dollars a week in one of the great public cribs without any political grandee to back her, but merely because she was worthy, and competent, and a good citizen of a free country that "treats all persons alike." washington would be mildly thunderstruck at such a thing as that. if you are a member of congress, (no offence,) and one of your constituents who doesn't know anything, and does not want to go into the bother of learning something, and has no money, and no employment, and can't earn a living, comes besieging you for help, do you say, "come, my friend, if your services were valuable you could get employment elsewhere--don't want you here?" oh, no: you take him to a department and say, "here, give this person something to pass away the time at--and a salary"--and the thing is done. you throw him on his country. he is his country's child, let his country support him. there is something good and motherly about washington, the grand old benevolent national asylum for the helpless. the wages received by this great hive of employees are placed at the liberal figure meet and just for skilled and competent labor. such of them as are immediately employed about the two houses of congress, are not only liberally paid also, but are remembered in the customary extra compensation bill which slides neatly through, annually, with the general grab that signalizes the last night of a session, and thus twenty per cent. is added to their wages, for--for fun, no doubt. washington hawkins' new life was an unceasing delight to him. senator dilworthy lived sumptuously, and washington's quarters were charming --gas; running water, hot and cold; bath-room, coal-fires, rich carpets, beautiful pictures on the walls; books on religion, temperance, public charities and financial schemes; trim colored servants, dainty food --everything a body could wish for. and as for stationery, there was no end to it; the government furnished it; postage stamps were not needed --the senator's frank could convey a horse through the mails, if necessary. and then he saw such dazzling company. renowned generals and admirals who had seemed but colossal myths when he was in the far west, went in and out before him or sat at the senator's table, solidified into palpable flesh and blood; famous statesmen crossed his path daily; that once rare and awe-inspiring being, a congressman, was become a common spectacle--a spectacle so common, indeed, that he could contemplate it without excitement, even without embarrassment; foreign ministers were visible to the naked eye at happy intervals; he had looked upon the president himself, and lived. and more; this world of enchantment teemed with speculation--the whole atmosphere was thick with hand that indeed was washington hawkins' native air; none other refreshed his lungs so gratefully. he had found paradise at last. the more he saw of his chief the senator, the more he honored him, and the more conspicuously the moral grandeur of his character appeared to stand out. to possess the friendship and the kindly interest of such a man, washington said in a letter to louise, was a happy fortune for a young man whose career had been so impeded and so clouded as his. the weeks drifted by;--harry brierly flirted, danced, added lustre to the brilliant senatorial receptions, and diligently "buzzed" and "button-holed" congressmen in the interest of the columbus river scheme; meantime senator dilworthy labored hard in the same interest--and in others of equal national importance. harry wrote frequently to sellers, and always encouragingly; and from these letters it was easy to see that harry was a pet with all washington, and was likely to carry the thing through; that the assistance rendered him by "old dilworthy" was pretty fair--pretty fair; "and every little helps, you know," said harry. washington wrote sellers officially, now and then. in one of his letters it appeared that whereas no member of the house committee favored the scheme at first, there was now needed but one more vote to compass a majority report. closing sentence: "providence seems to further our efforts." (signed,) "abner dilworthy, u. s. s., per washington hawkins, p. s." at the end of a week, washington was able to send the happy news, officially, as usual,--that the needed vote had been added and the bill favorably reported from the committee. other letters recorded its perils in committee of the whole, and by and by its victory, by just the skin of its teeth, on third reading and final passage. then came letters telling of mr. dilworthy's struggles with a stubborn majority in his own committee in the senate; of how these gentlemen succumbed, one by one, till a majority was secured. then there was a hiatus. washington watched every move on the board, and he was in a good position to do this, for he was clerk of this committee, and also one other. he received no salary as private secretary, but these two clerkships, procured by his benefactor, paid him an aggregate of twelve dollars a day, without counting the twenty percent extra compensation which would of course be voted to him on the last night of the session. he saw the bill go into committee of the whole and struggle for its life again, and finally worry through. in the fullness of time he noted its second reading, and by and by the day arrived when the grand ordeal came, and it was put upon its final passage. washington listened with bated breath to the "aye!" "no!" "no!" "aye!" of the voters, for a few dread minutes, and then could bear the suspense no longer. he ran down from the gallery and hurried home to wait. at the end of two or three hours the senator arrived in the bosom of his family, and dinner was waiting. washington sprang forward, with the eager question on his lips, and the senator said: "we may rejoice freely, now, my son--providence has crowned our efforts with success." chapter xxv. washington sent grand good news to col. sellers that night. to louise he wrote: "it is beautiful to hear him talk when his heart is full of thankfulness for some manifestation of the divine favor. you shall know him, some day my louise, and knowing him you will honor him, as i do." harry wrote: "i pulled it through, colonel, but it was a tough job, there is no question about that. there was not a friend to the measure in the house committee when i began, and not a friend in the senate committee except old dil himself, but they were all fixed for a majority report when i hauled off my forces. everybody here says you can't get a thing like this through congress without buying committees for straight-out cash on delivery, but i think i've taught them a thing or two--if i could only make them believe it. when i tell the old residenters that this thing went through without buying a vote or making a promise, they say, 'that's rather too thin.' and when i say thin or not thin it's a fact, anyway, they say, 'come, now, but do you really believe that?' and when i say i don't believe anything about it, i know it, they smile and say, 'well, you are pretty innocent, or pretty blind, one or the other--there's no getting around that.' why they really do believe that votes have been bought--they do indeed. but let them keep on thinking so. i have found out that if a man knows how to talk to women, and has a little gift in the way of argument with men, he can afford to play for an appropriation against a money bag and give the money bag odds in the game. we've raked in $ , of uncle sam's money, say what they will--and there is more where this came from, when we want it, and i rather fancy i am the person that can go in and occupy it, too, if i do say it myself, that shouldn't, perhaps. i'll be with you within a week. scare up all the men you can, and put them to work at once. when i get there i propose to make things hum." the great news lifted sellers into the clouds. he went to work on the instant. he flew hither and thither making contracts, engaging men, and steeping his soul in the ecstasies of business. he was the happiest man in missouri. and louise was the happiest woman; for presently came a letter from washington which said: "rejoice with me, for the long agony is over! we have waited patiently and faithfully, all these years, and now at last the reward is at hand. a man is to pay our family $ , for the tennessee land! it is but a little sum compared to what we could get by waiting, but i do so long to see the day when i can call you my own, that i have said to myself, better take this and enjoy life in a humble way than wear out our best days in this miserable separation. besides, i can put this money into operations here that will increase it a hundred fold, yes, a thousand fold, in a few months. the air is full of such chances, and i know our family would consent in a moment that i should put in their shares with mine. without a doubt we shall be worth half a million dollars in a year from this time--i put it at the very lowest figure, because it is always best to be on the safe side--half a million at the very lowest calculation, and then your father will give his consent and we can marry at last. oh, that will be a glorious day. tell our friends the good news--i want all to share it." and she did tell her father and mother, but they said, let it be kept still for the present. the careful father also told her to write washington and warn him not to speculate with the money, but to wait a little and advise with one or two wise old heads. she did this. and she managed to keep the good news to herself, though it would seem that the most careless observer might have seen by her springing step and her radiant countenance that some fine piece of good fortune had descended upon her. harry joined the colonel at stone's landing, and that dead place sprang into sudden life. a swarm of men were hard at work, and the dull air was filled with the cheery music of labor. harry had been constituted engineer-in-general, and he threw the full strength of his powers into his work. he moved among his hirelings like a king. authority seemed to invest him with a new splendor. col. sellers, as general superintendent of a great public enterprise, was all that a mere human being could be --and more. these two grandees went at their imposing "improvement" with the air of men who had been charged with the work of altering the foundations of the globe. they turned their first attention to straightening the river just above the landing, where it made a deep bend, and where the maps and plans showed that the process of straightening would not only shorten distance but increase the "fall." they started a cut-off canal across the peninsula formed by the bend, and such another tearing up of the earth and slopping around in the mud as followed the order to the men, had never been seen in that region before. there was such a panic among the turtles that at the end of six hours there was not one to be found within three miles of stone's landing. they took the young and the aged, the decrepit and the sick upon their backs and left for tide-water in disorderly procession, the tadpoles following and the bull-frogs bringing up the rear. saturday night came, but the men were obliged to wait, because the appropriation had not come. harry said he had written to hurry up the money and it would be along presently. so the work continued, on monday. stone's landing was making quite a stir in the vicinity, by this time. sellers threw a lot or two on the market, "as a feeler," and they sold well. he re-clothed his family, laid in a good stock of provisions, and still had money left. he started a bank account, in a small way--and mentioned the deposit casually to friends; and to strangers, too; to everybody, in fact; but not as a new thing--on the contrary, as a matter of life-long standing. he could not keep from buying trifles every day that were not wholly necessary, it was such a gaudy thing to get out his bank-book and draw a check, instead of using his old customary formula, "charge it" harry sold a lot or two, also--and had a dinner party or two at hawkeye and a general good time with the money. both men held on pretty strenuously for the coming big prices, however. at the end of a month things were looking bad. harry had besieged the new york headquarters of the columbus river slack-water navigation company with demands, then commands, and finally appeals, but to no purpose; the appropriation did not come; the letters were not even answered. the workmen were clamorous, now. the colonel and harry retired to consult. "what's to be done?" said the colonel. "hang'd if i know." "company say anything?" "not a word." "you telegraphed yesterday?" yes, and the day before, too." "no answer?" "none-confound them!" then there was a long pause. finally both spoke at once: "i've got it!" "i've got it!" "what's yours?" said harry. "give the boys thirty-day orders on the company for the back pay." "that's it-that's my own idea to a dot. but then--but then----" "yes, i know," said the colonel; "i know they can't wait for the orders to go to new york and be cashed, but what's the reason they can't get them discounted in hawkeye?" "of course they can. that solves the difficulty. everybody knows the appropriation's been made and the company's perfectly good." so the orders were given and the men appeased, though they grumbled a little at first. the orders went well enough for groceries and such things at a fair discount, and the work danced along gaily for a time. two or three purchasers put up frame houses at the landing and moved in, and of course a far-sighted but easy-going journeyman printer wandered along and started the "napoleon weekly telegraph and literary repository"--a paper with a latin motto from the unabridged dictionary, and plenty of "fat" conversational tales and double-leaded poetry--all for two dollars a year, strictly in advance. of course the merchants forwarded the orders at once to new york--and never heard of them again. at the end of some weeks harry's orders were a drug in the market--nobody would take them at any discount whatever. the second month closed with a riot.--sellers was absent at the time, and harry began an active absence himself with the mob at his heels. but being on horseback, he had the advantage. he did not tarry in hawkeye, but went on, thus missing several appointments with creditors. he was far on his flight eastward, and well out of danger when the next morning dawned. he telegraphed the colonel to go down and quiet the laborers--he was bound east for money --everything would be right in a week--tell the men so--tell them to rely on him and not be afraid. sellers found the mob quiet enough when he reached the landing. they had gutted the navigation office, then piled the beautiful engraved stock-books and things in the middle of the floor and enjoyed the bonfire while it lasted. they had a liking for the colonel, but still they had some idea of hanging him, as a sort of make-shift that might answer, after a fashion, in place of more satisfactory game. but they made the mistake of waiting to hear what he had to say first. within fifteen minutes his tongue had done its work and they were all rich men.--he gave every one of them a lot in the suburbs of the city of stone's landing, within a mile and a half of the future post office and railway station, and they promised to resume work as soon as harry got east and started the money along. now things were blooming and pleasant again, but the men had no money, and nothing to live on. the colonel divided with them the money he still had in bank--an act which had nothing surprising about it because he was generally ready to divide whatever he had with anybody that wanted it, and it was owing to this very trait that his family spent their days in poverty and at times were pinched with famine. when the men's minds had cooled and sellers was gone, they hated themselves for letting him beguile them with fine speeches, but it was too late, now--they agreed to hang him another time--such time as providence should appoint. chapter xxvi. rumors of ruth's frivolity and worldliness at fallkill traveled to philadelphia in due time, and occasioned no little undertalk among the bolton relatives. hannah shoecraft told another, cousin that, for her part, she never believed that ruth had so much more "mind" than other people; and cousin hulda added that she always thought ruth was fond of admiration, and that was the reason she was unwilling to wear plain clothes and attend meeting. the story that ruth was "engaged" to a young gentleman of fortune in fallkill came with the other news, and helped to give point to the little satirical remarks that went round about ruth's desire to be a doctor! margaret bolton was too wise to be either surprised or alarmed by these rumors. they might be true; she knew a woman's nature too well to think them improbable, but she also knew how steadfast ruth was in her purposes, and that, as a brook breaks into ripples and eddies and dances and sports by the way, and yet keeps on to the sea, it was in ruth's nature to give back cheerful answer to the solicitations of friendliness and pleasure, to appear idly delaying even, and sporting in the sunshine, while the current of her resolution flowed steadily on. that ruth had this delight in the mere surface play of life that she could, for instance, be interested in that somewhat serious by-play called "flirtation," or take any delight in the exercise of those little arts of pleasing and winning which are none the less genuine and charming because they are not intellectual, ruth, herself, had never suspected until she went to fallkill. she had believed it her duty to subdue her gaiety of temperament, and let nothing divert her from what are called serious pursuits: in her limited experience she brought everything to the judgment of her own conscience, and settled the affairs of all the world in her own serene judgment hall. perhaps her mother saw this, and saw also that there was nothing in the friends' society to prevent her from growing more and more opinionated. when ruth returned to philadelphia, it must be confessed--though it would not have been by her--that a medical career did seem a little less necessary for her than formerly; and coming back in a glow of triumph, as it were, and in the consciousness of the freedom and life in a lively society and in new and sympathetic friendship, she anticipated pleasure in an attempt to break up the stiffness and levelness of the society at home, and infusing into it something of the motion and sparkle which were so agreeable at fallkill. she expected visits from her new friends, she would have company, the new books and the periodicals about which all the world was talking, and, in short, she would have life. for a little while she lived in this atmosphere which she had brought with her. her mother was delighted with this change in her, with the improvement in her health and the interest she exhibited in home affairs. her father enjoyed the society of his favorite daughter as he did few things besides; he liked her mirthful and teasing ways, and not less a keen battle over something she had read. he had been a great reader all his life, and a remarkable memory had stored his mind with encyclopaedic information. it was one of ruth's delights to cram herself with some out of the way subject and endeavor to catch her father; but she almost always failed. mr. bolton liked company, a house full of it, and the mirth of young people, and he would have willingly entered into any revolutionary plans ruth might have suggested in relation to friends' society. but custom and the fixed order are stronger than the most enthusiastic and rebellious young lady, as ruth very soon found. in spite of all her brave efforts, her frequent correspondence, and her determined animation, her books and her music, she found herself settling into the clutches of the old monotony, and as she realized the hopelessness of her endeavors, the medical scheme took new hold of her, and seemed to her the only method of escape. "mother, thee does not know how different it is in fallkill, how much more interesting the people are one meets, how much more life there is." "but thee will find the world, child, pretty much all the same, when thee knows it better. i thought once as thee does now, and had as little thought of being a friend as thee has. perhaps when thee has seen more, thee will better appreciate a quiet life." "thee married young. i shall not marry young, and perhaps not at all," said ruth, with a look of vast experience. "perhaps thee doesn't know thee own mind; i have known persons of thy age who did not. did thee see anybody whom thee would like to live with always in fallkill?" "not always," replied ruth with a little laugh. "mother, i think i wouldn't say 'always' to any one until i have a profession and am as independent as he is. then my love would be a free act, and not in any way a necessity." margaret bolton smiled at this new-fangled philosophy. "thee will find that love, ruth, is a thing thee won't reason about, when it comes, nor make any bargains about. thee wrote that philip sterling was at fallkill." "yes, and henry brierly, a friend of his; a very amusing young fellow and not so serious-minded as philip, but a bit of a fop maybe." "and thee preferred the fop to the serious-minded?" "i didn't prefer anybody; but henry brierly was good company, which philip wasn't always." "did thee know thee father had been in correspondence with philip?" ruth looked up surprised and with a plain question in her eyes. "oh, it's not about thee." "what then?" and if there was any shade of disappointment in her tone, probably ruth herself did not know it. "it's about some land up in the country. that man bigler has got father into another speculation." "that odious man! why will father have anything to do with him? is it that railroad?" "yes. father advanced money and took land as security, and whatever has gone with the money and the bonds, he has on his hands a large tract of wild land." "and what has philip to do with that?" "it has good timber, if it could ever be got out, and father says that there must be coal in it; it's in a coal region. he wants philip to survey it, and examine it for indications of coal." "it's another of father's fortunes, i suppose," said ruth. "he has put away so many fortunes for us that i'm afraid we never shall find them." ruth was interested in it nevertheless, and perhaps mainly because philip was to be connected with the enterprise. mr. bigler came to dinner with her father next day, and talked a great deal about mr. bolton's magnificent tract of land, extolled the sagacity that led him to secure such a property, and led the talk along to another railroad which would open a northern communication to this very land. "pennybacker says it's full of coal, he's no doubt of it, and a railroad to strike the erie would make it a fortune." "suppose you take the land and work the thing up, mr. bigler; you may have the tract for three dollars an acre." "you'd throw it away, then," replied mr. bigler, "and i'm not the man to take advantage of a friend. but if you'll put a mortgage on it for the northern road, i wouldn't mind taking an interest, if pennybacker is willing; but pennybacker, you know, don't go much on land, he sticks to the legislature." and mr. bigler laughed. when mr. bigler had gone, ruth asked her father about philip's connection with the land scheme. "there's nothing definite," said mr. bolton. "philip is showing aptitude for his profession. i hear the best reports of him in new york, though those sharpers don't 'intend to do anything but use him. i've written and offered him employment in surveying and examining the land. we want to know what it is. and if there is anything in it that his enterprise can dig out, he shall have an interest. i should be glad to give the young fellow a lift." all his life eli bolton had been giving young fellows a lift, and shouldering the loses when things turned out unfortunately. his ledger, take-it-altogether, would not show a balance on the right side; but perhaps the losses on his books will turn out to be credits in a world where accounts are kept on a different basis. the left hand of the ledger will appear the right, looked at from the other side. philip, wrote to ruth rather a comical account of the bursting up of the city of napoleon and the navigation improvement scheme, of harry's flight and the colonel's discomfiture. harry left in such a hurry that he hadn't even time to bid miss laura hawkins good-bye, but he had no doubt that harry would console himself with the next pretty face he saw --a remark which was thrown in for ruth's benefit. col. sellers had in all probability, by this time, some other equally brilliant speculation in his brain. as to the railroad, philip had made up his mind that it was merely kept on foot for speculative purposes in wall street, and he was about to quit it. would ruth be glad to hear, he wondered, that he was coming east? for he was coming, in spite of a letter from harry in new york, advising him to hold on until he had made some arrangements in regard to contracts, he to be a little careful about sellers, who was somewhat visionary, harry said. the summer went on without much excitement for ruth. she kept up a correspondence with alice, who promised a visit in the fall, she read, she earnestly tried to interest herself in home affairs and such people as came to the house; but she found herself falling more and more into reveries, and growing weary of things as they were. she felt that everybody might become in time like two relatives from a shaker establishment in ohio, who visited the boltons about this time, a father and son, clad exactly alike, and alike in manners. the son; however, who was not of age, was more unworldly and sanctimonious than his father; he always addressed his parent as "brother plum," and bore himself, altogether in such a superior manner that ruth longed to put bent pins in his chair. both father and son wore the long, single breasted collarless coats of their society, without buttons, before or behind, but with a row of hooks and eyes on either side in front. it was ruth's suggestion that the coats would be improved by a single hook and eye sewed on in the small of the back where the buttons usually are. amusing as this shaker caricature of the friends was, it oppressed ruth beyond measure; and increased her feeling of being stifled. it was a most unreasonable feeling. no home could be pleasanter than ruth's. the house, a little out of the city; was one of those elegant country residences which so much charm visitors to the suburbs of philadelphia. a modern dwelling and luxurious in everything that wealth could suggest for comfort, it stood in the midst of exquisitely kept lawns, with groups of trees, parterres of flowers massed in colors, with greenhouse, grapery and garden; and on one side, the garden sloped away in undulations to a shallow brook that ran over a pebbly bottom and sang under forest trees. the country about teas the perfection of cultivated landscape, dotted with cottages, and stately mansions of revolutionary date, and sweet as an english country-side, whether seen in the soft bloom of may or in the mellow ripeness of late october. it needed only the peace of the mind within, to make it a paradise. one riding by on the old germantown road, and seeing a young girl swinging in the hammock on the piazza and, intent upon some volume of old poetry or the latest novel, would no doubt have envied a life so idyllic. he could not have imagined that the young girl was reading a volume of reports of clinics and longing to be elsewhere. ruth could not have been more discontented if all the wealth about her had been as unsubstantial as a dream. perhaps she so thought it. "i feel," she once said to her father, "as if i were living in a house of cards." "and thee would like to turn it into a hospital?" "no. but tell me father," continued ruth, not to be put off, "is thee still going on with that bigler and those other men who come here and entice thee?" mr. bolton smiled, as men do when they talk with women about "business" "such men have their uses, ruth. they keep the world active, and i owe a great many of my best operations to such men. who knows, ruth, but this new land purchase, which i confess i yielded a little too much to bigler in, may not turn out a fortune for thee and the rest of the children?" "ah, father, thee sees every thing in a rose-colored light. i do believe thee wouldn't have so readily allowed me to begin the study of medicine, if it hadn't had the novelty of an experiment to thee." "and is thee satisfied with it?" "if thee means, if i have had enough of it, no. i just begin to see what i can do in it, and what a noble profession it is for a woman. would thee have me sit here like a bird on a bough and wait for somebody to come and put me in a cage?" mr. bolton was not sorry to divert the talk from his own affairs, and he did not think it worth while to tell his family of a performance that very day which was entirely characteristic of him. ruth might well say that she felt as if she were living in a house of cards, although the bolton household had no idea of the number of perils that hovered over them, any more than thousands of families in america have of the business risks and contingences upon which their prosperity and luxury hang. a sudden call upon mr. bolton for a large sum of money, which must be forthcoming at once, had found him in the midst of a dozen ventures, from no one of which a dollar could be realized. it was in vain that he applied to his business acquaintances and friends; it was a period of sudden panic and no money. "a hundred thousand! mr. bolton," said plumly. "good god, if you should ask me for ten, i shouldn't know where to get it." and yet that day mr. small (pennybacker, bigler and small) came to mr. bolton with a piteous story of ruin in a coal operation, if he could not raise ten thousand dollars. only ten, and he was sure of a fortune. without it he was a beggar. mr. bolton had already small's notes for a large amount in his safe, labeled "doubtful;" he had helped him again and again, and always with the same result. but mr. small spoke with a faltering voice of his family, his daughter in school, his wife ignorant of his calamity, and drew such a picture of their agony, that mr. bolton put by his own more pressing necessity, and devoted the day to scraping together, here and there, ten thousand dollars for this brazen beggar, who had never kept a promise to him nor paid a debt. beautiful credit! the foundation of modern society. who shall say that this is not the golden age of mutual trust, of unlimited reliance upon human promises? that is a peculiar condition of society which enables a whole nation to instantly recognize point and meaning in the familiar newspaper anecdote, which puts into the mouth of a distinguished speculator in lands and mines this remark:--"i wasn't worth a cent two years ago, and now i owe two millions of dollars." chapter xxvii. it was a hard blow to poor sellers to see the work on his darling enterprise stop, and the noise and bustle and confusion that had been such refreshment to his soul, sicken and die out. it was hard to come down to humdrum ordinary life again after being a general superintendent and the most conspicuous man in the community. it was sad to see his name disappear from the newspapers; sadder still to see it resurrected at intervals, shorn of its aforetime gaudy gear of compliments and clothed on with rhetorical tar and feathers. but his friends suffered more on his account than he did. he was a cork that could not be kept under the water many moments at a time. he had to bolster up his wife's spirits every now and then. on one of these occasions he said: "it's all right, my dear, all right; it will all come right in a little while. there's $ , coming, and that will set things booming again: harry seems to be having some difficulty, but that's to be expected--you can't move these big operations to the tune of fisher's hornpipe, you know. but harry will get it started along presently, and then you'll see! i expect the news every day now." "but beriah, you've been expecting it every day, all along, haven't you?" "well, yes; yes--i don't know but i have. but anyway, the longer it's delayed, the nearer it grows to the time when it will start--same as every day you live brings you nearer to--nearer--" "the grave?" "well, no--not that exactly; but you can't understand these things, polly dear--women haven't much head for business, you know. you make yourself perfectly comfortable, old lady, and you'll see how we'll trot this right along. why bless you, let the appropriation lag, if it wants to--that's no great matter--there's a bigger thing than that." "bigger than $ , , beriah?" "bigger, child?--why, what's $ , ? pocket money! mere pocket money! look at the railroad! did you forget the railroad? it ain't many months till spring; it will be coming right along, and the railroad swimming right along behind it. where'll it be by the middle of summer? just stop and fancy a moment--just think a little--don't anything suggest itself? bless your heart, you dear women live right in the present all the time--but a man, why a man lives---- "in the future, beriah? but don't we live in the future most too much, beriah? we do somehow seem to manage to live on next year's crop of corn and potatoes as a general thing while this year is still dragging along, but sometimes it's not a robust diet,--beriah. but don't look that way, dear--don't mind what i say. i don't mean to fret, i don't mean to worry; and i don't, once a month, do i, dear? but when i get a little low and feel bad, i get a bit troubled and worrisome, but it don't mean anything in the world. it passes right away. i know you're doing all you can, and i don't want to seem repining and ungrateful--for i'm not, beriah--you know i'm not, don't you?" "lord bless you, child, i know you are the very best little woman that ever lived--that ever lived on the whole face of the earth! and i know that i would be a dog not to work for you and think for you and scheme for you with all my might. and i'll bring things all right yet, honey --cheer up and don't you fear. the railroad----" "oh, i had forgotten the railroad, dear, but when a body gets blue, a body forgets everything. yes, the railroad--tell me about the railroad." "aha, my girl, don't you see? things ain't so dark, are they? now i didn't forget the railroad. now just think for a moment--just figure up a little on the future dead moral certainties. for instance, call this waiter st. louis. "and we'll lay this fork (representing the railroad) from st. louis to this potato, which is slouchburg: "then with this carving knife we'll continue the railroad from slouchburg to doodleville, shown by the black pepper: "then we run along the--yes--the comb--to the tumbler that's brimstone: "thence by the pipe to belshazzar, which is the salt-cellar: "thence to, to--that quill--catfish--hand me the pincushion, marie antoinette: "thence right along these shears to this horse, babylon: "then by the spoon to bloody run--thank you, the ink: "thence to hail columbia--snuffers, polly, please move that cup and saucer close up, that's hail columbia: "then--let me open my knife--to hark-from-the-tomb, where we'll put the candle-stick--only a little distance from hail columbia to hark-from-the-tomb--down-grade all the way. "and there we strike columbus river--pass me two or throe skeins of thread to stand for the river; the sugar bowl will do for hawkeye, and the rat trap for stone's landing-napoleon, i mean--and you can see how much better napoleon is located than hawkeye. now here you are with your railroad complete, and showing its continuation to hallelujah and thence to corruptionville. "now then-them you are! it's a beautiful road, beautiful. jeff thompson can out-engineer any civil engineer that ever sighted through an aneroid, or a theodolite, or whatever they call it--he calls it sometimes one and sometimes the other just whichever levels off his sentence neatest, i reckon. but ain't it a ripping toad, though? i tell you, it'll make a stir when it gets along. just see what a country it goes through. there's your onions at slouchburg--noblest onion country that graces god's footstool; and there's your turnip country all around doodleville --bless my life, what fortunes are going to be made there when they get that contrivance perfected for extracting olive oil out of turnips--if there's any in them; and i reckon there is, because congress has made an appropriation of money to test the thing, and they wouldn't have done that just on conjecture, of course. and now we come to the brimstone region--cattle raised there till you can't rest--and corn, and all that sort of thing. then you've got a little stretch along through belshazzar that don't produce anything now--at least nothing but rocks--but irrigation will fetch it. then from catfish to babylon it's a little swampy, but there's dead loads of peat down under there somewhere. next is the bloody run and hail columbia country--tobacco enough can be raised there to support two such railroads. next is the sassparilla region. i reckon there's enough of that truck along in there on the line of the pocket-knife, from hail columbia to hark-from-the tomb to fat up all the consumptives in all the hospitals from halifax to the holy land. it just grows like weeds! i've got a little belt of sassparilla land in there just tucked away unobstrusively waiting for my little universal expectorant to get into shape in my head. and i'll fix that, you know. one of these days i'll have all the nations of the earth expecto--" "but beriah, dear--" "don't interrupt me; polly--i don't want you to lose the run of the map --well, take your toy-horse, james fitz-james, if you must have it--and run along with you. here, now--the soap will do for babylon. let me see --where was i? oh yes--now we run down to stone's lan--napoleon--now we run down to napoleon. beautiful road. look at that, now. perfectly straight line-straight as the way to the grave. and see where it leaves hawkeye-clear out in the cold, my dear, clear out in the cold. that town's as bound to die as--well if i owned it i'd get its obituary ready, now, and notify the mourners. polly, mark my words--in three years from this, hawkeye'll be a howling wilderness. you'll see. and just look at that river--noblest stream that meanders over the thirsty earth! --calmest, gentlest artery that refreshes her weary bosom! railroad goes all over it and all through it--wades right along on stilts. seventeen bridges in three miles and a half--forty-nine bridges from hark-from-the-tomb to stone's landing altogether--forty nine bridges, and culverts enough to culvert creation itself! hadn't skeins of thread enough to represent them all--but you get an idea--perfect trestle-work of bridges for seventy two miles: jeff thompson and i fixed all that, you know; he's to get the contracts and i'm to put them through on the divide. just oceans of money in those bridges. it's the only part of the railroad i'm interested in,--down along the line--and it's all i want, too. it's enough, i should judge. now here we are at napoleon. good enough country plenty good enough--all it wants is population. that's all right--that will come. and it's no bad country now for calmness and solitude, i can tell you--though there's no money in that, of course. no money, but a man wants rest, a man wants peace--a man don't want to rip and tear around all the time. and here we go, now, just as straight as a string for hallelujah--it's a beautiful angle --handsome up grade all the way --and then away you go to corruptionville, the gaudiest country for early carrots and cauliflowers that ever--good missionary field, too. there ain't such another missionary field outside the jungles of central africa. and patriotic?--why they named it after congress itself. oh, i warn you, my dear, there's a good time coming, and it'll be right along before you know what you're about, too. that railroad's fetching it. you see what it is as far as i've got, and if i had enough bottles and soap and boot-jacks and such things to carry it along to where it joins onto the union pacific, fourteen hundred miles from here, i should exhibit to you in that little internal improvement a spectacle of inconceivable sublimity. so, don't you see? we've got the rail road to fall back on; and in the meantime, what are we worrying about that $ , appropriation for? that's all right. i'd be willing to bet anything that the very next letter that comes from harry will--" the eldest boy entered just in the nick of time and brought a letter, warm from the post-office. "things do look bright, after all, beriah. i'm sorry i was blue, but it did seem as if everything had been going against us for whole ages. open the letter--open it quick, and let's know all about it before we stir out of our places. i am all in a fidget to know what it says." the letter was opened, without any unnecessary delay. the social secretary [illustration] the social secretary _by_ david graham phillips author of the plum tree the cost etc. etc. with illustrations by clarence f. underwood decorations by ralph fletcher seymour [illustration] new york grosset & dunlap publishers copyright the bobbs-merrill company october the social secretary the social secretary i november . at half-past one to-day--half-past one exactly--i began my "career." mrs. carteret said she would call for me at five minutes to one. but it was ten minutes after when she appeared, away down at the corner of i street. jim was walking up and down the drawing-room; i was at the window, watching that corner of i street. "there she blows!" i cried, my voice brave, but my heart like a big lump of something soggy and sad. jim hurried up and stood behind me, staring glumly over my shoulder. he has proposed to me in so many words more than twenty times in the last three years, and has looked it every time we've met--we meet almost every day. i could feel that he was getting ready to propose again, but i hadn't the slightest fear that he'd touch me. he's in the army, and his "pull" has kept him snug and safe at washington and has promoted him steadily until now he's a colonel at thirty-five. but he was brought up in a formal, old-fashioned way, and he'd think it a deadly insult to a woman he respected enough to ask her to be his wife if he should touch her without her permission. i admire jim's self-restraint, but--i couldn't bear being married to a man who worshiped me, even if i only liked him. if i loved him, i'd be utterly miserable. i've been trying hard to love jim for the past four months, or ever since i've really realized how desperate my affairs are. but i can't. and the most exasperating part of my obstinacy is that i can't find a good reason or excuse for it. as i was saying--or, rather, writing--jim stood behind me and said in a husky sort of voice: "you ain't goin' to do it, are you, gus?" i didn't answer. if i had said anything, it would have been a feeble, miserable "no"--which would have meant that i was accepting the alternative--him. all my courage had gone and i felt contemptibly feminine and dependent. i looked at him--i did like the expression of his eyes and the strength and manliness of him from head to foot. what a fine sort of man a "pull" and a private income have spoiled in jim lafollette! he went on: "surely, i'm not more repellent to you than--than what that auto is coming to take you away to." "shame on you, jim lafollette!" i said angrily--most of the anger so that he wouldn't understand and take advantage of the tears in my eyes and voice. "but how like you! how _brave_!" he reddened at that--partly because he felt guilty toward me, partly because he is ashamed of the laziness that has made him shirk for thirteen years. "i don't care a hang whether it's brave or not, or _what_ it is," he said sullenly. "i want _you_. and it seems to me i've got to do something--use force, if necessary--to keep you from--_from that_. you ain't fit for it, gus--not in any way. why, it's worse than being a servant. and you--brought up as you've been--" i laughed--a pretty successful effort. "i've been educating for it all my life, without knowing it. and it's honest and independent. if you had the right sort of ideas of self-respect, you'd be ashamed of me if you thought i'd be low enough to marry a man i couldn't give my heart to--for a living." "don't talk rubbish," he retorted. "thousands of women do it. besides, if i don't mind, why should you? god knows you've made it plain enough that you don't love me. gus, why can't you marry me and let me save you from this just as a brother might save a sister?" "because i may love somebody some day, jim," said i. i wanted to hurt him--for his own sake, and also because i didn't want him to tempt me. the auto was at the curb. he didn't move until i was almost at the drawing-room door. then he rushed at me and his look frightened me a little. he caught me by the arm. "it's the last chance, augusta!" he exclaimed. "won't you?" i drew away and hurried out. "then you don't intend to have anything to do with me after i've crossed the line and become a toiler?" i called back over my shoulder. i couldn't resist the temptation to be thoroughly feminine and leave the matter open by putting him in the wrong with my "woman's last word." i was so low in my mind that i reasoned that my adventure might be as appalling as i feared, in which case it would be well to have an alternative. i wonder if the awful thoughts we sometimes have are our real selves or if they just give us the chance to measure the gap between what we might be as shown by them and what we are as shown by our acts. i hope the latter, for surely i can't be as poor a creature as i so often have impulses to make myself. mrs. carteret was waiting for the servant to open the door. i hurried her back toward the auto, being a little afraid that jim would be desperate enough to come out and beg her to help him--and i knew she would do it if she were asked. in the first place, jessie always does what she's asked to do--if it helps her to spend time and breath. in the second place, she'd never let up on me if she thought i had so good a chance to marry. for she knows that washington is the hardest place in the world for a woman to find a husband unless she's got something that appeals to the ambition of men. besides, she thinks, as do many of my friends, that i am indifferent to men and discourage them. as if any woman was indifferent to men! the only point is that women's ideas of what constitutes a man differ, and my six years in this cosmopolis have made me somewhat discriminating. but to return to jessie, she was full of apologies for being late. "i've thought of nothing but you, dear, for two days and nights. and i thought that for once in my life i'd be on time. yet here i am, fifteen minutes late, unless that clock's wrong." she was looking at the beautiful little clock set in the dashboard of the auto. "only fifteen minutes!" i said. "and you never before were known to be less than half an hour late. you even kept the president waiting twenty minutes." "isn't it stupid, this fussing about being on time?" she replied. "i don't believe any but dull people and those who want to get something from one are ever on time. for those who really live, life is so full that punctuality is impossible. but i should have been on time, if i hadn't been down seeing the secretary of war about willie catesby--poor willie! he has been _so_ handicapped by nature!" "did you get it for him?" i asked. "i think so--third secretary at st. petersburg. the secretary said: 'but willie is almost an imbecile, mrs. carteret. if we don't send him abroad, his family'll have to put him away.' and i said: 'that's true, mr. secretary. but if we don't send that sort of people to foreign courts, how are we to repay the insults they send us in the form of imbecile attachés?' and then i handed him six letters from senators--every one of them a man whose vote he needs for his fight on that nomination. they were _real_ letters. so presently he said, 'very well, mrs. carteret, i'll do what i can to resent the czar's last insult by exporting willie to him." i waited a moment, then burst out with what i was full of. "you think she'll take me?" i said. jessie reproached me with tragedy in her always intensely serious gray eyes. "take _you_?" she exclaimed. "take a talltowers when there's a chance to get one? why, as soon as i explained who you were, she fairly quivered with eagerness." "you had to _explain_ who a talltowers is?" i said with mock amazement. it's delightful to poke fun at jessie; she always appreciates a jest by taking it more seriously than an ordinary statement of fact. "but, dear, you mustn't be offended. you know mrs. burke is very common and ignorant. she doesn't know the first thing about the world. she said to me the other day that she had often heard there were such things as class distinctions, but had never believed it until she came to washington--she had thought it was like the fairy stories. she never was farther east than chicago until this fall. she went there to the fair. you must get her to tell you how she and three other women who belong to the same chautauqua circle went on together and slept in the same room and walked from dawn till dark every day, catalogue in hand, for eleven days. it's too pathetic. she said, 'my! but my feet were sore. i thought i was a cripple for life.'" "that sounds nice and friendly," said i, suspicious that jessie's quaint sense of humor had not permitted her to appreciate mrs. burke. "i'm so dreadfully afraid i'll fall into the clutches of people that'll try to--to humiliate me." tears sprang to jessie's eyes. "please don't, gus!" she pleaded. "they'll be only too deferential. and you must keep them so. i suspect that mrs. burke chums with her servants." we were stopping before the house--the big, splendid ralston castle, as they call it; one of the very finest of the houses that have been building since rich men began to buy into the senate and cabinet and aspire for diplomatic places, and so have attracted other rich families to washington. what a changed washington it is, and what a fight the old simplicity is making against the new ostentation! the sight of the ralston castle in my present circumstances depressed me horribly. i went to my second ball there, and it was given for me by mrs. ralston. and only a little more than a year ago i danced in the quadrille of honor with the french ambassador--and the next week the ralstons went smash and hurried abroad to hide, all except the old man who is hanging round wall street, they say, trying to get on his feet with the aid of his friends. friends! how that word must burn into him every time he thinks of it. when he got into a tight place his "friends" took advantage of their knowledge of his affairs to grab his best securities, they say. no doubt he was disagreeable in a way, but still those who turned on him the most savagely had been intimate with him and had accepted his hospitality. "you'll be mistress here," jessie was saying. she had put on her prophetic look and pose--she really believes she has second sight at certain times. "and you'll marry the son, if you manage it right. i counted him in when i was going over the advantages and disadvantages of the place before proposing it to you. he looks like a mild, nice young man--though i must say i don't fancy cowlicks right in the part of the hair. i saw only his picture." a tall footman with an insolent face opened the door and ushered us into the small drawing-room to the left: "mrs. carteret! miss talltowers!" he shouted--far louder than is customary or courteous. i saw the impudent grin in his eyes--no proper man-servant ever permits any one to see his eyes. and he almost dropped the curtain in our faces, in such haste was he to get back to his lounging-place below stairs. his roar had lifted to her feet an elderly woman with her hair so badly dyed that it made her features look haggard and harsh and even dissipated. she made a nervous bow. she was of the figure called stout by the charitable and sumptuous by the crude. she was richly-dressed, over-dressed, dressed-up--shiny figured satin with a great deal of beads and lace that added to her width and subtracted from her height. she stood miserable, jammed and crammed into a tight corset. her hands--very nice hands, i noticed--were folded upon her stomach. as soon as i got used to that revolting hair-dye, i saw that she had in fact a large-featured, sweet face with fine brown eyes. even with the dye she was the kind of looking woman that it sounds perfectly natural to hear her husband call "mother." jessie went up to her as she stood wretched in her pitiful attempt at youth and her grandeur of clothes and surroundings. mrs. burke looked down kindly, with a sudden quizzical smile that reminded me of my suspicions as to the chicago fair story. jessie was looking up like a plump, pretty, tame robin, head on one side. "_dear_ mrs. burke," she said. "this is miss talltowers, and i'm sure you'll love each other." mrs. burke looked at me--i thought, with a determined attempt to be suspicious and cautious. i'm afraid jessie's reputation for tireless effort to do something for everybody has finally "queered" her recommendations. however, whatever warning mrs. burke had received went for nothing. she was no match for jessie--jessie from whom his majesty at the white house hides when he knows she's coming for an impossible favor--she was no match for jessie and she knew it. she wiped the sweat from her face and stammered: "i hope we'll suit each other, miss--" in her embarrassment she had forgotten my name. "talltowers," whispered jessie with a side-splitting look of tragic apology to me. just then the clock in the corner struck out the half-hour from its cathedral bell--the sound echoed and reëchoed through me, for it marked the beginning of my "career." jessie went on more loudly: "and now that our _business_ is settled, can't we have some lunch, mrs. burke? i'm starved." mrs. burke brightened. "the senator won't be here to-day," she drawled, in a tone which always suggests to me that, after all, life is a smooth, leisurely matter with plenty of time for everything except work. "as he was leaving for the capitol this morning, he says to me, says he: 'you women had better fight it out alone.'" "the _dear_ senator!" said jessie. "he's _so_ clever?" "yes, he _is_ mighty clever with those he likes," replied mrs. burke--jessie looking at me to make sure i would note mrs. burke's "provincial" way of using the word clever. jessie saved the luncheon--or, at least, thought she was saving it. mrs. burke and i had only to listen and eat. i caught her looking at me several times, and then i saw shrewdness in her eyes--good-natured, but none the less penetrating for that. and i knew i should like her, and should get on with her. at last our eyes met and we both smiled. after that she somehow seemed less crowded and foreign in her tight, fine clothes. i saw she was impatient for jessie to go the moment luncheon was over, but it was nearly three o'clock before we were left alone together. there fell an embarrassed silence--for both of us were painfully conscious that nothing had really been settled. "when do you wish me to come--if you do wish it at all?" i asked, by way of making a beginning. "when do you think you could come?" she inquired nervously. "then you do wish to give me a trial? i hope you won't feel that mrs. carteret's precipitate way binds you." she gave me a shrewd, good-natured look. "i want you to come," she said. "i wanted it from what i'd heard of you--i and mr. burke. i want it more than ever, now that i've seen you. when can you come?" "to-morrow--to-morrow morning?" "come as early as you like. the salary is--is satisfactory?" "mrs. carteret said--but i'm sure--you can judge better--whatever--" i stuttered, red as fire. mrs. burke laughed. "i can see you ain't a great hand at business. the salary is two thousand a year, with a three months' vacation in the time we're not at washington. always have a plain understanding in money matters--it saves a lot of mean feelings and quarrels." "very well--whatever you think. i don't believe i'm worth much of anything until i've had a chance to show what i can do." "well, tom--mr. burke--said two thousand would be about right at the set-off," she drawled in her calming tone. "so we'll consider that settled." "yes," i gasped, with a big sigh of relief. "i suppose you wish me to take charge of your social matters--relieve you of the burdensome part of entertaining?" "i just wish you could," she said, with a great deal of humor in her slow voice. "but i've got to keep that--it's the trying to make people have a good time and not look and act as if they were wondering why they'd come." "that'll soon wear off," said i. "most of the stiffness is strangeness on both sides, don't you think?" "i don't know. as nearly as i can make out, they never had a real, natural good time in their lives. they wear the sunday, go-to-meeting clothes and manners the whole seven days. i'll never get used to it. i can't talk that kind of talk. and if i was just plain and natural, they'd think i was stark crazy." "did you ever try?" she lifted her hands in mock-horror. "mercy, no! tom--mr. burke--warned me." i laughed. "men don't know much about that sort of thing," said i. "a woman might as well let a man tell her how to dress as how to act." she colored. "he does," she said, her eyes twinkling. "he was here two winters--this is my first. i've a kind of feeling that he really don't know, but he's positive and--i've had nobody else to talk about it with. i'm a stranger here--not a friend except people who--well, i can guess pretty close to what they say behind my back." she laughed--a great shaking of as much of her as was not held rigid by that tight corset. "not that i care--i like a joke myself, and i'm a good deal of a joke among these grand folks. only, i do want to help tom, and not be a drag." she gave me a sudden, sharp look. "i don't know why i trust you, i'm sure." "because i'm your confidential adviser," said i, "and it's always well to keep nothing from a confidential adviser." the longer i looked and listened, the larger possibilities i saw in her. my enthusiasm was rising. she rose and came to me and kissed me. there were tears in her eyes. "i've been _so_ lonesome," she said. "even tom don't seem natural any more, away off here in the east. sometimes i get so homesick that i just can't eat or anything." "we're going to have a lot of fun," said i encouragingly--as if she were twenty-four and i fifty, instead of it being the other way. "you'll soon learn the ropes." "i'm so glad you use slang," she drawled, back in her chair and comfortably settled. "my, but tom'll be scandalized. he's made inquiries about you and has made up his mind that whatever you say is right. and i almost believed he knew the trails. i might 'a' known! he's a man, you see, and always was stiff with the ladies. you ought to 'a' seen the letter he wrote proposing to me. you see, i'm kind of fat and always was. mother used to tease me because i hadn't any beaux except tom, who wouldn't come to the point. she said: 'lizzie, you'll never have a man make real love to you.' and she was right. when tom proposed he wrote very formal-like--not a sentimental word. and when we were married and got better acquainted, i teased him about it, and tried to get him to make love, real book kind of love. but not a word! but he's fond of me--we always have got on fine, and his being no good at love-talk is just one of our jokes." it was fine to hear her drawl it out--i knew that she was sure to make a hit, if only i could get her under way, could convince her that it's nice to be natural if you're naturally nice. "tom" came in from the senate and i soon saw that, though she was a "really" lady, of the only kind that is real--the kind that's born right, he was a made gentleman, and not a very successful job. he was small and thin and dressed with the same absurd stiff care with which he had made her dress. he had a pointed reddish beard and reddish curls, and he used a kind of scent that smelt cheap though it probably wasn't. he was very precise and distant with me--how "lizzie's" eyes did twinkle as she watched him. i saw that she was "on to" tom with the quickness with which a shrewd woman always finds out, once she gets the clue. "have you had miss talltowers shown her rooms, mrs. burke?" he soon inquired. "why, no, pa," replied mrs. burke. "i forgot it clear." as she said "pa" he winced and her eyes danced with fun. she went on to me: "you don't mind our calling each other pa and ma before you, do you, miss talltowers? we're so used to doing it that, if you minded it and we had to stop, we'd feel as if we had company in the house all the time." i didn't dare answer, i was so full of laughter. for "pa" looked as if he were about to sink through the floor. she led me up to my rooms--a beautiful suite on the third floor. "we took the house furnished," she explained as we went, "and i feel as if i was living in a hotel--except that the servants ain't nearly so nice. i do hope you'll help me with them. tom wanted me to take a housekeeper, but those that applied were such grand ladies that i'd rather 'a' done all my own work than 'a' had any one of them about. perhaps we could get one now, and you could kind of keep her in check." "i think it'd be better to have some one," i replied. "i've had some experience in managing a house." i couldn't help saying it unsteadily--not because i miss our house; no, i'm sure it wasn't that. but i suddenly saw the old library and my father looking up from his book to smile lovingly at me as i struggled with the household accounts. anyhow, deep down i'm glad he did know so little about business and so much about everything that's fine. i'd rather have my memories of him than any money he could have left me by being less of a father and friend and more of a "practical" man. mrs. burke looked at me sympathetically--i could see that she longed to say something about my changed fortunes, but refrained through fear of not saying the right thing. i must teach her never to be afraid of that--a born lady with a good heart could never be really tactless. she went to the front door with me, opening it for me herself to the contemptuous amusement of the tall footman. we shook hands and kissed--i usually can't bear to have a woman kiss me, but i'd have felt badly if "ma" burke hadn't done it. when i got back to rachel's and burst into the drawing-room with a radiant face, i heard a grunt like a groan. it was from jim in the twilight near rachel at the tea-table. "i'm going out to service to-morrow," said i to rachel. "so you're to be rid of your visitor at last." "oh, gus!" exclaimed rachel between anger and tears. and jim looked black and sullen. but i was happy--and am to-night. happy for the first time in two years. i'm going to _do_ something--and it is something that interests me. i'm going to launch a fine stately ship, a full-rigged four-master in this big-little sea of washington society. what a sensation i can make with it among the pretty holiday boats! ii december . last monday morning young mr. burke--cyrus, the son and heir--arrived, just from germany. the first glimpse i had of him was as he entered the house between his father and his mother, who had gone to the station to meet him. i got myself out of the way and didn't come down until "ma" burke sent for me. i liked the way she was sitting there beaming--but then, i like almost everything she does; she's such a large, natural person. she never stands, except on her way to sit just as soon as ever she can. "i never was a great hand for using my feet," she said to me on my second day, "and i don't know but about as much seems to 'a' come to find me as most people catch up with by running their legs off." i liked the way her son was hovering about her. and i liked the way "pa" burke hovered round them both, nervous and pulling at his whiskers and trying to think of things to say--if he only wouldn't use brilliantine, or whatever it is, on his whiskers! "cyrus, this is my friend, miss talltowers," said mrs. burke. i smiled and he clapped his heels together with a click and doubled up as if he had a sudden pain in his middle, just like all the northern continental diplomats. when he straightened back to the normal i took a good look at him--and he at me. i don't know--or, rather, didn't then know--what _he_ thought. but i thought him--well, "common." he has a great big body that's strong and well-proportioned; but his features are so insignificant--a small mouth, a small nose, small ears, eyes, forehead, small head. and there, in the very worst place--just where the part ought to be--was the cowlick i'd noticed in his photograph. when he began to speak i liked him still less. he's been at berlin three years, but still has his harvard accent. i wonder why they teach men at harvard to use their lips in making words as a miss nancy sort of man uses his fingers in doing fancy work? neither of us said anything memorable, and presently he went away to his room, his mother going up with him. his father followed to the foot of the stairs, then drifted away to his study where he could lie in wait for cyrus on his way down. pretty soon his mother came into the "office" they've given me--it's just off the drawing-room so that i can be summoned to it the instant any one comes to see mrs. burke. [illustration: clarence f. underwood] "i've let his pa have him for a while," she explained, as she came in. i saw that she was full of her boy, so i turned away from my books. she rambled on about him for an hour, not knowing what she was saying, but just pouring out whatever came into her head. "his pa has always said i'd spoil him," was one of the things i remember, "but i don't think love ever spoiled anybody." also she told me that his real name wasn't cyrus but bucyrus, the town his father originally came from--it's somewhere in ohio, i think she said. "and," said she, "whenever i want to cut his comb i just give him his name. he tames right down." also that he has used all sorts of things on the cowlick without success. "there it is, still," said she, "as cross-grained as ever. i like it about the best of anything, except maybe his long legs. i'm a duck-leg myself, and his pa--well, _his_ legs 'just about reach the ground,' as lincoln said, and after that the less said the sooner forgot. but cyrus has _legs_. and his cowlick matches a cowlick in his disposition--a kind of gnarly knot that you can't cut nor saw through nor get round no way. it's been the saving of him, he's so good-natured and easy otherwise." and she went on to tell how generous he is, "the only generous small-eared person i've ever known, though i must say i have my doubts about ears as a sign. there was bill slayback in our town, with ears like a jack-rabbit, and whenever he had a poor man do a job of work about his place he used to pay him with a ninety-day note and then shave the note." i was glad when she hurried away at the sound of cyrus in the hall. for a huge lot of work there'll be for me to do until i get things in some sort of order. i've opened a regular set of books to keep the social accounts in. of course, nobody who goes in for society, on the scale we're going into it, could get along without social bookkeeping as big as a bank's. i pity the official women in the high places who can't afford secretaries; they must spend hours every night posting and fussing with their account-books when they ought to be in bed asleep. on my second day here "pa" burke explained what his plans were. "we wish to make our house," said he, "the most distinguished social center in washington, next to the white house--and very democratic. above all, miss talltowers, democratic." "he don't mean that he wants us to do our own work and send out the wash," drawled "ma" burke, who was sitting by. "but democratic, with fourteen servants in livery." "i understand," said i. "you wish simplicity, and people to feel at ease, mr. burke." "exactly," he replied in a dubious tone. "but i wish to maintain the--the dignities, as it were." i saw he was afraid i might get the idea he wanted something like those rough-and-tumble public maulings of the president that they have at the white house. i hastened to reassure him; then i explained my plan. i had drawn up a system somewhat like those the president's wife and the cabinet women and the other big entertainers have. i'm glad the burkes haven't any daughters. if they had i'd certainly need an assistant. as it is, i'm afraid i'll worry myself hollow-eyed over my books. first, there's the ledger--a real, big, thick office ledger with almost four hundred accounts in it, each one indexed. of course, there aren't any entries as yet. but there soon will be--what we owe various people in the way of entertainment, what they've paid, and what they owe us. second, there's my day-book. it contains each day's engagements so that i can find out at a glance just what we've got to do, and can make out each night before going to bed or early each morning the schedule for mrs. burke for the day, and for senator burke and the son, i suppose, for the late afternoon and the evening. third, there's the calling-book. already i've got down more than a thousand names. the obscurer the women are--the back-district congressmen's wives and the like--the greater the necessity for keeping the calling account straight. i wonder how many public men have had their careers injured or ruined just because their wives didn't keep the calling account straight. they say that _men_ forgive slights, and, when it's to their interest, forget them. but i know the _women_ never do. they keep the knife sharp and wait for a chance to stick it in, for years and years. of course, if the burkes weren't going into this business in a way that makes me think the senator's looking for the nomination for president i shouldn't be so elaborate. we'd pick out our set and stick to it and ignore the other sets. as it is, i'm going to do this thing thoroughly, as it hasn't been done before. fourth, there's our ball-and-big-dinner book. that's got a list of all the young men and another of all the young women. and i'm making notes against the names of those i don't know very well or don't know at all--notes about their personal appearance, eligibility, capacities for dancing, conversation, and so forth and so on. if you're going to make an entertainment a success you've got to know something more or less definite about the people that are coming, whom to ask to certain things and whom not to ask. take a man like phil harkness, or a girl like nell witton, for example. either of them would ruin a dinner, but phil shines at a ball, where silence and good steady dancing are what the girls want. as for nell, she's possible at a ball only if you can be sure john rush or somebody like him is coming--somebody to sit with her and help her blink at the dancers and be bored. then there's the sam tremenger sort of man--a good talker, but something ruinous when he turns loose in a ball-room and begins to batter the women's toilets to bits. he's a dinner man, but you can't ask him when politics may be discussed--he gets so violent that he not only talks all the time, but makes a deafening clamor and uses swear words--and we still have quiet people who get gooseflesh for damn. then there's--let me see, what number--oh, yes--fifth, there's my acceptance-and-refusal book. it's most necessary, both as a direct help and as an indirect check on other books. then, too, i want it to be impossible to send the burkes to places they've said they wouldn't go, or for them to be out when they've asked people to come here. those things usually happen when you've asked some of those dreadful people that everybody always forgets, yet that are sure to be important at some critical time. sixth, there's my book of home entertainments--a small book but most necessary, as arranging entertainments in the packed days of the washington season isn't easy. seventh, there's the little book with the list of entertainments other people are going to give. we have to have that so that we can know how to make our plans. and in it i'm going to keep all the information i can get about the engagements of the people we particularly want to ask. if i'm not sharp-eyed about that i'll fail in one of my principal duties, which is getting the right sort of people under this roof often enough during the season to give us "distinction." eighth, there's my distinguished-stranger book. i'm going to make that a specialty. i want to try to know whenever anybody who is anybody is here on a visit, so that we can get hold of him if possible. the white house can get all that sort of information easily because the distinguished stranger always gives the president a chance to get at him. _we_ shall have to make an effort, but i think we'll succeed. ninth--that's my book for press notices. it's empty now, but i think "pa" burke will be satisfied long before the season is over. quite a library isn't it? how simple it must be to live in a city like new york or boston where one bothers only with the people of one set and has practically no bookkeeping beyond a calling list. and here it's getting worse and worse each season. let me see, how many sets are there? there's the set that can say must to us--the white house and the cabinet and the embassies. then there's the set we can say must to--a huge, big set and, in a way, important, but there's nobody really important in it. then there's the still wider lower official set--such people as the under-secretaries of departments, the attachés of embassies, small congressmen and the like. then there's the old washington aristocracy--my particular crowd. it doesn't amount to "shucks," as mrs. burke would say, but everybody tries to be on good terms with it, lord knows why. finally, there's the set of unofficial people--the rich or otherwise distinguished who live in washington and must be cultivated. and we're going to gather in all of them, so as not to miss a trick. the first one of the burkes to whom i showed my books and explained myself in full was "ma" burke. she looked as if she had been taken with a "misery," as she calls it. "lord! lord!" she groaned. "whatever have i got my fool self into?" i laughed and assured her that it was nothing at all. "i'm only showing you _my_ work. all you've got to do is to carry out each day's work. i'll see to it that you won't even have to bother about what clothes to wear, unless you want to. you'll be perfectly free to enjoy yourself." "_enjoy_ myself?" said she. "why, i'll be on the jump from morning till night." "from morning till morning again," i corrected. "the men sleep in washington. but the women with social duties have no time for sleep--only for naps." "i reckon it'll hardly be worth while to undress for bed," she said grimly. "i'm going to have the bed taken out of my room. it'd drive me crazy to look at it. such a good bed, too. i always was a great hand for a good bed. i've often said to pa that you can't put too much value into a bed--and by bed i don't mean headboard and footboard, nor canopy nor any other fixings. what do you think of my hair?" i was a bit startled by her sudden change of subject. i waited. "don't mind me--speak right out," she said with her good-natured twinkle. "you might think it wasn't my hair, but it is. the color's not, though, as you may be surprised to hear." the "surprised" was broadly satirical. "i prefer natural hair," said i, "and gray hair is most becoming. it makes a woman look younger, not older." "that's sensible," said she. "i never did care for bottled hair. i think it looks bad from the set-off, and gets worse. the widow pfizer in our town got so that hers was bright green after she bottled it for two years, trying to catch old man coakley. and after she caught him she bottled his, and it turned out green, too, after a while." "why run such a risk?" said i. "i'm sure your own hair done as your maid can do it would be far more becoming." mrs. burke was delighted. "i might have known better," she observed, "but i found mr. burke bottling his beard, and he wanted me to; and it seemed to me that somehow bottled hair just fitted right in with all the rest of this foolishness here. how they would rear round at home if they knew what kind of a place washington is! why, i hear that up at the white house, when the president leaves the table for a while during meals, all the ladies--women, i mean--his wife and all of them, have to rise and stand till he comes back." "yes," i replied. "he's started that custom. i like ceremony, don't you?" "no, i can't say that i do," she drawled. "out home all the drones and pokes and nobodies are just crazy about getting out in feathers and red plush aprons and clanking and pawing round, trying to make out they're somebody. and i've always noticed that whenever anybody that is a somebody hankers after that sort of thing it's because he's got a streak of nobody in him. no, i don't like it in cal walters out home, and i don't like it in the president." "we've got to do as the other capitals do," said i. "naturally, as we get more and more ambassadors, and a bigger army, and the president more powerful, we become like the european courts. and the president is simply making a change abruptly that'd have to come gradually anyhow." her eyes began to twinkle. "first thing you know, the country'll turn loose a herd of steers from the prairies in this town, and--but, long as it's here, i suppose i've got to abide by it. so i'll do whatever you say. it'll be a poor do, without my trying to find fault." and she's being as good as her word. she makes me tell her exactly what to do. she is so beautifully simple and ladylike in her frank confessions of her ignorance--just as the queen of england would be if she were to land on the planet mars and have to learn the ways--the surface ways, i mean. i've no doubt that outside of a few frills which silly people make a great fuss about, a lady is a lady from one end of the universe to the other. i'm making the rounds of my friends with mrs. burke in this period of waiting for the season to begin. and she sits mum and keeps her eyes moving. she's rapidly picking up the right way to say things--that is, the self-assurance to say things in her own way. i took her among my friends first because i wanted her to realize that i was absolutely right in urging her to naturalness. there are so many in the different sets she'll be brought into contact with who are ludicrously self-conscious. certainly, there's much truth in what she says about the new order. we americans don't do the european sort of thing well, and, while the old way wasn't pretty to look at it, it was--it was our own. however, i'm merely a social secretary, dealing with what is, and not bothering my head about what ought to be. and as for the burkes, they're here to take advantage of what is, not to revolutionize things. mr. burke himself was the next member of the family at whom i got a chance with my great plans. when he had got it all out of me he began to pace up and down the floor, pulling at his whiskers, and evidently thinking. finally he looked at me in a kindly, sharp way, and, in a voice i recognized at once as the voice of the thomas burke who had been able to pile up a fortune and buy into the senate, said: "i double your salary, miss talltowers. and i hope you understand that expense isn't to be considered in carrying out your program. i want you to act just as if this were all for yourself. and if we succeed i think you'll find i'm not ungenerous." and before i could try to thank him he was gone. the last member was "bucyrus." as i knew his parents wished to be alone with him at first i kept out of the way, breakfasting in my rooms, lunching and dining out a great deal. what little i saw of him i didn't like. he ignored me most of the time--and i, for one woman, don't like to be ignored by any man. when he did speak to me it was as they speak to the governess in families where they haven't been used to very much for very long. perhaps this piqued me a little, but it certainly amused me, and i spoke to him in an humble, deferential way that seemed somehow to make him uneasy. it was day before yesterday that he came into my office about an hour after luncheon. he tried to look very dignified and superior. "miss talltowers," he said, "i must request you to refrain from calling me sir whenever you address me." "i beg your pardon, sir," i replied meekly, "but i have never addressed you. i hope i know my place and my duty better than that. oh, no, sir, i have always waited to be spoken to." he blazed a furious red. "i must request you," he said, with his speech at its most fancy-work like, "not to continue your present manner toward me. why, the very servants are laughing at me." "oh, sir," i said earnestly, "i'm sure that's not my fault." and i didn't spoil it by putting accent on the "that" and the "my." he got as pale as he had been red. "are you trying to make it impossible for us to remain under the same roof?" he demanded. what a spoiled stupid! "i'm sure, sir," said i, and i think my eyes must have shown what an unpleasant mood his hinted threat had put me in, "that i'm not even succeeding in making it impossible for us to remain in my private office at the same time. do you understand me, or do you wish me to make my meaning--" he had given a sort of snort and had rushed from the room. i suppose i ought to be more charitable toward him. a small person, brought up to regard himself as a sort of god, and able to buy flattery, and permitted to act precisely as his humors might suggest--what is to be expected of such a man? no, not a man but boy, for he's only twenty-six. _only_ twenty-six! one would think i was forty to hear me talking in that way of twenty-six. but women always seem older than men who are even many years older than they. and how having to earn my own bread has aged me inside! i think jessie was right when she said in that solemn way of hers, "and although, dear augusta, they may think you haven't brains enough, i assure you you'll develop them." poor, dear jessie! how she would amuse herself if she could be as she is, and also have a sense of humor! at any rate, mr. bucyrus came striding back after half an hour, and, rather surlily but with a certain grudging manliness, said: "i beg your pardon, miss talltowers, for what i said. i am ashamed of my having forgotten myself and made that tyrannical speech to you." "thank you, sir," said i, without raising my eyes. "you are most gracious." "and i hope," he went on, "that you will try to treat me as an equal." "it'll be very hard to do that, sir," said i. and i lifted my eyes and let him see that i was laughing at him. he shifted uneasily, red and white by turns. "i think you understand me," he muttered. "perfectly," said i. he waved his arm impatiently. "please don't!" he exclaimed rather imperiously. "i could have got my mother to--" "i hope you won't complain of me to your mother," i pleaded. he flushed and snorted, like a horse that is being teased by a fly it can reach with neither teeth, hoofs nor tail. "you know i didn't mean that. i'm not an utter cad--now, don't say, 'aren't you, sir?'" "i had no intention of doing so," said i. "in fact i've been trying to make allowances for you--for your mother's sake. i appreciate that you've been away from civilization for a long time. and i'm sure we shall get on comfortably, once you've got your bearings again." he was silent, stood biting his lips and looking out of the window. presently, when i had resumed my work, he said in an endurable tone and manner: "i hope you will be kind enough to include me in that admirable social scheme of yours. are those your books?" i explained them to him as briefly as i could. i had no intention of making myself obnoxious, but on the other hand i did not, and do not purpose to go out of my way to be courteous to this silly of an overgrown, spoiled baby. he tried to be nice in praise of my system, but i got rid of him as soon as i had explained all that my obligations as social secretary to the family required. he thanked me as he was leaving and said, in his most gracious tone, "i shall see that my father raises your salary." i fairly gasped at the impudence of this, but before i could collect myself properly to deal with him he was gone. perhaps it was just as well. i must be careful not to be "sensitive"--that would make me as ridiculous as he is. and that's the man jim lafollette is fairly smoking with jealousy of! he was dining at rachel's last night, and rachel put him next me. he couldn't keep off the subject of "that young burke." jessie overheard him after a while and leaned round and said to me, "how do you and young mr. burke get on?" in her "strictly private" manner--jessie's strictly private manner is about as private as the monument. "not badly," i replied, to punish jim. "we're gradually getting acquainted." jim sneered under his mustache. "it's the most shameful scheme two women ever put up," he said, as if he were joking. "oh, has jessie told you?" i exclaimed, pretending to be concealing my vexation. "it's the talk of the town," he answered, showing his teeth in a grin that was all fury and no fun. there may be women idiots enough to marry a man who warns them in advance that he's rabidly jealous, but i'm not one of them. better a crust in quietness. iii december . three weeks simply boiling with business since i wrote here--and it seems not more than so many days. and all by way of preparation, for the actual season is still five days away. i can hardly realize that mrs. burke is the same person i looked at so dubiously two days less than a month ago. truly, the right sort of us americans are wonderful people. to begin with her appearance: her hair isn't "bottled," as she called it, any more. it's beautiful iron-gray, and softens her features and permits all the placid kindliness and humor of her face to show. then there's her dress--gracious, how tight-looking she was! a _thin_ woman can, and should, wear _close_ things. but no woman who wishes to look like a lady must ever wear anything _tight_. to be tight in one's clothes is to be tight in one's talk, manner, thought--and that means--well, common. what an expressive word "common" is, yet i'm sure i couldn't define it. for a fat woman to be tight is--revolting! my idea of misery is a fat woman in a tight waist and tight shoes. yet fat women have a mania for wearing tight things, just as gaunt women yearn for stripes and short women for flounces. my first move in getting mrs. burke into shape--after doing away with that dreadful "bottled" hair--was to put her into comfortable clothes. the first time i got her into an evening dress of the right sort i was rewarded for all my trouble by her expression. she kissed me with tears in her eyes. "my dear," said she, "never before did i have a best dress that i wasn't afraid to breathe in for fear i'd bust out, back or front." then i made her sit down before her long glass and look at herself carefully. she had the prettiest kind of color in her cheeks as she smiled at me and said: "if i'd 'a' looked like this when i was young i reckon mr. burke wouldn't 'a' been so easy in his mind when he went away from home, nor 'a' stayed so long. i always did sympathize with pretty women when they capered round, but now i wonder they ever do sober down. if i weighed a hundred pounds or so less i do believe i'd try to frisk yet." and i do believe she could; for she's really a handsome woman. why is it that the women who have the most to them don't give it a chance to show through, but get themselves up so that anybody who glances at them tries never to look again? it is the change in her appearance even more than all she's learned that has given her self-confidence. she feels at ease--and that puts her at ease, and puts everybody else at ease, too. it has reacted upon mr. burke. he has dropped brilliantine--perhaps "ma" gave him a quiet hint--and he has taken some lessons in dress from "cyrus," who really gets himself up very well, considering that he has lived in germany for three years. i should have hopes that "pa" would blossom out into something very attractive socially if he hadn't a deep-seated notion that he is a great joker. a naturally serious man who tries to be funny is about the most painful object in civilization. still, washington is full of statesmen and scholars who try to unbend and be "light," especially with "the ladies." nothing makes me--or any other woman, i suppose--so angry as for a man to show that he takes me for a fool by making a grinning galoot of himself whenever he talks to me. bucyrus is much that kind of ass. he alternates between solemnity and silliness. i said rather pointedly to him the other night: "you men with your great, deep minds make a mistake in changing your manner when you talk with the women and the children. nothing pleases us so much as to be taken seriously." but it didn't touch him. however, he's hardly to blame. he's spent a great many years round institutions of learning, and in those places, i've noticed, every one has a musty, fusty sense of humor. probably it comes from cackling at classical jokes that have laughed themselves as dry as a mummy. we've been giving a few entertainments--informal and not large, but highly important. i had two objects in mind: in the first place, to get mr. and mrs. burke accustomed to the style of hospitality they've got to give if they're going to win out. in the second place, to get certain of the kind of people who are necessary to us in the habit of coming to this house--and those people are not so very hard to get hold of now; later they'll be engaged day and night. for two weeks now i've had my two especial features going. one of them is for the men, the other for the women. and i can see already that they alone would carry us through triumphantly; for they've caught on. my men's feature is a breakfast. i engaged a particularly good cook--the best old-fashioned southern cook in washington. rachel had her, and i persuaded mr. derby to consent to giving her up to us, just for this season. cleopatra--that's her name--has nothing to do but get together every morning by nine o'clock the grandest kind of an old-fashioned american breakfast. and i explained to senator burke that he was to invite some of his colleagues, as many as he liked, and tell them to come any morning, or every morning if they wished, and bring their friends. i consult with cleopatra every day as to what she's to have the next morning; and i think dear old father taught me what kind of breakfast men like. i don't give them too much, or they'd be afraid to come and risk indigestion a second time. i see to it that everything is perfectly cooked--and it's pretty hard for any man to get indigestion, even from corned beef hash and hot cornbread and buckwheat cakes with maple syrup, if it's perfectly cooked and is eaten in a cheerful frame of mind. no women are permitted at these breakfasts--just men, with everything free and easy, plenty to smoke, separate tables, but each large enough so that there's always room at any one of them for one more who might otherwise be uncomfortable. even now we have from fifteen to twenty men--among them the very best in washington. in the season we'll have thirty and forty, and our house will be a regular club from nine to eleven for just the right men. my other big feature is an informal dance every wednesday night. it's already as great a success in its way as the breakfasts are in theirs. i've been rather careful about whom i let mrs. burke invite to come in on wednesdays whenever they like. the result is that everybody is pleased; the affairs seem to be "exclusive," yet are not. i know it will do the burkes a world of good politically, because a certain kind of people who are important politically but have had no chance socially are coming to us on wednesdays, and that's just the kind of people who are frantically flattered by the idea that they are "in the push." speaking of being "in the push," there are two ways of getting there if one isn't there. one is to worm your way in; the other is to make yourself the head and front of "the push." that's the way for those who have money and know how. and that's the way the burkes are getting in--getting in at the front instead of at the rear. it's most gratifying to see how mr. burke treats me. he always has been deferential, but he now shows that he thinks i have real brains. and since his breakfasts have become the talk of the town and are "patronized" by the men he's so eager to get hold of, he is even consulting me about his business. i am criticizing for him now a speech he's going to make on the canal question next month--a dreadfully dull speech, and i don't feel competent to tell him what to do with it. i think i'll advise him not to make it, tell him his forte is diplomacy--winning men round by personal dealing with them--which is the truth. young mr. burke--after a period of unbending--is now shyer than ever. i wondered why, until it happened to occur to me one day as i was talking with jessie. i suddenly said to her: "jessie, did you ever tell nadeshda that you had planned to marry me to cyrus burke?" she hopped about in her chair a bit, as uneasy as a bird on a swaying perch. then she confessed that she "might have suggested before nadeshda what a delightfully satisfactory thing it would be." i laughed to relieve her mind--also because it amused me to see through nadeshda. of course, one of the women i needed most in this burke campaign was nadeshda. and i happened to know that she is bent on marrying a rich american--indeed, that's the only reason why the wilds of america are favored with the presence of the beautiful, joy-loving, courted and adored baroness nadeshda daragane. the yarn about her sister, the ambassadress, being an invalid and shrinking from the heavy social responsibilities of the embassy is just so much trash. so, as soon as "cyrus" came i went over to see her, and, as diplomatically as i knew how, displayed before her dazzled eyes the substantial advantages of the sole heir of the great western multi-millionaire. as i went on to tell how generous the senator is, and how certain he would be to lavish wealth upon his daughter-in-law, i could see her mind at work. a fascinating, naughty, treacherous little mind it is--like a small swiss watch of the rarest workmanship and full of wheels within wheels. and she's a beautiful little creature, as warm as a tropical sun to look at, and about as cold as the arctic regions to deal with. no, i haven't begun to describe her. i'd not be surprised to hear that she had eloped with her brother-in-law's coachman; nor should i be surprised to hear that she had married the most hideous, revolting man in the world for his money, and was suspected of being engaged in trying to hasten him off to the grave. she's of the queer sort that would kiss or kill with equal enthusiasm, capable of almost any virtue or vice--on impulse. if there's any part of her beneath the impulsive part it's solid ice in a frame of steel. but--is there? she's talked about a good deal--not a tenth enough to satisfy her craving for notoriety, and, i may add, not a tenth part so much as she deserves to be, and would be if we studied character on this side of the water instead of being too busy with ourselves to look beyond anybody else's surface. well, the baroness nadeshda has been wild about the burkes ever since we had our talk. and she has mr. cyrus thoroughly tangled in her nets, and the senator, too. and, naturally, she lost no time in trying to "do" me. she has told bucyrus what a designing creature i am--no doubt has warned him that if i seem distant to him i'm at my deadliest, and to look out for mines. he certainly is looking out for them, for, whenever i speak to him, he acts as if he were stepping round on a volcano. i'm having a good deal of fun with him. i wish i had the time; i'd try to teach him a very valuable lesson. really, it's a shame to let a man go through life imagining that he's an all-conqueror, when in reality the woman who marries him will feel that she's swallowing about as bitter a dose as fate ever presented to feminine lips in a gold spoon. dear old "ma" burke hasn't yet yielded to nadeshda's blandishments. we went to the embassy to call yesterday afternoon at tea-time, and i saw her watching nadeshda in that smiling, simple way of hers that conceals about as keen a brain as i shouldn't care to have tearing me to pieces for inspection. the embassy at tea-time is always wild. for then sophie comes in with her monkey and nadeshda's seven dogs are racing about. and the count always laughs loudly, usually at nothing at all. and each time he laughs the dogs bark until the monkey in a great fright dashes up the curtains or flings himself at sophie and almost strangles her with his paws or arms, or whatever they are, round her neck. i don't think i've ever been there that something hasn't been spilt for a huge mess; often the whole tea-table topples over. mrs. burke loves to go, for afterward she laughs a dozen times a day until her sides ache. as we came away yesterday i said to her: "what a fascinating, beautiful creature nadeshda is!" mrs. burke smiled. "when i was a girl," she said, "i had a catamount for a pet--a cub, and they had cut his claws. he was beautiful and mighty fascinating--you never did know when he was going to fawn on you and when he was going to fasten his teeth in you. the baroness puts me in mind of my old pet, and how i didn't know which was harder--to keep him or to give him up." "she certainly has a strange nature," said i. after a pause mrs. burke went on: "she's the queerest animal in this menagerie here, so far as i've seen. and i don't think i'm wrong in suspecting she's sitting up to cyrus." "i don't wonder he finds her interesting," said i. "cyrus is just like his pa," said she, "a mighty poor judge of women. it was lucky for his pa that he married and settled down before he had much glitter to catch the eyes of the women. otherwise, he'd 'a' made a ridiculous fool of himself. but i like a man the women can fool easy. that shows he's honest. these fellows who are so sharp at getting on to the tricks of the women ain't, as a rule, good for much else. but cyrus has got _me_ to look after him." "he might do much worse than marry nadeshda," said i. "that's what his pa says," she replied. "but i ain't got round to these new-fashioned notions of marriage. i want to see my cyrus married to the sort of woman his ma'd like and be proud to have for the mother of her grand-children. and i ain't altogether sure we need the kind of tone in our blood that a catamount'd bring. though i must say a year or so of living with a catamount might do cyrus a world of good." which shows that even love can't altogether blind "ma" burke. january . i had to do a little scheming to get mrs. burke an invitation to assist at the new year's reception. it's always the first event of the season, and, though it would have been no great matter if i hadn't been able to get her in among those who stand near the president's wife and the cabinet women, still i felt that i couldn't get my "pulls" into working order any too soon. ever since the second week in my "job" i've realized that nothing could be easier than to put the burkes well to the front, but my ambition to make them first calls for the exertion of every energy. so, in the third week of december i set rachel at mrs. senator lumley and mrs. admiral bixby--two women who can get almost anything in reason out of the president's wife. rachel is about the most important woman in the old washington aristocracy, and the lumleys and the bixbys are in the nature of fixtures here, not at all like an evanescent president or cabinet person. so rachel's request set the two women to work. and although the president's wife said she'd asked all she intended to ask, far too many, and didn't see why on earth she should be beset for a newcomer who had been reported to her as fat and impossible, still she finally yielded. i hadn't hoped to get an invitation for them for the cabinet dinner, and i was astounded when it came. we had arranged to give a rather large informal dinner that night and had to call it off, as an invitation from the white house, even from the obscurest member of the president's family for any old function whatever, is a command that may not be disobeyed. well, as i was saying, the invitation to the cabinet dinner came unsought. it seems that the burke breakfasts are making a great stir politically; so great a stir that they have made the president a little uneasy. of course, the best way to get rid of an opponent is to conciliate him. hence the royal command to senator and mrs. burke to appear at his majesty's dinner to his majesty's ministers. mrs. burke is tremendously proud of her first two communications from the white house. as for the senator, he looks at them half a dozen times a day. i went down to the new year's reception to see how "ma" was getting on. as i had expected, she didn't stand very long. she cast about for a chair, and, seeing one, planted herself. soon the baroness joined her, and young prince krepousky joined nadeshda, and then general martin, who loves mrs. burke for the feeds she gives. the group grew, and mrs. burke began to talk in her drawling, humorous way, and nadeshda laughed, which made the others laugh--for it's impossible to resist nadeshda. when i arrived mrs. burke was "right in it." and after a while the president came and said: "is this your reception, madam, or is it mine?" at which there was more laughing, he raising a great guffaw and slapping his hip with his powerful hand. then they all went up to have something to eat, and the president spent most of the time with her. she doesn't need any more coaching. of course, she's flattered by her success. but instead of having her head turned, as most women do who get the least bit of especial attention from the conspicuous men here, she takes it all very placidly. "they don't care shucks for me," she says, "and i know it. we're all in business together, and i'm mighty glad it can be carried on so cheerful-like." at the cabinet dinner, to-morrow night, she'll have to sit well down toward the foot of the table. but she won't mind that. indeed, if i hadn't been giving her lessons in precedence she wouldn't have an idea that everything here is arranged by rank. jessie--so she tells me--had a half-hour's session with "cyrus" the other day and gave him a very exalted idea of my social position and influence. no doubt, what she said confirmed his suspicion that i and my friends are conspiring against him; but i observe a distinct change in his manner toward me. he's even humble. i suppose he thought i was some miserable creature whom his mother had taken on, half out of charity. i'm afraid i have a sort of family pride that's a little ridiculous--but i can't help it. still, i am american enough to despise people who are courteous or otherwise, according as they look up to or look down on the particular person's family and position. i guess young mr. burke is his father in an aggravated form. yet jessie, and rachel, too, pretend to like him. and probably they really do--it's not hard to like any one who is not asking favors and is in a position to grant them, and isn't so near to one that his quills stick into one. the countess of wend came in to see me this afternoon and told me all about the row over at the legation. it seems that the new minister is a plebeian, and in their country people of his sort aren't noticed by the upper classes unless an upper-class man happens to need something to wipe his boots on and one of them is convenient for use. well, every attaché is in a fury, and none of them will speak to the minister except in the most formal way and only when it's absolutely necessary. as for the minister's wife, the other women--but what's the use of describing it; we all know how nasty women can be about matters of rank. the count is talking seriously of resigning. i'd be dreadfully sorry, as eugenie is a dear, more like an american than a foreigner; and i believe she really likes us, where most of them privately despise us as a lot of low-born upstarts. i know they laugh all day long at the president's queer manners and mannerisms--but then, so do we, for that matter. and it's quite unusual for washington, where each president is bowed down to and praised everywhere and flattered till he thinks he's a sort of god--and forgotten as soon as his term is ended. i suppose there's nothing deader on this earth than an ex-president, with no offices to distribute and no hopes for a further political career. january . we had a beautiful dinner here last night--very brilliant too, as we all were going to a ball at the russian embassy afterward. all the diplomats and army men were in uniform--and one or two of the army men were really brilliant. but none of the diplomats. they say that no nation sends us its best or even its second best. it seems that diplomats don't amount to much in this day of cables. those who have any intelligence naturally go to courts, where the atmosphere is congenial and where there are chances for decorations. so we get only the stiffs and stuffs--with a few exceptions. if it weren't for their women-- but, to return to our dinner--mrs. burke went in with the german ambassador, and i saw that they were getting on famously. he is a very clever man in a small way, and has almost an american sense of humor. as soon as he saw that she intended what she said to be laughed at he gave himself up to it. "your mrs. burke is charming, miss talltowers," said he to me after dinner. "she ranks with bret harte and mark twain. it's only in america that you find old women who make you forget to wish you were with young and pretty women." jim lafollette took me in--the first time i've had him here. i must say he behaved very well and was the handsomest man in the room. but he never has much to say that is worth hearing. though conversation at washington in society isn't on any too high a plane, as a rule--how could conversation in a mixed society anywhere be very high?--still it isn't the wishy-washy chatter and gossip that jim lafollette delights in. of course, army officers almost always go in for gossip--that comes from sitting round with their women at lonely posts where nothing occurs. and they, as a rule, either gossip or simply drivel when they talk to women, because all the women that ever liked them liked them for their brass buttons, and all the women they ever liked they liked for their pretty faces and empty heads. so, usually, to get an army officer at dinner is to sit with a bowl of soft taffy held to your lips and a huge spoonful of it thrust into your mouth every time you stop talking. that's true of many of the statesmen, too, especially the heavyweights. i suppose i'm wrong, but i can't help suspecting a man without a sense of humor of being a solemn fraud. you'd think american women, at the capital, at least, would be interested in politics. but they're not. they say it's the vulgarity of the intriguing and of most of the best intriguers that makes them dislike politics, even here. i suspect there's another reason. we women are so petted by the men that we don't have to know anything to make ourselves agreeable. if we're pretty and listen well that's all that's necessary. so, why get headaches learning things? of course, there are exceptions. take maggie shotwell. her husband is a wag-eared ass. yet in eleven years she has advanced him from second secretary to minister to a second-class power just by showing up here at intervals and playing the game intelligently. and there are scores of army women who do as well in a smaller way, and a few of the diplomats' wives are most adroit, intriguing well both here and at their homes in a nice, clean way, as intrigue goes. but most of the women are like "ma" burke, who'd as soon think of entering for a foot-race as of interfering in her husband's political affairs in any way, beyond giving him some sound advice about the men that can be trusted and the men that can't. i suppose if there were real careers in public life in this country, not dependent upon elections, the washington women wouldn't be so lazy and indifferent, but would wake up and intrigue their brothers and sons and other male relatives into all sorts of things. then, too, a man has to vote with his "party" on everything that's important, and his "party" is a small group of old men who are beyond social blandishments and go to bed early every night and associate only with men in the daytime. no, we women don't amount to much _directly_ at washington. if jim lafollette had kept away from the women and society he might have amounted to something. it's become a proverb that whenever a young man comes here and goes in for the social end of it he is doomed soon to disappear and be heard of no more. the president is trying to make society amount to something, but he won't succeed. whatever benefit there may be in it will go, not to him, but to men like senator burke. he doesn't go any more than he can help, except to his own breakfasts. but he sends his wife, and so, without wasting any of his time, he makes himself prominent in a very short space of time and gets all the big social indirect influence--the influence of the women on their husbands. mrs. burke's younger brother, robert gunton, arrived last night. he reminds me of her, but he's slender and very active--a shabby sort of person, clean but careless, and he looks as if he had so many other things to think about that he hadn't time to think about himself. he looks younger and talks older than his years. he's here to get some sort of patent through; he won't permit his brother-in-law to assist him; he refuses to go anywhere--in society, i mean. we rode up to the capitol together in a street-car this morning, and i liked him. "why do you ride in a street-car?" he asked. "because it's not considered good form to use carriages too much," i replied. "it might rouse the envy of those who can't afford carriages." "then it isn't because you don't want to, but because you don't dare to?" "yes," said i. "but things are changing rapidly. the rich people who live here but care nothing for politics are gradually introducing class distinctions." "you mean, poor people who like to fawn upon and hate the rich are introducing class distinctions," he corrected. he is thirty-two years old; he treats a woman as if she were a man, and he treats a man as if he himself were one. it isn't possible not to like that sort of human being. invitations are beginning to come in floods--invitations for the big, formal things for which people are asked weeks in advance. and we are getting a splendid percentage of acceptances for our big affairs, thanks to my taking the trouble to find out the freest dates in the season. if all goes well, before another month, as soon as it gets round that we are going to give something big in a short time, lots of pretty good people will be holding off from accepting other things in the hope that they're on our list. certainly, there's a good deal in going about anything in a systematic way--even a social launching. iv january . we are all sleeping so badly. even the senator, whom nothing has ever before kept from his "proper rest," is complaining of wakefulness. suppers every night either here or elsewhere, the house never quiet until two or three in the morning, all of us up at eight--cyrus often at seven because he rides a good deal, and the early morning is the only time when any one in washington in the season can find time to ride. "it's worse than the wilderness campaign," said mr. burke, who was a lieutenant in the war. "for now and then, between battles and skirmishes, we did get plenty of sleep. this is a continuous battle day and night, week in and week out, with no let-up for sundays." and mrs. burke--poor "ma!" how hollow-eyed and sagged-cheeked she is getting with the real season less than two weeks old! she says: "i wouldn't treat a dog as i treat myself. i no sooner get to sleep than they wake me. i think the servants just delight to wake me, and i don't blame them, for they're worse off than we are, though i do try to be as easy on them as possible." she doesn't know how many long naps they take while she's dragging herself from place to place. on our way to the white house to a musicale she fell asleep. as we rolled up to the entrance i had to wake her. she came to with a sort of groan and gave a ludicrously pitiful glance at the attendant who was impatiently waiting. "oh, lord!" she muttered. "i was dreaming i was in bed, and it ain't so. instead, i've got to enjoy myself." and then she gave a dreary laugh. "ma" burke dozed through the musicale with a pleasant smile on her large face and her head keeping time to the music. when we spoke to the president and he said he hoped she'd "enjoyed herself," she drawled: "i did that, mr. president! i only wish it had been longer--i'm 'way behind on sleep." he laughed uproariously. it's the fashion to laugh at everything "ma" says now, because the german ambassador tells every one what a wit she is. and who'd fail to laugh at wit admired by an ambassador? writing about sleep has driven off my fit of wakefulness. i'll only add that lu frayne's in town, working day and night to get her husband transferred from san francisco to the war department here. i think she'll win out, as she's got two senators who've been frightening the president by acting queerly lately. it's too funny! when the new administration came every one was scared because the rumor got round that he was going to give us a repetition of the cleveland nightmare. but there was nothing in it; the only "pulls" that have failed to work are those that were strong with the last administration, and there's a whole crop of new pulls. well, at least, the right sort of people, those who have family and position, are getting their rights to preference as they never did before. we've not had many presidents who knew the right sort of people even when they've been willing to please them, if they could pick them out. what a changed washington it is: so many formalities; so many rich people; so many rich men, and men of family and position in office; so many big, fine houses and english and french servants. "such a stylishness!" january . our first big dance last night--i mean, formal dance to show our strength. everybody was here, and the dinner beforehand and the supper afterward and all the mechanical arrangements, so to speak, were perfect. the ball-room was a sight--even "ma" burke, tired to death, perked up. almost all the diplomats, except those nobody asks, were here. and i don't think more than thirty people we hadn't invited ventured to come. we were all so excited that, after the last people had gone, we sat round for nearly an hour. "ma" burke took me in her arms and kissed me. "it was your ball," said she. "but then, everything we get credit for is all yours; ain't it, pa?" "miss talltowers has certainly done wonderfully," said "pa" in his cautious, judicial way. then he seemed ashamed of himself, as if he had been ungenerous, and shook hands with me and added: "thank you, thank you, miss augusta--if you'll permit me the liberty of calling you so." "i never expected to see as pretty a girl as you bothering to have brains," mrs. burke went on to say. and for the first time in weeks and weeks it occurred to me that i did have a personal existence apart from my work--the books and bookkeeping, the servants and the housekeeper, who is only one more to fuss with, the tradespeople, and musicians, and singers, and florists, and--it makes my head whirl to try to recall the awful list. "she won't be pretty very long," said cyrus--he's taking lessons of his mother and is dropping his fancy-work speech and his "made-in-germany" manners--"if she don't stop working day _and_ night." "oh, i'm amusing myself," replied i; but i was reminded how weary i felt, and went away to bed. i neglected to close my sitting-room door, and as i was getting ready for bed in my dressing-room i couldn't help overhearing a scrap of talk between cyrus and mr. gunton as they went along the hall on the way to their apartments. "the tevises were disgusting--they showed their envy so plainly," cyrus said. the tevises are trying hard to do what we're doing in a social way, and though they must have even more money than the burkes, they're failing at it. "they'll never get anywhere," mr. gunton replied. "you can't collect much of a crowd of nice people just to watch you spend money. you've got to give them a real show. there's where miss talltowers comes in." "she has wonderful taste and originality," said cyrus. cyrus! mr. gunton sat out most of the evening with nadeshda. i suppose she was trying to make cyrus jealous and also to create trouble between him and his uncle. i've not seen a franker flirtation even in washington. whenever i chanced to look at them, mr. gunton was talking earnestly, and she seemed to be hanging to his words like a thirsty bird to a water-pan. and her queer, subtle face was--well, it was beautiful, and gave me that sense of the wild and fierce and uncanny which makes her both fascinating and terrible. i think mr. gunton was infatuated--indeed, i know it. for when i spoke of her to him this morning his eyes seemed to blaze. he drew a long breath. "a wonder-woman!" he said. "i never saw anything like her--in the flesh." then he looked a little sheepish, and added: "i mean it, but i laugh at myself, too. there are fools that don't know they're fools; then, there are fools that do know it and laugh at themselves as they plan fresh follies--it takes a pretty clever man, miss talltowers, to make a grand, supreme, rip-roaring ass of himself, doesn't it? at least, i hope so." and with that somewhat mysterious observation he left me abruptly. when i saw him and nadeshda together so much at the ball i looked out for cyrus. he seemed bored, and devoted himself to wallflowers, but on the whole was surprisingly unconcerned, apparently. i had him in sight almost the whole evening. jim lafollette, who stuck to my train like a japanese poodle--i told him so, but he didn't take the hint--said that "the gawk," meaning cyrus, was hanging round me. "he's moon-struck," said jim. "so your little put-up job with jessie seems to be doing nicely, thank you." i wonder why a man assumes that the fact that he loves a woman gives him the right to insult her and makes it his duty to do it. and i wonder why we women assent to that sort of impudence. there's another conventionality that ought to be stamped out. i find i was hasty in my judgment of cyrus. he's a lot more of a man than he led me to suppose at first. i think he might be licked into shape. he ought to hunt up some widow or married woman older than himself and go to school for a few seasons. but perhaps nadeshda will do as well. january . there were thirty-two at senator burke's "little informal breakfast" yesterday morning, including four of the leading senators, two members of the cabinet, an ambassador and three ministers, several generals, half a dozen distinguished strangers, four or five big financial men from new york who are here on "private business" with congress, and not a man who doesn't count for something except that wretched little framstern, who never misses anything free. and our regular weekly informal dance was an equal success in its way. senator ritchie told me it was amazing how burke had forged to the front in influence and in popularity. "and now that the newspapers have begun to take him up he'll soon be standing out before the whole country." so my little suggestion about the wives and families of correspondents of the big papers, which the burkes adopted, is bearing fruit. and mrs. burke is so genuinely friendly and hospitable that really i've only to suggest her being nice to somebody to set her to work. if she were the least bit of a fraud i'd not dare--she'd only get into trouble. january . i was breakfasting alone in my sitting-room this morning--i always do an hour or so of work before i touch anything to eat--when mr. gunton sent, asking if he might join me. i was glad to have him. his direct way is attractive, and he never talks without saying at least a few things i haven't heard time and again. he was in riding clothes, and as soon as i looked at him i saw he had something on his mind. "good ride?" i asked. he made an impatient gesture--whenever he has anything to say and doesn't know how to begin, the way to start him off is to make some commonplace remark. it acts like a blow that knocks in the head of a full barrel. "i was out with the baroness daragane," he said, "with nadeshda." "and cyrus?" said i. he looked at me in astonishment, then laughed queerly. "oh, bother!" he exclaimed. "cyrus doesn't disturb himself about _her_, or she about him--and you know it. miss talltowers, i love her--and she loves me." his tone was convincing. but, after the first shock, i couldn't believe anything so preposterous. and i felt sorry for him--an honest, straight man, inexperienced with women, a fine mixture of gentleness and roughness, at once too much and too little of a gentleman for nadeshda. if i had dared i should have tried to undeceive him. but i'm not so stupid as ever to try to make a person in love see the truth about the person he or she's in love with. so i simply said: "she is a most fascinating woman." [illustration] "you think i'm a fool," he went on, as if i hadn't spoken, "and i am a--a blankety-blank fool. did you see her night before last in that dress of silver spangles like the wonderful skin of some amazing serpent? did you see her eyes--her hair--the way her arms looked--as if they could wind themselves round a man's neck and choke him to death while her eyes were fooling him into thinking that such a death was greater happiness than to live?" he rolled this all out, then burst into a queer, crazy laugh. "you see, i'm a lunatic!" he said. "yes, i see it," i replied cheerfully. "but why do you rave to me?" "because i--we--have got to tell somebody, and you're the only person in washington that i know that's both sensible and experienced, wise enough to understand, beautiful enough to sympathize, and young enough to encourage." that was rather good for a man who had had less than a month's real experience with women, wasn't it? i recognized nadeshda's handiwork, and admired. "miss talltowers," he went on, "i am going to make a fool of myself, and she's going to help me." "in what particular sort of folly are you about to embark?" said i. "we're going to marry," he replied. "we've _got_ to marry. i'm afraid of her and she's afraid of me, and we'll either have heaven or the other place when we do marry--perhaps big doses of each alternately. but we've got to do it." "you know it's impossible," said i. "under the laws of her country she mayn't marry without the consent of her parents. and they'd never consent." "certainly they won't," said he, "unless you can suggest some way of getting the ambassador and his wife round. we want to give her people a chance." this with perfect coolness. i began to believe that there must be something in it. "does nadeshda know you aren't rich?" i asked. "she knows i have practically nothing. in fact i told her i had less than i have." "and you're sure she wishes to marry you?" "ask her." he was quiet a while, then raved about her for ten minutes, begged me to do my best thinking, and left me. i felt dazed. i simply couldn't believe it. and the longer i thought, the more certain i was that she was making some sort of grand play in coquetry, which seemed ridiculous enough when i considered what small game mr. gunton is from the standpoint of a woman like nadeshda. in the afternoon i was in a flower store in pennsylvania avenue, and nadeshda joined me. her surface was, if anything, cooler and subtler and more cynical than usual. "send away your cab," said she, "and let me take you in my auto--wherever you wish." as i was full of curiosity, i accepted instantly. when we were under way she gave me a strange smile--a slow parting of the lips, a slow half-closing and elongation of those eastern eyes which she inherits from a russian grandmother, i believe. "well, gus," she said, "has that wild man told you?" "yes, and you ought to be ashamed of yourself," said i, a little indignantly. "it ain't fair to coax an innocent into _your_ sort of game and fleece him of his little all." she laughed--beautiful white teeth, cruel like her red lips. "it's all true--all he told you," she replied. "all true, on my honor." every season washington's strange mixture of classes and conditions and nations furnishes at least one sensation of some kind or other. but, used as i am to surprises until they have ceased to surprise, this took me quite aback. "do you love him, nadeshda--really?" she quite closed her eyes and said in a strange, slow undertone: "he's my master. the blood in my veins flowed straight from the savage wilderness. and he comes from there, and i don't dare disobey him. i'd do anything he said. and when we're married i'll never glance at another man--if he saw me he'd kill me. ah, you don't understand--you're too--too civilized. now, i think i should love him better if he'd beat me." i laughed--it was too ridiculous, especially as she was plainly in earnest. she laughed, too, and added: "i think some day i'll try to make him do it. he's afraid of me, too. and he may well be, for i--well, he belongs to _me_, you see, and i _will_ have what's mine!" yes, she would--i believe her absolutely. and i must say i like her at last, for all her extremely uncanny way of loving and of liking to be loved. i suppose she's only a primeval woman--i believe the primeval woman fancied the lover who lay in wait and brought her down with a club. i begin to understand robert gunton, too--that is, the side of his nature she's roused. "do you believe us?" she asked. "yes, i do," said i, "and i apologize to you. i've been thinking of you all along as--fascinating, of course, but--mercenary." "ah, but so i am!" she exclaimed. "it breaks my heart to marry this poor man--and of such a vulgar family--even among you funny americans. but"--she threw up her arms and her shoulders and let them drop in a gesture of tragicomic helplessness--"i must have him; i must be his slave." i can't imagine how it's going to end, as her people will never let her marry him. possibly, if "ma" burke were to persuade the senator to settle a large sum on her--but that's wild, even if gunton would consent. i can imagine what a roar he'd give if such a thing were proposed. he'll insist on having her on his own terms. as if his insisting would do any good! the last thing she said to me was: "do you know when we became engaged? listen! it was the first time we met--after three hours. after one hour he made me insult the men who came up to claim dances. after two hours he made me say, 'i love you.' after three hours--it was on the way down to my carriage--he asked me to come into the little reception-room by the entrance. and he closed the door and caught me in his arms and kissed me. 'that makes you my wife,' he said in a _dreadful_ voice--oh, it was--_magnifique!_--and he said, 'do you understand?' and"--she smiled ravishingly and nodded her head--"i understood." i shan't sleep a wink to-night. january . i wish they hadn't told me. if ever a man loves me and wants to win me he must be--well, perhaps not exactly _that_, but certainly not tame. i'm not a bit like nadeshda, but i do hate the tame sort. i know what's the matter with me now. yes, i wish they hadn't told me. january . robert and nadeshda have told "ma" burke. she is--_delighted_! "i never heard of the like," she said to me all in a quiver. "i wish i'd known there were such things. i reckon i'd 'a' made my tom cut a few capers before he got _me_." and then she laughed until she cried. it certainly was droll to picture "pa" capering in the robert-nadeshda fashion. she went to the embassy and told nadeshda's sister, madame l'ambassadrice. "she let on as if she was just tickled to death," she reported to me a few minutes after she returned. "and when i told her that we--tom and i--would do handsomely by nadeshda as soon as they were married she had tears in her eyes. but i don't trust her--nor any other foreigner." "not even nadeshda?" "ma" nodded knowingly. "i reckon bob'll keep her on the chalk," she replied. "he's started right, and in marriage, as in everything else, it's all in the start." january . nadeshda asked mrs. burke to give a big costume ball, but i sat on it hard. "i don't think you want to do that, mrs. burke," said i, when she proposed it to me. "if this were new york it wouldn't matter so much, though i don't think really nice people with means do that sort of thing there. here i'm afraid it'd make you very unpopular." "do you think so?" said she. "now, i'd 'a' said it was just the sort of foolishness these people'd like." "those who have money would," i replied. "but how about those who haven't? don't you think that people of large means ought to make it a rule never to cause any expense whatever to those of their friends and acquaintances who haven't means?" "don't say another word!" she exclaimed, seeing my point instantly. "why, it'd be the worst thing in the world. out home i've always been careful about those kind of things, but on here i don't know the people and am liable to forget how they're circumstanced. they all seem so prosperous on the surface. i reckon there's a lot of miserable pinching and squinching when the blinds are down." cyrus happened to come in just then, and she told him all about it. he looked at me and grew red and evidently tried to say something--probably something that would have shown how poorly he thought of my cheating them all out of the fun. but he restrained himself and said nothing. presently he went out and must have gone straight to his father--probably to remonstrate, though i may wrong him--for, after a few minutes, the senator came. "my son has just been telling me," he said to me, "and i agree with you entirely. it would be ruinous politically. as it is, if it hadn't been for you we'd never have been able to keep both the official and the fashionable sets in a good humor with us." i never saw him so "flustered" before. "what are you talking about, pa?" inquired mrs. burke. "about the costume ball you were thinking of giving." mrs. burke smiled. "you'd better go back to your cage," said she. "that's settled and done for long ago." "pa" looked more uneasy than his good-natured tone seemed to justify--but, no doubt, he knows when he has put his foot into it. he "faded" from the room. when she heard his study door close "ma" said to me in a complacent voice: "there's nothing like keeping a man always to his side of the fence. when 'pa' began to get rich i saw trouble ahead, for he was showing signs that he was thinking himself right smart better than the common run, and that he was including his wife in the common run. i took mr. smartie burke right in hand. and so, with him it's never been 'i' in this family, but 'we.' and keeping it that way has made tom lots happier than he would 'a' been lording it over me and having no control on his foolishness anywhere." what a dear, sensible woman she is! he's got good brains, but if he had as good brains as she has he'd get what he's after and doesn't stand a show for. january . the whole town is in a tumult over robert and nadeshda. people think she's crazy. when cyrus said this to me i said: "and i think they are--at least, delirious." "a divine delirium, though," he replied, much to my astonishment. for he's never shown before that he had so much as a spot of that sort of thing in him. but then, i'm beginning to revise my judgment of him in some ways. he is much nearer what his mother said he was than what i thought him. but he's young and crude. i find that he likes--and really appreciates--the same composers and poets and novelists that i do. i can forgive much to any one who realizes what a poet browning was--when he did write poetry, not when he wrote the stuff for the browning clubs to fuddle with. nadeshda is in the depths--except when robert is by to hypnotize her. "i was so strong," she said pathetically to me to-day, "or i thought i was. and now i'm all weakness." she went on to tell me how horribly they are talking to her at the embassy--for they are determined she shan't marry "that nobody with nothing." i always knew her brother-in-law was a snob of the cheapest and narrowest kind--the well-born, well-bred kind. but i had no idea he was a coward. he threatens to have the emperor make her come home and go into a convent if she doesn't break off the engagement within a week. we are tremendously popular. everybody is cultivating us, hoping to find out the real inside of this incredible engagement. and the ambassador has to pretend publicly that he's personally wild with delight and hopes nadeshda's parents will consent. he knows how unpopular it would make him and his country with america if his opposition and his reason for it were to be known. january . nadeshda has disappeared. they give out at the embassy that she has left for home to consult with her parents. robert looks like a man who had gone stark mad and was fighting to keep himself from showing it. we were all at the ball at the french embassy, mr. and mrs. burke dining there. i dined at the white house--a literary affair. the conversation was what you might expect when a lot of people get together to show one another how brilliant they are. the president talked a great deal. he has very positive opinions on literature in all its branches. i was the only person at the table who wasn't familiar with his books. fortunately, i wasn't cornered. cyrus came to the ball from mrs. dorringer's, where he took in the duchess d'emarre. "she has a beautiful face in repose," he said to me as he paused for a moment, "and it's not at all pretty when she talks. so she listened well." i was too tired to dance, as were the others. we went home together, all depressed. "it's too ridiculous, this kind of life," said "ma" burke, "and the most ridiculous part of it is that, now we're hauled into it and set a-going, we'll never get out and be sensible again. it just shows you can get used to anything in this world--except doing as you please. i don't believe anybody was ever satisfied to do that. did you ever wear a mother hubbard? _there's_ comfort!" i can think of nothing but robert and nadeshda. have they some sort of understanding? no--i'm afraid not. i forgot to put down that robert made the senator go to the secretary of state about nadeshda's disappearance. the secretary was sympathetic, but he refused to interfere in any way. what else could he do? v february . last night robert started for europe. he is going to see nadeshda's father and mother. i begin to suspect that nadeshda has really gone abroad and that she has let him know. he is certainly in a very different frame of mind from what he was at first. but he says nothing, hints nothing. rachel, who has a huge sentimental streak in her, has given robert a letter to her sister ellen--she's married to one of the biggest nobles in the empire, prince glückstein. also, she has written ellen a long, long letter, telling her all about robert, and what a great catch he is. and he _is_ a great catch now, for senator burke has organized a company to take over his patents and pay him a big sum for them--it'll sound fabulously big to such people as the daraganes. for even where these foreigners are very rich and have miles on miles of land and large incomes from it, they're not used to the kind of fortunes we have--the sums in cash, or in property that's easily sold. and the daraganes have only rank; their estates are quite insignificant, von slovatsky says. "they might as well consent first as last," said mrs. burke to me just after robert left; "for bob always gets what he wants. he never lets go. cyrus is the same way--he spent eleven months in the mountains once, and like to 'a' starved and froze and died of fever, just because he'd made up his mind not to come back without a grizzly. that's why the president took to him." and then she told me that it was cyrus who thought out the scheme for making robert financially eligible and put it in such form that robert consented. that convicted me of injustice again, for i had been suspecting him of being secretly pleased at robert's set-back--he certainly hasn't looked in the least sorry for him. but it may be that robert has told him more than he's told us. he certainly couldn't have found a closer-mouthed person. as his mother says, "the grave's a blabmouth beside him when it comes to keeping secrets. and most men are _such_ gossips." mrs. fortescue came in to tea this afternoon. mrs. burke was out calling, and i received her--or, rather, she caught me, for i detest her. just as she was going cyrus popped in, and she nailed him before he could pop out. she thought it was a good chance to put in a few strong strokes for her daughter. "of course, it's very pretty and romantic about nadeshda," she said, "and in this case i'm sure no one with a spark of heart could object. still, the principle is bad. i don't think young girls who are properly brought up are so impulsive and imprudent. i often say to my husband that i think it's perfectly frightful the way girls--young girls--go about in washington. they're out before they should be even thinking of leaving the nursery, and go round practically unchaperoned. it's so demoralizing." "but how are they to compete with the young married women if they don't?" said cyrus, because he was evidently expected to say something. "i don't think a man--a _sensible_ man--looking for a wife for his home and a mother for his children would want a girl who'd been 'competing' in washington society," she answered. "i don't at all approve the way american girls are brought up, anyway--it's entirely too free and destructive of the innocence that is a woman's chief charm. and as for turning the young girls loose in washington!" mrs. fortescue threw up her hands. "it's simply madness. most of the men are foreigners, accustomed to meet only married women in society. they don't know how to take a young girl, and they don't understand this american freedom. the wonder to me is that we don't have a regular cataclysm every season. now, i never permit mildred to go _anywhere_ without me or some other _real_ chaperon. and i know that her mind is like a fresh rose-leaf." cyrus and i exchanged a covert glance of amusement. mildred fortescue is a very nice, sweet girl, but--well, she does fool her mother scandalously. "i should think a man would positively be _afraid_ to marry the ordinary washington society girl who knows everything that she shouldn't and nothing that she should." "perhaps that's what makes them so irresistible," said cyrus. "irresistible to flirt with and to _flaner_ about with," said mrs. fortescue reproachfully. "but i'm sure you wouldn't marry one of them, mr. burke." "oh, i don't know," he answered. "no doubt it does spoil a good many, being so free and associating with experienced men who've been brought up in a very different way. but"--he hesitated and blushed uncomfortably--"it seems to me that those who do come through all right are about the best anywhere. if a girl has any really bad qualities anywhere in her they come out here. and if a washington girl does marry a man--for himself--and i rather think they make marriages of the heart more than most girls in the same sort of society in other cities--don't you, miss talltowers?" "it may be so," i replied. "but probably they're much like girls--and men--everywhere. they make marriages of the heart if they get the chance. and if nobody happens along in the marrying mood who is able to appeal to their hearts, they select the most eligible among the agreeable ones they can get. i think many a girl has been branded as mercenary when in reality the rich man she chose was neither more nor less agreeable than the poor man she rejected, and she only had choice among men she didn't especially care about." mrs. fortescue looked disgusted. cyrus showed that he agreed with me. "what i was going to say," he went on, "was, that if a washington girl does choose a man, after she has known lots of men and has come to prefer him, she's not likely--at least, not _so_ likely--to repent her bargain. and," he said, getting quite warmed up by his subject, "if a man looks forward to his wife's going about in society, as he must if he lives in a certain way, i think he's wise to select some one who has learned something of the world--how to conduct herself, how to control herself, how to fill the rôle fate has assigned her." "oh, of course, a girl should be well-bred," said mrs. fortescue, as sourly as her sort of woman can speak to a bachelor with prospects. cyrus said no more, and soon she was off. he stood at the window watching her carriage drive away. he turned abruptly--i was at the little desk, writing a note. "you can't imagine," he said with quick energy, "how i loathe the average girl brought up in conventional, exclusive society in america." "really?" said i, not stopping my writing--though i don't mind confessing that i was more interested in his views than i cared to let him see. "yes, really," he replied ironically. then he went on in his former tone: "poor things, they can't help having silly mothers with the idea of aping the european upper classes, and with hardly a notion of those upper classes beyond--well, such notions as are got in novels written by snobs for snobs. and these unfortunate girls are afraid of a genuine emotion--by jove, i doubt if they even have the germs of genuine emotion. all that sort of thing has been weeded out of them. little dry minds, little dry hearts--so 'proper,' so--vulgar!" "not in washington," said i. "no, not so many in washington; though more and more all the time. miss talltowers, will you marry me?" it was just like that--no warning, not a touch of sentiment toward me. i almost dropped my pen. but i managed to hide myself pretty well. i simply went on with my note, finished it, sealed and addressed it, and rang for a servant. then i went and stood by the fire. the servant came; i gave him the note and went into my office. i had been in there perhaps ten minutes when he came, looking shy and sheepish. he stumbled over a low chair and had a ridiculous time saving himself from falling. when he finally had himself straightened up and shaken together he stood with his hands behind him, and his face red, and his eyes down, and with his mouth fixed in that foolish little way as if he were about to speak with his fancy-work way of handling his words. "do you wish something?" i asked. "only--only my answer," said he humbly. would you believe it, i actually hesitated. "i want a woman that doesn't like me for my money, and that at the same time would know how to act and would be--be sensible. i've had you in mind ever since you explained your system for--for"--he smiled faintly--"exploiting mother and father. and mother has been talking in the same way of late. she says we can't afford to let you get out of the family. that's all, i guess--all you'd have patience to hear." "then you were making me a serious business proposition?" said i. "well, you might call it that," he admitted, as if he weren't altogether satisfied with my way of summing it up. "i'm much obliged, but it doesn't attract me," i said. he gave a kind of hopeless gesture. "i've put it all wrong," said he. "i always _say_ things wrong. but--i--i believe i _do_ things better." and he gave me a look that i liked. it was such a quaint mingling of such a nice man with such a nice boy. "i understand perfectly," said i, and i can't tell how much i hated to hurt him--he did so remind me of dear old "ma" burke. "but--please don't discuss it. i couldn't consider the matter--possibly." "you won't leave!" he exclaimed. "i assure you i'll not annoy you. you must admit, miss talltowers, that i haven't tried to thrust myself on you in the past. and--really, mother and father couldn't get on at all without you." "certainly, i shan't leave--why should i?" said i. "i'm very well satisfied with my position." "thank you," he said with an awkward bow, and he left me alone. of course, i couldn't possibly marry him. but i suppose a woman's vanity compels her to take a more favorable view of any man after she's found out that he wishes to marry her. anyhow, i find i don't dislike him at all as i thought i did. i couldn't help being amused at myself the next day. i was driving with jessie, and she was giving me her usual sermon on the advantages of the burke alliance--if i could by chance scheme it through. "you're very pretty, gus," she said. "in fact you're beautiful at times. men do like height when it goes with your sort of a--a willowy figure. your eyes alone--if you would only _use_ them--would catch him. and the burkes would be--well, they might object a little at first because you've given them a position that has no doubt swollen their heads--but they'd yield gracefully. and although you are very attractive and are always having men in love with you, you've simply got to make up your mind soon. look how many such nice, good-looking girls have been crowded aside by the young ones. men are crazy about freshness, no matter what they pretend. yes, you must decide, dear. and--i couldn't _endure_ poor carteret when i married him." carteret is a miserable specimen, and jessie's ways keep him in a dazed state--like an old hen sitting on a limb and turning her head round and round to keep watch on a fox that's racing in a circle underneath. fox doesn't seem exactly to fit jessie, but sometimes i suspect--however-- "but," jessie was going on, "i knew mama was my best friend. and when she said, 'six months after marriage you'll be quite used to him and won't in the least mind, and you'll be so glad you married somebody who was quiet and good,' i married him. and i love him dearly, gus, and we make each other _so_ happy!" i laughed--jessie doesn't mind; she don't understand what laughter means in most people. i was thinking of what rachel told me the other day. she said to carteret, "it must be great fun wondering what jessie will do next." and he looked at her in his dumb way and said: "what she'll do _next_? lord, i ain't caught up with _that_. i'm just about six weeks behind on her record all the time." but to go back to jessie's talk to me, she went on: "and mr. burke's not so dreadfully unattractive, dear. of course, he's far from handsome, and--well, he's the son of mr. and mrs. burke--but though they're quite common and all that--" i found myself furiously angry. "i don't think he's at all bad-looking," i said, pretending to be judicial. "he's big and strong and sensible; and what more does a woman usually ask for? and i don't at all agree with you about his father and mother, either--especially his mother. no, jessie, dear, my objections aren't yours at all. i'm sure you wouldn't understand them, so let's not talk about it." february . yesterday mrs. tevis sent for me. that was a good deal of an impertinence, but i'm getting very sensible about impertinences. she lives in grand style in a big, new house in k street--it, like everything about her, is "regardless of expense." the tevises have been making the most desperate efforts to "break in" last season and this, and as washington is, up to a certain point, very easy for strangers with money, they've gone pretty far. i suppose washington's like every other capital--the people are so used to all sorts of queer strangers and everything is so restless and changeful that no one minds adding to his list of acquaintances any person who offers entertainment and isn't too appalling. and the tevises have been spending money like water. it's queer how people can go everywhere that anybody goes and can seem to be "right in it," yet not be in it at all. that's the way it is with the tevises. they are at every big affair in town--white house, embassies, private houses. but they're never invited to the smaller, more or less informal things. and when they do appear at a ball or anywhere they're treated with formal politeness. they know there's something wrong, but they can't for the life of them see what it is. and that's not strange, for who can see the line that's instinctively drawn between social sheep and social goats in the flock that's apparently all mixed up? everybody knows the sheep on sight; everybody knows the goats. and all act accordingly without anything being said. well, mr. and mrs. tevis are goats. why? anybody could see it after talking to either of them for five minutes; yet who could say why? it isn't because they're snobs--lots of sheep are nauseating snobs. it isn't because they're very badly self-made--i defy anybody to produce a goat that can touch willie catesby or rennie tucker, yet each of them has ancestors by the score. it isn't because they're new--the burkes are new, yet mrs. burke has at least a dozen intimate acquaintances of the right sort. it isn't because they're ostentatious and boastful about wealth and prices--there are scores of sheep who make the same sort of absurd exhibition of vulgarity. i can't place it. they're just goats, and they know it, and they feel it; and when you go to their house they suggest a restaurant keeper welcoming his customers; and when they come to your house they suggest cook's tourists roaming in the private apartments of a palace, smiling apologetically at every one and wondering whether they're not about to be told to "step lively." mrs. tevis received me very grandly and graciously, though dreadfully nervous withal, lest i should be seeing that she was "throwing a bluff" and should put her in her place. "i've requested you to come, my dear miss talltowers," she began, after she had bunglingly served tea from the newest and costliest and most elaborate tea-set i ever saw, "because i had a little matter of business to talk over with you and felt that we could talk more freely here." "i must be back at half-past five," said i, by way of urging her on to the point. "that will be quite time enough," said she. "we can have our little conversation quite nicely, and you will be in ample time for your duties." i wonder what sort of dialect she _thinks_ in. it certainly can't be more irritating than the one she translates her thoughts into before speaking them. the dialect she inflicts on people sounds as if it were from a complete conversationalist, got up by an old maid who had been teaching school for forty years. "i have decided to take a secretary for next season," she went on. "not that i need any such direction as the burkes. fortunately, mr. tevis and i have had a large social experience on both sides of the atlantic and have always moved with the best people. but just a secretary--to attend to my onerous correspondence and arrangements for entertaining. the duties would be light, but we should be willing to pay a larger salary than the position would really justify--that is, we should be willing to pay it, you know, to a _lady_ such as you are." i bowed. "we should treat you with all delicacy and appreciation of the fact that your misfortunes have compelled you to take a--a--position--which--which--" "you are very kind, mrs. tevis," said i. "and we realized that in all probability the burkes would have no further use for your services at the end of this season, as you have been most successful with them." i winced. for the first time the "practical" view of what i've been doing for the burkes stared me in the face--that is, the view which such people as the tevises, perhaps many of my friends, took of it. so i was being regarded, spoken of, discussed, as a person who had been bought by the burkes to get them in with certain people. and it was assumed that, having got what they wanted, they would dismiss me and so cut off a superfluous expense! i was somewhat astonished at myself for not having seen my position in this light before. and i suddenly realized why i hadn't--because the burkes were really nice people, because i hadn't been their employee but their friend. what if i had started my career as a dependent of mrs. tevis'! i shivered. and when the burkes should need me no longer--why, the probabilities were that i should have to seek employment from just such dreadful people as these--upstarts eager to jam themselves in, vulgarians whom icy manners and forbidding looks only influence to fiercer efforts to associate with those who don't wish to associate with them. mrs. tevis interrupted my dismal thoughts with a cough, intended to be polite. "what--what--compensation would you expect, may i ask?" "what do such positions pay?" i said, and my voice sounded harsh to me. i wished to know what value was usually put upon such services. "would--say--twenty-five dollars a week be--meet with your views?" she asked, and her tone was that of a person performing an act of astounding generosity. "oh, dear me, no," said i, with the kind of sweetness that coats a pill of gall. "i couldn't think of trying to get you in for any such sum as that." i saw that the gall had bit through the sugar-coat. "would you object to giving me some idea of what the burkes pay?" she asked, with the taste puckering her mouth. "i should," i replied, rising. "anyhow, i don't care to undertake the job. thank you so much for your generosity and kindness, mrs. tevis." i nodded--i'm afraid it was a nod intended to "put her in her place." "good-by." and i smiled and got myself out of the room before she recovered. i _wish_ i hadn't seen her. i hate the truth--it's always unpleasant. february . mrs. burke had thirty-one invitations to-day, eleven of them for her and mr. burke. seven were invitations to little affairs which mrs. tevis would give--well, perhaps five dollars apiece--to get to. how ridiculous for her to economize in the one way in which liberality is most necessary. here they are spending probably a hundred thousand dollars a season in hopeless attempts to do that which they would hesitate to pay me six hundred dollars for doing. and this when they think i could accomplish it. but could i? i guess not. to win out as i have with the burkes you've got to have the right sort of material to work on, and it must be workable. vulgar people would be ashamed to put themselves in any one's hands as completely as mrs. burke put herself in my hands. oh, i'm sick--sick, sick of it! i'm ashamed to look "ma" burke in the face, because i think such mean things about them all when i'm in bed and blue. february . i decline all the invitations that come for me personally. i sit in my "office" and pretend to be fussing with my books--they give me the horrors! and i was so proud of them and of my plans to make my little enterprise a success. february . mrs. burke came in this afternoon and came round my desk and kissed me. "what is it, dear? what's the matter?" she said. "won't you tell _me_? why, i feel as if you were my daughter. i did have a daughter. she came first. tom was so disappointed. but i was glad. a son belongs to both his parents, and, when he's grown up, to his wife. but a daughter--she would 'a' belonged to me always. and she had to up and die just when she was about to make up her mind to talk." i put my face down in my arms on the desk. "tired, dear?" said "ma"--she's a born "ma." "of course, that's it. you're clean pegged out, working and worrying. you must put it all away and rest." and she sat down by me. all of a sudden--i couldn't help it--i put my head on her great, big bosom and burst out crying. "oh, i'm so _bad_!" i said. "and you're so _good_!" she patted me and kissed me on top of my head. "what pretty, soft hair you have, dear," she said, "and what a lot of it! my! my! i don't see how anybody that looks like you do could ever be unhappy a minute. you don't know what it means to be born homely and fat and to have to work hard just to make people not object to having you about." and she went on talking in that way until i was presently laughing, still against that great, big bosom with the great, big heart beating under it. when i felt that it would be a downright imposition to stay there any longer i straightened up. i felt quite cheerful. "was there something worrying you?" she asked. i blushed and hung my head. "yes, but i can't tell you," said i. and i couldn't--could i? besides, there somehow doesn't seem to be much of anything in all my brooding. what a nasty beast that mrs. tevis is! february . mrs. burke and i went to a reception at the secretary of state's this afternoon. we saw nadeshda's sister in the distance--that's where we've always seen her and the ambassador and the whole embassy staff ever since the "bust-up," except funny little de pleyev. he, being of a mediatized family, does not need to disturb himself about ambassadorial frowns or smiles. it's curious what a strong resemblance there is between a foreigner of royal blood and a straightaway american gentleman. but, as i was about to write, this afternoon the distance between us and madame l'ambassadrice slowly lessened, and when she was quite close to us she gave us a dazzling smile apiece and said to mrs. burke: "my dear madame burke, you are looking most charming. you must come to us to tea. to-morrow? do say yes--we've missed you so. my poor back--it almost shuts me out of the world." and she passed on--probably didn't wish to risk the chance that "ma's" puzzled look might give place to an expression of some kind of anger and that she might make one of those frank speeches she's famous for. "well, did you _ever_!" exclaimed "ma" when the countess was out of earshot. i said warningly: "everybody's seen it and is watching you." and it was true. the whole crowd in those perfume-steeped rooms was gaping, and the news had spread so quickly that a throng was pushing in from the tea-room, some of them still chewing. afterward we discussed it, and could come to but one conclusion--that the robert-nadeshda crisis had passed. but--do the daraganes think that nadeshda is safe from robert, or have they decided to take him in? certainly, _something_ decisive has happened. and if robert had anything to do with it it must have been stirring enough to make the daraganes use the cable--how else could nadeshda's sister have got her cue so soon? february . no news whatever of robert and nadeshda. yesterday the ambassadress came here to tea and said to mrs. burke that she had had a letter from nadeshda in which she sent us all her love--"especially your dear, splendid, big monsieur cyrus." mr. and mrs. burke are to dine at the embassy five weeks from to-night--the ambassadress insisted on mrs. burke's giving her first free evening to her, and that was it. "i reckon we'll have to go," said "ma" after her departure, and while the odor of her frightfully-powerful heliotrope scent was still heavy in the room, "though i doubt if i'll be alive by then. sometimes it seems to me i've just got to knock off and take a clean week in bed. i thought i'd never think of drugs to keep me going, as so many women advise. but i see i'm getting round to it. and i'm getting _that_ fat in the body and _that_ lean in the face! did you ever see the like? i must 'a' lost three pounds off my face. and the skin's hanging there waiting for it to come back, instead of shrinking. i'm glad my tom never looks at me. i know to a certainty he ain't looked at me in twenty years. husbands and wives don't waste much time looking at each other, and i guess it's a good, safe plan." mrs. burke does look badly. i must take better care of her. cyrus looks badly, too. i haven't seen him to talk to since he made his "strictly business" proposition. i suppose he wants me to realize that he isn't one of the pestering kind. i'm sorry he takes it that way, as i'd have liked to be friends with him. he quarreled so beautifully when we didn't agree. it's a great satisfaction to have some one at hand who both agrees and quarrels in a satisfactory way. but i don't dare make any advances to him. he might misunderstand. i've just been laughing--at his cowlick. it _is_ such an obstinate little swirl. and when he looks serious it looks so funnily frisky, and when he smiles it looks so fiercely serious and disapproving. yesterday i hurried suddenly into the little room just off the ball-room, thinking it was empty. but cyrus and his mother were there, and he was tickling her, and he looked so fond of her, and she looked so delighted. i slipped away without their seeing me. february . we gave our second big ball last night with a dinner for sixty before. it was just half-past five this morning when the last couple came sneaking out from the alcove off the little room beyond the conservatory and, we pretending not to see them, scuttled away without saying good night. major-general cutler danced with mrs. burke in the opening quadrille, and mr. burke danced with the british ambassadress--the ambassador is ill. i had jim on my hands most of the evening--though i was flirting desperately with little d'estourelle, he hung to me with a maddening husbandish air of proprietorship. i don't see how i ever endured him, much less thought of marrying him. cyrus burke is a king beside him. excuse me from men who think the fact that they've done a woman the honor of loving her gives them a property right to her. mrs. burke was the belle of the ball. she had a crowd of men round her chair all evening, laughing at everything she said. february . a cable from robert gunton at hamburg this morning--just "arrive washington about march ." that was all--worse than nothing. it is lent, but there's no let up for us. we only get rid of the kind of entertainments that cost us the least trouble to plan and give, and we have to arrange more of the kind that have to be done carefully. anybody can give a dance, but it takes skill to give a successful dinner. february . nadeshda's sister said to-day, quite casually, to jessie: "deshda's coming back, and we're so glad. the trip has done her _so_ much good--in every way." now, whatever did _that_ mean? vi february . no news of robert and nadeshda. have been glancing through this diary. how conceited i am, taking credit to myself for everything. i wonder if i am vainer than most people, or does everybody make the same ridiculous discovery about himself when he takes himself off his guard? what an imperfect record this is of our launching. but then, if i had made it perfect i should have had to go into so many wearisome details, not to speak of my having so little time. still, it would have been interesting to read some day, when i shall have forgotten the little steps--for although we've had in all only a month before the season and five weeks between new year's and ash wednesday, so much has been crowded into that time. it's amazing what one can accomplish if one uses every moment to a single purpose. and i've not only used my own time, but robert's and jessie's and the time of their and my friends, and that of nadeshda and a dozen other people. they and i all worked together to make my enterprise a success--and jim and the senator, and "ma" burke was a great help after the first few weeks. yes, and i mustn't forget cyrus. he has made himself astonishingly popular. i see now that he showed a better side to every one than he did to me. perhaps i can guess why. i wonder if he really cares or did care--for me, or was it just "ma" trying to get me into the family, and he willing to do anything she asked of him? but to go back to my vanity--i see that jessie, rachel and cyrus were the real cause of my success. jessie and rachel alone could make anybody, who wasn't positively awful, a go. then nadeshda, bent on marrying cyrus at first, was a big help--and every mama with a marriageable daughter was hot on cyrus' trail. so it's easy to make an infallible recipe for getting into society: first, wealth; second, willingness to act on competent advice; third, get a "secretary" who knows society and has intimate friends in its most exclusive set, and who also knows how to arrange entertainments; fourth, have a marriageable son, if possible, or, failing that, a daughter, or, failing that, a near relative who will be well dowered; fifth, organize the campaign thoroughly and pay particular attention to getting yourself liked by the few people who really count. you can't bribe them; you can't drive them; you must _amuse_ them. the more leisure people have the harder it is to amuse them. looking back, i can see that "ma" burke passed her social crisis when, on january , mrs. gaether asked her to assist at her reception. for mrs. gaether was the first social power who took "ma" up simply and solely because she liked her. we have spent a great deal of money, but not half what the tevises have spent. but our money counted because it was incidental. mere money won't carry any one very far in washington--i don't believe it will anywhere, except, perhaps, in new york. i ought to have kept some sort of record of what we've done from day to day--i mean, more detailed than my books. however, i'll just put in our last full day before lent, as far as i can recall it. no, i'll only write out what mrs. burke alone did that day: : to . she and i, in her room, went over the arrangements for the ball we were giving in the evening. to : . she went to see half a dozen people about various social matters, besides doing a great deal of shopping. : to : . more worrying consultation with me, then dressing for luncheon. : to : . a long and tiresome luncheon at one of the embassies. : to : . more than twenty calls and teas--a succession of exhausting rushes and struggles. : to : . in the drawing-room here, with a lot of people coming and going. : to . dressing for dinner--a frightful rush. to : . receiving the dinner guests. : to : . the dinner. : to midnight. receiving the guests for the dance--on her feet all the time. midnight to in the morning. sitting, but incessantly busy. to . in bed. . a new and crowded day. this has been a short season, but i don't think it was the shortness, crowding much into a few days, that made the pressure so great. it's simply that year by year washington becomes socially worse and worse. as i looked round at that last ball of ours i pitied the people who were nerving themselves up to trying to enjoy themselves. almost every one was, and looked, worn out. here and there the unnatural brightness of eyes or cheeks showed that somebody--usually a young person--had been driven to some sort of stimulant to enable him or her to hold the pace. quick to laugh; quick to frown and bite the lips in almost uncontrollable anger. nerves on edge, flesh quivering. yet, what is one to do? to be "in it" one must go all the time; not to go all the time, not to accept all the principal invitations, is to make enemies right and left. besides, who that gets into the hysterical state which the washington season induces can be content to sit quietly at home when on every side there are alluring opportunities to enjoy? no wonder we see less and less of the men of importance. no wonder the "sons of somebodies" and the young men of the embassies and legations and departments, most of them amiable enough, but all just about as near nothing as you would naturally expect, are the best the women can get to their houses. it is foolish; it is frightful. but it is somehow fascinating, and it gives us women the chance to go the same reckless american gait that the men go in their business and professions. i am utterly worn out. i might be asleep at this moment. yet i'm sitting here alone, too feverish for hope of rest. and i can see lights in cyrus' apartment and in senator burke's sitting-room, and i don't doubt poor "ma" is tossing miserably in a vain attempt to get the sleep that used to come unasked and stay until it was fought off. it is lent, and the season is supposed to be over. but the rush is still on, and other things which crowd and jam in more than fill up the vacant space left by big, formal parties. it seems to me that there is even as much dancing as there was two weeks ago. the only difference is that it isn't formally arranged for beforehand. i'd like to "shut off steam"--indeed, it seems to me that i must if "ma" burke is not to be sacrificed. but how can we? people expect us to entertain, and we must go out to their affairs also. the only escape would be to fly, and we can't do that so long as congress is sitting. february . robert and nadeshda are both in town, he with us, she at the embassy. they are to be married the twelfth of april. the engagement is to be announced to-morrow. i've never seen any one more demure than nadeshda, or happier. i suspect she's going to settle down into the most domestic of women. indeed, i know it--for, as she says, she's afraid of him, obeys him as a dog its master, and the domestic side of her is the only one he'll tolerate. i've always heard that her sort of woman is the tamest, once it's under control. she has will but no continuity. he has a stronger will and his purposes are unalterable. so he'll continue to dominate her. "ma" burke asked him, "how did you make out with her folks?" he smiled, then laughed. "i don't know--exactly," he said. "they couldn't talk my language nor i theirs. so it was all done through an interpreter. and he was mrs. dean's brother-in-law, prince glückstein, and a regular trump. he saw them half a dozen times before i did. when i saw them everything was lovely. they left me alone with her after twenty minutes. finally it was agreed that we should come back on the same steamer, her brother accompanying her." "but why on earth didn't you cable us?" she demanded. "i did," he replied. "but you didn't tell us anything," she returned. "i told you all there was to tell," he replied. "you only said you were coming," she objected. "well," he answered, looking somewhat surprised, "i knew you'd know i wouldn't come without her." i'm glad he didn't get it into his head to "take after" me. a woman stands no more chance with a man like that than a rabbit with a greyhound. february . "ma" burke is dreadfully ill--has been for two days. the doctors have got several large latin names for it, but the plain truth is that she has broken down under the strain she seemed to be bearing so placidly. she didn't give up until she was absolutely unable to lift herself out of bed. "i knew it was coming," she said, "but i thought i had spirit enough to put it off till i had more time." it wasn't until she did give up that her face really showed how badly off she was. i was sitting by her bed when "pa" burke and cyrus came in. i couldn't bear to look at them, yet i couldn't keep my eyes off their faces. both got deadly white at sight of her, and "pa" rushed from the room after a moment or two. the doctor had cautioned him against alarming her by showing any signs of grief. but "pa" couldn't stand it. he went to his study, and the housekeeper told me he cried like a baby. cyrus stayed, and i couldn't help admiring the way he put on cheerfulness. "i'll be all right in a few days," said "ma." "it wasn't what i did; it was what i et. i'm such a fool that i can't let things that look good go by. and i went from house to house, munching away, cake here, candy there, chocolate yonder, besides lunches and dinners and suppers. i et in and i et out. now, i reckon i've got to settle the bill. thank the lord i don't have to do it standing up." cyrus and i went away from her room together. "if she wasn't so good," said he, more to himself than to me, "i'd not be so--so uncertain." "i feel that i'm to blame," said i bitterly. "it was i that gave her all those things to do." he was silent, and his silence frightened me. i had felt that i was partly to blame. his silence made me feel that i was wholly to blame, and that he thought so. "if i could only undo it," i said, in what little voice i could muster. "if you only could," he muttered. i was utterly crushed. every bit of my courage fled, and--but what's the use of trying to describe it? it was as if i had tried to murder her and had come to my senses and was realizing what i'd done. i suppose i must have shown what was in my mind, for, all of a sudden, with a sort of sob or groan, he put his arms round me--such a strong yet such a gentle clasp! "don't look like that, dear!" he pleaded. "forgive me--it was cowardly, what i said--and not true. we're all to blame--you the least. haven't i seen, day after day, how you've done everything you could to spare her--how you've worn yourself out?" he let me go as suddenly as he had seized me. "i'm not fit to be called a man!" he exclaimed. "just because i loved you, and was always thinking of you, and watching you, and worrying about you, i neglected to think of mother. if i'd given her a single thought i'd have known long ago that she was ill." just then mrs. burke's maid called me--she was only a few yards away, and must have seen everything. i hurried back to the room we had quitted a few minutes before. "you must cheer up those two big, foolish men, child," she said. "you all think i'm going to pass over, but i'm not. you won't get rid of me for many a year. and i rely on you to prevent them from going all to pieces." she paused and looked at me wistfully, as if she longed to say something but was afraid she had no right to. i said: "what is it--ma?" her face brightened. "come, kiss me," she murmured. "thank you for saying that. we're very different in lots of ways, being raised so different. but hearts have a way of finding each other, haven't they?" i nodded. "what i wanted to say was about--cyrus," she went on. "my cyrus told me that he don't see how he could get along without you, no way, and i advised him to talk to you about it, because i knew it'd relieve his mind and because it'd set you to looking at him in a different way. anyhow, it's always a good plan to ask for what you want. and he did--and he told me you wouldn't hear to him. don't think i'm trying to persuade you. all i meant to say is that--" she stopped and smiled, a bright shadow of that old, broad, beaming smile of hers. "i'd do anything for you!" i exclaimed, on impulse. "i'm afraid that wouldn't suit cyrus," she drawled, good humoredly. "he'd be mad as the old scratch if he knew what i was up to now. well--do the best you can. but don't do anything unless it's for his sake. only--just look him over again. there's a lot to cyrus besides his cowlick. and he's been so dead in love with you ever since he first saw you that he's been making a perfect fool of himself every time he looked at you or spoke to you. sometimes, when i've seen the way he's acted up, like a farmhand waltzing in cowhides, i've felt like taking him over my knees and laying it on good and hard." i was laughing so that i couldn't answer--the reaction from the fear that she might be very, very ill had made me hysterical. i could still see that she was sick, extremely sick, but i realized that our love for her had just put us into a panic. "do the best you can, dear," she ended. "and everything--all the entertaining here and the going out--must be kept up just the same as if i was being dragged about down stairs instead of lying up here resting." she insisted on this, and would not be content until she had my promise. "and don't forget to cheer pa and cyrus up. i never was sick before--not a day. that's why they take on so." i think i have been succeeding in cheering them up. and everything is going forward as before--except, of course, that we've cut out every engagement we possibly could. it's amazing how many friends "ma" burke has made in such a short time. ever since the news of her illness got out, the front door has been opening and shutting all day long. and those of the callers that i've seen have shown a real interest. this has made me have a better opinion of human nature than i had thought i could have. i suppose half the seeming heartlessness in this world is suspicion and a sort of miserly dread lest one should give kindly feeling without getting any of it in return. but "ma" burke, who never bothers her head for an instant about whether people like her, and gets all her pleasure out of liking them, makes friends by the score. i'm in a queer state of mind about cyrus. march . "ma" burke was brought down to the drawing-room for tea to-day. she held a regular levee. those that came early spread it round, and by six o'clock they were pouring in. she looked extremely well, and gloriously happy. all she had needed was complete rest and sleep--and less to eat. "after this," she said, "i'm not going to eat more than four or five meals a day. at my age a woman can't stand the strain of ten and twelve--my record was sixteen--counting two teas as one meal." for an hour there was hilarious chattering in english, french, german, italian, russian, and mixtures of all five. i think the thing that most fascinates mrs. burke about washington is the many languages spoken. she looks at me in an awed way when i trot out my three in quick succession. and she regards the women as superhuman who speak so many languages so fluently that they drift from one to the other without being quite sure what they're speaking. there certainly were enough going on at once to-day, and a good many of the women smoked. but to return to mrs. burke. when only a few of those we know best were left this afternoon, and nadeshda was smoking, jessie, who is always so tactful, said to robert: "i'm glad to see that you don't object to nadeshda's smoking." mrs. burke laughed. "why should he?" said she. "why, when we were children ma and pa used to sit on opposite sides of the chimney, smoking their pipes. and ma dipped, too, when it wasn't convenient for her to have her pipe." "do _you_ smoke, mrs. burke?" asked jessie, with wide, serious eyes. "i never saw you." "no, i don't," she confessed. "tom used to hate the smell of it, so i never got into the habit." nadeshda was tremendously amused by what mrs. burke had said about pipes. "i didn't know it was considered nice for a lady to smoke in america until recently," said she. "and pipes! how eccentric! mama smokes cigars--one after dinner, but i never heard of a lady smoking a pipe." "ma wasn't a lady--what _you'd_ call a lady," replied mrs. burke. "she was just a plain woman. she didn't smoke because she thought it was fashionable, but because she thought it was comfortable. as soon as we children got a little older we used to be terribly ashamed of it--but _she_ kept right on. and now it's come in style." "not _pipes_," said jessie. "not _yet_," said "ma," with a smile. when i thought they had all gone, and i was writing in my "office" for a few minutes before going up to dress, nadeshda came in to me. "ma" burke used often to say that nadeshda's eyes were "full of the old scratch," but certainly they were not at that moment. she was giving me a glimpse of that side which, as browning, i think, says, even the meanest creature has and shows only to the person he or she loves. not that nadeshda loves me, but she has that side turned outermost nowadays whenever she hasn't the veil drawn completely over her real self. "my dear," she said in french, "what is it? why these little smiles all afternoon whenever you forgot where you were?" i couldn't help blushing. "i don't quite know, myself," i replied--and it was so. "oh, you cold, cold, _cold_ americans!"--then she paused and gave me one of her strange smiles, with her eyes elongated and her lips just parted--"i mean, you american women." "cold, because we don't set ourselves on fire?" i inquired. "but yes," she answered, "yourselves, and the men, too. never mind. i shall not peep into your little secret." she laughed. "it always chills me to grope round in one of your cold american women's hearts." "i wish you could tell me what my secret is--and that's the plain truth," said i. she laughed again, shrugged her shoulders, pinched my cheek, nodded her head until her big plumed hat was all in a quiver and was shaking out volumes of the strong, heavy perfume she uses. and without saying anything more she went away. march . cyrus and i sat next each other at dinner at the secretary of war's to-night. it has happened several times this winter, as the precedence is often very difficult to arrange at small dinners. old alex bartlett took me in, and as he's stone deaf and a monstrous eater i was free. cyrus had taken in a silent little girl who has just come out. she had exhausted her little line of prearranged conversation before the fish was taken away. so cyrus talked to me. "she's grateful for my letting her alone," said he when i tried to turn him back to his duty. "besides, if i didn't meet you out once in a while you'd forget me entirely. and i don't want that, if i can avoid it." "thank you," said i, for lack of anything else to say, and with not the remotest intention of irritating him. but he flushed scarlet, and frowned. "you always and deliberately misconstrue everything i say," said he bitterly. "i know i'm unfortunate in trying to express myself to you, but why do you never attribute to me anything but the worst intentions?" "and why should you assume that every careless reply i make is a carefully thought out attack on you?" i retorted. "don't you think your vanity makes you morbid?" "you know perfectly well that it isn't vanity that makes me think you especially dislike me," said he. "but i don't," i answered. "i confess i did at first, but not since i've come to know you better." "why did you dislike me at first?" he asked. "you began on me with almost the first moment of our acquaintance." "that's true--i did," i admitted. "i had a reason for it--didn't nadeshda tell you what it was?" he looked frightened. "be frank, if you want me to be frank," said i. "i never for an instant believed what she said," he replied abjectly. then after a warning look from me, he added--"_really_ believed it, i mean." "and what was it that you didn't really believe?" i demanded. he looked at me boldly. "nadeshda and one or two others told me that you and your friends had arranged it for me to marry you. but, of course, i knew it wasn't so." "but it was so," i replied. "you were one of the considerations that determined my friends in trying to get me my place." "well--and why didn't you take me when i finally fell into the trap?" i let him see i was laughing at him. he scowled--his cowlick did look so funny that i longed to pull it. "simply couldn't stand me--not even for the sake of what i brought," he said. and then he gave me a straight, searching look. "i wonder why i don't hate you," he went on. "i wonder why i am such an ass as to care for you. yes--even if i knew you didn't care for me, still i'd want you. can a man make a more degrading confession than that?" "but why?" said i, very careful not to let him see how eagerly i longed to hear him say _the_ words again. "why should you want--me?" he gave a very unpleasant laugh. "if you think i'm going to sit here and exhibit my feelings for your amusement you're going to be disappointed. it's none of your business _why_. certainly not because i find anything sweet or amiable or even kind in you." "that's rude," said i. "it was intended to be," said he. "please--let's not quarrel now," said i coldly. "it gives me the headache to quarrel during dinner." and he answered between his set teeth, "to quarrel with you--anywhere--gives me--the heartache, gus." i had no answer for that, nor should i have had the voice to utter it if i had had it. and then mr. bartlett began prosing to me about the greeley-grant campaign. and when the men came to join the women after dinner cyrus went away almost immediately. i am _so_ happy to-night. march . cyrus came to me in my office to-day--as i had expected. but instead of looking woebegone and abject, he was radiant. he shut the door behind him. "_you_--guilty of cowardice," he began. "it isn't strange that i never suspected it." "what do you mean?" i asked, not putting down my pen. he came over and took it out of my fingers, then he took my fingers and kissed them, one by one. i was so astounded--and something else--that i made not the slightest resistance. "it's useless for you to cry out," he said, "for i've got the outer door well guarded." [illustration] i started up aflame with indignation. "who--whom--" i began. "ma," he replied. "oh!" i exclaimed, looking round with a wild idea of making a dart for liberty. "ma," he repeated, "and it's not of the slightest use for you to try to side-step. you're cornered." he had both my hands now and was looking at me at arm's length. "so you are afraid to marry me for fear people--your friends--will say that--i walked right into the trap?" i hung my head and couldn't keep from trembling, i was so ashamed. "and if it wasn't for that you'd accept my 'proposition'--now--wouldn't you?" "i would not," i replied, wrenching myself away with an effort that put my hair topsy-turvy--it always does try to come down if i make a sudden movement, and i washed it only yesterday. "what gorgeous hair you have!" he said. "sometimes i've caught a glimpse of it just as i was entering a room--and i've had to retreat and compose myself to make a fresh try." "you've been talking to your mother!" i exclaimed--i'd been casting about for an explanation of all this sudden shrewdness of his in ways feminine. "i have," said he. "it's as important to her as to me that you don't escape." "and she told you that i was in love with _you_!" i tried to put a little--not too much--scorn into the "you." "she did," he answered. "do you deny that it's true?" "i have told you i would never accept your 'proposition,'" was my answer. "so you did," said he. "then you mean that you're going to sacrifice my mother's happiness and mine, simply because you're afraid of being accused of mercenary motives?" "i shall never accept your 'proposition,'" i repeated, with a faint smile that was a plain hint. he came very close to me and looked down into my face. "what do you mean by that?" he demanded. and then he must have remembered what his proposition was--a strictly business arrangement on both sides. for, with a sort of gasp of relief, he took me in his arms. i do love the combination of strength and tenderness in a man. he had looked and talked and been so strong up to that instant. then he was _so_ tender--i could hardly keep back the tears. "wouldn't you like me to tell mother?" he asked. "she's just in the next room--and--" i nodded and said, "i never should have caught you if it hadn't been for her." "nor i you," said he. and he put me in a chair and opened the door. i somehow couldn't look up, though i knew she was there. "i don't know whether to laugh or cry," said "ma" burke. "so i guess i'll just do both." and then she seated herself and was as good as her word. [illustration] transcriber's note: text in italics is surrounded with underscores: _italics_. obvious typographical errors have been corrected. the man inside by natalie sumner lincoln author of "the trevor case" and "the lost despatch." illustrated d. appleton and company new york and london copyright, , by d. appleton and company copyright, , by smith publishing house printed in the united states of america [illustration: "'my dream! see, the panels are in the shape of a cross!'"] [page ] to the late major-general george lewis gillespie u. s. army whose kindly friendship, generous encouragement and discriminating criticism made this book possible it is most affectionately dedicated contents chapter page i. "where the best is like the worst" ii. after the ball iii. a mysterious tragedy iv. the broken appointment v. mute testimony vi. circumstantial evidence vii. a piece of oriental silk viii. kismet ix. at the state department x. the theft xi. over the tea cups xii. a council of war xiii. at the white house xiv. the moth and the flame xv. "thornton's nest" xvi. a cry in the night xvii. the mystery deepens xviii. in the name of the law xix. the accusation xx. weaving the web xxi. an international intrigue xxii. the pursuit xxiii. the end of the quest xxiv. the final explanation list of illustrations facing page "'my dream! see, the panels are in the shape of a cross!'" _frontispiece_ "but cynthia remained where she was and peeped over the butler's shoulder" "he made out a shadowy form just ahead of him and darted forward" "with an exclamation he rose, and walked across the room" the man inside chapter i "where the best is like the worst" the long hot tropic day was drawing to its close. the shadows were gradually rising and filling the narrow street, and every now and then from the side of the open drain which ran through the middle of the street a large black carrion bird flew up. there was no sidewalk, the cobblestones running right up to the low white house walls. the windows which opened on the street were for the most part few in number, small and heavily barred. it was not by any means the best quarter in colon. one building, more pretentious than the rest, was distinguished from its neighbors by large french windows, also protected by the iron screen or _reja_. it was impossible to tell the nationality of the one man lounging along the street. he seemed profoundly buried in his own thoughts. dark as his skin was, and black as was his beard, there was something about him which negatived the idea that he was a spaniard. his rolling walk suggested the sailor's life. as he passed the building with the long french windows, the tinkle of a guitar roused his attention, and he stepped inside the front door and glanced furtively at the few men who lounged about the tables which dotted the long room. passing by several empty tables and chairs, the stranger seated himself in the corner of the room on the side further from the street, near a window which opened on a neglected garden. a tropical vine thrust its branches against what had once been a wood and glass partition which formed the end of the room, the branches and leaves twining in and out among the broken panes of the window. some of the occupants of the room had glanced indifferently at the stranger on his entrance, but his haggard, unshaven face and worn clothing did not arouse their curiosity, and they again turned their attention to their wine. the stranger, after contemplating the view from the window for some moments, leaned back in his chair, thrust his hands in his pockets, and stretched his long legs under the table; then indolently studied his surroundings. the room reeked with tobacco smoke and the odor of spirits. the scene reminded him of port said. not quite as many nationalities were represented in colon as haunt the entrance to the suez canal, but the low chatter of tongues which greeted his ears was polyglot. the men in the room were types of the born ne'er-do-well. lazy, shiftless, they had drifted to colon, thinking to pick up whatever spoils came their way during the construction of the panama canal. drinking and gambling, gambling and drinking--the sum total of their lives. the stranger's lips curved in a sardonic smile, and he crooned softly: ship me somewheres east of suez, where the best is like the worst, where there aren't no ten commandments an' a man can raise a thirst. his smile deepened as he caught the scowl of a spaniard sitting near him. his glance traveled on, and, as he studied the flushed, sodden faces, a sudden horror of himself and his surroundings shook him. he passed a nervous hand over his damp forehead. why had his memory played him so scurvy a trick? the past few years were not pleasant to contemplate, and the future even less so. he half started from his chair, then sank back and summoned the _mozo_. quickly he gave his order in fluent spanish, and waited impatiently for the man's return. he had been fortunate at the gaming table the night before, and could purchase a moment's respite from the torments of an elusive memory. memory, in whose wondrous train follow the joys of childhood, parents and home! the stranger's strong hand trembled as he stroked his beard. why was he an outcast? for him alone there were no childhood and no home; his thinking life began as a full-grown man. was there to be no awakening? in a few moments the _mozo_ returned, and placed a glass and bottle of liquor before him. the stranger hastily filled and drank. as the stimulant crept through his veins, a feeling of physical contentment replaced all other sensations, and, lighting a cigar, he was slowly sinking once more into reverie when from behind the partition he heard a voice: "no names, please." the words, spoken clearly in english, startled him from his abstraction, and he glanced through the vine and, himself unseen, saw two men sitting at a table. they had apparently entered the patio from another part of the house. "quite right, i approve your caution." the words were also in english, but with a strong foreign accent, and the speaker, a man of middle age and fine physique, laid some papers on the table before them. "where is the senator this evening?" "he accompanied several members of the congressional party to inspect the plant of the quartermaster and subsistence departments, and on his return will dine with major reynolds and several other officers at the hotel." "i see." the foreigner drummed impatiently on the table. "you were late in keeping your appointment." "i had the devil's own time in finding this dive," returned the younger man, and, as he moved his chair half around, the inquisitive stranger, peeping through the leaves of the vine, obtained a view of the speaker's boyish face. the weak mouth was partly hidden by a short black mustache; the features were well cut, and by some would have been called handsome. the older man gave vent to a half-smothered chuckle. "goethals and gorgas have reformed the canal zone, and the local government is trying to do the same with panama, but, _por dios_, drinking and gambling continue _unnoticed_ in colon," he said, dryly. "i find a room in this house most convenient during my short visits here. no '_gringo_'," he sneered, "dare show his face in this room." the stranger settled down in his chair, which was wedged into the corner formed by the wall of the room and the wood and glass partition, until his head was screened from the two speakers by the thick foliage of the vine. the spaniard and the jamaican, who had occupied the table nearest him, had gone, and the few men who still lingered over their wine at the farther end of the room paid no attention to him. he could listen without being observed. "so you believe the people of panama are already dissatisfied with their president?" inquired the younger man, whom the listener judged to be an american. "i do," came the firm reply. "and but for the presence of _los tiranos del norte_ here there would have been already a _pronunciamiento_." "then you think the time is ripe for carrying out your scheme?" his companion nodded without speaking, and tugged at his gray imperial. "if it is done at all it must be soon," he said, finally. "american rule is not too popular here, and now is the time to act. and i pray god i shall be spared to see the fruits of the _labor de los cochinos sucios_ reaped by another nation," he spoke with intense bitterness. "and that nation?" questioned the other. "is better left unmentioned." "you do not love my countrymen," exclaimed the american, as he drew out his cigarette case and passed it to his companion, who waved it away impatiently. "say rather--hate," was the terse reply. "but i do not look on you as one of that nationality. your mother was my dearly loved cousin, and colombia boasts no prouder name than the one she bore before she married your father. by the love you bear her memory i entreat you to assist me in this undertaking." "i have promised," said the american gruffly. "i hear that colombia intends accepting the ten million dollars offered by the united states for certain islands near panama." "never!" the colombian spoke with emphasis. "our hatred lies too deep for that; it cannot be placated by an offer of 'conscience money,' no matter how great the sum." "the more fools you," muttered the american, _sotto voce_. "the revolt of panama was followed by an insurrection in colombia," continued the other, "and the government was overthrown. the american newspapers gave us a few paragraphs at the time--they did not mention that nearly one hundred thousand people were killed; that the horrors of civil war were augmented by pillage and murder. i was at the front with the troops, and, in my absence from home, my wife and child were murdered by some _insurrectos_. i tell you," he struck the table a resounding blow with his clenched fist, "there is no colombian living who would not gladly see the united states humiliated." "it is easy to see that the people in panama are jealous of the success of the americans," commented the young man. "naturally; the united states has always advanced at the price of latin-america." "how so?" "study your history. when the thirteen original states branched out, first came the 'louisiana purchase,' land originally settled by the french; then florida, first settled by the spanish, was bought by the united states. later still, texas seceded from mexico, settled also by the spanish; then came the mexican war, and latin-america lost the territory now known as new mexico, arizona, and california." "seems to me it would have been better if colombia had accepted the original offer of the united states for the panama canal zone." "why so? the united states only offered a beggarly ten million. by waiting a year the french concession would have expired, and the colombian government would have received the sixty million which the united states eventually paid the french company." "instead of which you got nothing," remarked the american dryly, "and lost panama into the bargain." "through underhand methods," began the other hotly, then checked himself. "enough of the past. have you a message for me?" for reply the young man drew out an envelope from an inside pocket and handed it to his companion, who opened it and read the communication in silence. "good," he said finally, tearing the note into infinitesimal pieces and carefully putting them in his leather wallet, from which he first took several letters. "give this to the ambassador immediately on your return, and this--" he hesitated for a second--"give at once to our mutual friend." the american took the papers and placed them securely in an inside pocket. "is that all?" he inquired. "no." the colombian drew out a small chamois bag whose contents emitted a slight jingling noise as he handed it to his companion. "you may find this useful. no thanks are necessary, dear boy," laying his hand on the american's shoulder as the latter commenced speaking. "the death of my wife and child has deprived me of near relatives except you, and i propose to make you my heir." then, to change the subject, he added quickly, "is there no way to induce the senator to use his influence with congress and the administration for disarmament, and the curtailing of building more battleships?" the american laughed disagreeably. "i think it may be done--in time." the colombian's face brightened. "splendid! if we can stop his fervid speeches in behalf of a larger standing army and navy, we will have accomplished much. but how do you expect to alter his attitude?" "through a woman," the american's lips parted in an amused smile. "there's no fool like an old fool, and the senator is no exception to the rule." "indeed?" the colombian raised his eyebrows. "and what has the woman to say in the matter?" "nothing. she emulates a clam." the eavesdropper on the other side of the partition, who had caught most of the conversation, moved ever so slightly to stretch his cramped limbs, and then pulled out his handkerchief and mopped his heated face. as he did so a small slip of paper dropped, unseen by him, from his pocket to the floor. a large black cat came softly over to him and he lifted the animal up and placed her on the table before him. he stroked the purring feline and listened intently to catch the conversation which drifted to him through the vine-covered broken window panes. apparently the two men were preparing to leave. "does the senator really think to marry?" asked the colombian, as he picked up his hat. "i judge so. he is obviously very much infatuated with the girl's unusual type of beauty. and, believe me, she thoroughly understands the art of managing men." "indeed? who is the girl?" "the young daughter of the famous irish actress, nora fitzgerald. senator carew...." crash--the bottle and glass smashed in pieces. the eavesdropper never stopped to see the damage he had done, but with incredible swiftness and stealth was out of the room and down the street before the irate proprietor had reached the deserted table. "_que hay?_" inquired the colombian of the proprietor. he and the american had rushed into the room and over to the window by which the eavesdropper had been sitting. "a drunken spaniard knocked the bottle and glass from the table, and cleared out without paying the damage," explained the proprietor in spanish, as he signed to the _mozo_ to sweep up the mess. "what's that in your hand?" "a card, señor, which i have just picked up from the floor." "let me have it." "_si, señor, con mucho gusto._" he quickly handed the paper to the colombian. the american looked over his companion's shoulder as the latter adjusted his eyeglasses and held up the visiting card so that both could see its contents. with staring eyes and faces gone white they read the engraved inscription: mr. james carew maryland. chapter ii after the ball "fifty-four!" bellowed the footman through his megaphone for the sixth time, and he slanted his umbrella to protect his face from the driving rain which half-blinded him. a waiting automobile, whose chauffeur had mistaken the number called, moved slowly off and gave place to a carriage and pair. "fifty-four," mumbled the coachman, checking his restive horses with difficulty. the footman turned, touched his hat, and beckoned to cynthia carew, who stood waiting in the vestibule. with a rueful glance at the wet sidewalk, she gathered her skirts up above her ankles and, propelled by the sturdy arm of her escort, captain lane, was landed breathless at the carriage door. "in with you," laughed lane, as his umbrella was almost dragged from his hand by the high wind. "your wrap is too pretty to be ruined...." cynthia was half lifted, half pushed inside the landau.... "good night, my dearest." the door slammed shut; the horses, weary of long standing, started forward at the sound and raced around the corner into massachusetts avenue before the sleepy coachman could collect his wits. cynthia, on the point of seating herself, was flung toward the farther corner of the carriage by the sudden jerk. instinctively she threw out her hand to steady herself, and her open palm encountered what was unmistakably a broad shoulder. "good gracious!" recoiling and collapsing sideways on the seat. "philip! how you frightened me." then she settled herself more comfortably and, with an effort, chatted on. "the dance really was great fun, just our set you know, some of the diplomatic corps, and a number of the officers from the barracks. i hated to leave so early," regretfully, "but i promised uncle james. mrs. owen asked particularly for you, and was greatly put out because you did not appear. honestly, philip, i am very tired of trying to explain your sudden aversion to society. why do you shun your friends?" not getting an immediate answer she repeated her question more emphatically. still no reply. the silence caught her attention. turning her head she scanned the quiet figure by her side. the pelting rain, which beat drearily upon the carriage roof and windows, almost drowned the sound of rapid hoof-beats. the high wind had apparently extinguished the carriage lamps and the dim street lights failed to illuminate the interior of the rapidly moving carriage. in the semi-darkness cynthia could not distinguish her companion's face. "it is _you_, philip?" she questioned sharply, and waited an appreciable moment; then a thought occurred to her. "uncle james, are you trying to play a practical joke?" her voice rose to a higher key. her question was ignored. cynthia caught her breath sharply. suppose the man was a stranger? she shrank farther back into her corner. if so, how came he there? intently she studied the vague outlines of his figure. the landau was an old-fashioned vehicle built after a commodious pattern by a past generation, and frequently used by senator carew on stormy nights, as the two broad seats would accommodate five or six persons by tight squeezing. cynthia clutched her wrap with nervous fingers. if the man had inadvertently entered the wrong carriage, the least he could do was to explain the situation and apologize. but suppose he was drunk? the thought was not reassuring. "tell me at once who you are," she demanded imperiously, "or i will stop the carriage." at that instant the driver swung his horses abruptly to the left to avoid an excavation in the street made by the sewer department, and, as the wheels skidded on the slippery asphalt, the man swayed sideways, and fell upon cynthia. a slight scream escaped her, and she pushed him away, only to have the limp figure again slide back upon her. he was undoubtedly drunk! thoroughly alarmed she pushed him upright, and struggled vainly to open the carriage door with her disengaged hand. with a tremendous jolt, which again deposited the helpless figure on her shoulder, the carriage wheels struck the curb as the horses turned into the driveway leading to the _porte-cochère_ of the carew residence. as the horses came to a standstill the front door was thrown open, and the negro butler hastened down the short flight of steps. cynthia, with one desperate effort, flung the man back into his corner and, as the butler turned the stiff handle and opened the door, half jumped, half fell out of the landau. "a man's in the carriage, joshua," she cried. "see who it is." the servant looked at her in surprise, then obediently poked his head inside the open door. unable to see clearly he drew back and fumbled in his pocket for a matchbox. "keep dem hosses still, hamilton," he directed, as the coachman leaned down from his seat, and then he pulled out a match. "miss cynthia, yo' bettah go inter der house," glancing at the young girl's pale countenance, "i'll 'ten to dis hyar pusson." but cynthia remained where she was and peeped over the butler's shoulder. he struck a match and held it in the hollow of his hand until the tiny flame grew brighter, then leaned forward and gazed into the carriage. the intruder was huddled in the corner, his head thrown back, and the light fell on a livid face and was reflected back from glazing eyes. cynthia's knees gave way, and she sank speechless to the ground. "'fore gawd!" gasped joshua, "it's marse james--an' he's daid!" [illustration: "but cynthia remained where she was and peeped over the butler's shoulder"] chapter iii a mysterious tragedy the portières were pulled aside. "excellency, breakfast is served," and the servant bowed deferentially toward a figure standing in the bow window. as the announcement reached his ears in the musical language of his native tongue, the japanese ambassador turned from the window and hastened into the dining room. a small pile of letters lay beside his plate, and he opened and read them as he leisurely ate his breakfast. tossing aside the last note, he picked up the morning _herald_, and his eyes glanced casually over the page then stopped, arrested by a three-column heading: senator carew dead a mysterious tragedy murder or suicide? the ambassador pushed aside his plate and read the smaller type with growing interest. "during the cloudburst of last night, when the heavens themselves seemed to threaten washington, a most mysterious crime was committed in the fashionable northwest. united states senator james carew, of maryland, one of the most distinguished and influential men in political and official circles, was found dead in his carriage early this morning. "much mystery surrounds the case. the tragedy was not discovered until the arrival of the carriage at the carew residence. miss carew, whom her uncle was escorting home from a dance, was completely prostrated from shock, and had to be carried to her room. "owing to the lateness of the hour, with the paper already in press, only a few meager details could be learned by the special representative of the _herald_. "senator carew was found by his butler, joshua daingerfield, huddled in a corner of the back seat of the carriage. dr. penfield, the coroner, was hastily summoned, as well as detectives from headquarters. while awaiting their arrival, the policeman on the beat had the horses unharnessed and taken to the stable, and left the carriage under the porte-cochère. "on the arrival of the coroner and the detectives the body was removed from the carriage to the senator's room in the carew mansion. dr. penfield discovered that death was apparently due to a stab from a small, upright, desk bill file which had been thrust into the body with such force that the heavy, leaded round base was pressed tightly against the clothes. the sharp point had penetrated to the heart, and death must have been instantaneous. the weapon in the wound prevented any outward hemorrhage, and senator carew bled internally. "these startling details but add interest to what promises to prove a mystery unique in the annals of crime. "senator carew and his family have resided here for many years, and have been prominently identified with official and residential society. the old carew mansion on massachusetts avenue east of fourteenth street has been noted for its lavish hospitality. it was erected by senator carew's father, general van ness carew, shortly before the commencement of the civil war, and the foundations and walls were of such unwonted thickness that general carew was pestered with inquiries as to whether he was not building a fortress! "the inmates of the senator's household are his widowed sister, mrs. george winthrop, her stepson, philip winthrop; and her niece, miss cynthia carew, daughter of the late philip carew, a younger brother of senator carew. "mrs. winthrop is well-known in washington, having kept house for her brother since the death of his wife in . miss cynthia carew made her début last december at a memorable ball which her aunt and uncle gave for her. since then miss carew has received much attention, and is regarded as one of the most popular of the winter's débutantes. "philip winthrop has spent most of his life in washington, and, since his graduation from princeton, has been acting as private secretary for senator carew. he is a member of the alibi, the chevy chase, and the riding and hunt clubs, and is popular with his associates. "a fearless leader, an upright american, senator carew has served his country well, first as representative, then as senator. possessing the confidence and friendship of the president as he did, it was frequently prophesied that he would be the power behind the throne in deciding many of the important issues now confronting the country. his inexplicable death is therefore a severe blow to many besides his immediate family. "the known facts at present point to murder or suicide. the negro driver, sam hamilton, has been arrested pending a closer examination." the ambassador regarded the printed lines long and thoughtfully. then his foot pressed the electric button concealed in the carpet under the table. the bell had hardly ceased to buzz before the well-trained servant was by his side. "send for my motor," came the brief order. "it is already at the door, excellency." the ambassador tossed his napkin on the table, pushed back his chair, and rose. "my hat and coat," he directed, walking into the hall. in a few minutes he stepped out into the vestibule and filled his lungs with the delicious breeze that fanned his cheeks. no trace of the heavy storm of the night before was in the air. the sky was blue, and the may sunshine lit up the budding trees and shrubs. the touch of spring and new-born life was everywhere. the ambassador snapped off a spray of honeysuckle which grew along the fence protecting his parking from his neighbor's, and tucked the spray in his buttonhole as he entered the waiting motor. "drive to the club," he directed briefly, as the car moved off. chapter iv the broken appointment eleanor thornton turned in bed and stretched herself luxuriously. it was good to be young and to be sleepy. for a few seconds she dozed off again; then gradually awoke, and, too comfortable to move, let her thoughts wander where they would. in her mind's eye she reviewed the events of the past months, and, despite herself, her lips parted in a happy smile. she had come to washington in november to visit her friend, cynthia carew, and, delighted with the reception accorded her, had invited her cousin, mrs. gilbert truxton, to chaperon her, and, on her acceptance, had rented a small furnished residence near dupont circle for the winter. mrs. winthrop and cynthia carew, whom she had known at boarding school, took her everywhere with them, and her cousin, mrs. truxton, belonging as she did to an old aristocratic family of the district, procured her entrée to the exclusive homes of the "cave-dwellers," as the residential circle was sometimes called. born also with the gifts of charm and tact, eleanor's wild rose beauty had made an instant impression, and she was invited everywhere. the butler's tray was filled with visiting cards, which many newcomers, anxious for social honors, longed to have left at their doors. eleanor was one of the older girls at dobbs ferry during cynthia's first year at that boarding school. they had taken an immense liking to each other, which later blossomed into an intimate friendship. after her graduation she and cynthia had kept up their correspondence without a break, and, true to her promise, given years before, she had left berlin and journeyed to washington to be present at cynthia's début. after the death of her mother, eleanor had been adopted by an indulgent uncle, mr. william fitzgerald, of new york, and on his death had inherited a comfortable fortune. in many ways the winter had brought numerous triumphs in its train, enough to spoil most natures. but eleanor was too well poised to lose her head over adulation. she had sounded the depths of social pleasantries, and found them shallow. in every country she had visited all men had been only too ready to be at her beck and call--except one. the dreamy eyes hardened at the thought, and the soft lips closed firmly. she had made the advances, and he had not responded. a situation so unique in her experience had made an indelible impression. angry with herself for even recalling so unpleasant an episode, she touched the bell beside the bed; then, placing her pillow in a more comfortable position, she leaned back and contemplated her surroundings with speculative eyes. her individuality had stamped itself upon the whole room. a picture or two, far above the average, a few choice books, whose dainty binding indicated a taste and refinement quite unusual; one or two chinese vases, old when the revolutionary war began; an ivory carving of the renaissance; a mirror in whose lustrous depths venetian beauties had seen their own reflections hundreds of years ago. all these things gave sure indication of study and travel, and a maturity of thought and taste which, oddly enough, seemed rather to enhance eleanor's natural charm. a discreet knock sounded on her door. "_bon jour, mademoiselle_," exclaimed the maid, entering with the breakfast tray. "_bon jour_, annette," responded eleanor, rousing herself, then lapsing into english, which her maid spoke with but a slight accent. "put the tray here beside me. must i eat that egg?" she made a slight grimace. "but yes, mademoiselle." the frenchwoman stepped to the window and raised the shade. "madame truxton gave orders to fugi to tell the cook that he must send you a more substantial breakfast. she does not approve of rolls and coffee. i think she wishes you to eat as she does." eleanor shuddered slightly. "did--did she have beefsteak and fried onions this morning?" she inquired. "but yes, mademoiselle," annette's pretty features dimpled into a smile, "and she ate most heartily." "not another word, annette, you take away my appetite. is mrs. truxton waiting to see me?" "no, mademoiselle; she was up at six o'clock and had her breakfast at half-past seven." annette paused in the act of laying out a supply of fresh _lingerie_. "what have the americans on their conscience that they cannot sleep in the morning?" "you cannot complain of my early rising," laughed eleanor, glancing at the clock, whose hands pointed to a quarter to twelve. "ah, mademoiselle, you have lived so long away from america that you have acquired our habits." "you may take the tray, annette; i have even less appetite than usual to-day." eleanor waited until it had been removed, then sprang out of bed. "come back in fifteen minutes," she called. it did not take her long to complete her _toilette_, and when the maid returned she was seated before her dressing table. "what news to-day, annette?" she asked, as the frenchwoman, with skilful fingers, arranged her wavy hair, which fell far below her waist. "madame and fugi----" began the maid. "i don't want household details," broke in eleanor impatiently. "tell me of some outside news, if there is any." "oh, indeed, yes; news the most startling. senator carew----" she paused to contemplate her handiwork. "well, what about him?" inquired eleanor listlessly. "he is dead." "dead!" the handglass slipped from eleanor's grasp and fell crashing to the hearth. annette pounced upon it. "oh, mademoiselle, the glass is broken. _quelle horreur!_" "bother the glass." eleanor's foot came down with an unmistakable stamp. "tell me at once of senator carew's death. i cannot believe it!" "it is only too true," annette was a privileged character and deeply resented being hurried, also her volatile french nature enjoyed creating a sensation. she had eagerly read the morning paper, and had refrained from telling eleanor the news until she could get her undivided attention. "senator carew was found dead in his carriage early this morning on his return from the dance at mrs. owen's"--annette had no reason to complain, eleanor was giving her full attention to the story--"he had been stabbed." the maid's hand accidentally touched eleanor's bare neck, and she felt the taut muscles quiver. covertly she glanced into the mirror and studied the lovely face. but eleanor's expression told her nothing. her cheeks were colorless and her eyes downcast. after a barely perceptible pause annette continued her story. "the coachman has been arrested----" a knock interrupted her and she hastened to open the door, returning in an instant with a note. "fugi says the messenger boy is waiting for an answer, mademoiselle." eleanor tore it open and read the hastily scrawled lines. dear eleanor: i suppose you have been told of last night's terrible tragedy. cynthia is prostrated. she begs pitifully to see you. can you come to us for a few days? your presence will help us both. affectionately, charlotte winthrop. eleanor read the note several times, then walked thoughtfully over to her desk. dearest mrs. winthrop: [she wrote] it is awful. i will come as soon as possible. devotedly, eleanor. "give this to fugi, annette, then come back and pack my small steamer trunk," as the maid hastened out of the room; she picked up a silk waist preparatory to putting it on, but her _toilette_ was doomed to another interruption. "well, my dear, may i come in?" asked a pleasant voice from the doorway. "indeed you may, cousin kate," eleanor stepped across the room and kissed the older woman affectionately. mrs. truxton's ruddy face lighted with an affectionate smile as she returned her greeting. she did not altogether approve of her young cousin, many of her "foreign ways" as she termed it, offended her, but eleanor's lovable disposition had won a warm place in her regard. mrs. truxton seated herself in one of the comfortable lounging chairs and contemplated the disheveled room and eleanor's oriental silk dressing gown with disapproval. "do you know the time?" she inquired pointedly. "nearly one," answered eleanor, as she discarded her dressing gown for a silk waist. "lunch will soon be ready. i hope you have a good appetite." "yes, thank you; _i've_ been out all the morning," reproachfully. "mrs. douglas has asked me to dine with her this evening, and, i think, eleanor, if it will not interfere with your arrangements, that i will accept the invitation." "do so by all means," exclaimed eleanor heartily. "i hope she won't talk you deaf, dumb, and blind." "she is rather long-winded," admitted mrs. truxton, tranquilly. "on the telephone this morning she took up twenty minutes telling me of the arrival here of her nephew, douglas hunter--good gracious, child----" as eleanor's silver powder box rolled on the floor with a loud bang--"how you startle one." "i beg your pardon," eleanor was some seconds picking it up, for her fingers fumbled clumsily. "what were you saying, cousin kate?" replacing the silver on the dressing table. "mercy, child, how inattentive you are! i was only remarking that douglas hunter is no stranger to washington. he was raised here, as he belongs to one of the first families of georgetown." "i never heard of a 'second' family in georgetown," smiled eleanor; then, seeing her cousin's offended expression, she hastily changed the subject. "have you heard the shocking news of senator carew's--" she hesitated for a moment--"tragic death?" "indeed i have. washington is talking of nothing else. why are you packing, annette?" as the servant entered. "mrs. winthrop has just written and asked me to spend a few days with them," explained eleanor hurriedly, "so suppose you invite miss crane to stay with you in my absence." "of course you cannot very well decline to go," said mrs. truxton thoughtfully. "still, i hate to have you mixed up in such an affair, eleanor." "nonsense, cousin kate, you must not look at it in that light," eleanor patted the fat shoulder nearest her affectionately. "cynthia told me yesterday that senator carew had said he was going to discharge the coachman, hamilton (a surly brute, i always thought him), for drunkenness. i have no doubt he committed the murder from revenge, and while under the influence of liquor." "i sincerely trust that is the correct solution of the mystery," mrs. truxton looked dubious, "but there has been one fearful scandal in that family already, eleanor, and i very much doubt if senator carew was killed by a servant." "why, what do you mean?" eleanor wheeled around in her chair and faced her abruptly. "time will show." mrs. truxton shook her head mysteriously. "oh, nonsense!" exclaimed eleanor impatiently. as mrs. truxton opened her lips to reply, annette reëntered the room. "pardon, madame, you are wanted at the telephone," and as mrs. truxton lifted herself carefully out of her chair and walked out of the room, she handed a package to eleanor. "this has just come for you, mademoiselle; the boy who left it said there was no answer." "annette! annette!" came mrs. truxton's shrill voice from the lower hall. "coming, madame, coming," and the maid hastened out of the room shutting the door behind her. left alone, eleanor turned the sealed package over curiously. the address was written in an unknown hand. quickly breaking the red sealing wax and tearing off the paper, she removed the pasteboard cover and a layer of cotton. a startled exclamation escaped her as she drew out the contents of the box--a necklace of large rubies and smaller diamonds in an antique setting. eleanor, who knew the value of jewels, realized from their color and size that the rubies were almost priceless, and in the pure joy of beholding their beauty laid the necklace in the palm of her left hand and along her bare arm. after contemplating the effect for a moment, a thought occurred to her, and she pulled out the remaining cotton in the box and found at the bottom a small card. she picked it out and read the message written on the card. "_the appointment was not kept. well done._" the card fluttered to the floor unheeded. the pigeon blood rubies made a crimson stain on eleanor's white arm, strong wrist, and supple fingers. chapter v mute testimony douglas hunter sighed involuntarily as he left busy fourteenth street, and walked down massachusetts avenue. twelve years' absence makes a great difference in the ever-shifting population of washington. he felt like another rip van winkle as he gazed at each passer-by in his search for a familiar face. even the streets had changed, and he was almost appalled by the grandeur of some of the huge white palaces erected by multimillionaires on massachusetts and new hampshire avenues, and the avenue of the presidents. he had spent part of the morning motoring about the city with one of his cousins, and the outward and visible signs of wealth had staggered him. what had become of the unpretentious, generous-hearted hospitality, and the old world manners and courtly greeting of the former host and hostess who had ruled so long at the national capital? had mammon spoiled the old simplicity, and had washington become but a suburb of new york and chicago? it truly seemed as if plutocracy had displaced aristocracy. as douglas approached the carew residence he glanced keenly at the handsome old mansion and at the numerous idlers loafing in the vicinity drawn there by idle curiosity. a policeman stood on guard in the driveway, and a number of photographers loitered near by, cameras in hand, waiting patiently to snapshot any member of the carew family who might incautiously venture out of doors. the house itself, a handsome square red brick and stone trimmed four-storied building, stood some distance back from the sidewalk with beautifully kept lawns divided by the carriage drive. the blinds were drawn and the ominous black streamer over the bell presented a mournful spectacle. it was the finest residence in that once fashionable locality, and douglas decided that he preferred its solid, home-like architecture to the more ornate and pretentious dwellings in other parts of the city. as the years went by senator carew had added improvements until the residence was one of the most delightful in washington. as douglas turned into the walk, a large touring car wheeled into the driveway, and as it purred softly by him, he stepped back respectfully and raised his hat to the tired-faced man sitting alone in the _tonneau_. he did not need to glance at the small coat-of-arms of the united states emblazoned on the polished door, or at the two secret service men following on their motor cycles, to recognize the distinguished occupant of the car. as the motor stopped under the _porte-cochère_, the colored butler ran down the steps, and the president leaned forward and placed a note in the bowing and scraping negro's hand; then the big car continued on down the driveway and out into the street. douglas waited where he was for a few minutes before mounting the short flight of steps. the hall door was opened several inches on his approach, and joshua solemnly extended his card tray, which douglas waved aside. "i called to see mr. brett; is he here?" he asked. "yessir," joshua opened the door still further, and inspected him carefully. "take my card to him and ask if he can spare me a few minutes," and he dropped his visiting card on the tray. "walk in, suh," exclaimed joshua, impressed by douglas' well-groomed appearance; then he hesitated, embarrassed by a sudden idea. "i'll wait here," volunteered douglas, stepping inside the square hall. "all right, suh," joshua closed the front door, "just a moment, suh," and he stepped softly across the hall and into a room. douglas glanced about him curiously and caught a glimpse of spacious rooms and lofty ceilings. it was a double house, and to the right of the entrance was the drawing-room, and back of that another large room, which douglas took to be the dining room, judging from the glittering silver pieces on a high sideboard of which he had a glimpse through the door leading into the square hall. across from the drawing-room was the room into which joshua had disappeared, and back of that a broad circular staircase which ran up to the top floor. douglas was idly gazing out of the glass panel of the front door when joshua returned, followed by a middle-aged man with a keen, clever face. "is it really you, mr. hunter?" he asked, as they shook hands warmly. "i could hardly believe my eyes when i saw your card. come this way," and he conducted douglas into the room he had just left, and closed the door softly behind them. "when did you arrive in washington?" he inquired, motioning douglas to take a chair near the window and dropping into one opposite him. "yesterday." douglas leaned back and studied his surroundings. his eyes traveled over the handsome carved rosewood bookcases which lined the walls, at the large desk table, and the comfortable leather-covered revolving desk chair. the desk silver, drop lights, and large upholstered davenport pushed invitingly before the huge fireplace with its shining brass fire-dogs and fender, each told a tale of wealth and artistic taste--two assets not often found together. his eyes returned to brett, and he smiled involuntarily as he caught the other intently regarding him. brett smiled in return. "i was wondering why you looked me up so soon," he admitted candidly. "don't think i'm not glad to see you"--hastily--"but i remember of old that you seldom do things without a motive." "on the contrary, i am here this afternoon to _find_ a motive--for senator carew's tragic death." the smile vanished from douglas' clear-cut features. "one moment," as brett opened his mouth to speak. "after reading the account of the senator's death in the morning papers, i went down to headquarters to get what additional facts i could, and they told me that you had been put on the case. so i decided to look you up in person, and here i am." "may i ask why you take such an interest in this case?" "certainly, brett; i was coming to that. senator carew used his influence to get me in the diplomatic service, and during the past twelve years he has shown me many kindnesses, such as seeing that i was detailed to desirable posts, and helped me to secure promotion." "he wouldn't have done that, mr. hunter, if you hadn't made good," broke in brett quickly. "i saw him last at delmonico's in new york on my way to japan a little over a year ago," continued douglas. "he asked me to lunch with him, and evinced great interest in the mystery of the jewel custom fraud which he, in some way, knew i had had a hand in exposing." "sure he did. i told the department about your assistance when i was in paris. if it hadn't been for you, i'd never have landed those swindlers. they led me a pretty dance over the atlantic." "we worked together then," said douglas thoughtfully, "and, on the strength of our past success, i'm going to ask you to take me on as a sort of advisory partner in this carew case." "suppose you first tell me the reason for making such a request." "in the first place i owe a debt of gratitude to senator carew. for the sake of his friendship with my father years ago, he has taken a great interest in me. secondly, i am in washington at his request." brett looked his interest, and douglas went on rapidly: "some time ago i received a note from him asking me to apply for leave of absence from tokio and to come direct to washington, saying that he wished to see me on important business." "did he state the nature of that business?" inquired brett eagerly. "no. i at once followed his suggestion and applied to the state department for leave. it was granted, and i hastened home as fast as steamer and train could bring me." "did you see senator carew?" "unfortunately, no. i only reached washington late last night. i expected to see the senator this morning, instead of which i read of his mysterious death in the morning papers." brett mused for a few minutes, then roused himself. "i am only too glad to have your assistance, mr. hunter." "good!" ejaculated douglas, well pleased. "suppose you tell me all the facts in the case so far discovered." brett leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. "on the face of things it looks as if the negro driver, hamilton, was guilty." "tell me what leads you to think that?" inquired douglas quickly. "he is the worst type of negro, a vicious brute with a taste for liquor. i have inquired about him and examined him thoroughly and am really puzzled, hunter, to find out why senator carew ever employed him." "is he an old family servant?" "no. he has only been in carew's employ about a year i am told. he knows how to handle horses, and took excellent care of the senator's valuable stable." "that probably explains why he was kept on," said douglas. "i've been told that carew was hipped about his horses." "yes. i gathered from mrs. winthrop that hamilton has been drinking steadily, and his conduct to the other servants grew intolerable. senator carew had to discharge him." "when did that happen?" "yesterday afternoon." "then, how was it that he was driving the carriage last night?" "oh, carew gave him a week's notice, said he couldn't fill his place at once, and told him to stay on. joshua tells me that hamilton uttered some ugly threats in the kitchen that evening, but that the servants paid no attention to his black humor, as they saw he had been drinking." "i see in the papers that hamilton vehemently declares his innocence." "he does," agreed brett, checking his remarks off on his fingers; "he declares he did not see senator carew after being discharged by him; that no one was in the carriage when he drove away from the stable at midnight; that he went directly to mrs. owen's residence; and that he does not know when or how senator carew's body was secreted in the carriage." "the plot thickens," muttered douglas. "do you believe his statements?" "i do, and i don't. the servants all declare that he was half drunk; therefore, i doubt if he was in a condition to pay much attention to anything, or that his statements can be relied on. he was sobered by the shock of finding carew's body in his carriage, and, when i arrested him, collapsed from fright." "well, judging from the facts you have just told me, i don't much believe he killed carew." "why not?" argued brett. "hamilton was apparently half out of his mind from rage and drink, and his brute nature made him seek revenge. it's quite possible carew entered the carriage thinking it would not be safe for his niece to drive home alone from the dance, and hamilton took that opportunity to kill him." "i read in the evening paper that hamilton was told to stop at the house for one of the maids, but, instead, drove directly from the stable to the dance," said douglas. "therefore carew did not enter the carriage at this door." "hamilton may have been too befogged with drink to have remembered the order," suggested the detective. "i grant you, brett," said douglas thoughtfully, "that the negro may have the nature, the desire, and the opportunity to commit murder--but why select such a weapon?" "probably picked up the first thing at hand," grunted brett. "but a desk file is not the 'first thing at hand' in a stable," remarked douglas calmly. "in fact, it's the last thing you would expect to find there." "i don't know about that; perhaps it was thrown away in a wastepaper basket, and hamilton may have picked it out of the ash pile," suggested brett. "what did the file look like?" "it is of medium size, the slender steel being very sharp, the round solid base being silver. i've shown it to several jewelers, and they all say it's like hundreds of others, rather expensive, but popular with their well-to-do customers, and that they have no means of tracing it back to any particular owner. it was something like that one," pointing to an upright file on senator carew's desk. douglas leaned over and took it up. "an ideal weapon," he said softly, balancing it in his hand as his fingers closed over the round heavy base. he removed the cork which was used to guard the sharp point and felt it with his thumb. "it must have taken a shrewd blow to drive the file through overcoat and clothing so that it would cause instant death." "the senator wore no overcoat." douglas looked his surprise. after a moment's silence brett edged his chair closer to his companion and lowered his voice. "you recollect how it rained last night?" "in torrents. i have seldom seen such a cloudburst," admitted douglas. "it commenced to rain about ten-thirty," continued brett, "and it did not stop until after three o'clock. hamilton drove twice in that drenching rain to mrs. owen's and back again, first taking miss carew to the dance and returning with her. senator carew's body was discovered on the last trip home. miss carew told her aunt that no one was in the carriage with her when she made the first trip to the dance. senator carew's body was not removed until after my arrival here this morning, and i then made a thorough examination of the carriage and, with the coroner's assistance, of the body as well"--he paused and cleared his throat--"i found senator carew's clothes were absolutely dry--as i said before, he wore no overcoat--now, how did carew get into that carriage in that soaking downpour without getting wet?" asked brett, settling back in his chair. "perhaps he was first murdered and then carried out and put into the carriage." "perhaps so, but i doubt it." "he may have entered the carriage at the stable when hamilton was not around." "i thought of that," returned brett, "and as soon as it was daylight examined the yard and the alley. the concrete walk from the house to the stable is being laid now and cannot be used, so that one has to tread on the ground, which is extremely soft and muddy. the alley is a long one, and carew's stable is about in the center of it, and the rain, settling in the holes of the uneven cobbles, made walking very unpleasant. i am telling you all these details because of another discovery i made," went on brett slowly; "the senator's shoes had been recently polished and the blacking was not even stained." douglas leaned back and bit his thumb nail, a childish habit of which he had never been able to break himself. "where did carew spend the evening?" he asked finally. "that is what i have not been able to find out," growled brett. "mrs. winthrop told me she had not seen her brother since breakfast. that he went to the capitol as usual in the morning. she was told on entering the house just before dinner that he would not return for that meal, but they did not state where he was going." "upon my word it's a very pretty problem," commented douglas softly. "it is," agreed brett, rising and slowly pacing the room. he glanced piercingly at douglas, who was thoughtfully contemplating a life-size portrait of one of carew's ancestors which hung above the mantel over the fireplace. douglas hunter's clear-cut features, broad forehead, and square jaw indicated cleverness and determination. when douglas smiled the severe lines relaxed and his smooth-shaven face was almost boyish. he had a keen sense of the ridiculous, which prevented him from taking himself too seriously. in the past brett had conceived a high regard for the other's quick wit and indomitable courage. "this is senator carew's study or library," he said, stopping before the desk, "and i was giving the room my special attention when you came in." "have you met with any success?" inquired douglas quickly. "so far only one thing--it may be a clew or it may not; under this writing pad i found this blotter," holding up a square white sheet; "it has been used only once, first on one side then on the other, so that by holding it in front of this mirror you can read quite clearly, see----" douglas rose, stepped behind brett, and peeped over his shoulder into the silver-mounted mirror, which the latter had removed from its place on the mantel. the large, bold writing was fairly legible. "what do you make out of it?" asked brett impatiently. obediently douglas read the words aloud: "'am writing in case i don't see you before you'--" the writing ceased. "he must have been interrupted," explained brett, "and clapped down the blotter on top of the sheet so that whoever entered couldn't see the written words. now look at the other side," and he turned over the blotter on which were traced only a few words: "'i have discovered----'" read douglas. "what do you think of it?" asked brett, putting the blotter in an inner pocket of his coat. "it depends on when it was written"--douglas' eyes strayed to the door. surely brett had closed it when they entered, now it stood partly open into the hall. he pointed silently to it, and by common impulse both men stepped out into the hall. listening intently they heard a faint rap on one of the doors in the upper hall; then a high-pitched, quivering voice reached them: "eleanor, eleanor, i'm so glad you've come. i'm nearly sick with misery. they quarreled, eleanor, they quarreled----" her voice caught in a sob--the door slammed shut. the two men glanced at each other, their eyes asked the same question. who quarreled? chapter vi circumstantial evidence a slight sound behind him caused douglas to wheel swiftly around. a pretty woman, with astonishment written largely in her round eyes, stood regarding the two men. she was carrying a handbag. "whom do you wish to see?" asked brett sharply. "no one, monsieur," replied annette, her accent denoting her nationality. "i am miss thornton's maid." douglas started. "eleanor--miss thornton!" was it possible that she could mean _the_ eleanor thornton he used to know? "i am taking her bag to her room as she is spending the night here," added the servant. "indeed." brett inspected her keenly. "when did miss thornton enter the house?" "a few minutes ago, monsieur," vaguely. "joshua showed mademoiselle in while i stopped a moment to speak with the chauffeur, and he left the front door open so that i could enter." at that moment the butler appeared from the dining room carrying a tray on which were glasses and a pitcher of ice water. "joshua, is this miss thornton's maid?" asked brett. "yessir," joshua ducked his head respectfully as he answered the detective. "annette, miss eleanor done hab her same room next do' ter miss cynthia's. yo' kin take her things right upstairs, and tell miss eleanor i done got der ice water fo' her." with a half curtsey annette stepped past the two men, and ran quickly up the staircase. "stop a moment, joshua," ordered brett, as the butler started to follow the maid. "who opened the door into the library a few moments ago?" "'deed i dunno, suh; i been so busy takin' in cyards i ain't noticed particular." "who has been in the hall besides yourself?" persisted brett. "ain't no one," began joshua, then paused. "now i do recollect dat marse philip cum in right smart time ergo, suh. he axed fo' yo', and i tole him yo' was in de lib'ary. i 'specks he mighter been alookin' fo' yo'." "ah, indeed; where is mr. winthrop now?" "ah dunno, suh." "well, find him, joshua, and tell him i wish to see him--at once." brett's pleasant voice had deepened, and joshua blinked nervously. "yessir, i'll tell him, suh, 'deed ah will," he mumbled, as he started upstairs. as douglas and brett walked across the hall to enter the library a man stepped out of the drawing-room. "are you looking for me, mr. brett?" the question was asked courteously enough, and douglas was the more astonished to encounter a hostile stare as the newcomer glanced at him. "i hope you can give me a few minutes of your time," said brett; "will you be so good as to step into the library?" and he stood aside to allow philip winthrop to enter first. douglas followed them into the room and locked the door. as the key clicked slightly winthrop frowned, and his pale face flushed. "that is only a precaution against eavesdroppers," explained douglas quickly. "mr. winthrop, this is mr. douglas hunter, who is assisting me in my efforts to unravel the mystery surrounding senator carew's death, and with your permission will be present at this interview." "why, certainly," exclaimed winthrop, with well simulated heartiness; "won't you both sit down?" and he dropped into the revolving desk chair. douglas picked out his old seat in the window and turned his back to the light the better to face winthrop and brett, who also sat near the desk. "when will they hold the inquest, mr. brett?" questioned winthrop. "the coroner, dr. penfield, told me to-morrow." "has hamilton a lawyer to look out for his interests?" "that's not absolutely necessary at the inquest, mr. winthrop. at present the negro is simply held on suspicion. if the inquest so decides, he will be charged with the murder and held for the grand jury." douglas had been busy scanning winthrop's face intently. he noted the heavy lines in the handsome face, and the unnatural brilliancy of his eyes. it was apparent to both men, by winthrop's thick speech and unsteady hands, which kept fingering the desk ornaments nervously, that he had been drinking heavily. "where did you last see senator carew?" "in this room yesterday afternoon." "did you see him alone, or were others present?" "he was alone." "did he show you a letter which he was then writing?" inquired douglas at a venture, and was startled at the effect of his question on winthrop. the latter whitened perceptibly, and pulled his short black mustache to hide his twitching lips. "i know nothing about any letter," he stammered. brett did not press the point, but asked instead: "where did you spend last night?" "i dined here with my mother and cousin." "and afterwards?" put in douglas. "i went to the alibi club soon after dinner." "how late did you stay there?" "most of the night," was the evasive reply. "please mention the exact hour you left the club," persisted brett. "i really cannot recollect the exact time; i did not reach this house until after two this morning. we had a pretty gay time at the club, and i was in no condition to remember the hour," and he smiled deprecatingly. again brett did not press the question. he turned over the pages of his small memorandum book in which he had been making entries. "have you any idea where senator carew dined and spent the evening?" "no," came the emphatic answer. "he asked me to tell my mother not to expect him at dinner, that was all." "ah, indeed. have you any idea when the senator left the house?" "no, i left him here, and went up to my room, where i stayed until dinner was announced." "where is your room?" "third floor, back." "who has rooms on the next floor?" "senator carew's bedroom, bath, and sitting-room are over this part of the house; miss cynthia carew occupies the suite of rooms across the hall from his rooms. my mother and i have the third floor to ourselves." winthrop plucked nervously at the desk pad. "talking is dry work; won't you and mr. hunter join me, i'll ring for joshua." "one moment," brett's tone was peremptory and, with an unmistakable scowl, winthrop sank down in his chair and leaned heavily on the desk. "what members of the family were in the house yesterday afternoon?" winthrop thought for a moment before replying. "no one but my uncle and myself," he said reluctantly. "my mother and miss carew went out early to some bridge party, and did not return until just before dinner." "i see." brett leaned back in his chair and contemplated winthrop thoughtfully. "mr. winthrop," asked douglas, breaking the short silence, "were you and your uncle always on good terms?" "why, yes." winthrop's twitching fingers closed unconsciously on the slender desk file, and as he spoke his shifting eyes dropped from douglas' clear gaze, and fell on the sharp steel desk ornament in his hand. with a convulsive shudder he dropped it and sprang to his feet. "what's all this questioning about?" he demanded loudly. "i've had enough of this, you----" his hands clinched, and the blood flamed his pale face, a gurgle choked his utterance, and before brett could reach him he fell prone across the desk. chapter vii a piece of oriental silk "i'm glad you could come back, mr. hunter," said brett, as joshua opened the library door of the carew residence and admitted douglas. "can you stay here all night?" "if necessary," replied douglas, glancing at him in surprise. "i think it would be best. mrs. winthrop is completely unstrung; her niece, miss carew, prostrated from shock, and mr. philip winthrop in bed with a bad attack of delirium tremens. in such a household your presence to-night might be invaluable if anything else were to happen--not that i am anticipating any further trouble or tragedies." "very well, i will stay," agreed douglas. "'deed i'se mighty glad ter hyar dat," volunteered joshua, who hovered just inside the door on the pretext of arranging some furniture. "but i dunno whar i'll put yo', suh. miss eleanor, she's in de gues' chambah, an' annette's in de room back ob her's, and de nusses fo' marse philip has der spar rooms in der third flo'." "never mind, joshua, i can camp out in this room. that sofa looks very comfortable," and douglas pointed to the large upholstered davenport which faced the empty fireplace. "just a moment, joshua," exclaimed brett, as the old butler moved toward the door. "did you see senator carew leave the house yesterday afternoon?" "no, suh." "did he take luncheon here?" "no, suh; he cum in 'bout three o'clock; leastways dat was when he rung fo' me, an' i reckon he'd only jes' arrived, 'cause he had his hat an' coat on his arm." "what did he want with you?" "he axed me why hamilton hadn't called fo' him at de capitol as ordered, an' when i tole him dat hamilton was a-sittin' in de stable doin' nuffin, he said i was ter go right out an' send him to de library--which i done." "did you see senator carew after that?" "yessir. after 'bout fifteen minutes hamilton cum out lookin' mighty black an' mutterin' under his breff. den marse james rung fo' me ag'in, an' sent me to tell marse philip dat he wanted ter see him to onst." "was there anything unusual in senator carew's manner?" inquired douglas, who had been listening attentively to the old darky's statements. "he seemed considerable put out, dat was all," responded joshua, after due reflection. "was senator carew irritable and quick-tempered?" "mostly he was real easy-going, but sometimes he had flare-ups, an' den it was bes' ter keep outer his way." "did you find mr. winthrop?" "yessir. i gib him de message, an' he went right down to de lib'ary." "do you know how long senator carew and young winthrop remained in this room?" "no, suh. i went ter de fron' doo', an' while in de hall i heard a regular ruction goin' on inside dis room." "could you hear what was said?" demanded brett eagerly. joshua shook his head. "i couldn't make out a word, but marse james' voice was powerful riz an' marse philip's, too." "was that the first time that senator carew and mr. winthrop have quarreled?" "deys had words now and den," muttered joshua, evasively. "about what?" broke in douglas, sharply. "oh, nuffin in particular. marse james uster get mad with marse philip 'cause he wore so lazy, an' den he's been adrinkin' right smart, which marse james didn't like nuther." "is mr. winthrop a heavy drinker?" "no, suh, but he's been adrinkin' pretty steady fo' de pas' three months." "have you any idea, joshua, what caused the quarrel yesterday afternoon?" "well, it mighter started over hamilton. marse philip persuaded marse james to keep him las' fall when he was 'bout to discharge him fo' bein' impertinent." "did senator carew give you a letter to mail yesterday afternoon, or a note to deliver for him?" inquired douglas thoughtfully. "no, suh, he did not," joshua declared with firmness. "how long have you been with senator carew, joshua?" "most thirty years, suh. i worked fust fo' his father, der ole gineral. ef yo' doan want me fo' nuffin' mo', gen'man, i reckon i'll go an' close up de house fo' de night." "all right, joshua," and the butler beat a hasty retreat. douglas took out his cigarette case and handed it to brett. "formed any new theory?" he asked, striking a match and applying it to the cigarette between his lips. brett did not answer at once. "the inquest will make winthrop and joshua talk. i am convinced neither of them has told all he knows of this affair," he said finally. douglas nodded in agreement. "but the inquest will have to be postponed now. winthrop is in no shape to appear before it." "and miss carew, who is an equally important witness, is still confined to her bed," volunteered brett. "miss thornton tells me that she cries whenever the subject of the murder is mentioned, and that she is completely unstrung by the tragedy." "by the way, who is this miss thornton?" asked douglas. "and what does she look like?" "she is a cousin of mrs. truxton, of georgetown"--douglas whistled in surprise; brett glanced at him sharply, then continued: "i am told she is miss carew's most intimate friend, although about five years older. miss thornton must be about twenty-three. she is tall and dark, and has the most magnificent blue eyes i have ever seen in a woman's head." douglas drew in his breath sharply. "it must be the same girl whom i knew in paris, but i had no idea then that she was related to old family friends of mine in georgetown." he changed the conversation abruptly. "come, brett, what theory have you formed?" he asked again with more emphasis. "i think both winthrop and hamilton have a guilty knowledge of senator carew's death, but how deeply winthrop is implicated we have yet to learn." "but the motive?" argued douglas. "it is highly improbable that winthrop killed the senator because he discharged a worthless servant." "if we could find that letter which i am convinced the senator was writing when winthrop entered the room yesterday afternoon, we would know the motive fast enough," retorted brett. "have you searched carew's belongings?" "yes, all of them, and all the furniture in his bedroom, sitting-room, and bath, as well as the rooms on this floor; but i couldn't find a trace of it. i have also thoroughly searched his office at the capitol." "did you think to examine the landau? the senator might possibly have tucked it under the carriage seat." "i thought of that, and examined the interior of the carriage, but there is no possible place where a letter could be concealed. the carriage has recently been reupholstered in leather and there's no crack or tear where an envelope could slip through." "have you inquired at the different messenger services in town?" "yes, but there is no record at any of their offices that senator carew sent for a messenger to deliver a note yesterday afternoon or night. i also sent word to the post-office officials asking to have an outlook kept, and a search made for a letter franked by senator carew and postmarked yesterday." "it's exceedingly doubtful if you get any results from that quarter, when you don't know when or where such a letter was posted or to what city it was addressed." "the frank may help," brett glanced at the clock. "eleven-thirty--i must be going." he rose. "did you meet with any success, mr. hunter, in the inquiries you said you would make this afternoon?" "in a way, yes. winthrop was at the alibi club, taking supper with captain stanton. but julian wallace, who was one of the party, told me that winthrop left the club about twelve-thirty." brett whistled. "and he did not reach this house until three hours later! i am afraid friend winthrop will have much to explain when he recovers his senses." "hold on; the carew carriage returned here a few minutes before one o'clock--when the senator was found dead inside it. that only left winthrop less than half an hour to get from the club to mrs. owen's residence, a considerable distance, and commit the murder." "it's not impossible for a man in a motor," declared brett sharply. "i thought senator carew only kept horses," exclaimed douglas. "and so he did, but winthrop owns an oldsmobile roadster. i was here at the house when he arrived this morning. the machine has a cover and wind-shield, so he was fairly well protected from the rain. as i said before, winthrop will have much to explain. i hope you will have an undisturbed night, mr. hunter; i told joshua and the nurses to call you if anything is needed." "don't worry about me," laughed douglas, as the two men stepped into the hall. "i've camped out in much worse places than this room." "well, good night. i'll be here the first thing in the morning," and brett pulled open the door and ran down the steps. as douglas replaced the night latch on the front door, joshua joined him. "i brunged yo' dis 'comfort'," raising a soft eiderdown quilt, which he carried tucked on his left arm. "i thought yo' might like it over yo' on der sofa." "thanks very much," exclaimed douglas, taking it from him. joshua followed him to the library door. "i ain't goin' ter bed," he explained. "i couldn't sleep no-how," the soft, drawling voice held a touch of pathos, "marse james was mighty kind ter me--and thirty years is a mighty long time ter be 'sociated in de fam'bly. so i jes' reckon i'll sit on der window-seat in der hall. ef yo' want anythin' jest let me know, marse hunter." "all right, joshua. i'll leave this door open, so you can call me if i am needed. good night." douglas placed the door ajar, and walked over to the well-filled bookcases, and, after some deliberation, selected a book and sat down in the revolving chair. the book held his attention and he read on and on. he finished the last chapter and tossed the volume on the table, then glanced at the clock, the dial of which registered two-thirty. the upholstered davenport, which stood with its back resting against the length of the desk table, looked inviting, and douglas rose, extinguished the light, and walked over and lay down. after placing several sofa cushions under his head he pulled the eiderdown quilt over him, as he felt chilly. the added warmth and the softness of the couch were most grateful to his tired body. he was drowsily conscious of the clock striking; then his last thought was of eleanor thornton--beautiful eleanor thornton--strange that they should meet again; why, he had actually run away from her in paris--a few minutes more and he was sound asleep. [illustration: "he made out a shadowy form just ahead of him and darted forward"] some time later douglas opened his sleepy eyes, then closed them again drowsily. the room was in total darkness. as he lay listening to the tick-tock of the clock he became conscious that he was not alone in the room. instantly he was wide awake. he pulled out his matchbox, only to find it empty. as he lay a moment debating what he should do, a soft, small hand was laid on his forehead. he felt the sudden shock which his presence gave the intruder, for the fingers tightened convulsively on his forehead, then were hastily removed. he threw out his hands to catch the intruder, but they closed on empty space. swiftly and noiselessly douglas rose to his feet and stepped softly around the end of the davenport, hands outstretched, groping for what he could not see. suddenly, his eyes grown accustomed to the darkness, he made out a shadowy form just ahead of him and darted forward. his foot caught in the long wire of the desk telephone and, dragging the instrument clattering with him, he fell forward, striking his face and forehead against the edge of the open door. "fo' de lub ob hebben!" gasped joshua, awakened out of a sound sleep, and scared almost out of his wits. "marse hunter! marse hunter! whar yo' at?" "here," answered douglas. "turn on the hall light; then come to me." obediently joshua groped his way to the button and switched on the light, after which he hastened into the library and did the same there. douglas, who sat on the floor nursing a bleeding nose, blinked as the strong light met his dazed eyes. "did you see anyone leave this room, joshua?" he demanded. "no, suh." the butler's eyes were rolling about to an alarming extent, showing the whites against his black face, which had grown gray with fright. "'twarn't no one ter see--it must ter been a harnt." "nonsense," exclaimed douglas heatedly. the telephone bell was keeping up a dull clicking as the sleepy central tried to find out what was wanted, and he leaned over and replaced the receiver on the hook as he picked up the instrument. "no ghost put out your hall light, and no ghost wears clothes. i caught the intruder's gown, and if it hadn't ripped away i'd have caught her." as he spoke he opened his right hand and disclosed a torn piece of oriental silk. chapter viii kismet "good morning, uncle dana." the tall, distinguished looking, gray-haired man standing in front of the mantel wheeled around with a visible start of surprise. "good lord! eleanor, i didn't hear you enter the room. how silently you move, dear." eleanor's pretty mouth dimpled into a smile as she kissed her uncle warmly. "i'll send you an ear-trumpet," she declared, saucily. "come and sit by me on this sofa. did you get my note this morning?" "how like a woman!" he dropped down on the comfortable rosewood sofa with a sigh of content. "of course i received it--why otherwise should i be here?" "then you will take the case?" she asked eagerly. "i am not a criminal lawyer." eleanor's face fell. "oh, don't refuse," she begged earnestly. "dear mrs. winthrop needs some one to watch her interests, and if, later on, occasion requires a criminal lawyer, which pray heaven may not be, you can then engage one for her. she was so relieved when i suggested sending for you." "in what way does mrs. winthrop need my services?" "why, to take charge of everything"--vaguely. "a man in authority is required here at once." "where is philip?" "philip!" eleanor's tone spoke her contempt. "he is sick in bed--a trained nurse in attendance"--then added quickly, answering her uncle's unspoken question--"too much dissipation has again caused his downfall." "um! i don't envy mrs. winthrop her precious stepson." colonel thornton's pleasant face hardened, and eleanor, seeing her advantage, pressed the point. "mrs. winthrop is almost overwhelmed with anxiety and sorrow, which she has practically to face alone. do, uncle dana, if it is possible, take some of this dreadful responsibility off her shoulders." "i will do what i can," announced the colonel, after a moment's deliberation. eleanor clapped her hands. "dear uncle dana! i knew you would, when you thought it over. just a moment--i'll send word to mrs. winthrop that you are here; she wants to see you." joshua was in the hall, and to him eleanor confided her message for mrs. winthrop, then returned to the drawing-room and seated herself on the sofa by her uncle. "did you ever know anyone in georgetown named douglas hunter?" she inquired. "douglas hunter--douglas--why, surely, he must be the young son of john hunter who used to be a neighbor of mine in georgetown. cousin kate truxton can tell you all about the hunters. she was an intimate friend of john's wife. the hunters belong to the f. f. v.'s. why do you ask about douglas?" "joshua told me that he spent last night here, and that he is taking a deep interest in the mystery surrounding senator carew's tragic death." "you must be mistaken," exclaimed thornton, glancing at her in surprise. "to the best of my recollection douglas hunter entered the consular service very soon after he left college; then carew evinced an interest in his career and had him transferred into the diplomatic service. he's not a detective, child." "well, he's acting as if he were one--prying around"--eleanor checked her hasty speech and rose as the portières parted, and mrs. winthrop advanced into the room. she was a well-known figure in washington society. although small of stature, her erect carriage and graceful movements made her seem taller than she really was. she was said to have the longest calling list in washington, and, although an aristocrat to her fingertips, she had friends and acquaintances in every walk in life, for she possessed the true spirit of democracy which springs from a kind heart and does not ape humility. she had been of inestimable assistance to her brother, senator carew, during his political career. as colonel thornton bowed low over her small, blue-veined hand, he noticed the heavy lines and dark shadows which fatigue and sorrow had traced under her eyes, and his hand closed over hers in silent sympathy. "it is good of you to come, colonel," she began, seating herself in a large armchair next the sofa, "and still kinder to offer to advise me, i feel stunned"--she put her hand to her head with a gesture pathetic in its helplessness, and her sad eyes filled with unbidden tears. eleanor put out her hand, and it was instantly clasped by the older woman. "forgive me, colonel." she blinked the tears away, and by a visible effort regained her lost composure. "my brother was very dear to me, and----" "i know no man who had more friends," replied thornton gravely, as she paused and bit her trembling lips. "exactly, therefore his violent death seems monstrous!" declared mrs. winthrop. "who would commit such a deed? my brother's greatest fault was his kind heart--he accomplished so much good unobtrusively. now, colonel, the first thing i wish to consult you about is offering a reward for the discovery of his murderer. can you arrange it for me?" "certainly. i think it a wise suggestion. how much shall it be?" thornton drew out his notebook. "five thousand dollars;" then, noting thornton's expression, asked: "you think it too much?" "it would perhaps be better to commence with a smaller sum--say one thousand dollars--then you can increase it, if that amount brings no results." "that is a capital plan. well, james, what is it?" to the footman who had entered a second before and approached her chair. "mr. brett wants to know, ma'am, if you will see him an' mister hunter fo' a few minutes. they want to ax yo' a few questions." mrs. winthrop glanced interrogatively at thornton. "what shall i do?" "perhaps it would be just as well to see them," he replied. "very well. james, show the gentlemen in here," and, as the servant hastened out of the room, she turned to her two guests. "you must be present at this interview, and i depend on you, colonel thornton, to check any undue inquisitiveness on the part of the detective." "i will, madam," and thornton's grim tone conveyed more than the mere words. he ranked as one of the leaders of the district bar, and few opposing lawyers dared take liberties with him when trying a case. eleanor made a motion to rise, but mrs. winthrop checked her with a low-toned "wait, dear," as brett, followed by douglas hunter, strode into the room. mrs. winthrop acknowledged brett's bow with a courteous inclination of her head, but, as he murmured douglas' name in introducing him, she rose and shook hands with him. "i have frequently heard my brother speak of you, mr. hunter," she said, "and have regretted not meeting you before," and, as douglas voiced his thanks, she added, "eleanor, mr. hunter"--and douglas gazed deep into the beautiful eyes which had haunted his memory since their last meeting in paris. for one second his glance held hers, while a soft blush mantled her cheeks; then colonel thornton stepped forward briskly and extended his hand. "no need of an introduction here, douglas," he said heartily. "i should have known you anywhere from your likeness to your father, though i haven't seen you since you wore knickerbockers." "i haven't forgotten 'thornton's nest,' nor you either, colonel," exclaimed douglas, clasping his hand warmly. "i about lived on your grounds before i went to boarding school." "pray be seated, gentlemen," and, in obedience to mrs. winthrop's gesture, douglas pulled up a chair near hers, while brett and colonel thornton did likewise. "now, mr. brett, what do you wish to ask me?" "have you any idea where senator carew dined the night of his death?" "not the slightest," was the positive reply. "was it your brother's custom not to inform you where he was dining?" asked brett. "stop a moment," thornton held up a protesting hand. "mrs. winthrop, you cannot be compelled to answer questions put to you by mr. brett; he has no legal right to examine you now." "i am quite aware of that, colonel thornton," put in brett composedly; "i am asking these questions that i may gain a little more light on this mystery. i only saw mrs. winthrop for a short time yesterday, and, while i do not wish to intrude, i feel that i can accomplish better results by a longer talk. this tragedy must be investigated thoroughly." "very true; but you forget, mr. brett, that the inquest is the proper place for bringing out testimony. mrs. winthrop will have to appear before it, and, until that is held, she must not be pestered with questions or harrowed by intrusions." "i am willing to answer all questions within reason," said mrs. winthrop, before the detective could reply. "if you mean, mr. brett, that senator carew was secretive about his movements, you are mistaken. on the contrary, he was most open and above board in his dealings with me. occasionally, when hurried, he did not tell me his plans for the day, but, as a general thing, i knew all his social engagements." "ah, his social engagements," echoed brett, "how about his official engagements, mrs. winthrop?" "with those i had nothing to do. i never meddled in my brother's political or official career; that was out of my province," was the calm reply. "then you think it likely that he dined with some of his official colleagues?" "i am unable to express an opinion on the subject." "you had better ask his private secretary what engagements he made for monday, and with whom he was last seen," broke in thornton. "mr. philip winthrop is in no condition to answer questions now. he will be examined before the coroner's inquest when able to leave his room." "then i do not see the object of this interview," objected thornton. "young mr. winthrop is better able to tell you of senator carew's movements that day than mrs. winthrop." "i cannot wait so long." brett shook his head decidedly. "what clews there are will grow cold, and i cannot afford to risk that. i am deeply interested in clearing up this terrible affair." "and do you think i am less so?" demanded mrs. winthrop indignantly. "on the contrary, mr. brett, i will move heaven and earth to find the perpetrator of that dastardly deed. i have just told colonel thornton that i will offer a reward of one thousand dollars for information leading to the criminal's arrest." "ah, then you do _not_ think the negro coachman, hamilton, guilty?" put in brett quickly. "i have not said so," but mrs. winthrop looked disconcerted for a second, then regained her usual serenity. "my idea in offering the reward was to assist your investigation, and colonel thornton agreed with me that it was an excellent plan." "mrs. winthrop," the detective spoke with greater distinctness, "was senator carew on good terms with all the members of his family?" "he was, sir, with members of this household." mrs. winthrop hesitated briefly, then continued, "i think that i had better tell you that, since his return from panama a short time ago, my brother received a number of threatening letters." "indeed," brett's tone betrayed his satisfaction. "can i see the letters?" "unfortunately my brother destroyed the one he showed me." "what was its contents?" inquired brett. "to the best of my recollection the message, which was written in an obviously disguised writing, read somewhat like this: "'your movements are watched. if you act, you die'." "did you see the envelope?" asked brett, as he jotted down the words in his memorandum book. "no. at the time my brother showed it to me he told me that he had received several others; that he had no idea to what they referred; and that he never paid attention to anonymous communications." "i see." brett thoughtfully replaced his notebook in his pocket. "can i talk to your niece, miss cynthia carew?" mrs. winthrop shook her head. "she is still too prostrated to be interviewed." "poor little soul! it was a ghastly experience for her," ejaculated colonel thornton. "it was indeed," agreed mrs. winthrop. "she was devoted to her uncle, and he to her. consequently the shock has driven her half out of her mind." "miss thornton--" brett turned and faced eleanor--"do you know to whom miss carew referred when she exclaimed on greeting you yesterday afternoon: 'they quarreled, eleanor, they quarreled!'" mrs. winthrop caught her breath sharply. "why, her words referred to hamilton, the coachman," replied eleanor quietly, and her eyes did not waver before brett's stern glance. the detective broke the short silence which followed. "i won't detain you longer, mrs. winthrop. i am exceedingly obliged to you for the information you have furnished. mr. hunter, are you coming down town?" douglas nodded an affirmative as he rose. mrs. winthrop and colonel thornton detained brett with a question as he was leaving the room. douglas seized his opportunity, and crossed over to eleanor's side. "how have you been since i saw you last, miss thornton?" he inquired. "very well, thanks. and you?"--eleanor inspected him with good-natured raillery: "you look--as serious as ever." douglas reddened. "it has been my lot in life to have to take things seriously. i'm not such a puritan as you evidently think me." "come and see me, and perhaps on better acquaintance"--she paused. "what?" "you will improve." her charming, roguish smile robbed the words of their sting. "you think then that i am an acquired taste?" "i have not seen enough of you to know." "when may i call on you?" she parried the question with another. "why did you leave paris without saying good-bye to me?" the simple question sobered douglas. it brought back an unpleasant recollection best forgotten. eleanor's bewitching personality had always exerted an extraordinary influence over him. he found himself watching her every movement, instinct with grace, and eagerly waiting to catch her smile. in paris he had often cursed himself for a fool, even when attending a reception just to catch a glimpse of her. she was a born coquette, and could no more help enjoying an innocent flirtation than a kitten could help frolicking. it was her intense femininity which had first attracted him. frightened at the influence she unconsciously exerted over him, he had deliberately avoided her--and fate had thrown them together again. it was kismet! therefore, why not enjoy the goods the gods provided and be thankful? "'time and tide wait for no man,'" he quoted. "i had to catch a steamer at a moment's notice, hence the 'p. p. c.' card. please show your forgiveness, and let me call." "and if i don't?" "why, i'll come anyway." eleanor's eyes twinkled. "bravo. i like the spirit of young lochinvar." "he came out of the west, whereas i come out of the east." "oh, well, extremes meet." "then don't be surprised if i carry you off." the words were spoken in jest, but the look in douglas' eyes caused eleanor to blush hotly. "marse brett am awaitin' fo' yo', suh," said joshua from the doorway, breaking in on the _tête-à-tête_. "oh,--ah,--yes." douglas was suddenly conscious of the absence of the others. "miss thornton, i had no idea i was detaining you. please say good-by to mrs. winthrop and your uncle. i never realized in paris that you belonged to _the_ thorntons in georgetown." "you never took the trouble to make inquiries about me?" she surprised a look in douglas' face--why did he appear as if caught? the expression was fleeting, but eleanor's eyes hardened. "good-bye," she turned abruptly away, without seeing his half-extended hand. douglas looked anything but pleasant when he joined brett, who stood waiting for him in the vestibule. they strolled down massachusetts avenue for over a block in absolute silence. brett was the first to speak. "when you were eating breakfast i saw annette, miss thornton's french maid, and questioned her in regard to the dressing gowns worn by the carew household." "what luck did you meet with?" inquired douglas, rousing from a deep study. "she says mrs. winthrop, miss carew, and miss thornton all wear dressing gowns made of oriental silk." "upon my word!" ejaculated douglas, much astonished. "still, they can't be the same pattern." "it won't be so easy to identify your midnight caller by means of that silk," taking out the slip which douglas had torn from the dressing gown the night before. "annette says the gowns were given to mrs. winthrop and miss carew by miss thornton, who purchased them, with hers, at a japanese store in h street. the french girl isn't above accepting a bribe, so when i suggested her showing me the gowns, she got them and brought them into the library, while mrs. winthrop and miss thornton were breakfasting in miss carew's boudoir." "did you see all three of them?" "yes, and they are as alike as two peas in a pod. and, mr. hunter," his voice deepened impressively, "i examined them with the greatest care, and not one kimono was torn--nor had any one of them ever been mended." chapter ix at the state department "this gentleman has called to see you, sir," and the messenger handed a visiting card to the secretary of state, who laid his pen down on his desk and carefully inspected the card. "show mr. hunter in," he directed, then looked across at his stenographer. "you need not wait, jones." as the stenographer gathered up his papers and hastened out of the room, douglas was ushered in, and after a few words of greeting the secretary motioned him to take the large leather chair placed beside his desk. "i was sorry not to find you when i called yesterday, mr. secretary," began douglas. "i was detained in the west and did not get here until this morning. what do you wish to see me about, mr. hunter?" "first, to thank you for granting me a leave of absence." "that is all right. senator carew came here and asked as a particular favor to him that you be allowed to return to washington. by the way, his death was terrible, terrible. his loss will be felt by the whole country." "it will, indeed," agreed douglas. "did you see senator carew before his death?" "no, mr. secretary; i only reached washington on monday, the night of his murder." "it seems an outrage in these days of our boasted civilization that a man of such brilliant attainments, a man whose life is of benefit to his country, should be killed wantonly by a worthless, drunken negro," exclaimed the secretary, with much feeling. "you believe, then, that senator carew was murdered by his servant?" "i gathered that impression from the newspapers, and they all insist that the negro is guilty. do you think otherwise?" "i do." "and your reasons?" "the use of the letter file, an extraordinary weapon for a negro coachman to use." "is that your only reason for believing the negro innocent?" the secretary's piercing eyes studied douglas' face intently. "no, sir." "is there anything which strikes you as being of vital importance in the case which has not yet been brought out?" "senator carew was chairman of the foreign relations committee." the secretary stared at douglas for a full minute without speaking. "i don't quite catch your meaning, mr. hunter," he said finally. "let me explain, mr. secretary," began douglas earnestly. "some time ago i received a letter from senator carew _suggesting_ that i apply for leave of absence." "why?" snapped out the secretary. "he did not specify directly," returned douglas calmly; "he said he wished to consult me about my future. one moment"--as the secretary opened his lips to speak. "at the end of the letter the senator added that he hoped i was making the most of my opportunities; that it was only the part of wisdom to inform myself of all that was going on in japan, and that he expected that i would be able to give him some interesting data about the 'yankees of the east,' as he had always been curious as regards their customs, past history, and future plans." the secretary settled back in his chair and fumbled with his watch chain. he was the first to break the silence. "did you follow senator carew's advice?" "i did, sir." "with what results?" "among other things i discovered that there was an unusual activity commencing in the shipyards; army maneuvers were being conducted unostentatiously, and finally, the day i sailed, i heard a report that three transports were being fitted out at wakayama, a closed port, and were to sail shortly under sealed orders." "excellent! have you any idea of the transports' destination?" "no, sir." "why did you not send me this information before?" the secretary spoke with unwonted sternness. "i did cable a cipher despatch to senator carew. i thought you had requested him to get certain information, and did not care to have it sent through the department directly." "the senator did not take me into his confidence in the matter," declared the secretary, studying his companion's face intently. "that's very strange," muttered douglas. "very strange. detective brett, who is investigating the carew case, declares, from writing found on a blotter, that the senator wrote a letter to some unknown person. on one side of the blotter were clearly traced the words: 'am writing in case i don't see you before ...'--and on the other: 'i have discovered....' brett thinks senator carew was interrupted on two occasions while writing the letter, and laid the blotter on the fresh ink to prevent the person who entered from seeing what he had written." the secretary followed douglas' story with the greatest attention. "a likely hypothesis," he acknowledged, slowly settling back in his revolving chair, for he had been leaning forward on his desk the better to catch every word spoken by douglas in his quiet monotone. "to whom do you think that letter was written?" "to you, undoubtedly, mr. secretary. possibly my information may have given him the clew he needed to verify certain suspicions. you were in the west, he wanted to get the news to you without further delay, and the only thing he could do was to write or wire." "or telephone," supplemented the secretary; then, as douglas' face brightened, he added, "unfortunately for your theory senator carew did none of those things." "you mean----?" "that i have never received a letter, a telegram, or a telephone from him while i was away," announced the secretary solemnly. "he may still have written a message and have been killed before he could get it off to you." "has such a letter been found by brett?" "no, sir; nor any trace of it. so far, he has been unable to find out whether such a letter was seen or posted by any member of the senator's household. all he has to go on is the blotter." "why did you not go at once to see senator carew when you arrived in washington?" "because my cousin, captain taylor, who met me at the union station, gave me a note from senator carew asking me to call on him at nine o'clock tuesday morning at his residence." "how did the senator know where a note would reach you?" "he enclosed it in a note to my cousin asking him to see that it was delivered to me at once on my arrival." "has it occurred to you that senator carew's missing letter, which brett is so anxious to find, may have been addressed to you?" "i never thought of that!" exclaimed douglas, "i was so thoroughly convinced that he had tried to communicate with you." "i would inquire about your mail if i were you, mr. hunter." "i will do so at once," douglas half rose. "no, no, sit down." the secretary waited until douglas had resumed his seat. "where are you stopping?" "at the albany." "you have brought me very serious news, mr. hunter. so serious that i must insist on some verification of your statements about japan before you leave me." douglas took from a cleverly concealed pocket in the lining of his coat a number of sheets of rice paper and handed them to the secretary, who studied the closely written papers long and intently. suddenly he pulled open a desk drawer and took out his strong box. "i will keep these papers, mr. hunter, for future reference," he announced, unlocking the box and placing the rice papers in it. then, with equal care, he replaced the box in the drawer, which he locked securely. "we must go slowly in this matter. a slip on our part, and two great nations may become involved in a needless and bloody war." "i realize the gravity of the situation, mr. secretary, and have come to you for advice in the matter." "good. i depend on you not to mention our conversation to anyone, nor do i think it wise to acquaint brett at this time with your suspicions in regard to the motive for senator carew's murder. with all good intentions brett might blunder and cause international complications." douglas stroked his clean-shaven chin reflectively for a moment. "don't you think, mr. secretary, that there is danger of being too secretive, and that the guilty party may slip through our fingers?" "it is a risk which we will have to take. frankly, i think you and brett are equal to the situation." the secretary glanced at his watch. "have you any engagement just now, mr. hunter?" "no, sir. my time is at your disposal." the secretary reached up and touched the electric buzzer hanging above his desk, and in a few seconds his stenographer appeared from another room. "jones, call up secretary wyndham and ask if he can see me," and, as the clerk disappeared to execute his order, he turned back to douglas. "there are certain charts of the pacific which i wish you to see; they have been made recently. well, jones?" as the clerk reëntered his office. "secretary wyndham is expecting you, sir." "thanks. now, mr. hunter, get your hat, and we will go to the navy department." chapter x the theft the secretary of state and douglas hastened through the wide corridors of the immense state, war, and navy building. as they passed an elevator shaft in the navy wing, douglas caught a fleeting glimpse of eleanor thornton in one of the lifts as it shot downward toward the ground floor. on their arrival they were ushered at once into secretary wyndham's private office. "glad to see you," exclaimed wyndham, "your call is most opportune"--he stopped on seeing douglas standing behind the secretary of state, and his eyebrows went up questioningly. "this is mr. douglas hunter, attaché of the american embassy at tokio, wyndham," explained the secretary of state. "how are you, sir." the secretary of the navy shook hands brusquely. "will you both be seated?" "i brought mr. hunter with me that he might tell you of certain information which he gathered in japan about some prospective movements of their navy." he glanced significantly at douglas, who nodded understandingly, and without more words gave a clear, concise statement of naval affairs in japan, omitting all mention of other matters. secretary wyndham listened to his remarks with the closest attention. when he ceased speaking wyndham sprang from his chair and, walking over to the adjoining room, spoke to his confidential clerk, then closed the door and returned. "i have told him to admit no one," he explained briefly, as he seated himself in his swivel chair. "may we see the new charts of the pacific?" inquired the secretary of state, moving his chair closer to the other's desk. "certainly; but first i must tell you of a remarkable occurrence which took place here earlier this morning." a violent fit of coughing interrupted wyndham, and it was some minutes before he could speak clearly. "ah!" he gasped, tilting back in his chair and mopping his flushed face, "a spring cold is almost impossible to cure." "i don't think yours will be improved if you continue to sit in a direct draft," remonstrated the secretary of state, pointing to the open windows. "i had to have air. by george! man, if you had been through what i have this morning--" he did not complete his sentence. "what happened?" asked the secretary of state, with growing interest. "the plans of the two new dreadnaughts have been stolen." "impossible!" the secretary of state half started from his chair. "impossible? well, i'd have said the same five hours ago," dryly. "were they stolen from this office?" asked douglas. "yes, and not only from this office, but under my very eyes." "how?" "to give you both a clear idea i must go into details," wyndham drew his chair up closer and lowered his voice. "about twelve o'clock my private secretary brought me word that a man wished to see me personally. of course, i have daily callers who all wish to see me personally, and usually my secretary takes care of them. this particular caller refused to give his name and said he would explain his business to me alone. i thought he was simply a harmless crank, and told my secretary to get rid of him as soon as possible." wyndham sighed. "in a few minutes my secretary was back in the office, saying that the stranger had a message for me from senator carew." "a written message?" asked the secretary of state. "no, a verbal one. with everyone else in washington, i have taken great interest in the terrible murder of my old friend. the man's statement aroused my interest, and, having a few minutes of leisure, i told my secretary to show him in." "what did he look like?" inquired the secretary of state, deeply interested. "a tall, dark chap; his hair and beard were black, and he had the bluest eyes i've ever seen in human head." "was he well dressed?" "no, his clothes were shabby but fairly neat. he looked as if he had spruced up for the occasion. i can't say i was prepossessed in his favor by his appearance." "did he give you his name?" "no." "do you think he was an american?" put in douglas. "it's hard to say. at first i sized him up as being a spaniard." "didn't you ask his name?" again inquired the secretary of state impatiently. "i did, and his errand. he ignored my first question, and in answer to the second said that he had come to examine some records. i informed him that he had come to the wrong office, and that my clerk would direct him to the proper room. he then made the astounding statement that he had an appointment to meet senator carew here in this office at twelve o'clock. i was taken completely by surprise by the man's statement and asked: 'what day did you expect to meet senator carew here?' "'this morning, at twelve o'clock,' he answered, and then added, 'he is late.' "thinking the man a little daft or drunk, though i could detect no sign of liquor, i said abruptly, 'a likely tale; senator carew is dead.' "'dead!' he shouted, springing out of his chair. "'yes, dead--murdered last monday night.' i hadn't anticipated giving him such a shock, or i would have broken the news more gently. the effect on my visitor was appalling. he collapsed on the floor in a fit. the electric bells in this office are out of order, and, although i shouted for help, no one heard me. i sprang out of my chair, undid the man's necktie and collar, threw the contents of my ice pitcher in his face, and then bolted into the other room to get assistance. most of the clerks had gone out to their lunch. i called two men who happened to be eating their lunch in an adjoining room, and we hastened back here only to find my strange visitor gone!" "gone!" ejaculated the secretary of state. "vanished. the only sign of his presence was the spilled ice water on the floor, and that chair overturned," pointing to the one douglas was occupying. "did no one see him slip out of the door into the hall?" asked douglas. "no. unfortunately the messenger, who sits near my door, had gone into the room across the corridor. the man made a quick getaway, and luck broke with him, for no one noticed him leaving the building." "how do you know he isn't hiding somewhere?" inquired douglas. "if he is, he will be captured, for chief connor and a number of secret service men are searching the building." "when did you discover the plans of the battleships were missing?" wyndham swore softly. "that's the devilish part of it," he said bitterly. "as soon as i realized the man had really run away i glanced over my papers. everything seemed to be all right. i pulled open this drawer," opening it as he spoke, "and saw these blue prints lying exactly as i had placed them under this folded newspaper. i slammed the drawer shut, thinking my strange visitor was simply a harmless lunatic, who had probably read about carew's death until he became obsessed with the subject, and dismissed the matter from my mind." "was this drawer locked when your strange visitor was admitted?" "no." "then anyone might have stolen the papers," exclaimed the secretary of state in surprise. wyndham reddened. "no, they could not. the only time i've been out of this room was when i ran out looking for aid for that miserable scoundrel. that is the only chance there has been to steal the papers." "you think, then," began douglas, checking his remarks off on his fingers, "first, that the whole thing was a plot; that the man used senator carew's name to arouse your interest or curiosity; that he faked a fit, and in your absence removed the plans and substituted false blueprints, taking a chance that you would simply look to see that everything was safe in your drawer and not examine further, and then made his escape." "you've hit it exactly," acknowledged wyndham. "those were the conclusions reached by chief connor also." "it was no irresponsible person who committed that theft," declared the secretary of state thoughtfully. "it was a well-laid plot, neatly carried out. how long have the papers been in your possession, wyndham?" "they were sent here yesterday for my inspection. there has been a leak here somewhere, damn it!" wyndham set his bulldog jaw. "i'll trace it to the bottom, and when i find out----" he clenched his fists menacingly. "what callers did you see besides the spaniard?" asked douglas. "let me see--the usual run, several office seekers, a number of naval officers--oh, yes, my wife came in with colonel thornton and his niece, miss eleanor thornton." "before or after the spaniard had been here?" questioned douglas swiftly. "shortly afterward. they came in about a quarter of one and did not stay long." "after you had discovered the loss of the plans?" "no, before. i only discovered their loss three-quarters of an hour ago." "how long were your wife and her friends in this office?" inquired douglas persistently. "about fifteen minutes." "then how does it happen that i saw miss eleanor thornton descending in one of the elevators when the secretary and i were on our way to this office to see you?" "oh, miss eleanor told me that she was going to the library to look up the records of some of her ancestors, as she wishes to join the colonial dames. i think she has been up there ever since. my wife and colonel thornton left together without waiting for her." "you are absolutely certain, wyndham, that you haven't been out of this office except on that one occasion?" asked the secretary of state for the second time. "i will take my bible oath on it," exclaimed wyndham solemnly. the three men gazed at each other in silence, each busy with his own thoughts. the secretary of state was the first to recover himself. "have you had your lunch, wyndham?" he inquired. the latter shook his head. "i've lost my appetite," he growled. the secretary of state rose and placed his hand on the broad shoulder of the younger man. "don't take it so much to heart, wyndham," he said kindly. "we'll get at the bottom of this tangle before long. we'll all stand by and help you, and, remember, chief connor is a host in himself." "thanks," wyndham straightened his bent shoulders; his face was set and his eyes snapped as the spirit of the born fighter returned. "i'll move heaven and earth until i catch that spaniard. must you both be going?" "yes." the secretary of state answered for douglas as well as for himself. "we have detained you quite long enough. let me know immediately of any new developments." "i will. mr. hunter, it's been a pleasure to meet you, although i am afraid the information you have given me, considered with the loss of the plans of the new battleships, complicates the situation. good-bye, come and see me again," and the big door swung shut. halfway down the corridor the secretary of state paused and regarded douglas seriously. "talk of complicated situations----" he passed his hand wearily over his forehead, then started with sudden resolution. "come on, hunter, i'm going over to the white house; a talk with the president may clear my brain. wyndham may have lost his appetite, but he's given us food for thought." chapter xi over the tea cups cynthia turned a flushed and tear-stained face toward eleanor, as the latter entered the boudoir and approached her couch. "is it all over?" she asked, choking back a sob. "yes." eleanor lifted her black crêpe veil, and, pulling out the hatpins, removed her hat and handed it to annette, who had followed her into the room. "take my coat, too, annette," she directed, "then you need not wait." as the servant left the room she pulled a low rocking-chair up to the couch on which cynthia was lying, and placed her hand gently on the weeping girl's shoulder. "are you feeling better, dear?" "a little better." cynthia wiped her eyes with a dry handkerchief which annette had placed on her couch some moments before. "oh, eleanor, i am so bitterly ashamed of the scene i made downstairs." "you need not be." eleanor stroked the curly, fair hair back from cynthia's hot forehead with loving fingers. "it was a very painful scene, and dr. wallace's tribute to senator carew, while beautiful, was harrowing. i am not surprised you fainted, dear." "aunt charlotte didn't, and she was so devoted to uncle james." "mrs. winthrop had not been through your terrible experiences of monday night. consequently, she had the strength to bear to-day's ordeal with outward composure." "was it very dreadful at the cemetery?" "no, dear. the services at the grave were very simple, and, as the funeral was private, it attracted no morbid spectators." "did anyone accompany you?" "just the handful of people who were here for the house services." "where is aunt charlotte?" "she went to her room to lie down." cynthia raised herself on her elbow and glanced searchingly about the pretty sitting-room filled with its bird's-eye maple furniture. the yellow wallpaper, with its wide border of pink roses, chintz curtains and hangings, cast a soft yellow glow, which was exceedingly becoming, as well as restful to the eye. the afternoon sunshine came through the long french windows which overlooked a broad alley. "eleanor, would you mind closing the door of my bedroom," she asked, "and please first see that--that blanche isn't sitting there sewing." eleanor glanced curiously at cynthia as she rose, crossed to the adjoining bedroom, and softly closed the door. "there is no one in your room," she reported, on her return to her rocking-chair. cynthia settled back among her pillows with an air of satisfaction. "at last i have you to myself. first the trained nurse, whom i didn't need, and then aunt charlotte, have always been hanging around, and i haven't had a chance to ask you any questions." "what is it you wish to know?" "was there--was there--an autopsy?" noting eleanor's expression, she exclaimed hastily: "now, eleanor dear, _don't_ say i must not talk of uncle james' death. the nurse wouldn't answer me when i spoke on the subject; said i must not think of the tragedy, that it was bad for me. such nonsense! i would have asked aunt charlotte, but she's been so queer lately, not in the least like her own dear self." "mrs. winthrop is living under such great strain these days, cynthia, it's not surprising. her brother dead--philip very ill----" "they told me he was better," hastily jerked out cynthia, with a startled look in her big, brown eyes. "he is, now," eleanor hesitated. "the doctor at first thought he might develop brain fever, but i am told all danger of that is past." "what is the matter with him?" persisted cynthia. "i asked the nurse what the trouble was, but she never told me. was his attack also caused by the shock of uncle james' death?" "yes, from shock," answered eleanor, mechanically. "you must not blame your aunt if her manner is distrait; she is a very reserved woman and dreads, above all things, letting herself go and breaking down." "oh, i hope she will keep well, she has been so unhappy. i can't bear to think of her suffering more, but," she laid her hand pleadingly on eleanor's arm, "you haven't answered my question about the autopsy." "yes, they held one." "and what was discovered?" eagerly. "that senator carew was perfectly well physically, and that his death was caused by a stab from the sharp-pointed letter file." cynthia suddenly covered her eyes with her hand, and lay for some minutes without speaking. "is hamilton still in jail?" she questioned finally. "yes, he is being held for the inquest." "inquest?" cynthia glanced up, startled. "i thought the inquest was over." "no, it hasn't been held yet." "but uncle james was buried to-day." "the funeral could not be postponed, cynthia. the doctors who performed the autopsy will testify at the inquest." "but i thought it was always necessary to hold the inquest after a violent death." "it is usually, but in this case the inquest was postponed because you and philip, two of the most important witnesses, were too ill to attend it." cynthia closed and unclosed her tapering fingers over her handkerchief spasmodically. "are the detectives still hanging around the house?" she inquired. "yes." "it's shameful!" announced cynthia, sitting upright, "to allow those men to intrude on our grief and privacy. they have arrested hamilton for the crime, and should leave us alone." "they do not think hamilton guilty." "whom--whom--do they suspect?" the question seemed forced from her. "mr. brett hasn't confided in me." "mr. brett?" "he's the detective in charge of the case." "oh, is he the tall, fine-looking man i saw talking to joshua in the hall yesterday morning?" "no, that was probably douglas hunter." "douglas hunter? not the douglas hunter of the diplomatic corps, whom uncle james was forever talking about?" "the same. do you know him?" "no, he has always been absent from washington when i've been in the city. what is he doing here now?" "trying to help mr. brett solve the mystery of senator carew's death." "good heavens! what earthly business is it of his?" "don't ask me," eleanor's usually tranquil voice was a trifle sharp. "i suppose he is hoping to win the reward offered by mrs. winthrop." "reward?" cynthia's voice rose, and drowned the sound of a faint knock at the hall door. "yes. your aunt announced that she would give five thousand dollars to anyone who could solve the mystery." cynthia was listening with absorbed attention to eleanor, and neither noticed that the hall door was pushed open a few inches, then softly closed. "uncle dana told her that was too much to offer, and she reduced the sum to one thousand dollars, with the proviso that it should be increased if the first offer brought no result." cynthia sighed deeply. "why, why did she do it?" she cried passionately. "she must be mad!" eleanor glanced at her companion in astonishment. "cynthia, you must not excite yourself," she remonstrated firmly. "otherwise, i shall leave you." cynthia reached out and clutched her arm. "don't go," she entreated. "i must----" her words were interrupted by a sharp rap on the hall door. "come in." in response annette opened the door. "pardon, mademoiselle, but it is five o'clock, and i thought you might like your tea up here instead of downstairs." "capital, annette," exclaimed eleanor, as the maid entered carrying a tray. "wait a moment, and i will get that small table." deftly she removed the books and magazines, and then carried the table over to the couch. annette put a tray laden with tempting sandwiches, small cakes, the teapot and its accessories, on the table, then bent over and arranged cynthia's pillows at her back with practiced hand. "mademoiselle is more comfortable, _n'est-ce pas?_" she asked briskly. "yes, indeed, annette," cynthia nodded gratefully at the frenchwoman. "have you everything you wish, mademoiselle eleanor?" "yes, annette, thank you. if i want anything more i will ring." "be sure and close the door, annette," directed cynthia, "i am afraid of a draft"; and she looked around until she saw her order obeyed. "have a sandwich?" asked eleanor, handing the dish and a plate to cynthia. "i'd rather eat good sandwiches than solid food," announced cynthia, after a pause, helping herself to another portion. "solid?" echoed eleanor. "i call _pâté de foie gras_ and deviled ham pretty solid eating, cynthia; especially when taken in bulk," glancing quizzically at the rapidly diminishing pile. "don't begrudge me these crumbs." cynthia's smile was followed by a sigh. "i've lived on slops for three days. why are you giving me such weak tea, eleanor? i loathe it made that way." "i am afraid to make it stronger, cynthia, it will keep you awake." "i don't want to sleep; i'd give anything _not_ to sleep!" "why, cynthia!" "if i could really sleep--drop into oblivion--i would like it, but instead i dream, and, oh, god! i fear my dream." eleanor laid a restraining hand on her shoulder. "lie down," she commanded, "and compose yourself." cynthia lay back on her pillows, panting a little from her exertion, the color coming and going in her winsome face. "i would give anything, eleanor, if i had your tranquil disposition," she said, more quietly. "i cannot help my temperament. my mother was scotch to the fingertips, and, i have been told, had the gift of second-sight--although i sometimes doubt if such a thing is a gift." "perhaps i can understand better than you think," said eleanor gently. "my mother was irish, and the irish, you know, are just as great believers in the supernatural as the scotch." "you always understand," cynthia bent forward and kissed her friend warmly. "that's why you are such a comfort. let me tell you why i am so nervous and unstrung. since a little child i have been obsessed by one dream, it is always the same, and always precedes disaster." she sighed, drearily. "i had it just before my grandmother's death; then before my uncle, mr. winthrop, killed himself; and on sunday night i had it again." she shuddered as she spoke. "what is your dream?" "it is this way: i may be sleeping soundly, when suddenly i see a door--a door which stands out vividly in a shadowy space, which might be a room, or hallway--the door is white and the panels are in the shape of a cross, so"--illustrating her meaning with her arms--"i hear a cry--the cry of a soul in torment--i rush to the rescue, always to find the door locked, and wake myself beating on the empty air"--she shuddered as she spoke, and drew her kimono closer about her. "i awake cold and trembling from head to foot." "you poor darling," eleanor took the limp form in her arms with a gesture of infinite understanding and compassion. "i had the dream sunday night," sobbed cynthia, "then monday, when i thought we could announce our engagement----" "whose engagement?" asked a quiet voice behind the pair. startled, eleanor wheeled around to find mrs. winthrop standing behind her, as cynthia slipped from her arms and buried her head in the friendly cushions, her slender form shaking with convulsive sobs. chapter xii a council of war philip winthrop moved restlessly in bed, then lay still, for a feeling of deadly nausea almost overcame him. half an hour passed, and, feeling better, he raised his hand and felt his throbbing temples. wearily he tried to collect his ideas, but all appeared confused. what was it that he had promised? slowly his torpid conscience awoke. "for value received"--the phrase held a double meaning which penetrated even his dulled senses. he could not afford to lie there like a bump on a log any longer. he opened his eyes; apparently it was late, for the room was in total darkness, save for a streak of light which came from the half-open hall door. with an effort philip raised himself on his elbow and glanced about him, but even that slight exertion was too much in his weakened state, and, with a groan, he slid back on the pillows. for some seconds he lay without moving, but the yellow patch of light troubled him, and he rolled over on his side facing the wall. he struggled apathetically to piece together the occurrences of the past few days. suddenly he caught the sound of a light step and the swish of skirts approaching his bed. the next instant a glass was thrust under his nose and placed gently against his mouth. he raised his hand and pushed the glass away from him. "g'way," he stammered faintly; "leave me 'lone." apparently no attention was paid to his request, for the glass was again placed at his lips. again he tried to thrust it from him, but his feeble efforts made no impression against the strong wrist. his resistance only lasted a few minutes, then his weaker will surrendered to the stronger, and he sipped the medicine obediently, after which the glass was withdrawn. * * * * * downstairs in the library three men sat smoking around the large desk table. "i am glad you could join us to-night, colonel thornton," said brett, as he placed one of the ashtrays conveniently near the lawyer. "three heads are better than one, and it is time we got together and discussed certain features of this case." "quite right, it will help us to a clearer understanding," agreed the colonel. "then suppose, mr. hunter, that you first tell us any theories which you may have formed." douglas dropped the paper-cutter he was balancing in his hand, and, leaning on the table, looked seriously at his companions. "i think," he said deliberately, "that philip winthrop has a guilty knowledge of senator carew's death, if he is not the actual murderer." "your reasons," demanded colonel thornton. "there was bad blood between them, that has been proved," douglas picked his words with care. "possibly the quarrel was brought about because senator carew had found out something discreditable in philip winthrop's past. he had a responsible position as the senator's private secretary, and there is a chance he betrayed his trust." "in what way?" asked brett eagerly. "it may be that he is in the pay of some lobby anxious to influence important legislation." douglas, mindful of the secretary of state's caution, was feeling his way with care. "senator carew was the last man to be influenced by such a character as philip winthrop," said thornton contemptuously. "he may not have tried to do so, but simply have betrayed valuable information of committee plans and caucus." "that may be," acknowledged thornton, "particularly as i am told that philip has been spending a great deal of money lately; far more than his salary would warrant." "'value received.'" douglas shrugged his shoulders expressively. "i have also found out that hamilton, the coachman, is a jamaican negro, his real name being samuel hamilton quesada, and that he was brought here nearly two years ago by young winthrop when he returned from a visit to jamaica. the senator took him into his employ at the former's request and recommendation." "and your theory is?" questioned brett sharply, laying down his cigar. "that winthrop either bribed hamilton to kill senator carew, or to help him after he, winthrop, had committed the murder. you must remember," he added hastily, as brett started to speak, "the jamaican negro has a revengeful disposition when roused, and i have no doubt senator carew gave him merry hell when he discharged him monday afternoon, and hamilton was ready to risk everything to get even." brett shook his head. "how did senator carew get into that carriage?" he asked doubtfully. "hamilton probably lied when he said he did not first stop at this house on his way to the ball to bring miss carew home. or perhaps winthrop came into this room, found senator carew busy writing, stole up behind him, seized the letter file and stabbed him with it." again brett shook his head. "if that had been the case, the senator would have been stabbed in the back; whereas he was stabbed directly over the heart, and whoever committed the crime was facing him." "well, that is not impossible," argued douglas. "winthrop may have stood near the senator's chair and talked to him for a few minutes without the latter suspecting danger, may have even picked up the letter file, a harmless thing to do under ordinary circumstances, and, without warning, thrust it into the senator's chest." "and afterward?" questioned brett. "afterward--winthrop may have stepped into the hall, found no one there, tiptoed into the room again, telephoned"--pointing to the desk instrument--"out to the stable and told hamilton to drive at once to the front door. the sound of the horses' hoofs was probably drowned by the heavy rain, so no one in the house would have heard the carriage enter the _porte-cochère_, but"--impressively--"winthrop, from this window, could see its arrival. he probably stepped into the hall again, found the coast clear, opened the front door, dashed back, picked up senator carew, who was much smaller than he, carried him out and placed him inside the carriage. hamilton had been drinking, and was perhaps too befogged to notice anything unusual, and, when winthrop slammed the carriage door, he probably drove off none the wiser." "as much as i dislike philip winthrop i do not think him capable of committing murder," said colonel thornton, slowly. "secondly, i believe, no matter how secretly you think the murder was planned, that, if philip were guilty, mrs. winthrop would have some inkling of it, and if their quarrel was so serious she would have known it, and would naturally try to hush matters up. instead of which, she is the first to offer a reward, a large reward, mind you. it is not within reason that she would have done such a thing had she the faintest idea that philip was the murderer." "i beg your pardon, philip is not her son. there may be no love lost between them." "good god! what a suggestion. you don't mean to insinuate that she offered that reward knowing her stepson might be guilty." thornton looked at douglas with sudden horror. for reply douglas nodded quietly. "no, no, douglas, you are shinning up the wrong tree. i have known mrs. winthrop for over fifteen years; she wouldn't injure a fly, let alone try to trap one whom she loves as her own flesh and blood. she was devoted to her husband, and for his sake legally adopted philip and brought him up as her own son; in fact, she was entirely too indulgent and generous, which has proved his downfall. he hates work like a nigger." "mr. hunter has drawn a strong case against philip winthrop, except for one serious flaw," broke in brett, who had been a silent listener to their argument. "and that is that philip winthrop was at the alibi club on monday evening. a number of reputable men are willing to swear to that. it is certain that he could not have been in two places at once. secondly, mrs. winthrop swears that her brother spent monday evening away from this house." brett leaned forward and spoke impressively, "senator carew was killed by another hand than philip winthrop's." "by whose hand?" asked thornton and douglas simultaneously. "captain frederick lane." "fred lane, of the engineer corps?" ejaculated thornton, much astonished, while douglas looked as blank as he felt. "yes, sir." "bah! you're mad." "just a moment," brett held up a protesting hand. "don't condemn my theory unheard. i seemed up against a blank wall in this house, so to-day i started an investigation at the other end; that is, at the residence of mr. and mrs. james owen, where miss cynthia carew attended a dance on monday night." "go on," urged douglas, as brett stopped and glanced behind him to see that the hall door was closed. "i called on mrs. owen. she was not inclined to be communicative, but her daughter, miss alice owen, who came in during our interview, let the cat out of the bag, and mrs. owen had to tell then what she knew, which was this: that captain lane and miss carew were engaged----" a muttered word escaped colonel thornton, and brett turned to him instantly, "i beg pardon, did you speak?" "no," growled the colonel. "apparently they had planned to announce the engagement at the dance," resumed brett. "anyway, miss owen, who already knew of it, was told by miss carew that her uncle, the senator, refused to give his consent, and had threatened to turn her out of doors if she did not instantly break the engagement." "poor cynthia, poor little girl," murmured thornton, "i am very fond of her, and her father was my most intimate friend. it was beastly of carew to issue such an ultimatum. she is entirely dependent upon him." "so miss owen thought. miss carew confided her troubles to her on her arrival. miss owen said that while they were sitting in the library captain lane came in looking very dejected, and she immediately got up to leave the lovers together. before leaving the room, however, she overheard lane tell miss carew that he had just seen her uncle, hoping to persuade him to reconsider his refusal, but that he flatly refused to do so in the most insulting terms." "upon my word, for a mild-tempered man, carew managed to have plenty of quarrels on his hands on monday," exclaimed thornton. "and the last one undoubtedly brought about his death"; brett spoke so positively that douglas hitched his chair nearer in his excitement. "after i had finished my interview with mrs. owen i asked permission to question her servants. the footman told me that miss carew left the dance earlier than the other guests, and that she had to wait a long time for her carriage. he said he called her carriage check number repeatedly, and with no result. that captain lane, becoming impatient, put on his overcoat and hat and walked down the street searching for miss carew's carriage." "and you think?" broke in douglas. "that captain lane not only found the carriage but the senator sitting in it, and seized the opportunity to punish him for his deviltry to the girl he loved." a long pause followed as colonel thornton and douglas sat thinking over brett's startling news. "where did he get the weapon?" inquired douglas finally. "out of mrs. owen's library, of course. he may have picked it up in a fit of absent-mindedness and carried it with him." "did the footman or butler notice anything in his hand when he left the house?" questioned thornton. "i asked them, and they declared that he carried an umbrella in his left hand, and that they had not noticed whether he was holding anything in his right hand or not. the footman declared that it was raining so hard that it was impossible to see anything clearly. they both said captain lane was some fifteen minutes returning to the house." "did he find the carriage?" "he told the footman that he hadn't, and ordered him to keep calling the number, which he did, and soon after the carriage drove up." "of all the cold-blooded propositions!" ejaculated douglas. "do you honestly mean that you think lane deliberately put the girl he loved into the carriage to sit beside the man he had just murdered?" "i do," firmly, "and i stake my reputation as a detective that captain lane is guilty. you were with me, mr. hunter, when i overheard miss carew exclaim, as miss thornton entered her bedroom on tuesday--'they quarreled, eleanor, they quarreled.'" "she may not have been alluding to captain lane," declared douglas stoutly; "she may have referred to philip winthrop. he also quarreled with senator carew." "philip is very much in love with cynthia and wishes to marry her," volunteered thornton quietly. "is that why senator carew objected to her engagement to captain lane?" asked brett. "did he wish her to marry philip winthrop?" "i never heard that he did"; thornton paused and reflected a moment. "i might as well tell you, for you will probably hear it from some one else eventually, that there has been a feud of long standing between the lanes and carews." douglas whistled. "a montague and capulet affair?" he inquired. "exactly. carew and old governor lane were political rivals. lord! how they hated each other! they almost tore maryland asunder when running for the governorship, which lane won by a few votes. carew charged fraud, which, however, was never proved. they cherished their animosity to the day of governor lane's death, and i can imagine it was a terrible shock to carew to find that his dearly loved niece wanted to marry the governor's son." "what sort of a fellow is lane?" asked douglas. "a fine specimen of the american gentleman," exclaimed thornton enthusiastically, "a soldier, every inch of him, brave to a fault; he has twice been mentioned in orders for gallant conduct--just the sort of a fellow a romantic young girl like cynthia would fall head over heels in love with." "in naming his virtues you have overlooked his greatest fault," said brett calmly. "he has a fiendish temper, and, when provoked, falls into the most insane rages, so his brother officers tell me." "you are making out a black case against him," agreed douglas, "but there is one point you seem to have overlooked, and that is, did the letter file used to kill senator carew belong to mrs. owen?" "that is the one flaw in my case," acknowledged brett regretfully. "she declines to answer the question." chapter xiii at the white house "there's a note done cum fo' yo', suh," announced the elevator boy lounging in the doorway of the albany as douglas stepped inside the entrance of the apartment hotel. "i'll get it," and visions of a tip caused the mulatto to hasten his leisurely footsteps to the small office to the left of the entrance. in a few seconds he was back at the elevator shaft, where douglas stood waiting, and handed him a square envelope stamped with the words "state department" in the left-hand corner. "wanter go to yer room, suh," slipping the expected coin in his trousers' pocket. "yes." the door slammed shut, and the elevator shot upward. "anyone been to see me or telephoned, jonas?" "no, suh." the mulatto brought the cage to a standstill at the third floor, and douglas stepped out and hastened to his tiny apartment. throwing his hat and cane on the bed, he drew a chair to the open window, having first made sure, with a caution which had grown upon him, that the hall door was securely locked, and that the chambermaid was not loitering in the vicinity. as he opened the note an enclosure fell into his lap, and, without looking at it, he perused the few written lines. it was from the secretary of state. dear mr. hunter: [he read] so far, no further developments. when people are at play they are usually "off guard." i enclose an invitation to the garden party at the white house this afternoon, for which i asked. the diplomatic corps will attend in a body. i hope to see you there. very truly yours---- douglas picked up the enclosed envelope with the words "the white house" stamped in small gold letters in the upper left-hand corner, and pulled out the engraved card. the gold eagle crest at the top of the invitation was almost stared out of countenance, so long and so steadily did he regard it, as he slowly weighed in his mind the events of the past three days. if the desk file used to kill the senator did belong to mrs. owen, then brett had woven strong circumstantial evidence around captain lane. was it possible that the young officer, incensed at senator carew's threat to turn his niece, cynthia, out of doors, and goaded past endurance by a possible tongue lashing at their last interview, had seized the opportunity offered by chance and killed carew, an hereditary enemy? from time immemorial family feuds had, alas, often led to murder. if so, what, then, became of his own theory of an international intrigue? were senator carew's interest in things japanese, his desire to see douglas, the information gleaned by the latter in japan, the untimely death of the senator, and last--the theft of the plans of the new battleships--were these simply coincidences? douglas roused himself and glanced at the hour mentioned in the invitation--five o'clock. jerking out his watch he found he had but half an hour in which to change his clothes before he was due at the white house. * * * * * shortly afterward douglas walked through lafayette square on his way to the eastern entrance of the white house. a long queue of smart turnouts and motors stretched along pennsylvania avenue from seventeenth street to executive avenue, as the short street between the treasury department and the white house is called. the policeman on special duty scrutinized his card of admission carefully before allowing him to pass down the corridor and out into the garden. the president and his wife were receiving on the lawn under a huge blossoming chestnut tree near the south portico. as douglas waited in line to approach the president, he glanced about him with great interest. he had been to many brilliant functions in other countries, but he decided in his own mind that he had seldom seen a more beautiful setting for an entertainment than that afforded by the stately mansion and its surrounding gardens. the lovely rolling grounds, with their natural beauty, and the towering white shaft of the washington monument in the background, made a picture not easily forgotten. the full dress uniforms of the military and naval aides on duty added to the brilliancy of the scene. the marine band, their scarlet coats making a vivid touch of color against the huge fountain with its myriad sprays of water, were stationed on a raised platform far down the lawn. the southern breeze carried the stirring airs they were playing to douglas' ears and sent the hot blood dancing in his veins. or was it the sight of eleanor thornton, looking radiantly beautiful, which set his heart throbbing in a most unusual manner? some telepathy seemed to tell her of his presence, for she looked around, caught his eye, and bowed. he had kept moving as the guests ahead of him advanced, and the next moment he was being presented to the president by the military aide stationed in attendance at the latter's elbow. he had but time to receive a hearty handshake and a cordial word of welcome from the president and the "first lady of the land," for the other guests were waiting impatiently to greet them, and he could not loiter. "douglas hunter! as i'm a sinner!" a hearty slap on the shoulder emphasized the words, and douglas wheeled around and found captain chisholm, of the british royal artillery, addressing him. "the idea of your being here and not letting me know, old chap," he added reproachfully, as they shook hands. "i didn't know you were in town," declared douglas. "thought you were still in paris." "i was transferred to the embassy in washington three months ago. upon my word, douglas, i took you for a ghost when i first saw you. i was under the impression that you were stationed at tokio." "so i am; i am only here on leave of absence." the englishman's eyebrows went up. "i had to attend to some washington property, which has been recently left me. this is my native heath, you know." "i wasn't aware of it," dryly; "but then, douglas, you are perpetually springing surprises, like your nation, on us benighted foreigners." "anything to drink around here?" inquired douglas. "i am as thirsty as a herring." "there is some excellent champagne punch, come along," and the tall englishman led the way to a long table placed under the trees near the tennis courts, where refreshments were being served. they corraled a colored waiter, and soon were sipping iced punch as they stood at some distance from the crowd about the table and watched the animated scene. "i didn't want to come to washington," acknowledged chisholm, after a moment's silence, "but now, i'd hate to leave it. the people are delightful, and i have never met with such genuine hospitality." "you are right; washington people never forget you. go away for ten years, and on your return you will be greeted just as warmly as to-day." "don't talk of going away, i've only just come," laughed chisholm. "'pon my word, douglas, this seems like old times. i can almost imagine myself back in paris, the chestnut trees in blossom, which remind me of the parc monceau, help the illusion. and there's another illusion"--nodding his head toward eleanor thornton, who stood at some distance talking to two staff officers--"or, i should say, a _delusion_." he smiled gayly, but there was no answering smile on douglas' face. not noticing his companion's silence, the englishman added, "is she still hunting around looking up old files and records?" douglas started as if stung. "i don't know," shortly. "a dangerous habit," commented chisholm calmly. "if miss thornton had not left paris and gone to berlin when she did, her interest in government affairs might have led to serious trouble--for her." "now, what the devil do you mean?" demanded douglas hotly. chisholm turned and regarded him steadily for a second, then his monocle slipped down and dangled from its silken cord. "there, there," he exclaimed soothingly. "don't get your rag up, i was only spoofing." "you have very rudimentary ideas of humor," growled douglas, still incensed. in his heart he knew the englishman was right; eleanor thornton was an enigma. dare he penetrate the mystery, or was he afraid to face the issue? chisholm laughed good-naturedly. "miss thornton is looking at you, douglas; don't let me detain you. i'll see you again before i leave here." douglas hesitated. "i'll be back soon, chisholm," he said and walked across the lawn to join eleanor. the englishman looked after him with speculative eyes. "still touched in that quarter," he muttered, twirling his blond mustache in his fingers. "too bad, douglas is such a bully good chap, and she----" he was not allowed to indulge in more reflections, as he was seized upon by a bevy of pretty girls and forced to dance attendance upon them for the remainder of the afternoon. recollections of his last interview with eleanor troubled douglas. how would she greet him? his doubts were soon put at rest, for at his approach eleanor put out her hand and greeted him warmly. the two staff officers, who were introduced to douglas, saw they were _de trop_, and, after a few minutes, made their excuses and departed. "will you have an ice or sandwich?" inquired douglas. "neither, thanks; i have already been helped." "then suppose we stroll down to the fountain. we can't hear the marine band with all this chatter," and he glanced disgustedly at the joyous crowd about them. eleanor laughed. "don't be hard on your fellow creatures, if you are out of sorts." "what makes you think that?" "you looked so cross when talking to captain chisholm. i am sorry you found your topic of conversation so boring." "what do you mean?" "you both glanced so frequently at me that i naturally concluded i was under discussion." "on the contrary, we were discussing--masked batteries." she scanned him covertly, but could get no inkling of his thoughts from his blank expression. "captain chisholm has a fatal habit of talking shop whenever he gets a chance. isn't that colonel thornton beckoning to us over there?" "why, so it is. shall we walk over and join him?" she paused to exchange a few words of greeting with several friends, then turned back to douglas smilingly: "come," and he suited his steps to hers as they started across the lawn. "how long will you remain in washington, mr. hunter?" "until the sale of some property of mine is completed," briefly. "i asked for you this morning, miss thornton, thinking you might care to go for a motor ride, but they told me that you were lying down and could not be disturbed." "they? who?" swiftly. "this is the first i have heard of your call." "indeed? why, i spoke to annette when i reached the carew residence this morning." "annette!" in growing astonishment, "_annette_ told you i was indisposed and could not be disturbed?" "yes. my cousin had loaned me his car for the morning, and i thought it just possible that a run in the fresh air might set you up after the funeral yesterday." "it was good of you to think of me, mr. hunter." she raised her eyes in time to see the secretary of state regarding her intently as they strolled past him. he lifted his hat courteously and returned their words of greeting, but his face was grave as he paused and watched them moving through the throng. "i am sorry about this morning," continued eleanor, "annette and i will have a reckoning when we reach home." "would you have gone with me?" eagerly. "yes." douglas bent to catch the monosyllable. her foot turned on the uneven ground and he put his hand on her arm to steady her. as his fingers closed over her soft, rounded arm, he instinctively drew her closer. the warmth of her skin through her glove thrilled him. "i hope you will ask me again," she said. "to-morrow--will you go with me to-morrow?" insistently. "yes." she met his eyes for a second, then glanced away, while a hot blush mantled her cheeks. "provided, of course, that cynthia carew does not need me." then in a louder tone, "well, uncle dana, how are you?" "feeling splendidly. no need to ask about you and douglas"--he smiled quizzically. "i am glad that you could come here to-day, eleanor." "i did not wish to, but cousin kate truxton insisted that i had to bring her here. she declared that she would not come otherwise, and made such a point of it that i could not refuse, particularly as mrs. winthrop and cynthia would not hear of my remaining with them." "i have just come from there," responded colonel thornton; "cynthia came into the library while i was talking to mrs. winthrop, and i was shocked by her appearance. the child has wasted away." "is it not pitiful?" exclaimed eleanor. "it nearly breaks my heart to see her suffering. she neither eats nor sleeps." "can't you give her an opiate?" asked douglas. "she declines to take one." "can't you administer it surreptitiously?" "i have a better plan than that," broke in colonel thornton. "the child needs a change of ideas. the atmosphere of the house is enough to get on anyone's nerves, particularly with that dipsomaniac, philip, raising cain at unexpected moments." "what's your plan, uncle dana?" "that you bring cynthia over to my house to-morrow to spend sunday. you come, too, douglas. cynthia hasn't met you, and she won't connect you with any of the tragic occurrences of the past week." then, as he saw the look of doubt on eleanor's face, he added, "human nature can stand just so much of nervous strain and no more. cynthia must have relaxation and diversion." "but i don't think mrs. winthrop will approve of her going out so soon after the funeral," objected eleanor doubtfully. "bah! that nonsense belongs to the dark ages. what good will cynthia's staying in that gloomy house do poor carew? i'll drop in to-morrow morning and see mrs. winthrop; leave the matter to me, eleanor. there is no earthly reason why she should object. i'll ask cousin kate truxton also." "cousin kate!" echoed eleanor, her conscience smiting her. "where has she gone?" "i left her talking with senator jenkins some time ago." the colonel glanced behind him. "speaking of angels, here she comes now." mrs. truxton was walking leisurely in their direction. seeing that they had observed her, she waved her parasol and hastened her footsteps. "cousin kate, i think you already know mr. hunter," said eleanor, as the older woman reached her side. "indeed i do," mrs. truxton extended both her hands, her face beaming with smiles. "why haven't you been to see me, douglas?" she added reproachfully. "i have been extremely busy since my arrival, mrs. truxton," apologized douglas. "i was looking forward to calling upon you this sunday." "have you had a pleasant time this afternoon, kate?" asked thornton. "yes. it has been a delightful entertainment, just the right people and the right number." "it would be pretty hard to crowd these grounds," laughed eleanor. "there isn't any elbow room about the refreshment table," put in thornton; "i almost had to fight to get a plate of ice cream a few minutes ago." "a much needed improvement would be small chairs scattered about the lawn," grumbled mrs. truxton, leaning heavily on her parasol. "it is exceedingly tiresome having to stand so long." "it would be prettier, too, and less formal," agreed eleanor. "the guests would then saunter over the lawns and not stand crowded together near the president." "it would also be much more brilliant if the members of the diplomatic corps wore their court dress," announced mrs. truxton with decision, "instead of those hideous frock coats and gray trousers." "what, in this weather, kate?" exclaimed the astonished colonel. "do you wish to kill off the corps bodily? they wear their court dress only at the state receptions and the diplomatic dinners held at the white house every winter, or when royalty is present." "i know that," pettishly. "but it would improve the brilliancy of this affair." "even with the objectionable frock coat," laughed the colonel, "this is a scene characteristic of the national capital alone. nowhere else in this country can such a gathering of distinguished men and women be brought together." "you are quite right in that," acknowledged mrs. truxton. "i've seen ten presidents come and go, and i have lived to see washington develop in a way which would have surprised the founders. mercy on us, look at 'fuss and feathers.'" she nodded toward an overdressed, pretty little woman who was advancing in their direction. "mrs. blake has certainly outdone herself," agreed colonel thornton, as he and douglas raised their hats in greeting to the pretty woman who strolled past them. "i wonder she doesn't make you wish to break the eighth commandment, eleanor." "why?" exclaimed his niece. "on account of her collection of magnificent rubies"--eleanor changed color--"i thought that stone was one of your 'fads.'" "i like _all_ jewelry." the slight emphasis was lost on her companions. eleanor fingered her parasol nervously and glanced uneasily over her shoulder to where douglas stood beyond earshot, talking to an old friend. "but i shall spend my time in wishing--i can never hope to rival mrs. blake's collection." "marry a rich man and persuade him to give you rings and necklaces," advised thornton. eleanor moved restlessly. "mrs. blake looks like a jeweler's window," broke in mrs. truxton, in her uncompromising bass. "such a display at a garden party is unpardonable. it is extremely bad taste for any woman to wear to the white house more jewelry than adorns the president's wife." thornton laughed outright. "few women will agree with you, kate. by the way, why didn't you come to the telephone last night? i wanted to speak to you particularly. it wasn't late when i called." "i gave soto, eleanor's cook, his english lesson last night, and when we got to a present participle used in a future sense to indicate a present intention of a future action i was so tired i had to go to bed," explained mrs. truxton, as douglas rejoined them. "after that i am only surprised that you ever got up again," ejaculated the colonel. "cousin kate nearly worries herself sick teaching soto," laughed eleanor. "i only wish you had heard her describing the kingdom of heaven to him. she introduced some new features into that kingdom which would probably surprise the presbyterian synod. i suppose she didn't want to disappoint his great expectations." "is soto a jap?" asked douglas, curiously. "yes. i prefer japanese servants, and both soto and fugi have been with me for some time," said eleanor. "do you know, uncle dana, i have just discovered that fugi has studied five years at the american school in japan, two years at the spencerian business college, and is a graduate of columbia university." "bless my soul!" exclaimed mrs. truxton. "after this i shan't dare to ask him to pass me the bread. what did you want to say to me on the telephone, dana?" "i wanted some facts about the late governor lane of maryland, and, knowing you were a walking encyclopedia, i thought you might help me out." "of course i can. do you----" "hush!" exclaimed eleanor anxiously. "here comes captain lane." douglas scanned the tall young officer approaching them with keen interest. his uniform set off his fine figure to advantage, and his face was one to inspire confidence. "how are you, mrs. truxton," he said. "miss eleanor, i've been searching the place for you. won't you come and see the rose garden with me? oh, i beg pardon, colonel, i didn't see you at first." "that's all right, lane. have you met mr. hunter?" "no. how do you do, sir." lane wrung douglas' hand. "glad to know you." "it is time for us all to go," declared mrs. truxton. "we must say good-bye. come with me, douglas, i want to ask you some questions about your family." as the small group strolled toward the white house, colonel thornton was buttonholed by an old friend. mrs. truxton, with douglas in tow, crossed the ground to where the president was standing talking to several late arrivals. "now's our time," whispered lane in eleanor's ear. "the rose garden is to our right." he said no more until they had passed the south portico and walked down the path leading to the wonderful box hedges which surround the rose garden. they had the place to themselves, and eleanor exclaimed with pleasure at the beautiful flowers which were blossoming in profusion. "how is cynthia?" demanded lane, stopping in the middle of the garden path and regarding his companion intently. "almost a nervous wreck." "my poor darling!" the soldier's strong face betrayed deep feeling. "i wish i could comfort her." his voice changed. "miss eleanor, why does she refuse to see me?" eleanor hesitated perceptibly. "wait, let me finish. i have called repeatedly at the carews', only to be told that cynthia is confined to her room; i have written notes which i have given personally to joshua to deliver, and have never received an answer to one of them. "i love cynthia with all my heart and soul," lane's voice shook with feeling, "and i would have sworn, before her uncle's death, that my affection was returned. i cannot understand her avoidance of me, and her silence cuts deep"--lane stopped a moment and cleared his throat--"miss eleanor, you are cynthia's most intimate friend, and you are with her constantly. you must have heard of some reason for her treatment of me." eleanor nodded without speaking. she heartily wished the interview was over. "then i implore you to tell me the reason of cynthia's silence." "cannot you imagine that for yourself?" began eleanor; then, as lane shook his head, she added: "cynthia is overwrought, every action on monday night seems distorted----" she again hesitated and bit her lip--"you went to look for her carriage; you were gone a long time, and when she entered the carriage her uncle was sitting there--dead." slowly her meaning dawned on lane. "good god! you don't mean----?" he staggered back, his face gone white. "yes." "and she thinks _that_! cynthia, cynthia, had you so little faith?" lane's agony was pitiful. "you must not be unjust to her," cried eleanor, her loyalty up in arms. "remember, you had just told her of your fearful quarrel with her uncle; she had also seen you playing with a letter file when you were with her in the library----" "but, great heavens! i didn't take that out in the street with me," exclaimed lane passionately. "i tell you what it is, miss eleanor, i must see cynthia and explain this terrible tangle. can you help me meet her?" eleanor considered for a moment. "i have already urged cynthia to see you, but she has been so unnerved, so unstrung, that i could not make her see matters in a reasonable light. i think the best thing for you to do is to meet her when she least expects it." "capital! can you arrange such a meeting?" "my uncle, colonel thornton, has asked cynthia and me to go to his house in georgetown to-morrow and spend sunday. i think mrs. winthrop will permit cynthia to go, and, if that is the case, you can call there to-morrow night." "good." lane paced the walk restlessly for a minute, then returned to eleanor's side. "it's pretty hard to wait so long before seeing her," he said, wistfully. eleanor held out her hand. "don't be discouraged; cynthia loves you devotedly." "god bless you for those words!" lane caught her hand and raised her slender fingers to his lips. "miss thornton," said a cold voice back of them, "mrs. truxton is waiting for you," and eleanor flushed scarlet as she met douglas' eyes. chapter xiv the moth and the flame douglas brought the powerful roadster to a standstill under the _porte-cochère_ of the carew mansion, and disentangling himself from among the levers and wheel, ran up the few steps. before he could ring the bell the door was opened by colonel thornton. "come in," he exclaimed heartily. "i saw you from the drawing-room window, and, as joshua has gone to ask mrs. winthrop if she can see me, i thought i would let you in and not keep you standing outside." "thanks, colonel." douglas followed the older man into the drawing-room. "have you seen miss eleanor?" "no. here, don't sit on that gilt-edged insecurity," as douglas pulled forward a parlor chair. "this sofa is big enough to hold us both. tell me, are there any new developments in the carew case?" "only that brett is convinced captain lane is guilty, and, from what he said this morning, i should not be at all surprised to hear of the latter's arrest." "good lord! you don't say so. poor, poor cynthia. i greatly fear another shock will prove most dangerous in her present nervous condition." "has mrs. winthrop consented to miss carew's spending to-morrow at your house?" "i don't know yet----" colonel thornton stopped abruptly as the portières parted and a woman stepped into the room. thinking it was mrs. winthrop, he started to rise, but it proved to be annette, and he sank back in his seat. "_bon jour, messieurs_," annette readjusted the portières with care, then walked with catlike quickness over to where the men were sitting. "mistaire hunter, you are investigating ze death of senator carew, _n'est-ce pas_, and you, monsieur," turning to colonel thornton, "are madame winthrop's man of affairs?" "well, what then?" asked douglas quickly. "only that i may be of help." "indeed?" "oui, messieurs," calmly. "i know--_much_." "good," thornton's tone betrayed his satisfaction. "go ahead and tell us." "ah, _non, non, monsieur_," annette shook her head violently. "first, i must have some monie." "what, a bribe?" douglas spoke with rising indignation. "_non, monsieur_; a reward." "you must first tell us what you know," explained thornton patiently. "then, if your information leads to the arrest and _conviction_ of the murderer, you will be paid the one thousand dollars offered by mrs. winthrop." "one thousand dollars, did you say, _monsieur_? _non_, i will not sell my news for that." "it is the amount offered by mrs. winthrop." "but madame winthrop is willing to give five thousand." annette glanced eagerly at the two men. "my news is worth that." thornton shook his head. "mrs. winthrop has reconsidered, and will not give more than one thousand," he declared with finality. an obstinate frown marred annette's pretty face. "i will not take less than five thousand," she announced with emphasis. "you go too fast," broke in douglas quietly. "first, the reward will not be paid until after the murderer is convicted; secondly, your information may be of no value whatever." "zo?" annette's smile was not pleasant. "zen i keep my news to myself," and she started for the door. "wait," commanded thornton. "come back here." then, as she obeyed, he added in a more kindly tone: "if your information is really valuable, annette, i am willing to advance you some money. but first you must tell us what you know and suspect." "how much?" "say fifty dollars," drawing out his leather wallet and extracting several yellow backs which he held temptingly in his hand. "not enough, monsieur." thornton lost all patience. "i shan't offer you another damn cent," and he thrust the money back into the wallet. annette's eyes flashed. "very well, monsieur le colonel; i go. but when i come back you will have to pay me more--but yes--more than that beggarly five thousand!" and with a stamp of her foot, she turned and hastened out of the room. "a nice she-devil!" remarked thornton, gazing blankly at douglas. "i think----" douglas stopped speaking as the portières were again thrust aside and eleanor walked in. "uncle dana, mrs. winthrop is waiting to see you in the library. oh, mr. hunter, good morning"--her slender hand was almost lost in his firm clasp--"i did not know you were here." "i called hoping that you might care to take a motor ride," said douglas quickly. "why, yes, with pleasure." she sank down on the sofa and motioned douglas to draw up a chair. "eleanor," broke in thornton, returning from the hall door, "did you tell that precious maid of yours that mrs. winthrop would give five thousand dollars reward for information leading to the conviction of the murderer of senator carew?" "annette!" in profound astonishment. "no, certainly not; i've never spoken to her on the subject. where did you get such an idea?" her voice rose to a higher key. "she has just been here and insists that we pay her five thousand for some information which she declares will solve the puzzle of poor carew's death." eleanor smiled incredulously. "nonsense, i don't believe she knows a thing about it." her bright color had faded and she gazed anywhere but at the two men. "it may be," suggested douglas thoughtfully, "that while in this house she has found a certain paper for which brett is searching." "that's possible," agreed thornton. "it was announced in yesterday's papers that a reward of one thousand dollars had been offered. but what gets me is how annette knew mrs. winthrop might raise the amount to five thousand--the very sum, in fact, which she first thought of offering." "i'm sure i don't know." eleanor frowned in perplexity. "is she a good servant?" inquired douglas. "i have always found her honest and reliable. she brought me excellent recommendations when she came to me in paris, where i engaged her," replied eleanor. "it may be that the mystery has gone to her head," suggested thornton, "and she is inspired to play detective." "personally, i think she is taking advantage of the present situation to extort money," objected douglas. "i believe you've hit it," exclaimed the older man. "tell brett, douglas, he may be able to induce annette to tell what she knows. i must go now and see mrs. winthrop." "let me know what she decides about sunday," called eleanor, as thornton, for the second time, hurried out of the room. "you are looking tired, miss thornton," said douglas, glancing at her attentively. "i didn't get much sleep last night. cynthia was miserable, and i sat up with her until five o'clock this morning." "no wonder you are worn out." douglas looked his concern. "i really think a motor ride would do you lots of good. do keep your promise and come for a spin." eleanor glanced doubtfully down at her pretty house gown. "if you don't mind waiting while i change----" "why, certainly." "i won't be long"--and eleanor disappeared. douglas did not resume his seat; but instead paced the room with long, nervous strides. eleanor was not the only one who had passed a sleepless night. he had sat up and wracked his brain trying to find the key to the solution of the mystery surrounding the senator's death. annette must be made to tell what she knew. perhaps brett's authority as an officer of the law might intimidate her. it was worth trying. walking down to the folding doors, which led from the drawing-room to the dining room, he opened them and found joshua busy polishing the mahogany table. "is there a branch telephone in the house?" he asked, "besides the one in the library? mrs. winthrop is in there and i don't want to disturb her." "suttenly, suh; dar's one right in de pantry, suh," and joshua, dropping his work, piloted him to the instrument. it took him but a few minutes to get police headquarters on the wire, only to find that brett was out. whistling softly, he hung up the receiver and went back into the drawing-room. eleanor had not appeared, and he sat down at the inlaid desk, which was supplied with pen, ink, and paper, and wrote a short note while he waited for her return. "where's eleanor?" asked thornton, coming into the room and picking up his hat, which he had left on one of the chairs. "here," and his niece, who had entered just behind him, joined them. "i am sorry to have kept you so long, mr. hunter, but i found annette had gone out on an errand for cynthia, and i had to do without her assistance." "you were very successful." thornton made her a courtly bow, as he gazed at his beautiful niece. her fashionable light-gray suit and smart hat were extremely becoming. eleanor colored faintly as she read the admiration in douglas' eyes. "what luck did you have with mrs. winthrop, uncle dana?" she asked. "the best. she said she thought it an excellent plan. so i shall expect you both this afternoon, eleanor, and you had better stop and pick up your cousin kate truxton on your way out." "very well, i will; but, uncle dana, we won't get over to you until just before dinner." "that will do." the two men followed eleanor out into the square hall. "don't forget, douglas, that i expect you, too." "that's very good of you, sir," douglas hesitated, "but don't you think i might be in the way in a family party?" "a family party is exactly what i wish to avoid," exclaimed thornton. "cynthia needs to be taken out of herself. and, therefore, i want you to spend sunday with us, as if it were a regular house party." "then i'll come with pleasure." douglas helped eleanor into the low seat of the motor, and clambered in behind the wheel. "i'm awfully sorry there isn't a third seat, colonel, and that i can't take you where you wish to go." "i left my car down by the curb; thanks all the same, douglas," and thornton waved a friendly good-bye to eleanor as the motor started slowly down the driveway. "if you have no objection, i will stop at the municipal building for a moment, miss thornton," said douglas, turning the car into thirteenth street. "i don't mind in the least. what a magnificent motor!" "isn't it?" with enthusiasm, as he steered safely between another machine and a delivery wagon. "my chief in tokio has one just like this, and i learned to run his car." as they crossed k street he put on the emergency brakes hard and the motor stopped just in time, as a touring car shot in front of them and disappeared down the street. when the car was again under way, douglas turned to the silent girl by his side. "that was the japanese ambassador, was it not?" "yes." "he seemed to be in the devil of a hurry; it was a near smash." "a little too near for comfort." eleanor drew a long breath. "i noticed some luggage in his car--oh, take care!" as the motor skidded toward the gutter. "i beg your pardon, i didn't mean to frighten you," said douglas, as he applied the brake going down thirteenth street hill to pennsylvania avenue. "that chap got on my nerves; i don't care if he is an ambassador, and exempt from arrest, he has no business to be breaking our rules and regulations." "come, now, didn't you break some rules when in japan?" asked eleanor, her lovely face dimpling into a smile. douglas started slightly, but she apparently did not notice his discomfiture. "judging from the luggage in the car, and the rate at which they were going, i imagine the ambassador was trying to catch a train." "it does look that way." douglas brought the car to a standstill before one of the entrances to the municipal building. "i won't be a minute, miss thornton." "don't hurry on my account," called eleanor after him. brett was still out, so douglas gave the note he had written when waiting for eleanor at the carews' to the attendant, first adding a postscript and enclosing it in a large envelope, with instructions that it was to be delivered to the detective immediately on his return. then, with a lighter heart, he hastened out of the building and rejoined eleanor. "where do you wish to go, miss thornton?" he asked, as they started slowly up pennsylvania avenue. eleanor considered a moment before answering. "suppose we go out the conduit road," she said finally. douglas swung the machine across the broad avenue and through the short street behind the treasury department into the drive which circles around the white house grounds. "it's some years since i've been out in this direction, miss thornton, so, if i go astray, please put me back on the straight and narrow path." "straight out pennsylvania avenue and through georgetown," directed eleanor, as the big car swung back again into that avenue. "the narrow path only comes after you reach the conduit." "then it should be spelled 'conduct.' you have been going out a great deal this winter, have you not?" "yes; washington has been extremely gay, and i have enjoyed it so much." douglas smiled down at her. "and i bet a thousand to one that washington enjoyed you. i asked about your going out, because i am wondering if, among all the men you've met this winter, you have come across a middle-aged man with black hair and beard and very blue eyes?" not receiving a reply, douglas turned and scanned his companion. she sat silent, gazing straight before her. the car sped on for several squares before she roused herself. "that is a very vague description, mr. hunter. do you remember the man's name?" douglas shook his head. "i have never heard it. i only asked because i was under the impression that i saw him with you at the navy department on thursday morning." "_with me--at the navy department_," gasped eleanor, sitting bolt upright. she was white to the lips. "yes, i thought i saw him talking to you in an elevator. i just caught a glimpse of you as the cage descended past the floor on which i was." "you are entirely mistaken, mr. hunter." eleanor's eyes did not waver before his questioning look. "i was alone, though i do recollect there was another passenger in the elevator who got out on the first floor, while i continued on down to the basement." "then i was mistaken." douglas slowed the car down to the limit prescribed by law as he crossed the m street bridge over rock creek, then increased the speed as they progressed through georgetown. "you have aroused my curiosity." eleanor settled herself more comfortably in the low seat. "why do you take an interest in a man with blue eyes and black hair?" "because i thought he was with you." "upon my word!" eleanor's laugh held a shade of annoyance. "that's a very silly reason." "i don't think it is," replied douglas, steadily. "i _am interested_ in everything that concerns you." eleanor surveyed him keenly. she studied the fine profile, the broad shoulders, and the powerful hands holding the steering wheel. the quiet figure seemed instinct with the vital personality of the man, a living part of the pulsing machine which he was guiding through the narrow, congested street with such skill. they crossed thirty-seventh street, and in a few minutes the car leaped ahead up the hill leading to the conduit. eleanor said nothing, and douglas was equally silent. they had the narrow road to themselves, and he increased the speed. the wheels raced like velvet on the finished macadam. on they sped. soon eleanor caught a glimpse of the potomac below them, and the bright sunlight sparkled on the water and on the green foliage of the wooded banks of the maryland and virginia shores. they passed the three sisters, then the reservoirs, and douglas saw a straight stretch of road ahead and no vehicle in sight. the next moment the powerful machine, gathering speed, shot down the road, which seemed a narrowing white strip as the revolving wheels devoured the distance. douglas turned his eyes a moment from the flying landscape to eleanor, who sat, tense, fearless, her pulses leaping as the rushing wind stung her cheeks. she caught his look. "faster, faster," she called. and obediently douglas threw wide open the throttle. on, on they flew. a wild exhilaration engulfed eleanor; her spirit seemed to soar, detached from things earthly. she cast a glance of resentment at douglas who, seeing the road curved in the distance, slackened speed. by the time the big car reached the turning, he had brought it to a standstill near the side of the road. eleanor drew a long breath. "oh, why did you stop?" her eyes shone like stars. "it was glorious." "i stopped"--douglas turned squarely in his seat, and faced eleanor--"because i want to ask you to confide in me." "to do _what_?" eleanor's deep blue eyes opened to their widest extent. "to tell me"--douglas hesitated over his choice of words--"your mission in life." eye to eye they gazed at each other. eleanor was the first to speak. "i am at a loss to understand your singular request," she said, freezingly. "miss thornton, do me the justice to think that i am not asking from idle curiosity--it is because i have your welfare so deeply at heart." "if i did not know you to be a sane person, i would think you had suddenly lost your mind. as you take the matter so seriously, i must repeat that i am _concerned in nothing_." douglas held her gaze, as if in the limpid depths of her blue eyes he would fathom the secret of her soul. eleanor's breath came and went, she colored painfully, but her eyes never dropped before his. nearer he bent and nearer. the virile strength of the man drew her, and his arms closed about her slender waist. "eleanor, i love you." the very repression of his tone added to its intensity. fearlessly she raised her lips to his--in surrender. some time later douglas backed the car a yard or two, then turned it toward washington, but their return trip was made with due attention to the speed law. "will you please tell me--douglas"--she hesitated adorably over his name--"indeed, you must not kiss me again"--drawing back as far as the seat would permit. "why did you avoid me in paris?" a shadow passed over douglas' radiant face, and was gone before eleanor observed it. "i suppose you would call it false pride," he said. "i had no money--you had much--and so i worshiped from a distance. now that my inheritance has made me well-to-do, i felt that i had a right to ask you to marry me. in paris i thought you would take me for a fortune hunter." "which only goes to show what fools men are," exclaimed eleanor roguishly. "bend down nearer me"--she placed her mouth close to his ear. "you could have had me for the asking then, dear heart"--his left arm stole about her--"for i know a man when i see one." * * * * * "not a word, remember." "madame has my promise." annette tucked the small roll of bills inside the bosom of her gown, as mrs. winthrop replaced her pocketbook in her leather handbag. "where is miss eleanor?" "joshua tells me that in my absence mademoiselle left ze house to motor wiz monsieur hunter." "if she asks for me on her return tell her that i will be back in time to lunch with her and miss cynthia." "_oui, madame._" annette assisted mrs. winthrop into her coat, then left the bedroom. from a safe distance down the hall she watched mrs. winthrop descend the staircase, and waited until she heard joshua close the front door after her and retreat into his own domain. she then slipped noiselessly down the hall and into mrs. winthrop's bedroom. half an hour passed before she again appeared, wearing a satisfied smile. the hall was empty. "i have seen what i have seen," she muttered under her breath exultingly, as she proceeded downstairs. "and i think i will haf more monie by to-morrow. _mon dieu!_" the peal of the front bell had startled her from her reverie. as joshua did not appear to answer it, she crossed the square hall and opened the door. a tall man, wearing nondescript clothes, confronted her in the vestibule. "miss thornton, is she in?" he questioned. the contrast of his deep blue eyes against his tanned skin and black beard held her attention. receiving no reply, he repeated his question with emphasis. "_non_, mademoiselle is out in ze motor," she answered, none too civilly. without a word he turned on his heel and hastened down the steps. annette stared up the street after him; then closed the door softly, her pretty forehead puckered in a frown. where had she seen those eyes before? chapter xv "thornton's nest" douglas, suitcase in hand, ran across seventeenth street in time to catch a georgetown car. as he paid the conductor he heard his name called and, glancing down the half empty car, saw captain chisholm seated at the farther end and beckoning to him. he made his way down the center aisle and joined the englishman. "can you dine with me, douglas?" asked chisholm, making room for him on the narrow seat. "ask me some other time, old man, i am dining with colonel thornton to-night." "then suppose we make it monday night at the metropolitan club?" "thanks, i will. at what hour?" "eight o'clock. i was sorry to miss you when you called this afternoon, douglas." "how did you know i had been to see you, chisholm?" in surprise. "the telephone girl told me you were out." "i stopped for a moment at the rochambeau and found your card in my letter box. i am on my way to the embassy now. washington seems to agree with you, douglas," eying his companion with interest. "i never saw you looking better." "happiness is a great health restorer," laughed douglas. "happiness?" chisholm tugged at his fair mustache. "hum!" he looked carefully around. they had that end of the car to themselves. "heard the news?" "what news?" "about the japanese ambassador?" "no." "he has been recalled." "for what reason?" "not given out," shortly. "he called at the white house and state department, presented his papers and left this morning." chisholm looked douglas squarely in the face. "can't give a poor blasted englishman a point on the situation, i suppose?" douglas smiled with his lips, but his eyes were grave. "i would if i could--but i can't. the ambassador's sudden departure is as great a surprise to me as to you." chisholm leaned forward and touched the electric button as the car approached n street. "i'll look you up to-morrow, douglas. ta-ta, old chap," and he hurried out of the car. douglas settled back on his seat and pondered over the information chisholm had given him. what did the ambassador's abrupt departure portend? was it but another of those puzzling coincidences which seemed to follow in the wake of senator carew's murder, or was it the culmination of an intrigue which would end in war? the spring day was drawing to a close as douglas left the car in georgetown and walked toward "thornton's nest." the old place had not altered since he had seen it last, twelve years before, even the beautiful old garden appeared as usual, the same box hedge, the envy of the neighboring landowners, separated the sidewalk from the well-kept private grounds. the large, old-fashioned mansion stood back some distance in its own grounds. the bricks had been brought from philadelphia by sloop, and the fanlight over the front door had been imported from england in the days prior to the revolutionary war. the huge columns supporting the arched roof shone white in the gathering darkness. douglas turned in at the gate and ran lightly up the few stone steps leading to the portico and rang the bell. he had hardly removed his hand from the button when the hall door was opened and an old darky confronted him on the threshold. "cum right in, marse douglas, i'se mighty glad ter see yo' ag'in, suh." "nicodemus, is that you?" shaking the old man's hand. "i haven't seen you since you chased me off the grounds for stealing apples. how's sophy?" "only tol'able, thank ye, suh; she's got a misery in her back. want ter go to yo' room, suh?" "no; i'll just leave my hat and overcoat here." "yessir; let me take yo' bag, suh; i'll tote it upstairs. my!" as douglas stepped forward so that the hall light fell full on him, "how yo' do favor yo' pa, the ole cunnel." douglas laughed. "thanks. have the ladies come yet?" "yessir. dey's upstairs makin' demselves comfo'able. cunnel thornton will be down direckly. yo' jes' walk inter de pawlar." douglas strolled over to the large hall mirror and inspected his tie with care; he had been in a hurry when getting into his evening clothes at the albany, and the tie had proved troublesome. he readjusted it with care, felt in his vest pocket for a small box, then turned and surveyed his surroundings. a coach and four might have driven through the broad hall which ran the length of the house. at the end of the hall two broad circular staircases led to a wide landing, from which branched the two flights of steps leading to the first bedroom floor. doors leading to the drawing-room, library, billiard, and dining rooms opened on the right and left of the hall. remembering that the drawing-room was to the left of the entrance, douglas entered the open hall door and walked over to the mantelpiece to see the time by the tall marble clock. "aren't you going to speak to _me_?" asked a voice behind him, and douglas sprang around with an exclamation of delight. eleanor was seated on a chair by one of the windows, and its high back, which was partly turned to the hall door, had concealed her from view. "my darling!" douglas kissed the winsome face rapturously. "nicodemus told me you had arrived, but that you were upstairs, otherwise i should have come in at once; i begrudge the time i wasted in the hall." "i hurried and came down ahead of the others, hoping that you would get here early; i particularly wanted to see you, douglas." "did you?" in mock surprise. "i've been wanting to see you ever since i left you this morning. the time has dragged since then." she slipped her hand in his. "it's just this, douglas," her softly modulated voice had a trace of nervousness: "i want to ask you to keep our engagement a secret"--his face fell--"just a few days," hastily. "i want to get accustomed to it before telling the family"--she blushed divinely. "it's such a precious secret." douglas took her face between his hands and pressed a passionate kiss on her lips. "your wish is my law," he said gravely. "i was disappointed for the moment, because i am anxious to have the whole world know my happiness. i brought you this"--pulling a small square box from his vest pocket and laying it in her outstretched hand. with a low cry of pleasure she pulled off the wrapping paper and opened the box. the light from the lamp on the table near her chair was reflected back from a superb ruby in a diamond setting. the box slipped from her nervous fingers and rolled on the floor. "oh, get it quick, douglas, i didn't mean to be so clumsy." douglas reached under the table, where the box had rolled, and picked it up. "it's all right, my dearest; don't look so worried; the ring isn't injured, for it is still in the box, see----" he held it before her eyes. "give me your left hand, dear;" eleanor shrank slightly away from him, but douglas was intent in removing the ring from the box and did not notice her agitation. "it is very becoming to your hand," slipping it on the third finger, "the deep crimson shows off the whiteness of your skin." "it's just lovely." eleanor drew a long breath, then raised her head and kissed him tenderly. "thanks, dear heart, for so beautiful a present. but i am afraid if i wear it to-night our engagement will be a secret no longer." "that's true!" exclaimed douglas, his voice betraying his disappointment. "put it back in the box"--holding it out to her. "i'll do no such thing"--indignantly. "take it off, douglas, and give it to me"; he did so, and she slipped the ring inside the bodice of her low-cut evening gown. "tell me, dearest, how did you happen to select a ruby?" "it's my birthstone"--douglas colored--"i hope you won't think me horribly sentimental." "i shall not tell you what i think--it might turn your head. hush! here comes uncle dana." thornton strode into the room with outstretched hand. "welcome to 'the nest,' douglas; i am sorry i wasn't downstairs when you came. i hope eleanor has been doing the honors acceptably." "she has, indeed, and proved a host in herself," laughed douglas. "good; though it's a mystery how she got down ahead of the others." "i was selfish enough to keep annette to myself until i was fully dressed," said eleanor, "then i sent her to cousin kate." "so you brought annette with you?" asked thornton. "yes, indeed. i had no intention of inflicting your bachelor household with three women and no handmaiden. i knew sophy would have her hands full cooking dinner, therefore i brought annette along." her restless eyes detected a figure hovering just outside the hall door. "come in, cynthia," and she went forward to meet her friend. the two beautiful girls made a picture good to look upon as they stood together. cynthia wore a simple frock, which matched her cheeks in whiteness; while the pathetic droop of her mouth and the dark shadows under her eyes did not detract from her charm, she looked wretchedly ill. she shook hands with douglas, when he was presented to her, with polite indifference, then seated herself in a chair and leaned back wearily. douglas and thornton exchanged glances, and the latter shook his head sadly. he was about to speak when mrs. truxton bustled into the room. "i am sorry to keep everybody waiting," she exclaimed, as douglas pulled forward a chair for her. "but, if you will have dinner at such a ridiculously early hour, dana, you must expect your guests to be late." "you are not late, kate, for dinner has not yet been announced. i had it earlier than usual as i thought we would retire soon afterwards and get a good night's rest." cynthia shuddered involuntarily, and eleanor, whose hand rested on her shoulder, patted it affectionately. "it's all very well for you older people to keep early hours, uncle dana, but cynthia and i are going to do just as we please. personally, i expect to stay up until the wee sma' hours." "dinner am served," announced nicodemus, opening the folding doors leading to the dining room, and, with an old-fashioned courtly bow, colonel thornton offered his arm to mrs. truxton and escorted her to the table, the two girls and douglas following in their wake. the dinner passed quickly. thornton was an agreeable talker, and douglas, who had traveled in many lands, seconded his efforts by recounting many amusing experiences which had befallen him. cynthia's pale cheeks assumed a more natural hue as the two skilful talkers drew her out of herself, and thornton sat back, well pleased, when he finally succeeded in making her laugh. "washington isn't what it used to be," he declared. "as trite a statement as it is true. its very bigness has spoiled it socially. there are cliques within cliques, and too many foreign elements dominate it nowadays." "do you refer to the diplomatic corps?" asked douglas, breaking off a low-toned conversation with eleanor. "not entirely. when i speak of the 'foreign element,' i also mean the 'climbers.'" "we georgetown people call them the 'pushers,'" announced mrs. truxton, helping herself to the ice cream which nicodemus was passing. "and yet," continued thornton, "i dare say there were just as amusing characters in washington fifty years ago as now." "how about the woman of whom i have heard," asked eleanor, "who carried off the silver meat skewer at the french legation, as it was then, as a souvenir, and afterwards proudly used it as a hatpin?" "human nature is very much the same from one generation to another," acknowledged mrs. truxton. "but the types are different. i recollect my grandmother's telling me that she attended services one sunday at st. john's episcopal church on lafayette square when the rector preached a fiery sermon against the sin of dueling. mrs. alexander hamilton and her daughter sat in the pew just in front of my grandmother, and she said miss hamilton bore the tirade for some minutes, then rose, turned to her mother, and remarked in an audible tone: 'come, ma; we'll go. this is no place for us.'" "come, you needn't put it all on washington," exclaimed douglas. "georgetown has famous blunderers and eccentric characters as well." "and ghosts," added mrs. truxton. "do not deprive georgetown of its chief attraction. ghosts and past glory walk hand and hand through these old streets." "ghosts," echoed douglas, turning to his host. "unless my memory is playing me false, this house used to be thought haunted. it seems to me i've heard tales of secret passages and mysterious noises." thornton laughed outright. "that old legend was caused by flying squirrels getting in the wall through cracks in the eaves and chimneys. sometimes on still nights i can hear them dropping nuts, which make a great noise as they fall from floor to floor. it's enough to scare a nervous person into fits." "you are very disappointing, uncle dana," objected eleanor. "when douglas--mr. hunter,"--catching herself up, but no one apparently noticed the slip, and she went on hurriedly--"spoke of spooks i had hopes of an ancestral ghost." "i always understood that this house was haunted, dana," put in mrs. truxton. "well, i believe we are supposed to possess a ghost--a very respectable, retiring one," added thornton, as cynthia's eyes, which were fixed upon him, grew to twice their usual size. "my great-aunt, sophronia thornton, was a maiden lady, a good deal of a tartar, i imagine, from the dance she led my great-grandfather thornton, who was an easy-going, peaceable man. she ran the house for him until his marriage, and then ran his wife, and, according to tradition, she has run her descendants out of her room ever since." "good gracious!" ejaculated cynthia. "do tell us all about her." "there is not so very much to recount." thornton smiled at her eagerness. "the story goes, as i heard it first from my grandfather, that when he attempted to occupy her room, the southwest chamber, he was driven out." "how?" "he was very fond of reading in bed. as i said before, my great-aunt was very rigid and did not approve of late hours, which was one rock she and her brother split on. my grandfather, not having the lighting facilities of the present day, used to read in bed by placing a lighted candlestick on his chest, holding his book behind the candle so that its light fell full on the printed page. at eleven o'clock every night he would feel a slight puff of air and the candle would go out. he tried everything to stop it. he stuffed every crack and cranny through which a draft might be supposed to come, but it was of no use; his light was always extinguished at eleven o'clock." "do you believe it?" asked cynthia. thornton shrugged his shoulders. "i can only give you my own experience. i occupied the room once, when home on a college vacation. the house was filled with visitors, and i was put in the southwest chamber. everything went on very smoothly until one night i decided to cram for an examination, and took my books to my room. i had an ordinary oil lamp on the table by my bed, and so commenced reading. after i had been reading about an hour the lamp went out suddenly. i struck a match and relit it; again it was extinguished. we kept that up most of the night; then i gathered my belongings and spent the rest of the time before breakfast on the sofa in the library, where i was not disturbed by the whims of the ghost of my spinster great-aunt." "'there are more things in heaven and earth,'" quoted eleanor, as she rose in obedience to a signal from mrs. truxton. "where shall we go, uncle dana?" as they strolled out into the hall. "into the library. nicodemus will serve coffee there, and, if you ladies have no objection, douglas and i will smoke there also." "why, certainly," exclaimed mrs. truxton, picking out a comfortable chair and signaling douglas to take the one next hers, and without more ado she plunged into questions relating to his family history. he cast longing glances at eleanor, but she refused to take the hint conveyed, and, to his secret annoyance, walked out of the room shortly after. cynthia was having an animated conversation with colonel thornton and sipping her coffee when, happening to look in the direction of the hall door, she saw eleanor standing there, beckoning to her. making a hurried excuse to the colonel, she joined eleanor in the hall, who, without a word, slipped her arm about her waist and led her into the drawing-room. "what is----?" the words died in her throat as she caught sight of a tall, soldierly figure standing under the chandelier. eleanor discreetly vanished, closing the hall door softly behind her as she went. "you!" cynthia shrank back against the wall as lane stepped forward. "cynthia, darling!" he held out his arms pleadingly, but with a moan she turned her face from him. his eyes flashed with indignation. "cynthia, you have no right to condemn me unheard. i am innocent." he approached her and gently took her hand in his. her eyes were closed, and a few tears forced themselves under the lids, the scalding teardrops that come when the fountain is dry and only bitter grief forces such expression of sorrow. "dear one, look at me. i am not guilty. i have forced myself upon you because i want you to understand"--he spoke slowly, as if reasoning with a child--"that i am absolutely innocent...." "not in thought!" burst in cynthia. "perhaps not,"--steadily,--"but in deed. i spoke in anger. your uncle had insulted me grossly when i met him just before going to mrs. owen's dance, and in my indignation i uttered a wish which would have been better left unsaid. but listen to reason, dear; to think evil is not a crime." cynthia threw back her head and gazed at him wildly. "oh, i would so gladly, gladly believe you innocent!" she placed her small, trembling hands on his breast. "it hurts horribly--because i love you so." lane caught her in a close embrace. "my darling--my dear, dear one----" his voice choked. cynthia lay passive in his arms. suddenly she raised her white face and kissed him passionately, then thrust him from her. "oh, god! why did you take that sharp letter file with you?" "i didn't!" the words were positive, but his looks belied them. "she says you did--she declares that when she met you looking for the carriage you held it in your hand----" the words seemed forced from cynthia. she placed a hand on the chair nearest her as she swayed slightly. "she! who?" the question was almost a roar. "annette." chapter xvi a cry in the night eleanor tiptoed over to the bed. at last cynthia had dropped asleep. it seemed hours since lane's call for help had taken her into the drawing-room, where she found cynthia stretched upon the floor and the young officer bending frantically over her. dr. marsh, who fortunately resided next door but one, had been sent for, and, on his arrival in hot haste, cynthia had been revived and carried to her room. cynthia had shown a sudden aversion to having annette about, so eleanor had sent the maid to bed, and since ten o'clock had been sitting with cynthia, trying to quiet her. eleanor glanced about the room. there was nothing more she could do, and, stretching herself wearily, she arranged the night light so that it would not shine in cynthia's eyes, and placed an old-fashioned brass bell on the small table by the bed, so that if cynthia needed assistance she could ring for aid. then, moving softly for fear of waking the sleeper, she stole across the room, turned out the gas, and, stepping into the hall, closed the door gently after her. some time later she was busy undressing in her own room when a faint knock disturbed her. on opening the door she found mrs. truxton standing in the hall with a quilted wrapper drawn tight around her portly figure. "i thought you hadn't gone to bed," she remarked in a sibilant whisper which was more penetrating than an ordinary low-pitched voice. "i just could not go to bed"--selecting a large oak rocker--"until i had some explanation of this extraordinary affair. will you please inform me what made that poor girl faint in the drawing-room?" "she is in a very nervous, excitable condition, cousin kate, which reacts on her heart action." eleanor glanced despairingly at mrs. truxton. she knew the latter was an inveterate, though kindly, gossip. apparently she had come to stay for some time, as she sat rocking gently to and fro, her curl papers making a formidable halo around her soft gray hair. "heart action?" echoed mrs. truxton. "that's as it may be. what was captain lane doing here?" eleanor started violently. she particularly wanted to keep the fact that cynthia and lane had been together a secret. she had watched for his arrival, and had let him in before he had an opportunity to ring the front door bell, and had shown him at once into the deserted drawing-room. during their interview she had mounted guard in the hall. hearing lane's call for assistance, she had opened the drawing-room door, and, before summoning her uncle and the servants, had advised lane to leave the house. she supposed he had followed her advice. "where in the world did you see him?" she asked. "so he was here!" mrs. truxton smiled delightedly, while eleanor flushed with vexation as she realized she had given herself away unnecessarily. "your uncle and douglas were discussing politics, and i slipped away to remind nicodemus to put some sandwiches in my room, as i always want a late supper, particularly after so early a dinner. when i walked through the billiard room on my way to the library i happened to glance through the door leading into the hall, and was surprised to see a man standing by the hatrack. as he raised his head i thought i recognized fred lane--i wasn't quite sure, though, but before i could call his name he had vanished." "i see." eleanor came to a quick resolution. "you have probably heard, cousin kate," sitting down on the edge of her bed nearest the older woman, "that fred lane is very much in love with cynthia." mrs. truxton nodded her head vigorously. "eventually, after he had paid her a great deal of attention, they became engaged. unfortunately"--eleanor was feeling her way with care--"unfortunately they had a lover's quarrel. cynthia refused to see fred, and he finally came to me and asked me to arrange an interview, saying that he felt convinced, if given the opportunity, he could straighten out their misunderstanding." mrs. truxton pondered some moments in silence. "did this lover's quarrel take place _before_ senator carew's death?" she asked. "yes." eleanor's blue eyes did not waver before mrs. truxton's piercing look. "why?" "i was just thinking that, if senator carew had known of an engagement between a member of his family and a lane, he'd have died of apoplexy--instead of having to be stabbed to death." "what was the exact trouble between senator carew and governor lane, cousin kate?" asked eleanor. "i never have heard." "it began years ago." mrs. truxton hitched her chair close to the bed. "governor lane was an intimate friend of philip winthrop, sr., and, after the latter's marriage to charlotte carew, came frequently to washington to visit them. to my thinking, philip winthrop was a bad egg, specious and handsome; and he took in the carews completely, as well as governor lane. he was a stock broker in wall street, and during a panic was ruined financially. he promptly committed suicide." "oh, poor mrs. winthrop!" exclaimed eleanor warmly. "what hasn't she been through!" "well, losing her rascal of a husband was the least one of her troubles," said mrs. truxton dryly. "philip winthrop's failure was not an honorable one; there was talk of criminal proceedings, but all that was put a stop to by senator carew stepping forward and paying his creditors." she paused for breath. "i don't see what governor lane has to do with it," objected eleanor, glancing meaningly at the clock, which was just striking one o'clock. she stifled a yawn. "i am coming to that," explained mrs. truxton. "philip winthrop appealed to governor lane, among other of his old friends, to loan him money to tide over the financial crisis, and the governor trusted him to the extent of ten thousand dollars." "that was exceedingly generous of him." "yes, and i reckon he repented of his generosity many times." mrs. truxton spoke with emphasis. "he loaned it to winthrop without taking security and without knowing that the latter was on the point of absolute failure. and this is where the row comes in. lane went to carew and told him of the transaction, showed him the canceled check, and the latter, on finding that lane had no promissory note or other security, declined to pay off the indebtedness." "i see." eleanor was paying full attention to the older woman. "lane was naturally incensed, for carew had assumed all the other obligations, and he felt that his was a prior claim, being a debt of honor between friends. carew didn't see it that way, and it led to a bitter quarrel. the ill feeling between the two men was intensified on governor lane's part because he met with financial reverses later, and the old maryland homestead, which might have been saved by the return of the ten thousand dollars, was sold under the hammer." "this is all news to me. i was only told they were political enemies." "they were. lane vowed to get even in every way in his power, and so entered politics. he was a man of great force of character and intellectual ability--although lacking in business sense," she interpolated, "and a born orator. and when he found, after holding several important state positions, that senator carew was going to run for governor of maryland, he entered the field against him, and carew was beaten by a few votes only." "when did this happen?" "oh, back in the early nineties. the quarrel was most acrimonious, particularly on carew's side. he must have realized that he had not acted fairly to his old friend. as long as he had assumed winthrop's debts it seemed only right that he should return the money owing to lane. public opinion was with the latter." "perhaps at that time he may not have had the ten thousand," suggested eleanor. "i have always heard and believed the senator an honorable man; and certainly it was good of him to shoulder any of his brother-in-law's debts." "he only did it to protect his sister, who was left penniless, and quiet scandal." "mrs. winthrop penniless! why, how comes it, cousin kate, that she lives as she does." "senator carew gave her a large allowance. he always said that cynthia should inherit his fortune." "i never knew until the other day that philip winthrop was not mrs. winthrop's son." "she adopted him legally, i believe, at the time of her husband's death, and persuaded her brother, the senator, to have him brought up as one of the family. philip winthrop's first wife was a south american, i am told. i never saw her, as she died before he came to washington. mercy on us!" glancing at the clock, "i had no idea it was so late." she rose and started for the door. "how did you leave cynthia?" "sound asleep, thank heaven!" "did she and fred lane patch up their quarrel?" "i am afraid not." eleanor kissed her cousin a warm good night, and watched her cross the wide hall to her bedroom, then closed and locked her own door and hastened to complete her undressing. about three in the morning cynthia awoke and lay for a few minutes, bewildered by her surroundings. then recollection returned to her with a rush, and she sank back among her pillows with a half-strangled sob. slowly she reviewed her interview with fred, trying to find some solace; but she could discover none, and with a moan turned on her side and buried her face in the pillow. their romance had promised so much, but, instead, her happiness had been nipped in the bud. she raised her hot face and glanced about, looking for a glass of water, for she was parched with thirst. eleanor had forgotten, apparently, to place any drinking water in the room. cynthia sat up and gazed eagerly around by the aid of the night light, but she could discover no glass on either the chiffonier or bureau. she was on the point of lying down again when she remembered having seen a pitcher of ice water on a table near the head of the stairs. she started to ring the brass bell, but decided it would be cruel to call eleanor, who had been up with her most of the night. she pondered a moment, but she was growing more thirsty, and, after a few minutes of indecision, she climbed out of the huge four-poster and, slipping on a wrapper and bedroom slippers, stole out of her room and down the hall in the direction of the stairs. so intent was cynthia in reaching her goal that she never noticed a figure crouching on the landing of the stairs, who drew back fearfully into the shadows at her approach. she found the ice pitcher on the table with several glasses. filling one of them, she took a long drink of the ice-cold water, then, feeling much refreshed, she refilled the glass, intending to take it with her to her room. she paused again and looked about her with interest, for the hall was illuminated by the moonlight which streamed through the diamond-shaped panes of a window at one end of a wing of the house. the figure below her on the stair landing peered at her intently, poised for instant flight to the darker regions below in case she started to descend the stairs. cynthia was about to return to her room when her roving eyes fell on a closed door leading to a room in the wing. the moonlight was beating upon it. for one long second cynthia stood transfixed; then she uttered a cry which roused the sleeping household--a cry of such terror that it froze the blood in the listeners' veins. the figure on the landing stood glued to the spot until recalled to action by the hurried opening of doors; then, with incredible swiftness, it vanished, as eleanor, her hastily donned wrapper streaming in the wind, rushed to cynthia's side. "good god! cynthia! what is it?" she gasped, throwing her arms about her friend. cynthia caught her wrist in a grip which made her wince. "look!" she cried. "look!" pointing toward the door at the end of the wing. "my dream! see, the panels are in the shape of a cross!" eleanor cast a startled glance in the direction indicated. it was true. the panels stood out in bold relief in the brilliant moonlight, and they formed an unmistakable cross. "yes, yes, dear," she said soothingly. "it simply shows that your dream was founded on fact. come to bed." "no, no!" cynthia was trembling violently, but she refused to leave the spot. "you forget that in my dream the door is always locked." "in this case it is not," exclaimed colonel thornton, who, with douglas, had rushed into the hall as soon as they had struggled into some clothes. mrs. truxton brought up the rear, her curl papers standing upright and her eyes almost popping from her head. "it's simply used as a storeroom," he added. "don't be so worried, cynthia," catching sight of her agonized face. "i tell you it is _not!_" she stamped her foot in her excitement. for answer thornton stepped down the short hallway and turned the knob. to his intense surprise the door did not open. "ah!" her cry was half in triumph, half in agony. "i told you it was locked. it must be opened--i shall go mad if it is not," and her looks did not belie her statement. douglas joined thornton as he stood hesitating. "i think it would be best to humor her," he said in an undertone. thornton nodded in agreement. "i can't understand how it got locked," he muttered. "how the devil can i get it open? it is english quartered oak." "is there any way of entering the room by a window?" asked douglas. "no, it's too high from the ground, and there's nothing but the bare brick wall to climb up; no tree grows near it," said thornton thoughtfully. "and unfortunately i have no ladder long enough to reach the window." "then there's nothing left but to try and force the door." douglas braced his powerful shoulders against the panels until his muscles almost cracked under the strain. "run against it," he gasped, perspiration trickling down his face; and colonel thornton obediently threw himself forward as the door gave slightly. "again!" cried douglas, and he threw his own weight on the panel, which yielded a little. "once more," and with a rending crash the upper and weaker panel splintered sufficiently to allow douglas to slip his hand inside and turn the key which was in the lock. he also shot back the rusty bolt with difficulty, and withdrew his hand. "get the women back into their rooms," he whispered, his face showing white in the moonlight. "the room is full of escaping gas." thornton gazed blankly at him for a second, then turned to mrs. truxton. "kate, i insist upon your taking these girls to your room." she nodded understandingly, and he turned to cynthia with an air of command. "go with mrs. truxton, cynthia. i promise to come instantly and tell you what we discover in this room." she nodded dumbly, past speech. the reaction had come, and mrs. truxton and eleanor led her, unresisting, back to her room and helped her to bed, where she lay, her eyes pleading to be relieved from her mental anguish. colonel thornton and douglas watched them until they disappeared inside the bedroom, then the latter opened the broken door of the locked room. an overpowering smell of illuminating gas choked them, and they drew back, gasping. douglas stepped over to the hall window and threw up the sash, letting in the cool air. then, holding his breath, he rushed inside the room and, locating the escaping gas jet by the overpowering odor, he reached up and turned off the cock of the wall bracket. "it's no use; we'll have to wait and give the gas a chance to evaporate," he said, returning to the colonel's side. "are you sure the room is unoccupied?" thornton's eyes were half starting from his head. "unoccupied?" he stammered. "it's been unoccupied for half a century. this is the southwest chamber, which is supposed to be haunted by my great-aunt. a dog won't sleep there." douglas stared at his companion in amazement for some seconds, then, holding his breath, again bolted into the room. the remaining gas almost overcame him, but fortunately, catching sight of the outlines of the windows, he opened first one and then the other, and rejoined the colonel, who was hovering in the doorway, as quickly as possible. without speaking they waited until the pure night air had swept away the poisonous gas; then douglas stepped inside the room, struck a match and applied it to the chandelier. as the light flared up a horrified exclamation escaped thornton. "good god! look!" douglas' eyes followed his outstretched arm. stretched on the high four-posted bedstead was the body of a woman, lying on her side, her face concealed by the masses of dark hair which fell over it. a book lay by her side, one finger of her left hand caught between the pages. a drop light, minus shade and chimney, stood on a low table beside the bed. reverently the two men tiptoed to the bedside. thornton laid a shaking hand on the drop light. "she must have been reading and fallen asleep," he muttered between twitching lips. "she didn't know that the light is always blown out after eleven o'clock in this room." awestruck, douglas gazed down at the silent figure. no need to feel pulse or heart; to the most casual observer the woman was dead. "who--who--is it?" demanded a quivering voice behind them. both men wheeled about to find eleanor, white-lipped and trembling, standing there. she had stolen into the room without attracting their attention. douglas leaned forward and raised the strands of hair gently from the cold face. "_annette!_" eleanor's trembling lips could hardly form the whisper; she swayed backward, and douglas caught her as she fell. chapter xvii the mystery deepens "where's brett?" asked thornton, coming hurriedly into the library, where douglas was seated at the telephone. the latter hung up the receiver before answering. "he will be here directly, colonel; at present he is with the doctor and coroner in the southwest chamber. you had better sit down, sir," glancing with commiseration at thornton's haggard face; but the colonel continued his nervous pacing to and fro. "jove!" he muttered. "this affair has given me a devilish shock." he paused before a small wall cabinet, and, selecting a key on his ring bunch, he opened the door and took out a decanter. "will you join me?" he asked, placing it on the table with several tumblers. "no, thanks, colonel." douglas heard the glass click faintly against the mouth of the decanter as the colonel poured out a liberal portion, which he drank neat. he was just replacing the decanter in the wall cabinet when brett, followed by the coroner, walked into the room. "if you have no objection, colonel thornton, we will hold an informal investigation here," said dr. penfield, courteously. "not at all, sir, not at all," exclaimed thornton heartily. "i am most anxious to have this terrible affair cleared up as soon as possible. simply state your wishes and they will be carried out to the best of my ability." "thanks." the coroner seated himself at the mahogany table standing in the center of the room and drew out his notebook and fountain pen, while brett established himself on the opposite side. "shall i retire?" inquired the colonel. "i think it would be best," replied dr. penfield gravely. "i prefer to examine the members of the household separately. no offense is intended." "and none is taken." thornton smiled wearily. "you forget i'm a lawyer, doctor, and understand your position. if you wish to see me i will be in my room." "all right, colonel." the coroner consulted his notebook as thornton left them, then turned to douglas. "you were the first to enter the southwest chamber, were you not?" "yes, i broke in a panel of the door with colonel thornton's assistance, and----" "one moment." penfield held up his hand. "was the door locked on the _inside_?" "yes, by an old-fashioned bolt, as well as by lock and key." "did the bolt and lock work stiffly?" "they did." "in your opinion would a person locking the door and shooting the bolt into place make enough noise to awaken the sleeper?" "i think so, yes." "did you find the windows of the room also bolted when you entered?" "no, they were closed, but the bolts, similar to the one on the door, only smaller, were not fastened." "i see." penfield drummed on the table for a moment with his left hand. "could anyone have slipped past you and colonel thornton when you stood waiting in the hallway for the gas to evaporate?" "no, we would have been sure to see them, and, besides, no one could have remained in that room alive, the escaping gas was overpowering." "did the room have no other exit except the one door leading to the hall?" "that is all i could discover. i searched the room thoroughly with brett." the detective nodded affirmatively. "we could find no trace of any other entrance or exit." "strange!" exclaimed penfield. "the windows are too great a height from the ground, and can only be reached by a scaling ladder." "and beside that," put in brett, "i've examined the ground under and near the two windows of that room, and there isn't a trace of a footstep or ladder anywhere around." the coroner laid down his pen. "i think that is all just now, mr. hunter. brett, will you ask dr. marsh to step here." the two men left the room. "i'll wait in the drawing-room, brett," called douglas, as the detective started upstairs to find the doctor. in a few minutes brett reappeared in the library with dr. marsh. "i won't detain you long, doctor," began penfield. "be seated. you were the first to examine the dead woman upstairs; what do you think caused her death?" "she was asphyxiated by illuminating gas. every symptom points to that. of course," added the doctor cautiously, "this cannot be proved absolutely until the autopsy is held." "i think you are right; my diagnosis coincides with yours," said the coroner. "did you discover any evidence of a struggle or marks of violence about the woman's person?" "no. judging from what i found, and i believe nothing had been disturbed by either colonel thornton or mr. hunter, i think that the frenchwoman was reading in bed, fell asleep, and was overcome by the gas." "how long do you think she had been dead before you reached her?" "several hours, judging from the condition of the body. she was lying in such a position that she got the full force of the gas directly in her face; the room did not have to become filled with the deadly fumes before she was affected by them." "i noticed that," exclaimed the coroner, "the drop light stood on a low stand, so that the gas fixture was on a level with the woman's head, as the four-poster bed was an unusually high one. i have no further questions to ask just now, doctor; an autopsy will be held this afternoon at the city morgue, where the body will be taken shortly. brett, ask miss cynthia carew to come here." doctor marsh stopped on his way to the door. "i have just given miss carew an opiate," he said quickly; "she must not be disturbed at present." the coroner's face fell. "that's too bad," he grumbled. "i particularly wanted to ask what she was doing in the hall at that hour, and what drew her attention to the closed door." "as it happens, i can answer those two questions." marsh returned to the table. "before i could quiet miss carew she repeated her experiences a dozen times. it seems that she was thirsty and went into the hall to get a glass of water, as she recollected seeing an ice pitcher and tumblers on the hall table near the stairs. she drank some water, and was returning when she noticed the door in the moonlight, dropped the glass she was carrying, and screamed." "i found a broken glass lying in the hall," supplemented brett. "what was it about the door that caused her to scream?" asked the coroner. "the panels, which are made in the shape of a cross," explained doctor marsh. "it seems that miss carew apparently suffers from nightmare which takes the form of a door with panels of that shape. she declares it always foretells disaster. when she found such a door confronting her in the ghostly moonlight it was too much for her nerves and she screamed." "what is all this i am told about the southwest chamber being haunted?" marsh shrugged his shoulders. "i have resided all my life in georgetown and have always heard that a room in this house was supposed to be haunted. that particular kind of door with the panels forming a cross is called the 'witches' door,' and was put there in the days just after the revolution. it is to ward off evil, so the legend goes." "well, it doesn't seem to have fulfilled its mission." the coroner carefully turned a page in his notebook and made an entry. "i am very much obliged to you, doctor," as marsh prepared to depart. "i wish you would let me know when miss carew is in fit condition to see me." "i will; good-bye," and the busy physician beat a hasty retreat. "suppose you get the butler, brett," said the coroner when the two men were alone. "may i suggest, dr. penfield, that you allow mr. hunter to be present when the servants are examined," began brett. "he is deeply interested in the murder of senator carew, and is assisting me in trying to unravel that mystery, and i think"--deliberately--"this french maid's singular death has something to do with the other tragedy." "indeed!" the coroner's eyes kindled with fresh interest. "certainly, brett, if you think mr. hunter should be present, call him in. i will be glad of his assistance." the detective hastened out of the room, to return within a few minutes with douglas and nicodemus. the old darky was gray with fright, and his eyes had not regained their natural size since being awakened by the commotion attending the breaking in of the door. he had lain in his bed, too frightened to get up, until douglas entered his room and hauled him out from under the bedclothes and made him go downstairs and build the fire for the cook, sophy, who was more composed than her brother, and busied herself in preparing coffee and an early breakfast for those who desired it. "is there such a thing as a long scaling ladder on the premises?" inquired the coroner, after he had asked nicodemus' full name and length of service. "no, suh; dey isn't, only a pa'r ob steps so high"--demonstrating with his hand. "dat's der onliest one on de place." "is any house being built in this neighborhood?" "no, suh, dar isn't." "how did you come to put the maid in that room?" "i didn't put her dar," in quick defence; "she went dar ob her own accord; 'deed dat's so, marse douglas," appealing to him directly. "de cunnel, he done tole sophy an' me ter fix three rooms fo' de ladies, an' a room fo' yo', suh; he done say nuffin' about de maid, annette." "then you were not expecting her?" "no, suh. i was 'sprised when miss eleanor brunged her. after i haid shown de ladies ter dey rooms i took annette up ter de third flo', an' tole her she could take de front room dar." "then how did she come to be occupying the other room?" asked the coroner quickly. "it were dis-away, suh; jes' befo' dinnah she cum ter me an' sophy an' say she doan like de room in de third flo'----" "why not?" broke in penfield. "she said it were too far off from her folks, dat she had to be down whar she could hear dem. i tole her dat de warn't no room down on de second flo', dat dey was all occupied, an' she says, quick-like, dat she had jes' been in de room in de wing, an' dat she'd sleep dar." "ah, then it was her own suggestion that she should occupy the room," exclaimed brett quickly. "yessir. she dun say dat de bed looked comfo'able, an' dat she'd jes' take de bedclothes offer de bed in de room on de third flo', an' move her things down inter de odder room. sophy tole her dat de place were mighty dusty, 'cause it's been used as a storeroom, but annette said she'd 'tend ter dat." "did she speak to colonel thornton or to miss eleanor before moving into the room?" asked douglas, thoughtfully. "no, suh, i don't think she did. i axed her ef she had, an' she said dat dey was all in de drawin'-room, waitin' fer dinnah, an' dat she didn't want ter 'sturb 'em, an' dat dey wouldn't care whar she slep'." "then _no_ one knew she was occupying that room except you and sophy?" asked the puzzled coroner. "no, suh; 'less she tole dem later. i done warned her dat dat room were unlucky,"--nicodemus' eyes rolled in his head,--"an' dat no good would cum ob her sleepin' dar, an' she jes' larf and larf. an' now she's daid,"--he shook his woolly head solemnly; "it doan do ter trifle wid ghosts." "i won't keep you any longer," said the coroner, after a long pause. "send sophy up here, nicodemus. by the way, is she any relation of yours?" "yessir, she's ma sister, an' we've bof worked hyar since befo de wah. i'll send her right up, suh," and he disappeared. sophy was not long in coming, and she confirmed all that nicodemus had said. she added that the southwest chamber had not been occupied as a bedchamber for years, although the four-poster was left standing with its mattresses and pillows in place, after which she was excused. colonel thornton was then sent for by the coroner. "your servants say, colonel, that you did not expect your niece to bring her french maid, annette, with her last night," began penfield. "is that so?" "my niece is at liberty to bring anyone," with emphasis, "to this house," said colonel thornton. "but i must admit that i did not know until just as dinner was announced that the maid had accompanied her." "did you not see them arrive?" asked brett. "no, they came earlier than i anticipated, and i was not in the house when they reached here." "did nicodemus inform you that the maid was here?" "no; why should he? he knows that this is my niece's second home, and that she is virtually mistress of the house." "then your niece is thoroughly acquainted with this building?" put in brett. "haven't i just said so,"--impatiently. "miss thornton brought her maid with her because she knows i have but two old servants, enough for my bachelor needs, but she very naturally considered that my other guests, mrs. truxton and miss carew, might desire a maid's services." "i understand. were you aware that annette intended to sleep in the southwest chamber?" continued brett. "i was not. if i had known it i would not have permitted her to occupy the room." "please tell me the exact superstition which hangs about that room," said the coroner, after a brief pause. "it is believed that no light can be burned in that room after eleven o'clock; after that time it is always extinguished by some mysterious agency." "how comes it, then, that you allowed gas pipes to be placed in the room?" "i gave the contract to have gas put in the house years ago, at the same time that i had running water and plumbing installed. the gas contractor naturally fitted each room with modern appliances. as the room is never used after dark, i never gave the matter another thought." "then why was a drop light fastened to the wall bracket by the side of the bed?" "i've been puzzling over that fact myself,"--the colonel tipped his chair back on two legs,--"that drop light is one i used to have in my bedroom. it didn't give very satisfactory light to read by, so several months ago i purchased another, transferred the chimney and shade to the new lamp, and sent the other one into the storeroom." "then it is highly probable that annette found it there, and, wishing to read in bed, attached it to the bracket herself." "and thereby sealed her own fate," added the colonel solemnly. "do you really think that supernatural means caused her death?" asked the coroner incredulously. "it seems to be either that or suicide." "from what i hear i incline to the latter theory," acknowledged dr. penfield. "i don't take much stock in ghosts or other hallucinations, colonel, with all due respect to you, sir. will you be so kind as to ask your cousin, mrs. truxton, to step here for a few minutes?" on being summoned by colonel thornton, mrs. truxton hastened into the library. her statements added nothing to what the coroner already knew, and she was quickly excused and eleanor thornton sent for. douglas had not seen her since carrying her to her room some hours before, and he was shocked by her appearance. "my precious darling!" he murmured in a tone which reached her ear alone as he opened the library door to admit her. "is there anything i can do for you?" she shook her head and smiled at him, a smile which hurt him woefully, for it showed the effort it cost her. dr. penfield, struck by her beauty, which was enhanced by her unnaturally flushed cheeks and the dark shadows under her large eyes, rose and pulled forward a chair for her use. "i won't detain you long, miss thornton," he commenced, reseating himself. "did you know your maid was sleeping in the southwest chamber?" "no, i did not. on the contrary, she told me, when helping me change my dress for dinner, that she had been put in the room over mine." "when did you last see your maid?" "she came to my assistance when miss carew fainted, shortly after dinner. after i had seen miss carew revived and put in bed i had annette help me out of my evening dress, and then told her to go to bed, as i would not require her services any longer." "at what hour was that?" "shortly before ten o'clock. i do not recollect the exact time." "did she say nothing to you then about having moved down on your floor?" "not a word." "has your maid had an unfortunate love affair?" inquired the coroner. "not to my knowledge." "has she been despondent of late?" "no; she seemed in her usual good spirits." "do you know if she had lost money?" "i never heard her mention such a thing." "has she been with you long?" "about two years." "and you found her----?" "excellent in every way; honest, reliable, and capable." "miss thornton," facing her directly, "have you formed any theory as to how your maid came to be asphyxiated?" "i think it was due to an accident. she probably fell asleep, leaving the gas burning." "but mr. hunter found the two windows closed, no possible draft could get into the room to blow out the light--nor could any person have blown it out, for the door, the only way of entrance, was locked on the inside. how was it possible to have an accident under those circumstances?" "possibly it was suicide, though i cannot bear to think so," eleanor spoke with much feeling. "miss thornton,"--brett rose, walked over to the table, and stood looking directly down into the lovely face raised so confidingly to his--"did your maid ever utter any threats against captain frederick lane in your presence?" "never!" eleanor's eyes opened in surprise. "did she ever insinuate that he had something to do with the murder of senator carew?" "no, never!" but eleanor's firm voice quivered as she uttered the denial, and brett detected it. his eyes lighted with excitement. "what was captain lane doing here last night?" the question was unexpected, and eleanor started perceptibly. "he came to see miss carew," she admitted, faintly. "did he see your maid?" "not to my knowledge." "did captain lane spend the evening with you and colonel thornton?" "oh, no, he only saw miss carew." "how long was he with miss carew?" "about ten minutes." "indeed!" brett paused and spoke with greater deliberation. "captain lane, who is being shadowed by several of my men, was seen to enter this house last night between nine and half-past--and, though my men waited all night, he was never seen to leave it." chapter xviii in the name of the law "well, and what then?" demanded a curt voice behind the group. the three men and eleanor wheeled around and gazed at the young officer in surprise too deep for words. "well, what then?" demanded captain lane for the second time. "how did you get here?" asked brett, recovering from his surprise. "through the door. how did you suppose?" with a flicker of amusement in his handsome eyes. "the butler told me i would find you here when he admitted me a few seconds ago." then his face grew stern. "i entered in time to overhear your remark,"--turning directly to brett. "because your men did not see me leave the house it doesn't follow that i spent the night here." "then where did you spend it?" asked brett swiftly. "with my cousin, general phillips, at his apartment at the dupont," calmly. "at what hour did you reach his apartment?" "about twelve o'clock." "and where were you between the hours of nine-thirty and twelve?" "most of the time walking the streets." "alone?" "alone." lane faced them all, head up and shoulders back, and gave no sign that he was aware of the antagonism which he felt in the tense atmosphere. the coroner was the next to speak. "suppose you take a chair, captain lane, and give us a more detailed account of your actions last night," he suggested, and lane dragged forward a chair and seated himself. "when did you leave this house?" "about half-past ten o'clock." he caught eleanor's start of surprise, and added hastily, "i am, as perhaps you already know, engaged to miss carew. during our interview last night she fainted, and i summoned miss thornton, who urged me to go, but i felt that i could not leave the house until i knew that miss carew was better. so, instead of going out of the front door, i picked up my coat and hat and slipped into the dining room, which was empty." "what was your object in going there?" "i hoped that miss thornton would come downstairs again, and i could then get an opportunity to speak to her." "would it not have been better and more straight-forward to have stepped into the library and informed colonel thornton of your presence in his house?" asked the coroner, dryly. lane flushed at his tone. "possibly it would,"--haughtily,--"but i was acting on impulse; i was extremely alarmed by miss carew's condition and could think of nothing else." "what caused miss carew's indisposition?" inquired the coroner. "she is not strong, and overtaxed her strength yesterday." the coroner did not press the point, to lane's relief. "did anyone see you in the dining room last night?" "i think not; the room was not lighted, and the table had been already cleared, so no servant entered the room." "did you see miss thornton again?" "no. i had not been waiting long before i saw colonel thornton come down the stairs with a man whom i judged to be a physician. as they passed the dining room door i heard the doctor tell colonel thornton that miss carew had regained consciousness, and would be all right after a night's rest. a few minutes after that i left the house." "how?" "i have dined frequently with colonel thornton and know the house fairly well; so, as i had promised to keep my visit to miss carew a secret, i opened the long french window which gives on the south veranda, ran down the steps, and walked down the garden path, jumped the fence between this property and the next, and walked out of their gate into the street." brett said something under his breath that was not complimentary to his detective force. "may i ask you why you thought such precautions necessary?" he inquired. "because i was perfectly aware that i had been followed over here," retorted lane calmly. "and, as i considered it nobody's business but my own if i chose to call on miss carew, i decided to avoid them." "and what did you and annette, miss thornton's french maid, discuss before you left here?" brett rose to his feet and confronted lane squarely as he put the question. "i did not speak to anyone except miss carew and miss thornton while in this house,"--steadily. "no? then perhaps you only saw the maid, annette, when she was _asleep_?"--with emphasis. "i don't catch your meaning?" lane tapped his foot nervously with his swagger stick. "listen to me, captain lane,"--brett dropped back in his chair and emphasized his remarks by frequent taps on the table with his left hand. "you can't dodge the issue with fake testimony." "i am dodging nothing!" lane's eyes flashed ominously and his voice deepened, the voice of a born fighter, accustomed to command. "i have no testimony to fake." "i suppose you will say next,"--sarcastically,--"that you don't know the maid, annette, is dead." "dead?" echoed lane, bounding from his chair. "dead--murdered last night." "good god!" there was no mistaking lane's agitation and surprise. brett watched him closely; if he was acting, it was a perfect performance. "how--what killed her?" "asphyxiated by illuminating gas,"--briefly,--"when asleep last night." "this is horrible!" lane paced the floor in uncontrollable excitement. "but what," pulling himself up, "what has that unfortunate girl's death to do with me?" "what had _you_ to do with the unfortunate girl's death is more to the point," retorted brett meaningly, and lane recoiled. "by god; i'll not stand such an insinuation!" he made a threatening step toward brett, who did not move. "are you such a fool as to imagine because i was in this house for a short time last night that i killed a servant whom i had seen occasionally when she opened the door for me on my calling at miss thornton's residence?" "i am not a fool, nor am i a believer in miracles." brett grew cool as lane's excitement rose. "i was to have seen annette this morning to get sworn testimony which she said would implicate you in senator carew's murder." lane staggered back, appalled. "instead, i find her dead, under mysterious circumstances; you are the only person whom her death benefits. and you were in this house, unknown to the inmates, and, by your own admission, no one saw you leave it. it is stretching the probabilities to suppose her death was a coincidence. you, and you alone,"--his voice rang out clearly,--"had the motive and the opportunity to bring about her death." "i deny it--deny it absolutely!" thundered lane, his knuckles showing white, so tightly were his fingers clenched over his swagger stick, which he raised threateningly. "stop, mr. brett!" exclaimed eleanor, who, with douglas and the coroner, had sat too astounded to speak during the rapid colloquy between the two men. "you forget that the door to the southwest chamber occupied by annette was locked on the _inside_, and that door was the only means of entering the room. it is only fair to you, captain lane,"--turning courteously to the young officer,--"to remind mr. brett of the very obvious fact that no one could have entered the sleeping woman's room, blown out the light, and, on leaving the room, locked and bolted the door on the inside, leaving the key in the lock." "thanks," exclaimed lane gratefully, as he sat down and wiped the perspiration from his white face. brett scowled. he had hoped that his summing up of damaging facts and sudden accusation might wring a confession from lane, or, if not that, some slip of the tongue which the other might make in his agitation might give him a clew as to how the murder was committed. he was convinced of lane's guilt. he glanced angrily at eleanor. why had she intervened? long and silently he gazed at the beautiful face. the broad forehead, delicately arched eyebrows, and the large wistful eyes, shaded by long curling eyelashes, and finely chiseled features were well worth looking at; but brett did not see them--a new problem was puzzling his active brain. "i understood you to say, captain lane, that you had promised to keep your visit here a secret," he said, breaking into the conversation of the others. "to whom did you make such a promise?" "to miss thornton." the question was unexpected, and the answer slipped out thoughtlessly; then lane bit his lip as he caught eleanor's warning glance too late. brett turned swiftly on eleanor. "why did you wish him to keep his visit here a secret, miss thornton?" "because i was afraid mrs. winthrop would hear that captain lane and her niece had met here; my uncle might inadvertently mention it to her. mrs. winthrop does not approve of captain lane's attentions to miss carew," explained eleanor quietly. "on what grounds?"--quickly. "ask mrs. winthrop; she can tell you better than i." "i will," grimly. "captain lane," wheeling around, "why have you returned to this house at so early an hour in the morning?" "i came to inquire for miss carew. i asked to see miss thornton, and the butler showed me into this room. and this is the first opportunity i have had, miss eleanor, to ask you how cynthia is this morning." his face betrayed his anxiety. "she is asleep just now," answered eleanor, "but i hope she will be much better when she wakes up. i will tell her that you have called." "thanks." lane rose. he felt that he was dismissed. "has cynthia been told of annette's death?" "not yet. we explained the breaking in of the door of the southwest chamber by saying that nicodemus had locked it and neglected to tell colonel thornton, who had it forced open." "i understand." lane shook hands with her warmly. "will you please telephone me how cynthia is. i'll be at the army and navy club all day. good morning." he bowed formally to the coroner and douglas, then turned to leave the room, only to find his exit barred by brett. "it is my duty to inform you, captain lane, that a warrant has been sworn out for your arrest," he announced, taking a paper from his pocket. lane stepped back involuntarily. "what do you mean?" he stammered. "in the name of the law i arrest you for the murder of senator carew." brett ceased speaking and signaled to several men who were sitting in the hall to enter the room. it was some seconds before lane broke the strained silence. "stand back!" he growled between clenched teeth, as the two detectives approached him. "i'll go with you peaceably. let me tell you, brett," glaring defiantly at him, "you'll live to regret this day's work! who swore out that warrant?" "mrs. winthrop." lane gazed at him in dazed surprise. "mrs. winthrop!" he mumbled. "mrs. winthrop!" chapter xix the accusation eleanor dropped her embroidery and gazed out into the garden, with its flower-beds lit by the fading rays of the western sun and the soft wind from the open window fanned her cheeks. an involuntary sigh escaped her. "a penny for your thoughts," and douglas, who had approached unnoticed, stepped up to the raised window-seat. a loving smile curved eleanor's pretty mouth as she made room for him beside her and slipped her hand confidingly in his. "do you think a penny would bring me any comfort?" she asked. "take me for a penny, and i will do my utmost to comfort you." douglas kissed her gently as she leaned her head against his broad shoulder. "take you--gladly!" she raised her hand and pressed it against his cheek. "and i am richer in happiness than i ever was before." "my darling!" douglas checked his impetuosity; the dark circles under eleanor's eyes had deepened and her extreme nervousness was betrayed by her restless glances about the room and the incessant movement of her fingers. "now for your thoughts." "my thoughts? they are all with cynthia. oh, douglas!"--straightening up,--"i can't tell her of fred lane's arrest; on top of all she has borne it would be cruel, cruel!" "is she better?" "she is at last sleeping naturally. when she awoke from the opiate, some hours ago, she evinced no interest, and so i was able to avoid the questions which i feared she would ask me." "she was probably still under the effects of the opiate and too drowsy to recall the events of last night." "i dread her awakening." "you will have to put off telling her of lane's arrest and annette's death until she is strong enough physically to bear the shock." "do you think him guilty?" the question seemed wrung from her. "of which crime?" "of both." "i don't see how it is possible for him to have had anything to do with annette's death," replied douglas thoughtfully, "for the very reason you pointed out when brett was accusing him this morning. it would be physically impossible for him to have left the room and locked and bolted the door on the inside." "what do you think caused her death?" "i think it highly probable that she committed suicide." "you don't think the draft blew out the gas?" "a draft? where on earth could it come from? both windows were tightly closed, and the door also. upon my word," turning to look at her, "you don't place any faith in that old legend about the ghost--of your great-great-aunt's habit of extinguishing all lights in her room after eleven o'clock at night?" "yes, i do," reluctantly. "oh, come now," a chuckle escaped douglas, but it died out suddenly. he had remarkably keen eyesight, and as he raised his head he encountered a steady stare from an oil portrait hanging on the wall opposite him. it was not the stare that attracted his attention, but the remarkable whiteness of the eyeballs in the painted face on which the light from the window was reflected. as he looked the eyes seemed to blink, then were gone. with an exclamation he rose, startling eleanor by his sudden movement, and walked across the room until he stood directly in front of the painting, which was life-size and represented a handsome man in a navy uniform of the war of . on closer inspection, the eyes appeared not to be painted in at all, and were represented by shadows. as he retreated from the portrait, however, the shadows took form and he distinctly saw the long lashes and eyeballs. it was an optical illusion, cleverly conceived by the artist, and, satisfied on that point, he returned to eleanor, who had watched his movements with growing curiosity. "why this sudden interest in my great-great-grandfather?" she asked. "it's a fine portrait." he reseated himself by her side. "i didn't notice it last night. what is the old gentleman's name?" "commodore barry thornton; my father was named for him. he inherited the same black hair, blue eyes, and tastes of that old sea-fighter," nodding toward the portrait. "do you know on what grounds they arrested fred lane for the murder of senator carew?" [illustration: "with an exclamation he rose, and walked across the room"] "only in a general way. it is known that the senator opposed his engagement to cynthia, that they had a bitter quarrel that night, and that lane left the ball to look for cynthia's carriage. he was gone some time, and, when the carriage did turn up, senator carew was seated in it--dead." "is that enough to convict?" "it's purely circumstantial evidence,"--evasively,--"i don't know yet what new testimony mrs. winthrop may have contributed to cause his arrest." "mrs. winthrop's attitude is incomprehensible to me," burst out eleanor. "fred's father, governor lane, was her husband's best friend, and mr. winthrop was under great financial obligations to him when he died. and now look at the way mrs. winthrop is treating that friend's son--hounding him to the gallows. is that gratitude?" with biting scorn. "some natures don't wear well under an obligation, and the cloven hoof crops out." douglas pushed the window farther open. "ingratitude is an abominable sin, and the one most frequently committed." a faint knock on the hall door interrupted him. "come in," he called, and brett opened the door. he drew back when he saw douglas was not alone. "don't go," said eleanor, gathering up her embroidery and workbag, "i must run upstairs and ask the nurse how miss carew is." she hastened toward the door, which brett still held open, but he stopped her on the threshold. "i will be greatly obliged if you will spare me half an hour, miss thornton; when you come downstairs again will be time enough," he added, as eleanor stepped back into the library. eleanor studied his impassive face intently for a second before answering, then: "i'll be down again shortly," and she disappeared up the hall. brett closed the door carefully and selected a chair near douglas, and sat down heavily. douglas pulled out his cigarette case and handed it to the detective, who picked out a cigarette and, striking a match, settled back in his chair contentedly as he watched the rings of smoke curling upward. "i am glad of an opportunity to have a quiet word with you, mr. hunter," he began. "things have been moving pretty swiftly to-day, and i'm free to confess that the death of annette has stumped me. was it murder or suicide?" "everything points to suicide." "i'm not so sure of that," drawing his chair nearer and lowering his voice. "i've been searching annette's belongings and have found several things which puzzle me completely." "what were they?" "well, for one thing, the torn kimono." "what--you don't mean----?" "exactly. annette apparently owned a wrapper precisely like miss thornton's, and it was she who paid you that midnight visit when you spent the night in the library on tuesday evening at the carew residence. i found the wrapper upstairs among her effects. she had mended the tear very neatly, but the slip which you tore out of it that night exactly fitted the darn. i had the slip with me in my pocket and fitted the two together." "great scott! what on earth was she doing in the library at that hour?" "aye, what?" significantly. "you recollect that nicodemus testified that annette did not want to sleep on the third floor because--'it wor too far off from her folks, an' she had to be down whar she could hear dem.' it looks as if annette were in the habit of taking an unusual interest in her mistress' affairs." "it does indeed," agreed douglas, knocking the ashes from his cigarette on the window ledge. "did you get any information from annette yesterday?" "very little. i saw her soon after i found your note telling me of her interview with colonel thornton. she admitted that she had information which she was willing to sell, and finally made an appointment to see me early this morning. thanks to circumstances--call it murder or suicide--i am no wiser than i was twenty-four hours ago." "do you still cling to the theory that she met her death because some one was afraid of what she would tell you to-day?" "yes; it looks that way to me. and yet i can't for the life of me discover how anyone could have committed a murder in that locked room." "in searching the room did you discover any secret passages leading to it?" exclaimed douglas. "i did not. i thought i might find one, so i tapped that entire wall, but could not find a trace of any concealed door. i tell you, mr. hunter, annette did not commit suicide," brett spoke earnestly. "she expected to receive a large sum of money within a few days; i virtually pledged the amount to her. there was no object in her taking her own life." "why don't you investigate her past, brett? that might give you a clew." "i have already cabled her description to the paris police, asking for any information about her which they may have. i expect an answer shortly." "good. tell me, what information did mrs. winthrop supply which induced you to arrest captain lane?" "she told me that he had been seen on the street monday night, when looking for miss carew's carriage, and that he was carrying a sharp letter file." "who gave her that information?" "she didn't state, but i have an idea that it was annette; probably the girl wanted money and went to her direct, she was none too scrupulous, apparently." "i believe you are right," exclaimed douglas. "mrs. winthrop also told me that she found, tucked away among her brother's papers, yesterday an envelope containing a threatening letter. the contents were written in a disguised hand, but the postmark on the envelope read, 'lanesville, maryland.' she is firmly convinced that, if young lane didn't write those letters himself, he instigated them." "oh, nonsense! he isn't such a fool," roughly. "i believe he is innocent." at that moment the door opened and colonel thornton walked in. he flung his hat on the table. "i am glad to find you both here," he said. "don't get up," as douglas rose, "i'll take this chair. i called you up at headquarters, brett, but they told me you had just come here, so i hurried over from mrs. winthrop's to catch you." "does she want me for anything in particular?" asked brett. "she simply wanted to ask a few more details in regard to the coroner's inquest. she is very much upset over annette's extraordinary death. it seems that the girl made some statement to her, and mrs. winthrop depended on her testimony to prove lane killed senator carew." "what did i tell you?" brett glanced triumphantly at douglas. "i'm afraid, though i'm morally certain of captain lane's guilt, that we will have some difficulty in establishing the fact." "you will," agreed colonel thornton. "so far you have only proved, first, that there was enmity between the two men; second, that lane had the opportunity; third, that annette saw him with the letter file, the weapon used to kill carew, in his hand." "the last has not been sworn to," objected douglas, "and annette is dead, so that statement, the most important of all, cannot be accepted as testimony." "unless some one else saw lane in the street at the time annette did," burst in brett swiftly, resuming his seat. "if they had they would have come forward before this," reasoned douglas. "i consider it extremely probable that annette was lying when she said she saw a letter file in lane's hand. remember the drenching rain; walking in what proved almost a cloudburst would make most people blind to so small a thing as a letter file carried in a man's closed fist." "what on earth was her object in making such a statement?" asked colonel thornton. "that is what we have yet to find out," answered douglas. "and there's another point, brett, which you have overlooked." "what's that?" "you recollect that you told me senator carew's clothes were absolutely dry when his dead body was found in the carriage. considering the downpour of rain that night, it seems incredible that he should not have got wet." "i have come to the conclusion that the coachman, hamilton, lied when he said he had not stopped at the house for senator carew on monday night," replied brett. "having lied in the beginning, he is now afraid to admit the truth for fear that he may be convicted of killing the senator." "that sounds plausible," acknowledged colonel thornton. "i don't believe it." douglas shook his head obstinately. "it has been proved already that the senator did not spend monday evening at home. i tell you the key to this mystery is how senator carew got into that carriage on such a stormy night without getting his clothes wet. when you have solved that problem you will know who committed the murder." thornton was about to reply when the hall door was thrown open, and eleanor, her lovely eyes opened to their widest, exclaimed: "uncle dana, the secretary of state wishes to see you!" "god bless me!" colonel thornton sprang out of his chair as the distinguished statesman followed eleanor into the room. "please don't let me disturb you," exclaimed the secretary, as douglas stepped forward, and brett edged toward the door. "i only dropped in for a second to pick up mr. hunter," laying a hand on douglas' arm. "they told me at the albany that you were stopping here for a few days, so i came over in my motor to ask you to drive back to my office with me, although it is sunday." "won't you be seated, mr. secretary?" asked colonel thornton, as douglas hastily gathered up some papers which he had left on the center table, and started for the door. "thanks, no; it is imperative that i get to my office----" the secretary stopped speaking as a man darted inside the door and slammed it shut. in his haste the newcomer collided with douglas and then collapsed into the nearest chair. "philip winthrop!" gasped eleanor, while the others gazed at the exhausted figure in amazement. "have you any brandy?" exclaimed the secretary, noticing the ghastly color of winthrop's face. thornton hastily produced a decanter and gave the half-fainting man a stiff drink, which in a few minutes had the desired effect of bringing him round. "thanks," he murmured faintly. "what does the doctor mean by letting you come out?" asked thornton. "you are in no condition to leave your room." "i'll be better in a minute; give me some more," winthrop motioned toward the decanter. colonel thornton glanced questioningly at the secretary, who nodded assent, so he gave winthrop a milder dose, which restored him somewhat, and his voice was stronger when he resumed speech. "the doctor doesn't know i'm here. i slipped out while mother was lying down, caught a cab at the corner, and drove over here. i want to see the detective, brett." "here i am, sir." brett stepped forward into the circle about winthrop. "good!" winthrop raised himself just in time to see eleanor open the hall door softly. "come back!" he shouted; then, as she paid no attention to him, cried, "stop her! stop her; don't let her slip away!" "what is the meaning of this?" demanded colonel thornton, as he stepped forward and pulled eleanor back into the room and shut the door. "you drunken loafer! stop bellowing at my niece." "i won't, i won't!" winthrop had worked himself into a frenzy. "she can't drug me here, fortunately--i won't be silent--_she is an international spy, and she murdered senator carew!_" chapter xx weaving the web slowly the meaning of winthrop's words dawned on the four men. "it's false! false as hell!" thundered douglas. he stepped forward and seized winthrop in a grip of iron and shook him as a dog would shake a rat; then, before the others could intervene, threw the struggling man on the floor. "bah! you're not worth killing." whimpering with rage and weakness, winthrop caught hold of the table and dragged himself upright, and stood swaying on his feet. "it's true, it's true!" he reiterated. "look at her,"--pointing a shaking finger to where eleanor stood aghast, watching the scene. her hand was on the doorknob and she seemed poised for instant flight. a curious smile twisted her pale lips as the men turned and faced her. "he doesn't seem to have recovered from delirium tremens," she remarked slowly. "it may be, miss thornton,"--the secretary of state spoke with grave deliberation,--"but it is a serious charge which he is making, and i think it had better be investigated now." eleanor winced visibly, then, controlling herself, advanced further into the room. "i am at your service," she said with sudden hauteur, "but as i have an important engagement later i trust you will be brief." "sit by me here, eleanor." colonel thornton, who had listened to winthrop's charges in stupefied silence, pulled forward an armchair. "mr. secretary, will you occupy the desk chair, and you," turning to winthrop, who cowered back as he caught the smoldering wrath in the older man's eyes, "sit over there," pointing to a chair some distance away. brett, seeing that winthrop was too exhausted to move without assistance, piloted him to the chair indicated by thornton, and, getting another chair, placed himself by winthrop's side. douglas, at a sign from the secretary, sat down at the further end of the table and handed the statesman some paper and ink. "now, mr. winthrop," began the secretary, "if you are more composed, kindly answer my questions. why have you waited all this time before mentioning that you think miss thornton guilty of senator carew's murder?" "because i've been drugged, so that i couldn't give evidence. i tried twice to get a message to brett, but annette said she couldn't reach him." winthrop spoke with labored effort. "annette!" chorused colonel thornton, brett, and douglas, while the secretary and eleanor looked their surprise. "yes, annette," peevishly, "she used to come in occasionally to give me water when those devilish nurses were neglecting me. she told me that brett was seldom at the house, and that she never had an opportunity to speak to him alone." "the monumental liar----" brett checked himself. "never mind that now, mr. winthrop, go on with your story." "she told me how miss thornton used to steal in and drug me, and asked me why she did it." "great heavens!" eleanor's exclamation was followed by a half-strangled laugh which ended in a sob. "what a viper!" "you were not there last night," sputtered winthrop vindictively, "and therefore i didn't get my usual dose, so i can tell what i know to-day." a triumphant leer distorted his features. "suppose you continue your story without making comments," directed the secretary sternly. winthrop nodded sullenly, then began: "you recollect that i spent monday night at the alibi club, brett?" "yes." "well, when i left there i motored up nineteenth street, instead of taking the more direct way home. i thought i would turn into massachusetts avenue at dupont circle, where there was less danger of running into electric cars, for the rain was falling in such torrents that i could hardly see through my wind-shield. "when opposite the owen residence i ran into a lot of waiting carriages and motors, and had to slow down. in fact, i went so slowly that by the time i was nearly opposite miss thornton's residence i stalled my engine and had to get out in all the wet and crank up," he paused dramatically. "you can imagine my surprise when i saw miss thornton come down under the awning which led to her front door and stand at the curb, looking up and down the street." "how do you know it was miss thornton?" broke in douglas harshly. "there was a street lamp by the side of the awning and the light fell full on her; besides, i recognized the scarlet cloak she was wearing. i have seen it many times." "what did my niece do, besides standing still and looking up and down the street?" demanded colonel thornton scornfully. "she ran out into the middle of the street and down where a carriage was drawn up at the curb, opened the door, stood there talking, apparently, for a few minutes, then shut the door and bolted back to the awning, and i presume entered her house, as i saw no more of her." "what did you do next?" inquired douglas, with peculiar emphasis. winthrop flushed at his tone. "i had curiosity enough to step back and see that it was senator carew's landau, the last of a long queue of vehicles, at which she had stopped; then i went on about my business." "do you mean to say that you did not investigate further?" asked the secretary, leaning forward the better to scan winthrop's face. "no. i knew enough never to interfere with senator carew's love affairs!" his sneer was intolerable. "by god!" colonel thornton sprang to his feet and advanced on winthrop, but brett stepped between the two men. "have a little patience, colonel," he said, pushing the irate man toward his seat; "then you can settle with mr. winthrop." "do you think i'm going to sit here and listen to aspersions on my niece's character?" he shouted. "let me get my hands on that scoundrel!" "wait, uncle dana,"--eleanor leaned forward and placed her hand on his arm,--"let him finish; then i will speak," and her lips closed ominously. "that is excellent advice," agreed the secretary; "resume your seat, colonel thornton." his tone of command was not to be denied, and thornton dropped back in his chair. "now, mr. winthrop, explain your last remark." "senator carew told me on monday afternoon that he expected to marry miss thornton, and that he intended to spend the evening with her." douglas leaned forward and gazed earnestly at eleanor, but she refused to meet his look, and with a troubled expression he turned his attention to winthrop, who was again speaking. "i told senator carew that i had heard a member of one of the embassies here declare that miss thornton was an international spy." "and what did he say to that statement?" "he said that he would look into the matter." "when did this conversation take place?" "on monday afternoon." "and is that all you have to go upon for such an accusation?" inquired brett scornfully. douglas was gazing moodily ahead of him. a memory of paris, of eleanor's extraordinary behavior there, of the whispers which followed her about, harassed him. had his faith been misplaced? no, a thousand times no. he would pin all hope of future happiness on her innocence and purity of soul. he rose suddenly and stepped behind her chair, and laid his hand encouragingly on her shoulder. she looked up, startled, then, seeing him, her lips parted in a smile, and her hand stole up to meet his. his firm clasp gave her courage to face the situation, for it told her of his unshaken confidence and love. winthrop glowered at them when he saw the tableau, and his eyes gleamed wickedly. "it is very obvious," he said, "that senator carew found my statement was true, and charged her with being a spy; then left her house. exposure meant miss thornton's ruin; even her influential relatives,"--he glanced meaningly at thornton,--"could not intervene to save her, so she took the law into her own hands, picked up the letter file, stole out of the house, opened the carriage door, engaged the senator in conversation--and stabbed him." a strained silence followed, which the secretary was the first to break. he turned directly to eleanor. "you called to see secretary wyndham at the navy department on wednesday morning, did you not, miss thornton?" douglas' hand tightened involuntarily, but eleanor showed no sign of agitation as she answered, "yes, mr. secretary, i did." "have you anything further to say, mr. winthrop?" "not now, mr. secretary." "then let me suggest," exclaimed thornton, "that mr. winthrop, in trying to implicate my niece in a dastardly crime, has but established his own guilt." "how so?" the question shot from winthrop's clenched teeth. "we all know from the testimony of reputable servants that senator carew and you had quarreled," continued thornton. "we know your habits are none of the best; we know that you have suddenly become possessed of large sums of money----" winthrop moistened his dry lips. "i deny it," he exclaimed. thornton paid no attention to the interruption. "you alone knew where senator carew was spending the evening, and you went there and laid in wait for him, and now, you despicable cur, you are trying to lay the blame on an innocent girl." winthrop rose, goaded by the scornful looks of the others. "i may have had the motive and the opportunity to kill senator carew," he admitted sullenly, "but i did not have--the weapon. the criminal sits there,"--he pointed at eleanor;--"i am absolutely positive of her guilt, for the letter file used to kill the senator belonged to a silver desk set given her by miss cynthia carew." thornton frowned and turned a troubled countenance toward eleanor, who nodded reassuringly as she rose to her feet, stepped back to douglas' side, and, leaning on the back of the chair she had just vacated, addressed the secretary. "i am a young girl, mr. secretary," she began, "and, living alone as i do, i have been forced on numerous occasions to use my own judgment. it would have been better, perhaps, had i spoken of certain events before this, but i was so alarmed by the position in which i found myself placed that i foolishly held my tongue. i had hoped that certain facts would not become public. those facts mr. winthrop has maliciously distorted. i have been guilty of a blunder, not a crime." "i would be most happy to believe you, miss thornton," said the secretary gravely; "but to probe this matter to the bottom i must ask certain questions." "which i will gladly answer." "did senator carew call on you on monday night?" "he did, reaching my house about nine-thirty, just before the rain commenced." "did anyone else know that he was there?" "only my japanese butler, fugi, who admitted him. my cousin, mrs. truxton, who is spending the winter with me, had gone to bed immediately after dinner." "was annette in the house?" asked brett quickly. "no, it was her evening out. she returned shortly after the senator left." "at what hour did he go?" questioned the secretary. "about half-past twelve o'clock." "wasn't that rather an unusual hour for him to stay?" eleanor colored warmly. "it was most unusual," she admitted. "but the pouring rain was responsible for that. he telephoned for a herdic cab or a taxi, but they were all engaged, and he waited, hoping that one would eventually be sent to my house." "mr. winthrop spoke of an awning at your door, miss thornton," again broke in brett. "i have passed your house a number of times and have never seen one." "i had a large tea on monday afternoon, and had the awning put up for that occasion, as the weather was threatening and my house stands some distance from the curb. the awning was removed early the next morning." "it is not so very far from your house to the senator's residence," mused the secretary. "i should have thought, considering the lateness of the hour, that he would have walked home." "but he was not going home, mr. secretary. he told me that he was going to drive to your house, as he had to see you immediately on your return that night." "indeed!" the secretary was bending forward in his eagerness. "did the senator state what he wished to see me about?" "only in a general way. he said that he had that afternoon discovered proof of a gigantic plot against the united states; that the secrets of the government were being betrayed; and that he must give you the names of the arch traitor and his confederate. he called up your house by telephone earlier in the afternoon, and found that you were expected home on the eleven o'clock train." "i had intended to take it, but was detained at the last moment by pressing business and did not reach washington until the following night," explained the secretary. "if he couldn't get a cab, why did he not call up his own house and send for his carriage earlier in the evening?" "he tried to, mr. secretary, but his telephone was out of order, and no one answered the stable call." "how, then, did he get his own carriage?" "my drawing-room windows look out on nineteenth street, and the senator, in one of his numerous trips to discover if the rain was letting up, saw his carriage standing in front of my door. he recognized the horses and hamilton by the light from the lamp-post under which they stood, waiting for the long queue of carriages ahead to move up the street. the senator instantly decided to enter his carriage, wait for cynthia, and then drive to your house, mr. secretary." "so that's how he got into the carriage without getting wet," cried brett; "the awning protected him. i suppose he just popped into his carriage and said nothing to hamilton, as he intended to wait for his niece, and hamilton was too befuddled with drink and the storm to notice the opening and closing of the door. did you watch the senator leave the house?" eleanor shook her head. "no," she said. "miss thornton,"--the secretary bent forward impressively,--"were you engaged to senator carew?" eleanor's color rose, but she faced the keen eyes watching her unflinchingly. "no, mr. secretary; the senator did me the honor to ask me to marry him on monday night, but i refused." "then you deny running out after his carriage, which mr. winthrop declares you did?" "no, sir, i do not deny it. mr. winthrop is quite right." she paused, and the men looked at her expectantly. "i have a quest in life--not the one attributed to me by this gentleman,"--waving her hand scornfully toward winthrop, who was listening to her statement with an incredulous smile distorting his features,--"but an honorable legacy which my dear mother left me to execute. "on bidding me a hasty good night, senator carew, whether in jest or earnest, told me that, if i would marry him, he would assist me to bring my mission to a successful conclusion." "would you mind stating what this quest is?" asked the secretary. eleanor hesitated. "it is a family matter, and i would rather not go into it just now. but--if necessary--i promise to explain later." the secretary did not press the point. "continue your story, miss thornton." "about five minutes or more after the senator left i came to the conclusion that my duty"--she glanced appealingly at douglas--"compelled me to marry him. on an impulse, i picked up my cloak, which was hanging on the hall rack, opened the front door, and ran down to the curb. "the carew landau is easily recognized, and after peering up and down the street i saw that it had moved up several doors. without stopping to think or consider the consequences, i ran down the street to the carriage and opened the door----" she stopped, breathless. "go on, go on," urged douglas. "i opened the door," she repeated, "and, as god is my witness, i found senator carew sitting there--_dead._" chapter xxi an international intrigue as her voice ceased on the last solemn word eleanor read astonishment and incredulity written on her listeners' faces, and her heart sank. she bit her lips to hide their trembling. "how did you discover senator carew was dead, miss thornton?" asked the secretary harshly. "it has been testified that the interior of the landau was dark and that the carriage lamps had been extinguished." "i did not see he was dead,"--eleanor hesitated. "after opening the carriage door i spoke to him several times. on getting no reply, i put out my hand and accidentally touched his chest, and my fingers encountered the round base of the letter file." her large eyes filled with horror at the recollection. "i did not, of course, know what it was then, but i realized that something was dreadfully wrong. the senator's silence, the touch of that cold metal in such a place terrified me. i drew back, instinctively closed the carriage door, and fled to my house. the next morning i heard of the murder from annette." "why did you not come forward with this information then?" asked brett sternly. "because i was afraid." eleanor threw out her hands appealingly. "i had no one to verify my statements, and i feared i would be charged with the crime. confident of my own innocence, i did not think any information i might furnish would assist the arrest of the guilty person." "you should have spoken sooner," said colonel thornton sharply. he tempered his rebuke by rising and leading eleanor to his own comfortable chair, into which she sank wearily. "but the harm your silence has done can fortunately be remedied. philip winthrop,"--swinging around on the young man,--"your plea that you lacked the weapon used is puerile; you could easily have picked one up at the club; letter files are kept on most desks. knowing where senator carew was to be on monday night, you laid your plans carefully beforehand, and with devilish ingenuity picked out an unusual weapon, so that it would be harder to trace the murder to you." "you lie!" growled winthrop fiercely; then, addressing them all, "i had nothing whatever to do with the senator's death. she did it, though your misplaced sympathy blinds you to the truth." "miss thornton's sex will not shield her," declared the secretary firmly, "if she be guilty--but, mr. winthrop, your story will also be investigated to the minutest detail. until your innocence is proved without a shadow of a doubt you will consider yourself under arrest. brett will see that the proper papers are made out." winthrop blanched. "i'm--i'm--in no condition to go to jail," he stammered. "it is monstrous!" "just a moment," broke in douglas. he had been deep in thought, and had paid but little attention to their conversation. "you say, winthrop, that the letter file used to slay senator carew belonged to a desk set given to miss thornton by miss cynthia carew." "i do," exclaimed winthrop positively. eleanor's surprise was reflected in her uncle's face. was douglas taking sides against her? her eyes filled with tears, which she winked hastily away. "have you such a desk set, eleanor?" demanded douglas. "yes, cynthia gave it to me last christmas." "is the letter file missing?" the answer was slow in coming. "yes," she breathed faintly. "ah! what did i tell you?" cried winthrop triumphantly. douglas paid no attention to him, but continued to address eleanor. "where do you keep this desk set?" "in the writing room across the hall from my drawing-room." "describe your first floor, please, eleanor." "the drawing-room is to the left of the front door; to the right is the small writing room, back of that the staircase, and back of the drawing-room is the dining room. the house is what is called three-quarters." "i see. does the dining room communicate with the drawing-room?" "yes; there are old-fashioned sliding doors between the two rooms." "do you use portières?" "yes, on all the doors." douglas smiled at her encouragingly, then he turned to the four men. "miss thornton has testified that no one of her household knew that senator carew was with her monday night. she is mistaken. there was one other person who knew that fact; who had ample opportunity to overhear her conversation with the senator; to take the letter file from the desk in the writing room, and steal after him when he left, open the carriage door, and stab him." "who was it?" questioned eleanor breathlessly, while the others hung on his words. "the servant who admitted him." "fugi!" gasped thornton. "my god! i believe you're right. but the motive, man?" "an international intrigue." douglas caught the secretary's eye, who nodded appreciatively. "miss thornton has already stated that senator carew told her that he had discovered proof of a plot against this country, that the secrets of this government were being betrayed, that he knew the names of the spy or spies, and that he was on the way to inform the secretary of state. concealed in one of the portières, fugi overheard all this, and, to save his own life, killed senator carew." "you've solved it," declared brett, rising. "i'll run over to your house now, miss thornton, and catch fugi before he can get away." "i don't think you'll find him there," interposed eleanor. "mrs. truxton went out in my motor for a drive this afternoon, and fugi, who acts as chauffeur as well as butler, is driving the car. i expect them here at any moment." "so much the better." "there is a car drawn up alongside of mine now," exclaimed the secretary, who had gone over to the window overlooking the street. brett started for the door, but, before he reached it, it was flung open and mrs. truxton precipitated herself into the room. her hat was cocked on one side in the most rakish manner and her flushed face testified to her perturbed state of mind. "i've found you, mr. secretary!" she exclaimed, slamming the door shut. "don't go," as brett moved past her. "i went to your house, then to the state department----" she stopped, breathless. "sit down," said the secretary soothingly, "and tell me why you wished to see me so urgently." "oh, dear, i'm so confused!" mrs. truxton drew a long breath, then plunged into her story. "i stopped at our house, eleanor, as i had forgotten to bring my writing materials here. i found my letter book in my room where i had left it, and, on opening it, discovered this letter addressed to you, mr. secretary"--drawing out an envelope from her handbag. "i can't conceive where it came from," added the poor woman, "except that i left my letter book in eleanor's drawing-room on monday night on my way to bed. i was up early tuesday morning before any of the servants were down, and, on entering the drawing-room, found my letter book still lying on the table, with several of its leaves turned over. i gathered up all the papers without looking at them carefully, and took them up to my desk and laid them away in a drawer. this is the first time i have opened the letter book, for in your absence, eleanor, i have used your writing room." mrs. truxton paused to take breath. "it's marked 'important,' and that's why i hurried after you; besides, handwriting is like a photograph to me, and i never forget one i have seen--that letter is from senator carew." "good god! the missing letter!" shouted brett. the secretary took the letter from mrs. truxton and tore it open, and, in a voice of suppressed excitement, read its contents aloud. "my dear mr. secretary: "i am writing to you in case i do not see you before you attend the cabinet meeting to-morrow morning. your servant tells me that you are expected home on a late train to-night, but i may be detained in reaching your house, or the train may be later than scheduled, and therefore i might miss you. the president will reach washington to-morrow on the _mayflower_ from his trip down the chesapeake, and it is impossible for me to reach him to-night. "i have discovered that colombia is inciting panama to revolt. we are not too well liked down there as it is. i have also discovered that japan will take a hand in the game. the island of gorgona, in the pacific, which belongs to a wealthy colombian, has a magnificent harbor--the harbor of trinidad--and it has been offered to the latter nation as a coaling station. japan does not have to appeal to european nations to finance a war; the south americans will provide funds. they are jealous of our growing prestige, our increasing commerce, and fear our colonization. we reached out and grasped panama, and they think we are casting covetous glances at mexico and other countries to the south. japan has also been guaranteed the philippines. "i induced douglas hunter, attaché of the american embassy at tokio, to make certain investigations. i expect to see him to-morrow, and, if he has discovered anything of material value, i will bring him with me to the state department at once. "in making these researches i find perfidy and dishonor exists in an astounding quarter. government secrets are being betrayed by a paid spy and traitor--dana thornton----" a chair was dashed aside, and, before anyone could move, colonel thornton had thrown open the hall door and disappeared. so totally unexpected was the _dénouement_ that the others sat too stunned to move, and that moment's respite gave thornton his chance. the roar of a motor broke the spell, and the men, galvanized into sudden action, raced to the front door, only in time to see eleanor's powerful car, far down the street, with colonel thornton at the wheel. he turned the machine into wisconsin avenue and disappeared. chapter xxii the pursuit "take my car!" called the secretary of state, as brett and douglas started up the street on a run. they turned and rejoined the secretary as the latter's chauffeur, attracted by the disturbance, hastened out of the garden, where he had gone to get a glass of water. the three men sprang into the machine, and in a few seconds were off. they swung into wisconsin avenue and sped on up that thoroughfare. the avenue was almost deserted at that hour, and the sunday quiet was only broken by the whirr of their car as it gained headway. far in the distance they could descry thornton's motor, and, in obedience to brett's order, the chauffeur increased his speed. on and on they went. a bicycle policeman shouted at them as they whizzed by and, clambering on his machine, started in pursuit. they passed a crowded trolley car, and the passengers stared at their mad speed. they reached the outskirts of georgetown and the more open country beyond. they gained on the car ahead of them, and brett shouted aloud with the joy of the chase as they drew nearer. they passed the naval observatory, cut across massachusetts avenue extended, just shaving several other automobiles, the startled drivers thereof wasting their breath in sending endless curses after them. they swept past the cathedral close and continued their race along the rockville pike. as they approached the river road they saw thornton turn his car, scarcely reducing his speed, and cut across the road. it was a dangerous corner at any time, and as the front wheels made the turn the body of the car slued around. there was a grinding, splintering crash as the car struck one of the tall poles supporting the overhead trolley wires, and the big machine turned turtle. brett's chauffeur put on a final burst of speed, and the limousine leaped madly down the road. a cry of horror broke from the three men as a tongue of flame shot up from the overturned car ahead of them. "by heavens! the gasolene has ignited!" gasped douglas. he was on the running board when the car slowed down near thornton's motor. the latter was a mass of flames. douglas sprang to the ground, and the others followed him. "get some fence rails," he directed. "we must try and lift the car so that thornton can crawl out." in a few minutes the men were back with boards torn from a nearby fence, but in that short time the flames had gained headway, and they were driven back by the intense heat. unfortunately there was no loose sand at hand. an outgoing trolley car stopped, and several passengers ran to douglas' aid. the fence boards caught fire and had to be put out, but finally the car was raised a slight distance from the ground, and a cry of exultation broke from the toiling men, only to die into a groan as a sharp explosion, followed by a heavier detonation, rang out. dropping their hold on the boards, the men bolted to a safe distance down the road. "it's hopeless!" gasped brett. "no man can live in that fiery furnace." douglas groaned aloud. he had been shocked beyond measure by the discovery of thornton's guilt and treachery, for he had liked him, and had accepted his hospitality. it was horrible to see him meet such a fate. better the electric chair than being roasted alive. "perhaps he jumped from the car before it turned turtle," he suggested. "it's hardly likely," exclaimed brett dubiously. "still, we might look along the road. we can do no good over there." he shuddered slightly as he turned to look at the still burning car. the steel and metal work had been twisted into grotesque shapes by the great heat, which added to the ghastly picture. their search along the roadside was fruitless, and douglas and brett returned to the secretary of state's limousine. they had to wait some time before the flames about the remains of thornton's car died down into a smoldering mass. after the fire had burned itself out, brett, with the assistance of horror-stricken spectators among the crowd that had collected with the aladdin-like magic which characterizes street gatherings, examined the ground with minute care. suddenly he moved over to where douglas was standing, keeping back the curious crowd, and beckoned him to one side. "colonel thornton did not jump from the car, mr. hunter," he said gravely. "we've just found all that's left of him--his ashes." chapter xxiii the end of the quest "and so that was his end!" eleanor drew a long, shuddering breath. "poor uncle dana! douglas, do you really think he was guilty?" "i'm afraid so," sorrowfully. "the very fact that he was trying to escape proves it; otherwise he would have stayed here and faced an investigation." "it's dreadful, dreadful!" moaned eleanor. "and almost unbelievable. a traitor! a murderer! but"--checking herself--"that last hasn't been proved." "that's brett's voice," exclaimed douglas, springing from his chair and crossing to the hall door. "come in, brett; miss thornton and i are sitting in the library." the detective gave his hat and light overcoat to nicodemus and followed douglas back into the room, first closing the door carefully behind him. "has captain lane been here yet?" he inquired. "yes, he came over at once on being released. mrs. truxton took him upstairs to see cynthia, who is rapidly improving, now that the mystery of senator carew's death is solved and fred cleared of any complicity in it," explained eleanor. "then would you mind asking captain lane to come down, miss thornton? i have several pieces of news which i must tell you, and i think his presence is necessary." eleanor looked at him questioningly, and he added hastily, "he won't be involved in any further trouble." "what tragedies have happened since i reached this house twenty-four hours ago," exclaimed douglas, pacing the room restlessly. "annette's death last night, and now the colonel----" he did not finish his sentence, but instead stopped before the full-length portrait of a dead and gone thornton, and gazed moodily at the painted face. from that gallant naval hero to dana thornton, traitor, was indeed a great descent. "a good man gone wrong," he commented, finally. "an accomplished scoundrel," growled brett. he stopped speaking as eleanor reëntered the room, followed by fred lane. the young officer showed the ordeal he had gone through that morning and afternoon by the deep lines under his eyes and around his mouth. he bowed curtly to douglas and brett. "you wish to see me?" he asked. "sit down, please." brett pushed forward a chair for eleanor, and the others grouped themselves about the center table. by common consent they all avoided colonel thornton's favorite armchair. "i am anxious to have a talk with you because there are several loose threads to this mystery which must be straightened out." "what are they?" questioned lane impatiently; he longed to be back with cynthia. "on my return from the river road to headquarters i found an answer from the paris police to my cable. they tell me, miss thornton, that your maid, annette, was an international spy." "great heavens!" ejaculated eleanor, in round-eyed astonishment. "she was also in the habit of impersonating you." eleanor's face was a study. "she had clothes made exactly like yours, even her kimono was a duplicate. from what i hear, mr. hunter, i judge annette, who you recollect was in the hall when we were discussing the mysterious letter written by senator carew, decided to try and find it, and that's why she paid you a visit in the library last tuesday night. she did not know that i had asked you to sleep there." "i was grossly deceived in her," declared eleanor bitterly. "i presume her splendid recommendations were all----" "forgeries," supplemented brett. "quite right, they must have been. i have just talked with one of the nurses from providence hospital who attended philip winthrop, and he declares that he caught annette trying to give philip a sleeping powder. probably she wished to reap all the reward that she could, through blackmail and otherwise, and was afraid if philip saw me that he would spoil her 'scoop.' with her usual habit of involving you, miss thornton, she made that crazy fool believe you were drugging him." "will you please explain to me," broke in fred lane, "why mrs. winthrop swore out a warrant for my arrest? what led her to believe me guilty?" "mrs. winthrop wished me to tell you, captain lane, that she bitterly regrets her hasty action. i never saw anyone so completely broken up. it seems she wanted that graceless stepson of hers to marry her niece, miss carew, so that he would eventually inherit the carew fortune. then she has a natural antipathy for you because you are your father's son, and she was, unfortunately, only too ready to believe you guilty. annette told her a number of lies,"--brett shrugged his shoulders expressively,--"and there you have it--along with other circumstantial evidence, which would have pretty nearly convicted you." lane flushed angrily. "so mrs. winthrop took the word of a worthless servant, the better to humiliate me...." "had annette any grounds for her accusation?" questioned brett swiftly. "mrs. owen said her library desk file mysteriously disappeared the night of her dance." "a coincidence which i cannot account for," declared lane, looking the detective squarely in the eye. "it may be that annette saw the end of my silver handled umbrella which i was carrying, and in the uncertain light mistook it for a weapon of some sort." "considering annette's natural disposition to lie," broke in douglas, "i think it highly probable that she made up the story, and told it to miss carew." "and probably promised to keep silent if miss carew paid her," suggested brett scornfully. "it's too bad miss carew permitted the maid to blackmail her." "what about the threatening letters to senator carew which mrs. winthrop thought i sent?" inquired lane. "philip winthrop wrote them." "the miserable scoundrel!" ejaculated lane. "he was that and more--the secretary of state and i took him back home in the former's motor, and when we had done grilling him we had cleared up many details in regard to this international intrigue. through senator carew's letter and winthrop's disclosures the intrigue has been nipped in the bud before more serious results can happen." "thank god for that!" exclaimed douglas devoutly. "it seems that philip winthrop has been a go-between for a wealthy colombian, whose name he obstinately withholds, and some person whom the conspirators called 'our mutual friend.' strange to say, philip declares he never knew until carew's letter was read that the mysterious individual was colonel dana thornton. he says he gave all communications for the 'mutual friend' to annette, and annette, if you please, made him believe that the spy was--miss thornton." "well, upon my word!" cried eleanor, her eyes blazing with indignation. "i was a nice cat's-paw for her. do you know, i believe she, and not my uncle, killed senator carew." "i'm sorry,"--brett hesitated, then went slowly on. "i'm sorry to say there's no doubt but that colonel thornton did murder the senator. i don't want to inflict any more pain than necessary, miss thornton, but you will hear the details from others if not from me. i have seen soto, your japanese cook, and he swore that colonel thornton called at your house on monday night, just after the senator's arrival, and fugi admitted him. on being informed that senator carew was with you, your uncle told the butler not to announce him, but that he would wait in the writing room until the senator left. soto showed me an umbrella which fugi had carried to the kitchen to dry for the colonel. it has your uncle's initials engraved on the handle, and nicodemus positively identified it as belonging to the colonel when i showed it to him on my arrival here just now. "on being pressed, soto also admitted that late monday night he left your house to post a letter. as he came up the area steps to the terraced walk, which was covered by the awning, leading from the house to the sidewalk, he almost collided with senator carew, who seemed buried in thought and did not notice his approach. soto drew back respectfully toward the area steps to let him pass. as the senator entered his carriage another man sped down your high front steps, and, on reaching the carriage, pulled open the door and entered the vehicle, which then moved on. soto swears solemnly that this last man was colonel thornton." eleanor drew a long, sobbing breath, and glanced helplessly at the others. her uncle was not only a traitor but a murderer. her worst fears were realized. none cared to break the pause, and, after waiting a moment, brett took up his narrative where he had left off. "it must be, miss thornton, that your uncle overheard all or part of your conversation with the senator. he probably waited in the writing room until the senator left the house, picked up the letter file, as he had no other weapon handy, and stole after him. hamilton was too drunk to notice anything. the horses probably moved up the street of their own accord when the preceding carriages made room for them to advance. it was unpremeditated murder, and yet chance concealed colonel thornton's tracks most successfully." "you are right," agreed douglas. "if annette had found carew's letter to the secretary of state instead of mrs. truxton, thornton would have escaped detection." "annette was always complaining of mrs. truxton's early rising," eleanor laughed hysterically, then cried a little. "my darling, let me get you some wine!" exclaimed douglas in distress. "no, no, sit down!" eleanor clutched his coat. "don't pay any attention to me; i'll be all right in a minute." "fugi has disappeared," went on brett, after a brief silence. "i think he overheard our conversation here this afternoon, for nicodemus says he was loitering in the hall. on searching his room at your house, miss thornton, i found evidence, through certain papers, that he had been in your uncle's pay." "he thought it wiser to bolt," commented fred lane. "i have no doubt he knew more of affairs than we are giving him credit for." "it's a great pity, miss thornton, that you kept silent so long," said brett. "if i had known that senator carew spent the evening with you, and also about the awning, i would have cleared up this mystery sooner." "i should have spoken." eleanor looked so troubled that douglas sat down on the arm of her chair and took her hand gently in his. as his strong grasp tightened she formed a sudden resolution. "there is another reason for my silence which i have not told you; wait a moment," and she rose and hurriedly left the room. the men smoked in silence until her return. "the room is very dark, won't you light another burner, douglas?" she asked, on her return. she waited until her wish had been complied with, then, as the men seated themselves near her, she began her story. "on tuesday morning, just after i had heard of senator carew's death, i received a cardboard box containing jewels. that in itself bewildered me, but i was astounded by the message written in an unknown hand which i found on a card inside the box." as she spoke she opened the small box which she had just brought into the room with her. "here is the card; read the message aloud, douglas." "'_the appointment was not kept. well done._'" douglas laid the card on the desk and the three men looked at each other in amazement. "the message frightened me horribly," continued eleanor. "i realized that some one must have thought me guilty of the senator's death--and _approved_ of it. the mystery of it appalled me. i did not know whom to take into my confidence; so i put the jewels into my strong box and said nothing, hoping that i would be able to ferret out the mystery by myself." "let us see the jewels," suggested douglas. eleanor opened the box and pulled off the top layer of cotton, then rolled the necklace of rubies on the table, where the stones lay glittering under the strong light. "they are superb!" exclaimed douglas, while a low murmur of admiration broke from lane. "their almost priceless value frightened me more than anything else," explained eleanor. "i could not imagine who had sent them to me----" "that's easily answered." brett picked up the necklace and examined it minutely. "this necklace was sent you by the man who stole it." "what?" ejaculated the two men, while eleanor collapsed limply in her chair. "these are the hemmingway rubies," went on brett. "they were stolen about a month ago in new york, and the police of this country and europe were notified of their loss. i have here," drawing out a leather wallet and extracting a thin, typewritten sheet, "one of the notices sent to headquarters. let me refresh my memory." he skimmed over the lines, then a shout of exultation escaped him. "listen: 'mrs. hemmingway was entertaining a house party at the time of the theft. among her guests were mr. and mrs. henry st. john, of philadelphia; miss snyder, of chicago; colonel dana thornton, of washington----'" "oh, no, no!" eleanor cried, throwing out her arms as if to thrust the idea from her, then dropped forward and buried her head on her arms on the table. douglas started to move over to her side, but brett checked him. "let her alone," he advised in an undertone; "it's a shock, but she will recover." then, in a louder tone: "by heavens! that man was a positive genius!" in reluctant admiration. "he probably heard that the case had been turned over to the police, although the hemmingways had asked to have the search conducted quietly, and therefore it did not reach the papers. fearing to keep the necklace in his possession, he sent it to his niece with a cryptic message which he knew she would not, under the circumstances, dare show to others, and also reasoned that she would keep the necklace concealed for the same cause. i don't doubt he expected her eventually to ask his advice about the jewels and then he would get them back again, as soon as all danger of detection was over, on the plea that he would have them returned to the rightful owner, or some such plausible excuse." "upon my word, such villany exceeds belief." lane gazed incredulously at the detective. "and yet i don't doubt you have guessed the right solution of the problem." "eleanor, dear,"--douglas turned to the weeping girl. "if you feel strong enough i wish you would tell us about your quest to which you alluded this afternoon." eleanor raised her head and looked reproachfully at him. "i realize the subject may prove painful to you at this time, but, annette having implicated you in her transactions, i think it is best for you to clear up any seeming mysteries." "perhaps you are right." eleanor sighed as she wiped away her tears. "i must first tell you that my mother was nora fitzgerald----" "the famous actress?" broke in brett. "the same. she gave up the stage when she married my father, barry thornton, then a lieutenant in the united states navy. their married life was unusually happy; therefore it was all the more incredible and tragic when one day he disappeared----" "disappeared?" echoed douglas blankly. "disappeared utterly. his ship was at hampton roads and he was given shore leave one day. at the wharf he told the coxswain to come back for him at ten o'clock that evening, and he walked on up to the hotel. from that hour to this he has never been seen or heard from." eleanor paused and pushed her hair off her forehead, then continued: "a short time before his mysterious disappearance my father fell from the rigging of the ship to the deck with such force that he was picked up unconscious. it is supposed that the fall may have affected his brain, and so accounted for his subsequent disappearance." "that is very likely," commented lane. "i saw a similar case in the philippines, but pardon me, miss eleanor, i did not mean to interrupt." "several days after my father's disappearance a nude body was washed ashore miles below norfolk. the condition of the body prevented positive identification, but many persons, among them uncle dana, believed it to be my father. my mother, however, refused to accept that theory. she was convinced that he was still alive and suffering from mental aberration. she returned to the stage, first placing me with my uncle, john fitzgerald, who brought me up. she visited many cities and many countries, but could find no trace of my father. shortly before her death she sent for me and charged me solemnly to continue her search, which i have done to the best of my ability." "my poor girl," said douglas softly. "my idea has been that if my father was still alive he would pursue his profession, so i searched the records of other navies, thinking that perhaps he might be serving under another flag. the day that you saw me at the navy department, douglas, i had been going over old records, hoping to find some clew to his present whereabouts." douglas colored hotly as he remembered the construction which he had put on her presence in the department. "what did you mean," he asked, "by saying this afternoon that senator carew told you he could help you to bring your quest to a successful conclusion?" "senator carew said that while in panama he had seen a man who closely resembled my father. the stranger apparently did not recognize him, but so certain was senator carew of his identity that he gave him his visiting card, and insisted that he should call at the navy department in washington. douglas, do you recollect asking me about a man who you thought you saw with me in the elevator at the navy department on wednesday?" "i do." "i was terribly excited by your apparently simple question, for in stating that the man had black hair and blue eyes you exactly described my father." "great heavens!" douglas sprang to his feet. "it is most astounding, but such a man as you describe really did call at the department that morning and insisted on seeing the secretary, saying that he had an appointment to meet senator carew." "what became of him?" eleanor's lovely eyes were aglow with excitement. "i don't know. the secretary and i both thought he had stolen the plans of the battleships." eleanor's shocked expression stopped him. "of course, now we know it was colonel thornton who called there later with you and mrs. wyndham, although how on earth he managed to steal the plans under the very nose of the secretary is beyond me." "let me think." eleanor pressed her hands to her throbbing temples. "i remember now; it must have been when uncle dana was using the desk telephone. he was leaning forward across the desk, and i recall that i noticed he had his right hand in a drawer; i couldn't see very distinctly, as his body was between us and the drawer and his overcoat was also thrown on the desk. mrs. wyndham was looking at a book, and the secretary was coughing his head off by the further window, with his back toward us." brett struck the table a resounding blow with his clenched fist. "by george, but he was slick! the smartest criminal i've run across in years." a discreet tap sounded on the library door, and a muffled voice asked: "'scuse me, but am miss eleanor in dar?" "come in, nicodemus," called eleanor. the old darky entered and, circling the table, handed her a note on the silver salver. she hastily tore it open and read its contents. "i must consult cousin kate," she announced, rising hastily, "before i can answer this." "we must all be going," said brett, following her into the hall, while nicodemus paused to put out the lights. "one moment, miss thornton, will you please give me the ruby necklace." "why, i handed it to you," ejaculated eleanor, in surprise, turning back from the staircase. "i beg your pardon," said brett, with positiveness. "i saw mr. hunter drop it on the table in front of you." douglas and the young officer joined them. "so he did," declared lane, and with the others followed eleanor as she hastily reëntered the library. "why, it's not anywhere on the table." eleanor felt among the table ornaments. "douglas, do light the gas," in growing alarm. "where in thunder are the matches?" growled douglas, overturning a vase on the secretary in his endeavors to find a matchbox. "got any, nicodemus?" as a figure brushed by him in the darkness and approached the chimney. the other men were busy searching vainly in their pockets for a match. "good for you, nicodemus," called douglas, as a tiny flame appeared in the direction of the chimney. "bring it over here and light this chandelier." his order was not obeyed. the flickering light grew stronger, and then douglas realized that it was burning some distance from the servant. the flame became stronger, and by its rays a face grew out of the surrounding darkness. a strong, handsome face, whose pallor was enhanced by the heavy black beard and dark shaggy eyebrows. the eyes were fixed on nicodemus, who stood in the shadow with his back to the rest, and the two stared unblinkingly at each other. the silence was intolerable. eleanor and the three men stood transfixed, too astounded to move. suddenly a choking sob burst from nicodemus. he threw out his arms as if to ward off some overmastering horror, swayed forward, and fell heavily to the floor. the candle flickered suddenly as it was raised and applied to a wall gas jet. the sudden light caused the spellbound spectators of the scene to blink violently; then, as their eyes grew accustomed to the illumination, they made out the figure of a tall man in nondescript clothes standing near the chimney. "who--who are you, and where in hell did you come from?" gasped brett. "i am barry thornton, formerly of the united states navy." the newcomer caught sight of eleanor, and stretched out his arms pleadingly. "my dear, dear daughter." eleanor, grown deadly white, clutched the table for support. "i don't understand," she stammered. "i forgot." the newcomer's arms dropped to his side. "you were too young to remember me when i last saw you. fortunately," meeting brett's incredulous stare, "nicodemus knows me." "your spectacular appearance seems to have knocked him silly," exclaimed captain lane, regaining his voice. "i reckon we'll have to bring him around before he can identify you properly." "nicodemus, tell these gentlemen who i am," commanded the newcomer. "yo' is my marse, cap'n barry thornton, suh." the voice came from behind douglas, and all in the room wheeled in that direction. there stood nicodemus, his eyes starting from his head, his face gray with fright. he had entered unnoticed a second before. eleanor's senses were reeling. with desperate effort she controlled herself. "then who is that?" she cried, frantically, pointing to the motionless figure which was partly hidden from their view by the divan. for answer the newcomer stepped forward and thrust the sofa to one side, then stooped and rolled the figure over, disclosing the white hair and well-known features of colonel dana thornton. chapter xxiv the final explanation douglas caught eleanor as she fell and carried her to the lounge. "get some water and wine, lane," he directed, and the young officer sped out of the room, to return quickly with nicodemus bearing the necessary articles. douglas forced some of the stimulant between eleanor's clenched teeth, and bathed her temples and hands with the iced water, and, to his infinite relief, he had the satisfaction of seeing her open her eyes. "father," she murmured, "father!" "i am here." the tall, sad-faced man stooped over her, and she placed her trembling hand against his cheek. "don't look so wild, my darling,"--as recollection returned fully to her. "think no more of it," and he laid his hand softly over her eyes. she smiled like a tired child, and, reaching over, laid her hand in douglas', then, reassured, lay still. seen together, the likeness between father and daughter was obvious. eleanor had inherited his handsome deep blue eyes, long eyelashes, and brilliant coloring. brett rose from beside the still figure. "he's dead--this time," he said tersely. "apoplexy. it beats me how he got out of that burning automobile." "he wasn't in it," said barry thornton calmly. "he wasn't?" brett's excitement overcame him. "why, i saw him with my own eyes." "you saw him leave here, yes; but you probably did not notice that the japanese chauffeur was crouching at his feet in the car. when the machine turned into wisconsin avenue, out of your sight, my brother slowed down and sprang out, giving his hat to the japanese, who took his place at the wheel and raced the machine up wisconsin avenue." "well, i'll be damned!" ejaculated brett. "so it was poor fugi who was burned up. but, good lord! when colonel thornton had made so successful a getaway what induced him to put his head in the lion's mouth by returning here, and what was he doing in this room?" "if you search his pockets you may find out," was the cryptic reply as barry thornton drew up a chair by eleanor's couch and seated himself. brett thrust his hand first in one pocket of the dead man's clothing and then in another. in the last one he jerked it out again as if his fingers had been bitten. in his hand dangled the priceless ruby necklace and a wallet filled with bank notes! brett sat down on the floor, for once speechless. "how did you know it?" he asked finally. barry thornton raised his disengaged hand and pointed to the portrait of his ancestor and namesake. "i was watching this scene through those peepholes,"--an exclamation escaped douglas,--"you almost caught me this morning, mr. hunter. this old house is honeycombed with secret passages. my brother kept a large sum of money in a secret drawer in that desk. he probably needed funds to assist him in escaping from this country, so came back here and entered the house by means of one of the secret passages. he has been concealed behind that sliding panel,"--pointing to an aperture in the wall near the chimney,--"waiting to slip into this room. he seized the opportunity when nicodemus put out the lights, and left by the billiard room door, to steal the necklace as well as get his money. your reëntering the room flustered him, and he was making in haste for the secret passage when i stepped out of it and faced him. thinking me dead years ago--his escape barred--the shock proved too much...." thornton did not complete his sentence. there was a moment's silence. "i think it would be as well, mr. thornton, that we remove your brother's body to his room," suggested douglas, recovering somewhat from his astonishment. "well, i don't know about that; the coroner----" objected brett dubiously. "we can all testify to the details of colonel thornton's death," put in lane. "but we cannot leave him lying here on his own floor. his death was natural, brought on by shock." "very well, sir." brett rose and walked to the door. he returned in a moment with a plain-clothes policeman, and, with the assistance of douglas and lane, all that was mortal of dana thornton was carried to his room. barry thornton had requested them to return, and douglas, lane, and brett trooped back to the library. "eleanor has told me of her long search," began thornton. "my disappearance came from lapse of memory, and the latter was brought on by a fall on shipboard. that fall,"--deliberately,--"was caused by my brother, dana." "oh, father!" eleanor sat bolt upright. "yes, i had found out some of his deviltries and taxed him with them. i told him i would expose him if he did not mend his ways, and he promised to do so. he visited me on board ship, and while he was there i had occasion to mount the rigging. he followed me up, and managed to push me as i was swinging from one of the ropes. i lost my balance and fell, with what result you already know." "the fiend!" cried eleanor, bitterly. "and i trusted him so." "his ability to inspire confidence has been his greatest asset," said her father dryly. "after leaving the gig that day at old point comfort, everything is a blank to me." "what brought back your memory?" asked douglas. "a chance remark overheard in a drinking hell of colon, panama. two days before that a man whose face was dimly familiar met me in the streets of cristobal and gave me his card, telling me i must ask for him at the navy department at washington, and that the secretary was keeping a place open for me. at the time, while his words impressed me deeply, they conveyed no very clear idea, nor did senator carew's name enlighten me; but they caused me to renew my efforts to remember the past, which i felt convinced was very different from my surroundings then. "as i have said, two days after i overheard two men plotting against the united states. toward the end of their conversation the younger man, whom i took to be an american, mentioned the name which woke the sleeping chords of memory--the name of my dearly loved wife, nora fitzgerald,"--his voice broke with a sob. eleanor raised his hand to her lips and kissed it tenderly. her father's grasp tightened involuntarily and he continued: "i hastened back to washington as soon as i could get here, working my passage, and on my arrival went to see secretary wyndham. the news of senator carew's death was a great shock, for i had depended on him to assist me to find my wife and child. i believe i had some sort of attack at the department, but all i recollect is finding myself again in the street." "what did you do then?" questioned douglas, as the older man paused. "i came on here, thinking i might find dana. he was out, but old nicodemus opened the door for me. he recognized me almost instantly; hurried me out into the kitchen, and there poured out such an extraordinary tale of dana's behavior that i sat dumfounded." "do tell us what he said," urged brett, hitching his chair forward. "in justice to myself i must," was the grave reply. "dana was a moral degenerate; brave to a fault, and very clever, he did not know the difference between right and wrong. if he had been content to keep straight he might have risen to high places; instead he practiced deceit and dishonor." thornton's sad face hardened. "he was always a first class actor, and that talent helped him in the double life he was leading. nicodemus told me that he was in the habit of disguising himself whenever he was up to deviltry." "ah, that explains why annette did not know that dana thornton was 'the mutual friend' to whom she delivered and from whom she received secret despatches," put in brett, who had followed captain thornton's words with breathless interest. "after what nicodemus told me i decided not to let my brother know of my presence here," continued captain thornton, "and so occupied an unused room in the garret, where nicodemus took care of me." "oh, why didn't you come to me?" asked eleanor passionately. "i did, dear; yesterday morning, but you were out." an exclamation broke from eleanor. "i did not leave any message or name, so you were not told of my visit. nicodemus told me of my wife's death, and of your presence in washington, eleanor. "how i kept my hands off dana i don't know!" thornton's eyes blazed with righteous indignation. "he was the cause of all my misfortunes. when possible i spied upon him; not an honorable occupation, but i felt i must fight the devil with fire. when i entered this room just now i intended to slay him, but providence intervened and gave him a more merciful death than i would have meted out to him." "i don't know about that," said brett; "in the hour of his triumph you snatched his victory from him. god only knows what thoughts were concentrated in his active brain when physical endurance succumbed to the shock of seeing you." "perhaps you are right," agreed thornton wearily. "i think that is all i have to tell you, gentlemen." "there is one question i feel i must ask," brett rose to his feet as he spoke. "did annette commit suicide, or was she killed by human or supernatural agency?" "i think my brother planned her murder; one crime more or less did not trouble his elastic conscience." "by heaven! she brought it on herself by offering to confess to colonel thornton what she knew of senator carew's murder. but how the devil did he accomplish it?" questioned brett. "the only door was locked on the inside, and no one could have entered by the windows. i examined all the wall space, thinking there might be a concealed entrance, but couldn't find a sign of one." "but you did not examine the floor of the closet," replied thornton. "it has a trapdoor cleverly concealed. the passage leads to a secret door which opens on the landing of the circular staircase leading from this floor to the next. my idea is that dana stole into the room, found the maid asleep, and blew out the gas, leaving her to be asphyxiated, and then returned to his room." "did you see him do this?"--sternly. "most certainly not. if i had had the faintest idea that he intended to murder the maid, i would have prevented the crime. i stayed downstairs last night, going over some papers in dana's desk until nearly three this morning. i was stealing up to my room when i saw miss carew coming down the hall, and, when she screamed and roused the household, i bolted into the secret passage opening from the stair landing." "i am exceedingly obliged to you, sir, for straightening out these mysteries," said brett, stepping to the door. "how much do you wish made public?" "only that which is absolutely necessary to clear the innocent from suspicion," returned thornton gravely. "i leave the matter to your judgment." "very good, sir; i'll hush it up as much as possible. good evening,"--and brett departed. eleanor slipped from the lounge where she had been lying. "wait for me here, father," she requested, as she left the room. "will you excuse me, mr. thornton," said fred lane, rising. "i would like to join mrs. truxton and cynthia for half an hour." "certainly, captain, and i will be exceedingly grateful if you will explain to mrs. truxton what has taken place here to-night. tell her as much or as little as you think necessary." "i will indeed, sir; good night," and lane, his step elastic as he thought of joining cynthia, hastened to mrs. truxton's room. eleanor was not long absent. walking over to the lounge, she laid a number of leather-bound journals on her father's knee. "mother kept a diary for you, father; she charged me never to part with it until we should meet, when i was to give it to you." thornton kissed her in silence. as eleanor stood hesitating, douglas' arm stole round her waist. "come with me, dear heart," he murmured. the lovelight transfigured his strong face and was reflected in her beautiful eyes. together they strolled to the door, but before passing out of the room eleanor paused and glanced back at her father. thornton's iron composure had given way, and his head was bowed over the familiar handwriting as he read through tear-dimmed eyes the messages of love and faith penned by his girl wife in the years that were no more. the end transcriber's notes: a change to the list of illustrations has been made to correct the typesetters' error for the placement of the illustration facing page . minor changes have been made to correct obvious typesetters' errors and regularize hyphenation. variant spellings have been retained. words and phrases that were typeset in the original book have been noted by an underscore (_) on each side of the word or phrase. dorothy's tour by evelyn raymond new york hurst & co., inc. publishers the dorothy books by evelyn raymond these stories of an american girl by an american author have made "dorothy" a household synonym for all that is fascinating. truth and realism are stamped on every page. the interest never flags, and is ofttimes intense. no more happy choice can be made for gift books, so sure are they to win approval and please not only the young in years, but also "grown-ups" who are young in heart and spirit. dorothy dorothy at skyrie dorothy's schooling dorothy's travels dorothy's house party dorothy in california dorothy on a ranch dorothy's house boat dorothy at oak knowe dorothy's triumph dorothy's tour _illustrated, mo, cloth price per volume, cents_ copyright, , by the platt & peck co. contents chapter. page. i. at bellevieu ii. alfaretta's letter iii. the preparations iv. in new york v. the carnegie concert vi. the opera vii. an episode viii. "america" ix. a dread call in the night x. the locket xi. the tour begins xii. in washington xiii. sight-seeing xiv. high honor xv. mt. vernon xvi. the lake city xvii. the accident xviii. conclusion dorothy's tour chapter i. at bellevieu. "dorothy!" called jim as he quickly searched the garden at bellevieu for her. "yes," answered dorothy, "i am here sitting under the big oak tree." "i have something for you," cried jim. "guess what?" "guess what?" echoed dorothy. "well it might be--oh! there are so many, many things it could be." "here, take it. its only a letter from new york, and never mind what might be in it, read it--" said jim, who was altogether too practical and never cared to imagine or suppose anything. all he wanted was real facts and true and useful facts at that, which is not a bad trait in a youth's character. dorothy broke the seal carefully and read the letter through once and then started to read it all over again, exclaiming every once in a while to herself, "oh, oh, dear. i am so glad!" and finally, "i must tell aunt betty at once." jim, who had been standing there forgotten all this time, broke in: "oh, i say, dolly doodles, can you tell me what this message is that so excites you that you have clear forgotten me?" "oh, jim dear," said dorothy, "it's too wonderful. just think, i am to start in two weeks for new york, where mr. ludlow will meet aunt betty and i." by this time jim and dorothy were walking rapidly toward the house, where at once they sought aunt betty to tell her the news, only to find that mrs. calvert had gone visiting. seeing old ephraim in the hall, dorothy ran up to him and said: "ephraim, do tell us where aunt betty has gone." "ah certainly does know, misses," answered old ephraim. "she o'de'd metty" (whom we remember as methuselah bonapart washington from the previous books, dorothy's triumph, house boat and oak knowe, and other volumes wherein our little heroine's story is told). "metty, he 'lowed he take her see dat lil lady. de man what gibs de music lessons' wife." "oh, i know now, ephy," said dorothy, "aunty went to see frau deichenberg. well, jim, we shall have to wait till aunt betty comes back to tell her our wonderful news. but dear me, what a forgetful girl i am. i haven't told you all yet. well, jim, it's a long story, so let's go back to the garden and i will tell you all there." so back to the old oak tree with the rustic seat beneath it they went. the garden in bellevieu looked its loveliest. it was early in september and all the fall flowers with their wondrous hues made the garden a regular fairy land. and lem, the little boy the campers had found on a memorable night, had been true to his word and had tended the garden faithfully. you will remember how lem haley had cried out at night and when found and protected by the little camping party had ridden back to bellevieu in the huge automobile. he, like all who knew aunt betty, mrs. cecil somerset calvert, had grown to love her and now tried hard to please her by keeping the garden at old bellevieu a feast for the eyes and a delight to all who came there. dorothy and jim seated themselves beneath the tree and dorothy started out by saying: "oh, jim, dear, i really am dreadfully nervous every time i think of starting out on that long trip through the united states and canada, as mr. ludlow says i must. you see this letter says that mr. ludlow will expect aunt betty and i to be at the pennsylvania station on september . that's, let's see----. oh, jim, what day does the th of september fall on?" dorothy at this period was a winsome girl indeed. she had good looks, which is always a worthy asset, then her artistic temperament and perhaps her musical training had combined with other natural attributes in the building of a character charmingly responsive. she had been frequently complimented for her musical talent, but bore her honor simply and unaffectedly. as a protege of mrs. calvert, jim had grown to be a fellow of manly aspect, and while in no way related to her, filled in some degree the place of a son in her heart and was a brother to every one else in the household. jim, who had been calculating the same while dorothy was talking, quickly responded, "tuesday." "oh, dear, i might have known that myself if i had only read on a ways instead of stopping just in the wrong place. mr. ludlow said that he would like me to play at a concert or two in new york before i start traveling for good. oh, i must play at a concert on thursday, the th. that is why he wants me to be in new york on tuesday so i can have one day to rest in. dear, thoughtful man to think of giving me a rest after my trip. oh, jim, if you could only come to new york with us!" "i can," said jim. "in fact i was going to keep that as a surprise, but i have saved enough money this summer to go to new york and be near you and with aunt betty when you play for the first time under this new contract." "jim," dorothy said, "you are just as thoughtful and kind as you can be and it will be so nice to have you with aunt betty, and i shall play all the better for knowing that out in the big, big audience there are you two whom i really care to please more than anyone else in the wide, wide world. jim, every one is so good to me and so kind in all things. oh, dear, oh, dear; do you really suppose that i will be a very great violinist?" "why dorothy calvert!" jim reproached. "you funny girl. you are a great violinist already, and in time you will be a very, very great violinist perhaps--who knows but what you might be the most famous violinist in the world? why, herr deichenberg thinks you are doing very wonderfully now, and you will practice just the same even if you are going on a concert tour. in fact you will have to practice harder----" "oh, jim, i must do my very best all the time and you can trust me to do that. but, come, let's go inside now. it's getting dark and aunt betty will soon be back." but the boy did not move, and finally said: "you stay here and finish telling me your plans and then we will go in." so dorothy reseated herself and told jim how mr. ludlow would tell her when she got to new york her future plans and that now all that he had written was for her to get ready for her trip, and on tuesday, the th of september, for her and her aunt betty to be in new york. "to think, jim," said dorothy, "that my one ambition in life has commenced to be realized. i have always longed for this day to come when i could really play to people, and now to be in a company with so many other artists and to tour all over. there are so many, many people who can play the violin better than i can, and for me to be chosen!" "dorothy, girl, it was because you worked so very, very hard, and as herr deichenberg, you know says, 'you have, mine girl, accomplished the impossible,' and now we are all so proud of you," jim gladly responded. "i tried so hard and all for dear, darling aunt betty, and she has been so good to me and to you and to everybody, no wonder everyone loves her," added dorothy. "jim, i am worried about aunt betty. you know how she lost so much money last year in those old investments that foolish lawyer made for her. well, she has always done so much for me that i am going to show her that i can take care of myself, and her too. just think, $ a week and all my expenses paid. and a private car for the party, aunt betty, and an attendant. i just couldn't go and leave aunty, so they managed to let me take her with me. do you think, jim, that traveling will hurt aunt betty?" "hurt her? indeed i do not," the boy said gravely, for he was thinking that aunt betty was no longer young and that she had been worried and tired most all summer, for she had insisted on staying near dorothy who couldn't leave baltimore because of her lessons and preparations for the fall, as herr deichenberg was working hard over his little protege so as to have a great success come of the tour. "you know, dorothy, the change will be good for her," jim volunteered. "and aunt betty enjoys nothing more than travel. she will enjoy the music, too, and most of all the very one thing that will give her most pleasure is the fact that she will be with you and near you to keep you from all kinds of harm and such things as are apt to go with such a trip. but, dorothy, dear girlie, don't think i mean that anything is going to hurt you or harm you in any way, but you see i mean aunt betty will be with you and it's not many a girl who has an aunt betty like yours." "jim, what a long, long speech for you. let's go inside," said dorothy. the two slowly walked around the garden, exclaiming at its beauty, till they reached the house. dorothy led jim into the music room, pushed him playfully into a chair, and taking her violin in her hand, said, "listen." jim sat there listening to what he thought was the most wonderful music in all the world. piece after piece the girl played, bringing out with clear, vibrating tones, the tunes she loved best, her body swaying to the music's rhythm. "surely," thought jim, "if the audiences do not care for dorothy's playing, and how they can help that i cannot see, they will immediately fall and worship at her personal charm and beauty," of which, thanks to aunt betty and the good mother martha's training, dorothy was wholly unconscious. how long they stayed there, neither of them could have told. and aunt betty, who had entered quite unseen, remained till old ephraim said from the doorway, "ah most surely wanted to excuse myself, but ah has been dere standing for most a hour and more than likely the dinner is spoilt, cause ah simply couldn't interrup' dat beautiful music." dorothy carefully put away her violin and ran to aunt betty telling her she had some brand new news. "let it wait, dorothy," said aunt betty, "till we are all at the dinner table. come, jim," and then they all went to the table, jim saying as he did that music sure did give him an appetite, and that that must be the reason they had music at so many of the new york hotels at meal time, or, as dorothy corrected him, at dinner. chapter ii. alfaretta's letter. "alfa, alfy," called ma babcock. "come 'ere quick, there's something 'ere fer ye." "ma, where are you," yelled alfy from the barnyard. "'ere in the kitchen," answered ma babcock. "all right," said alfy. "dunno as i know what you want," she continued to herself. "what is it, ma?" "'ere's a letter fer ye," ma babcock rejoined. "must be from dorothy. can't think of anyone else writing me, can you? i'll open it and see. "oh, ma! listen, listen! dear dorothy wants me right away. oh, how can i get to her; you couldn't get on without me, now. oh, dear, oh dear," wailed alfy, most in tears. "alfaretta babcock, come to your senses. a big girl like you, crying," scolded ma babcock. "tell me what dorothy says in her letter." alfaretta, reading-- "dear, dear alfy-- "in two weeks i start on my concert tour, and as i had not expected to go for more than a month at least, i want you to come and stay with me and i've got such a good proposition to make you. i will be very busy and will need you to help me get my clothes and things together. oh, alfy, dear, please, please come. don't you disappoint me. i just must see you again. it's been such an awful long time since you have stayed with me. tell ma babcock she simply must let you come. metty will meet you at the station. take the noon train. give my love to all the little babcocks and to ma. tell ma, baretta and claretta can help her while you are away, and i am sure that matthew will help too. oh, alfy, do, do come. with love, "ever your affectionate, "dorothy. "there, ma, that's what she says." "well, well, things do come sudden always. i must get my things on and drive down and tell 'em all at liza jane's thread and needle store to start the news a-spreadin'." "then i may go?" "matthew, hitch up barnabas, quick now," responded mrs. babcock, by way of response. "you, alfy, go inside in the front room and get your clothes out so we can see what's clean and what ain't." "ma! then i can go! oh, goody, goody! i am so glad. and i can start to-morrow--yes? oh please say yes!" coaxed alfy. inside in the front room, alfy working quickly, sorted things out and before ma babcock got back with a new pair of shoes for her, she had most of her things mended (as she was real handy with the needle), and nearly all packed in the old suit case pa babcock brought home with him from chicago. "alfy!" called ma from the kitchen. "try on these shoes and see as they're all right." "yes, ma," answered alfy, coming into the kitchen with thread and needle in one hand and shirt-waist in the other. "what shall i do with these? i can't take those shoes with these in my hand." "go back and take those things in and put them on the bed," said ma, getting vexed at alfy's excitement and trying to calm her down. alfy, after laying the things down, came back and took the shoes and some new ribbons ma had brought her from liza jane's and went back to the front room. "my, but these shoes are real smart. i think that they are and hope dorothy will. and shucks, no one has such pretty ribbons. black, that's kind of old and dull looking. i like the red much the best. the blue ones are real pretty, too. and my, but those red ribbons are pretty." and thus alfy talked to herself as she fussed around and tried to remember all the little things she wanted. "ma, ma," and alfy ran in the kitchen calling louder as she went: "where did you put my raincoat? you know i haven't used that one--the good one--since i was to california with dorothy." "well, let me see. reckon i did see you have it. so long ago i can't just remember. must a been last year some time. oh, did you look in the closet in the barn? upstairs in the room i had fixed for the boys to sleep in, but they got scared and wouldn't. you remember i put all the things we didn't use much up there." "i'll look. maybe it's up there," and alfy went out still talking to herself, while ma went all over the house, in all the closets, looking for that raincoat. it was a very fine raincoat, one just like dorothy's, only alfaretta's was red while dorothy's was gray. mrs. calvert had bought one for each of the girls in san francisco. alfy had put hers away when she reached home, hoping to be able to use it some time again, thinking it was too good for use "up mounting." alfy was now in the barn and had just reached the closed door when she heard a curious "tap-tap." alfy was not afraid. she never had been what the boys call a "scare-cat," but it seemed kind of funny, so she stood still and listened. "tap-tap." "my," thought alfy. "what's that? oh, it's----" "tap-tap," again and this time the sound came from right over alfaretta's head, making her start and her heart go thump, thump so loud she thought whoever it was tapping could hear it. she tried to move, but stood rooted to the spot. "tap-tap." this time to the right of the girl. then alfy summoned her lost courage and said as calmly as she could, "who's there?" no one responded, and in a few seconds, "tap-tap," came the sound to the left of the girl. then thoroughly scared, as the room was half dark and rapidly growing darker, alfy turned and ran, stumbling over an old stool as she tried to make the door in great haste. matthew heard her and came running up, saying: "what's the matter, sis?" he had been unhitching barnabas, as ma babcock was through with him now. "oh!" moaned alfy. "it's some one in the closet. i heard them tap-tapping and got scared and ran. gosh, my shin hurts! there!" giving the stool that had caused the disaster a vicious kick. "maybe--oh, alfy! maybe----" chimed in matthew. "maybe its a ghost." "ma! ma!" screached alfy. "ma! ma!" yelled matthew. both by this time were rapidly approaching the kitchen. "well," said ma babcock, "you--land o' livin'--you look as though you'd seen a ghost." "ma," murmured alfy, "we didn't see him, i heard him. he's in the closet in the barn." and then both children started in to talk and explain at the same time so that ma couldn't understand a word. "here, you--you alfy, tell me all. you, matthew, keep still," she exclaimed. then alfy told her how she heard the tapping on the door of the closet. "come, we'll all go back and see," said ma babcock, and with that they all started for the barn, alfy limping after ma and matthew. when they reached the upstairs room they tip-toed to the closet and listened, and after waiting a few minutes and hearing nothing, ma called loudly, "is anyone in there?" no answer came. then she quickly flung open the closet door, and what did they hear but the flutter, flutter of wings, and then they saw, perched high on the lintel of the door, a little wood-pecker. "there," said ma babcock, "there is what made those tap-taps, a wood-pecker. just as if i didn't know there couldn't be any ghosts. and a great big girl like you, alfaretta, being scared of a little bird." with that they all breathed a sigh of relief, and matthew and ma went down out of the barn, leaving alfaretta to look over the contents of the well packed closet, to find, if possible, her raincoat. "my, my, just think what a lot i shall have to tell dorothy. i wonder what she will say. just a bird. shucks. i thought it was a real ghost. but ma says there are no really real ghosts. but, well, i don't know." all this time alfy had been opening boxes and shutting them, putting them back where she had found them, when suddenly she came across an old sampler about a foot square. alfy looked at it, then brought it to the lamp and could see lots of new and hard stitches she had never learned. she didn't see how anyone could sew them at all. and, my--what was that in the corner? a name. "well," thought alfy, "here is a find. maybe i can beg it off ma, and then i can take it to dorothy." she had almost forgotten her raincoat, when she went back to the closet and looked in the box again to see if there was anything else new there, and then discovered her precious raincoat in the bottom of the big box. hastily closing the box and shoving things back in the closet, with her raincoat and the queer old sampler, alfy ran hurriedly downstairs and through the yard and into the kitchen. ma babcock had by this time prepared dinner and just as alfy came in she called all the children to the dinner table. "ma," exclaimed alfy, "i found my raincoat, and this, too. what is it?" "let me see." "let me see." "and me," chimed in all the little babcocks, trying to get possession of what alfy was holding. "be quiet," said ma, sternly. "give it to me, alfy." alfy handed her the sampler and ma babcock exclaimed: "poor hannah! poor hannah!" "what hannah? and was she very poor--poorer than we?" lisped little luke, the youngest of the babcocks. "ma, who did you say?" demanded alfaretta. "why, alfy, this is a sampler made by one of my little playmates years and years ago. a delicate little girl was hannah woodrow. she came up here summering, and then 'cause she was broken in health stayed all one year with me. she could sew so very well. she made that sampler and left it with me when the folks did take her back to baltimore with them. she married--deary me--maybe she married some one named--haley, i think. that's what it was; and i ain't heard from her since." "ma, can i have the sampler?" asked alfy. "i would like to take it to baltimore to show dorothy." "well, i s'pose i must say yes, if you want to show it to dorothy calvert, and 'pears to me mrs. calvert might like to see it, too," remarked ma. "but come now, dinner is getting cold and you must get to bed early, alfaretta, if you want to catch that early train for baltimore, and like as not you've fooled your time away and haven't packed a single thing." but alfy showed her mother she had been very busy and had all her things ready to start. so she went off gladly to bed, dreaming that all was ready and that she had departed for dorothy, which, indeed, the next morning was a reality. chapter iii. the preparations. "you dear, dear alfy," piped dorothy, joyously as she ran to meet alfy, whom metty had just brought up from the station to the house. "oh, dorothy, i am so glad to see you," rejoined alfy with none the less joy than dorothy had displayed. "i just must kiss you again." "did you have an uneventful trip?" asked dorothy, drawing her friend into the house. "just simply took train and arrived, that was all." "metty, you see that alfy's things are taken up to the blue room." then turning to alfaretta again, "aunt betty is upstairs in the sewing room. we shall go straight to her. i believe she is just longing to get a sight of you again, just as much as i was when i wrote you." "oh, mrs. calvert, i am so glad to see you again--aunt betty," said alfy, going over to aunt betty's chair and putting both arms around her and kissing her several times. "why, jim, i do declare. you here, too? dorothy didn't say you were here in her letter." alfy then went to the doorway where jim was standing and gave him a hard hug. "oh, it's just like the old times." jim blushed a rosy red and said awkwardly, "i'm so glad to see you, alfy. it's been more than a year since you have seen me, isn't it?" jim decidedly disliked to be fussed over, and although he had known alfy all his life just as he had dorothy, he always felt confused and ill at ease when either of the girls kissed him or embraced him in any way. now all the other boys, so gerald often told him, would only be too glad to stand in his shoes. "come, alfy," said dorothy, leading alfaretta upstairs one more flight. "here is your room. and see, here are all your things. now hurry and clear up, and put your things where they belong. when you have finished, come down to the sewing room and we will talk as we work." "i'll be there in less than no time," called alfy. dorothy then went back to the sewing room and picked up her sewing. there she and aunt betty worked till alfy put in an appearance. "see, i have my needles, thimble, thread and all, all in this little apron pocket. and this apron will save me lots of time, for when i'm through sewing all i have to do is take the apron off and shake the threads into the waste basket and not have to spend most half an hour picking threads off my dress," said practical alfy. "well, alfy," said mrs. calvert, "that is surely a very good idea. what can i give you to sew? we must all be kept busy, and then dorothy will tell you her plans. maybe you could baste up the seams of this skirt," handing the skirt to alfaretta, who immediately began to sew up the seams. dorothy then unburdened herself of the good news and told alfy how mr. ludlow, her manager, had written for her to be in new york on tuesday, the th, and be ready to play at a concert on thursday, and shortly after to start on her trip. then, best of all, how besides a very liberal salary, she could have accompanying her, with all charges paid, her dear aunt betty and a companion. would alfy be the companion? alfaretta was astonished and delighted, and her joy knew no bounds. she felt sure ma babcock would allow her to go. such wonderful vistas of happiness the plan suggested, it was long before the subject was exhausted. aunt betty then told alfaretta that she and dorothy were making some simple little dresses for dorothy's use while away. "but, aunt betty," asked alfy, "what are you going to wear?" "why, alfy," replied aunt betty. "i have ordered a black serge suit for traveling, and some neat white waists. then i am having mrs. lenox, frau deichenberg's dressmaker, make me a couple of fancy dresses, too, both of them black, but one trimmed more than the other." "and alfy, mrs. lenox is making me a couple of dresses, too. one pink one for the very best, and one white one for the next best. these i shall have to wear at some of the concerts," added dorothy. "i would like to know what these are that we are sewing on," demanded alfy. "why," answered dorothy, "these are simple white dresses, the kind i have always worn, and most always shall." "dorothy calvert," remarked alfy, very sternly, "they are as pretty as they can be, even if they are plain. they are very substantial and can be washed and worn many times without hurting the dress. you know very well fancy dresses are so hard to launder." "and, dear," said aunt betty, "you know, dorothy, the people go to the concerts to hear you play, not to see what you wear and i have always liked my little girl best in just this kind of white dress. now, dear, go down and practice awhile so as you will be able to play just the best you know how to when you go to herr deichenberg to take your lesson. for, dorothy, you will not have many more lessons from herr before you go away. and maybe if we finish up some of this sewing i will let alfaretta go with you to herr's for your lesson. frau deichenberg said that herr was not feeling very well and had a bad cough, so that when i was there night before last she said, 'maybe miss dorothy would not mind coming here for her lesson.' i told her you would come." with that dorothy walked slowly from the room, very much worried about her dear herr deichenberg, as she knew he was getting old and was afraid his cough might develop into something worse. she reached the music room and practiced faithfully for more than an hour. when she had put the violin away and was about to leave the music room, some one called her. she turned and saw jim on the veranda outside the window, and crossing the room and lifting up the french sash she said, "what is it, jim?" "i just wanted to tell you something," the boy answered. "while you were practicing, gerald banks came up here in his automobile. he wanted to see you. i told him he couldn't as you were very busy practicing." dorothy liked to have jim assume authority over her in this manner, and questioned gayly: "well, father jim, what did he want?" "he just wanted to take you autoing in the morning," jim replied, "so i went upstairs to aunt betty and told her." "dear, thoughtful jim," interrupted dorothy. "what did aunt betty have to say?" "aunt betty said," replied jim, "that he could come around about ten o'clock to-morrow morning and take you and alfy to herr deichenberg's when you could take your lesson. then--well, i guess i won't tell you. i will let you be surprised. you wait and see!" "oh, jim! please, please tell me? i must know now, really i must. please, please," begged dorothy. "i shan't tell," remarked jim, slowly walking away from her. "jim! jim!" called dorothy, running after him. "dear jim, please, please tell me." "girls certainly are curious creatures," soliloquized jim, as dorothy had turned on her heel and was walking quickly toward the door, saying to herself, but loud enough for jim to hear, "well, aunt betty will tell me, i'm sure." "aunt betty. oh, aunt betty!" called dorothy as she burst into the sewing room where aunt betty and alfy were still sewing. "jim says--oh, i mean, you must tell me what the surprise is for to-morrow. he said gerald would take me to herr deichenberg's for my lesson in the morning and then he wouldn't tell me any more." "well, can't my little girl wait till then and see what more, for herself? that's much better than having some one tell you," remonstrated aunt betty. "i'll tell you, dorothy," said alfy. "you will?" interrupted dorothy, "you dear." "don't interrupt me, dorothy. i was going to say--what was i going to say?" said alfy. "i know. i said i'd tell you--well, i meant to say i would tell you that a surprise isn't a surprise if you know beforehand." "i thought you were going to tell me," remarked dorothy, "but you didn't even intend to." "i guess my little girl will have to wait," severely murmured aunt betty, kissing dorothy, who by this time was standing very near her aunt's chair. "well," said dorothy, "i guess i shall have to." so she sat down and took up her sewing again. all three carefully sewed in silence for some time till aunt betty said: "dorothy, girl, i think you could try on this dress, now." "certainly," replied dorothy. "i am sure i ought to be quite willing." aunt betty and alfy fitted the dress carefully, altering the seams in the shoulders and cutting out the neck some. before they had stopped sewing they had nearly finished this dress and had two others well under way. putting away their sewing carefully so as they could start again early in the morning, they all went to their rooms to dress for dinner. they had a quiet meal after which dorothy played for them awhile, and then they all sang songs, each choosing the songs they liked best. thus they spent a quiet but most enjoyable evening. they retired early as alfy was quite tired after her long journey and wanted to get a good night's sleep. they had an early breakfast of pancakes and maple syrup of which alfy was very fond, and soon after, the three were busy again in the sewing room. there they stayed, quietly working and talking, alfy telling of the little babcocks, till it was time for the girls to get ready for the automobile ride. dorothy had apparently forgotten all about the surprise for she never even mentioned it at all. "alfy," said dorothy, when they were most ready, "when we get to herr deichenberg's you must be very quiet as i take my lesson and not say anything at all. you know herr does not like to be disturbed while he gives a lesson. you will find many curious things to look at, and if you want to ask about any of them, you just remember what you want to ask about and tell me after." alfy promised, and in a few minutes the girls heard gerald toot his automobile horn. quickly they ran, waving good-bye and throwing kisses to aunt betty, who was looking out of the second story window. with jim seated beside gerald, they started. dorothy told gerald the direction to take and after a very short time they drew up at herr deichenberg's little cottage. the girls descended and bade jim and gerald good-bye. "oh, dorothy," gerald called back, "when shall i return for you?" dorothy, greatly surprised, questioned, "you are coming back, gerald?" "surely." "oh, goody, goody. be here at twelve o'clock. that will bring us back home in time for lunch at one o'clock." alfy, who thought the previous ride had been to short altogether, exclaimed "oh, i'm so, so, so glad. we can have another ride. oh, dorothy, i do just love automobiling, i really do." frau deichenberg came to the door just then and ushered the two girls into the cozy living-room where they laid aside their wraps. "herr is in the studio," murmured frau. "he is awaiting you there, miss dorothy." "i'll go right up," answered dorothy. "now frau deichenberg, do not bother with alfy at all. she can amuse herself till i finish." with that dorothy ascended the stairs and frau, after excusing herself by saying she must tend dinner as they always had dinner at noon--herr wanted it so--left alfy alone. alfy roamed about the room and examined all kinds of curios,--queer baskets, curious vases, old fans and precious paintings and etchings. so quickly did the time pass that she never noticed dorothy as she came into the room. "well, alfy, all ready to go home?" chirped dorothy from behind her. "well, well, i never knew you were through. when did you come into the room, just now?" asked alfy. "yes, alfy, just now, and if i'm not mistaken, there is gerald tooting his horn outside--he must be hailing us," remarked dorothy. the girls quickly donned their coats, bid good-bye to frau, and departed. dorothy exclaimed in delight, "look, look, alfy, its dear aurora, she must have come too! oh, you dear, dear girl, i am so glad to see you!" and dorothy embraced her, fondly kissing her several times. "alfy, this is aurora banks, gerald's sister. aurora, you have heard me speak of alfaretta many times, i am sure." "oh, i am so glad to know you," heartily responded aurora, "dorothy is always talking of you." "well, jim, now i know what the surprise is," laughed dorothy, "its aurora." "now, that's all wrong," warned gerald, "altogether wrong." "no it isn't, is it jim?" remarked dorothy. "well, yes and no," tactfully put in jim. "the real surprise is this,--aunt betty has ordered a luncheon for all of us, a farewell luncheon for you, dorothy, and we are all invited; so let's hurry home. i'm hungry for one." "and i--i am most near starved," cried alfy. the young people reached home just as luncheon was ready, and my! what a luncheon it was; all declared there never was a finer. chapter iv. in new york. "good-bye--good-bye--dear old bellevieu," sang dorothy. "good-bye all for a long, long time, for to-day has my career begun." aunt betty looked sadly at the dear old home and felt very loathe to part from it and its comforts. then all, dorothy, alfaretta, jim and aunt betty, waved fond farewells to the faithful old force of servitors who stood lined up in the doorway. "oh, jim, boy," wailed alfaretta, "we will soon be in new york and then i shall have to say good-bye to you for, goodness only knows how long it will be before i see you again." "that's right, alfy dear," replied jim, "always look for trouble. just think of the good times we'll all have in new york before dorothy really starts to travel." "well, i suppose i might have thought of that, but i didn't," answered alfy. "there is only a short drive now to the station," added aunt betty, "and i think you could get our tickets, jim. take this money and get four tickets for new york on the noon train, i think we have plenty of time to catch it." "i am so sorry that herr and frau are not with us. i just hate to go without him. it hardly seems right, does it, aunty," asked dorothy. "you know, dorothy, that herr has a very bad cold, and such a cough, i am quite worried about him. he would have come in spite of all that but frau would not let him. i think frau deichenberg did a wise thing in keeping him home," replied aunt betty. "seems as if i am not going to have a very happy start," lamented dorothy. "i wanted herr to hear me play and criticise." "dorothy, girl, cheer up. that's no way to be when you are about to start on a career," sternly admonished jim. "you have every reason to be happy." in the rush and excitement of getting the tickets and finding out just when and where the train came in, dorothy forgot her sorrow. they all bid good-bye to metty, who had driven them to the station and who drove away mourning to himself as he went, "deedy, deedy. lonesome, ve'y, ve'y lonesome will ole bellevieu be wi'out de misses and de li'le misses dere." they were at last all seated on the train and quickly were speeding toward new york. dorothy and alfaretta were sitting together talking happily of the people in the car and of the passing, ever changing scenery. aunt betty and jim were in the seat just in back of them. suddenly the latter reached into his pocket and procured a letter, handing it to aunt betty to read, explaining he had written the edison co., of new york, and that that was their answer. aunt betty carefully read the letter through and turning to jim, asked, "what are you going to do about it, my boy?" "that's just what i would like to know," answered jim. "i always wanted to go to college, and have saved as much as i could, but i can't quite see my way clear to go there yet. i have studied very hard all along and have learned a great deal about electricity. the books mr. winters left me have helped me very much, but i am very far behind in some subjects required for entrance to college. my languages are very poor as is my history, and i write a very poor hand." "well, jim," answered aunt betty, "i am sure i do not know just what i would have you do in this case. the offer is for work in the--what department is it?" "the position is in the department of installation as assistant to the superintendent. the company is a very desirable one to be in. i have heard that they are very fair and that one who works well stands good chances," replied jim. "i think we had better talk this over with someone before you decide one way or the other," added aunt betty. "maybe mr. ludlow could tell us something of it." "i would have to live in new york," remarked jim, "and where i do not know." "i should see that you were well established in your new place before i left new york," aunt betty said. "you are always so good, aunt betty," answered jim. "the salary they have offered me is not very large, but is is twenty-five dollars a week." "did mr. sterling have anything to do with trying to get you the place, jim?" asked aunt betty. "yes and no," responded jim. "i used a letter from him for reference." "well," rejoined aunt betty, "i think we had better leave the matter open and not say anything more about it till we talk it over with mr. ludlow. don't say anything to the girls as yet for it will be quite a surprise for them." by this time the train was nearing new york and dorothy asked aunt betty if they had not better get fixed up. quickly gathering their things together, they left the train to find mr. ludlow waiting for them. mr. ludlow expected to take aunt betty and dorothy right to the martha washington, where they could stay till dorothy was ready to start on her tour, but jim presented a new problem for the martha washington was a hotel for ladies only and no men can stay there. so calling a couple of taxicabs, he hustled dorothy, aunt betty and alfaretta in one, and taking the other with jim he ordered the man to drive to the prince arthur. they reached their destination very quickly and mr. ludlow arranged for rooms for all. leaving them in the possession, so to speak, of a bell-boy, he departed, saying he would see them early in the morning for a little while to tell dorothy briefly what she would have to do for the next few days. the bell-boy conducted alfaretta, dorothy and aunt betty to the seventh floor, where, unlocking a door, he disclosed to them three very nice connecting rooms, and leaving them there he took jim down the hall a few doors and showed him his room. once inside the room, alfy murmured faintly three or four times, "oh!" "what's the matter, alfy?" asked dorothy. "i just can't get used to elevators," replied alfy. "what nice rooms"--walking through them--"three rooms"--looking at them again--"two bedrooms--one parlor." "two bedrooms and one sitting room," corrected dorothy. "you take the single bedroom, aunt betty, and alfy and i can use the double one." alfy picked up her things and took them to the smaller bedroom and taking off her hat and coat and hanging them in the closet, she started immediately to unpack. "what a lovely room ours is," remarked alfy, "it's such a pretty pink and white." aunt betty took off her things and dorothy insisted she go in the sitting room and stay there till they had unpacked everything. shortly they heard a knock at the door. alfy ran to open it. it was jim. coming into the room, he said, "i have a nice little room, but as i finished unpacking my things i thought i would come in here and see how you were." "we are all settled now," said aunt betty. "dorothy and alfy have been quite busy. but children, come now, we must all dress for dinner. when you are ready, jim, come back here." jim was ready in no time, so he went into dorothy's sitting room and waited there, reading a magazine. very shortly the girls were ready and they all descended into the large dining room. alfy, clinging to dorothy's hand, said, "oh, dorothy dear, i am quite scared. what shall i do?" "do just as i do," whispered the more experienced dorothy, quietly leading alfy into the room. odd it is that those accustomed to hotel life are inapt to think of the trepidation of the novice or new comer. the head waiter conducted them to a table in the corner, then handed them his bill of fare. "what would you like to have?" aunt betty asked alfaretta. "oh, dear, most anything suits me, just what i would like to have i can't think. i want just what dorothy orders," answered alfy. "well, dorothy girl," said aunt betty, turning to her, "what will it be?" "i would like--oh, let me see. can we have oysters, aunt betty?" asked dorothy. "then steak and baked potatoes. for salad just plain lettuce with french dressing." "yes, that will do very nicely, dear, and we can have ice cream for dessert," answered aunt betty, who gave the order to the waiter. shortly after they were served and all voted that they were enjoying a delightful repast. "what kind of ice cream would you like, alfy?" asked aunt betty. "strawberry," promptly answered alfy, "it's so nice and pink." "chocolate for me," cried dorothy. "and for me, too," joined in jim. "i think i shall have plain vanilla," added aunt betty, laughing. when dinner was over and a very pleasant meal it was, they all went up to dorothy's sitting room for a quiet evening. "oh, dorothy and aunt betty, i had just the best dinner i have ever had. i must, i just must write it all to ma babcock, she will sure want to tell it at liza jane's." with that alfy crossed the floor and entered her room where she wrote a long, long letter home telling her mother of the wonders of a new york hotel. "ting-ling-ling-ling," bussed the telephone in the hall. dorothy answered the call saying, "hello. oh! why we are all up here. where? oh, yes, in the sitting room. yes. yes. now? all right. good-bye." turning to aunt betty, dorothy said, "it's mr. ludlow." "what did he want, dear?" asked aunt betty. "he is coming right up here," replied dorothy. "there, that's him now. didn't you hear a knock?" opening the door she found mr. ludlow there. "come in, mr. ludlow." mr. ludlow came in and deposited his gloves, cane and hat on a vacant space upon the table, then he sat down and turning to dorothy said: "i suppose, little girl, you are very, very curious to know where you are going to play to-morrow--no, not to-morrow--the next day." "yes, i am," timidly responded dorothy. "well, i am going to give you a treat. to-morrow i am going to ask aunt betty to take all you young folks to a matinee. i hope i have picked out a play that will suit you all. i have chosen 'rebecca of sunnybrook farm.' i suppose you are quite familiar with the little heroine, dorothy." "no, mr. ludlow, i am sorry to say i do not know her." "oh dear, dorothy didn't i get you the book to read?" asked aunt betty. "yes, aunt betty," answered dorothy, "but molly took it home with her. she wanted something to read on the cars." "well, well, never mind, you will enjoy the play all the more for not having read the story. here are the seats, mrs. calvert. and, dorothy, i would like you to notice the naturalness of the characters in the play, and profit by it. naturalness and ease mean a great deal for you,--self possession--poise, my dear." "what about the concert? where is that? when? here i am asking questions faster than you can answer them," remarked dorothy. "in time, in time, my dear," responded mr. ludlow. "thursday i will call for you here and take you with me to carnegie hall, where, my dear, you will render two pieces. the rest of the concert has been arranged for, and the small part left for you will not scare you, but only help to get you used to playing before large audiences. now, dorothy child, what would you like to play? this time you can choose your own pieces." "i should like to play what aunt betty and jim like best," answered dorothy; "they hear me play oftener than anyone else." "my choice is 'das gude vom lied,' by schuman," replied aunt betty. "and mine is 'rondo a capriccio,' by beethoven," said jim. "all right, all right, they will suit exactly," added mr. ludlow. "mr. ludlow," remarked aunt betty, "i would like to take up a few minutes of your time when you are finished with dorothy." "i shall be through in just a few minutes, madam," answered mr. ludlow. "do you want me to play again in new york?" questioned dorothy. "yes, just once more, my dear," answered mr. ludlow. "that is on saturday night at the hippodrome, at . p. m. it's a benefit concert for the blind babies of new york. many famous people are offering their talent. you do not mind playing there, do you? your future plans we will discuss later, but that will be all for now. no--i shall have to know what you are going to play there. may i suggest that 'southern medley' you play so well, and one other piece, say shubert's 'serenade.' now have a good time to-morrow and be ready at one o'clock sharp, on thursday." "what i wanted to say, mr. ludlow, was concerning jim. he is thinking of taking a business proposition with the edison company as assistant in the department of installation," added aunt betty. "why, really, mrs. calvert, i hardly know much about that line of business, but judging from hearsay i should say that jim was very lucky indeed to get such an offer," answered mr. ludlow. "haven't you any business friends in new york?" "why mr. ford, the railroad man might help," announced jim from his corner. "by all means see mr. ford," said mr. ludlow. "it's getting very late and i must go." "i will be ready for you in time on thursday. and thank you, oh so much, for the tickets for to-morrow," replied dorothy. chapter v. the carnegie hall concert. "oh, dear, what a lazy girl i am. nine o'clock and i have not had breakfast. what day is it? thursday,--and mr. ludlow coming here at one o'clock. i must hurry for i must practice some," murmured dorothy to herself. "dorothy girl, are you still in bed?" called aunt betty from the next room. "i'll be with you in just a minute, aunty dear. i'm most ready. oh, alfy, please help me,--please," called dorothy. "all right," replied alfy, "do you need me to do up the back of your dress?" "yes, and that's all. i'm so late. i did want to write frau this morning, too," said dorothy crossly. "come, let's go to breakfast." after breakfast dorothy practiced and aunt betty and alfaretta took a walk and visited some of the large stores where they did a little shopping, aunt betty buying the girls each a pair of long white gloves and an irish-lawn collar at altman's. dorothy was all dressed and waiting for them when they got home. she had on a very simple white dress, one they had made, with just a touch of pink, a small pink bow, at the waist, and a pink hair ribbon. she had practiced the two compositions thoroughly and felt that she knew them perfectly. true, she did feel a slight bit nervous, but in her past experience when she had her violin in her hands she lost self-consciousness and became wrapped up in her music. "dorothy," called alfy, "we are home, and, see, aunt betty bought me these. they are so pretty and i always did want them. i'm so glad i have them. but you go to aunt betty, she has something for you." "you are a funny girl, alf," answered dorothy. "you have been talking away and i haven't any idea what you were trying to get at. aunt betty, where are you?" "in the sitting room, dear," answered aunt betty. "what is alfy talking about, aunt betty?" asked dorothy, walking into the room. "this and this," replied aunt betty, holding up two packages. "these are for you, dear." dorothy, taking the two packages and kissing her aunt, murmured: "you dear, dear aunt betty. i must see what's inside." she carefully opened the first and exclaimed as she drew forth a long pair of white gloves, "oh, goody, goody. just what i have been longing for." and then opening the second package she found it contained a very beautiful irish crochetted collar. "aunt betty! you dear, dear aunt betty. just think how fine this will look with my gray coat. just like all the girls we see here in new york. you are the best aunt ever a girl had." dorothy then gathered up her treasures and took them with her into the next room to put them away. aunt betty went into alfy's room and said, "alfy dear, if you will give me your coat i will help you sew the collar on it so you can wear it this afternoon." "oh! that will be fine! i can wear it to the concert. and can i wear the red hair ribbon ma babcock bought me from liza jane's?" said alfy. "ting-a-ling. ting-a-ling," rang the telephone bell. dorothy rushed across the room to answer it and found that mr. ludlow was waiting for her below in a taxicab. "good-bye, aunt betty, dear," called dorothy; then running into her aunt's room she kissed her several times. "you will all surely come. i do need you all there." "we'll be there in plenty of time, dorothy dear," answered aunt betty. "now run along girlie, and don't forget your violin." "here it is," cried alfy from the next room, "i'll bring it to you." "you're a dear, alfy," called dorothy, who by this time was already in the hall. mr. ludlow escorted dorothy to the taxicab, getting in with her and, shutting the door, he directed the driver to go to carnegie hall. "well, dorothy, child," asked mr. ludlow, "is everything all right? you are not scared, are you? you just try to do your best and everything will be fine." "i'm not scared, i'm sure of that; but do you think the people will like me?" questioned dorothy. "sure of that, my dear, sure of that. all you must do is just be your very own self," laughed mr. ludlow. "but here we are and we must get out." the driver stopped the cab and they quickly descended and walked into the building. "now, dorothy, i am going to show you around the place. just follow me," directed mr. ludlow. dorothy looked at the large room and the many chairs and said hesitatingly, "will it be crowded?"--and when mr. ludlow said he hoped so, she sighed and murmured: "my, what a lot of people i shall have to please!" then she added softly to herself, "jim, alfy and aunt betty; they will surely be pleased and the rest will, too, if i can make them." mr. ludlow then led dorothy to the stage and made her walk up and down and all over the place so that she would get familiar with it. "mr. ludlow," asked dorothy, "where shall i stand?" "right about here," answered mr. ludlow, walking to the front of the stage and a little to the left. "don't face directly front." "is this right?" asked dorothy, taking the position mr. ludlow requested. "that will do,--that will do just right," answered mr. ludlow. "now come inside and i will take you to see some of the noted artists who are going to play or sing." he led dorothy in from the stage and through a long narrow passage which terminated in a large room where there were numerous chairs, tables and couches. dorothy noticed three or four girls talking together in the center of the room but those in other groups all seemed to be older. mr. ludlow walked over to the group in the center of the room and addressing a small, fair girl, said, "good afternoon, miss boothington." the girl turned and seeing mr. ludlow, exclaimed, "mr. ludlow, i am so glad you are here. i did want you to hear my singing and criticize. you will, will you not?" "miss boothington, that shall be as you please. but now let me present you to a little friend of mine. this," remarked mr. ludlow, turning to dorothy, "is miss dorothy calvert, and dorothy, this is my ward, miss ruth boothington. miss boothington sings, and will be one of our companions on your trip." "i am so glad to meet you, miss calvert," replied miss boothington. "as we are to be so much together, please call me dorothy if you will," interrupted dorothy. "and you will call me ruth," miss boothington remarked. "i know we shall have some very fine times together. and you are a solo violinist?" "yes, i play the violin," answered dorothy. "are you going to sing to-day?" "yes," answered ruth. "at least i am going to try to." "here, here. that will never do, miss ruth. you should have said that you would sing. of course you would sing," remarked mr. ludlow. turning to dorothy, he said, "well, dorothy, i think i shall leave you here with miss boothington. i guess she can take care of you. i am going to the front and will sit with your aunt betty." with that mr. ludlow left the two girls and walked out and around front where he looked for aunt betty. "is this the place? my, ain't it big!" exclaimed alfy, as aunt betty and jim followed her to the door. "i have our tickets here," remarked jim, presenting them to the doorkeeper. "i guess we shall have to go right in and get our seats," added aunt betty. "keep close to me, alfy, and jim, you see that alfy doesn't get lost." they were at last ushered into a large box on the right side of the house. "my, what a lot of seats. is there going to be people in all of them?" asked alfy, leaning so far out of the box that she almost fell over the rail. "here! you sit still," sharply corrected jim. "and, alfy, try to act like a young lady, not like a back-woods little girl. sit still." alfy reluctantly subsided and appeared to be rather angry. aunt betty, noticing this said, "watch me, alfy, and do as i do and you will be all right." "good-afternoon, mr. ludlow," said jim, making room for him. "good-afternoon, all," answered mr. ludlow, seating himself next aunt betty. "did you come to keep us company all the afternoon?" asked aunt betty. "or did you just wish to hear dorothy play?" "i thought you wouldn't mind if i sat with you," replied mr. ludlow. "i have quite a few young friends who are to help entertain us this afternoon. i do hope you shall enjoy them." ruth had, in the meantime, presented dorothy to the other girls in the group, and they all chattered gayly for a while. ruth glanced at her watch, and drawing dorothy aside, said, "let's sit down quietly for a few minutes, and say nothing at all. it always helps to calm you and give you self-possession." the girls walked to a far end of the room and sat down, keeping silent for several minutes. then ruth broke the silence by asking, "where is your violin, dorothy?" "i guess it's over there where we were standing before," replied dorothy, rising and making her way quickly to the spot. but no violin was visible. "my!" exclaimed ruth. "what did you do with it?" "oh," lamented dorothy, "i don't know." "where did you have it last?" questioned ruth. "i had it home in the hotel," moaned dorothy, most in tears. "i remember i did bring it. alfy handed it to me and i took it in the taxi." "in the taxi? that's where you left it, you foolish child," interrupted ruth. "how, oh how, can i get it? i must have it. i have to play," groaned dorothy. "run! run and telephone. call up the new york taxicab company," breathlessly exclaimed ruth. "oh, oh, dorothy, i must go! i must! i just must, yet how can i leave you here--but i have got to sing now. oh, i am all out of breath." "stop talking, you dear girl, and go and sing your best so as to make them give you an encore, anything to gain more time for me. now go!" and dorothy kissed her and pushed her forward. running down the length of the room, she flew into a telephone booth, and hastily searching out the number called up columbus , . "hello, hello," called dorothy, frantically. "hello! is--has--a man come back with a violin in his taxicab--i must have it! i have to play! yes. yes. yes. no. no. good-bye." she hung up the receiver, and sat back despondently. the cab had not returned in which she had ridden to the hall. "oh, what shall i do! no violin and my turn to play next. what shall i do, oh, what shall i do?" "miss calvert," called the boy. "your turn next." "oh, dear," moaned dorothy, "see if you can borrow an instrument for me from one of the musicians in the orchestra." just then a man rushed into the room carrying a violin under his arm. dorothy ran up to him and fairly snatched the precious thing out of his arms, exclaiming, "i can play now. i can. i can! oh, thank you, thank you! but i must go. please come to the prince arthur to-night at . p. m. i will see you then." with that she dashed off, and trying to calm herself, walked upon the stage. she carefully positioned herself just where mr. ludlow had told her to stand, and waiting for the introduction to be played by the orchestra, looked around the house, and discovering the box party, smiled at them gayly. when the last few bars of the music were played, gracefully placing her violin in position she commenced to draw her bow gently across the strings and produced clear, vibrant tones. her body moved rhythmically, swaying back and forward in perfect accord with the music. the audience listened spellbound, and when she had finished the whole house echoed with applause. she then walked slowly off the stage, only to be motioned back again to play an encore which she did with as much success as she had scored with her first piece. when she turned from the stage the second time ruth, who was waiting in the wings, whispered in her ear, "dorothy dear, you did just splendidly, and you will surely be a great success. the people applauded you so very much i thought they would never stop." "oh, i'm so glad. i do hope mr. ludlow liked it, and is satisfied with me," murmured dorothy. "i can answer that, dorothy," said a voice in back of her that belonged to mr. ludlow, who had left the box just as dorothy had finished playing and come to speak to them. "both of you girls did very well indeed. very well indeed. but come now with me and we'll go around and sit in the box and listen to the rest of the concert. i want to hear it all." with that they traced their way back and soon were seated with the rest of the party. dorothy told them all about how she had lost her violin and at the last minute recovering it vowed that she would be more careful of it in the future. the little party was loud in its praises of dorothy's playing and ruth's singing, for dorothy presented her new friend to them as soon as she could. that evening they learned that it was the chauffeur of the taxicab who had found the violin in the auto before he had returned to the garage, and he had immediately started back for the hall with it, knowing it would be needed. dorothy sent a letter of thanks and a reward, and aunt betty, learning the next day that he had a little boy with a broken leg in the hospital, sent a large basket of fruit for the young sufferer. chapter vi. the opera. the girls spent the next day in a very quiet manner. the morning passed quickly as they wrote letters and fixed up their rooms. about dinner time jim knocked at the door and dorothy answered. "dorothy, i have written and 'phoned mr. ford and i can't seem to get any answer from him," announced jim. "what did you want him for, jim?" questioned dorothy. "why, i wanted to get his opinion on that position i want to take with the edison co.," answered jim. "i have it!" exclaimed dorothy. "send him a telegram." "i might try that, though i have about made up my mind----" just at that moment aunt betty called from her room, "dorothy, dorothy, girl!" "yes, aunt betty," answered dorothy, going to her aunt's door. "what may you want?" "don't you think it would be real nice if we four went for a drive this afternoon? it's a nice warm afternoon and we can go up fifth avenue and into the park," suggested aunt betty. "that will be fine. i'll run and tell alfy and we'll get ready," responded dorothy, going quickly out of the room. "alfy! alfy! where are you?" "in here," called alfy from her room. dorothy rushed into the room, crying, "alfy dear, just think, we are going driving this afternoon, aunt betty, jim, and you and i. we are going driving--driving." "oh, that's just great," exclaimed alfy, dancing round the room. "it's fun to go driving in a big city." "let's get ready right away," said dorothy, taking alfy's hand and dancing round in a circle with her, singing, "let's get ready, let's get ready, let's get ready right away." and then they let go of each other's hands and danced away to accomplish the art of "getting ready right away." very soon the girls were in the sitting room waiting for jim and aunt betty. just then jim burst into the room crying, "dorothy, i can't get a horse and carriage here to drive myself like one has in baltimore, but i did get a nice automobile. i guess it will not cost any more, for we cover so much ground in a short time. i found a large, red touring car that just holds five and the chauffeur is downstairs now waiting for us, so hustle into your things." "an auto ride! that's better still," responded alfy as she rushed to put on her hat and coat. "i am all ready, dear," called aunt betty from the next room. "well, then, come on," answered jim. "all come with me." and they followed him down and out to the automobile. they were very much delighted with the auto car, and the three, aunt betty, dorothy and alfy, climbed into the back seat, and jim took his place with the driver. aunt betty called, "jim, jim, please tell the chauffeur to drive slowly and to go up fifth avenue." away they went. "oh, oh, oh!" gasped alfy at the first corner. "oh, i most thought we would bump into that trolley car!" "well," said jim, "we didn't, but it was a pretty close shave." "just think of all the people we might have hurt if we had," said dorothy. "i guess," replied jim, "that the only ones hurt would have been ourselves, for the trolley is so heavy we couldn't have bothered that much." just then they turned into fifth avenue and joined the procession of already too many machines that were slowly wending their way up and down that old thoroughfare. "dorothy and alfy," said aunt betty, "in those large houses live the very rich of new york." "oh, i wouldn't live in a house like that," said alfy, "if i was rich. i couldn't, i just could never be happy in one like that," pointing to a large gray stone mansion. "it hasn't any garden and windows only in the front, and looks like a pile of boxes, one on top of the other." "don't the people in new york care for gardens, aunty dear?" questioned dorothy. "yes. yes, indeed, dear. but these are only their winter homes," laughed aunt betty. "they have summer homes in the country where they have very beautiful gardens. they only spend a few months here in these houses each winter." "well, i would rather have a real home for all the time," said practical jim. "a real home, like bellevieu." "dear, dear old bellevieu, i wouldn't exchange it either for all of these places," whispered dorothy. "and after this trip is over, and i have made a lot of money, we will all go back there again, and i will build that new sun-parlor aunt betty has so long wanted." aunt betty sighed, for she and she only knew how badly off was the poor old estate. the mortgage that must be paid and the repairs and other things that were needed. she hoped that dorothy's trip would be a success, and that she could pay off the mortgage at last. then answering dorothy, she said, "dear, dear little girl, you are always trying to think of something pleasant for someone else. never mind your old aunt betty, dear." "but i do," whispered dorothy in her ear, "because i love you more than anyone else in the world." "yes, dear, maybe now you do," rejoined aunt betty, "but some day, some day wait and see." they eagerly looked at the beautiful homes, the large and handsome hotels and most of all the happy throng of people who filled the streets, remarking that they had never before seen quite so many people, each hurrying along apparently to do his or her special duty. from fifth avenue they went up riverside drive, around grant's tomb. then as the limit of time they had arranged for was nearly up they told the chauffeur to drive home, all happy and full of thoughts of the new things they had seen. "well, what next, dorothy girl?" exclaimed aunt betty. "why, i don't quite know. let me see--just what day is this?" said dorothy to herself. "it's--it's--oh, yes, it's friday! oh, oh! why we must all hurry, hurry, hurry--dress right at once." "dorothy, child, what ails you?" laughed aunt betty. "talking away so fast and all to yourself. come now, tell me what you want us to dress for?" "why, aunty, i had most forgotten it. it's friday, and we promised--i mean i promised--but i forgot all about it," continued dorothy. just then alfy interrupted. "dorothy i am most dead with curiosity; tell us quick, please." "well," rejoined dorothy, "it's just this. you see, i promised--" "you said all that before," interrupted alfy again. "be still, alfy, or i just won't tell," scolded dorothy. "mr. ludlow is coming here at eight o'clock to take us all to the opera. miss boothington, ruth, is going also. he told me to tell you all, and i just guess i must have since then forgotten. i don't see how i did, but i just did. oh, aunty, it's a box mr. ludlow has and we must dress all up 'cause all the millionaires of new york go to the opera." "dorothy dear, whatever made you forget?" asked aunt betty. "guess 'cause she is doing and seeing so much she has lost track of the days. isn't that so?" chimed in alfy. "that doesn't excuse my little girl," remarked aunt betty, and turning to dorothy, "what is it we are going to hear, dearest?" "i think mr. ludlow said 'koenigskinder'," answered dorothy. "i am not sure but that's what i think he said." "ah, yes," said aunt betty, "that is a comparatively new opera and miss geraldine farrar sings the principal part in it. she plays the part of the goose-girl. well, i guess we had better hurry. we must dress and have dinner before mr. ludlow gets here for us." "can i wear that new pink dress, aunty?" called dorothy. "why, dear, i would keep that one for one of your concerts, and if i were you i would wear the little white one with the blue ribbons, and tell alfy she might wear the white dress miss lenox made for her before we left baltimore," said aunt betty. "all right," called back dorothy. it didn't take the girls long to get dressed, and when they were finished they appeared in the sitting room. both jim and aunt betty declared that there weren't two finer girls in all new york city. and jim added under his breath, "in all the world," thinking only of dorothy then. down they went for dinner, and so anxious were they that they should not be late that the meal was passed over as quickly and quietly as possible. they had just reached their rooms when mr. ludlow was announced, and gathering up their wraps and long white gloves--for alfy thought more of these white gloves than anything else she owned just then--they went forth to meet mr. ludlow. "well, well," said mr. ludlow, who was standing beside ruth in the lobby, "all here and all ready. i do wish you would set the same example of promptness for ruth. she is always, always late." "well," replied ruth, "somehow i always try but just can't seem to get dressed in time. i didn't keep you waiting very long to-day, did i?" "well, dear, that is because i said that the longer you kept me waiting, the less you could have for dinner," laughed mr. ludlow. "maybe that is why, because i do get so tired of boarding house meals," rejoined ruth, and, turning to dorothy, "come dear, the auto is all ready and we are not so very early." the others followed them and soon they reached the metropolitan opera house, and after passing through the crowded lobby, entered the foyer. it was quite dark, and very quietly they followed mr. ludlow, whose box was on the right hand side, well toward the stage. they were presently all seated, but before they had time to talk or look around much the music began. and such music. dorothy was oblivious to all else as she followed the score. for memory's convenience she wrote out the plot of the opera, the next day, and here is a copy from her diary: the goose-girl lives in the hills which look down in the town of hellabrunn. around her stray her geese. she lies on the green grass, beneath the branches of a shady linden-tree. near her is the hut which she inhabits with an old cruel witch. behind her stretch wild woods and lonely mountains. she sings and feeds her flock. the witch appears, scolding and berating the girl, whom she orders to prepare a magic pasty which will kill whoever eats of it. the goose-girl begs the witch to let her go into the world of men. but she implores in vain. out of the woods, and from the hills, a youth comes roving. he seems poor. but by his side there hangs a sword and in his hand he holds a bundle. he is the king's son, though the goose-girl does not know it. and in the bundle is a royal crown. the king's son tells the goose-girl of his wanderings. he has left his home, and the king's service, to be free. the goose-girl asks him what a king may be. he answers her, marvelling at her beauty and her ignorance. she longs to follow him. he falls in love with her, and asks her to go maying with him, through the summer land. he kisses her; and then a gust of wind blows the girl's wreath away. the king's son picks up the wreath and hides it near his heart. in exchange for it he offers her his crown. the sweethearts are about to run off together when a wild wind alarms them and the goose-girl finds her feet glued to the ground. thinking she is afraid to roam with him the king's son tosses his crown into the grass, tells the girl that she is unworthy to be a king's mate and leaves her, vowing she shall never see him more till a star has fallen into a fair lily which is blooming near. the goose-girl is still sighing for her lover, when the witch returns, abuses her for having wasted her time on a man and weaves a magic spell to prevent her escape. a fiddler enters, singing a strange song. he is followed by two citizens of hellabrunn, a woodcutter and a broom (or besom) maker, who have been sent to ask the witch where they can find the son of the king, who is just dead. they are in mortal fear of the old woman. but the fiddler scoffs at her and all her arts. the fiddler, acting as their mouthpiece, says that the people of hellabrunn are dying to have a king or a queen to rule over them. the witch replies that the first person, rich or in rags, who enters the town gate next day at noon should be enthroned. the woodcutter and broom-maker go back to hellabrunn. but the fiddler lingers, suspecting that the goose-girl is in the hut. soon she appears and confides her sorrows to the fiddler, who assures her she shall wed the king's son. the witch, however, jeers at the thought and tells the fiddler that the girl is the child of a hangman's daughter. in spite of all, the goose-girl plucks up heart, for she feels that her soul is royal and she knows that she will not shame her kingly lover. she prays to her dead father and mother for help. and as she kneels, a shooting star falls into the lily. the goose-girl runs off into the woods with her flock, to join her sweetheart, and this ends the first act. in the second act the town of hellabrunn is in a turmoil of excitement, awaiting the new ruler. near the town-gate is an inn. the innkeeper's daughter is scolding the stable-maid, when the king's son enters, poorly clad as before. though she despises his poverty, the innkeeper's daughter coquettes with him; for he is comely. she gives him food and drink, which seem coarse to him, and advises him to get married. he declines and arouses the girl's anger. the people enter, seat themselves and drink. a gate-keeper forbids any to approach the gate, which must be left free for the coming king. musicians enter, playing pipes and bagpipes. a dance begins. the innkeeper and his servants bustle about. he sees the king's son, who offers himself to him as an apprentice, but is told that there is no work for him, unless he is willing to be a swineherd. he consents. the woodcutter appears, with the broom-maker and his thirteen daughters. the woodcutter, swelling with importance, tosses a gulden on the innkeeper's table, to wipe out an old score, but pockets it again when unobserved. one of the broom-maker's daughters asks the king's son to play at ring-a-rosy with her. their game is interrupted by the entrance of the town councillors and well-to-do burghers, with their wives and children. the councillors seat themselves in a tribune erected for them and the eldest of them invites the woodcutter to relate his adventures in the woods. the king's son is amazed to hear him tell of imaginary dangers which he has encountered with the broom-maker. he learns from the woodcutter's account, however, that on the stroke of twelve a king's son, richly clad, and bright with gems, will enter by the now closed gate. he asks the people if the expected monarch might not come in rags. they laugh at the idea and he is accused of being a meddler, rogue and thief. the clock strikes twelve. the crowd rushes toward the gate. an intuition warns the king's son who is near. then, as the gate is opened, the poor goose-girl enters, escorted by her geese. she tells the king's son she has come to join him on his throne. but the crowd jeers at her and scorns her youthful lover and though the fiddler storms and rages at their blindness, the two lovers are driven out with sticks and stones. only the fiddler and the little daughter of the broom-maker believe them worthy of the throne. this was where the curtain went down and i thought it was the end. oh, how disappointed i was, and then how happy, when i knew there was another act. winter has come. since the expulsion of the king's son and his sweetheart, the witch has been burned at the stake for her supposed betrayal of the people to whom she had promised a new ruler. the fiddler, who has been maimed and imprisoned for defending the outcasts, now lives alone in the witch's hut, where he is feeding the doves the goose-girl has left behind. he is disturbed by the arrival of the woodcutter and the broom-maker, with a troop of children who have come to entreat him to come back to hellabrunn. he refuses. but when one of the children begs him to lead them all in search of the lost king's son and his bride, he consents. the woodcutter and the broom-maker withdraw into the hut, where they discover the poisoned pasty which the witch had baked. hardly have the echoes of a song sung by the fiddler died away, when the king's son and the goose-girl re-appear, hungry and thirsting and worn out with wandering. they stop to rest and the king's son knocks at the door of the hut to beg food and shelter. the woodcutter refuses to give them anything. to comfort her sweetheart, the goose-girl pretends she is none the worse for her long travels over hill and dale in the vain effort to discover the king's son's old home. she sings and dances to him. but she soon grows faint and falls. to save his love from starving, the king's son then barters his royal crown, which he has found again, for the poisoned pasty. the outcasts eat it and soon after die, fancying themselves happy in a land of love and roses. with her last breath the goose-girl braves grim death who threatens her and sighs "i love thee, dear!" the fiddler and the troop of little children then return, only to learn that they have found the outcasts but to lose them. they lay the youthful lovers on a bier and bear them away to bury them on a high hill. and as they go, they sing a last lament for the poor "kingly children." after the opera, mr. ludlow invited them to a supper at one of the cafes, but aunt betty demurred, as it was quite late, and so they were driven straight home. "alfy," said dorothy, when they had reached their rooms, "you are such a funny girl. you didn't half pay attention to the opera at all. all i saw you doing was looking at the ladies in the boxes." "i was trying to remember the dress of the lady in that one box, the one that glistened all over with diamonds. i wanted to write and tell ma babcock just how to make it. it was so stylish, and had such a nice low neck and long train," said alfy. "alfy, are you sure you are not crazy?" laughed dorothy. "oh, oh! just imagine ma babcock in a dress like that! oh, dear! it's so funny." "why, dorothy!" angrily added alfy, "why couldn't ma have a dress like that? and anyway, i couldn't understand a word they were singing. i am going right to bed, i am, so there!" "alfy, dear, don't you know that people only wear dresses like that to evening affairs, and, of course, you couldn't understand, it was all in german. here, kiss me good-night." the girls kissed each other and were soon fast asleep. chapter vii. an episode. the next morning no one arose very early. they were all quite willing to rest. jim, first of all, was up and out. he had been working over a list of boarding houses as he had quite decided to take the position, and his salary would not permit him to live in an expensive hotel. he had not been very successful and on returning to the hotel found aunt betty reading in their sitting room. "aunt betty," said jim. "yes," answered aunt betty, "what is it? do you want to talk business with me?" "yes, business," responded jim, doubtfully. "i have been out all the morning trying to find a boarding house." "a boarding house?" echoed aunt betty. "yes, a boarding house," answered jim. "you see i have quite decided to take the position. i received a letter from mr. ford's secretary saying mr. ford is abroad, and not expected back for some time. and if i work there at the edison, i must live in a boarding house not too far away from there. i didn't have much luck." "why not ask mr. ludlow? he might know of a place," suggested aunt betty. "or maybe you could see if there is a room at that place where ruth, miss boothington, is staying. you remember her saying that she was tired of boarding house meals, do you not?" "i never thought of that," added jim. "suppose i ask dorothy where she lives, maybe she knows." "yes, call her," replied aunt betty. "dorothy! dorothy! where are you?" called jim. "here, in alfy's room, i have been writing in my diary," answered the girl. "i will be there in just a minute. oh, dear," she continued to herself, "i just can't seem to ever write to frau. every time i start on that letter someone calls, and then i stop writing, and it is so long before i can get at it again. i have to begin all over." "well, young man, what is it this time?" she said, turning to jim as she entered the room. "it's just this, dorothy. you see, i am going to take the position in new york and i must live here," started jim. "ah, jim, you never told me anything about really taking a position. i just supposed that--well, i don't quite know--but i didn't think you really meant to do it," interrupted dorothy. "i do, dorothy, mean it. and i have made up my mind to take it and work, so hard that some day i can make a man out of myself like dr. sterling and some others i know," replied jim. "but to get down to the point why we called you, aunt betty thought you might help in finding a boarding place for me. you see, i must live here in the city, and it's hard to find a good boarding place. miss ruth, last night, said something about her place. do you know where it is?" "no, jim, i can't say that i do, but i heard her say that it was down on lower fifth avenue--way downtown, she said. i might call up mr. ludlow and find out right now, or you can wait till to-night, for i play at that concert at the hippodrome this evening, you know." "call him up now, dear," suggested aunt betty from her corner. "then you and jim can take a walk there this afternoon. alfy and i can find something to amuse ourselves with. we could take one of those stages and ride up fifth avenue on it. it's a fine ride on a nice day like this." "very well," answered dorothy, immediately going to the telephone, and acting on her aunt's suggestion. jim and aunt betty sat quietly by till she had finished her conversation at the telephone. "mr. ludlow says that ruth lives on fifth avenue, near washington square, and it's a very large, old-fashioned boarding house run by an elderly southern lady, who, being in very adverse circumstances, had to take hold and do something. he said that the rooms were fairly large, the meals first rate and the charges moderate, and that we had better see her at once because she has usually a pretty full house," added dorothy. "why not start at once, dear," replied aunt betty. "then you can come home and practice this afternoon, and as alfy and i will be out there will be nothing to distract you." "yes, let's go now, dorothy, if you can spare the time to go with me," pleaded jim. "where is it near?" "he says it is near ninth street," replied dorothy. "all right, jim, i will be ready in a few minutes. oh dear," she sighed to herself, "poor frau will not get her letter very soon, i guess. well, i can write this afternoon, after i practice, and i will make the letter extra long so as to make up for the time i have taken to write her." "good-bye, aunt betty," called dorothy a short time later. "good-bye, aunt betty," echoed jim. "we'll be back soon." with that the two disappeared and aunt betty from her corner sighed as she thought of what a charming pair the pretty dorothy and the tall youth made. "shall we ride?" asked jim. "no. let's walk, it is not far, only a few blocks," said dorothy. "that's just what i wanted to do," replied jim, "only i was most afraid you would not care to. we haven't had a good walk in a long time." they walked on silently as the streets were so crowded and there was lots to see, and the crossings required much attention, these two not being used to the busy streets of new york, where one has to look in all directions at once and keep moving lively to avoid being run into by the many automobiles or trucks that are hurrying along. finally dorothy, observing the number on the houses, said: "here we are, this is the house." up the steps they ran and jim gave the old-fashioned bell a vigorous pull. "ting-a-ling-a-ling-a-ling," vaguely sounded from somewhere within and presently a pleasant faced young girl with white cap and apron and dark dress, said in a low voice, "whom do you wish to see?" jim answered, "will you tell miss boothington that miss dorothy calvert wishes to see her?" slowly they followed the neat maid into the old fashioned parlor and waited there for her to take the message to ruth. "oh, jim," whispered dorothy, very softly putting her hand on jim's arm. "jim, if i were you i should love to stay here. it is more like a home, a real home than any place i have been in, in the big city." "yes, it is. and it is so quiet and restful. i do hope there will be room for me here," answered jim. just then they heard foot-steps on the stairs and in a second ruth's cheery voice greeted them with a "hello!" from the hall. "well, this is a surprise. i didn't expect to see you till to-night, dorothy. have i you to thank for bringing her to me?" she asked, smiling at jim. "yes, i guess so," replied dorothy. "we came on business." "on business!" echoed ruth. "yes, on business," answered jim. "it's just this: you see i have taken a position in new york and i have to board here. we didn't know of any place and aunt betty thought of something you had said the night before about boarding-house meals." "yes," continued dorothy, "and i called mr. ludlow up and he recommended this place and we came right down here, and we have just fallen in love with the place at first sight. haven't we, jim?" "wait. let me see. you want to see mrs. quarren. she is out just now, but she is such a dear. i know! you must both stay to lunch. it is just eleven forty-five and we lunch here at twelve. you see so many of the boarders here do not come home at noon-time, they work too far to come back, so that there will be plenty of room. and then you can see how the table suits you. mrs. quarren is always in for meals. you see she is just a great dear mother to us all. i won't know what to do without her." "i will lend you aunt betty when you are with us," volunteered dorothy. "but we must let her know we are going to stay here for lunch." "i'll telephone her if you will show me where the 'phone is," spoke up jim. "right this way, please," said ruth, leading jim into the hall where he saw the little table and 'phone. "come back to the parlor when you are through," and ruth went back to dorothy. "you are to play to-night, are you not?" she inquired. "yes, and are you to sing?" questioned dorothy. "right after you play. we are each to do just one thing to-night. i am going to sing 'still vie de nochte,' or in english, 'still as the night,' you see it's just a little german song. what are you to play?" asked ruth. "i thought i was to play two selections--mr. ludlow said so----" started dorothy. "yes, dear, you were," interrupted ruth, "but he changed his mind after i had coaxed him and he has consented to let me sing so we each can have one number then." "well, then i will play that old medley, 'southern airs.' i like that best of all. it makes me think of home," answered dorothy. "and i always can just fairly see old bellevieu when you play that piece," added jim from the doorway. "aunt betty said it was satisfactory, and that she and alfy would go out this afternoon and for you to come home soon and practice." just then the luncheon bell sounded and the three went quickly down stairs. they were seated at a small table near the window. ruth always sat there and as the other guests at that table were never present for luncheon, dorothy and jim could sit there too. so the three had the little table all to themselves. just as soon as she could, mrs. quarren came over to the table, for she had returned from her duties outside. ruth presented dorothy and jim to her, and as she sat pleasantly chatting, jim told her of his want. she said she would see him after dinner in the library. "well, dorothy, you come to my room with me while jim sees mrs. quarren in the library," said ruth, rising and carefully pushing her chair back under the table. "you are very kind. i would like to see your room. you lead and i will follow," answered dorothy. "oh, the room is not much. you come too, jim, and i will show you where the library is," said ruth, leading the way upstairs. "right in there, jim." jim entered the library and the girls ascended to the floors above. "i am going out this afternoon with a friend," said ruth. "i promised i would go shopping with her," and she opened the door of her room. the room was a large, sunny one with simple furnishings. "i'll sit here," announced dorothy, "till you are ready to go." "i will just hustle with my things and be ready in a moment," replied ruth, suiting her actions to her words. in a very few minutes the girls were ready and slowly descended the stairs again to wait for jim in the parlor. "well, here i am. room engaged and all," said a cheery voice from the hall which they knew as jim's. "where is it?" questioned ruth. "yes, where?" echoed dorothy. "where do you suppose?" mocked jim. "well, i will tell you. ruth it is your room." "my room!" exclaimed the girl. "yes, your room," laughed jim. "i am to have it next wednesday. mrs. quarren said you were to leave it tuesday." "tuesday!" interrupted dorothy, in a very much surprised tone of voice. "yes, dear, tuesday. didn't mr. ludlow tell you?" added ruth. "tuesday we go to washington on the noon train." "ah, is it so soon? i didn't know it. it makes me feel so sad. i hate to leave new york now, just as i am becoming used to it," wailed dorothy. "oh, i just must go back to the hotel. i have to practice and it is getting late." "come on, dorothy," said jim, rising and walking to the door. "good-bye till to-night," said dorothy. "good-bye, dear, till to-night," answered ruth. with that dorothy and jim made their departure for home. the way back was rather quiet, for the news that the girls were to start so soon had made jim sad. and dorothy couldn't help but feel the same way. when at last they had silently reached the hotel and had gone up to the rooms, dorothy spoke. "jim, do you want to stay here and be my audience while i practice and tell me what you think of my playing?" "yes, indeed i do," answered jim, gladly grasping the opportunity to be near the girl, and when he had seated himself in a great chair added, "i'll be more than audience, i'll be newspaper reporter and a very exacting and critical one at that. and then, when you finish i will tell you what i would put in the paper about you and your playing." "that's a bargain," answered dorothy, taking her violin in hand. "i will start right now." so saying she commenced playing slowly at first, anon faster and faster, then again more slowly that beautiful composition, "a medley of southern airs," putting all her love and yearning for her own southern home into the effort. jim from his chair by the window could picture each phase of the piece, and when she had finished with the beautiful sad strains of "home, sweet home," he could hardly control himself, and man that he was, he could not keep the tears from his eyes. for a brief moment neither spoke. dorothy laid down her violin and came over to him. jim arose and took both her hands, saying softly, "dorothy girl, it was wonderful, but it makes me so sad. i just can't bear to think of parting from you." "jim, dear, you too feel sad?" she questioned softly, but withdrawing her hands. jim let the little hands slowly drop but took her by the shoulders, looking eagerly into her eyes. "you will miss me?" he questioned, "really miss me?" "of course i will, dreadfully so," she answered. then without a word of warning he drew her gently to him and kissed her full on the lips. for one brief moment they clung together, then dorothy withdrew his arms. "jim, oh, jim! what have you done?" she sobbed. "girl, i just couldn't help it," answered jim, gently drawing her into his embrace again. "dorothy, little dorothy, didn't you know before? couldn't you guess?" "jim, dear, i never thought of you that way, and it's so new and strange. i can't realize it all." and with that dorothy rushed away and into her own room. chapter viii. "america." just before dinner dorothy came slowly from her room into the sitting room where she found jim all alone, seated in the same large chair by the window. she had dressed this evening with much care and wore a white dress with blue ribbons at her waist. she had also fixed her hair differently and more in the prevailing fashion. the girls of new york she had noticed wore their hair "up," and as dorothy was eighteen, she thought she too must dress it like they did. so carefully this afternoon did she arrange it, with three little curls at her neck and a tiny curl just peeping out at each ear. it made her look a little older and very fascinating indeed. decidedly jim so thought, as he turned to look at her as she entered the room. "come here and sit down. i want to talk to you just a few minutes, dear," he said, drawing up a chair close to his for her. dorothy obeyed, as some way she always was accustomed to obeying this boy, although he was really only five years older than she was. "what is it you want to say?" she asked, seating herself leisurely. "it's about what happened this afternoon," jim began, and hesitated, hardly knowing how to continue. looking at dorothy he thought that she too had changed since the afternoon; she seemed more fair, more grown up, as if she had become a full grown woman instead of a child. "dear, i am sorry for what i said and did. i can't make any excuses, i just lost control. the thought of your going away maddened me. i can't help loving you, caring for you. i have done that now for years. i didn't mean to speak to you until i had made good. and now i have spoiled it all by my recklessness," he added, bitterly. then quickly changing his tone of voice to a more cheerful one, he continued: "dear, never mind, we can be the same old friends again, can't we?" "yes, and no, jim," quietly responded dorothy, who had already felt a complete change that before she didn't realize and even now didn't understand. jim seized her hands and asked hurriedly, "could you love me? could you? you don't know how much i would give for just one little word of hope. don't leave me back here in new york, working, fighting, all by myself with no word of cheer. answer me girl, answer me. could you care, not as much as i do, now, but just a little?" "jim, i do, a little," was all she could manage to say before she was seized eagerly in his arms again and having kisses showered upon her hair, cheeks and lips. "jim, jim, you are behaving shamefully and mussing me all up," she said, struggling to free herself, but she was held fast and stern tones pleaded, "i just can't let you go now. i just can't." "jim, dear, you must or i won't even love you a little," she laughed. "well, if i must, i must," he said, kissing her just once again. "my girl, my own girl," he added. "jim, i haven't promised you anything, and i just said i cared for you a little. i'd have to love you a lot before i could promise you anything. you mustn't call me yours. if, when i come back from my trip, and that's a long time from now, i do love you----" added dorothy. "you will promise me then? you will? oh girl, you make me so happy, so happy!" cried jim. "i will work so hard all winter and save up so much. i have considerable saved up now. then you will come to me, girl?" "i said if i did love you then," teased dorothy, "and that's if----" "you little tease," interrupted jim. "i will punish you." "no you won't," dorothy added quickly. "and never, never say anything of the kind to me again, or even try to love me, or i'll just never, never love you. i have my music to attend to and you mustn't disturb my practice or even try to make me think of you when i should be thinking of it." "very well," acquiesced jim, sadly, "it will be very hard though. i'll promise if you will write me every day while you are away." "every day!" exclaimed dorothy. "not every day. i wouldn't know what to say." "all you would have to say to me would be, 'i love you,' over and over again," laughed jim. "but i can't, cause maybe i don't," teased dorothy, "but i'll write sometimes." "sometimes," complained jim, mournfully. "sometimes is better than never," laughed the girl. "very well. i'll hope that sometimes is very often or nearly every day," said jim. "kiss me once more, then i won't bother you again." then folding her to him he kissed that dear, dear face and thought of the many times he used to blush and show all kinds of discomfort when dorothy kissed him of her own free will, and then he remembered gerald beck's comments that any fellow would go a long, long way to kiss dorothy. and thinking of the difference now, he drew her closer as she was drawing away, and turning her head back, kissed her on the brow and then she slowly turned and walked to the table, picking up her violin and played. while she was playing aunt betty and alfy came in. they sat down quietly so as not to disturb her. dorothy finished her piece and then came over and kissed her aunt, saying, "dear aunt betty, have you and alfy enjoyed yourselves?" "oh, yes indeed, dear. we took a stage up to ninety-sixth street, through to riverside drive and then back again," answered aunt betty. "and what did you think of it, alfy?" asked jim, turning to the girl. "i just couldn't keep my eyes off the crowds of people walking up and down fifth avenue, all of them dressed up as if they were going to church, and aunt betty said they were all going to tea at the hotels--afternoon tea--and men too. why, i saw a lot of men and they were all dressed up too, and had on some of those yellow gloves and carried canes. and all the ladies carried silver chain purses or bags. ah," and alfy heaved a great sigh, "i wish i had a silver bag; they make you look so dressed up. then there were so many, many stores and such nice things to buy in all of them. i would like to be rich just for one day and then i could buy all i wanted. i would get--oh, i just couldn't tell you all i would get. i saw so many things i just wanted so bad." and i guess alfy would have continued indefinitely if the telephone bell had not interrupted her. dorothy answered the call and turning to aunt betty, said, "aunt betty, dear, ruth wants to know if i can take dinner with her and mr. ludlow at the hotel astor at six o'clock, so we can go to the hippodrome real early and find out our places before the concert starts." "certainly, if you wish it," answered aunt betty. so dorothy returned to the telephone and continued her conversation with ruth and when finished hung up the receiver and turned again to aunt betty, saying, "ruth said for me to hurry and dress and they--ruth and mr. ludlow--would call for me--about six o'clock. what shall i wear?" "the little pink dress, dear; that is quite pretty and most appropriate for the occasion," answered aunt betty. "i am tired, so alfy will help you. besides, i want to talk to jim." "oh, aunt betty," interrupted dorothy. "i forgot to tell you that this afternoon while we were at ruth's, we learned of the fact that we start on our trip on tuesday--the noon train for washington. jim can tell you all the rest while i dress." "and did you get a room there where ruth is, jim?" questioned aunt betty. whereat jim told of his arrangements, discussing the matter till dorothy returned. "take your violin, dear, and hurry. the 'phone is ringing now and i guess that is them. yes, it is," said aunt betty, answering the call. "good-bye, all, for just a little while. you all be early," called dorothy, as she left the room. after a remarkably fine dinner at the hotel astor, which the girls enjoyed immensely, they all drove to the hippodrome. mr. ludlow led the girls inside and showed them where they were to sit while they waited for their turn to play or sing. there were many, many people in a large room and mr. ludlow told them they were the artists and their friends, but that presently all that were to take part would meet in the room where the girls were. he left them there for a few minutes and went away to find out if they had been given their places on the list. he found their numbers were five and six, ruth being five. he came back, told the girls this and then left them to themselves till their turns came. they sat still, not saying much but enjoying all the people about them,--some of them seemed to them so queer. finally it was ruth's turn to sing. slowly she got up, walked to the entrance and on the stage. she rendered her simple song, "still vie die nochte" very well, and amid a volley of applause, left the stage. she could not give an encore so she simply walked to the front again and bowed. dorothy, listening, had heard all and was preparing for her task, tuning her violin. just then ruth, returning, whispered in her ear, "good luck," as she passed her. dorothy turned and smiled at her new friend, and then proceeded forward to the stage, violin in hand. one brief glimpse she caught of the crowded house, and she thought she had never seen so many, many people before. the hippodrome is very large, the stage being one of the largest in the world, and the seating capacity being many thousands. so you see there were a great number of people there. the house was over-crowded, as naturally every one was interested in the home for blind babies, and the talent of the evening had called forth a very large attendance. slowly dorothy raised her violin and started the initial strain of the melody. the beautiful "southern airs" appealed to many, as there were a large number of southerners present that night. played by the beautiful girl, it made the old go back in memory to days that were the happiest in their lives. they longed for the south; the large plantations, the beautiful gardens, the spacious, old, rambling houses, the darkies playing on their violins in the moonlight, the cabins with the little pickaninies disporting in front--all of these and more dreams floated vividly before them, inspired by the wonderful music. then softly, very softly the music fell from the violin, the sweet strains of "dixie," when suddenly a piercing shriek, another, still another, rent the air. people turned pale. some started to rise from their seats. a woman or two fainted. then another and more awful shriek, which sounded as if some one was being murdered. the people in their seats hesitated! was it fire? was someone being robbed, or murdered, or what? in a single second a great restlessness took possession of them all, tending to make of the crowd an angry mob, and panic a possible result. dorothy from her place on the stage for a moment was rooted immovable to the spot. she looked in the direction from which the screams came and saw a man throw up his hands and shriek again. it was the man who played the trombone in the orchestra. he threw his instrument in the air and turned as white as chalk, then stiffened out and began to froth at the mouth. in a moment she knew that the man had convulsions. she had somewhere seen someone in a similar state. the orchestra had suddenly stopped playing. out in the audience she saw a sight that terrified her more than she would admit to herself. one thought raced through her brain. she, she alone might--nay must--prevent a panic; people were becoming more excited every moment. instinct of some sort made her grasp her violin and raise it. then she knew what to do. without accompaniment, in clear, sweet tones she played "america." slowly the people rose, rose to pay their respects to their national hymn, patriotism immediately conquering all fear. while she played the poor trombone player was carried out to receive medical attention. all through the three verses of the hymn dorothy held the audience, and then as she finished and the curtain fell, the house broke out in thunderous applause, for now they realized what this girl had done, what possibilities she had saved them from. so insistent was the applause that dorothy had to stop in front of the curtain again and again. chapter ix. a dread call in the night. the next day dorothy was ill as the result of the strain of the previous evening, and when mr. ludlow and ruth called they found her resting on the couch in the living room. ruth was eager to talk of the happenings of the night before, but mr. ludlow restrained her, saying: "dorothy, i am very proud of you, and i want to thank you for what you did last night. the morning papers are full of the news of the events of last night, and now every place you go you will be doubly welcomed and given hearty receptions. it was a very good thing for us as it has given you advance press notices, which are superior and more convincing than anything i could put in for you. you will probably get all kinds of letters from people wanting you to play at private concerts, but keep them, my dear, as sometimes they come in very handy, and you never can tell when you can use them. "but for the present you must rest, that is, to-day and to-morrow. tuesday we start on the noon train for washington, so be prepared and on time. ruth has much packing to do likewise, so we will go now and leave you to yourself." "oh, can't i stay and talk?" interrupted ruth eagerly. "there are so many things i want to talk to dorothy about." "no. i guess you had better go home and pack up. you know i want you to go to church to-night. there is to be a musical service at st. bartholomew's that i want you to hear," added mr. ludlow. "can't we all go?" questioned ruth. "i think dorothy is better off home, here," rejoined aunt betty. "she had better stay here and rest, just for to-day. then you see, she has to pack and shop a little to-morrow." "i would like to go," alfy chimed in. "i just love church music, it is so grand, so very impressive and kind of awe inspiring." "all right," answered mr. ludlow, "suppose you do. you can bring jim with you, if he would care to come." "i know i should enjoy the services very much," responded jim, not very enthusiastically, but so long as he couldn't be with dorothy he could sit there and think of her, and alfy was so anxious to go it would be unkind to refuse. "well, you two meet us there," said mr. ludlow, and turning to ruth, "come along, my dear." "good-bye, all," said ruth, and they departed. dorothy and aunt betty stayed home as arranged, while jim and alfy attended church, returning to the hotel just as aunt betty and dorothy were about to retire. "oh, dorothy," exclaimed alfy, eagerly, "you ought to have gone, you missed such a lot. the music was so beautiful. i just know that an organ has locked up in those big pipes the finest music in the world. it's so solemn and impressive it most made me cry." "but you forget the wonderful singing," interrupted jim. "they had a full choir, and the voices of so many young boys sounded like the voices of angels. and as they played the recessional and marched out, the singing grew softer and softer, and sounded as if it were coming from heaven indeed." dorothy did not say anything at this, but looked at jim earnestly. "i am glad you enjoyed the services. yes, the episcopal services, i do think, are the most impressive of all denominations," said aunt betty. "did you see ruth and mr. ludlow?" asked dorothy, turning to alfy. she was afraid to look at jim for fear of seeing something in his eyes she felt she had no right at that time to see. "yes, we met them in time, and they both wished to be remembered to you and aunt betty, and hoped you were feeling rested now," answered alfy. "come, let's go to bed now, dears," said aunt betty. "we all have to do a lot to-morrow and must get up real early." with that they all retired to rest till the morrow. that at least was their expectation, but soon there was to materialize a different aspect to affairs. new york, even at night, is a noisy place, so it is little wonder that when the cries of "fire," "fire," rent the air, few heard and the few who did hear paid not much attention. but when someone knocked on mrs. calvert's door with a terrific thud, and yelled, "fire! fire! all out! use stairs to the left!" all three, aunt betty, dorothy and alfy, were out of their beds with unhesitating promptness, and remarkably scared at that. "fire! fire!" rang through the air, and they could hear the bell-boys thump, thump, thump on each door. "put on your slippers and kimona and come at once!" commanded aunt betty, suiting actions to her words. "come, alfy, dorothy, this way out!" very quickly, indeed, the girls, too bewildered to do much else but obey orders, followed close by, alfy picking up her hat and a few other articles as she ran through her room. "this way, ladies," called the bell-boy. "this way. no danger, only it's best to get out. use this stair." aunt betty and the girls quickly gained the stairs, and ran down as fast as they could, one after the other. on reaching the main floor they heard the call of another attendant. "all step outside and across the street." so they followed quietly on and outside till they stood on the opposite side of the street. there were assembled a couple of hundred people, mainly guests of the hotel, most of them more or less asleep and very scantily clothed in garments hastily assumed. some of the women and children were sobbing, and most of them shivering. looking up at the hotel, dorothy tried to locate just where the fire was. she finally discovered a little flame and smoke curling up from the wing of the hotel, not where their rooms were, but far above, near the top floors. quickly she ran her eye down and counted the floors, finding that the fire was on the tenth and eleventh floors. suddenly it came to her that her priceless violin, her precious cremona, was back there in their rooms on the seventh floor. suddenly she slipped away from aunt betty and started toward the building. swiftly she made her way through the crowd, and very quietly passed the firemen and bell-boys who stood about the entrance to the burning building. in a second she was past them, and on her way up the long stairs as she knew that the elevators were not running, and would not take her up if they were. she felt sure that she could get to the room and return with safety without being missed. in the meantime, jim, who had not awakened at the first alarm, almost frantic at not being able to discover aunt betty and the girls, was wandering in and out of the crowd, scanning the faces of everyone very carefully, trying vainly to find the ones he loved best in all this wide, wide world. suddenly a hand grasped his arm and a voice said, "jim, jim, we have been looking for you. where have you been?" and jim turned and saw it was aunt betty that spoke. "what do you think of the fire?" she continued. "do you think it is going to be real serious?" "no. but one can hardly tell. i should judge that with the capable fire service that new york has, so fully equipped and strictly up-to-date, that they could get it under entire control with possible danger to only a couple of floors," answered jim. "then, maybe our floor will not be burned at all?" inquired alfy. "i hope not," answered aunt betty. just then jim turned to look at the girl, for she stood directly in back of aunt betty, and catching sight of her he laughed outright. "why, alfy, what have you there?" he exclaimed. a funny sight, indeed, was alfy, her little bedroom slippers of red just peeping out from under her bright pink kimona which she had slipped on over her night dress, and a bright red hat in her hand. "my hat," answered alfy. "my best new hat. i saw it lying on the table so i picked it up as i passed. i couldn't bear to think of losing it. it's my favorite color and here it is." she placed the hat on her head and laughed as she did so. aunt betty turned and laughed, too, and so did many of the people around them. the girl looked funny indeed with the kimona and the hat. her long, abundant growth of hair was braided down her back in two huge braids tied at the ends with blue hair ribbons which had long been discarded from day use. the red hat topping all looked as if the fire itself was there in their midst. "great heavens!" exclaimed aunt betty, suddenly. "where is dorothy? where is she?" whereat faintness overcame her, and she dropped helpless upon the sidewalk. jim caught and held her in his young strong arms, and carried her over to a chair that had been brought out of the hotel. here he put her in the care of a young matron, who had kindly offered assistance, and was aiding alfy. being sure that she was safe and well cared for, he quickly began to look for dorothy. in a few seconds he ran through the crowd, his heart sinking, as he could not locate her anywhere. then he thought she might have gone back to the burning building. the thought of her, the girl he loved, up there in that dangerous place nearly drove him frantic. quickly he rushed past the fire lines, yelling to the policemen who would have delayed him perhaps, when every moment was precious. he must find her. his dorothy must be saved. "there is someone in there i must save!" he shouted to those he passed. he hurried on and ran into the building. first he went toward the elevator, but seeing no one there, turned and ran for the stairs. quickly he mounted them quickly--indeed he ran! up those seven long flights of stairs he went with an energy he never called forth before. as he neared their floor he saw that the fire had in some few places broken through to the seventh floor, and realized that he could go no higher, and had but a few moments more. "dorothy! dorothy!" he called out. he thought he heard a very faint answer from her and rushed madly onward. he could not see, and was choked by the thickening smoke. finding his way into the bath room he opened the window, then he picked up two large towels and hastily wet them with cold water. one of those he wrapped about his head, and then he called again. she answered faintly, and then he found the girl, her precious violin in her hands. she choked with the smoke, and was all out of breath from her long race up the many flights of stairs. "jim," she sobbed. "i just had to get this. i couldn't leave my violin up here," and fell into his arms. "come girl," said jim, sternly. "here, put this around your face, so," and he carefully adjusted the wet towel he had provided for the purpose. "now, follow me, and give me your hand." just outside the doors the smoke was very dense. "lay down and creep!" ordered jim, "and give me your violin." he took the violin and forced dorothy down and beside him so that their heads would be close to the floor. as you doubtless know, smoke rises, and the place freest from smoke would be the lowest possible one. thus they crept until they reached the stair. "stand up, now," commanded jim, "and take the violin again." then he took her in his arms and rapidly made his way down, till they had passed the zone of danger. here for one brief moment he held the girl in his arms, murmuring lowly, "thank god, darling, you are safe now." then they quickly made their way to the place where he had left aunt betty and alfy. there sat mrs. calvert, pale but calm. on seeing her, dorothy rushed into her aunt's arms, and explained, "dear aunt betty, i just went back after my violin. i couldn't let it stay in there and get burned. and jim came after me and saved me." "dear, dear child, don't you know how foolish that was to do? why you are far more precious to me than any violin, no matter how priceless it may be." just then they heard a voice calling the crowd to attention. it was the manager of the hotel, making an announcement. he told the people that while the firemen had the fire well in control, it was considered safest for none of the guests to return to their rooms until the morning, when it would be entirely safe. the hotel breslin, he informed them, would accommodate them for the night, and was but a few doors away. the people began to follow his instructions at once, and the clerks at the hotel breslin were soon very busy apportioning rooms to them. all were very shortly trying to overcome their worries sufficiently to enable them to regain the sleep they had lost. the fire had been caused by the carelessness of some of the servants of the hotel in dropping lighted matches on the floor, the servants' apartments being in the top of the building. it was therefore hoped that little damage had been done to the property of the guests. chapter x. the locket. the next morning, quite late, for it was nearly ten o'clock, aunt betty and the two girls arose. the hotel people had arranged to have the breakfasts sent up to all the unfortunate ones, and otherwise made them as comfortable as possible. the trio breakfasted and aunt betty suggested, "dorothy, dear, i think it would be a wise idea to telephone over to the hotel and find out if any of our things were left unharmed by the fire, and ask, too, if we might come back there now." "yes, aunt betty," answered dorothy, as she started for the 'phone. she talked over the wire for several minutes, then returning to her aunt and alfy said, "they say that some of our things have not been spoiled at all, but that the rooms are a complete wreck, because the firemen broke all the windows when they stopped the fire at that point. we have been given a suite on the second floor, and all the things which belong to us have been moved down there." "ah," interrupted alfy. "i am so glad there are some things left. i was afraid we would have to go about all day in blankets and look like indian squaws." "no, indeed," answered dorothy. "they are going to send us in our coats, so that we can get to the carriage that they have placed at the disposal of the guests and be driven right to the door." "they have certainly tried to be as considerate as possible to all their guests," said mrs. calvert. "here," said dorothy, answering a loud knock at the door, "here are our coats now." "come, let us see what we have left, for i feel sure that we will have to hurry and get more clothes for you girls if we have to start for washington very soon," rejoined mrs. calvert. they all slipped on their outer garments, and very quickly were carried downstairs by the elevator. they hurried into their carriage and very soon were located in their new suite of rooms. "oh, just look, aunt betty!" exclaimed dorothy. "see, the trunks we packed last night with all our good things are all right. the water never leaked through at all." "that saves us a good deal of trouble and expense, doesn't it? i certainly thought that all three of us would have to be fitted out entirely again. i am very, very glad that we were so fortunate," answered aunt betty. "oh, dear!" exclaimed alfy. "oh, dear, just see! isn't it too bad that i didn't stay home and pack instead of going to church with jim last night. all i have in my trunk is the two white dresses you made me at bellevieu before we started on the trip, and my raincoat. oh! oh! oh! and i forgot all about it. i intended to show it to you right away as soon as i reached bellevieu. i begged ma babcock so for it, and then to think i clean forgot it! ah, she will be so disappointed to know i forgot it." "why, alfy child," remonstrated aunt betty. "what are you talking about? there now, calm yourself and tell me." "it's this," replied alfy, holding up a piece of linen about a foot square, "this sampler. i found it in an old box in the closet of the spare room ma had fixed up in the barn, when i was searching for my raincoat just before i left home. ma said a school friend, a little baltimore girl who was 'up mounting' summering, and who fell ill and stayed all winter and went to school with ma, made it for her." and alfy handed the square of linen to mrs. calvert. aunt betty took it up and carefully examined it while dorothy looked over her shoulder and tried to see it too. "why," exclaimed mrs. calvert, "this is beautiful work! just beautiful! and what is the name? dorothy dear, will you see if you can find my glasses? i put them in my work bag, which i put in the tray of the trunk. yes, way down in the right hand corner." dorothy crossed over to the trunk and immediately found the desired bag, and opening it took out the glasses. "here they are, aunt betty," she said, handing them to her. aunt betty put the glasses on and proceeded carefully to examine the sampler. "oh!" she exclaimed. "i have it now! the name is in this corner, and as far as i can make it out is 'hannah.' 'hannah' something. 'morrow.' maybe that's it." "let me see," interrupted dorothy, "maybe i can make it out. i think the first letter is 'w,' not 'm,'" and turning to alfy, "what did ma babcock say about the name?" "ma said that it was hannah somebody, and that she was a poor sickly girl. she lived in baltimore and married a man who did not treat her well, and died shortly after. i forget what she said her last name was. but she said she married a man whose name was 'halley' or 'haley,'" answered alfy. "oh, aunt betty, i have it!" exclaimed dorothy joyously. "i have it! it's 'woodrow,' 'w-o-o-d-r-o-w, woodrow.'" "yes, that's it. i recollect, now, ma saying, 'hannah woodrow,'" chimed in alfy. "i wonder," said aunt betty, slowly, for she had been thinking, "i wonder if it could be? you see, little lem, lem haley, had no mother or father, and just lived with his uncle, who abused him terribly. it was he we found that night in the forest when we were camping. do you think it could be possible that this sampler was made by his mother? poor, unfortunate woman." "maybe we have some clue to work on now," said dorothy. "wouldn't it be odd if it was his mother who made this sampler? she could sew well if it was, for there are many hard and difficult stitches in that." "and," added alfy, "ma said she was a rich girl; her folks had lots of money, 'cause she dressed so nicely. and they paid grandma brown good board, so ma said." "may i have the sampler, alfy?" asked mrs. calvert. "yes, indeed," answered alfy. "ma babcock said for me to give it to you, as maybe you would be interested in it." "i am going to take it to my lawyer and see what he says about it. you say you think that mrs. haley, or hannah woodrow, is dead?" added aunt betty. "yes, ma said that she had not heard from her in so long that she was sure that the poor unfortunate lady was dead," answered alfaretta. "i have felt all along that there was some dreadful catastrophe or mystery about little lem. his uncle was such a hard, cruel man, and little lem knew very little or nothing about his early life or parents. all that he knew was that he was bound out to this harsh and cruel man whom he called uncle, and made to work very hard, too hard, indeed, for a child, for his board," remarked aunt betty. "i do hope we can find out something about his people. he is such a good boy, and now he goes to school and he is such an apt pupil," added dorothy. "come now, we must dress and arrange our things and see what we need. you girls please dress as quickly as possible and each make out a list of what you have lost. in that way i can tell at a glance what is needed, and we can go shopping this afternoon. i will also send jim to my lawyer with a note, and this sampler," remarked aunt betty. and they all hurried away to dress. aunt betty, finishing first, rang for jim. jim came to her and she said, "jim, here is a sampler that ma babcock had and let alfy bring to me. it was made by a girl named hannah woodrow, who married a man named haley, who was cruel to her. it is supposed that the unfortunate woman died. the girl was a baltimore girl who spent a year with mrs. babcock's mother and attended school with ma babcock. she is thought to have been rich. i wonder if in any way she could have been related to little lem haley. we must try to trace up all facts and get to the bottom of things. i have written a letter, and i thought you would not mind taking it and the sampler to my lawyer." "where is it?" asked jim. "i will go gladly." "you go to mr. van zandt, at broadway," replied mrs. calvert. "give him the package and the letter and tell him i am going out of town to-morrow at noon to washington, and that i will send him a complete route list later on as soon as all our plans are made." "all right," answered jim, taking the package and putting the letter into his coat pocket. "i will not be back directly, if that makes no difference to you. i have a little shopping i should like to do this afternoon." so saying, jim left on his errand. at mrs. calvert's suggestion the girls began making out a list of things that were missing so that they could replace them that afternoon if possible. suddenly dorothy rushed into the room where aunt betty was quietly seated reading and trying to collect her nerves that she said had been shattered by the experiences of the night before. "aunt betty, dear aunt betty, i can't find my locket!" she cried. "alfy and i have hunted all over. we searched everything before we came to you with the news. we didn't want to bother you till we were sure that we hadn't merely mislaid it." "are you sure, dear, you have looked all over everything you have?" questioned aunt betty. "yes, and there is no trace of it anywhere," replied the girl. "and it's the only locket i have and has the pictures of mother and father in it. the only pictures we have of them." "well, dear, don't let's give up hope yet. let me go with you and look," answered her aunt. "dear aunt betty, i am sure it isn't in there. i always wear it. you know i do. ever since you gave it to me it has been my most cherished possession," bewailed dorothy. "no, it isn't anywhere in there," said alfy, decidedly, walking into the room at that moment. "i, myself, have searched everywhere, and you know how thorough i am, mrs. calvert." "maybe it's upstairs in our old rooms," suggested aunt betty. "they might have mislaid it." "i will ring for a maid and then alfy and i will go up with her and look," answered dorothy, immediately acting on the suggestion. "it must be up there, dear, as everything else came down safely, and all my jewelry is intact," added mrs. calvert. "i do hope it is. it has given me such a scare," rejoined alfy. "come along, alfy; we are going up now," said dorothy, as the maid appeared in answer to her summons. "we'll be right down, aunt betty." and with that the girls departed. in a few moments they came back, and by just glancing at them aunt betty knew that the quest had failed. "no, it is nowhere there," said dorothy sadly, "nowhere there." "ring for the manager, dear, and i will see him and see what he suggests doing. the locket is of no value to anyone else. its main value is in the pictures. i am very sorry i have no other copy of them. i have a picture of your father when he was younger, a mere boy at our baltimore home, bellevieu, but i never had another picture of your mother, dear," said aunt betty. the manager came now in response to their call, and aunt betty told him of the loss of the locket, and wherein its value lay. he was very sorry indeed to hear of the loss, but felt hopeful that he could restore the locket to them in the course of an hour or two. dorothy turned to aunt betty as the manager left the room, and flung herself weeping into her lap. "dear, dear child," soothed aunt betty, "don't be foolish, dear. there are still hopes of its being found." "but they are the only pictures i ever had of them," bemoaned the little girl. the dear old lady took the young girl in her arms and comforted her with hopeful suggestion and loving words of encouragement. chapter xi. the tour begins. on his way downtown, jim paused in front of lebolt's on fifth avenue, one of new york's biggest jewelry houses. the windows were full of attractive pieces of jewelry. one thing in particular caught his eye, a little pendant of gold and pearls. he thought at once of dorothy and wanted very much to give her something--something nice because of the previous day's happenings--something that would help her to remember him very often--a little token of his regard. he went inside and inquired of a clerk where he could see pendants, and was directed to a near counter. he was shown many, and after having quite a hard time choosing which he liked best at a price he could afford to pay he finally decided on a little bunch of grapes formed of a cluster of pearls, with the leaves and vine of gold hung on a slender chain--altogether a very dainty and appropriate gift. and he left the store thinking of how he would present this to dorothy, for he wanted no one to know of his reasons for giving it to her but himself--and she. taking a car he soon came to the vicinity of the lawyer's office and looking over the bulletin at the entrance he located a sign with his name upon it. on reaching a small outer office he asked of a pleasant faced girl sitting there, "can i see mr. van zandt? i have a package and letter to deliver to him personally." "mr. van zandt," answered the girl, "is just now very busy. he is conferring with another lawyer, and i cannot disturb him, as he left word that on no account and for no one should i bother him. he will not be much longer, and if you would care to wait for a half hour, i am sure that you could see him then." "i will wait," said jim in reply. the girl then showed him into a little library off to one side of the office where there were some easy chairs. picking out one that looked particularly comfortable to him he took up a magazine from the well laden table, and seating himself started to read. after waiting half an hour or more, he was finally admitted into a room wherein sat mr. van zandt, at a desk strewn entirely with legal papers. "mr. van zandt, i am from mrs. calvert. she sent me here with a letter and package for you," said jim. "most opportune, most opportune," answered mr. van zandt, gravely, taking the letter and package from jim. "excuse me, young man, excuse me, while i see what mrs. calvert has to say," he added, breaking the seal of aunt betty's letter and slowly reading its contents. "ah! so you are the jim she speaks of in the letter, and says i may question concerning these matters?" "yes, indeed," responded jim. "is there anything you would like to ask me?" "no. not that i just think of now. but i have a little story to tell you. listen carefully and see if you can repeat the same to mrs. calvert, when you see her later this afternoon," replied mr. van zandt. "this was told me by a fellow colleague, the man you no doubt saw leave this office as you entered it. strange how things come about. long years ago there was an english family named winchester, a father and mother and six children, four of them girls and two boys. the parents were very strict with their children, and one boy, the oldest, ran away from home, and was never heard of by the old people again. the youngest girl had a very pretty love affair, but because her parents disapproved, and i believe they would have disapproved of a saint from heaven if he wished to marry their child marrie, she took the vows and became a sister. two died very young, and the other two daughters lived to be old maids, and in time all died. "the runaway son married, so much we have learned, and had one very beautiful daughter, who after, mother fashion, also ran away and married. the daughter's name was dorothy winchester. the man she married was a calvert. these two died early deaths, leaving behind, so 'tis said, a little daughter named after the mother, dorothy winchester calvert." "our dorothy," whispered jim. "now, it seems to me that mrs. calvert was sister-in-law to the calvert that married the beautiful dorothy winchester. and from what i know, dorothy calvert, mrs. calvert's ward, is the child of the former two. but as a large estate, consisting of much property in england and a great deal of money, is left to the heir or heirs of this dorothy winchester, we shall have to have legal proof that this girl is the right child. and when the right proof is found, my colleague will turn over to me the various papers and deeds to the estate. and after proving herself the legal heir of this estate, miss calvert may have to take a trip to england to see the london solicitors and straighten matters out there. they have been working on this estate for many years now, and finally, but only recently traced the son to america. that is how things have come to this point now. will you tell mrs. calvert and dorothy that i would like to see them at their earliest convenience, bringing letters, pictures and any other form of proof they may have with them?" "i will tell them that, sir." "very well. good afternoon, young man, good afternoon," and mr. van zandt closed the interview. jim, after leaving mr. van zandt, hurried back to the hotel, all the time thinking of the wonderful story he had to tell to dorothy. he also wondered just how things would stand between them if dorothy became a great english heiress. on reaching the hotel he went straight up to the girl's rooms and there found dorothy weeping in aunt betty's lap. "i have such good news, such wonderful news," cried jim. "i can't wait to tell you. why, dorothy, what has happened? tell me," he added, catching sight of dorothy at her aunt's feet, her face in her lap. just then dorothy smiled up at him and said, "nothing. i was just a little foolish. go on and tell us all your wonderful news. i would rather hear good news than tell sad, any day." "i have just come from your lawyer's, mr. van zandt's, where i heard a most wonderful story. i gave him the letter and package. he read the former, and said he would give the matter attention. i had to wait for over a half hour. he was conferring with a colleague," continued jim. "oh, do hurry and get to the real story part," said the ever impatient alfaretta. "be still, alfy. how can jim tell us while you are talking?" commanded dorothy. "to go on where i left off," continued jim, "mr. van zandt said that his colleague told him a story which he would tell me and which i was to repeat to you. "it seems that many years ago a family named winchester had a large estate and plenty of money in england. they had children, and one, the eldest, ran away, came to america and married. he had a little daughter who grew up to be very beautiful. her name was dorothy winchester." at this point in the story, aunt betty heaved a great sigh, and grew quite pale. "the beautiful young girl ran off with a handsome young man whose name was calvert. and, mrs. calvert, the lawyer thought that to be your brother-in-law. the young couple suffered early deaths, leaving a child, a girl named after the mother, dorothy winchester calvert. that, dear, is you," and jim paused to see the effect of his words. dorothy had risen, and coming to him, placed her hands in his and said, "is this all true or just a joke?" looking eagerly in his eyes for the answer. "yes," answered jim, with an attempt at gaiety, "yes, all true." "then do i understand that all dorothy has to do is to prove she is dorothy winchester calvert and she will come into this inheritance?" said aunt betty. "yes. mr. van zandt said for me to tell you that he would like to see you and dorothy as early as possible in the morning, and for you to bring with you any proofs, such as letters, pictures, etc., which you have handy in your possession," instructed jim. the word pictures immediately recalled to dorothy her late misfortune, and she turned to aunt betty, saying, "dear aunt betty, there is all my proof gone--the pictures in that locket. they would have been just what was needed, and now the locket is gone." "why has the locket gone?" questioned jim. "that is the sad news we had to tell you when you came in with the good news," said mrs. calvert. "dorothy has either mislaid or someone has stolen her locket, the one i gave her with the pictures of her father and mother in it." "there," interrupted alfy. "there is someone knocking. maybe it is the manager returning with the locket. it's an hour since he said that he would have it back to dorothy in that time." the manager entered and came over to mrs. calvert's chair, and said, "i am very sorry, madam, but i have not been able to recover mademoiselle's trinket. it is nowhere to be found. i have had three maids searched, three of them, who readily admitted going into the suite upstairs. the maids were very angry, and threatened to leave my employ. nothing could be found. we have found no trace of it at all. all we can do, madam, is to hope. i will get a detective and have him try to locate the thief. is it of great value?" "just now we have had news that makes the locket of precious value. an estate, a large inheritance, hangs upon its recovery, as therein lies the only proof we have, or, i should say, did have," answered mrs. calvert. "we will do all we can," continued the manager, "and make every effort to restore the locket as quickly as possible." he then departed, and prepared to have the lost article traced without any delay. "i have my list of clothes and things that are missing and will have to be replaced all made out," said alfy to mrs. calvert. "very good," answered aunt betty. "come into your room and i will look over your things and verify the list and see if you need anything else beside what you have written down." alfy and aunt betty went off to see about the outlay necessary to replace the loss alfy sustained from the fire. no sooner had they gone than jim came over to dorothy, looked into her eyes and said, "girl, will this--this estate, make any difference--if the large fortune comes to you? i was so glad to hear the news, and be the one to tell you of it while i was there with mr. van zandt, but somehow on my way back to the hotel i became sorry, sorry because it will mean that you will be a great english heiress, and i--i--" "you, jim? you will always be my great big jim," said dorothy, with a sweet, sincere smile. "but isn't it too bad that the locket just disappeared when we needed it? and, fortune or no fortune, it's the only picture i had of my own mother." "girl," said jim, softly, taking the small purple velvet box out of his vest pocket, "i brought you this. it's only a little remembrance of what has gone between us. just a little token of my eternal regard for you. i wish it could have been more." and he placed the little jewel box in dorothy's hands. he watched her carefully, noting the pleasure in her face when she opened the box and saw the dainty pendant encased in the white satin. carefully she drew it out. "oh, what a beauty!" exclaimed the girl. "jim, dear, you are so good and thoughtful. it's just as good and dainty as it can be, and far too good for me." "let me clasp it around your neck for you," he replied. "i am glad you like it." but when he had his arms around the girl's neck, clasping the slender chain in place, jim could not resist the temptation of drawing her close to him. she did not resist, so he held her closer for a moment in a fond embrace, and then raising her head, their lips met in a loving kiss. "my little girl," murmured jim. "my dear little girl." then releasing her he said, "i chose this pendant because i knew you would not accept a ring." dorothy shook her head, but made no audible response. "not until you have had plenty of time to know your own mind, but that you should have by the time you have returned from your trip. then, dorothy girl, you will give me my answer?" "perhaps, jim," whispered dorothy. "perhaps then i will." "can't we keep the reason, the real reason, secret. we can have this one secret from everyone else, can't we? tell them all it is a little parting gift from me. then when you come back, girl, you can tell them, if you decide to--if you can love me enough. until then it's our secret," said jim. "i must go show it to aunt betty and alfy. it's such a beautiful pendant i want everyone to see it," said dorothy. "and i must get my things collected, for you see i have a lot to do. i wonder if i can prove anything without the locket." "maybe they will accept aunt betty's word for things. but the hard part of it all is that you go away to-morrow for such a long trip," said jim. "and, dorothy, how i shall miss you! i won't know what to do without you." "yes, you will," responded dorothy. "you will have to work and work very hard at your new position." "yes, indeed i will," laughed jim, "very hard indeed. if i want to get married soon, i shall have to economize and save all i can." "foolish boy," said dorothy. "good-bye; i am going to leave you here all, all alone," and she ran over to jim, put her hands in his and looked up at him, saying, "you are a dear, good boy, and i shall prize my pendant highly, and wear it always, and when i do think of you." "that's all i could ask," answered jim. "and, girl, please do take care of yourself and be careful all through this trip. i regret so much that i can't be along with you." "dorothy! dorothy!" called aunt betty, from the girl's room. "yes, aunt betty, i am coming," answered dorothy. as she left the room she threw a kiss with her dainty finger tips to jim. that afternoon was spent in ordering things they all needed, and as time saving and convenient much was done by telephone. then in trying on various things as they came all wrapped up in attractive bundles from the stores. aunt betty bought alfy a complete new outfit, as her things were entirely ruined, and she was more than delighted with each new article. there was a plain gray suit, and one just like it for dorothy. alfy insisted that they would be mistaken for twins in them. and aunt betty ordered as a surprise to the girl a plain grey felt outing hat, which was to come in the morning. dorothy had a few new shirt waists and a couple of pairs of slippers; also two new gowns, one pale yellow chiffon trimmed with a little gold lace; the other a very pale shell pink crepe de chine and shadow lace. these were for her to use on the stage, and at any private affairs that might come up. alfy was very much pleased with a pale blue evening dress, as she had never had one before in all her life. this pretty little party dress was very simple, being made of pale blue chiffon over a shell pink satin slip, and the only trimming it had was one large rose of pink shade, catching the skirt in a dainty fold, and a few dainty pink rose buds edging the neck and sleeves. when she tried it on she ran carefully to dorothy and exclaimed, "dorothy, dear, just see my new dress! isn't it wonderful? do you like it? do you think it is becoming? and look at these!" and she held up a new pair of pink satin slippers, and gloves to match. dorothy laughed gayly, saying, "dear, dear alfy, they are beautiful things, and i have never seen you look quite so fine before." "i must show jim," she answered. and off she went to the next room, where jim sat thinking and dreaming. "what do you think of me?" she asked him. jim looked up, saw alfy, and said, "you look like a very fine young lady who has just stepped out of a picture." and he made a mental note of the fact that the girl had no ornament about her neck, and made a resolution to get up early and go out the next morning and buy alfy a string of coral beads that he thought were just needed to finish her costume. these he would give alfy for her parting gift. the next morning jim carried out his purpose and bought the string of corals, pale pink, graduated beads, a string just long enough to go around the girl's neck. and for mrs. calvert he bought a set of collar and belt pins to match in heavy dull gold. these two gifts he labeled and sent up to them. he was busy that morning moving his possessions to mrs. quarren's so that he would be all ready to occupy his room there that evening. he was to meet dorothy and the rest of her party at the pennsylvania station at noon time. mrs. calvert, dorothy and alfaretta, as early as possible, went down to the lawyer's office. "mr. van zandt will receive you in his room right away. he expected you," said the pleasant faced girl, as aunt betty and the two girls walked into the office. "mr. van zandt, this is my ward and niece, miss dorothy winchester calvert and her friend, miss alfaretta babcock," said aunt betty, introducing the two girls. "so you are the fortunate miss dorothy winchester calvert," the lawyer gravely said. "let me see, little miss, how about the proof i must have? proof is what is needed now. my colleague has to be satisfied. so do the london solicitors." "until yesterday, mr. van zandt, dorothy always wore a locket around her neck in which were her mother's and father's pictures. we were unfortunately caught in a hotel fire, and some of our things were destroyed. this locket has been missing since the fire. the hotel people have since then done their utmost to trace the missing article, whose value now is priceless, and nothing has been seen of it. detectives are now working on the case." "most unfortunate--most unfortunate," commented mr. van zandt. "have you no other proof?" "there is my word, some old letters, and a picture of dorothy's father taken when he was quite young, which i have at bellevieu. i will send for them and have jim bring them to you. in the meantime, he has promised to attend to the tracing of the locket, and will report to you about it," answered aunt betty. "i will let you know, too, mrs. calvert, how my colleague takes this news, and," added the lawyer, "i would like you and miss dorothy to sign a number of papers, and miss babcock can sign as a witness for miss dorothy." before long they had all affixed their signatures to quite a number of important looking papers. alfaretta felt very consequential and trembled visibly. this did not take long, and, bidding mr. van zandt good-bye, they were soon hastening to the pennsylvania depot, to await the coming of jim, and the others of the troupe who were to travel with them. dorothy hoped that mr. ludlow would not forget their private car, as she was anxious to see it. aunt betty was to have charge of it, ruth, alfy, and dorothy being in her care for the entire trip. alfy was slowly counting the minutes off. she wanted to thank jim, as she thought more of the little string of corals than anything else in the world just then. they had pleased her beyond words. dorothy was glad, too, because in giving alfy the string of corals and aunt betty the pins it detracted from the strangeness of his giving such a lovely present to her. aunt betty and alfy were both hearty in praise of dorothy's new ornament, and commented on jim's taste in selecting it. at the pennsylvania station they found jim waiting. "what did mr. van zandt say?" he questioned, coming to meet them. "i have tended to your trunks, and put them and your suit cases in your private car. mr. ludlow and his gathering party are over in the other side of the station, and i will take you over to them in a few minutes." "we can't very well prove dorothy's identity without that locket. it is most necessary for mr. van zandt to have it. i told him," informed mrs. calvert, "that you would keep track of the search, and bring it to him immediately it is found. also, jim, i must write to bellevieu and have some things, a picture of mr. calvert and one or two letters i have there, forwarded to you. will you see that they are placed in mr. van zandt's hands safely? we had to sign a great many papers. the trouble is in convincing mr. van zandt's colleague and the london solicitors who have the property in their hands." "i will certainly do my level best," answered jim, "to get the locket back, and will let you know of everything that comes up." then they all walked slowly across the immense waiting room of the station, and in a far secluded corner found mr. ludlow and ruth, among a group of chattering people, some old, some young, and dorothy wondered just who belonged to the company and who did not. mr. ludlow came forward. with him was a tall, dark young man. "mrs. calvert," said he, "let me introduce mr. dauntrey. mr. dauntrey is our treasurer. this is miss dorothy calvert, of whom you have often heard me speak, and her friend, miss babcock. mr. dauntrey, ladies." "i am sure i am very pleased to meet you all, and i am sure we shall all be firm friends before long," said mr. dauntrey, pleasantly, his eyes lingering longer on dorothy than any of the rest. just then ruth rushed up to dorothy and exclaimed, "dear, dear dorothy, i have been hearing wonderful tales about you--about how you saved your precious violin from the fire, and then were gallantly rescued by jim, our new hero. oh, tell me all about it! i am dying to hear it all from you! it must have been very thrilling. oh, why is it i never get into any such wonderful adventures?" "i will tell you what little there is to tell when we get started on our trip. we shall have lots of time on the train," answered the girl. "yes, indeed," said ruth, "and i shall see that you do not forget your promise. come over here and let me introduce you to some of the members of our company. i sing. you play the violin. that blonde lady over there, miss mary robbia, has a wonderful contralto voice. the little girl over there, florence winter, is a dancer. she does all kinds of classical dances and is considered very wonderful. and mr. carlton is the pianist. he is the man standing over there talking to the lady in black." dorothy looked at each person as ruth pointed them out, and felt that she would enjoy her trip very much, for they all looked like nice, congenial people. mr. ludlow came up to her then and presented mrs. calvert, dorothy and alfy to all the members of the company, each in turn, miss robbia, miss winter and mr. carlton. they then all said good-bye to all their friends and relatives who had come to see them off, and hastened to board their car, which was to start in a few minutes. "good-bye, my little girl," whispered jim, kissing a stray lock of dorothy's hair as he swung off the car. the car gave one jerk and then started out. the girls waved good-bye from the car windows till they could no longer see the ones they were leaving behind. it would take the remainder of the afternoon to reach washington, and there they were to meet one or two more members of the company, and to learn of the final plans for the whole trip. chapter xii. in washington. the train ride passed quickly enough, and just gave aunt betty time for a rest. between intervals of reading, dorothy told ruth of all the previous day's happenings, and before they knew it they had arrived in washington. mr. dauntrey came to dorothy and volunteered to take care of their baggage. aunt betty had packed the suit cases for all three of them, so she gave him these, saying, "if you will have these in the hotel bus, mr. dauntrey, i will be obliged. we shall not get our trunk up to the hotel till late this evening, i heard mr. ludlow say." "what hotel do we stop at, mr. dauntrey?" inquired ruth. "at the willard, miss boothington," he answered, politely adding, "i will come back for your suit cases and tend to you in just a few seconds if you will wait in the car for me." "thank you," the girl answered, going back into the car to gather her things together. "there, that is all, i guess, a bag, a hat box and one suit case. i can manage to exist with that much for a few days." "come along. just follow me," cried mr. ludlow, just loud enough for all to hear him. "this way. i want to get you all taken care of and over to the hotel as quickly as possible. i have made reservations and i hope everything will be ready at once for us." "come ruth," sang out dorothy, as she and aunt betty and alfaretta made their way after mr. ludlow. "come or you will be left behind." "i promised i'd wait here for mr. dauntrey," answered ruth. "he is coming back for me. my luggage is all here, and i can't manage it." "very well, we will wait for you in the stage," answered dorothy, and linking her arm in alfaretta's, followed close after mrs. calvert, who was walking just in front with mr. ludlow. "there's mr. dauntrey," whispered alfaretta. "he's with that little dancer, miss winters." "so he is," whispered dorothy, "i hope he has not forgotten ruth. mr. ludlow usually attends to ruth himself; i wonder why he has not thought of her?" "maybe he is provoked at her," answered alfy, very softly so as the couple just in front would not hear them. "he looked at her real cross like, at the pennsylvania station to-day. she was standing, talking very earnestly with mr. dauntrey, and mr. ludlow called to her twice and she never heard him." "maybe that's why. but see, there he goes back. i guess he has gone after ruth now," replied dorothy. "here we are. now all get in. we must hurry," announced mr. ludlow. "are we all here? let me see--mrs. calvert, dorothy, alfaretta, miss winters, miss robbia and mr. carleton," as the pianist came in sight carrying two suit cases, "but where is ruth? ruth and mr. dauntrey, where are they?" "mr. dauntrey has just gone back after ruth. she was gathering her luggage together as i left the car. mr. dauntrey said he would hurry back and get her if she would wait," answered dorothy. just then ruth and mr. dauntrey came in sight. the girl held his arm and was looking up into his face, chatting pleasantly, while in back a porter, very much laden down with ruth's belongings, trailed along after them. the occupants of the bus caught just then a sentence spoken by a passing couple. "see the little bride and groom here on their honeymoon." at these words mr. ludlow frowned deeply and looked very cross indeed. he spoke not a word to ruth as she was handed into the bus by mr. dauntrey, but quickly got in and shut the door behind him. in a few minutes they had reached the hotel. mr. ludlow registered for the party and then the keys were supplied for the rooms assigned to them. mrs. calvert and the girls went quickly upstairs and dressed for dinner. the evening meal is always quite a function in washington. the people for the most part dress in evening clothes. the hotels are almost always crowded with the government people, senators, representatives and officers of various degrees. mrs. calvert went down first and sent a card to jim telling him of their safe arrival, then the girls joined her. mr. ludlow had arranged for a dinner party. they found some of the company waiting in the lounging room. soon they were all assembled and mr. ludlow and mrs. calvert led them into the brilliant dining room where they all had a very gay dinner. mr. ludlow suggested that they visit the library of congress, as the evening was a very favorable hour for such a visit. at that time the beautiful interior decorations were seen to great advantage under the brilliant illumination. "come, let us get our wraps," said mrs. calvert. "the building closes about ten and there is much of interest to be seen there." "very well," answered dorothy. "do you want your black wrap? i will get it. you sit here." "yes, dear. the black one," answered aunt betty, seating herself and waiting for dorothy to return. "come alfy," called dorothy, and the girls quickly disappeared down the long, brilliantly lighted corridor which was crowded with guests. they were gone but a few moments and returned with their wraps securely fastened and carrying aunt betty's. "let me help you into it," said a cheery voice behind them. turning, they saw, much to their surprise, mr. dauntrey. "come with me. i have already secured a taxi, and it will just hold four. the others can follow." he took mrs. calvert's arm and gallantly helped her into the taxicab, then dorothy, and then alfaretta, each with the same niceness of manner. he then quickly got in himself, taking the one vacant seat beside dorothy. he closed the door and off they started. the entrances to the library are in the front, facing the capitol. a grand staircase leads up to the doorways of the central pavilion, giving access to the main floor. up this staircase the quartette slowly climbed. "just look!" exclaimed dorothy, when they had reached the top. "just look around. see all the lights of the capitol over there. isn't it all very beautiful?" "and look down at the fountain!" cried alfy. "see how the sea-creatures are blowing water from their mouths, and in the centre 'apollo.'" "no, if i may correct you, that is neptune," said mr. dauntrey. "i have a guide book here. it is freely placed at your disposal, ladies." "i think every one that visits the capitol should have a guide book," said aunt betty. "it adds immeasurably to one's pleasure. i have an old one at the hotel, and i have been looking it over. i read it through the last time i was here, not so many years ago. i do not recall the publisher's name." "the one i have here is rand, mcnally company's," said mr. dauntrey. "and so was mine, i remember now, and it was fine, too," replied aunt betty. "although that is not apollo," said mr. dauntrey, "your mention of the name reminds me of a western politician who once visited here. he had great wealth, but little education, and when someone in his presence spoke of a statue of apollo, he said, 'oh, yes, i have one on my parlor mantle. on one end i have apollo, and on the other, appolinaris.'" "an amusing anecdote, and i don't doubt a real one," said aunt betty, laughing with the others, "but isn't that a wonderful old fountain? see the beautiful effects produced by the water as it is thrown in cross lines from all those miniature turtles, sea serpents and what not, that are supposed to populate ocean and stream." they stepped up the last tread and entered a long corridor, stretching along the front and forming an exaggerated vestibule. they gazed between piers of italian marble supporting arches, an entrancing vista. in heavy brackets they noted pairs of figures, advanced somewhat from the walls, "minerva in war," armed with sword and torch, and "minerva in peace," equipped with scroll and globe. before these, greatly admiring them, the girls stood, and mrs. calvert said, "dorothy, those are the most admired ornaments in the whole building, but you can see them again as you pass out. come, let's go inside." "yes, if you enjoy great art, miss dorothy," spoke up mr. dauntrey, "i will be pleased to personally conduct you through the art museum. art, too, is my one hobby. to be happy i must always have the beautiful, always the beautiful." passing on through the screen of arches, they entered the main hall, in the centre of which ran a magnificent stairway leading to the second floor and rotunda gallery. "oh!" gasped alfaretta. "isn't the floor lovely? all little colored marbles. i hate to step on it. what is that brass disk for?" "those little pieces of colored marbles are the essential materials for mosaic work, and the brass rayed disk is to show the points of the compass," said mr. dauntrey, kindly looking at the girl with an amused expression. "look!" cried dorothy, "over that way, way far back. see the carved figures?" "yes," answered aunt betty. "the one thing the arch typifies is study. the youth eager to learn and the aged man contemplating the fruits of knowledge. it is a very famous group. i have a postcard picture of it that a relative sent me and i always remembered and liked it." "here is something i always thought was interesting, on this side," said mr. dauntrey, leading them to the other side of the hall. "these two boys sitting beside the map of africa and america. the one in the feathered head-dress and other accoutrements represents the original inhabitants of our country, the american indian, the other, showing the lack of dress and the war equipment of the ignorant african. then those two opposite, the one typifying the mongolian tribes of asia, the other in classic gown, surrounded by types of civilization indicating the pre-eminence of the caucasian race in all things, such, for instance, as your chosen profession, music." "that would be a good way to study geography," said alfy. "then you would hardly ever fail if you had those interesting figures to look at." aunt betty then called their attention to the ceiling which was elaborately ornamented with carvings and stucco work with symbols of arts and sciences. the southern walls were full of rare and beautiful paintings, the most striking of these being, "lyric poetry," painted by walker. it represents lyric poetry in an encompassing forest, striking a lyre and surrounded by pathos, beauty, truth, devotion, and playful mirth. the east end of this hall which looks out on the reading rooms is reserved for senators and members of the house of representatives. it is decorated in subjects chosen from greek mythology. "come in here," said dorothy, entering the periodical or public reading room. "see here, any one, no matter where he is from, can find one of his home papers." "can any one stay here and read anything they want, and as long as they want?" inquired alfy. "yes. it is free to anyone," answered mrs. calvert. next they passed into an exhibition hall, where in cases of glass made like a table they saw a great number of rare and curious books representing the beginning time of printing and bookmaking. there were a great many early printed bibles and specimens of famous special editions of bibles. some of them, so they learned, dated back to the fifteenth century and were of much value on account of their rarity. one table in this room especially interested dorothy. it contained manuscripts, autographs and curious prints relating to the history of our united states. the print room interested alfy greatly. this room is devoted to an extensive exhibit of the art of making pictures mechanically. here are a great series of prints illustrating the development of lithography, and the processes a lithograph goes through whether printed in one or in varied color. also here are examples of every sort of engraving upon wood, copper and steel. about the walls hang examples of etchings and engravings. they then entered the rotunda galleries. they paused for a moment to look at two paintings there, one of joy and the other of sadness. "i like joy the best by far," exclaimed alfy. joy, here, was represented by a light-haired, cheerful woman, amid flowers and happy in the sunshine. she went nearer the picture and read out loud the beautiful words of milton's famous "l'allegro." "come thou goddess, fair and free, in heaven ycleped euphroysine, and by men, heart-easing mirth. haste thee nymph, and bring with thee jest and youthful jollity, quips and cranks, and wanton wiles, nods and becks and wreathed smiles, such as hang on hebe's cheek, and love to live in dimple sleek." "i learned most of that poem by heart when i went to school at oak knowe," said dorothy. "indeed, and so did i," answered mr. dauntrey, "at school but not at oak knowe," he laughed. "but my favorite was the other poem, 'il penserose.'" "the other picture represents that," said mrs. calvert. "listen while i recite to you the lines that inspired that picture," said mr. dauntrey, and in a wonderful voice he brought out each shade of meaning: "hail, thou goddess, sage and holy! hail, divinest melancholy! come; but keep thy wonted state, with even step and musing gait, and looks commercing with the skies, thy rapt soul sitting in their eyes, there held in holy passion still forget thyself to marble...." the stack rooms or apartments where the books are kept open out on each side of the rotunda. the cases rise way up to the roof and are filled with adjustable shelves. there are decks at intervals of every few feet from top to bottom by which the attendants reach the books. each of these stacks will hold eight hundred thousand books, and although they may be consulted by any one, very few are ever lost, for only members of congress and about thirty other officials can take books out of the library. "as there is a constant call for books of reference from the capitol when legislators often want a volume for instant use, an underground tunnel has been made between the two buildings. this contains a cable carrier upon which books can be sent back and forth," explained mr. dauntrey. "but haven't you seen enough of the library now?" "there is mr. ludlow!" exclaimed dorothy, "and i think he is calling us." "yes, let us go over to him," added mrs. calvert. "come." "ah, here you all are," said mr. ludlow. "i called to you just now because there is one painting i would like to have you all see before you go upstairs to the restaurant." "is it here?" questioned dorothy. "no. you follow me and i will bring you to it in just a few seconds," answered mr. ludlow. "here we are. i want you all to follow this series of pictures." "it is called the evolution of the book," added mrs. calvert. the series begins with a picture representing the means that the prehistoric men took to commemorate an event singly--the creation of the cairn, nothing more nor less than the piling up of stones. then comes a picture illustrating oral tradition--an arab story writer of the desert. the third represents an egyptian carving hyroglyphics on a tomb. these are the forerunners and the next is picture writing, represented by an american indian painting some tribal story or event. in lieu of paper he uses a skin. the fifth is shown by a figure of a monk sitting by the embrasure of his cell, laboriously decorating the pages of some sacred book of the middle ages. and finally, the initial attainment of modern methods is shown by a scene in the shop of guttenburg, where the original printer is seen examining a proof sheet, while an employe looks over his shoulder, and another assistant has the lever of a crudely constructed press in hand. they all thought this series of pictures a beautiful one, and very interesting. dorothy commented, "if they had not discovered how to print and make books, i wonder if we would have had a library like this one here, filled with stones all covered with hyroglyphics?" "i hardly think so," answered mr. ludlow, "for we could never get so much stone in a building. but come now. we will go upstairs to the little restaurant and sit down and rest for a few minutes." so taking the elevator they reached the restaurant which is located in the upper floor of the building, and finding a large table, they seated themselves. they ordered ice cream for the girls, and the men took lemonade. while refreshing themselves, mr. ludlow said, "i would like to see you all in the morning at ten o'clock. i will then disclose our plans to you for the next few weeks. also, to-morrow, our number will be increased by three more singers who will join us here. they are miss dozzi and mrs. helmholz and signor de reinzzi." every one said they would be on time in the morning, and started to go back to the hotel. on the way out from the library, dorothy asked, "mr. ludlow, are all these pictures and pieces of statuary done by italians and other foreigners?" "no, indeed," he answered. "the decorations are wholly the work of american architects, painters and sculptors, more than fifty of whom participated in the work. so that, you see, the library is an exhibit of the native art and ability of the citizens of the united states and a memorial to them." chapter xiii. sight-seeing. the next morning they all hurried to the private sitting room of mr. ludlow's suite, where he had asked them to assemble. "aunt betty and alfy," called dorothy, "both of you must come too, so you can hear what mr. ludlow has to say, for you know you belong to the company, too." ruth rushed up to dorothy and whispered, "i think you were very mean, keeping mr. dauntrey all to yourself last night, and making me stay with mr. ludlow. he was so cross. i hope he is better natured to-day, or when we rehearse this afternoon we will all have trouble." "i didn't take mr. dauntrey," answered dorothy in a very surprised tone of voice. "i didn't seek his company. he just took us and put us in a taxicab and that's all." "sh!" whispered ruth, "here he is now. isn't he a handsome man?" "i don't particularly care for his style. he is too effeminate looking. come over here and sit down by aunt betty and i," and dorothy started to walk over to where the others sat. ruth did not follow her, however, but remained just where she was. "and how is miss ruth, to-day?" inquired mr. dauntrey. "i am quite longing for our real work to start so i can hear you sing. i am sure it will be a great pleasure." mr. ludlow entered just then as ruth looked up to mr. dauntrey, and murmured, "ah, that was so nice of you to say." "are you all here?" inquired mr. ludlow. "let me take a little account of you." mentally he ran over the small list of people. "all ready then. all sit down and make yourselves comfortable. i will only detain you a few minutes now. we are going to have a very important recital in the new national theatre to-morrow night. i have a little typewritten letter for each of you. i will give these to mr. dauntrey and he will hand them to you." turning to mr. dauntrey he handed him a number of white envelopes, saying: "there now, don't neglect to give each one the proper envelope." turning once more to the rest of them, he continued, "if by any chance you don't happen to like the instructions contained in those envelopes, report at once to mr. dauntrey and he will take up the matter with me, or refer you to me." mr. ludlow had had many dealings with performers before, and he knew from experience that it was better to give instructions this way. it avoided open contentions which were likely when one artist thought he or she was slighted, and enabled each one to know exactly what they had to do, for there was no mistaking written orders. "the new national theatre," continued mr. ludlow, "is on pennsylvania avenue near thirteenth street, and is of great capacity and comfort. i hope you will all do your best for i have written to the president, and have asked him to accept, as a token of our respect, a box for that night. i hope he honors us with his presence, and it may afford you all an opportunity to meet him personally. i expect this concert to be a big thing for us. this city is favorably disposed toward classical concerts, and mr. dauntrey has worked hard sending out special announcements for us. "i expect each of you to do your very best and look your very best. always look your best. looks go a great way. if people see you enter the stage confidently and look nice--nice and neat, not gaudy, not cheap or overdressed, just good simple dresses, and not made in outlandish styles--their first impression is very apt to be a lasting one. there, i think that is enough of a lecture. i plan to go from here to pittsburgh, and, with several stops, on to chicago. from chicago on to st. louis, and from there with a half dozen stops, if we are successful, to san francisco. just what we will do then i can't tell now. but i think that is enough to know now." "but what hotels are we to stop in at those places, mr. ludlow?" inquired miss winters. "i suppose all you fair ladies will want to have a list of the hotels in advance," laughed mr. ludlow, "and you shall have duplicate route lists with dates, which you can send to your friends so you can have mail each morning. i may want you to give two concerts here in washington, but i am not sure yet," added mr. ludlow. "we also may have to run down to mount vernon and give a concert there, so i want you all to be ready to render something different than what you are to use to-morrow. you can each select your own piece. is there anything now you want to ask me?" he said finally, turning so as to see them all. "well," he continued, "if there is nothing else we will adjourn till this afternoon when i have made appointments with some of you to come here alone so that i may have an idea of how you are doing. if you all would care to, i think it would be a good thing if we visited the capitol now. you are privileged in each city to do as much sight-seeing as you can and care to without getting over tired." they were all appreciative of this courtesy, and thought that that would make their tour a very very pleasant one. just as soon as mr. dauntrey had handed them their envelopes, they departed for their rooms to get hats and coats and be ready to start at once. aunt betty also had her guide book, and in a very short time they were all ready for a visit to the capitol. the capitol building commands a central and slightly hilltop position. the grounds in front of the building are perfectly level, but in the rear slope downwards towards the potomac flats. in the northwestern part of the park is an ivy-covered rest-house, one window of which looks into a grotto. ruth thought this a pretty spot indeed, and exclaimed, "oh, just see here, isn't this a romantic spot? i could sit here for hours and dream." "wouldn't that be rather lonesome, miss ruth?" said mr. dauntrey to her, softly. "wouldn't you rather have someone else here with you?" ruth did not answer this question, but just gave him an adorable little glance. "the ground immediately in front of the capitol is the plaza," said mr. ludlow. "here vast crowds assemble to witness presidential inaugurations." three flights of broad steps led up to the main entrance, an architecturally effective feature. the southern wing contains the house of representatives and the northern one the senate chamber. "the central portico," remarked mrs. calvert, "i would like to have you notice particularly. it dates back from . the allegorical group cut in sandstone was designed by the president, john quincy adams." "what does it represent?" questioned alfy. "the group represents the genius of our beloved america," answered mrs. calvert. "america is resting her shield upon an altar, while an eagle rests at her feet. she is listening to hope, and points in response to justice." "i think you have told us a very good story of that piece, mrs. calvert, and as you are just as well, perhaps better acquainted with this place than i am, do you mind explaining the things occasionally, so as to help me out?" asked mr. ludlow. "why, it is a pleasure to me, i assure you," answered mrs. calvert, gracefully. "you see i have been here often and i have my indispensable rand, mcnally guide book." "right here where you are standing," interrupted mr. dauntrey, for he wished them to understand that he had been to washington before and knew something of the place, "is where all the presidents of the united states since the time of jackson have been inaugurated, the chief justice adminstrating the oath of office here in full view of the onlookers." the large bronze doors were thrown back, and all entered the building itself. the entrance takes one immediately into the rotunda, which is of enormous size. the floor is of sandstone, the rotunda being nearly feet in diameter, and almost twice that high. a balcony runs around it, and strangely interesting is the fact that this balcony has a very good whispering echo. the decoration of this huge place is confined mostly to the walls, but there are a few pieces of statuary on the floor. the great wall space is given to historical pictures of considerable size, and all are familiar to everyone through their reproduction on postals, currency and postage stamps. the whole party made a tour of the room with much interest, viewing the canvases. "we might divide these pictures into two classes," said mr. ludlow, "the early historical and revolutionary. the former are, i suspect, to a degree imaginative, but the latter are accurately true to the times and scenes they depict. in the first group are the following: 'the landing of columbus at san salvador in ,' 'the discovery of the mississippi by de soto in ,' 'the baptism of pocahontas at jamestown in ,' and, the last of this group, 'the farewell service on board the speedwell.' this shows an unseaworthy old port now called lyden, holland--for america, bearing the first colony of pilgrims who were finally landed on plymouth rock by the mayflower." "then," mrs. calvert pointed out, "there follows the group of revolutionary pictures. beside each picture of this group is an outline key which gives the names of the people shown. the first is 'the signing of the declaration of independence' in the old hall in philadelphia in . the second one is the 'surrender of burgoyne at saratoga' to general gates. this picture was made from sketches made on the very spot by colonel trumbull, who was a close friend of washington. he was present at the scene of the next picture also, 'the surrender of lord cornwallis.' the british are seen marching between the lines of the americans and their french allies. "the fourth is the 'resignation of washington' as commander-in-chief of his well-tried army, always a rather pathetic scene, it seems to me." "how interesting. i could spend hours here, but suppose we must not." "where next?" inquired dorothy. "we will go through this door and into what was the original hall of representatives, and is now the statuary hall," answered mrs. calvert. the room which they now entered was semi-circular in shape, and whose ceiling is half a dome beneath which is a spacious gallery now filled with a library. "the house of representatives used this hall quite generally for fifty years, from on," said mr. ludlow. "here clay, webster, adams, calhoun, randolph, cass, and many others won world-wide fame, and made the walls ring with their fiery eloquence. here were many fierce and bitter wrangles over vexed questions, turbulent scenes, displays of sectional feelings. too bad they had no talking machines in those days to deal out impassioned oratory for future generations." "what is that star set in the floor for?" inquired ruth; whose interest in oratory of past ages was limited. "that marks the spot where john quincy adams, then a representative from his home, massachusetts, was prostrated at his desk. see, the date is february , ," read dorothy. "where did all these statues come from?" questioned alfaretta. "most of them were bought and placed here, and some of them, i think, were donated," answered aunt betty. "this statuary hall," continued mr. ludlow, "has great acoustic properties." "shall we get a capitol guide?" asked mrs. calvert. "they say they can amuse one greatly, for they know each place where these strange things can be heard." "yes, i will go and find one. you stay here till i come back," added mr. ludlow, turning to the others. in a few moments he was back, accompanied by a young man in uniform. the guide showed them where they could hear curious echoes, whispers distinct at a distance, and the ability to hear slight sounds that are inaudible at your elbow. they all tried these experiments. ruth took her place at one corner of the room and dorothy in the other corner at the same side of the room. the guide told them that they could converse in a low tone, yet each heard distinctly what the other said. ruth started off by saying, "dorothy, do you believe what this guide is telling us or do you think he is fooling us?" dorothy was greatly surprised when she found she could hear quite plainly what ruth said, and answered, "i am surprised to say i do." at this ambiguous answer they all laughed. then, one by one, they tried the experiment, each finding how perfectly it worked out. leaving statuary hall by the door under the arch, they traversed the corridor to the present hall of representatives. it is an oblong room of liberal size. the ceiling is a framework of iron, bronzed and gilded, and inlaid with glass upon which the coats-of-arms of the states are painted. the light effect is beautiful; the colors are mellowed rather than obscured. the speaker's raised desk is against the southern wall and below this are the marble desks of the official reporters. the latter keep a stenographic record of everything done or said, to be published the next morning so that those who are absent or pay little attention to what is going on may still keep posted on the progress of events. the sergeant-at-arms is within easy call. this latter officer is called the speaker's policeman--the representative of the physical force, and his symbol of authority is the mace, which reposes on a marble pedestal at the right of the speaker. "the mace was adopted by the house in the first congress," explained mr. ludlow. "it has been in use ever since." "how do they use it?" questioned dorothy. "when it is placed upon its pedestal," he answered, "it signifies that the house is in session, and under the speaker's authority." "i suppose i ought to know, but who is the speaker, and what does he do?" asked alfaretta. "the speaker," continued mr. ludlow, "is the head of the house, elected by vote of the members." "and i have a question," said ruth. "what is a mace?" "in this case, the mace is a bundle of black rods fastened with transverse bands of silver. on its top is a silver globe, surmounted by a silver eagle," answered mr. ludlow, "and when the sergeant-at-arms is executing the commands of the speaker, he is required to bear aloft the mace in his hands, unlike the house of parliament, where there is much form and ceremony, there is little else here than quiet dignity." grouped in concentric semi-circles are the desks of the representatives, all small, uniform and handsome. "the republican party all sit on the speaker's left and the democrats on the right," volunteered mr. dauntrey. "my, but there are a lot of seats," said alfy. "who uses them?" "in the galleries," said mr. ludlow. "those over the speaker's head are for the press. the others are for onlookers, some for diplomats, friends of the congressmen, and some for ladies. they hold more than a thousand people, i think." going downstairs they came to the house lobby. this apartment is richly furnished and contains many portraits, most of them being crayon drawings of the speakers of the past. passing through this room and out, one comes to the committee rooms in one of which is hung a notable collection of paintings of the principal forts of the united states. from this corridor, the party descended the eastern grand staircase to a basement corridor which extends from end to end of the capitol on this ground floor. this they traversed till they came to the senate chamber. the white marble pillars in this at once attracted their attention. mr. ludlow said, "i want you all to examine these marble pillars carefully and notice that though they are of corinthian mold, their floriated capitals represent leaves of american plants, the one most used being the tobacco leaf." passing onward, to the right, they saw the old supreme court chamber, now used as a law library. all the corridors at this end are bright, and the walls and ceilings are very elaborately decorated with mural designs in the italian manner, being daintily drawn and brightly colored. among them are many portraits of early men of note, in medallions, and a long series of charming drawings in colors of american birds and flowers. the vestibule of the senate post office is particularly picturesque, having over the post office door a large painting of fulton, indicating his first steamboat, "the claremont," passing the palisades of the hudson. a stairway leads on up to the main floor, where corridors completely extend around the senate chamber, which occupies the center of its wing. here the ceiling, in contrast with the one of the house, is flat, with broad panels of glass, painted with emblems of the army, the navy and the arts. the walls are of marble, paneled, the doors of choice mahogany, the carpet green, which sets off well the mahogany desks of quaint pattern. each desk bears a silver plate with the occupant's name engraved upon it. "do the republicans sit on the left of the speaker here, and the democrats on the right, as in the house?" questioned alfaretta, very proud of herself for having remembered what had been told her in the other room. "yes, but there is no speaker in the senate," answered mr. ludlow. "who is it, then, that uses that beautifully carved high backed chair on that little platform there?" asked dorothy. "the president of the senate is the vice-president of the united states," said mrs. calvert, smiling and thinking that the girls ought to know more about these things, for they were shockingly lacking in knowledge of all the fundamental principles of the workings of the government. "who are all these statues of?" asked alfaretta, pointing to the niches in the walls. "these are statues of all the vice-presidents," answered mrs. calvert again. "outside here are many interesting things that you will all like to see," said mr. ludlow. "to the right here is the famous portrait of washington, and opposite, one of john adams." "is that benjamin franklin?" inquired ruth, looking at a large marble statue at the foot of the eastern staircase, when they had passed through the door situated between the two portraits. "yes, and the picture on the wall of the stair landing is a very famous one. it is of commander perry at the battle of lake erie. perry is seen transferring himself and his flag from his sinking flagship 'lawrence' to the 'niagara,' when he won that great victory. this transfer was made under fire. perry's younger brother, matthew, then a midshipman, is depicted here as entreating his brother and commander not to expose himself too recklessly," said mr. ludlow in the way of explaining this picture. "and the faces of the sailors are drawn from once well-known employes about the capitol," added aunt betty. "my guide book tells me that." "this vestibule opens at its inner end into the senate reception room. the one thing of interest in this room," said mr. ludlow, when they had entered, "is the picture on the south wall. it is of washington, in conference with jefferson and hamilton." "isn't the room pretty! what luxurious chairs, soft sofas, beautiful rugs, and those cream colored curtains!" exclaimed ruth. "whose room is this?" asked dorothy, who was becoming tired, and, wanting to move on more rapidly, had gone ahead. "this next room is the president's room," answered aunt betty. "it is the custom of the president to sit here during the last day of a congressional session in order to be ready to sign bills requiring immediate attention. the portraits are those of washington and his first cabinet members." from here they ascended to the gallery floor by way of the western grand staircase, at the foot of which stands the statue of john hancock. in the wall of the landing is walker's painting, "the storming of chepultepec." the scene is during the mexican war, when it was captured by scott's army. the rooms here in the gallery are numerous committee rooms not open to the public, so they all passed on down the corridor to the interesting rooms that contain morau's celebrated pictures of the canyons of the colorado and of the yellowstone, which were painted by actual study of the scenes. those familiar with these marvelous regions of the country recognize that the coloring is by no means overly vivid, and that the drawings are most accurate and natural. in the adjoining hall is the painting of the encounter between the monitor and the merrimac. this picture is the only exception to the rule that no reminder of the civil war should be placed in the capitol; an exception due to the fact that this was in reality a drawn battle, where the courage of the contestants was conspicuously equal, and where the naval methods of old found their grave. its historic interest is, therefore, world-wide. "the bust, there, dorothy," said aunty betty, "is of john a. dix, afterward a major general. it was he, who, when he was secretary of the treasury early in the uncivil war, sent to one of his special representatives in a southern state the famous order containing the words, 'if anyone attempts to haul down the american flag, shoot him on the spot,' which so thrilled patriotic hearts." "from here let us go to the supreme court," said mr. ludlow. "that will finish our tour of the capitol." a small elevator took them down to the main floor, where they walked along the corridor, viewing the portraits of thomas jefferson and patrick henry. the supreme court of the united states now uses the chamber in the old capitol which was originally designed for the senate. the background is a row of columns of variegated gray potomac marble, with white ionic capitals. in the centre is the chair of the chief justice, behind which are draped crimson curtains surmounted by a hovering eagle. on the dias below is the long "bench" of the most august court in the land. "one formal custom here will be of interest," said mr. dauntrey. "on court days the justices enter the room in procession precisely at noon. they wear voluminous black silk gowns, and sit in a prescribed order with the chief justice, of course, in the centre." "there. i think we have made a very careful tour of the capitol. i think we have missed nothing at all of importance," said mr. ludlow. "but i guess by now, you are all tired and anxious to be back to the hotel." "what time is it, i wonder?" said dorothy to herself, and turning to mr. ludlow said, "mr. ludlow, i feel as if it were time for lunch." "why, it's one-thirty o'clock," said mr. ludlow. "i am surprised that the time has gone so quickly, so let's hurry back to the hotel, for we are already late." all were hungry and anxious to get back to their luncheon, but no one regretted a single moment spent in this most interesting place. chapter xiv. high honor. that afternoon dorothy devoted to practice, giving special attention to the three pieces she was to play at the concert, two of which had been given place on the program. the third was to be held in readiness in case she needed to respond to an encore. aunt betty and alfy listened to her and expressed their approval. they were never limited in their praise of her work, which always seemed to them beyond criticism. "good-bye, for a while," called dorothy, at the end of a stanza. "i will only be gone a few minutes, i hope. mr. ludlow, in my letter of instructions, told me to come to him at four o'clock. i have to play over my selections to him so he can criticize them." dorothy walked slowly down the hall and knocked on the sitting room door. in a moment, to her surprise, mr. dauntrey opened it. "good afternoon," said he. "now, i shall have the pleasure of listening to you play, i hope." "mr. ludlow said that i was to come here at four o'clock. i think he wants me to play my selections over for him," answered dorothy. "yes, you are right," said mr. ludlow, from his large easy rocking chair by the open window, which overlooked a court. "yes. stand over there and start in at once." dorothy, thus enjoined, took up her violin and began playing. she finished her first piece without any interruptions on the part of mr. ludlow. she was about to start the second piece when he called to her to stop. "play the introduction to that piece again and a little louder, also a little firmer," he ordered. she did as she was told. "that's a little better," he said, when she had finished. "but i should play the introduction still louder, so as to make a marked contrast when the melody proper starts in, by playing that very softly, like someone singing way off in the distance. and one more thing; in the last part, when you have that staccato melody, play that sharper. now, try the piece all over again." dorothy answered, "yes," and then played again, trying to do just as mr. ludlow asked her to, and when she finished she stood still, saying nothing, just waiting to hear what mr. ludlow would say. if she expected a word of praise she was to be disappointed. "very well, try the next one," was all mr. ludlow said. so the girl once more took up her violin, and filled the room with melody. this time she played her piece, so she thought, very poorly, in part, because of mr. dauntrey. she seemed to feel his eyes on her, and it made her nervous. "very well," said mr. ludlow, much to her surprise. "that will be all for this afternoon. and, miss dorothy, try not to get nervous or excited to-night. i expect you to do your very best." "i will try," smiled back dorothy. "good afternoon." just as she reached the door, she saw ruth, who stepped back into the shadow of the hall. ruth questioned, "is he cross? and is mr. dauntrey there?" "mr. ludlow isn't cross, but he's very business-like. and mr. dauntrey is in there, and i wish he hadn't been," answered dorothy. "oh, dear," exclaimed ruth, "i just know he will be so cross with me, for if mr. dauntrey is in there i just can't sing. he thinks i am a wonderful singer, and i know that i'm not. still, i hate to have him think that i can't sing at all." "you will do all right, dear," comforted dorothy. "just think you are alone, and forget everything and everybody." "very well," answered ruth, "and good-bye. i must go in and bear it," saying which she walked up to the door and knocked. dorothy walked down the hall toward her own rooms, then she turned, took the elevator downstairs, and bought a postal, one showing a picture of the capitol. this she took to her writing desk, addressed it, and wrote just this, "arrived safe. visited the capitol this morning. will write later. with love, dorothy." she placed a stamp on it and mailed it, then hurried upstairs to her room again. "i am rather tired," she said to her aunt and alfy, who were reading, "i think i shall rest a few minutes before i dress for dinner. we need to have dinner real early to-night, as we are expected to be at the national theater at . p. m. mr. ludlow is to give us each a program, then, and tell us of any last orders he may have for us." "shall i get your things all out and have everything all ready for you?" inquired alfy. "yes, please." "what dress do you want to wear?" asked alfy. "i think you had better wear the pink one, dear," suggested mrs. calvert. "very well, the pink one, alfy," called dorothy. "i will have all the things you need ready; shoes--i mean slippers, stockings, handkerchiefs, and gloves," called back alfy, as by this time dorothy had reached her room, and was preparing for her rest. both mrs. calvert and alfaretta continued to read for quite some time, and finally when she thought it was time for alfy to get dressed, aunt betty said: "alfy, i think you had better start to get dressed, now, and as you are to lay out dorothy's things for her, i do not think you will have any too much time." "surely, aunt betty, i will begin at once. i was so interested in my book that i forgot my duties," answered alfy, and she started into the next room and commenced getting dorothy's things ready first. when she had finished this task, she walked back into the sitting room again and inquired, "aunt betty, i have finished getting dorothy's things ready. will you please now tell me what you would like to have me wear?" "i think you might wear your little white dress, with the pretty blue sash and ribbon of the same color, for your hair," answered mrs. calvert. "and you might wear white shoes and stockings. we are merely going to be part of the audience, to-night, so i hardly think we need dress very much." "all right," answered alfy, cheerily, and started away again, humming a little tune under her breath. she was pleased to think she could wear her new white dress, with the pretty blue sash. and she thought she would ask dorothy to tie the blue ribbon around her hair, as dorothy always did such things so much daintier than she did. still singing, she started to dress in earnest. it wasn't long before dorothy awoke from her nap, and soon the two girls were dressed and ready to help each other with the finishing touches. together they made short and quick work of this. mrs. calvert looked up as they entered the room, and said, "come here, and kiss me, dears. you both look very sweet; very pretty, indeed." "do you and alfy want to be audience again, while i play over my pieces once more?" asked dorothy. "i'm sure mr. ludlow didn't quite like the way i played one of them this afternoon." "of course we do," answered aunt betty. "we will each sit down and listen very attentively." "i will play first the last piece on the program," announced dorothy. "very well," said mrs. calvert, smiling encouragingly at the girl. dorothy gave careful attention to her work, and played one after the other of the three selections through, pausing long enough between each piece so that they might know she was about to begin the next. the one mr. ludlow had taken exception to and criticised, that afternoon, she played last, paying strict attention to the parts he had indicated as needing correction. when she had finished, she laid down her violin, and came and stood in front of her aunt, questioning: "do you think i played them well enough? did i do better than i did this afternoon before i went in to see mr. ludlow, and did you notice the difference in the playing of the last piece?" "my, what a lot of questions," said aunt betty, laughing. "now, to answer them all: yes, i do think you played much better just now than you did before. and i think mr. ludlow's corrections in that last piece improve it greatly. you see, he considers your work from the viewpoint of the audience." "i am glad you like the correction. i think it is better by far, myself. but i just wanted to get your opinion on it before i was quite satisfied," replied dorothy. "i guess, to change the subject, that we are all ready for dinner, so let's go down; maybe some of the others are ready also." they found that all of the party were already at dinner, so they joined them in a quiet meal. each seemed imbued with the responsibility that rested on their shoulders. dorothy, leaving her aunt and alfaretta to follow her to the theater, started early with ruth and mr. ludlow. on the way to the theater, mr. ludlow said, "just one final word of instruction: stand either a little to the right or a little to the left of the centre of the stage; never just in the centre. it looks better from the house side. and try not to get nervous. mr. dauntrey will give you each a program. and now, i think you are all right." mr. dauntrey, joining them on their arrival, gave each a program. dorothy noted that she was to be the third, and was quite pleased to find that she came in the first half of the program. she always liked to play and then go out and sit with her aunt and listen to the remainder of the recital. the programs were beautifully printed in gold and color, on a heavy white paper, on the cover of which was an eagle. the sheets were tied together with a red, white and blue ribbon. the contents read as follows: part i. . songs-- "ave maria" gounod "la palonia" gradier miss mary robbia. . piano solo-- "am meer" schubert "caprice brilliant" leybach mr. c. b. carleton. . violin solo-- adagio from "moonlight sonata" beethoven meistersinger wagner miss dorothy calvert. . songs-- "chanson de florian" godard "ah, that we two were a-maying" smith miss ruth boothington. part ii. . classical dances-- "hungarian dance" brahms "dance of the sylphs" berlioz miss florence winter. . trio songs-- "the psalms" faure "serenade" schubert "song of the toreador" bizet "lost chord" sullivan rendered by trio: miss dozzi, mrs. helmholz, signor de peiuzzi. "are you going out in front to sit with your aunt and alfaretta, after you have finished?" inquired ruth, who was standing beside dorothy. "yes, do you want to come out with me?" dorothy asked. "yes. if i may," answered ruth. "will you wait here in the wings till i have finished singing, and then we can go out together. i come right after you on the program." "i am anxious to see miss winter's dance," said dorothy. "and so am i, and to hear that trio sing," answered ruth. "do you want to see the stage?" called mr. dauntrey. "come now, if you do. mr. ludlow wants you all to go and try it out; that is, i mean, practice making an entrance." the girls walked over in the direction in which mr. dauntrey led. "oh!" exclaimed ruth, when the vista of the stage came into view. "isn't it pretty!" "it is, indeed," acquiesced dorothy. the stage was a spacious one. to the right was placed the grand piano, around which palms were artistically arranged. in the centre, and way to the rear, as a background, hung a large american flag. on each side of the flag ran a regular column of palms. little plants and flowers were on the stage in such profusion as to transform it into a veritable fairyland. "wasn't that a nice idea to put the flag back there?" said ruth. "i think the stage decorations are very artistic, and i am sure with such surroundings, everyone should do their very best," said mr. dauntrey. just then they looked at the clock in the wings and saw that it was . p. m., the time announced to commence. they all walked off the stage and back into the wings. as the curtain arose, miss robbia advanced to do her part. just then dorothy heard mr. ludlow say, "i think the president is here." "oh, i hope he does come," answered miss ruth. but dorothy, as she went back to await her turn, was not quite so sure. it seemed a serious thing to play before the greatest dignitary in the land. the first number at last was finished, then the second, then it was dorothy's turn. when she was on the stage, she looked out into the audience and there, sure enough, in the large, beautifully decorated box, sat the president and his party. surely the presence of such a notable guest should prompt her to do her best. she wondered if the fact of his being there would make her nervous. then she thought of jim and of what he would say, and then once launched upon her theme, she forgot everything else. her whole soul, it seemed to the audience, was engulfed in her art. never had instrument fashioned by hand been more responsive to human touch. when she had finished playing, she heard vaguely the applause, and went out again before the curtain to bow her acknowledgment. then a large bunch of american beauty roses were handed to her. a very pretty picture indeed did she make with the large bouquet of flowers in her arms. when the first half of the concert was over, mr. ludlow came back and said: "the president would like miss ruth and miss dorothy to come to his box; he would like to congratulate you both." "ah, that is pleasing, indeed," exclaimed dorothy. "surely we are honored," added ruth. they followed mr. ludlow out to the president's box, where he and his family and a few friends sat. when they reached the box, the president rose and said, smilingly: "i want to congratulate you young people on your success. it has been a great pleasure for me to hear you. your playing, miss calvert, was entrancing." all the eyes of the audience were now turned on the presidential box, and there was a craning of necks, trying to see what was going on there. the incident was soon over, the president had shaken hands with each, and dorothy at last found time to look at the card attached to her roses. she imagined aunt betty had sent them to her. but she was very much surprised and greatly pleased when she saw jim's name on them, and wondered how he could have sent them. she hugged them close to her and kissed each pretty rose. just then ruth came up and said, "i am ready now, dear, let's go out in front. my! what beautiful flowers you have. who sent them to you?" "a friend," answered dorothy, blushing. "wasn't _he_ thoughtful to remember to telegraph them here for you," laughed ruth. "i wish i had a friend to send me beautiful flowers," she added. "who gave you those beautiful violets you are wearing, that just match your eyes?" questioned dorothy. "oh, mr. ludlow sent them. he always does, because he knows i love violets, but that's different from having american beauty roses sent to one," ruth replied. by this time they were around in front and had quietly sat down in the two seats reserved for them beside aunt betty and alfaretta. miss winter had come on the stage preparatory to performing her dances. she was a very pretty little girl, with blonde hair, and had a small, but well formed figure. the stage was cleared and the lights dull. she danced about the stage in such a light, breezy way that it seemed to the audience that she was wafted about by a spring breeze. she danced most artistically, and her rendering of the two dances was so perfect that the audience applauded again and again, though in response, she just made some curtain bows and retired. the trio, which ruth so wished to hear, came next. their rendition was a long and exquisite one, and ruth now realized why mr. ludlow had put them last. she turned to dorothy and whispered, "aren't they wonderful!" "yes," answered dorothy. "they are the best we have." "that's why," explained ruth, "mr. ludlow put them last, so they would leave a good impression of the whole concert in the people's mind. i feel as if i just couldn't sing at all." the concert was now over, and the audience indicated by the volume of applause that rang out that it was a great success. everyone had done just what they thought was their very best, and many had received beautiful flowers. it wasn't long before they were all home. chapter xv. mt. vernon. as mr. ludlow had planned for them to visit mount vernon and the white house the next day it necessitated their packing partly, so as to be ready to take the train for the next city in which they were to give a concert. as the concert had been such a great success here, they were very hopeful regarding the rest of the tour. the next morning they were all ready in time for the a. m. boat for mount vernon. they had agreed the night before to see mount vernon first and leave the white house till last, as the majority cared more to see the former. on their way they passed the city of alexandria, and were told that here the union troops began the invasion of virginia soil, and here fell elsworth the first notable victim of the war. the old red brick hotel, where he pulled down the flag of the confederates was pointed out to the party by the guide. also the guide pointed out to them christ church, which washington and his family had attended. then, a little further on, among some peach orchards, begins the mount vernon estate, which in washington's time contained about eight thousand acres. the estate is on the right bank of the potomac, just sixteen miles below washington. the land was part of an extensive grant to john washington, the first of the family who came to america in middle of the seventeenth century. the estate descended to george, when he was barely more than a boy. he continued to develop and beautify the property until the breaking out of the war of . then the ability he had shown in the virginia militia called him to the service of the united colonies. he returned to mount vernon at the close of the war, but had to leave it, and take up his duties as first president of the republic. he was buried upon his estate and the family declined to accept the subsequent invitation of congress to transfer the body to the undercroft of the capitol. after mrs. washington's death, the property descended finally to john augustine washington, who proposed to dispose of it. a southern lady, miss ann pamela cunningham, secured the refusal, and after failing to interest congress in her proposal that the government should buy and preserve it as a memorial, succeeded in arousing the women of the country. an association of these women, named the "mount vernon ladies' association of the union," with representatives from every state was incorporated, and in paid $ , for the central portion of the property, some acres, covenanting to hold it in perpetuity. an admission fee of cents charged all visitors goes to the payment of current expenses. the tomb of washington is the first object of attention. it stands immediately at the head of the path from the landing. its position, small dimensions, and plain form of brick, were indicated by washington in his will. the front part, closed by plain iron gates, through which anyone may look, contains two plain sarcophagi, each excavated from a single block of marble. the one in the centre of the little enclosure contains the remains of the father of his country, within the little mahogany coffin in which they were originally put. at the left is that of martha washington. four times a year these iron gates are opened by the authorities, and wreaths and other floral offerings are deposited therein. the mansion itself, stands upon considerable eminence, overlooking broad reaches of the historic potomac. it is built of oak and pictures have made its architectural features familiar everywhere. when mount vernon was acquired by the ladies' association, it was not only out of repair, but the furniture had been distributed to various heirs, or sold and scattered. an effort was made to preserve as much as possible, and to restore as closely as might be the original homelike appearance of the house. it has been impossible to do this absolutely, and a great many other articles of furniture, adornment and historical interest have been added. in order to do this, the various state branches of the association were invited to undertake to furnish one room each, and many have done so. the names of these states are associated with the apartments they have taken charge of. a considerable quantity of furniture, as well as personal relics of george and martha washington, are here, however, especially in the bedrooms where they died. "ah," exclaimed dorothy as she entered the hall. "just look at those swords. did they all belong to washington?" "yes, dear, the one in the middle of the three," answered mrs. calvert, "was the one he wore when he resigned his commission at annapolis, and when he was inaugurated at new york." "and what is this key hanging here for?" asked alfaretta. "that key has a most interesting history," answered mr. ludlow. "that is the key to the bastile, that prison in paris, which was so justly hated by the people, and which was demolished by the mob. lafayette sent it to washington in a letter." next they turned to the east and entered the music room. this room is under the care of the state of ohio. "oh, just see all the things in here!" cried dorothy. "look at that dear harpsichord." "that harpsichord was given to nellie custis by washington," answered aunt betty. they next entered the west parlor. above the mantel piece is carved the coat-of-arms of the family. the carpet here is a rug presented by louis xvi to washington. it was woven to order, in dark green with orange stars; its center piece is the seal of the united states, and the border is a floriated design. this room was refurnished by the state of illinois. "look, dear, see the spinet there," said mrs. calvert to dorothy. "yes, and what beautiful candlesticks those are standing there on that queer table," answered dorothy. "what is this next room?" inquired alfaretta. "this room," answered aunt betty, "was mrs. washington's sitting room, and was refurnished in the manner of the period by georgia. but the dining room is what i want you to especially notice. the furniture here was that originally used by washington--" "next is washington's library, for i see books in there," announced ruth. "this is one of the most important rooms in the house," said mr. ludlow, as they entered the banquet hall. its length is the whole width of the mansion, and its richly decorated ceiling is full two stories high. "the ornate fireplace and mantel of italian marble and workmanship once occupied a place in a country home in england," said mrs. calvert; "someone brought it over the ocean and gave it to washington, and it is worth examining." they now ascended the stairs to the second floor to visit the bedrooms. "let's go first to the bedroom where washington died," said mr. ludlow. "it is almost exactly as it was when he lived here." "there is the large four-poster," said dorothy. "yes, dear, and these pillows here on the chairs were worked by martha washington herself," added aunt betty. they next went to see the room where martha washington died. it is directly above the one occupied by washington. this is fitted up as nearly as possible as it was when occupied by martha, but only the corner washstand really belonged to her. they visited the other bedrooms, noticing the important things of interest in them, and then started back to the city, where they had late luncheon and went out immediately after to visit the white house. they had very little time left and wanted to get just a glimpse of the president's home. everyone is familiar with the appearance of the white house. the grounds consist of some eight acres sloping down to the potomac. the immediate gardens were early attended to as is shown by the size of the trees. one park, near the house, known as the white lot, is open to the public, and here, in warm weather, the marine band gives outdoor concerts. here also is the sloping terrace just behind the white house, that the children of the city gather upon on easter to roll their colored eggs. coming up from pennsylvania avenue along the semi-circular drive that leads up from the open gates, they entered the stately vestibule through the front portico. the middle upper window from which lincoln made so many impromptu but memorable addresses during the war was pointed out. the doorkeepers here direct callers upon the president up the broad staircase. they formed the company into one party and conducted them, under their guidance, around the building. they were taken into the east room, originally designed for a banquet hall, which is used now as a state reception room. it has eight beautiful marble mantels, surmounted by tall mirrors, and large crystal chandeliers from each of the three great panels of the ceiling. full length portraits of george and martha washington are among the pictures on the wall. every visitor is told that mrs. madison cut the former painting from out the frame with a pair of shears to preserve it from the enemy when she fled from the town in . but in her own letters describing her flight she says that mr. custis, the nephew of washington, hastened over from arlington to save the precious portrait and that a servant cut the outer frame with an axe so the canvas could be removed, stretched on the inner frame. adjoining the east room is the green room, named so from the general color scheme which has been traditional. the ceiling is ornamented with an exquisite design in which musical instruments are entwined in a garland with cherubs and flowers. next to this, and somewhat larger and oval, is the blue room. the ornaments here are presents from the french. the mantel clock was a present from napoleon to lafayette, and was given by the latter to the united states. the fine vases were presented by the president of the french republic, on the occasion of the opening of the franco-american cable. it is here the president stands when holding receptions and ceremonials. the red room, west of the blue room, is square and the same size as the green parlor. it is more homelike than the others because of its piano and mantel ornaments, abundant furniture and pictures. it is used as a reception room and private parlor by the ladies of the mansion. in the state dining room at the end of the corridor, elaborate dinners are usually given once or twice a week, during the winter, and they are brilliant affairs. plants and flowers from the conservatories are supplied in limitless quantities and the table is laden with a rare display of plate, porcelain and cut glass. it presents a beautiful appearance and is an effective setting for the elaborate toilets of the ladies and their glittering jewels. the table service is exceedingly beautiful and is adorned with various representations of the flora and fauna of america. the new set of cut glass, consisting of five hundred and twenty separate pieces, was made especially for the white house, and on each piece, from the mammoth centerpiece and punch bowl to the tiny salt cellars, is engraved the coat-of-arms of the united states. the table can be made to accommodate as many as fifty-four persons, but the usual number of guests is from thirty to forty. a door leads into the conservatory, which is always a beauty spot. just opposite the state dining room is the private or family dining room. the offices of the president and his secretaries are on the second floor at the eastern end. the president's room and cabinet room are in the executive office west of the white house, so the guide told them, and a large force of watchmen including police officers are on duty inside the mansion at all hours, and a continuous patrol is maintained by the local police of the grounds immediately surrounding the mansion. thinking they had seen as much as they could safely spare time for, they hurried away back to the hotel, where they all hastily packed the rest of their things and sent them at once to the station. they soon started on their considerable journey, and almost nightly concerts till they should reach chicago. chapter xv. the lake city. about a week later, they arrived one day, late in the afternoon, in chicago, and at once took a bus from the station to the hotel, the blackstone. they were to sing at the auditorium that evening. the concert they gave originally in washington was to be repeated. as all were now familiar with their task, they did not have to practice unless so disposed. mr. ludlow and his assistant hurried off to the auditorium to see about decorations and to meet the committee that had charge of selling tickets there. mrs. calvert, dorothy, and alfaretta hurried up to their rooms to get their things straightened out. alfy found, having packed hurriedly that morning, that their dresses were badly wrinkled. she said to mrs. calvert: "aunt betty, what shall i do? my dresses are very much mussed, and i guess dorothy's are in the same condition." "i have a little electric iron in my trunk that i always carry with me for just that purpose, when i travel, because one's things are very apt to get wrinkled no matter how much care one takes of them," answered aunt betty. "may i have it?" questioned alfaretta, eagerly, for she was always very fond of ironing, and always was very proud of her skill in that direction, for more than once ma babcock had praised her by saying even she couldn't have done as well herself. "i would love to iron the things all out nice, and make them look like new." "certainly, i will get it for you. you unscrew the electric light bulb and take it out, and then put the small disk in place and screw it tight. then turn on the current, and place the piece with the wire attached into the socket. then in a few minutes the iron will be hot enough to use," directed aunt betty. alfy started off to look for things to press; ribbons, belts, ties, collars and the dresses that they wished to wear that night. these she laid on the bed, and aunt betty left her there, as happy and content as she could be in having found some way in which she could be useful. when dorothy was all alone at last, she opened a letter that the clerk had given her when she arrived, and read as follows: dear, dear girl: i received your postal and letter from washington, but was rather disappointed not to have had another letter from you ere this. but i suppose you have been very busy sight-seeing in all the places you have been, and then you must have given up considerable time to practicing for your concerts. i know that you have little time while you are traveling about. i read the accounts of the first concert in the new york papers, and they all referred to it as being a great success. i am very proud of you, dear. as yet i have heard nothing at all from the detectives concerning your locket and chain, but i have heard of a new detective, a private man. a fellow in the office was telling me about his good work in many cases; it seems that he is a friend of this fellow's. the chap is a nice boy and is under me in my work. his name is billie clarke, and he lives uptown in new york. he has invited me up to his home to meet his mother and sister, some time next week. i shall go because it is very lonely here in this big city without you, dear. i miss you, little sweetheart, in a hundred different ways. mr. van zandt telephoned me and said that he had submitted the proof he had concerning you, to his colleague, who would comment upon it a little later, and would submit it to the london solicitors; and just as soon as i hear anything about the result i will write to you. i asked him if he had been able to do anything in the line of tracing up little lem's people, but he said that he couldn't say much as he had just started, and had found but very few traces. so that is something we will still have to hope for, though i am sure he will do his best to solve that mystery. i like my new work very much indeed. there is a lot to learn, and i spend all my evenings reading up on matters i am not quite strong in, but, in time, i certainly hope to make good. and, dearest, i hope to save up all i can, against that day when i will surely be the happiest man on earth. you know what day i mean, dear girl. mrs. quarren has been just great to me, and has done everything she could to make my room seem homelike. the meals here are wonderful, and if i keep on eating as much as i have this last week, i shall be fat when you come back here again. now, dear, please, please write to me. you know how very lonely i am, and how anxious i am about you. write and tell me all the news. i love you, girl, always. your own, jim dorothy read the letter once, and sighed, "dear, dear jim," and then she slowly read the letter through again, kissed the signature, blushing as she did so. she then got up, walked to the writing desk, a pretty little mahogany one, fitted out nicely, selected some paper and started to write. she thought, "i will just write a little note to jim to thank him for sending me those beautiful american beauty roses that everyone admired. i ought to have done so before." her letter was as follows: dear jim: the clerk just handed me your letter as i came into the hotel, for we just arrived in chicago. i was very glad to hear from you. most of all, i want to thank you so very much for those flowers. they were just beautiful, and it pleased me so, to think of your remembering that we were to have the concert, and then sending those flowers to me by telegraph. the president was at the concert, and in the intermission we went to his box, spoke to him, and shook hands with him. i carried your flowers with me all the time. i am going to rest for a while after i write this letter, as we give a concert here to-night at the auditorium. the members of the company that joined us at washington are very fine. there is a trio, and their singing is exquisite; also a miss winters, who is a wonderful dancer. she fairly floats about the stage, and makes a very pretty picture. the whole company is very good, indeed, and i guess we are doing very well, judging from the applause we earn. mr. ludlow seems pleased with the finances. you know mr. dauntrey takes care of those and helps mr. ludlow in general. although the latter is very considerate and helpful, i don't know just why it is, but there is something i don't quite like about him. he is so very handsome that most girls, including ruth, are raving about him. we have a few busy days. a concert every night and train by day. we go from here to st. louis, and then to the coast. i am anxious to get to san francisco. i want to look up that old house there on the bluff that we had that year we took aunt betty there for her health when monty sharp was with us. do you remember, jim? i am so sorry about that locket, but i know that you will find it, and then we can clear up the whole affair. and so you think that perhaps mr. van zandt will find out all about poor little lem's parents just from that sampler that alfy found in the attic? i do so hope so. aunt betty and alfy, i know, would wish to be remembered, if they knew i was writing, so i will send their love anyway. now, isn't this a nice, long, newsy letter? i have to practice a little now, so i will stop. i am yours, as ever, dorothy. she read the letter she had just written over again, and then sealed it. she then opened the door, stepped into the hall and dropped it into the mail box chute near the elevator. then she returned to the room to dress and rest before the concert. in a little while alfy entered and found her dressing. "see what i have been doing," she said, gayly, holding up the dresses she had just finished pressing so that dorothy could see and admire them. "you dear girl," commented dorothy, going over and kissing her. "you are always doing something for me. thank you, dear, for pressing my dress. doesn't it look nice now?--like new again." "is there anything else that you would like to have pressed, now that i am working?" alfy inquired. "why, there is that blue waist that i have been wearing in the train. it is very mussy," added dorothy, "but if you are in a hurry, don't bother with it; i really can get along without it." "give it to me," responded alfy. "i just love ironing, and will have it done in no time. i might as well press mine while i am about it, too." and taking dorothy's waist from her, she quickly found her own, and started off with them. the girls were soon ready, and then went down the stair with mrs. calvert. mr. ludlow called for dorothy at seven o'clock that evening, and they started for the auditorium. the stage, this time, was decorated with huge bunches of chrysanthemums, and large green palms that hung their great, fan-like leaves in a regular bower effect over the stage, making a very effective background for the performance. the programs here were, of course, inside much like the washington ones, but this time the cover was of heavy, dark brown manila paper, embossed into a large dull gold chrysanthemum, and tied with a yellow ribbon bow at the top end. they were very pretty and effective. the committee of ladies that had charge of selling the seats here in chicago had arranged to have the programs sold. they had selected ten very pretty and charming debutantes, and had provided them with pretty little dainty satin bags, with yellow chrysanthemums handpainted on them. these bags were hung over their shoulders by yellow ribbons. the whole effect was very pretty and artistic. the girls were to charge twenty-five cents for the programs, and the money they slipped into a little pocket in the bag which held them. during the intermission, most of the people retired to the cosy little tea-room in front of the place, where cool and refreshing drinks as well as ice creams and ices were served at a moderately low fee. there the girls met many charming chicago people, and the committee of ladies made it very pleasant for them by introducing them to almost everyone. a most informal and successful evening, they all agreed they had spent. the next day was sunday, and as a few of their number were visiting friends in chicago, the rest of them decided to spend the day sight-seeing. the trio, for so they were always called by the rest, all had gone to visit relatives, and little miss winter had promised to visit a friend who lived in a suburb of the city. so the rest of the company felt quite lost, and thought the best way to amuse themselves in this large, strange city was to go sight-seeing and become acquainted with it. "did you know," said mr. ludlow as the little party started out on a tour of the city, "that chicago is especially famous for its highly developed and extensive boulevard systems and parks? the public parks cover an area of over four thousand acres and are being added to every year." "yes," responded mrs. calvert, "and the great boulevards of the city encircle the metropolis and connect parks and squares. these great roads, splendidly paved and shaded by trees, and lined with ornamental lamp posts, are throughout the year favorite highways for the automobilists." about ten minutes' walk from the hotel brought them to grant park on the lake front. there the art institute attracted their attention, and they found the building open. "the center of art interests in chicago is located here," said mr. ludlow. "this building contains the museum of fine arts and the school of design. its collections and the building and its work are entirely conducted on voluntary subscriptions." "i have heard that the art school here is the largest one in america," said mrs. calvert. they visited the various rooms in the museum, including the hall collection of casts of ancient and modern sculpture, and the higinbotham collection of naples bronzes, the rooms containing french sculpture and musical instruments, scarabæae, egyptian antiques, greek vases of glass and terra-cotta, and found all very interesting. they then visited blackstone hall, containing the great blackstone collection of architectural casts chiefly from french subjects. then the paintings of george inness. these canvases are so diverse and representative that it is highly improbable that another equally significant group of works by inness will ever come into market again. from the north side of grant park and extending south to garfield boulevard near washington park is michigan boulevard. this historic drive, part of which was once an indian trail, is a main artery of automobile travel from the lake front hotel districts to the south parks. the party then took a surface car to jackson park, which was a short distance. it was the site of the world's columbian exposition. "the field museum of natural history was the fine arts building in the exposition of ," said mr. ludlow. "let's visit that part first." this museum was established soon after the close of the world's columbian exposition, and occupies one of the largest and most beautiful buildings in the whole exposition group covering two acres. the building is classic greek in style, constructed with brick and steel, covered with ornamental stucco, in imitation of marble. marshall field, whose name the institution perpetuates, was the person who made the building possible by his generosity. he gave about one and a half million dollars. then at his death in , he left the institution eight million dollars, one-half for endowment, and the other half for a magnificent permanent building, worthy of the unrivaled scientific collections which it contains. the nucleus of the material now on view was gathered by gift and purchase from exhibitions at the world's columbian exposition. from here they walked to the wooded island, an interesting feature of which is the cahokia court house, reputed to be the oldest public building in the whole mississippi valley. it was built, it is said, about the year , at cahokia, illinois, and has served in various public capacities. at different periods it was employed for both civil and military purposes, and is recognized as the oldest county seat building (saint clair county, illinois) in the original northwest territory. the building is constructed of squared walnut logs, set on end in the early french manner of stockade construction, the logs being held together with wooden pins. three flags, french, english and american, float from the flagstaff of the old cahokia court house, daily. within the building are a number of photographs of the original documents which pertain to its interesting history. the japanese buildings, representing three periods of japanese history, remain in their original site at the north end of wooded island, and near them is a tiny garden in formal japanese style. the united states life saving station is near the lake shore and was one of the interesting government exhibitions, and has ever since been maintained as a regular life saving station. la rabida, at the south end of the park on the lake shore is an exact reproduction of an ancient spanish convent, where columbus was at one time sheltered and befriended, in the days before he was able to secure aid from the spanish court. "and an interesting reminder of columbus can be seen in those three small caravels," said mr. ludlow. "do you know their names? they are reproductions of the small craft that brought columbus and his followers on their first voyage to the new world." dorothy, who had remembered reading an article on columbus in a recent magazine, exclaimed joyfully, "i know, the nina, the pinta and the santa maria." "right," laughed mr. ludlow. "oh, i am hungry," said alfy, suddenly, "i am most starved. what time is it, i wonder? i feel as if it were way past dinner time." mr. ludlow consulted his watch and said, "it is just six forty-five." "i guess we had better start back to the hotel, now," broke in mrs. calvert. "i am rather tired and hungry, too." "we have seen quite a lot of the city and we can go into the shopping district and see that in the morning. there are some few things i would like to purchase," remarked dorothy. "i would like to visit marshall field's. i have always heard so much about it and i would like to see if these chicagoans really know what a good store is." "you will find that marshall field's is indeed a very wonderful store. just like our new york stores, though, but a trifle better, anyway," said mrs. calvert. "yes, i think you will all agree with me, when you visit that wonderful store in the morning." they hurried back to the hotel and prepared for dinner, after which mr. ludlow took ruth, dorothy and alfaretta to church. aunt betty stayed home, being too tired to go out. chapter xvi. the accident. on monday morning the company divided into little parties and went shopping, each to secure their own special needs. dorothy, ruth, alfaretta and mrs. calvert made one party. they went direct to marshall field's and were admittedly amazed by what they saw, so stupendous is the place. they were surprised to find the store's capacity so large and everything so fine, of such good quality, reasonably priced and conveniently arranged. mrs. calvert bought a belt and a pair of gloves, and met such courteous attention and carefulness among the shop-girls as to be very much impressed. she said to dorothy: "dear, i never before found shopping so pleasant. i wish i could always get everything i wished at chicago, and especially here in this store, for it is directed wonderfully well." "i would like to send some souvenir postcards," broke in alfy. "do you suppose i can get them here?" "yes, indeed," answered dorothy. "i saw them, a large counter full of all kinds of views in and around the city; they were near the door which we entered." "you can write them right here, and send them off from the store," added aunt betty. "come along then," directed ruth. "all this way who want post cards." they made their way to the counter where the cards were displayed and immediately were engaged in selecting views of the things and places they had seen in the city. "here is a very pretty card," said ruth. "it has the la rabida on it. you remember the convent we saw in jackson park yesterday, where they had all of those columbus relics?" "yes, and did you see this one?" asked dorothy, holding up a card to view. "it's the little japanese garden on the wooded island in the same park." "look!" exclaimed alfy, showing them all another card, "here is one of the art institute!" mrs. calvert, who had been searching through the various cards, said, "i think these three are very interesting, this of the store, this one of our hotel, and this other of the life saving station in the park." "well, have you all selected those you wish?" said dorothy. "because, if you have, we can all go over there to the writing room and send them all right off." "what a beautifully appointed room," said mrs. calvert, as they entered the spacious, well lighted writing room, with the mahogany desks and generous supply of good quality writing paper, pens, ink-wells, etc. there was also in the corner a stamp machine, in which one deposits the right change and secures the desired number of stamps in return. "i want to send cards to ma and pa babcock. ma always likes me to, so she can show them down at liza jane's," said alfy. "i would like to send one to gerald banks and his sister, and, of course, to jim," said dorothy. "i think there are just two i wish to send. i want to send one to mrs. quarren," rejoined ruth, "and if you do not mind, i think i should like to send one to jim, also." "of course i don't object," laughed dorothy. "jim would be pleased to think you had remembered him. but let me see which one you are going to send him so i may send him a different one." "very well," answered ruth. "i will send the one of the hotel." "and i," responded dorothy, "will send the one of the lake and wooded island in jackson park." "i think i shall send jim a card also," said mrs. calvert. "but i shall send him the one of the store. my list is just a little longer than all you girls' lists. i shall send cards to frau and herr deichenberg, little lemuel and old ephraim, and jim, whom i mentioned before." "shall i get the stamps?" said ruth. "can i go with you?" asked alfy. "i want to see how the machine works." "certainly, come on," added ruth. "how many shall we need?" "you had better get fifteen," answered mrs. calvert. "you see," remarked ruth to alfaretta, "that one can only deposit nickels and dimes in the slot." "what are you going to put in?" questioned alfy. "i am going to deposit first a dime and then a nickel in the slot that's marked for one cent stamps," replied ruth, suiting her actions to her words and picking up the stamps which the machine dropped into the receiving tray. "that's real fun," said alfaretta. "i'd always buy stamps here, but ma babcock would not like it." "why not?" asked ruth. "because ma always wants to talk, and would not think she had her money's worth without it." they put the stamps on the cards and then mailed them in the large gilt mail box near the door in the corner. "i guess it's most time for us to go back to the hotel for luncheon," said aunt betty. "almost," replied ruth, looking at her small gold watch. "it's now just eleven-thirty." "i want to get some blue ribbon," said dorothy, "before we leave for the hotel." "and i must get a veil," added ruth. the girls departed on their quests and in less than two minutes met mrs. calvert at the door and all went back together to the hotel for luncheon. it was a quiet mid-day meal, and as soon as it was over they had to devote their attention to their trunks, as they were to leave that afternoon for their next stopping place. mr. dauntrey and mr. ludlow attended to the baggage and the tickets and very soon all were ready. just as they were leaving the hotel to go to the station, mr. dauntrey singled ruth out, and approaching her, said, "will you come and walk down with me?" "with pleasure," said the girl, suiting her steps to his, and they started slowly to stroll down to the station. "i have a box of huyler's here for you," remarked mr. dauntrey. "i thought perhaps you would like it. i thought it would be nice for you to have on the train." "why thank you ever so much. you are very kind." "not half as kind as i would like to be, if you would only afford me the opportunity." ruth made some answer that turned the conversation to some less personal subject. she kept up a run of chatter about indifferent matters. so many people were upon the streets and so many conveyances on the roadways that progress was slow, and when they reached the station they found mr. ludlow very much provoked that ruth should have kept them all waiting, nearly causing the loss of their train. "couldn't you have walked a little faster, ruth?" mr. ludlow asked. "or taken the stage to the station if you were so tired? this must not happen again." ruth, who disliked being reprimanded before everybody, angrily exclaimed, "well, you didn't have to wait here for me, i am sure, for you might have known that mr. dauntrey is capable of taking care of me, and, aside from that, i think i can take pretty good care of myself." mr. ludlow did not reply, but hurried them to their private car, the others of the party having preceded him. very shortly they were speeding on their way. mrs. calvert read a book, and dorothy and alfy were merrily chatting over their trip, so ruth turned away from mr. ludlow and busied herself talking to mr. dauntrey and nibbling his chocolates and bon bons. mr. ludlow, who had most of the time been looking out of the window, turned to mrs. calvert and said, "i think it looks as if we were going to have a bad storm. it looks to me as if the clouds have been following us up, and i'm afraid we are going to get it in a little while good and plenty." mrs. calvert looked out of the window and saw the storm clouds approaching and gathering for the downpour, and then her eyes wandered to the river beside which the train ran. "just look!" she exclaimed, pointing to the water. "look, quick, at the river!" "that is quite remarkable," said mr. ludlow. "just see how high the water is and how fast it is flowing." "why it seems to be rising higher and higher by the minute as we go along," responded mrs. calvert. "i can't understand it, can you?" "oh!" shrieked ruth at this moment, clinging to mr. dauntrey's hand. "oh, what an awful flash of lightning! oh, how i hate an electric storm! lightning scares me half to death." "i like it," replied alfy, looking across the dark, turbulent, swiftly moving stream. "i always like to watch it. and 'up mounting' we do have some awful storms. you remember them, don't you, dorothy?" "of course i do. sometimes, though, i used to get a little scared. they used to be so very bad," said the girl, and all the people in the car jumped as a loud crash of thunder followed a blazing streak of lightning. the thunder seemed right under their feet and was so loud and so sudden that all were startled for a minute. ruth jumped up and grabbed mr. ludlow around the neck and hid her face in his shoulder, moaning, "oh, oh, i don't like this at all." mr. ludlow, although he did not like to see the girl so overcome with nervousness, was decidedly happy that she should turn to him, and hoped perhaps that the storm would last forever, if he could continue to hold ruth to him. this awful clap was followed by another flash of lightning which lit up the car brighter than daylight. mrs. calvert, who was facing the window, looked out and gasped, "oh, why don't they stop the train?" then they all heard a mighty splash and the train gave a terrible lurch and threw those standing over on the floor and those sitting had a hard time to keep their places. all the lights immediately went out and alfy shouted, "we are struck!" some of the party shrieked and one or two fainted dead away. none could see the others in the terrible, black darkness in which they were enveloped. at last, after a prolonged silence that seemed ages, mrs. calvert said. "is any one hurt?" everyone began to collect their scattered thoughts by this time, and mr. ludlow had managed to rise from his fallen position and get ruth up and into a seat. he grouped about in the pitch blackness into which they had been plunged and finally found his chair. he deftly managed to retain ruth's hand in his, in order to reassure her. the answer mrs. calvert received in general was that everyone was safe and physically unharmed and mentally as near right as could be expected. mrs. calvert then asked, "did anyone see out of the window when the flash of lightning lit up this car?" and when she had received answer that no one had, she continued: "i happened to be sitting facing the window and when the flash came i saw out very plainly." "what did you see?" questioned mr. ludlow, in a firm voice. "the river," responded mrs. calvert. "the river was up to the tracks." the fact was suggestive of further danger, and then dorothy questioned, "what was the crash? and why did the train lurch so? and why are all the lights out?" "maybe," suggested alfy, "maybe we were struck with lightning. do you think so, aunt betty?" "i don't know," she replied. "i can't understand where the train hands can be. they should be here to tell us what has happened." "do you suppose we have struck another train?" questioned dorothy. "oh," groaned ruth. "i wish we could have some lights. it's so dark i am afraid something will happen, and maybe some one will be killed." "hush, child," remarked mr. ludlow. "just be thankful things are no worse than they are, that we are all safe alive and none of us are hurt." ruth subsided to silence and sobbed beneath her breath. just then, george, the old negro porter, broke in on the excited party and endeavored to tell what was the matter. "lord o' mercy, massa!" he exclaimed. "de train am wrecked. the ingin and one ob de baggage cars did fall off these track, plump, splash, right in de water." "that's what the crash and splash and jerk was that we felt. the water was so high that it probably came up on the tracks here, and the engine and baggage car jumped the weakened trestle into the water. i wonder how it was it didn't pull the rest of the train into the water also," said mr. ludlow. just then the conductor and a brakeman passing from the next car through their own explained what had occurred to mr. ludlow and the other interested listeners. first lighting the gas lamps to dispel the semi-darkness, the conductor said, "sir, you see the lightning struck the train right between the first passenger car and the baggage, severing the connection, and leaving the engine and baggage car free to go ahead. they did, and running a little farther ahead it jumped the track, but no one was hurt. the shock somehow set the brakes, and brought the remaining cars to a stop. it's lucky we held to the tracks, sir, it is indeed." "did anyone in the passenger cars get hurt?" questioned mr. ludlow. "no, sir, only a few fainted," answered the conductor. "what are we going to do now? we have no power to go ahead, and we can't even go back. we can't move. are we to stay right where we are, conductor?" "for a time, we must," was the answer. "when is another train due here?" questioned mrs. calvert. "a train is due to come through this way in an hour and a half, madam," said the conductor. "but that will not help us any to go ahead. we have sent word back and may expect help from the nearest station. some arrangement can likely be made to switch us off on a branch road, and by a circuitous route we can get back again to our line." "and how about our concert to-night?" "if help is promptly sent we may get you there on time." "we were due at five o'clock," said mr. ludlow. "we can't promise you anything definite now," said the conductor, as he went about his duties. "all we can do is to just sit still and hope for aid, and that it will come in time," said mrs. calvert. "i'm afraid that's all, except to be thankful that we were not killed," suggested mr. ludlow. the exact idea of their position was finally grasped by all, and everyone breathed a little prayer for having been saved so miraculously. they all quieted down and prepared to sit there and wait, and hope for the arrival of a train bringing aid. an hour an a half, so they had been told, and that hour and a half seemed the longest hour and a half that most of them had ever experienced. finally they heard a shout from one of the brakemen, a glad shout, a joyous sign, they thought, and then the conductor came through and announced, "sir, a small repair train has just come up to us. they sent it out very promptly, as they thought that we might be in even more serious need than we are." "can it take us back, then?" asked mr. ludlow, and the rest of the company sighed in relief, because they now knew that they were safe and would eventually be pulled out of their present position. "it can take back two cars, sir," answered the conductor, "and would you object, sir, if i put some other passengers in here with you?" "not at all," answered mr. ludlow. "bring in as many as you wish. we will be only too glad to have them." the conductor departed, returning in a little time, accompanied by about a dozen women and half as many small children, saying, "i brought the women and young ones, as i thought that they would be more comfortable in here." dorothy and ruth, alert and interested, forgot their own discomfort in rendering aid to others, anxious and in distress. "they have connected the little repair train engine to the two cars," the conductor announced, "and we will be off in a short time now. we are going back up the road a little way and branch off, and so recover the main line. we think we will get you to your destination in time for your concert." this was done, but with little time to spare, and if all the artists were not quite up to their usual standard of excellence that night, the experience of the afternoon was quite sufficient excuse. the remainder of the trip to st. louis was without event of note. the accident on the train was not without its advantages in the way of publicity, and their concerts drew large audiences. in st. louis two concerts were given, both being very successful. chapter xvii. conclusion. in the sequence of events the tour came to an end. a twenty-weeks' season had been successfully carried through. there had been, of course, hampering and untoward conditions to surmount. an occasional discordant note was struck. mr. carleton, who acted as accompanist when no orchestra was employed, turned out to be rather an arbitrary individual, and had caused ruth, particularly, many a heart-ache. dorothy, with her winning responsiveness to an artistic temperament, felt that she had less cause to complain. her affair with jim had not of late been plain sailing. she had not written to him very often or a bit regularly, and he had entered a rather arbitrary protest, so she thought, and one letter at least, that she had addressed to him had gone astray. then jim reached the conclusion that his letters were not appreciated, and that absence had caused an estrangement. he nursed his resentment into a cauldron of bitterness, and with the perverseness of lovers built mountains of molehills. not but that such ephemeral erections may, and oftimes do, cast a shadow that will blot out true regard. without a tried and certain knowledge of her heart as concerned jim, dorothy had found the ever gentlemanly attentions of mr. dauntrey very agreeable. ruth, on such occasions, was inclined to resentful looks and acts, of which, however, dorothy was sublimely ignorant. one day, journeying from sacramento to san francisco, it had been observed that mr. dauntrey and alfy were in close consultation, an unusual event for those two to find a subject of mutual interest. later, in a spirit of fun, dorothy chided her companion. "so you have won over mr. dauntrey," cried dorothy, laughing. "nonsense," said alfy, but blushing rosily. "but for two hours on the train you monopolized him entirely. what did you find to talk about?" "well, for one thing, we were talking about you," was the defensive response. "about me, alfy, what could you have been saying about me?" "i was telling him," said alfy, hesitatingly, "about your english inheritance." "oh, but i wonder you did that. i asked that nothing be said about it. for, as you know, nothing has ever come of the matter, and nothing may. the locket has never been found, and the lawyer says that there are other 'seemingly insurmountable requirements.' my, what big words. i wonder i could string them all together." "well," went on alfy, in her further defense, "he asked about you, and i couldn't see that there was any harm." "no real harm, alfy. and i hoped for aunt betty's sake that there was an inheritance assured. she is so worried about bellevieu. the mortgages and taxes seem to eat up everything. i have given her, of course, all of my earnings, but she says things are still going badly." "what are we to do now?" asked alfy, seeking another subject. "go home?" "mr. ludlow has made some arrangements for ruth to sing and for me to play here in san francisco, at private houses of the rich. as you know, all of the others except mr. dauntrey, have gone east, their contracts expired." their conversation was interrupted, now, by aunt betty, who came into the room. "here is a much belated letter," she exclaimed, "the envelope all marked up with forwarding addresses. it must have been traveling about for quite some time." "it's from jim," cried dorothy, and quickly broke the seal. the postmark the letter bore was a date fully two months back, and the first few lines were, to the recipient very pleasing ones, till she remembered that they were written before their late disagreement. but the major part of the letter bore upon a subject that concerned them all, and this she read aloud. "it's about lem," cried dorothy. "mr. van zandt has made some quite wonderful discoveries. and just to think, it all comes about through that sampler you found, alfy. but let me read: "i have some interesting news concerning lemuel haley, the boy your camping party found in the thick woods crying that night. it was a lucky thing for the boy that mrs. babcock gave alfaretta that sampler, for from just such a simple little thing as that, we have been able to trace all of lem's family history, bringing out a sufficient, although i will not say good, reason for his uncle's mistreatment of him. "lemuel haley's mother was hannah woodrow. the very same girl that summered with mrs. babcock, and remained there attending the little village school for one whole year. she was a very delicate girl, not particularly pretty and very shy. she had large limpid brown eyes, and was of small build. "she returned to baltimore, after her year in the mountains, and lived the regulation life of a wealthy farmer's daughter. there mr. haley, a traveling salesman, so he told her family, fell in love with her or--her money, and when both her father and mother died quite suddenly, the traveling salesman made it his business to woo the lonely girl. he wished to marry her immediately and protect her, so he told her, and was so persistent that the poor distracted, grief-stricken girl finally gave him her promise, and within a month of her parents' death married him. at once he proceeded to dissipate her fortune, and, to make a long story short, the poor girl died when lem was born. the father was later killed by an accident. "lem's only relative, it was found, was an uncle who lived in the south. this man volunteered to take the little one, and was made legal guardian and controller of the remnant of the fortune. the child was a weak, delicate boy, and this uncle, a cruel, planning man, figured that if he worked lem very hard all the time, he would eventually break down, and then he would come in for the child's money. thus, the poor boy was driven to desperation, and finally ran away. you know better than i do, the incidents connected with his rescue. "i have prepared all necessary legal papers as to the facts, to prove that mr. haley was and is an unfit guardian for the child, and will present these to the court." this pleasing news was interestedly discussed, and a happy future argued for the boy. the following morning, mr. dauntrey was early at the breakfast table, with a proposition that the party should visit tamalpais. the day was beautifully clear, and on no other is a trip to the mountain's summit interesting. mr. ludlow could not go, but the ladies accepted with alacrity, and a prompt start was made. glorious sights indeed are revealed, as the railroad winds its way to the apex of this peak, the highest so near an american city. lunch was served at the summit house, but dorothy was so interested in the views obtainable from the various vantage points that she wandered away from the others while they were still seated at the table. when her absence was noted, mr. dauntrey sought her out, at first unsuccessfully, then seeking for her in a secluded view point seldom visited, he heard her voice, and found that, in her anxiety to attain a high rock, she had lost her footing, and catching for a support had sprained her ankle. she had as well badly torn her dress. her rescuer was all gallantry and courtesy, and assisted her to a seat near at hand. he would have carried her to the train platform, but this proffer dorothy declined. "i shall be able to walk, shortly," she explained. "it is not a severe sprain and the pain is bearable, and only acute when i put my weight on my foot." "a few moments' rest will help to set you right," said mr. dauntrey, and then added, looking into her eyes, "do you know, i wish you had been in some real serious danger, and that i had been privileged to render aid." "i thank you for what you have done, and now let's go to the others," quickly interposed the girl. but one effort to rest her weight upon her foot dissuaded her from any further immediate endeavor, and so she sought, unsuccessfully, to turn the conversation in other directions. "do you know," he repeated, "that i would like to render such service that you would never wish for any other servitor?" "please," said dorothy, "let's talk about the wonderful view of sea and forest and the heaven above." "i am intense in my admiration of all that is beautiful, and above all, permit me to say that i admire the beautiful dorothy." she raised her hand in protest, but he continued. "may i quote for you a little gem that is aptly expressive of my sentiments?" "well," laughed dorothy, quizzically looking at her foot, "i am at your mercy." the man by her side did not venture to touch her hand, which rested on the bench almost beside his own, but, with earnest intensity of his manner, he leaned forward and looked longingly, nay lovingly, into her eyes till they fell before his gaze. his face, handsome and animated, his voice musical and well modulated. every word was spoken slowly as if to admit of certain assimilation. "may my heaven be a rosary bower, with one sweet angel, and that one--thee!" there was a moment's pause. "miss calvert," he went on, "i would that my heaven might begin on earth. it will, if you will be mine." dorothy, like all other girls, under similar circumstances, had felt for a moment the compliment of a man's love, then all at once she recalled the conversation between alfy and her quondam lover, and with her quick intuition, she had recognized her possible inheritance as the probable cause of mr. dauntrey's sudden declaration. still she would not be unkind. "oh, my foot pains me unbearably. please, mr. dauntrey, get alfy to come and help me." "just one little word of hope and i fly." "no, mr. dauntrey, i can but say at once, and frankly and firmly, too, no," and with that she made pretense to such suffering from the injured foot that the suppliant for her hand had but, with the best grace he could muster, to comply with her very reasonable request. dorothy, when the others came, was able, leaning lightly on alfy's arm, to accompany them to the train, and soon was happily interested in the wonderful panorama spread before their eyes on the return journey. the base of the mountain reached, there was some delay, and mr. dauntrey walked about with ruth, the two in earnest conversation. aunt betty and dorothy sat quietly, while the former made as presentable as she could the torn garment worn by the girl. "you will have to discard this gown, and substitute for traveling your light mohair. fortunately, the weather is warm enough now. you have not had it on for a long time." to alfy was referred this decision, with results that will develop later. alfy was interested, albeit horrified, and held irresistibly spellbound, by the "sausage" man, selling, as the placard said, "hot dogs." a half dozen wooley canines were exhibited on the counter and elsewhere about, and when an order for a frankfurter sandwich was given, one of the dogs was grabbed up and caused to disappear into a mechanical contrivance with a large wheel, which was then turned and there were barkings and such grumblings as might be expected from an animal suffering dire and distressing annihilation. then from an opening, the much aproned proprietor handed forth the promised sandwich. at the hotel that afternoon, the girl's injured foot was cared for by her aunt. "we want no medicine-man," she said, "for i know of the most effective home remedy, guaranteed to cure in twenty-four hours. i have secured the ingredients from the hotel kitchen." "what may they be?" inquired dorothy. "lard and salt. the former spread on, and about the injured ankle, and liberally sprinkled with salt. then securely bandaged." "it certainly is simple, and i will surely be able to play at the reception to-morrow afternoon?" "i have no doubt of it." "aunty, we are so seldom by ourselves, and ruth and alfy have gone out. i want to have a long talk with you." dorothy lay resting, her injured foot supported, while her aunt sat beside her, caressingly stroking her hair and forehead. first, the young girl spoke of mr. dauntrey and of her experience of that day. the humorous aspect of the circumstances appealed alike to both. then the inheritance was discussed, and aunt betty deplored again the unfortunate loss of the locket and the lacking "insurmountable requirements," in the way of some missing papers. concerning the latter, aunt betty had some hopes that among her accumulated correspondence and documents at bellevieu, there might be found helpful data bearing on the subject. "unless some good fortune is happily vouchsafed us," deplored aunt betty sorrowfully, "i greatly fear that bellevieu will be lost." "mr. van zandt wrote, however," encouraged dorothy, "that it would be well worth while for us to go to england, and that personally presenting myself might 'achieve results otherwise unattainable.' you see, i have remembered his words." "i am determined upon that," responded aunt betty, "and i am arranging that we shall go within a month after we get back east. i have a little surprise for you, too. molly breckenridge is going also. the judge has arranged for her expenses." the reader, who would wish to still further follow the fortunes of our heroine will find in "dorothy in england," a volume of startling interest and sweet sentiment. dorothy was most appreciative of her aunt's thoughtfulness, and now she unburdened her mind of her secret. she told her of her strong regard for jim, of his expressed love for her, and of her own inability to just exactly determine if her feelings were the equivalent of his. she wished for jim every happiness, and she shared in his ambitions. they had had a difference, and she was most unhappy, and yet there was an intangible something that restrained her from seeking a reconciliation. the good, motherly woman, who was her confessor, knew perhaps better than the girl herself, the strength of her regard for jim, and knew that the heart's promptings are seldom influenced. with this wisdom for a guide, she counselled wisely and satisfyingly. time, and right doing, would remedy and set square all that was untoward. folded in each other's arms in harmony of feeling, they were suddenly broken in upon by alfy. "what do you think," she cried. "you told me to get out your light traveling dress. you had not worn it since that day of the fire in new york, and what do you think!" she excitedly repeated, "in the fold of the skirt i found this!" and she held forth the long missing locket. so it unquestionably was. the gown had been put away, and in the folds of the skirt had been caught, and so long retained, the locket. a word more and our story ends. the journey east was uneventful. at baltimore, aunt betty and the girls said good-bye to mr. ludlow and mr. dauntrey. ruth was to visit a day at bellevieu and then go on with alfy to new york. the end. transcriber's note: minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors; otherwise, every effort has been made to remain true to the author's words and intent. transcriber's notes: obvious errors have been corrected. italic text in the original has been enclosed by '_' and bold text by '='. [illustration: darius cried out in my ear; but i heard him not, i was insane with the scene of carnage. page .] commodore barney's young spies a boy's story of the burning of the city of washington by james otis author of "across the delaware," "at the siege of havana," "life of john paul jones," "with warren at bunker hill," etc., etc. [illustration] with six page illustrations by j. watson davis a. l. burt company, publishers new york copyright by a. l. burt company commodore barney's young spies contents. chapter page i. captain joshua barney ii. at benedict iii. elias macomber iv. a lively tussle v. with the fleet vi. feeding the enemy vii. an old acquaintance viii. the deserter ix. an unexpected meeting x. a change of base xi. the british forces xii. suspense xiii. burning the vessels xiv. at washington xv. bladensburg xvi. in hiding xvii. missing xviii. the escape xix. the unexpected xx. dodging the enemy xxi. in port list of illustrations darius cried out in my ear; but i heard him not, i was insane with the scene of carnage frontispiece page "pass up your painter, or i'll shoot!" cried darius with the lantern in my left hand i thrust forward the barrel of my musket full in the face of the miller "i remember your face, my man;" said the commodore. "come aboard at once." as we pulled away i glanced back at our fleet and saw that the vessels were well on fire as soon as the line was made fast, a man slipped down, quickly followed by another from lossing's "war of ." "evidently ashamed of the barbarism committed by british hands, vice-admiral cochrane attempted to palliate it by a pitiful trick. after the destruction of the capital, and the invaders were safely back on their vessels in the patuxent, cochrane wrote a letter to secretary monroe, in which he said to him, 'having been called upon by the governor-general of the canadas to aid him in carrying into effect measures of retaliation against the inhabitants of the united states for the wanton destruction committed by their army in upper canada, it has become imperiously my duty, conformably with the governor-general's application, to issue to the naval force under my command an order to destroy and lay waste such towns and districts upon the coast as may be found assailable.' cochrane then expressed a hope that the 'conduct of the executive of the united states would authorize him in staying such proceedings, by making reparation to the suffering inhabitants of upper canada,' etc. this letter was antedated august , or six days before the battle of bladensburg, so as to appear like a humane suggestion, in the noncompliance with which might be found an excuse for the destruction of the national capital. it did not reach mr. monroe until the morning of the st of august, a week after washington was devastated, when that officer, in a dignified reply, reminded the vice-admiral that the wanton destruction by the british of frenchtown, frederick, georgetown, and havre de grace, and the outrages at hampton by the same people, had occurred long before the destruction of newark." commodore barney's young spies. chapter i. captain joshua barney. it is two years since what we called the "war of " came to an end, and i, amos grout, once owner of the oyster pungy, avenger, propose to set down here that which happened to my friend, jeremiah sackett, and myself, during the year of grace, , when, so others have said, we did good work for our country, although at the time neither of us was more than fifteen years old. this i do for two reasons, first because i am proud of what we two lads succeeded in doing, and hope that at some day, when, mayhap, both jerry and i are dead, other boys may read of the part we played, and be encouraged thereby to work out their own plans for the good. secondly, because i would have it known that through a scheme of his, two boys, living on the shore of chesapeake bay, succeeded in doing what experienced men might have failed at, and i am eager to have others realize my friend's worth. so much for the reason as to why i, a seventeen-year boy, with none too many advantages in the way of book education, am thus attempting to write a tale for others, and now, that whoever should chance to read this may feel acquainted with us, it is for me to introduce my friend and myself in regular story-telling shape. we lads lived in benedict, charles county, maryland, near the mouth of indian creek, when the war broke out, and while many of the people of our town were not pleased with the idea of fighting the britishers again simply to establish the rights of our american seamen, jerry and i were hot in favor of it, for, in , my friend's brother tom was taken by the king's officers out of his vessel while she was off the capes, on the false ground that he was born in england. the poor fellow was forced to serve in the english navy three years, leading a dog's life, as can well be imagined, since he would never say that he was willing to serve his majesty to the best of his ability. therefore it was that when we invested our savings in a small sloop-rigged pungy, with the idea of making a living by fishing, we named her the avenger, with never a thought that she might one day do something toward avenging poor tom's wrongs. jerry's parents and mine were poor people, who could not afford to give their sons what so many fortunate lads have--a good education, fine clothes and money to spend. we were obliged to do all we could to aid our families, and had been wage-earners since our tenth birthday. it would be too long a story if i should attempt to set down all that my friend and i did by way of gathering up money enough to pay nicholas trundy one hundred dollars for his pungy, which was then going on six years old. it was a big lot of money for two lads to save, after contributing to the support of their families, and we were near to four years doing it. it was a proud day for us when the little vessel became our property, and we painted out the name "handsome susan," to put in its place in big red letters, "the avenger." she was about twenty-four feet long, with a cuddy in which were four small bunks, and had been in the oyster business since being launched, as we intended she should remain there. we bought her early in the spring of , when the people were talking strongly for or against war; but it never entered our minds that we might get mixed up in the fighting, for who could ever have dreamed that the britishers would come to benedict? it was enough to satisfy us that the oyster business was fairly good, and that we could often earn, with the pungy, as high as three dollars a day, not counting the time occupied in running up to annapolis or baltimore. during the second year of the war we did not do as well; but there is no good reason why i should go into all the details of what would not be entertaining save to an oysterman. it is enough if i jump over to the spring of , when we made a trade with an old sailor by name of darius thorpe, whereby he was to sail with us for one-third of the profits after all expenses had been paid, and this bargain was a good one for us lads, since he was a master-hand at dredging, being able to work all around either jerry or me. besides being an expert fisherman, old darius was an artist at story-telling, and there was hardly an evening during the first two months he was with us, when we did not sit in the cuddy long after we should have been asleep, listening to the old man's yarns. then, as everybody knows, about april, captain joshua barney was ordered to fit up a fleet of small boats to protect the towns of the bay, for by this time we were having mighty good proof that the united states was at war with england, and it stands to reason that we lads were eager to know all that was possible concerning this officer, who had been the most successful of the privateers sailing out of baltimore. we were on our way to annapolis with half a load of oysters when the news was given us by the captain of the oriole, while he quoted the prices he got for his cargo, and since the avenger was creeping along lazily, with about one-quarter as much wind as she needed, we had plenty of time in which to discuss a matter that seemed to be of very great importance to us. "there won't be any foolin' when joshua barney gets here, no matter how big or how little his fleet is," darius said as he laid at full length on the deck sunning himself, and in a twinkling it flashed across me that the old man may have sailed with or under the gentleman who was to command such a naval force as could be gathered in the chesapeake bay, therefore i asked: "do you happen to know the captain, darius?" we always called the old man by his first name, because he insisted so strongly that we should; said it made him feel at home, and sounded a good deal like putting on airs to tack on the "mister." "know him?" the old man cried, rising lazily on one elbow and swinging half around to look at me as i sat on the rudder-head. "i know him lock, stock an' ramrod, lad. the last deep sea cruise i went on was with him. he's a snorter, that's what he is, an' i've heard his whole story a hundred times over. i tell you, lads, there's nothin' in a book that can come up with josh barney's doin's." "give us the full yarn, darius!" jerry cried. "we're like to be loafin' around here a good many hours, if this wind holds soft as i reckon it will, an' we may as well make the most of the time." darius was always ready to spin a yarn, which was much in his favor according to my way of thinking; but he couldn't seem to rattle the words off easy like except when his mouth was full of tobacco, therefore jerry and i could always tell whether the story was to be long or short, by the amount of roughly-cured plug he stowed between his jaws. it was a mighty big chew he took while making ready to tell of captain barney, and i must say for darius, that he never spun a yarn which interested me more than the one i count on setting down here. "josh barney was born somewhere along in baltimore," the old man began slowly, as if determined to give a regular biography of the captain. "his folks let him go to school till he was ten years old, an' then he began to shift for himself by goin' into a store; but, bless you, he never was made for that kind of work, an' before two years passed he found it out. went over to baltimore one day on a visit, an' wound up by shippin' on a pilot-boat; but even that wasn't what he hankered for, an' finally his father shipped him as apprentice to captain tom drisdale, on a brig for a voyage to ireland." "i was in hopes your yarn had somethin' about his runnin' away to go to sea," jerry said in a tone of disappointment. "you'll find these 'ere runaway sailors don't 'mount to very much, except in story books, an', besides, josh barney wasn't that kind of a chap. drisdale made the passage, an' then went up to liverpool, where he got a chance to sell the brig. barney worked his way home before the mast on a full-rigged ship--i don't jest remember her name. when he struck baltimore again it was to find that the old man barney had been killed accidentally by the youngest boy of the family, who was foolin' with a loaded pistol, an' joshua had to shift for himself, seein's his father didn't have none too much money, an' a big family. the lad shipped for cadiz as ordinary seaman; made the voyage all right; had a little cash to leave with his mother, an' then signed as an a on a brig bound for italy." "it don't make very much difference to us how many voyages he made," jerry interrupted. "what we want to know is the kind of a man he is." "if you can put a stopper on your jaw a bit, you'll soon find out! the mate of the brig was sent into the forecastle, not bein' up to his work, an' josh barney took his place. then the captain took sick, an' lo an' behold, before the lad had turned sixteen years old, he was in command of the brig. owin' to the freights that offered, he sailed for alicant, an' made port just as the spaniards were fittin' out an expedition against algiers. the brig was chartered as transport, an' he earned big money for the owners, gettin' back to the mouth of the chesapeake in ' , when the british sloop of war king fisher hove him to an' took all his papers an' weapons; but let him keep on to baltimore, where the brig was laid up. then barney had more money, an' considerable of it, for his mother." the old man paused to take in another cargo of tobacco, and then continued: "young as he was, the lad found a chance to ship as master's mate on the sloop hornet, william stone commandin', an' in one day, so it's said, he, carryin' a flag an' with a drummer an' two fifers, enlisted a full crew for the hornet, all from baltimore, which goes to show that the people there thought he amounted to somethin'. barney sailed in hopkins' fleet to the bahamas, where the town of new providence was taken, an' the commodore scooped in all the ammunition to be found on the island. a little while after that, he shipped on the schooner wasp, which convoyed off the coast the vessel in which benjamin franklin was goin' to europe to help pull this country through, an' when they came back into the cape may channel they found the king's ships roebuck an' liverpool--one of forty-four guns an' the other of twenty-eight--waitin' for 'em. there was lively times for a spell, until the wasp contrived to slip into wilmington creek, where she laid till half a dozen row galleys came down from philadelphia to attack the british ships. then the schooner came out, an' while the fightin' was goin' on, captured the brig tender, one of his majesty's armed vessels what poked her nose in to help the big fellows. they say barney fought like a tiger, an' with his captain wounded, brought the little schooner an' her prize through the fog into port. "then they gave him a lieutenant's commission, an' sent him off in the sloop sachem, all of which happened before he was seventeen years old. he soon found a chance to fight, an' after an action of two hours, captured an english brig. after that they took the sloop race horse, cuttin' her up so badly she sank, an' the next to come their way was a snow from jamaica, which the lad counted on bringin' into port, he bein' put on board as prize master. then he had a bit of bad luck; the snow was re-captured, an' barney made prisoner, as stands to reason; but he was exchanged at charleston, an' rode horseback to baltimore." "how do you happen to remember all these things?" jerry asked, thinking, perhaps, that darius was giving us more guff than truth. "remember it?" the old man repeated sharply. "why i've sailed with captain barney, an' every mother's son of the crew knew the story, for it ain't often that a lad of seventeen gets such a record, so we couldn't help keepin' it in mind, besides which, i've got lots of stuff in my pocket that's been printed about him. well, in ' he shipped on the andrew doria for the defense of the delaware river, an' when that scrimmage was over, he found himself drafted to the frigate virginia, when, as everybody knows, he was taken by the britishers again, an' held for nearly a year before bein' exchanged for the lieutenant of the mermaid. then he went out in a letter of marque--meanin' a privateer--with captain robinson; they had but twelve guns, a mighty small stock of powder, an' only thirty-five men, but bless you those fellows thought nothin' of tacklin' the british privateer rosebud, full of men an' guns. forty-seven of the enemy were killed or wounded, an' aboard the yankee only one was wounded. they sailed to bordeaux, took on a cargo of brandy, shipped seventy men, mounted eighteen guns, an' on the voyage home had a runnin' fight lastin' well on to two days, when they captured their game. "then it was that barney got married, an' about a month afterward, when drivin' in a gig from philadelphia to baltimore, he was robbed of every cent he had in the world. he never told anybody of his loss; but turned back to philadelphia, took service aboard the saratoga, sixteen guns, an' made a big voyage, capturin' one ship of twelve guns, another of thirty-two, an' two brigs. then he was taken by the intrepid, an' mighty barbarous treatment he got for well on to a year, when the young officer escaped, an' after he got home the government gave him command of the hyder ally, with which he soon took the british ship general monk, as this 'ere bit of paper will show." darius took from his pocket a well-worn slip cut from some newspaper, which purported to be an extract from the hyder ally log-book, and as it was mighty interesting to me, i'm going to set it down here just as it was printed. "april th, , at a.m. laying at anchor under cape may (delaware) discovered three sail standing in from sea with a light wind from the eastward; at perceived that they were a frigate, a ship, and an armed brig. at meridian the frigate stood for cape henlopen channel, the ship and brig standing in for cape may; made a signal for our convoy to get under weigh, and followed the convoy. at p.m. the ship and brig came into the bay, by cape may channel, the frigate coming around under cape henlopen; prepared for action, all hands to quarters. "at three-quarters past one, the brig passed us, after giving us two fires; we reserved our fire for the ship, then fast coming up; we received very little damage from the brig, who stood after our convoy; she mounted sixteen guns, and was formerly the american privateer 'fair american', commanded by captain decatur, and equal to us in force. "at p.m. the ship ranged up on our starboard quarter, and fired two guns at us; we were then at good pistol-shot; we then attempted to run her on board, by laying her across the starboard bow, but our yard-arms locked, which kept us too far off to board; at the same time poured in our broadside from great guns and small arms. "our fire was briskly kept up for twenty-six minutes, when she struck her colors. immediately sent our first lieutenant on board, and stood up the bay, the frigate at this time under a press of sail in chase after us, and the brig ahead in chase of our convoy; again prepared for action, and stood after the brig, but on her perceiving that the ship had struck, she stood for the frigate, and got aground; we were obliged to pass her, as the frigate gained on us. "at p.m. the frigate came to anchor in the bay, (supposed for want of a pilot.) we then spoke the prize for the first time, and learned she was his majesty's ship the general monk, captain rodgers, of nineteen nine-pounders, but fighting twenty guns, and had on board, when the action began, one hundred and thirty-six men, of whom thirty were killed, and fifty-three wounded. of sixteen officers on board, fifteen were killed or wounded. the captain received three wounds. "we had on board the hyder ally four killed and eleven wounded. the hyder ally mounted twelve six-pounders, and four nine-pounders, with a complement of one hundred and fifteen men. during the action we fired thirteen broadsides from our cannon, and from sixty to seventy rounds from our muskets. "proportion of metal: the general monk ten nine-pounders, fired ninety weight of shot at one broadside. the hyder ally, six sixes and two nines, fired fifty-four weight of shot at one broadside. proportion--fifty to ninety." "that all came from the log-book, an' you'll find captain barney didn't try to blow his own horn," darius said as i ceased reading. "but i happened to go on board the general monk when she got into philadelphia, an' saw the killed an' wounded bein' brought ashore in hammocks. the prize looked tough; her decks were covered with blood, an' three of the bow ports were knocked into one. she was sold, bought in by the government, an' barney took command of her, sailin' for france, with despatches to benjamin franklin. then the war came to an end, an' he settled in kentucky somewhere. here's a newspaper story of what happened after that," and darius gave me another slip of paper, the matter on which i read aloud to jerry, as follows: "in captain barney, finding his health impaired by his services, embarked for carthagena in a small brig belonging to himself and partner. thence he went to havana, and then home. in he sailed again, and arrived at cape françois. while there the town was burnt, and he was obliged to fight his way. he brought off fifty or sixty miserable women and children. his vessel was captured by an english privateer brig, two others in company. three officers and eleven men were put on board, and all the americans taken out except barney, the carpenter, boatswain and cook. they were ordered to new providence. the keys of the treasure chest were demanded, but barney would not deliver them, which occasioned much abuse and ill treatment. he had concealed a small blunderbuss, and his men some other arms, with which they re-took the ship. the englishmen were made to work the vessel until they arrived at baltimore. barney was compelled, for his own safety, to sleep on the quarter-deck in an arm-chair. he again sailed for cape françois in ; on his return, he was again captured by an english brig, and taken to jamaica. when he arrived in kingston he was committed to prison, and bills were found against him for piracy. his ship and cargo were condemned. once more he escaped, and on his return was offered command of a frigate; but declined. in he entered the french service, remaining in that employ until ." "now you can see what kind of a man it is who'll be in command here on the chesapeake," darius said triumphantly when i ceased reading. "the britishers won't find it all plain sailin' while he's around, and i'm allowin' he'll make things hum." it pleased me to know that we would have a live man to protect us, for if all the rumors were to be credited, the time had come when we needed protection mighty bad; but with all darius' storytelling, it never came into my mind that we would know this wonderful captain barney, except by hearsay. we continued at our oyster business without being troubled in any way by the war, although small fights were going on all around us during the early part of the summer. more than once had we seen the flotilla under command of this same captain barney, who was come to be a commodore now. in it were twenty-six barges and pungies, with nine hundred men, all of whom saw more of service from may to july than they had ever dreamed of. the commodore did indeed make things "hum," as darius had predicted. he attacked anything and everything that was british, never seeming to care one whit whether he was outclassed or not, and succeeded in doing the enemy a big lot of injury. it is well known that once, during a full four hours, he kept his small fleet under the fire of a frigate's guns, hoping to capture her. then the britishers began to understand that if they wanted to have things their own way in the chesapeake, it would be necessary to first do away with commodore barney, and they began operations in great shape, although at the time we who were most interested in that locality had little idea of what was coming. now after this fleet of barges and pungies began their work, jerry seemed to have something of import on his mind; but never a word would he say in explanation to darius and me, until our business grew so dull that it was only with great difficulty we could earn enough to pay the running expenses, and then it was that the lad came to the front with a scheme which he thought great, while neither of us so much as dreamed of what the carrying out would result in. "it's no use freightin' oysters to baltimore, when we can't sell 'em for enough to pay for the use of the pungy, to say nothin' of our time in dredgin'," jerry began one afternoon about the first of august, when we were coming down the bay with our pockets nearly as empty as the avenger's hold. "but we do get a dollar now an' then," i said with a laugh, "which is more than could be done if we turned idlers. half a loaf is way ahead of no bread at all." darius nodded gravely as if to show that he agreed with me fully, and jerry cried with more of anger than good humor in his tones: "but i'm countin' on havin' a bit of meat now an' then. i could eat a razor-back this minute without stoppin' to take off the bristles; but there isn't money enough on board to buy the smallest ham." "how are you goin' to mend matters, lad, while the price of oysters keeps down as it is now?" darius asked, beginning to understand that jerry had something in his head which might serve us. "i'm told that commodore barney keeps his men jumpin' so lively at fightin' that they don't have time for anythin' else," the lad said slowly, as if speaking to himself, and i wondered if he counted that the commodore could raise the price of oysters. "i reckon that's the straight truth," darius replied. "it ain't his way to keep cats that don't catch mice." "then why is it we can't make a trade to help supply the commodore with fish an' oysters? even though he didn't give very much for the freights we brought in, it wouldn't be a case of losin' three or four days out of every ten runnin' up to baltimore." even then i failed to understand his scheme, and said as much, whereat the lad cried impatiently: "you must be thick-headed, amos grout, if you can't see what i'm drivin' at. the matter has been in my mind these two months past, so now i propose that we go to commodore barney--he surely will hear what we've got to say--, an' try to make a trade. he buys more'n half of all his provisions, for the men of the fleet don't get time to do much fishin', an' we could let ourselves an' the pungy outright, or agree upon a price for what we bring in." it wasn't at all a bad scheme, now that our regular business was so dull; but i questioned if the commodore would listen to such as we were, long enough to understand what kind of a bargain we had to offer. "i'll go bail that you won't have any trouble in gettin' speech with joshua barney, an' for so long as the business warrants, pervidin' you can catch him when he's got a few spare minutes on his hands," darius said quickly, and from his tone i understood that he heartily approved of jerry's scheme. "but where shall we find the fleet?" i asked, and to the question jerry made answer: "we've been countin' on runnin' in to see our folks at benedict, an' i warrant that there we'll get news of the commodore. if not, it won't cost so very much time to have a look around the lower end of the bay." "yes, an' be snapped up by some bloomin' britisher," i said, having no desire to mix in where people were fighting with such playful weapons as cannon and rifles. "we should be able to keep out of the way of danger," jerry replied, as if he had thought out the whole scheme, and i then understood that he had been mooning over it the past two months, determined to spring it on us when the price of oysters dropped below what would be decent wages. well, we didn't come to any conclusion that day, owing to my standing back and throwing cold water; but we were bound to touch at the home port, and jerry bided his time until we were where information regarding the fleet could be had. chapter ii. at benedict. i had not supposed that the people of benedict would know very much concerning what was going on at the lower end of the bay; but the avenger was hardly more than at anchor when i understood that we could have gone to no better place in order to learn what was being done. we had but just come to anchor, not having time to set foot on the shore, when jim freeman rowed over to us, his eyes bulging and every freckle on his face standing out like pips on a gooseberry. "what did you put in here for?" he cried before yet coming alongside. "are you hankerin' to have your pungy burned or sunk?" "what's the matter, jim?" jerry cried. "you're actin' like as if somethin' had gone wrong!" "gone wrong?" jim exclaimed, and it did really look as if his eyes would roll right down on his cheeks. "the whole bloomin' bottom has dropped out of everything. the britishers are comin' into the bay thicker'n spatter, an' i don't see how you got in here without bein' caught!" "in here?" i cried in amazement. "have you lost your wits that you think the britishers would come into the patuxent river?" "i reckon it's you that are needin' wits!" jim cried as he scrambled over the rail. "so you think they wouldn't come into the patuxent, eh?" "certainly not, and for the very good reason that there's nothing here they want." jim looked at me in pity, and i afterward understood that there was good reason for his so doing. "how long have you been up baltimore way?" "near to ten days," jerry replied, hoping to hasten jim in the telling of the news with which he was near to bursting. "we had hard work to sell our oysters at any price, an' then it fell a dead calm with weather hot enough to tan a nigger." "then there's little wonder that you boys are way behind the times as to what has been goin' on 'round here," and jim threw out his chest as he swelled with the importance of being the first to impart startling news. "in the first place," he said, speaking slowly as if to prolong his enjoyment at giving information which would not be pleasing to hear, "admiral cochrane, the britisher, has passed the capes with twenty-one vessels, an' commodore malcolm is below with a fleet loaded with soldiers. tom harrison swears there were more'n ten thousand men." "somebody has been stuffin' you, jim," i said, not crediting his news. "then they've stuffed commodore barney too, an' when he runs i allow the rest of us had better be huntin' a hole." "commodore barney don't run!" darius cried angrily, for he never allowed anything disparaging to be said in his presence of the man whom he believed to be the greatest naval commander who ever lived. "perhaps he don't very often; but he has this time," jim said in a tone so decided that we could not but believe he was convinced of the truth of his own words. "did you see him?" darius demanded, and i expected that when he answered this question jim's story would fall to pieces; but the lad replied bold as a lion: "of course i did! all the boats laid here after the fight in st. leonard's bay, an' it was only yesterday they scooted up the river!" here was news with a vengeance, and i no longer felt the same desire to punch jim's head which had come over me when he first came aboard with what i believed was a cock and bull story. then, with first one and another asking questions, we learned from jim that while we were in baltimore the british frigate loire had chased commodore barney's flotilla into st. leonard's bay, and blockaded it there until colonel carberry's artillery came down from frederick and drove the enemy away. then, having learned of the enormous force at the mouth of the bay, commodore barney sailed to benedict, where he remained four and twenty hours, or till word was brought that ten or twelve of the enemy's vessels were bound up the bay, bound most likely for baltimore or washington, when he sailed for nottingham, further up the river. darius was more concerned than either of us, for he firmly believed that joshua barney would not have beaten a retreat without first having been positive that an overwhelming force was near at hand, and if there were britishers near enough to drive the commodore away, we had got ourselves in a pickle by coming up the river. the first thought which came to my mind was that the avenger was in great danger of being captured in short order, for i made no question but that the enemy would pursue barney, and we were where we could not escape, save by way of the bay. jerry, however, had the idea that all these manoeuvres would further his scheme, and he said as if being thoroughly well satisfied with the situation: "we can run up to nottingham, as well as the commodore, and once there i reckon it will be possible to make our trade." "but if the fleet is forced to remain there, all hands will be idle, and the commodore won't care to hire us while several hundred men are loafing around the decks," i suggested, and jerry's jaw fell. but jim had not exhausted his budget of news, although it was impossible for him to give us anything more very startling. "the commodore had only got eight pungies an' five barges of the fleet--" "where are the other boats?" darius demanded sharply. "somewhere on the delaware side; they went off on a cruise before the britishers hove in sight. he has taken on the schooner scorpion, which was here at anchor, an' i heard one of the officers say that there was about five hundred men in this part of the fleet." "i'm goin' ashore," darius said abruptly. "it ain't no ways certain to me that jim has heard this thing right, an' i count on gettin' down to facts." jerry and i were eager to land, and, without even stopping to thank jim for the news he brought, we went over the rail into our canoe, pulling in hot haste for the shore. never waiting to speak with such few loungers as were to be seen near the water front, i went directly to my own home, and there found more tidings of war. my father had joined commodore barney, as had nearly all the able-bodied men of benedict, agreeing to remain in service while our section of the country was menaced by the enemy, and mother seemed to have the idea that i would follow his example. jerry's father had gone with the fleet, and, as she said, only those who had been opposed to the war with england, remained at home. after greeting me, and telling what little she knew of the situation, mother set about getting together the few things i owned which might be needed on a long cruise, and i was ashamed to say that as yet i had had no idea of going to fight the britishers. don't let it be understood i believed the united states could have done other than declare war in , or that i had any secret liking for the britishers. i simply believed that i did not have the backbone of a fighter, and preferred to stand at a distance while the more eager went ahead; but yet i was not really a coward, as i think was afterward proved. however, just then it made me feel rather uncomfortable to have mother gathering up my few belongings, and telling me what to do in event of receiving such or such a wound, and, with my brain all in a whirl, i went out of doors under the pretense that it was necessary i should have a talk with darius and jerry. once alone by myself, behind the corn-crib where no one would be likely to see me, i tried to sum up the situation so far as i was immediately concerned, and it did not look cheering. we had sailed the avenger down the bay and up the river never sighting a single craft, although it appeared that the british were swarming near about our very course. it was not probable we could run to the southward without coming across some of their vessels, especially if they were reckoning on pursuing commodore barney, and even though we did get to the mouth of the river in safety, where could we go? the big fleets were at the entrance of the bay, and had not come there for nothing; the enemy was counting on attacking washington or baltimore, it seemed certain, and by going to the northward we would likely find ourselves out of the frying-pan into the fire. it seemed very much to me as if we had lost the avenger, whichever way we turned, and my heart grew heavy, for once she was gone jerry and i were badly off. hardly knowing what i did, i went toward my friend's home, and met him coming my way, a look of excitement and eagerness on his face. "well, it seems as if we were in for it!" he cried when we were come within hailing distance, and i asked irritably: "in for what?" "a bit of fightin', of course. you wouldn't be willin' to stay here with the cowards commodore barney left behind, would you?" "there are a good many things i had rather do than poke my nose into a hornet's nest," i replied, feeling as if jerry was in some way my enemy because he appeared to be so delighted with the situation. "what did your mother say?" he asked, giving no heed to my grumpiness. "nothing much; she is getting things ready for me to go away, and without so much as asking if i counted on leaving." "she knows, as i do, that you wouldn't remain behind," the lad cried, showing as much joy as if we were thinking of visiting a peepshow. "come on; darius is waitin' for us. we must try to get a supply of provisions, for it's likely they haven't any too large a store in the fleet." then was the moment when i should have declared bluntly that i had no idea of putting myself in a position to be shot at if it could be avoided; but i hadn't the courage to tell him that i would not leave benedict immediately, although i was fully determined not to go up the river. jim freeman and a couple of other boys strolled along, having been in search of us. they also took it for granted that the avenger would join commodore barney's fleet, and were come to ask that the three be allowed to go with us. "it won't do, jim," jerry said, taking it upon himself to act as spokesman, although i figured as captain of the pungy. "we can't feed ourselves, the way things look now, an' it don't stand to reason we should add to the crew." "but i'll bring enough to eat," jim persisted, and turned to me as he said, "i've done you many a good turn, amos, an' you won't lose anything by givin' me lift now." "do you call it a lift to be put where the britishers can kill you?" i asked angrily, for if these lads were so eager to have a hand in the fighting as to beg for a chance, it would be all the harder for me to declare that i wouldn't join the fleet. "we might carry you as far as nottingham, if you'd agree to ship on some other craft after we got there," jerry said without stopping to ask my permission. "that we'll do, an' be glad of the chance," jim replied, acting as if really overjoyed by the permission to run his nose into danger. "we'll be on board in half an hour; you can't get under way before then?" "no; we shall likely be here an hour or more," jerry said as if he was the sole owner of the avenger, and when the foolish boys ran away at full speed, he began to figure as to where we could get a small store of food. i held my peace, angry and timorous, until we were come to the water front, where we found darius awaiting us, and he, as could be seen at a glance, was of the same mind as jerry. "i've found two hams an' a side of bacon!" he cried triumphantly, pointing to the articles which were in the canoe. "if you fellows can scare up some meal, we'll be fixed for a spell. did you see jim freeman an' his crowd?" "yes; they're goin' to nottingham with us," jerry replied, and the old man asked me: "how soon can we get under way?" i hesitated; it was on the tip of my tongue to say that i would not stir a hand in the matter, nor should the avenger leave her moorings; but, fortunately, i remembered that we couldn't hold the pungy there to be destroyed when the enemy came up the river, and, to tell the absolute truth, i was ashamed to declare bluntly that i had no idea of casting in my lot with such a firebrand as commodore barney. "we ought to leave here in an hour," jerry said, making answer because he thought i was trying to figure how long it would take us to make ready. "amos won't need more than ten minutes to get what stuff his mother is puttin' up for him, an' i'm goin' round by the mill to see if they will trust us for half a bushel of meal." he was off like an arrow as he spoke, and darius had no idea that i was hesitating as to the course to pursue, for an old fighter like him supposed it would be a pleasure for me to voluntarily go into the worst kind of a row. it was fortunate indeed for me that the old man never suspected what was in my heart, otherwise i would have been shamed in my home to such an extent that i could never go there again; but all that came to mind later. just then i felt as if i was being cruelly wronged by those who should have stood my friends. darius would have told me yet further of what commodore barney had done in the past; but i cut him short by saying like a spoiled child: "i don't care to hear anything more about him; just now it strikes me that we'd better be thinking of ourselves." the old man looked really distressed, and but for the fact that my heart was sore, i could have laughed because of the mistake he made. darius really believed that i was grieving over being thus obliged to leave my mother and the children, and he said soothingly: "i come somewhere near knowin' how it is, lad. at such a time as this the least home talk that's made, the better, for it kind'er unstrings a fellow. you wait here, an' i'll go after what dunnage your mother is gettin' together; she'll understand that a short partin' is the best." i could not have stopped him, for he was off before i had time to so much as open my mouth, and there i stood leaning against the canoe, giving the people of benedict to believe i was eager to be fighting for my country. jim freeman and his companions came along a few moments after darius left, and in order to have some occupation, rather than from a desire to serve them, i offered to put the three aboard the avenger. they talked of nothing but what they would do once the enemy gave them an opportunity, until i asked petulantly: "is everybody in benedict as eager to shed blood as are you?" "not much," jim cried with a laugh. "there's elias macomber, for example--he's an englishman, you know, an' hasn't been in this country more'n four years. he's makin' a lot of wild talk 'bout what he'll do to us folks when the britishers come up the river." "what reason has he to make any fuss?" i asked, rather for the sake of saying something, than because i desired information. "well, i suppose all hands have roughed into him pretty bad, on account of things he's said, an' now he counts on showin' what his countrymen can do." now it was that i began to feel glad because of having said nothing in opposition to joining commodore barney's fleet. by hanging back while all the others were taking up arms, i would be ranging myself on the side of elias macomber, which would have caused me to be ashamed of myself, for he was by no means a reputable citizen. however glad i might be because i had refrained, or been prevented, from saying that which would have made it appear as if i took sides with the british, i was in nowise reconciled to the idea of going where the bullets were like to be flying, and, after putting jim and his friend aboard the avenger, i pulled back to the shore in anything rather than a cheerful frame of mind. darius was waiting for me, and he must have run every step of the way from the river to my father's home. he had with him a small bundle wrapped in one of mother's blankets, and said as he pulled the bow of the canoe up on the mud: "i reckon it is jest as well that i went after your dunnage, lad, for your mother was ready to have a cryin' fit, which she couldn't perlitely let come on while i was there; but i'll warrant the water would have run had you been alone with her." "she can't be feeling terribly bad, otherwise she wouldn't have been so anxious to have me go," i said sulkily. "i don't know about that, my boy. it stands to reason she had rather anything else happened, than that you should stay at home when this part of the country needs every hand that can be raised in defense. she feels sore because you are goin'; but i'll go bail she'd have felt ten times worse had you said you'd stay back with such as elias macomber." i wasn't in a proper frame of mind to appreciate all that the old man said, and continued to consider myself as being abused, although not to such an extent as before i heard about elias macomber. it was noised around in the village, told most likely by jim freeman, that we were going to nottingham to join the commodore, and while darius and i stood by the canoe waiting for jerry, we were literally besieged by women, whose husbands or sons were with the fleet, nearly all of whom wanted to send some message, or this or that article which had been forgotten at the time of departure. i believe of a verity that darius and i charged ourselves with no less than twenty errands by word of mouth, and as for packages, why we had the bow piled full, until it seemed as if we were to carry something by way of reminder for every man under commodore barney's command. near-by where we stood were also gathered four men whose sympathies were entirely with the british, and among them, as a matter of course, was elias macomber. these worthless ones who would injure the country which had provided them with a home, food and clothing, to say nothing of the comforts of life, evidently counted on ruffling our feathers, believing it would be safe to do so now that nearly all the men were gone from the village, and they began by talking loudly of the sorry spectacle which the commodore and his followers would present when admiral cochrane and his vessels came up the river. i feel certain that darius would have held his peace, for he was not naturally a quarrelsome man, had they made sport of everybody in the american army and navy, save joshua barney; but a word against him was to the old man much as a red flag is to a bull, and in a twinkling the trouble began. "the man who says aught against the commodore must answer to me for his words," darius said angrily as he strode toward the four who were trying to bait him. "i'll not stand here and listen to such talk!" it was elias macomber who showed his lack of sound sense by making reply: "we didn't ask you to stand here; but if you choose to do so, it's more than likely you'll hear a good many things which may not please you." "hold your tongue as to barney, or it'll be the worse for all hands!" darius cried angrily, and at that moment jerry appeared, staggering under a bag which must have contained a full bushel and a half of meal. i shall always believe elias macomber held the idea that darius was a feeble old man, otherwise he would have kept his tongue between his teeth, for he was far from being brave; but however that may be, he replied hotly: "i do not count on choosin' my words when i speak of such a bag of wind as josh barney has shown himself to be!" it seemed to me as if the words had not been fully spoken before darius launched out, and, in, less time than it takes to tell it, was in the midst of a hot, one-sided fight, for the tories all pitched into him, regardless of the fact that his quarrel was with elias. it stands to reason that i could never remain idle while a shipmate was getting the worst of it, particularly when his adversaries were men for whom i entertained no friendly feelings, and the scrimmage was hardly more than begun when i took a hand, standing close by the old man's side. as i aimed a blow at elias i saw, out of the tail of my eye, jerry drop his meal as he came forward at full speed, and at almost the same moment a loud splashing in the water caused me to glance quickly in the direction of the pungy. jim freeman had jumped overboard to do his share toward teaching macomber a lesson, and when he arrived the odds would be even. of course it was a disgraceful spectacle; but it could not have been avoided, so far as i was concerned, and i did my best, fighting as vigorously as if i had been the one to urge upon my companions the necessity of joining the fleet. it is not well that i give too much space to this brawl when there are so many other adventures, in which a fellow might well take pride, to be recorded, therefore i will only say that we had no very easy task to down these admirers of king george and the prince regent; but finally succeeded, thanks to the assistance of jim freeman. it is doubtful which side got the worst drubbing, although we claimed a victory because the others ran; but positive it is that the four of us had all the punishment needed, and were forced to wash our faces more than once before we could look at each other without a certain feeling of shame. "what made you tackle the whole of 'em?" jerry asked the old man. "if the rest of us hadn't been near at hand, they'd wiped you out." "i'd tackle twenty if they dared say anything against joshua barney!" darius cried as he shook his fist in the direction where our adversaries had last been seen. "i'd rather get the toughest pummellin' such as them could give, than keep my mouth shut while they was slurrin' their betters!" we were actually obliged to use force with him, otherwise the old man would have gone in pursuit of the british-lovers, and it was only by tumbling him into the canoe head-foremost, holding him down by sitting on him once he was there, that we could make darius listen to anything like reason. "let up on me, an' i'll keep quiet," he said after we had threatened to continue the drubbing begun by the tories; "but this much i promise, that after the commodore has made shoestrings of that conceited admiral, i'll come back here an' have it out with elias macomber." "we'll let it go at that," jerry said as he released his hold of darius and went back for the meal, while jim wrung the water out of his clothing as best he could, for the fellow had not stopped to throw off coat or shoes when he jumped overboard to take a hand in the scrimmage. it was near to half an hour before we were ready to go on board the avenger, and by that time it was too late to make any protests against following the commodore. my comrades took it for granted that i was equally eager with them to be where i could do my share of fighting the britishers, and so stirred up was i by the game of fisticuffs ashore that i actually forgot to be frightened by the prospect of taking part in a battle. we got our anchor and made sail on the avenger without delay, and thus, in less than an hour from the time of making port, we were off again on what proved to be a series of wild adventures. chapter iii. elias macomber. of a verity elias macomber did me a good turn when he started the quarrel with darius thorpe, for up to this time i had been sadly lacking in patriotism, as may have been learned from that which is already set down in these pages. until this day it had been as if the war did not concern me or mine, save as it affected the price of oysters, and when i saw this lad or the other who had enlisted, i said to myself that another foolish one had been found who willingly engaged to go where he might be killed. within a very few moments after the fight between elias macomber and his crew of british-lovers had come to an end, i began to view the situation of affairs as an honest lad should. the country which protected me in my home--that territory which had been bought, or redeemed, by the blood of brave men, and even of women and children, from the savage indians and a merciless king, was in danger, and if i did not rush to its defense how might i expect my heritage of a free land could be preserved to me and those who came after me? like a picture i saw before me those brave men and women who had battled against the forces of nature as they made homes in the wilderness; then struggled against the bloodthirsty indians to protect their little all, and were finally called upon to fight a powerful nation in order to hold themselves free in the land already redeemed by sweat and blood. once that was presented to my mental vision i ceased to regret having been forced to thus set off for the purpose of joining commodore barney's fleet, and rejoiced that my comrades had prevented me from showing the white feather when even my loving mother urged me forward. i forgot all the fears which had assailed me, and thought only of what it might be possible for me to do in order to show myself worthy the land of my birth. in a word, i had in a few seconds been transformed from a cowardly lad who would shirk his duty lest, perchance, he receive some bodily hurt, to a boy burning with the desire to do whatsoever lay in his power toward checking the advance of an enemy who was bent upon carrying on the war by destroying the property of peaceful settlers. unless my comrades read what i have here set down, they will never know how near i was on that day at benedict, to proving myself a false-hearted american lad. the afternoon was considerably more than half spent when we left home for the eighteen-mile sail up the river, and i saw little chance of our coming upon the fleet before morning, unless we kept the pungy under sail far into the night, for the breeze, what little we had of it, came from the westward, and we could not make more than two miles an hour against the current. therefore it was that i said to darius when we were half an hour or more from port, after jim freeman and his friends had wearied themselves by cutting monkey-shines on the deck in order to prove their joy at thus having an opportunity to do whatsoever they might in defense of their country: "with so light a wind we are like to be forced aground when it is so dark that we cannot give the shoals a wide berth, because of not seeing them," and the old man replied, saying that which was in my own mind: "it'll be a case of comin' to anchor, lad, after the sun has set, for we had best make haste slowly rather than jam the pungy up where a day may be spent in tryin' to float her." "but suppose the british are close at hand?" i asked, for now i was hot with the desire to make certain of keeping so far ahead of the enemy that i could take part in whatsoever might be done by way of fighting. "they will be more helpless than we, after night has come, for we know the river fairly well, while they are strangers to it." if it had not been that we lads were about to take part in the war i might have refused to accept darius' advice so readily, for, it must be confessed, i am overly headstrong and apt to go contrary when one makes the least show of driving me; but in the business we were about to embark upon, i knew it was safe to follow the old man, since he had had long experience in such matters, the telling of which would be more entertaining than will be the account of our adventures. it was destined, however, that the avenger should come to anchor even before the river was shrouded in darkness, for we were not more than four miles above our own town of benedict, when the wind, died away completely, thus forcing us to make fast somewhere, unless we were minded to drift back to our starting point. in my ignorance, i would have anchored the pungy in the stream, hoisting a riding light, and turned in feeling that everything was safe and snug; but to this darius made decided objection. "keep out of the channel," he said emphatically. "we know beyond a peradventure that the enemy is astern of us, and there is no tellin' when he may come--" "he will wait for wind before goin' very far up the river," i interrupted, and thus showed my ignorance of anything concerning warfare, for the old man replied: "it wouldn't be strange if he should send a boat in the night to make certain of the water, and get such other information as might be useful. this 'ere pungy would be captured by half a dozen men as easily as if the whole british fleet was close by." "are you of the opinion that we should haul in to the bank?" i asked very humbly, understanding that if we would run safely it might be better to give darius the command. "let her drop back beyond the point, an' then sneak in as far among the trees as her spars will permit," he said, and this we did, pulling her around by aid of the canoe until we were nicely hidden from all save by closest scrutiny. right glad was i by this time that jim freeman and his two friends had come aboard, for they were willing lads, who strove to do all they might in the way of work, and we who belonged on the avenger had an easy time of it. jim took it upon himself to get supper, and he had brought with him such a tempting store of provisions, all of which he turned over to the party, that our meal that night was a veritable feast. i had never but once before had such an appetizing repast, and that one exception was when oysters were scarce, and a baltimore dealer gave us a dinner at the hotel in addition to the regular price of the cargo. when our hunger had been satisfied, and the cuddy put to rights, we lads would have spent the time spinning yarns, or in some other such amusement; but darius put his foot down strongly against it. "remember that you are liable to be made prisoners of war at any moment," he said gravely. "wise men do not hide themselves and their vessel, an' then talk and laugh that strangers may know where they are hidden." "do you really expect to see britishers on the river this night?" jim freeman asked with a laugh, and, much to my surprise, the old man said emphatically: "i surely do, if all we heard at benedict be true, an' i have little doubt of it. the enemy count on destroyin' commodore barney's fleet, an' know that it can be found up this stream. it will be strange, 'cordin' to what i know of such business, if the admiral does not send out spies before shovin' any armed vessels up here." it can well be supposed that such talk as this insured silence among us; we had hardly begun to understand that we might be very near a british prison unless every precaution was taken; but the old man's words, and manner of speaking them, brought us to a better realization of the situation. we almost held our breath, fancying the enemy might be close aboard, until darius, talking in a whisper, said: "i'm countin' on seein' or hearin' the britishers 'twixt now an' mornin', an' it strikes me that we might do a good stroke of work for joshua barney, by lookin' after a prisoner or two. it wouldn't be no ways strange if we could nab 'em, pervidin' they put themselves in a fair position to be taken." i was dumfounded by such a proposition, and it is not impossible that my knees began to shake as i thought of attempting such a thing. then i suddenly remembered that we had no weapons aboard, except an old musket which we used to shoot into a flock of ducks now and then, and i said with a laugh: "do you expect that the britishers will surrender if we simply invite them? our one musket wouldn't make much of a showin' against a boat-load of men." "all that has been in my mind, lad, an' i reckon it won't be hard to put ourselves in right good shape. if any british spies count on comin' up the river, it wouldn't be till after dark, an' we've got no right to expect they'd be around this way much before midnight. now i'll paddle back to the village, an' see if i can't scare up two or three muskets. it won't take me more'n an hour for the whole job." darius said this as if asking advice; but i could make no reply, and my companions held their peace, therefore, after waiting a few moments without hearing any comment, the old man set about carrying his plan into execution. noiselessly he hauled the canoe alongside, went over the rail into her, and took up the paddle, as i stood near the bow waiting for his command to cast off the painter. "keep quiet, whatever happens, an' don't fuss if i'm kept quite a spell, for if there's anythin' to be learned, i shall make mighty little account of time. cast off, lad, an' be certain that nothin' goes up or down the river without your seeing it." i obeyed the command, and in an instant the canoe glided into the obscurity of the shadows cast by the overhanging trees. with the disappearance of darius there came upon me the full sense of my responsibility, for i was the one to whom the others would look in event of trouble, and i knew full well how poorly fitted i was by experience to be in command of the pungy. the knowledge of my own short-comings at least served one good turn, since it made me more than usually cautious, and without delay i set about preparations for obeying the command given by darius. all my companions were on deck, and calling them aft to the cuddy companion-way, i said in a whisper: "you heard the words of darius. now i propose the work shall be done in this fashion: all hands will remain on duty, not in a group, but stationed equal distances apart at the rail, each one to watch and listen to the best of his ability. no fellow shall speak with his neighbor, nor can he move about lest the sound of footsteps on the deck give an alarm." then i took up my station near the stern, and in the gloom i could see the forms of my companions while they ranged themselves as i had suggested, neither of them making more noise than so many mice. from that moment not a sound could be heard from the deck of the avenger. that which darius said had aroused us all to the danger, and even though we had only a crew of lads, i felt confident no blunder would be charged against us. it was dreary work waiting there in the darkness, listening intently for the lightest unusual noise, and believing that an enemy was, or soon would be, close at hand. the gurgling of the water in an eddy; the leap of a fish, or a bit of drift-wood striking against the side of the pungy, sounded in our ears loud as thunder, and we heard the ordinary night rustlings of the forest as if it was something strange to our ears. then came that which caused us to bend far out over the rail, trying to pierce the gloom with our eyes, for the measured stroke of oars could be heard, and it was a positive relief to me, even though it betokened the coming of strangers. i felt certain an enemy's boat was approaching, because had any one living on the river been coming up at that time of night, paddles would have been used instead of oars. i knew of no one nearabout benedict who would have rowed a boat against the current when she could have been handled so much more readily the other way. nearer and nearer came the splashing of water, as if more than one oarsman was at work, and when it seemed as if the boat must be close upon us, i heard a low voice, but could not distinguish the words. immediately the noise of the oars ceased, and then came the words, not loud, but clear enough for us who were listening so intently to hear with reasonable distinctness: "on which side of the river were we to pick the man up?" "the left, sir; the same side as the village." the avenger was lying near the right bank of the river, such position having been taken because of the trees, and not through good judgment. "one of you men get ashore, and see what can be found. if this is the place agreed upon, and he said he would be about three miles above the village, there should be a road running on a line with the river." there was no question in my mind but that the speakers were britishers from one of the fleets, and that some of our people had agreed to play the traitor by giving information, or piloting the boat. but, if such was the case, where was darius? he had not had time to reach benedict before this boat came past there, and might already be a prisoner on his way to the nearest english vessel. even though he had gained the village while the strangers were yet below it, then was his danger the greater, for he might unwittingly come directly upon them when he returned. whichever way i looked at the matter i saw cause for grave fear, and the perspiration came out in big drops on my forehead, for without him we would be in a bad predicament. while these thoughts were running through my mind i gave due attention to what might be going on at the opposite side of the river, for i was convinced that the boat was nearly in a straight line across from where we lay. i could hear such noises as told that one of the crew was scrambling ashore amid the underbrush, and i heard a man cough; but after that all was still until at least fifteen minutes were passed, when there was a faint sound of voices from a distance, and then the rustling of the foliage as if one or more was forcing a passage through the tangle of vines. "hello!" came in a hoarse whisper from the boat, and some one ashore replied: "it's all right, sir." from what could be heard i knew that a man, or men, were making their way to the boat from the highway, and then, when it seemed as if he or they were aboard, the voice which had given the command, said in greeting: "so you're come at last, macomber. i had begun to believe we were mistaken as to the rendezvous." "i was delayed in the village, for your orders were that i must get away without its being known, and there are many inquisitive ones in benedict." my heart gave a great bound. so it was elias macomber who was playing traitor, for even though he was born in england, the united states was his home by adoption, and to our people he was bound in honor. if darius could only get weapons so that we might capture the boat's crew, what joy would be mine to carry the base hound to commodore barney as a prisoner! elias was speaking in a low tone and rapidly to some one--whom i had no doubt was a british officer--, and i could only catch a word here and there; but it was enough to let me know that he was reporting all he had heard concerning the movements of the flotilla. "at nottingham yesterday," i heard. "thirteen barges an' pungies, with the schooner scorpion. five hundred men all told. well armed, an' knowin' how to use their weapons." it was by such fragments of conversation as set down above that i knew elias macomber was giving all the information in his power to the enemy, and i resolved that some day he should pay the penalty of the crime, even though i was forced to pursue him single-handed. when all the story had been told the officer asked: "can you give us a place on the river where we may lay by during the day? i am minded to have a look at the boats before going back to make report." i bent forward eagerly to hear the reply: "at a mill, five miles above here, you will find a friend by name of essek harland. he can give you all that may be needed." "you shall go with us to make certain he takes us in." "very well, sir; but in that case i cannot get back home before morning." "you should be able to pull eight miles with a current in a few hours, and i will pay for the hire of a boat." "very well, sir," macomber replied in a tone of content, and i laughed inwardly with joy, for he would be our prisoner to a certainty if he came down the river alone. then the word was given for the oarsmen to resume their work, and we heard the light splashing of water as the boat was pulled up-stream. after that all was silent once more, and jerry came tip-toeing aft to whisper in my ear: "do you think darius managed to give them the slip, or did they capture him?" "it seems to me that the officer would have told elias if he had taken a prisoner," i replied, and such fact gave me great satisfaction. "at all events he must be here soon if nothing has happened to his disadvantage." even as i spoke the canoe came out of the shadow, gliding lightly and noiselessly as thistledown, and we knew that darius was safe, for the time being at least. "did you run across the boat when you went down?" i asked in a whisper as he came over the rail, and he stood silent as if with surprise. "didn't you see a boat?" jerry asked impatiently, and the old man replied: "i met with nothing either goin' or comin' an' i've brought back two muskets with a mighty small lot of powder an' ball; but it's better'n nothin'. what do you mean by a boat?" then we told him what we had heard, and when i mentioned the name of the traitor, he brought his hand down on his leg with a resounding thwack that might have been heard some distance away, as he said incautiously loud: "we'll have that snake, lads, if we don't do anythin' more, an' he shall have a chance to see how the commodore looks when the britishers come up the river!" "then it is for you to take command of the avenger, darius. the boat has not been gone from here above ten minutes, therefore it is likely to be some time before the traitor comes down stream." "we won't wait here for him, lads. there's breeze enough stirrin' now to send the pungy against the current, an' we'll push ahead." sheltered by the trees as the vessel had been, we were ignorant of the fact that a night breeze was springing up, until the avenger swung out into the stream, and then we found it as darius had said. the little craft could make about two miles an hour against the current, which, as i reckoned, was about what the boat could do with a couple of men at the oars, and i suggested to the old man that there was danger we might over-run our game. he gave heed by sending all hands, save me, into the bow as lookouts, and steered a zig-zag course, which reduced our speed a full third. "i don't believe i've ever heard of this essek harland you tell about," the old man said to me in a whisper, and, understanding that he desired all the information i could give concerning the miller, i replied: "he's of much the same kidney as elias macomber, except that he was born in this country. a mean native of north carolina, who starves his slaves, and makes them work twice as many hours as they should. he runs the mill, and it is said that all those who carry grist to him keep a sharp watch lest he take out too much toll. if he hides the britishers, or gives them any information, it will be because they pay him, for he will do any mean thing for money." "have you ever heard it said whether he was for or against the war?" "no, and i haven't heard his name spoken for a year or more. it would make little difference with him which side he was on, if the opposite party offered money they could buy him." then we fell silent again during half an hour or more, when darius said: "you shall tell me when we are within a mile of the mill; it won't be safe to run any nearer unless we have overhauled that snake of a macomber." i was so well acquainted with the river as to know every crook and turn for at least ten miles above benedict, and when it seemed certain the pungy had run three miles or more, i kept a sharp look-out on the banks in order to comply with the old man's request. it was just when i believed we were close upon the spot where the avenger should be stopped, that jerry came tip-toeing aft, waving his arms to attract our attention. "macomber has hove in sight!" darius whispered. "take the tiller, an' head her for his canoe!" as he spoke he darted into the cuddy, returning a few seconds later with two muskets, and these he carried with him well forward. i strained my eyes in vain for a view of the canoe, which should be coming right fast, with a favoring current, and had not yet made her out when darius hailed: "in the boat there! whereabouts are our people?" the old man had disguised his voice, and the traitor must have believed that we were a party of british coming to join those whom he had piloted, for he paddled alongside fearlessly, as he replied: "up the river half a mile or so." "can you show us the way?" "ay, that i can; but it will delay me in--" he ceased speaking very suddenly, for at that moment jerry incautiously came toward the port rail, and even though the night was dark, it was possible to see that he was neither a british soldier nor sailor. quickly he seized the paddle to shove off; but darius thrust the muzzle of a musket in his very face, as he cried sharply: "pass up your painter, or i'll shoot! quick, or your life is gone in another second!" elias macomber was a coward, as we knew full well, but i never believed he would give in quite as readily as he did. he passed up the painter as meekly as any cooing dove, and when darius ordered him to come over the rail, he made all haste to obey the command. when we gathered around the cur, however, for all of us were so eager that we could not keep out of sight any longer, and he saw who had captured him, he let go a cry of anger that was like unto the whoof of a bear, as he struck out with both fists savagely. he would have showed better sense had he taken matters with a bit more grace, for before he could land a blow on either of us, darius floored him with the butt-end of the musket, and during a minute or two he laid like one dead. "you struck too hard!" i cried in alarm, for even though the man was a traitor, it seemed terrible to take a human life. "not a bit of it," the old sailor said quietly as he set about lashing the fellow's arms and legs. "he ain't the kind that can be killed so easily. get off the hatch, for we must have him out of sight before coming up to the mill." [illustration: "pass up your painter, or i'll shoot!" cried darius. page .] five minutes later our prisoner was snugly stowed aft, near the cabin bulkhead, and we had brought the pungy to anchor lest she over-run the port we counted on making. chapter iv. a lively tussle. darius would have it that the traitor had not been seriously hurt by the blow on the head; but when he failed to show any signs of consciousness after we stowed him away in the hold, i grew alarmed, and, calling on jim freeman for assistance, set about trying to bring him to life, for of a verity i believed him dead. it was not until we had worked over him ten minutes or more that i could see any change, and then suddenly he opened his eyes, blinking in the rays of the lantern jim was holding close by his face. "what happened to me?" he asked wildly, and as my fears that he had been killed were banished by the words, so did my anger against him return. "you were known to have been giving information to the enemy, and piloting english spies to a hiding-place," i replied sharply. "we took it upon ourselves to cut your career as a traitor short, and while the job was being done you got a clip on the head that knocked you senseless." while i was speaking the cur looked me full in the face, as if trying to make out who i was; but i believe he feigned ignorance only that he might have time in which to decide upon a course of action. i could see by the look in his eyes, when his mind was made up as to how he should steer, and a moment later he said with a start of pretended surprise. "is it you, amos grout? i was afraid i had fallen into the hands of enemies!" "you are not among friends, and that is certain," i replied, boiling with rage because the miserable cur would try to pull wool over my eyes, for i well knew what tack he was about to take. "and are you willin' to hold enmity simply because we had a bit of a scrimmage over differences of opinion? i thought all that was settled on the spot." "so it was," i said curtly. "then why have you tied me up in this fashion?" "listen to me, elias macomber," i cried. "do you think for a moment that you can deceive any one aboard this craft. we heard all you said to the british officer who is in the patuxent with a boat's crew spying, and know where you took him to pass the night. we sailed up the river for the purpose of capturing you, and here you remain until we can deliver the meanest traitor in maryland over to commodore barney." now the cur was frightened, and with good cause. he would have said something more, thinking, i dare say, that it might yet be possible to blind me; but i refused to listen. "i only came here to learn if you were alive, and now that matter has been settled, i count on leaving you. don't be so foolish as to think you can wiggle out of the scrape by lying, for when you made your talk with the britisher this pungy was on the other side of the river, her spars hidden by the trees. we heard nearly every word that was spoken." "an' you're gettin' out of this part of the trouble mighty easy, if amos insists you shall be left alone," jim added angrily. "if i had my way, all hands of us would take a turn at thumpin' you, an' then the account between us wouldn't be square." "come on, jim," i said impatiently. "it is doing no good to parley with such as him. leave the traitor to himself until the commodore directs what shall be done." elias called after us imploringly as we went out of the hold; but i had no desire to remain longer with the cur, and we put on the hatch in order that, if he did succeed in freeing himself of the bonds, he would yet be imprisoned. on gaining the deck i looked around for darius, but he was not to be seen, and jerry, understanding for whom i searched, said: "the old man has gone ashore. he counts on lookin' around the mill, so that we may know exactly how to get at work when the time comes." "at work?" i repeated in bewilderment. "what does he reckon on doing now that we have caught the traitor?" "it is in his mind that we can make prisoners of all the boat's crew, an' if that could be done, we'd be takin' with us such as would insure a hearty welcome from the commodore." "we had better let well enough alone," i replied irritably. "if commodore barney won't be pleased to see him when we offer our own services, the use of the pungy, and the biggest traitor in maryland, then there's little reason to try to purchase his favor." "you've agreed that darius should run this thing to suit himself, an' he's doin' it. i believe he's right, too! if there's a chance to take a few prisoners, it would be downright folly to let it slip." "and do you expect that we can capture at least half a dozen well-armed britishers?" "there are as many of us, when you come to figgerin' up the fightin' force, an' the advantage of takin' them by surprise will overbalance the difference in weapons." it was useless to argue with jerry, as i understood by his tone, therefore i turned away, saying to myself that by trying to bite off too big a piece in the way of taking prisoners, we might find the tables turned very suddenly to our disadvantage. jim freeman and his friends seemed to be of the same mind as jerry, and i said nothing to them lest i be accused of faint-heartedness, when everything was apparently going our way. we waited in silence for the coming of darius, allowing the avenger to remain in the stream where some of the boys had anchored her while i was caring for the prisoner, and not until nearly midnight did the old man put in an appearance. jim freeman was on the lookout well forward, and that he did his duty well was shown by the fact that he came aft with the word that a canoe was drifting down the river while the craft was yet some distance away. jerry and i, each with a musket, went forward to make certain the newcomer was a friend rather than an enemy, and when we hailed softly, darius replied with a low hissing sound which was familiar to us all. he made fast, came inboard, and entered the cuddy without speaking, therefore we followed, knowing full well that he had something of importance to impart. when we were all together, unable to see each other because of the darkness, darius said softly, in a tone of triumph: "i've found the britishers, an' can put my hand on the whole gang without much trouble. there are but three men an' the officer, who, i reckon, will be the only fellow to make much fuss when we get at work. now i'm countin' that one of jim's friends shall be left on board to look out for the pungy, an' make certain the traitor don't kick up any row. three of us will have a musket each, an' the other two can do mighty good work with belayin' pins." "where are the men?" jerry asked. "in the loft of the mill. the officer is havin' a right sociable time with essek harland, an' if the miller's bottle holds out, i reckon them two won't be in shape to make much trouble. jim is to say which of his party shall stay aboard, an' the sooner the rest of us get to work the better, for i want to begin the scrimmage in a couple of hours." it was evident that my opinion as to whether the attempt to capture the britishers should be made, was not to be asked, and yet i must follow where darius led, or give my comrades good reason for calling me a coward--or worse. the old man settled it that he and jerry should arm themselves with belaying pins, and the two muskets he brought back from benedict, together with our old fowling-piece, was distributed among the rest of us. jim freeman named dody wardwell as the one to keep ship and look after the prisoner, and darius instructed the watchman to be free with his blows in case elias tried to pick up a row. "if he undertakes to yip even once, give him a dose over the head that will put him to sleep, an' it won't be much harm if you kill such a cur as he is. keep your wits about you, lad, an' remember that the prisoner is the one who can make the most trouble." then the old man saw to it that each of our weapons was loaded, after which he led the way to the rail where the canoe was made fast. the little craft would not carry more than three, therefore two trips were necessary in order to land us all, and when we stood on the bank darius proposed that jerry paddle the boat up to the mill. "why do we want her there?" i asked, thinking he was providing for a means of escape. "we couldn't all take passage in her, and in case we need to get away in a hurry, it might be done easier by striking into the woods." "i'm not thinkin' how we can get her off, for if the plan fails to work there's little chance any of us will need the canoe," darius said grimly, and i began to understand that he might be more of a fighter than would suit me. "it may be we shall want to send some prisoners down to keep macomber company, an' then a small craft will come in handy, for their boat is hauled up high an' dry among the bushes; she is so heavy that it would be a long job to float her." jerry was so impatient to be in the thick of danger that he hardly waited for the old man to conclude his long-winded speech, and before the last word had hardly been spoken he was paddling up stream at a rate which told that he would arrive at the rendezvous some time in advance of us who were to walk. neither was darius willing to waste much time, and when jerry was lost to view in the darkness he struck through the underbrush toward the highway, leading the party, while i brought up the rear. it can well be fancied that we moved with the utmost caution, for people do not set out on such an enterprise as we were bent upon with any great blowing of horns, and although none of us were what might be called woodsmen, i flatter myself that we did not bungle the job very badly. hardly more than a quarter-hour had passed when darius left the underbrush to cut across toward the river, and within five minutes more we were halted near the southeast corner of the mill, not having heard or seen anything of those whom we hoped to make prisoners. jerry joined us almost immediately, having been on the lookout during five minutes or more, and he reported that there had been no signs of life in the vicinity since his arrival. "we who carry the clubs will go ahead, an', if it so be possible, do the biggest part of the work, for our weapons ain't the kind that make much of any noise," darius whispered. "jim freeman will stand guard at the door of the mill, but he is not to shoot unless it becomes necessary to prevent the britisher or the miller from takin' a hand in the scrimmage, pervidin' there is one. now follow me, lads, an' remember that we must get the three sailors under our thumbs, once we've started, no matter what turns up." we stole up to the big door on the northwest corner, the only entrance to the building, and, as i had expected, found it fastened on the inside. one would hardly have supposed that the britishers in hiding would neglect to make themselves as secure as possible. it appeared that darius was not disappointed, for after pushing gently at the door, and motioning for jim to stand in front of it, he led the way along the northerly side of the mill to a portion of the under-pinning which had given way, disclosing an aperture through which a mule might have been driven. "keep close at my heels," he whispered, and then he plunged into the darkness, we obeying his command to the letter, for a mis-step might throw us into the mill-race, which we could hear rippling close at hand. one would have said that the old man had always lived in this place, so directly and swiftly did he go to the desired point, which was a portion of the flooring where was a trap-door, evidently used to dump the refuse, for suddenly we found ourselves climbing up a heap of what appeared to be husks and cobs of corn. it was a simple task to gain entrance to the building in this manner, for darius had only to force the trap-door up with his shoulder, and in a twinkling we were standing on the lower floor, near-by what i took to be the hopper. touching each of us in turn that we might be warned to follow closely, darius led the way to the easterly end of the building, where he halted at the foot of a flight of stairs. now he marshaled his force according to the weapons. jerry was behind him; i came next, determined to use my musket as a club so long as it could be done, rather than take the risk of killing a man, and in the rear of me was josiah coburn, one of jim freeman's party. now it must be understood that we could see nothing; the darkness was so intense that one could almost feel it, and yet we proposed to blunder in upon enemies who would probably shoot without warning in the direction of the slightest suspicious noise. it was not a cheerful adventure, and i hold myself well excused for being frightened, so that i followed the leader's orders implicitly to the best of my ability. just at this point, when we were trembling with suppressed excitement, and, as in my case, fear, darius remembered that he had not unlocked the outer door in order that jim might hide within the building, and we were forced to stand at the foot of the stairs while he groped his way back to remedy the neglect. it seemed to me that we remained there hardly daring to breathe, a full half-hour, although i suppose now that it was no more than five minutes, and then our leader was returned. pushing his way to the head of the line once more, we began the ascent of the stairs, each fellow stepping cautiously; but despite all our efforts each board sent forth loud protesting creaks as we bore our weight upon it, and the only wonder was that the britishers did not awaken sooner. the noise we made in ascending the stairs seemed to me loud enough to alarm the inmates of the house near at hand, and, therefore, i was neither startled nor surprised when some person at one end of the second floor, cried out: "who is there? what's the row?" "can't you give your shipmates the same show for a watch below that you've got?" darius asked with a regular deep-sea note in his voice, and this it was that gave us a slight advantage, since the men did not open fire. "how did you get here?" the same voice asked, and again the old man answered as if speaking to shipmates: "the bloomin' swab that piloted you here, gave us the course. where are you?" "over here," and the voice came from the westerly end of the building, thus showing that we must walk the entire length of the mill before coming upon our adversaries. "what ship are you from?" my heart stood still as this question was asked, for i knew only too well that darius was wholly ignorant as to what british vessels had entered the bay; but the old sailor never hesitated, as he replied: "what other than the flag-ship, you lubber?" "no, i'll be burned if you are!" the man cried loudly, and i heard him spring to his feet. "she's in the potomac river long before this! rouse up, my bullies, an' let's have a look at these beach-combers." during this brief conversation we had been advancing swiftly in the direction from which the sailor's voice could be heard, and when his comrades were ready to receive us, we could not have been a dozen paces distant from the three. i felt, rather than saw, that darius sprang forward; there was a dull thud, a groan, and a cry from one of the other britishers which told that the battle was on, but the number of active enemies had been reduced by one, for there could be no question but that darius had put his man out of the fight for some time to come. i ran forward with my companions; but it was impossible to use the musket, even had i been eager to shoot, because of the darkness, and as i swung the weapon from side to side, striving to feel my way, some one clutched me by the throat. "here's one of 'em!" i managed to scream before the fellow's fingers shut off my wind, and then i had my hands full trying to save my own life. i managed to hit my adversary two or three solid blows which weakened his hold somewhat, otherwise i would have been strangled in short order, and then i fought as i never did before, but sadly at a disadvantage, as can be imagined. how long we swayed to and fro, i striving to reach the enemy's face with my fists, and he trying to strengthen his hold on my throat, i know not; but certain it is that i held him in fairly good play five minutes or more before the report of jim freeman's musket told that the britishers were about to receive reinforcements. even as i fought with my adversary i understood that the english officer, and, probably, the miller, aroused by the noise of the scrimmage, were coming to the rescue, and the thought flashed through my mind that in a few moments more the battle would be decided in favor of his majesty's forces. just at that moment a heavy body pushed past me; i heard that sickening sound which tells that a living object has been struck a powerful blow, and instantly the hands relaxed their grasp on my throat. "that makes the third one; we've got the upper hands of all up here, an' you lads are to make the britishers fast the best you can in the darkness, while i 'tend to the visitors." it was darius who spoke, and when this had been said i understood that he was running toward the stairway. now it was possible to see faint gleams of light coming through the cracks of the floor, and i realized that the newcomers had with them a lantern. the report of jim's musket had been followed by the discharge of a pistol, and i heard the lad running across the floor at full speed. i did not have sense enough to obey the old man's command in regard to the prisoners; but stood there like a simple, staring at the moving rays of light, and wondering how long it would take the british officer to shoot us all down. then, to my great surprise, i heard a voice from the head of the stairs, on the floor where we were, cry loudly: "this way, sir! we've got the best of two bloomin' yankees, an' the other is sneakin' in some corner!" there came the sound of hurried footsteps, and then the light of the lantern so far illumined the head of the stairway that i could see darius, lying at full length on the floor, within a few inches of the opening. just for one second i stood as if stupefied, and then i understood what the old man would do. the british officer ascended swiftly; but before his head was fairly above the top of the stairs darius stretched out his long arm, seizing the gentleman by the throat even as my adversary had seized me. now i had my wits about me; running forward swiftly i caught the lantern before the officer could let go his grasp on it, and thus made it possible to have a view of what was going on. darius hauled his captive up, much as if he had been a bale of merchandise, and as he was dragged to the floor i saw one whom i believed to be the miller, directly behind him, within three steps of the top of the stairs. with the lantern in my left hand, i thrust forward the barrel of my musket full in his face, as i said sharply: "throw down that gun, or i'll fire!" [illustration: with the lantern in my left hand, i thrust forward the barrel of my musket full in the face of the miller. page .] the man was armed in much the same fashion as was i; but he had little stomach for fighting, as could be seen when he dropped the weapon immediately i spoke, and when it fell clattering to the floor below, jim freeman came into view from behind a pile of bags. "can you look after the miller, jim?" i cried, and the lad replied as he came bounding up the stairs: "ay, let him go, an' i'll blow the whole top of his head off if he dares to look crosswise!" i knew jim's musket must be empty, since he had not had time to recharge it after firing that which served as an alarm; but i took the chances of the fact being discovered, and turned with the lantern held high above my head to view the scene. near at hand darius was kneeling on the british officer's chest, industriously engaged in strapping the latter's arms to his body with the prisoner's waist-belt. in the distance jerry and josiah knelt beside a form which was stretched out frightfully limp, as if life had departed; but i observed that they were securing the man's hands and feet with portions of his trousers. beyond them a short distance was a second britisher, tied tightly with what appeared to be strips torn from his own clothing, and midway between them and darius, was a third body, evidently that of the man who had attacked me; but he remained motionless, and, having heard the blow which struck him down, i could well understand why he did not give any very violent signs of life. it did not appear that i was needed elsewhere, therefore i turned my attention to the miller, who was standing like a statue, not daring to lift a finger lest jim should "blow off the top of his head." "come here," i said to him. "come here while my friend trusses you up in proper fashion. what can you find there to tie him with, jim?" "plenty," jim cried gleefully as he picked up from the floor a couple of bags and began cutting them into strips. "here's enough an' to spare, of what is better than rope." the venture had come to a most successful end, providing there were no others in the vicinity whose love for the british would prompt them to interfere, and i was amazed, even amid the excitement of victory, that we had come off ahead when it seemed certain the enemy could overcome us easily. darius, having bound his captive, stood up facing me, and from the expression on his face one never would have supposed that he had just come unscratched out of as lively a tussle as i ever took part in. it was as if he had been stowing oysters in the hold of the avenger, and was stretching his back before going at it again. "you've done a big thing," i said, holding out my hand to congratulate him. "to you belongs all the credit of having taken these prisoners, and when we meet commodore barney i shall insist that he hears the whole story, for i doubt if every old sailor has head enough to put such a venture through in good shape." it could readily be seen that the old man was pleased by the praise; but he made as if it was of no consequence. "you lads have done your full share, an' if any credit is to be given it goes to the whole crowd." "not a bit of it!" jerry cried, looking up from his task of binding the sailor with whom i had fought. "it's as amos says; but for you this never would have been done, an' it won't be my fault if all the men of the fleet don't hear of it." "we're not out of the woods yet," darius said, as though he would change the subject. "if i'd had half the head you give me credit for, we'd run the pungy up here, instead of leavin' her a mile away." "josiah can go after her," i suggested, "and by the time we're ready to put our prisoners aboard she should be here." this proposition suited the old man, and jim's friend left the building at full speed, while i asked darius to make certain the miller was trussed up in proper fashion. "what'er you goin' to do with me?" essek harland cried with a whine. "i ain't to be blamed for what's been done this night! how can i help it if a crowd of britishers take possession of my mill?" "talk that over with elias macomber; he's aboard the pungy," darius replied in a matter-of-fact tone as he proceeded to bind the man with strips of bags provided by jim. chapter v. with the fleet. the british sailors did not make any talk on returning to consciousness and finding themselves bound hand and foot. the officer, however, after recovering from the bewilderment which appeared to have come over him because of having been taken prisoner in such an unceremonious fashion, protested against being tied like a criminal. "will you give your word to make no attempt at escape?" darius asked; but this did not suit the britisher, for most likely he was reckoning on a rescue by those of the people who favored the king, and there were not a few of such vermin on the patuxent river. "i refuse to give my parole, save to an officer of the american army or navy," he said stiffly, and darius replied cheerily: "then you see that we've got no other course save to deal out the same dose for all, 'cause we're not countin' on losin' any of you." "what are you goin' to do with me?" the miller asked, and i took it on myself to make reply: "you'll get the same treatment as elias macomber, and however harsh it may be, you won't have it as tough as is deserved. these others are prisoners of war; but you two are traitors and spies, therefore must expect to fare according to your deserts." "that's about the size of it, amos," darius said as he went from one to another of the prisoners to make certain they were secured properly, and in condition to travel. "i reckon, lad, that we might as well be gettin' the crowd down to the shore, for unless the wind has died away entirely josiah coburn should be here mighty soon." "how would it do to take along a supply of meal?" jerry asked. "if it so be that we don't come up with the fleet by noon to-morrow, we'd be short of provisions, with so many to feed." "right you are, lad. we'll take from essek harland's meal-chest as much as may be needed, an' surely he can't make any complaint when he gets his share." while jerry was rummaging around to discover the miller's store, we got the prisoners down-stairs, finding it no slight task because two of the sailors, in a spirit of pure mischief, refused to walk, and we were forced to tote them like so many barrels of flour. by the time they were at the foot of the stairs, however, both were willing to provide their own means of transportation, for we did not handle them with any too much care. essek harland whimpered and whined like the cur that he was, until we came to suspect he might be making a noise in order to give an alarm to somebody in the vicinity, when darius reduced him to silence by threatening to put a gag in his mouth. we had no more than got in fairly good marching shape when josiah came up with the avenger, the wind being strong enough to push her along about as fast as a man could walk. then well on to an hour was spent before the prisoners and the meal were stowed in the hold of the pungy, and i counted that it was near daybreak when we started up the river toward where commodore barney's fleet was supposed to be. it struck me that we should meet with a warm reception from the commander, when we delivered up to him the britishers and the traitors, for by capturing the spies we had delayed the coming of the enemy for a few hours at least. and in thinking of this i came to ask myself how we were to present ourselves? whether as lads who wanted to make a bargain to supply the fleet with fish, or as recruits? ponder over it as i might, it was impossible to come to any satisfactory conclusion, and i decided that before committing myself in any way i would ask the advice of my father, whom i was likely to find on some of the vessels belonging to the flotilla. it was darius who broke in upon my perplexing thoughts by asking: "well, what do you think of it now, lad? we couldn't have done the job any browner if we'd had on board a full cargo of rifles an' ammunition." "ay, darius, it has been well done because you were on hand; but i question if another might have worked the scheme as well." "there are thousands who'd make less bungle of it," the old man replied, and i could see that he was well pleased because of being praised, even by a boy. "all that's needed is a little backbone; but if the other fellow happens to have more'n you've got, then things are apt to go wrong." "thanks to your arrangement of the affair, the enemy didn't have a chance to show his pluck; but we'd have been in a bad box if you hadn't made the britishers believe, for a minute or two, that we were their friends." darius laughed heartily as he thought of the brief conversation with the sailors, and then said with a chuckle: "if i'd only known the name of a vessel belongin' to their fleet, we'd been right on top of 'em before bein' found out; but as it was we got well alongside when the trouble began." then jerry came aft to take part in the conversation, and we spent a good half-hour praising each other and chuckling over the good fortune that had been ours. we might have continued at such pleasing occupation a very long while, but that day began to break, and there was too much work on hand to admit of further foolishness. darius gave up the tiller to me, and went below to look after the prisoners, returning five minutes later with the british officer, who, much to my surprise, was no longer fettered. "this gentleman has decided that he can give his parole to us as well as to brother officers," darius said by way of introduction. "he has pledged his word to make no attempt at escape, therefore we will give him the liberty of the ship." "which won't mean much for one who has been accustomed to the luxury found on board some of his majesty's vessels," i added, trying to show that i had some semblance of good breeding. "an oyster pungy isn't the most beautiful craft in the world." "very true," the officer replied with a friendly smile; "but there is a vast difference between the hold and the deck of an oysterman." "yes, i can fancy that to one unaccustomed to such things, the avenger seems like a foul ship below." "so your vessel is named the avenger?" and the gentleman looked at me quizzically. "isn't that rather high-sounding for a peaceful fisherman?" the officer was so different from what i had fancied a britisher might be, and had such a friendly air, that i made no hesitation in telling him how the pungy got her name, and after the explanation he ceased to laugh at it. "i can well believe that some of your people have been abused," he said in a kindly tone; "but there are always two sides to a story, and the commander of one of the king's ships may believe that he is doing absolutely that which is right and just, when in your eyes he commits a most grievous wrong." i had sense enough to understand that if i attempted to argue with the officer on the causes of the war i should speedily find myself in deep water, therefore i made reply: "it is not for me to measure words with such as you, sir. i know that jerry's brother, who had never stepped foot on other than american soil, was forced to serve in one of your ships, being carried forcibly and secretly away, to the great distress of all who cared for him." "and in that case his majesty's officers did a most grievous wrong," he said frankly, and then as if to turn the subject of conversation, he asked, "when do you expect to come up with barney's fleet, for i understand you are in search of it?" "if the wind holds, we should be there by noon, providing commodore barney is yet at nottingham." with this the gentlemen turned away to take note of what was being done, for darius had brought the three sailors on deck, they also having solemnly pledged themselves to refrain from attempt at escape. jerry was making preparations for cooking breakfast, which would be no small job with so many to be fed, and jim freeman was helping him. it was to be a good wholesome meal, better than we of the avenger had enjoyed for many a day; because there was to be a plentiful supply of fried ham with corn-dodgers, which last jerry could make better than any person i ever knew, except my mother. the british sailors were taking things comfortably, being seated on the deck well forward, and apparently enjoying the sail up the river, even though they were going as prisoners rather than passengers who could come or depart at will. darius remained in the hold some time, and when he showed himself again as if his work was done, i asked what he had been about. "i've been makin' them two sneaks fast to a stanchion, where they won't have any too good a time. i reckon we've got to treat 'em somewhere near decent, though it goes mightily agin the grain. how is breakfast comin' on? i could eat the toughest mule that ever walked!" fortunately for him jerry announced at this moment that the meal was ready, and darius would have it that i should eat in the cuddy with the officer; but i insisted he was the one who could best do the honors aboard the avenger, when we had seamen as guests, and literally forced him to act the host. dody wardwell and josiah coburn were detailed to feed the prisoners, including the curs in the hold, and jerry, jim and i ate on the deck aft, where i could at the same time keep the pungy in the channel. jim brought out some of the stores he had taken from home, and we lads had a veritable feast, with the cause of success to give flavor to food which could not be improved upon even though it had been served on a king's table. it is needless for me to set down all that was said during the forenoon when we sailed very slowly up the river, chatting in friendly fashion with our prisoners--meaning such of them as were allowed to remain on deck--, or discussing our plans for the future among ourselves, and as we did this last we almost unconsciously reckoned jim and his friends as belonging to the pungy. in fact, after what they had done toward helping out on the night's work, it was no more than right they should be allowed to consider themselves as a portion of the avenger's crew, if so be their desire ran that way. it was half an hour past twelve o'clock when we came in sight of the flotilla anchored off nottingham, and seemingly blocking the river until it would have been difficult for anything larger than a canoe to pass through. "where shall we find the commodore among all that crowd of vessels?" i asked in perplexity, and darius replied promptly: "he's like to be aboard the scorpion, unless havin' gone ashore. at all events, it's there we should look for him." fortunately for us, the schooner was anchored nearer down stream than the remainder of the craft, and there was no difficulty in running the avenger alongside. "you shall do the talking, darius," i said as jim freeman passed a hawser, and his friends dropped the sails. "i'll look after that part of it so far as tellin' joshua barney who you are; but after that you'll take the tiller, for the owners of a vessel are the ones to show themselves." just then a kindly-faced gentleman came from the schooner's cabin and looked about as if asking how we dared to make fast alongside. he was one whom i would have picked out for a good friend, rather than a desperate fighter, therefore my surprise was great when darius whisked off his hat, made a great flourish as he bowed in sailorman fashion, and said: "we're here to report for duty, an' it please you, commodore barney, though you wasn't more'n a captain when i sailed under ye. we've brought a few british prisoners, an' a couple of traitors." "why, bless my heart, its darius thorpe!" the commander cried as if well pleased at seeing the old sailor, whereupon darius bowed again, grinning with delight until it seemed as if he would split his mouth from ear to ear. "it's the same old shell-back, sir, only he's turned oysterman, bein' too stiff in the joints for much deep-sea work." "when your joints grow stiff, darius, i shall begin to look after mine; but up to the present time they're fit for a hornpipe almost any day. is that your craft?" "no, sir; she is owned by these two lads," and he pointed to jerry and me. "and you have taken prisoners on your own account?" the commodore asked, looking directly at me as he advanced nearer the rail, therefore i felt called upon to reply. "it was really darius who took the prisoners, sir," i made answer. "he planned the work, and did most of the execution; the rest of us simply obeyed his orders, with the result that we have this officer," and i pointed to the gentleman who was standing well forward as if to be out of ear-shot, "with three sailors, all on parole. in addition, there are, in the hold, two men living on the river, whom we found giving information to the enemy, and aiding them in their spying." "come aboard, and let me hear the particulars," the commodore said kindly, and yet the words were a command. i beckoned to jerry, and, observing it, the commander said: "come with the lads, darius thorpe, it may be that i have particular need of you." we three clambered on to the schooner's deck, following the commodore into the cabin which was not fitted up very much better than our cuddy, save that it had a fair-sized table with chairs, and here we seated ourselves as comfortably as if about to have speech with our equals. "now tell me how it happens that you are on the patuxent river taking prisoners here and there without due warrant from the government at washington," the commodore said with a smile, and i began by explaining why we started in search of the fleet, not forgetting to make mention of the fact that we had hoped to find a sale for fish or oysters. then i gave a detailed account of all that had happened to us, winding up by saying: "we count that you'll take the prisoners from us, sir, because we haven't overly much food for so large a number, and if it so be you can buy such as we can catch, it shall be at whatever price you set." "do you think, lad, that i would encourage you to spend your time fishing when you have already shown yourselves capable of bigger things? i can use darius to good advantage, and i doubt not but that he may need you and your vessel. are you minded to serve your country, lad?" "ay, sir, if it so be she needs me; but lads like jerry and me may be of more service as fishermen than as soldiers." "regarding that i am not so certain, because of the proof you have brought; it strikes me that your pungy and her crew will well serve my turn. you may deliver the prisoners to an officer whom i will send aboard, and later in the day we will have another chat." then the commodore arose to his feet in token that the interview was at an end, and we lads went out, joshua barney saying to darius as he went up the companion-way stairs: "since your joints are so stiff it may be a good plan for you to stay aboard the sloop during the remainder of the day, and then you'll be on hand when i'm ready to see you." i was both surprised and pleased to know that the old man stood so well with the commander, i had looked upon darius thorpe as a broken-down sailor; but commodore barney appeared to have a far different idea on the subject. darius was actually puffed up with pride when he gained the deck of the avenger. his face was as red as a beet, and his mouth open so wide that i could have tossed a quart of oysters into it without spilling one. "well, lads," he cried, turning on jerry and me insistently, "you've seen the biggest man in this country, an' what do you think of him?" neither jerry nor i could do less than praise the commodore, for he had treated us in a friendly fashion; but although we spoke our minds emphatically, declaring that he was a very pleasant gentleman, darius was not satisfied. "i tell you he's the greatest man in the country," he repeated, and i am not certain but that he would have insisted on our saying the same over and over again if an officer from the schooner had not come to receive the prisoners. the officer and the sailors went over the rail on being told that they were to change quarters; but it was necessary that the traitors be brought from the hold, and i proposed that darius and jim freeman attend to such duty, for i had no desire to set eyes on elias macomber again. "let's you and i deliver some of these packages and messages with which we are charged," i suggested to jerry. "by so doing we shall meet many old friends, and i would, if possible, have speech with my father before seeing the commodore again." "why?" jerry asked as if in surprise, when we went into the cuddy to get the articles which were to be delivered. i was at a loss to make reply. it would not be pleasant to tell the lad that i wanted my father's advice before agreeing to serve under the commodore, since he might believe that to be a coward's trick, therefore i said after some hesitation: "it is for him to say what i shall do; surely a fellow's father should decide anything of this kind." "but your mother the same as told you to come." "ay, and i am here; now i will see my father, which is but natural. do not spend so much time in idle words for i would be out of the pungy before those curs are brought from the hold." we had our arms full of packages by this time, and it did not take us long to load them into the canoe, after which we paddled among the fleet having a bundle or message for some person aboard nearly every craft in the river. it was not until our work was nearly done that i came upon my father and he received me as if expecting i would come. "when did you arrive at benedict?" he asked. "yesterday noon, sir." "you couldn't well have got here earlier because of the wind. i allowed you would join us as soon as possible." "then you think, father, that i should serve under the commodore, taking the chances of losing the pungy after having paid so much money for her?" "don't you?" he asked sharply, and i could do no less than reply as he expected i would. thus it was settled beyond a peradventure that the avenger and her crew should become a portion of commodore barney's flotilla, and i really felt better in mind after the question had been definitely decided. we stopped long enough to give father a detailed account of our adventures, and by the way he slapped me on the back after the story was brought to an end, i knew that he felt right well pleased because i had begun serving my country in such a satisfactory manner. when we returned to the avenger after our round of visits, we found jim freeman and his friends keeping ship in great style. they were looking as proud as peacocks, and i failed to understand the meaning of it all, for ordinarily they were meek lads, until jim whispered: "the commodore is a mighty nice man." "ay, that he is," i replied, thinking that darius had been drilling the crew in our absence to sing the praises of joshua barney both in and out of season. "we're goin' to have a chance to do some big things." "why do you think so?" "because when darius gave the word that the pungy had better be hauled down stream a bit an' anchored, the commodore put a stop to it, by allowin' that he wanted this craft where he could put his hand on her." "and because of that you think that we are to play an important part in this portion of the war, eh?" "it looks like it for a fact," jim replied, strutting to and fro, and i could not but laugh outright, for the idea that we might be called upon to do more than any others seemed ridiculous. matters began to wear a different look a moment later, however, when an officer came over from the scorpion, and said that the commodore would have speech with jerry and me. "where is darius?" i asked, looking around without seeing the old man. "he's been aboard the schooner this last half hour an' i've taken particular notice that everybody else is kept out of the cabin," jim replied. "that's one reason why i'm so certain we'll have a soft time of it while we stay with the fleet." "don't stand there chewin' things over in your mind," jerry said impatiently as i loitered near the helm. "it strikes me that when the commander of a fleet sends for a couple of lads they should step out right lively." jerry was right, and i meekly followed him to the commodore's cabin, where we saw darius hob-nobbing with joshua barney as if they were two old cronies. we lads saluted in as sailorly a fashion as was possible, for we were not well up on such manners, and the commodore said abruptly as he handed me a folded paper: "here is a guarantee from the government, through me as the commander of the naval forces in this section, that if your vessel is captured or destroyed by the enemy while you are under my orders, you are to be paid the sum of four hundred dollars." i was dumfounded. of course it was pleasing to know that we would be paid a good price in case we lost the avenger; but why such an arrangement should be made at this time was way beyond me, until darius said: "wouldn't it be a good idee, sir, if you was to tell the lads what is expected of 'em? i'm not allowin' they'd go contrary to what i said; but it would be pleasanter all around if they got the business from your lips." "it shall be as darius says," and the commander half-turned in his chair to face jerry and me. "i propose that you shall continue to act as oystermen; but without spending much time at the labor. in other words, i want information from the enemy, such as you can gather, and have spent considerable time explaining where and how you may communicate with me. that part of the business need not be repeated. this much you should know: darius has said that you would do, so far as possible, whatever i might set for you. now i want your pungy to drop down the river at once; you are to act as if engaged in the peaceful occupation of fishing for oysters, and try to sell your cargo to the enemy. in other words, lads, you are to spy out the disposition of the british ships when they advance, for i am convinced that as yet they remain in the lower bay." if i had been faint-hearted before, what shall be said of my condition now? in plain words, the commodore proposed that we turn spies, and if we were caught while thus engaged, we would make a speedy trip to the nearest british yard-arm with a rope around our necks! jerry did not appear to realize the dangers of the undertaking proposed, and when the commodore suggested that we had better get under way at once, he started toward the companion-way as if about to embark on some pleasure excursion. "are we to take on any weapons?" i asked, remembering the crippled muskets, and how dangerous it might be to discharge them. "oystermen do not carry modern arms," joshua barney said curtly. "go exactly as if you were performing your regular work, as indeed you are, except that the price received for your wares does not cut any figure." chapter vi. feeding the enemy. it was evident that commodore barney did not propose to spend any more minutes with us explaining the proposition he had made, and, indeed, it really was high time he attended to others, for no less than four gentlemen of importance in nottingham had sent a request for an interview. when the commander arose to his feet, after settling the question as to whether we should be prepared to defend ourselves in case the occasion required, i started up the companion-way stairs, beckoning for jerry to follow. darius thorpe, although he had been only a sailor, understood somewhat of manners among people of gentility, and he saluted properly--which we had forgotten to do--while awaiting an opportunity to ascend the stairs. it was as if we no longer had an existence, so far as commodore barney was concerned. we were not yet out of the cabin when he called an orderly to say that he would see such or such a man immediately, and began turning over papers on his table without even glancing in our direction. once on board the avenger i stopped to face my comrades, thinking that now has come the time we should discuss the matter which was of such vital importance to ourselves; but darius said impatiently: "why do you stop here, lad? give the word for gettin' under way, so the commodore may see we know how to obey in sailorman fashion, an' if there's any talkin' to be done we'll have plenty of time for tongue waggin' while runnin' down the river." "but surely you're not proposing that we shall start without knowing where we are going, or what is to be done?" i cried, showing quite as much impatience as he had. "that's jest what i do propose! we can whittle out a plan while the pungy is slippin' down stream, as well as if she was made fast here." "but what about jim freeman and his party?" "there's no reason why they shouldn't go with us; six isn't any too many for the crew of an oysterman." "but do you count on taking them without first explaining the situation? it strikes me that when a fellow sets about that which may put his neck in a halter, he is entitled to something by way of an understanding." "if that's all which blocks our makin' sail, i'll soon put an end to it," and darius beckoned to jim and his friends, who were standing well forward that they might not seem to be listening to that which possibly was not intended for their ears. the lads came aft quickly, knowing full well by the expression on our faces that something serious was afoot, and the old man said bluntly: "the commodore wants us to spy on the british fleets. if we're caught on their anchorage, or nosin' around the ships, pretendin' to be what we're not, its a case of hangin', an' salt won't save us. if you lads want to stay aboard, takin' the same chances we do, well an' good; if not, you'd better go ashore in quick order, for we shall be under way mighty soon." "shall we be helpin' the government the same as if we stayed aboard one of the vessels to do our share of fightin'?" jim asked, and darius replied: "yes, an' a good deal more. if you were taken prisoner after bein' in a fight, it's only a case of goin' to jail on one of his majesty's ships; but if you're taken while on such work as has been given out to us, it's a hangin' for sure, with you at the loose end of the rope." no one could say that darius had not put the matter plainly, and i expected to see jim draw back; but to my surprise he said stoutly: "i reckon we fellows can stand it if you do; we'll stay, an' the commodore shan't have a chance to say that we didn't hold up our end of the business." surely i could make no protest of any kind after jim had announced himself so firmly, and, in order to make it appear that i was really eager to set forth on this dangerous expedition, i said quickly: "cast off there! darius, take the tiller! tail on the halliards, lads!" we got under way in fine style, and as the pungy swung around with the current, i saw my father waving his hat from the craft to which he belonged, and thus knew he understood we were bound on some service for the commander. nor was he the only one who bade us a mute adieu. half the members of the fleet made some quiet demonstration in token of good wishes, and just then it seemed almost a fine thing to be thus voluntarily going into extraordinary danger for the benefit of one's friends and acquaintances. i am well aware that by writing down all my thoughts i have pictured myself as a weak-kneed lad, and one who delighted in making a show of authority, as has been seen when i was disgruntled because jerry or darius took it upon themselves to say that this thing or that should be done, without first consulting me, and yet i hold it is only fair i give the same plain dealing concerning myself as i try to in the case of my companions. now, however, as we were setting out on a cruise from which not one of us might return, i was more than glad to surrender up to darius the charge of the avenger, and i was determined that he should keep it, taking whatsoever of honor might come to the commander, contenting myself with being simply a member of the crew who would ever strive to obey all orders promptly, whatever might be the situation. and in so doing i counted myself to be wise. the old man remained at the helm speaking not a word, and chewing vigorously as we worked the pungy down the reaches in face of a head wind, not very strong at that, but the current favored, therefore we had the satisfaction of knowing that with all our pulling and hauling we were doing better than two and a half miles an hour. i had expected darius would propose that we hold a consultation as to our future course; but he gave no sign of so doing and jerry finally asked: "where are we headin' for?" "fishin'." i turned away, thinking the old man had given an idle answer to evade questions; but jerry was not to be turned down so readily, and he said with a laugh: "we've given over the fishin' business for quite a spell, i reckon. 'cordin' to my way of thinkin', an' seein's how this cruise may turn out to be anything rather than a picnic, i allow that all hands should know what is to be done." "that's my idee to a dot, lad, an' i'm tryin' to think up some kind of a plan so that when you fellows begin to figger, i can put in my oar with some show of sense." "but where do you reckon that we're bound for?" "fishin', lad. where else can we be bound?" i turned again, understanding now that the old man was serious, and asked him if he supposed we could do any spying on the british fleet while we were wasting time getting oysters or fish. "didn't the commodore allow that we should keep right on bein' oystermen?" darius asked with just a shade of impatience. "how do you expect we can sneak around the british fleet unless we've got some excuse for goin' there? it was in joshua barney's mind, the way i looked at it, that we might sell oysters to the fleet, which would account for our bein' among the vessels, an' to do that we've got to put in a cargo." it was plain enough, now that the old man had spoken of it, and i understood that we had a bit of dredging before us in order to make ready for the more important portion of the work. "but after we get a load, darius? shall we sail boldly down the bay, asking the britishers to buy?" "that's what i've been tryin' to make out. all of you can figger it 'cordin' to your own idees, an' then we'll talk it over." surely this was putting it fairly, and we tried to follow the old man's advice, or, at least i did; but without arriving at any satisfactory conclusion. the only plan i could put together was that we first get our wares and then blunder ahead trying to sell them, trusting to luck for the rest. we were a silent crew for some time, as each fellow tried to think up some brilliant scheme, and then, when midnight was nearly come, we had arrived off benedict. "why not go ashore for an hour?" jerry suggested, and all of us gladly agreed, i in particular, because i wished to see my mother once more now there was no petulance in my heart on account of her willingness to have me go into danger. darius had no relatives, or even very near friends, in the village, therefore he volunteered to keep ship, and jim freeman set us ashore in the canoe, taking two at a trip, after which each fellow went his way. my mother was overjoyed at seeing me so soon again, even though i aroused her from sleep to open the door, and asked so many questions that i could do no less than tell her all which had happened since i last saw her. she was frightened at learning what we were about to do, and showed it plainly; but never a word did she speak against the project. "if it is your duty, amos, i have nothing to say, although i wish most heartily that others had been pushed forward into danger, and in thus speaking i am selfish, for then some other mother's heart would ache. be as prudent as you can without being cowardly, my boy, and may god be ever with you. it is believed in the village that elias macomber has gone to join the british, because he has not been seen since last night; but if he should escape, amos!" "there is little fear of that, mother," i replied confidently. "commodore barney is not the man darius has pictured him, if he allows such a villain to escape." after this we talked of family matters until i went up stairs to look at my sisters and brother who were asleep. then the visit was come to an end, and i went out into the night with a heavy heart; but determined that my family should have no cause to blush for me. i was the first to arrive at the shore, and, lying at full length in the canoe, i waited until my comrades returned from their visit. jerry and jim came in company, and appeared to be excited over something, therefore to draw them on without asking any questions, i repeated what my mother had said concerning elias macomber. "ay, that was the talk in town this forenoon," jerry replied; "but now people are saying that he came back just before sunset--" "back here to benedict?" i cried in amazement. "ay, jim's mother saw him as he went by her house on the way to his own. she saluted him, but he made no reply--" "but to be here he must have escaped!" i interrupted, unable to hold my peace. "the commodore would not have set him at liberty without telling us!" "that goes without sayin', an' now what shall we do?" jerry asked as if he had some plan in mind. "what can we do, except to get away before he brings some of his cronies down here to make a row?" "jerry wants to catch him over again," jim replied, since my partner did not speak. "if he's alone in his house it wouldn't be such a dreadful hard job, surely not as compared with what we did at the mill." it seemed as if our own safety demanded that we give some especial attention to the traitor, and i proposed that we consult with darius at once. this was agreeable to my companions, and we boarded the avenger without delay, rousing the old man to bitter wrath when we told that elias had escaped. "somebody will smart for bein' so careless!" he cried. "joshua barney ain't the man to overlook anythin' of that kind. do you allow there may be traitors in the fleet? it looks mightily like it when a coward like macomber can give 'em the slip inside of twelve hours, for if he was seen in this town at sunset, he must have been at liberty by noon, ay, even before we got under way!" "jerry thinks we might catch him again, by going at once to his home," i said, impatient to make the attempt or set sail, for i was not easy in mind at lying there while the villain was free. "and jerry is right!" darius, exclaimed, darting into the cuddy and returning in a twinkling with the old muskets. "see that these are well loaded, lads, an' if we can lay hands on that cur again, i'll attend to it that he don't walk off like a gentleman at large within any very short time." well, we found the weapons in fit condition for immediate use, and paddled ashore in a hurry, finding josiah and dody waiting for us. they also had heard that elias was in the village, and we knew beyond a peradventure, even if we had not been certain before, that the cur had slipped away from those who should have guarded him with their lives. it was not a long walk to macomber's house, and on arriving there we found the building closely shuttered as if deserted; but we were not for taking outside indications as facts. although knowing full well that we were not proceeding in accordance with the law, since we had no authority for forcing an entrance into a dwelling, we burst open the rear door, and made thorough examination of the place. the household goods were tossed and tumbled about as if some one had lately been there having little time to spare; but no living thing could be found. the traitor had no children, therefore flight with his wife would be comparatively easy, and i was convinced that he had gone down the river intending to claim protection from the enemy. "that's what he has done!" darius said emphatically when i gave words to my belief. "it stands to reason that he went away in a boat, an' there's just a chance we may come up with him yet! let's get on board, lads, an' if the avenger knows how to sail we'll bring it out of her this night." then we returned with all speed to the shore; but i had little hope we could overtake the traitor, because he had at least three or four hours the start, and a canoe might be paddled twice as fast as the pungy would sail with such a light wind. darius, however, seemed certain we would overtake him, and urged us lads to greater speed or more severe exertions until the little vessel was under way, gliding down the river but little faster than the current would carry a canoe even though no paddles were used. so eager in the chase was darius that he would not allow either of us to go below, but insisted that all hands remain on the lookout, lest we over-run the game, and losing no little time as he swung the avenger in close to this bank or that where the overhanging foliage afforded a hiding place for a small boat. not until daylight did we arrive off st. leonard's bay, and it goes without saying that we had seen nothing of our traitor, neither had we come across a craft of any kind. "he's bound now to go on until he overtakes the british fleet," darius said angrily when the coming of daylight revealed the shores to us. "we'll have the best of him once we're out of the river!" "you can't keep up the chase much longer if we count on gettin' a cargo of oysters," jerry suggested, and the old man declared that he would never throw over a dredge until it became certain that macomber had really escaped us. but after some reflection he was willing to take back his words, knowing we could not go very far into the lower bay without some excuse for being there, and also realizing that we must never pursue elias within sight of any vessel of the fleet, otherwise he might give such information as would cut short our career in this world. with the coming of the new day the wind came out of the west with a force that gave promise of providing the pungy with a goodly sized bone in her teeth, and in case macomber was no more than two hours in advance there was yet some possibility of overtaking him. we usually dredged for oysters off hog point, or parker's creek, therefore in a short time we would be on the fishing grounds, unless we took the risk of standing across the mouth of the potomac on the chance of seeing the traitor, and i did not believe he would venture to make that long stretch while the breeze was so strong. by the time we arrived at the mouth of the river there was no necessity of discussing the situation, for the chase had surely come to an end. however great his need of coming up with the british, elias macomber knew too much to trust himself in a canoe on the open bay while the wind held as it did, and we knew beyond a peradventure that if he had not already gained the fleet, he was hiding on shore somewhere. it would be folly to spend time in such a needle-in-the-haystack business as looking for him on shore when we had no clue to guide us, as even darius was forced to admit, and, therefore, we set about the work in hand, which was the dredging of oysters enough to give us excuse for seeking out the enemy. it seemed to all of us that we were in more danger through information which elias might give, than we would have been while playing the spy with him safely cared for on one of the vessels of commodore barney's flotilla, and we went about the work as if it was possible to feel the chafing of british halters around our necks. we began dredging exactly as we would have done had we been trying to get a cargo for the baltimore market, and never a sail did we see during all that day, a fact which told us that the enemy was not yet ready to open his campaign. not until well into the night would darius allow that we had a sufficient quantity of oysters to warrant us in finding purchasers, and even then there was no more than fifteen bushels aboard. "it will do for a starter," jerry said when jim freeman proposed that we spend one more day dredging. "but the first britisher we came across would buy as many as we've got," jim objected, and jerry replied with the air of one who has thoroughly turned the matter over in his mind: "so much the better. we shall then have established ourselves in the business, and can come back for another cargo. there will be less suspicion of us the second time." "i reckon you're right, lad," darius said decidedly. "we can't expect to gather much of any news the first pop, an' if we get acquainted, it will be a long step in the right direction." as a matter of course, the old man's opinion settled the question, and we hauled around for a run down the bay, double reefing the mainsail and jib, as was proper when you take into consideration the fact that we had the same as no cargo aboard to give the pungy stiffness. up to this time neither one had made any proposition as to how we were to begin operations, and i naturally concluded that we would sail boldly up to the first craft we saw, asking if we could sell them oysters, therefore i suggested, when we were standing off on a course that would bring us on to the tangier islands: "if we keep up this rate of speed, we may come upon the enemy while it is yet night." "ay, lad, an' i'm thinkin' it would be a good plan." "but people don't go out sellin' things before daylight," i said with a laugh. "i'm countin' on bein' properly interduced," darius replied with a grin. "if we're hailed, an' ordered to lay by till mornin', we shall have one ship's crew that'll listen to us." i did not understand this explanation more than if it had been given in latin; but the others appeared to be satisfied, and i held my peace rather than display ignorance. we kept our course a couple of hours, and, then, directly in a line with the tangiers, i saw the loom of what appeared to be a large ship. "there's one of the fleet," i said in a whisper to darius, who was at the tiller, and he replied in a matter-of-fact tone: "ay, lad, i'm allowin' she's the severn or the narcissus, both of which made it hot for the commodore in the patuxent." "how large are they?" "the severn should be carryin' thirty-eight guns, an' the other four less, if i remember rightly." "i had rather we made our first attempt with a smaller vessel," i said, feeling decidedly uncomfortable in mind now we were so near beginning the dangerous work. "bless you, lad, we might as well be overhauled by a frigate as a sloop, so far as the chances of bein' found out are concerned; but we're goin' through this business as slick as we did at the mill." darius held the avenger straight for the enemy, and when we were come within half a musket-shot i heard the hail we had been expecting: "sloop ahoy!" "ay, ay, sir!" darius cried. "what craft is that?" "an oyster pungy with part of a cargo which we're hopin' to sell, sir. can we do any business with you?" "heave to, an' lay alongside until daylight." "very well, sir," the old man cried, and then he let fly a lot of orders to us of the crew which would have shamed a landsman to utter, for of a verity no sailor could have understood them. however, by giving no heed to what he said, we brought the avenger into position; but i soon saw that the tide was setting us away from the britisher, and suggested that we let go the anchor. to this the old man would not agree. "obey orders if you break owners," he said with a grin, and i knew he had some reason for thus being so foolish. however, to make a long story short, we remained hove to until day dawned, and then we were within a cable's length of a large ship, while a mile or more further up the bay was the vessel that had first hailed. "ahoy on the sloop!" came from the second ship, and darius replied in the tone of a countryman: "ay, ay, sir." "why are you loafing around here?" "we came down to sell some oysters; but the chap on t'other craft told us to heave to, an' we've been driftin' 'round here ever since. i dunno whether we ought'er go back to him, or try to sell you what few bushels we've got." "when did you take them?" "last night. oh, they're fresh enough, if that's what you're thinkin' of. don't you want to try 'em?" "what is the price?" "ten cents a bushel; that's what we ought'er get up to baltimore, an' i reckon we might knock off a little if we don't have to run there to unload." then, without waiting for permission, darius began giving us fool orders intended to get the pungy under way, and we came lumbering around under the ship's starboard, where we could have been blown into the next world with no more labor than the lighting of a match. darius lifted one of the hatches and leaped into the hold ordering us to "bear a hand lively that the gentlemen might taste the oysters," and passing up a basket full, shouting to me so loudly that he could readily have been heard on the ship: "pass 'em over the side, bubby dear, an' be careful how you fool 'round the rail!" i should have laughed at his manner of speaking but that i knew he was playing a part, and i did my best to obey the command. the sailors of the ship, eager for anything by way of a change of food, held out both hands invitingly for the fish, and i contrived to swing the basket aboard. then it was that i saw an officer take charge of the fish, calling for the after steward to come forward, and a moment later some one cried: "where's your captain?" i sung out for darius; but he pretended to misunderstand, and replied: "they can have the lot for eight cents a bushel. ask 'em if i shall begin takin' 'em out?" then it was that i fancied he had some good reason for wanting to remain out of sight, and i looked around in alarm to see what had caused the trouble. chapter vii. an old acquaintance. jerry was at the tiller; jim freeman and his friends stood near me at the main-hatch ready to obey the commands of darius, and since all hands of us, with the exception of josiah coburn, really were oystermen, knowing no other business or trade, there was little reason for the britishers to have any suspicions regarding us. it was evident, however, that darius had seen something to cause him alarm, otherwise he would not remain in the hold, having a care to keep out of sight while he might be seeing much which would please the commander to hear about. so far as i could make out, the britishers regarded us as ignorant fishermen who were trying to earn a very slim livelihood by selling oysters at a price which would hardly pay enough to provide food for a crew the size of ours. three or four of the petty officers were making very awkward attempts to open the shells with a marlin-spike, while the idle crew, having nothing better to do, watched the proceedings on their ship as well as aboard our craft. i was not looking for an explanation of the old man's behavior among the seamen, therefore gave little heed to the old shell-backs who lined the starboard rail from the forecastle-deck to the mainmast. gaze intently as i might, it was impossible to see anything which could have caused darius uneasiness, and i dismissed the matter from my mind with the belief that he remained hidden from view simply to avoid being recognized as an old sailor whom it would pay to impress into his majesty's service. it was just when i was growing a trifle more cheerful in mind because of having banished the fears which assailed me when the old man leaped so suddenly into the hold, that one of the officers called out: "here, you bubby, come aboard and show us how to open these shell-fish!" "will one of your men stand by for our line, sir?" i asked, because the pungy was bobbing around on the small waves ten feet or more from the ship's side, and i was not minded to take the chances of jumping for the rail when there was good possibility of landing in the water. the britisher said something to the knot of men forward, and several of them stepped forward, overhanging the rail, while jerry made ready to pass one of the small hawsers. i stopped only long enough to get one of our oyster-knives from the cuddy, and by that time the avenger was alongside the ship, rubbing against the huge fenders which had been swung out. at the moment there was no thought of fear in my mind because i was thus venturing into the very jaws of the lion; i had it in mind only to play my part well, and believed that by showing the gentlemen how easily the shells might be opened, i would be forwarding our business. much to my surprise, when i would have clambered aboard the ship, whose rail towered many feet above ours, one of the sailors leaned far over to give me aid when it was not really needed. he grasped both my hands in a grip as of iron, holding me back when it appeared that he would pull me aboard, and while i was thus hampered, i heard him whisper: "tell darius thorpe to be to the eastward of the tangiers this night!" having thus spoken, he hauled me inboard quickly, disappearing immediately among the throng of men which literally covered the ship's deck. "well, bubby, have you gone daft?" this aroused me to the consciousness that i was playing my part very badly, and i quickly went to the after-hatchway where was our basket of oysters around which several officers were standing. without speaking i whipped out the oyster-knife, and, using the combing of the hatch as a bench, set about opening the shells as rapidly as the most expert could have done. the gentlemen were so astonished at seeing me do readily what they had failed at, that i had a good two dozen fat oysters ready for the eating before any one made an attempt at swallowing them. from that out, until the basket was emptied, i was kept busy, and although i searched with my eyes while thus engaged, it was impossible to single out the sailor who had sent the message to darius. when there was nothing before me but shells, and one of the officers asked if my father was going to send more aboard, i thought it would be more in keeping with my part to act like a lad who was eager to receive money for his cargo, therefore i replied that we would send the whole load aboard at the rate of eight cents a bushel. to this proposition the gentleman agreed, and i called out for the others to begin slinging the baskets up, counting on lending a hand to take them over the rail; but i was not allowed to abandon my job of oyster-opener. i worked as lively as i ever did in my life, and it surely seemed as if i would not be allowed to go on board the avenger until the entire cargo had been eaten, therefore i called for jerry to help me, after our small lot had been dumped on the ship's hold. darius did not come out of the hold. he had good excuse for remaining there while we were unloading; but once the pungy was empty i greatly feared suspicions might be aroused by his remaining hidden from view. not until jerry and i had opened a full two bushels, and given one of the cooks a few lessons in the manner of holding a knife to the best advantage while shucking, were we allowed to cease the tiresome labor, for it must be known that we did not claim to be experts at such work. one of the officers paid us for the cargo, and agreed to take as many every other day while they remained at that station. as if eager to know how long we might find a ready market thereabouts, i asked if he could tell me when there was a possibility of the ship's being moved; but he shut his mouth as close as any of our oysters, saying that it was enough for us to know that they would patronize us while they remained there, consequently i did not succeed in getting any information for commodore barney. i explained my reasons for asking such a question, by saying that it would be a waste of time for us to sail down the bay when the fleets were not there, because our only other market was at annapolis or baltimore, and he said with a laugh: "when we're not here you can look for us further north, and we will take your oysters wherever we go." i observed that we were on board the narcissus, and thus understood that darius had made no mistake when he gave that name to the ship, therefore my admiration for the old man's knowledge of nautical matters increased, for only an experienced seaman could have thus recognized a craft he had seen but once before. by setting down so much when our business was concluded, it would appear as if we loafed on the deck of the ship some time, whereas we were given to understand that our room was better than our company immediately the transaction was completed, and in a very few seconds after the officers allowed jerry and i to cease the labor of shucking, we were aboard the avenger, getting under way. "look at the name they've given that old bargee!" one of the gentlemen on the quarter-deck cried with a laugh as the pungy swung around until the letters on her stern could be read. "these americans may be hot for vengeance; but i take notice that they're ready to feed the enemy if there's a dollar to be made." all this seemed very funny to the britishers, and they cracked many a quip and joke at our expense, as i guessed by the roars of laughter which could be heard so long as we were within earshot. darius came on deck once we had filled away; but he kept his hat pulled well down over his face as he walked aft from the main-hatch, and when he had taken the tiller i asked: "what were you afraid of that you kept under cover so close?" "it was a mighty snug shave, lad," he replied with a long indrawing of the breath. "i knew one of the men on the forecastle deck, 'cause i was shipmate with him on the privateer honest ben, when joshua barney was in command. i'm not sayin' that he'd given me away; but i feared he might sing out on seein' me." "what is his name?" "bill jepson. he's a baltimore man; but whether he's there owin' to fallin' in with a press-gang, or on account of his own free will, it's hard to say, though i never believed bill would willingly have served the king." "he wants you to be to the eastward of the tangiers this night," i said, and the old man started as if he had been struck by a bullet. "how do you know, lad?" then i told him when the sailor had had speech with me, and again repeated the message. "that shows as how poor bill was pressed into the service," darius said sympathetically, "an' now he's countin' that an old shipmate will lend a hand." "which of course you will do!" i cried hotly. "we must make some kind of a turn to favor him; but we're here on the commodore's business, an' the question is whether we'll be warranted in doin' what may turn all the plans upside down. bill reckons to slip over the side, an' swim ashore. if we're roundabout here, the britishers will count it for certain that we had a hand in the desertion, an' the avenger may be taken from us before we've got well into our work. the king's officers ain't noways easy in handlin' them as tries to get the best of 'em." "but if the man swims for the islands expectin' to find us, and we're not there, he'll be retaken." "ay, lad, an' most likely dance at the yard-arm for desertion." "then of course we must help him," and i beckoned to jerry, knowing full well he would fall into my way of thinking. before anything could be said between my partner and me, however, the avenger had come off the severn, and we received peremptory orders to heave to. "why didn't you remain alongside, as you were told?" an officer asked angrily when the pungy was at a standstill, and darius replied: "the current carried us down the bay durin' the night, an' when mornin' came the captain of that other ship ordered us alongside, sir. he bought our cargo an' agreed to take more, so if you'd like to trade with us, we can have fifteen or twenty bushels here by to-morrow night, in case the wind holds." i could see that two or three of the gentlemen on the quarter-deck put their heads together, as if talking about us, and then the one who had first spoken ordered us to lay alongside. "they're goin' to search us, an' it may be i'll have an invite to stop aboard quite a spell." darius said half to himself as he swung the pungy around preparatory to obeying orders. "then why do we go alongside? it wouldn't take many minutes to run out of range," i said excitedly. "they'd sink us in a twinkling, an' even though i knew we might give 'em the slip, it shouldn't be done, 'cause we couldn't come here again, which never'd suit the commodore." the possibility that any of our crew might be pressed into service on board the ship frightened me, as may be imagined; but i understood even while making the suggestion, that we could not hope to escape, and the fate of poor tom sackett was pictured before me. there was no way out of it, however, but my knees were very weak when we ranged up under the starboard guns, waiting like criminals until his majesty's officers should work their will regardless of right or wrong. darius was the one who stood in the most danger, for it could readily be seen that he was an old sailor; but he never turned a hair. one would have said to see him that nothing was more pleasant than to thus be overhauled, and he made a most awkward flourish by way of a bow when we were come into position. jim freeman passed a hawser, and when it was made fast a midshipman, who acted as if he owned the whole of chesapeake bay, came aboard with two marines. the little whipper-snapper poked his nose into the cuddy, and pretended to be nearly overcome by the odor of the place, therefore he sent the marines below to overturn everything in the bunks, as if believing we had somebody hidden there. the soldiers came up with our three old muskets, and the little whifflet demanded in a tone of authority to be told why we went so well armed. "we carry 'em, sir, so's we can get a mess of ducks now an' then," darius replied as respectfully as if he had been speaking to the king. "they ain't any great shakes of guns, seein's how all of 'em are rusted pretty bad; but we oystermen can't afford anythin' better." one would have thought the little ape had found three or four thirty-two pounders, by the way he passed them up over the rail for the inspection of the officers on the quarter-deck, and then he turned his attention to the hold. i heard the gentlemen laughing as they looked at our weapons, and in a twinkling the pieces were thrown down on the deck with so little care that the hammer of one was broken off short to the lock, but those who served the king had little care how they destroyed the property of those whose crime consisted in being born americans. the midshipman got one whiff from the hold, which i'm free to admit wasn't pleasing, and the soldiers were sent below while he stood with a handkerchief decked out with lace held to his nose, as if in danger of fainting. as a matter of course nothing was found below, save a lot of mud and some oyster shells. a blind man might have seen that so far as the vessel was concerned she could be nothing more than an honest oysterman; but the whifflet forced the marines to search over every portion of the hold, and while this was being done one of the officers asked how many bushels we sold to those of the narcissus. darius replied to the question, speaking as nearly unlike a sailor as possible, and not until he had stated the price, showing british silver as proof of the amount received, was the curiosity of the gentleman satisfied. then the midshipman clambered over the side of the ship to make his report, and the moment had come when if any of our number were to be taken from us, we would be made aware of it. i stood by the side of darius trembling with apprehension, and even amid my fear i took note of the fact that jerry was feeling far from comfortable in mind, while the old man chewed incessantly on a huge piece of tobacco that caused his cheeks to swell out as if on the point of bursting. although we had good cause for being frightened, nothing came of it, and never did words sound more sweetly in my ears than when one of the officers said: "you can get on about your business; but don't make the mistake again of trying to get below us without first reporting." "we wasn't countin' on goin' very far away, sir," darius replied awkwardly. "there's good fishin' to be found around the islands here, an' i was reckonin' on gettin' the drags out." "very well, but see to it that you heave to when coming nearabout, and remain until getting permission to proceed." "yes sir, i'll do it for certain," darius cried, and as one of the britisher's crew cast off our hawser, we filled away, standing to the northeast. there was not one aboard the avenger who did not realize what a narrow escape we had had from being forced to serve the king, and i dare venture to say that all hands drew a breath of relief as the pungy sailed beyond range of the big guns. "where are you bound?" jerry asked when he was sufficiently master of himself to note the course. "i reckon we'll run over to pocomoke; we'll find oysters in that locality, such as they are, an' there's no need of running too far away from the market." "you're goin' to lend bill jepson a hand!" i cried joyfully, for it would have gone far toward breaking my heart to turn a deaf ear to the poor fellow's appeal. "that's just what i ain't so clear about," darius replied thoughtfully. "suppose we talk the matter over a bit." i called jim freeman and his friends aft, knowing full well what their opinion would be, and when we were together, repeated the story as i had told it to the old man. then darius explained that by helping a sailor to desert from one of the enemy's ships, we might get into serious difficulties, to say nothing of losing the sloop, and he also put it very plainly that in going outside the task set us, we stood a good chance of disappointing the commodore. it was jerry who put the matter to my liking, when he said: "there are chances in favor of our bein' able to do this without interferin' with the work set for us by the commodore; but there isn't much hope for the sailor if he swims over to the tangiers an' fails of findin' us waitin' for him. you say he'll be hanged if they catch him tryin' to desert. i don't believe i could sleep well nights if we should leave this place, an' he met with his death." all hands of us felt much as did jerry, and after thinking the matter over a moment darius said slowly, as if choosing well his words: "you lads must understand that i'm as hot for helpin' bill as you can be; but we're doin' our little part in a war, an' at such times the life of one man don't count for very much when the good of others is concerned. to tell the truth, i couldn't really say what we ought'er do if i studied the thing over for four an' twenty hours. you lads own this 'ere pungy, an' i allow you have the right to say somethin' as to what shall be done with her, though you the same as put the craft out of your keepin' when you took a guarantee from the commodore that so many dollars should be paid in case she was lost. we'll consider it as settled, an' now get to work. swing out the drags, an' we'll let the britishers see that we're fishin', even though it ain't noways likely we'll get much here." i am free to confess that darius' words made me a bit uneasy in mind regarding our deciding the matter, for i knew full well that he had spoken no more than the truth. it would be hard on bill jepson if we gave him the cold shoulder; but by trying to lend a hand we might be doing others a wrong. however, the question had been decided, and there was little sense in crying over spilled milk, for i was not minded to make any effort at bringing about a change of opinion, therefore i turned to with the others that we might appear to be industriously fishing. darius stood to the eastward until we were in pocomoke bay, and there we stood a good show of getting fifteen or twenty bushels before it would be time to be at the rendezvous appointed by bill jepson. during all this while we had the enemy's fleets in fairly good view, for the vessels appeared to be to the northward of new point; but, as a matter of course, it could be of little benefit to the commodore to know how many vessels there were, if we could not give him any idea of their weight of metal. it was nearly noon before we got breakfast, and when the meal was come to an end we had struck some small oyster beds, therefore we were kept jumping from that time until dark, and then had on board a good twenty bushels of fair stock. not enough from a money-making point of view; but plenty to serve our purpose, for it might not be well to let the britishers think we could take on a cargo quickly. now the greater portion of this time we were in view of those aboard the two vessels we had visited, and by using their spy-glasses it would have been possible for them to make out what we were doing. once the night began to shut in, however, we were out of sight, and darius said as we hauled in the drags for the last time: "now we'll run over for the tangiers, lads, an' stay there till two or three o'clock in the mornin'. if bill don't show up by that time we must count that he couldn't get away, or was caught in the act." "are you simply reckoning on laying off the islands?" i asked, understanding that a man might swim ashore at one point while we were at another, and easily fail of finding us. "i reckon that some of us will take to the canoe, an' cruise off the western shore lookin' for him. his best time for makin' the try will be when the last dog-watch goes off duty at eight o'clock, or again at midnight. it won't be easy to paddle 'round so long; but it's a man's life that you're after." "jerry and i will go in the canoe," i said, thinking it no more than right for us to perform the greatest share of the labor since we were held, by darius, responsible for making the attempt to aid the sailor. we made a hearty supper that night, eating the last of the ham, and frying a generous quantity of oysters with it, and then the pungy was hove to on the westward side of the large island, as near inshore as we dared to run. i proposed that she be anchored lest the wind set her on the beach; but darius claimed that it was necessary for us to be ready to leave at a moment's notice, and promised to have an eye on the craft all the while we were absent. then jerry and i took to the canoe, with good prospect of half a night's work before us, and paddled around to the eastward, after which we set about going back and forth for a distance of a quarter of a mile, since that seemed to be the place a man naturally would make for. we could see the riding lights of the ship plainly, and although it would require considerable labor to swim so far, it should be readily done by one who was at all familiar with the work. "we'd find ourselves in a pretty hobble if a boat put off from the ship just now," jerry said in a low tone, and i was angry with him for having offered such a suggestion. there was enough in the venture to make a fellow nervous, without conjuring up all the possibilities at a time when one needed to have his wits about him. "we won't think of anything except trying to pick the poor man up," i said sharply. "this isn't the kind of work that suits me, and i'm not so cold-blooded that i can picture out all the trouble which may come upon us." "a fellow can't help thinkin'," jerry replied grumpily, and i said yet more curtly: "he needn't talk about it to mix others up." then, angered with myself for having spoken so petulantly, i added, "to tell the truth, jerry, i am as frightened as a lad well can be, and don't dare to talk overly much lest i should show the white feather in a way to make you ashamed of me." "you can't be any worse off than i am," my partner replied, and then we both laughed softly. an acknowledgment of our timorousness seemed to hearten us, and we worked the paddles in a more whole-souled fashion. as i have said, we decided to pull back and forth on a line about a quarter of a mile long, and all the while kept a sharp watch in the direction of the vessel, for a swimmer's head on the water is not a very large object to see in the night. we did not dare indulge in much conversation, and during an hour we had not spoken once; but then i said, thinking to spare ourselves useless labor: "if he slipped off at eight o'clock, he should have been here by this time. we may as well lay still till midnight." i had hardly ceased speaking when we heard a sound as of some one whistling softly, and nothing more was needed to tell us that bill jepson had succeeded in slipping away from the ship. chapter viii. the deserter. even after knowing that the deserter was near at hand, we had considerable difficulty in locating him, and not until after making a complete circle around the swimmer could i see his head. as we came alongside he grasped the gunwale to rest himself, and asked: "are you from the oysterman?" "ay, shan't we take you aboard now? the pungy is on the other side of the island." "the canoe would be overturned if i attempted to come over the rail. paddle into shoaler water, an' i'll try it." "tired out?" i asked as we worked the craft toward the shore, he still holding by the gunwale. "nothin' to speak of when its a case of escapin' from the britishers. i'd tried this a week ago if i hadn't known that the first search would be made on the island, an' i didn't dare take the chances of findin' them as would help me off." we were not many moments in coming to the beach, and then bill jepson clambered over the stern, not being hampered overly much by wet clothing, since he had come off with nothing save his trousers and shirt. "i was willin' to leave all my dunnage, providin' i could say good by to the bloomin' ship. when we put in here i counted on seein' friends 'most anywhere, for i hail from baltimore way; but darius thorpe's was the first friendly face i came across. a good honest sailorman is darius, an' i knew he wouldn't leave me in a hole if it was possible for him to lend a hand." jepson had nothing startling to tell relative to his escape from the ship. when the watch was changed he quietly slipped over the side, dropping into the water without making any disturbance, and swimming beneath the surface, coming up to breathe only when it was absolutely necessary, until he was a full half-mile from the severn. as we paddled around the island, putting in our best strokes, for we had no desire to be found in that vicinity when it was discovered on the british ship that one of the crew had deserted, i asked jepson how he chanced to be aboard the enemy's vessel, and while his story related to a cruel wrong, it was in no wise exciting, or unusual. five months before the declaration of war he was taken from an american merchantman on the flimsy pretex of being an english citizen, and since then had led what he called "a dog's life" aboard several of the king's ships. never before had he seen an opportunity to escape, and now he knew full well that, if caught, he would be hanged. now that we had the man i began to question as to what should be done with him, for it was certain we must not take the chances of keeping him aboard the avenger, and i could well understand that he might not want to remain if we were to fish in that vicinity. it seemed almost as if he read that which was in my mind for he said after a long time of silence: "i'm only half free now, for your pungy will be searched if you go anywhere near the narcissus again, an' the question is, how i am to get to the mainland?" "we could put you ashore in maryland," i suggested. "yes, an' i'd starve to death before gettin' anywhere, unless you ran further up the bay than i allow you've any right to go," he said with a laugh which had in it nothing of mirth. "what's the sense of stewin' over that part of it now?" jerry asked. "wait till you get aboard the pungy, an' i dare say darius will have a plan all worked out." "he's a good one, is darius, an' when he settles on a thing it comes mighty near bein' sound. we'll wait, an' i'll spell one of you lads with a paddle, if you'll give me a show." "after swimming so far i reckon you'd better lay still," i replied, and from that time until we ran alongside the avenger not a word was spoken between us. if i had expected to see anything affecting in the meeting between the two old shipmates, i was mistaken. darius, who was on the lookout for us as may be supposed, said when he saw that the canoe had three occupants: "so you got him, eh? well, bill jepson wasn't born to be drowned, that's certain." then the old man passed us a line, and the deserter said as he went over the rail: "i knew i could depend on you, darius." "you made a mistake this time, bill, for if the boys hadn't hogged up agin it, i'd left you to do the best you could, seein's we're down here on a bit of work for commodore joshua barney, whose fleet is in the patuxent river, as perhaps you have heard." "well there! i knew you wouldn't be foolin' round here oysterin' while able seamen are likely in good demand. i'd be well fixed if i could run across the commodore just now." "that's what i've been thinking'. of course it don't stand to reason you can stay here a great many hours." "i must be off before daylight, an' am countin' on your tellin' me where." "what do you know about the britishers?" "considerable which has been picked up from the marines who've been on duty aft. there won't be any move made for two or three days, an' then they're goin' to strike washington an' baltimore at the same time. sir peter parker goes to our home, an' captain gordon will run up the potomac. leastways, that's what we of the gun-deck have heard, an' you know that what leaks through the sentries is most generally to be counted on." "ever been up the patuxent river?" darius asked abruptly. "only two or three times." "well that's where you ought'er be, tellin' the commodore all you know, an' if the three of you agree, here's a plan we'll try." darius looked at jerry and me as he spoke, therefore i understood that we were counted as two of the three to whom he referred. "i'm agreeable to anythin' you figger out, darius," bill jepson said as he wrung the water from his scanty clothing. "well then, amos an' jerry shall take you in the canoe, an' start for nottingham within the next ten minutes. since they left to look for you i've been fixin' up a sail for the craft, an' with a breeze like this you ought'er be well across the potomac by sunrise." "don't you need the lads with you?" jepson asked as jerry and i looked at each other in surprise, and, perhaps, displeasure. "yes; but not so much as i need to hear from the commodore after he knows what you've got to say." "the britishers are certain to search this craft 'twixt now an' to-morrow night, an' seein' the canoe is gone, may smell a rat," the deserter suggested. "i reckoned all that in with my figgerin'. if you start for the patuxent river i shall run over to the delaware shore an' pick up a boat somewhere." "they knew how much of a crew you had when the oyster bargain was made." "well, what if the boys went ashore to go home for a couple of days? that yarn will go down, i reckon, an' if it don't i'll have to take the chances for the sake of gettin' you to joshua barney as soon as it can be done." darius had evidently considered the plan well, and i understood that nothing would turn him from it unless one of us flatly refused to carry it into execution, which, considering all the importance of getting information to the commodore, i was not prepared to do. at the same time, the idea of going back to nottingham in no better craft than our canoe, was by no means to my liking. "if you've got it worked out, darius thorpe, an' allow it should be done, i'm ready," bill jepson said, "an' it ain't noways strange that i should be willin' to jump at anythin', considerin' i'm like to go to the yard-arm if captured now." the old man looked inquiringly at jerry, and my partner said slowly much as if not being exactly certain what he thought of the scheme: "i'm willin' to go if it so be you want to keep the pungy here; but 'cordin' to my way of thinkin' the chances are against our gettin' there in the canoe." "you can do it if the wind don't breeze up, an' it ain't likely to at this time of the year." then, as if considering the question settled absolutely, darius cried out to jim, "have you stowed everythin' in the canoe?" "ay, sir, an' i've taken all the provisions for them, so we'll be left to suck our thumbs when we get right hungry." darius not only planned the journey while we were absent; but had gone ahead with the preparations as if advised in advance that we would agree to it. "well, there was no use in hanging back, since the thing must be done, and i had sense enough to know that if we were going to make the venture the sooner it was begun the better chance we had for succeeding, therefore i went over the rail into the canoe, where i found a small sprit-sail, a package of food, and one musket with powder and balls sufficient for two or three charges. "we've done the best we could by you, lad," darius called out as he saw me examining the cargo. "you'll soon be where you can lay in a good supply." "yes, if we don't go to the bottom first," i replied just a trifle sharply, whereat darius replied with a laugh: "i'll trust you for that part of the business. bill jepson should be a master hand with a paddle, an' take it all in all, you're bound to push ahead right fast." "how are we to find you again?" jerry asked. "the commodore will attend to that part of it. we'll stay here foolin' around as agreed upon, for a week--unless we get important news before then--, an' if you haven't shown up i'll allow that joshua barney set you about other business." jerry and bill jepson took their places in the canoe, the latter stepping the small spar to which the bit of canvas was rigged, and as i ran a paddle out over the stern to take the place of a rudder, i was astonished at feeling that the little craft was making remarkably good headway. almost at the same moment we started, the pungy was hauled around for the delaware shore, and in less than five minutes she was lost to view in the darkness. "how is she doin'?" the old sailor asked as he leaned over to watch the rush of water along the side. "better than we could shove her with the paddles," i replied, not feeling overly inclined to talk very much. "then i can't see but that everything is as smooth as grease, an' what's better'n all else, we're leavin' the bloomin' britishers astern in a way to make my heart glad. the wind is likely to increase before it lessens, so we'll be a good bit on our way by sunrise." "ay," jerry said grimly; "but if you've lived in baltimore you know what the mouth of the potomac is when the breeze comes strong, an' i don't allow that this canoe would make any too good weather of it in a heavy sea." "she should be able to do it all right," jepson said carelessly, and then he set about filling a pipe he had borrowed from darius, as if there was nothing in the world to cause him trouble. after he had lighted the tobacco he must needs ply us with questions regarding joshua barney, to which we could make no very satisfactory replies because of our ignorance; but he seemed to think it his duty to keep a conversation going, regardless of the fact that both jerry and i showed plainly our disinclination to do very much tongue-wagging. when an hour had passed, and the canoe was walking along in right smart style, surprising me by her performance under sail, for i had never supposed she could be used in such fashion, bill jepson said suddenly: "look here, what's the use of all hands standin' watch? give me the paddle, an' i'll steer while you lads get a bit of sleep. i'll call you when its time to take your trick at the helm." at first i was inclined to hold my place; but thought differently when i saw jerry curling himself up in the bow for a nap, and gave the paddle to the sailor, saying as i did so: "i don't count on sleeping very long; but if you should come up to the potomac before i turn out, it would be a good idea to call me." "i reckon you think that because i'm a deep-water sailor i ain't fit to be trusted with one of these chesapeake cockle shells; but bless your heart, lad, i've always knocked about in 'em, an' you shall see that i'll handle you tenderly enough." i laid down in the bottom of the boat, under the thwarts, and contrived to make myself so comfortable that in less than five minutes i was sleeping soundly. when next i became conscious of anything there was at least two inches of water under my back, and the spray was coming over the starboard side at a rate that threatened speedily to founder the little craft. jerry, being in the bow which stood higher out of the water, had not been disturbed. "what's the matter?" i asked in alarm, crawling out from under the thwarts with no little difficulty. "matter? nothin' as i knows of," bill jepson said as if surprised that i should have asked such a question. "what made you think anything was wrong?" "why we're half full of water, man, and if it keeps coming in at this rate it'll soon be a case of swimming!" "it's a bit dusty, that's all; but the canoe is doin' her work like a lady. we're well nigh across the potomac, an' just a hummin'." the day was breaking, and in the gray light of early dawn i could see the little craft laboring under her rag of a sail in a manner that sent my heart into my mouth, although i'm not given to being timorous on the water. "we must get in some of that sail," i cried, forced to yell at the full strength of my lungs in order to be heard above the rollicking sea song in which bill jepson was pouring forth his musical soul. "let her go as she is; i'll answer for it that no harm will be done." bill said with a laugh as he cut short his song. "we wouldn't be in as good shape with the paddles, an' that's a fact." by this time jerry had awakened, and he, like me, had the idea that we were storming through it at a hotter pace than the canoe could safely stand; but the sailor insisted that nothing was wrong, although he did suggest it might be a good idea if we baled the craft a bit, and we were forced to act upon his advice in order to save ourselves from being swamped. the canoe rode more easily when the liquid load had been taken from her, and i came to the conclusion that perhaps it might be as well to let bill jepson have his way since we were cutting down the miles in great shape, and speed was the one thing necessary for us just at that time. we were forced to use the baling dishes about every ten minutes before crossing the mouth of the river, and then the little craft made better weather of it, to the great relief of both us lads. no one would ever have suspected that bill jepson was a deserter who would surely be hanged if the britishers caught him. he sang, told stories of a wild and terrible kind, mimicked the officers of the narcissus, and explained what the americans would do when the enemy came up the bay, going into the details of the naval maneuvers as if perfectly familiar with all the defenses, instead of being wholly ignorant of everything connected with the war save from an english standpoint. it was not a very appetizing breakfast which we had that morning, for the food, stowed in the stern of the boat, was soaked with water; but to lads who had never been accustomed to luxuries a little thing like fasting did not seem to be of much importance. the breeze, which had been freshening all night, increased with the rising of the sun, and jerry and i, unwilling to suggest that the sail be reefed, saw the little craft humming along under the guidance of bill jepson, when, had we dared assert our authority, she would be creeping with no other motive power than the paddles in the hands of two tired boys. at noon we landed on the southerly side of hog point, where i knew a fisherman lived, and went toward the house hoping we might be able to get something in the way of provisions, for i had in my pocket the money which had been paid by the officers of the narcissus. bill jepson remained in the canoe, to "keep ship" as he said, and jerry and i walked through the small growth of timber nearly encircling the building, with never a thought of keeping ourselves concealed from view; but yet remaining silent for the very good reason that we had nothing of interest to say to each other. thus it was by mere chance that our approach was almost noiseless, and when we were come within view of the dwelling, from whence we could hear the hum of voices, none of the inmates were aware of our presence. this man--jenkins was his name--had a wife and one child, as i well knew, therefore hearing the sound as of several voices, i naturally looked out from the underbrush before showing myself, for there was in my mind the thought that he might have a party of britishers as visitors. one man, and he the owner of the dwelling, was lying on the grass just outside the window, talking with another who was seated within the building, whose head and shoulders only could be seen; but one glance at the face was sufficient to cause me to draw suddenly back as i motioned to jerry to advance where he could have a view of jenkins' visitor. it was elias macomber who sat at the window, talking with his host on the outside, and we could readily overhear the conversation. under ordinary circumstances i hold that an eavesdropper is the meanest kind of a person; but considering all the facts of the case, it seemed just then that it was our duty to learn all we might. as we came up jenkins was evidently opposing something which the traitor had said, for when we were in position to listen, macomber cried sharply: "i shall watch out for the british fleet, an' board the first vessel that heaves in sight. i reckon i can tell the admiral somethin' which he'll like to hear." "but, elias," jenkins remonstrated, "even though you don't believe in the war, surely you wouldn't do that which might work harm to your neighbors?" "i'm an englishman!" "by comin' here an' settlin' down, you turned into an american, or should have done so. i claim that a man has no right to hold himself an englishman when he moves into another country to live, never expectin' to go back to the old home. all your interests are here, an' by holdin' true to the united states you are benefitin' yourself." "that's all rot. i work for what i get here, an' have no man to thank for it." "but the laws of the country protect you; all the advantages to be had from the town where you live are yours, the same as others, an' when you take them you have no right to do harm to the land which feeds you." "it's no use tryin' to argue me out of it, jenkins, for you don't know how i've been treated in benedict. i'll give the british commander all the information in my possession, an' it's enough to be of importance." just then a woman's voice from the inside of the house summoned mr. jenkins to some household duty, and i drew back among the foliage yet further, dragging jerry with me. "we'll stay right here till we get our hands on that cur!" my partner exclaimed when we were so far from the house that there was no danger the words would be overheard, "an' if commodore barney's men can't keep him a prisoner, we'll turn to an' see what kind of a fist we make of the job!" i was of jerry's mind; but there was nothing that could be safely done in broad day, and we went softly back to the shore that we might hold counsel with bill jepson. we found the sailor sleeping peacefully on the warm sand; but had no compunctions about disturbing his slumbers, and after he was fully awake it became necessary to tell him the story of what we had done in the patuxent, that he might the better understand the situation. "so the spy is here, an' counts on stayin' till the britishers come up the bay, eh?" the old sailor said half to himself. "what have you lads got in your heads?" "we're goin' to get our hands on him once more, an' then take precious good care he don't have a chance to tell the britishers what he knows concerning the commodore's fleet," jerry said hotly. "an' you count on doin' that first of all, eh?" "sure; that cur shan't have a chance to give us the slip!" "but he said he'd stay till the fleet came up." "well?" "that won't happen for three or four days yet, if all i've heard be true." "it makes no difference to us when the vessels come. what we want is elias macomber!" "what would you do with him, supposin' he was here this minute?" "carry him to commodore barney, of course." "can the four of us get along in the canoe?" jerry and i looked at each other in perplexity. it was a fact that the little craft would not carry four, particularly when one was a prisoner who might struggle against being taken up the river, and yet it seemed to me as if we were in duty bound to effect the capture. "now this is the way it looks to me," bill jepson said slowly, as if talking with himself, "though, of course, i ain't countin' on interferin' with you lads in any way: what i've got to tell the commodore is of more importance than the yarn macomber can spin for the admiral, an' darius thorpe seemed to think i couldn't see the old man any too soon. now if this 'ere sneak is goin' to wait where he is till the fleet comes, what's to prevent our keepin' on as we started, an' then comin' back to pull him in? this wind will set us up the river in great shape, an' within four an' twenty hours we should be at nottingham, unless the town has been moved from where i saw it last." i understood at once that the sailor's advice was good, and should be followed, yet it went sadly against the grain to go away from that place leaving the cur free to do us harm if the opportunity presented itself. jerry had much the same struggle in his mind as i, but, watching his face, i soon saw that he was ready to act upon bill jepson's suggestion, and without waiting for him to give his thoughts words, i said: "very well, if we're to go up the river first, there is no time to be lost. we must paddle the canoe close inshore until we get around the point, so that we may not be seen from jenkins' house, and then we'll push her for all she's worth." we no longer remembered that we were hungry; but jumped to the task as if every moment was precious, as indeed was the case if we would make elias macomber a prisoner for the second time. as i had said in regard to paddling around the point, so we did, but once the canoe was so far beyond that she could not be seen from the dwelling, we hoisted the sail, and i dare venture to say that bill jepson might have run her rail under without hearing any word of protest from jerry or me, so eager were we to be on the return voyage. chapter ix. an unexpected meeting. it was as if the elements favored us in the race to nottingham and indeed i counted it a race in which were pitted against us the british fleet and elias macomber. the wind held strong, the day was cloudless, and the canoe, clumsy craft as i had always looked upon her, sailed like a bird. bill jepson insisted on holding the steering paddle, and we were well content to have him at the helm, for he held her so nearly to the course that our wake stretched out behind us straight as an arrow. under almost any other circumstances we would have made at least a short stop at benedict; but now it was out of the question, and we sailed by at full speed, being hailed by several of our acquaintances who urged that we come to for a moment, but we resisted all such entreaties. i knew that my mother, on being told we had refused even to so much as have speech with our friends as we passed, would understand we were on urgent business, and have no thought that i had slighted her. when, in due course of time, we passed the mill from which had been taken the prisoners, it bore the appearance of being deserted, therefore we had good reason for believing that macomber was the only one of our capturing who succeeded in making his escape. it was late in the night before we came upon the fleet, and were brought to by a hail from the guard-boat. the commodore was yet with the flotilla on board the scorpion, so the sentinels told us; but they were minded to prevent our having speech with him at that unseemly hour. had jerry and i been alone i believe of a verity we would have been forced to wait until morning before seeing joshua barney; but bill jepson could not be put aside as easily as two lads, and he roared out as if he had been an admiral of the blue at the very least: "tell him that darius thorpe has sent word from the lower bay, an' it must be delivered straight away." [illustration: "i remember your face, my man;" said the commodore. "come aboard at once." page .] in the darkness, when it was impossible to see him, no one could say that bill was not a person of the greatest importance, and the sentinels, judging from his voice, must have concluded that he, or the man whose name he gave, was some one high in authority, therefore they not only allowed us to approach the schooner, but went before to announce our arrival. the commodore was not the kind of an officer to keep any one in waiting simply that due respect might be shown to his station; but came on deck half-dressed, bidding one of the sailors to hold a lantern that he might see who we were. "so you lads have come back in haste, eh?" he said, on recognizing jerry and me. "have you by chance lost the pungy?" "no, sir; she is in the lower bay oysterin', with darius in charge," i made haste to say. "and who is this you have with you?" "bill jepson, sir, who has served under you twice; but is now a deserter from his majesty's ship, severn, having been pressed into the british service nigh to three years ago," the sailor replied, rising to his feet at imminent risk of overturning the canoe. "i remember your face, my man. come aboard at once, all hands of you." we clamored over the rail, having made the canoe fast, and entered the commodore's cabin. "when did you desert from the severn?" joshua barney asked, showing more of excitement than i had ever seen him display. "last night, sir, an' it may be by so doin' i've upset some of your plans; but when i asked for help it never struck me that darius might be there on special business." "tell me all the story," the commodore said, motioning toward me, and without delay i gave him a full account of what we had done, save that then i said nothing regarding elias macomber. then he questioned bill jepson regarding what he knew, and, if i am any judge of such matters, he got considerable valuable information. the sailor was able to give him the names of nearly all the vessels in the two fleets, together with their probable weight of metal, and repeated the gossip which had leaked from the severn's cabin through the marines on guard. the commodore listened intently, making many notes as bill spun his yarn, and when it was come to an end he said: "you did well to steer for here at once; but i am inclined to believe that the enemy will move very soon. is there anything else to be said?" "i would like to speak about elias macomber, sir?" i made bold to say. "that was the prisoner who escaped? one of them got away, and there is good reason to suspect that he received aid from some of our men. we have no time to look into the matter now; but it shall be thoroughly sifted later, and if there be a british sympathizer among us, it will go hard with him." then i gave him all the information we had concerning the traitor, and wound up by asking if there was any reason why we should not go back and re-take the cur. "you may as well make the attempt, although i question if he can tell the enemy anything which is not already known. the utmost he could say would be that our force is small, and so much the british learned at st. leonard's bay. however, i would like to have the fellow; but am not willing you should run into any danger for the purpose of effecting the capture." "i believe that jerry and i will be able to get hold of him, and we will go back at once, unless you have other work for us." "there is nothing especial that you can do here. warn darius thorpe to be ready for an immediate move on the part of the enemy, and tell him to make sail for the patuxent at the first signs of activity. you lads had better get some sleep before setting off again. go forward, and see that you have a hearty meal at once. jepson, you will remain aboard the schooner." bill thanked the commodore, and the three of us went into a sort of forecastle which had been rigged up in the forward part of the vessel, where, after considerable arguing, we succeeded in getting so much food as satisfied our hunger, which was no small amount. then we turned in by lying down on deck, which was preferable to getting into a bunk on such a hot night. as a matter of course we were aroused right early, even before any signs of a new day could be seen; but the three hours of sleep refreshed us wonderfully, and we were ready to set off down the river. we managed, at the expense of considerable argument, to get a supply of provisions from the cook without awakening commodore barney, and, after a warm parting with bill jepson, cast off the canoe. because the wind was blowing straight up the river it was impossible to use a sail, save at the cost of considerable time, and we took to the paddles, which seemed like mighty hard work after our experience with the rag of a sail. don't let it be thought that we begrudged our labor; i would have paddled till the skin was worn from both hands for the sake of re-taking elias macomber, and looked pleasant all the while; but when a fellow has been flying over the water with no effort of his own save to keep the little craft on her course, he cannot but contrast that pleasure with the dreary work of shoving her ahead with an ashen blade. again we felt obliged to pass our homes without stopping. it would have taken a full hour, hurry as we might, to go ashore and speak ever so briefly with those who would greet us, and in that length of time elias macomber could, possibly, join his friends the britishers. "we'll keep well over on the eastern shore, where there is less chance of bein' seen, an' do our best at the paddles," jerry said as we discussed the matter just before coming within sight of the village. "i'd give a good deal to see mother an' the children; but it seems as if we had no right to loiter." i was of his mind, and we hugged the opposite bank of the river, keeping under the screen of foliage as much as possible, until there was no danger of being recognized. during all that day and far into the night we paddled. now and then one would stop to rest his arms; but the other continued the labor, therefore the canoe did not come to a stop from the time we left the fleet until we were arrived at hog point. there we run her bow on the shore while we ate a hearty meal, and discussed the question as to whether it would be better to approach the house from the northerly or the southerly side. i was in favor of going ashore where we then were; but jerry won the day by suggesting that if we ran around on the other side, it would be possible to see if the british came up the bay, and this last was quite important to us in case we were forced to spend much time waiting for a fitting opportunity to catch our game. after refreshing ourselves with food, we paddled around the point without danger of being seen, because it was so late in the night, and landed at the same place as before, knowing that from there we would have no difficulty in finding the dwelling. after pulling the canoe up amid the bushes, and hiding her as well as was possible in the darkness, we laid down on the ground, falling asleep almost immediately we had stretched ourselves out at full length, and not until the first beams of the rising sun shone across our faces did we awaken. it was but natural that we should look down the bay before doing anything else; but we saw nothing to disturb us. a small craft was coming slowly up, for the breeze was light; but to her we gave little or no heed. we began the day by eating breakfast. then we saw to it the boat was so nearly concealed by the foliage that she would not be seen save after careful search, and we set out to reconnoiter the premises. we advanced cautiously, stopping every half dozen paces to listen lest we inadvertently stumble upon the owner of the plantation, or his guest, and after spending half an hour in such slow progress, we came in view of the place. elias macomber was pacing to and fro in front of the dwelling, as if weary of his voluntary confinement, and gazing seaward every few seconds, for from that side of the house it must have been possible to get a full view of the bay. "we might get our musket, an' rush up on him now," jerry whispered, and i replied as i believed darius would have done: "we don't know how well armed jenkins may be, nor what he will be willing to do in aid of his friend. my idea is that we should wait here until the owner goes to his work, leaving the traitor with the women folks, and even then the task won't be an easy one, for we must come out in sight of all hands a full three minutes before arriving at the house, however fast we run." "we should have brought the musket with us on this trip," jerry grumbled, and i soothed him by saying: "there is really no time lost. the first thing to be done was to make certain the scoundrel yet remained here; that has now been ascertained, and i will go for the weapon while you stand watch. we mustn't be in too much of a hurry, or we may spill the soup." jerry was satisfied to act as sentinel, and i walked leisurely back to the shore, believing that much time must elapse before we would get the desired opportunity. arriving at the shore i spent some minutes searching for the canoe, so well had we hidden her, and once getting the musket and ammunition in my possession i strolled down to the beach where i could have a view of the bay. only the single small vessel was in sight, and i was on the point of turning away, thinking it useless to gaze long at her, when something in the rig of the craft struck me as being familiar. i looked again; laid down the weapon and gazed yet more intently, until finally there was no longer any question in my mind. the vessel was none other than the avenger! if darius was yet on board why had he left his post of duty? if anything had happened to him, why had jim freeman taken it upon himself to leave the lower bay? the more i tried to solve the problem the stronger became the probability, in my own mind, that some serious disaster had overtaken our comrades, and i ran at full speed, giving little heed as to whether the advance might be heard by macomber, until i was come to where jerry remained crouching in the grass, his eyes fixed upon the dwelling. "you're makin' a terrible row!" he said angrily, never looking around. "fortunately the cur has just gone inside, or he might have heard you." "jerry!" i said, speaking with difficulty because of heavy breathing after having run so fast. "the avenger is close at hand; she is the craft we saw! something must have gone wrong!" jerry turned his head very quickly now, forgetting for the instant his desire to make a prisoner of elias macomber. "what do you think can have happened?" he asked, and i replied impatiently: "that we shall only find out by boarding her. come to the beach at once!" "but what about our work here?" and now it was the pungy that went from his mind, leaving there only the great desire to accomplish the purpose for which he had come. "never mind that now! it may be we won't want to fool around here on his account! come quickly, jerry, for she was close at hand before i started!" it was actually necessary to shake the lad before i could arouse him to a full sense of the situation; but once that had been done, he followed me readily enough, even urging that i move faster. the pungy was no more than half a mile away when we reached the shore, and we launched the canoe without delay, paddling straight out in her course. as she came up i could see darius at the tiller, with jim beside him, and the other two fellows lounging forward. nothing had happened to the crew, that much seemed certain, and i was at my wits' end to account for the avenger being apparently heading for home. when we were come within hailing distance i shouted, never thinking that i might be heard by those on the jenkins plantation: "why are you coming back? what has happened?" "where is bill jepson?" darius cried. "with the fleet." "when did you leave him?" "yesterday. what is the matter?" "come aboard an' i'll tell you," the old man replied as he threw the pungy up into the wind, and we did not waste many seconds in going over the rail. "now what is it?" i asked impatiently when i stood facing darius. "the britishers are gettin' under way, an' it kind'er looked as if the oyster business wouldn't be any good after they'd left moorin's. if there'd been any wind, you'd be seein' 'em by this time. what brought you ashore at hog point?" "elias macomber is there, living with jenkins the planter. we stopped on our way up thinking to get some provisions, and not only saw the cur, but heard him say he was waiting for the britishers, to whom he could give a lot of information." while i had been speaking darius brought the pungy into the wind again, and she was standing directly away from the man we had been so eager to capture. "here!" jerry cried sharply. "you must heave to till we get that villain." "how many people do you reckon are in the house?" darius asked as he twisted off a large piece of tobacco. "we've only seen macomber and jenkins." "don't know anythin' more about the situation?" "we haven't had time to learn anything more; but it don't stand to reason there are other men." "they've both of 'em got wives, who'd fight if it come to a pinch. no, lads, the best you could count on in the way of time would be a full day, an' we can't afford to waste an hour." "but it wouldn't be wastin' time if we finally caught him," jerry cried hotly. "that's where i don't agree with you, lad. the son of a sea-cook can't give the britishers any very valuable information, whereas we can tell the commodore that which may be the means of savin' our whole fleet. i'd like to lay macomber by the heels as well as you would; but i don't believe in usin' a salmon to catch a sprat. we'll run across him some day; but jest now its our duty to get up the river in short order. we'll try the canoe with a little bigger canvas, an' if she sails faster than the pungy you shall go ahead, for an hour now is worth a full day next week." i was not convinced that the business of catching the traitor before he could give his information to the britishers, was less important than that of carrying to the commodore word of preparation for departure on the part of the fleet, more particularly since not a vessel had as yet hove in sight; but when it came to arguing a point with darius i generally got the worst of it, therefore i held my peace, although it went sadly against the grain to do so. jerry did not give in so readily; but insisted on heaving to the vessel, declaring that he and i would do the work alone, while the avenger went on up the river. "you'll do nothin' of the kind, lad," darius said emphatically. "there's no tellin' what joshua barney will decide on when he hears the word i have for him, an' i don't count to leave you down here at hog point to be gobbled up by the britishers, for you're already under suspicion of havin' had a hand in bill jepson's desertion." "what do you mean?" i asked in surprise. "jest what i said. the officer from the severn declared that you two lads could tell what had become of bill." "i had actually forgotten that we aided a deserter," i cried. "tell us what happened after we left the avenger?" "well," darius said slowly, stopping to twist off a huge piece of tobacco, and otherwise trying to make his yarn a long one so that we might round hog point in the meanwhile. "we run over to the delaware shore, as i counted on doin', tryin' to find a boat; but it was no go. we didn't see anythin' that would float, an' of course we couldn't fool 'round there very long after sunrise, else the britishers would see us, so i made up my mind that the best plan was to face the music right soon. "we ran down for the narcissus; but was hove to by the severn, an' a lieutenant with four marines came aboard. bless your heart, lad, but they did search the pungy from stem to stern, even shovelin' the oysters over as if thinkin' we might have bill under 'em. then the officer went on board, an' that little nincompoop of a midshipman boarded us. 'where's your crew?' he squeaked, an' i said innocent like, 'they're all aboard, sir.' 'you're a liar!' says he, 'when i was here last there were five lads on deck, an' now i see only three.' 'oh the other fellows have gone home,' says i. 'they only came out with us for a lark.' 'where's your boat?' says he. 'she belonged to them,' says i. 'you're a liar,' says he. 'yes, sir,' says i, which same was true, an' off he goes madder'n a wet hornet. "then the lieutenant comes aboard after i saw a lot of 'em on the quarter-deck talkin' fit to kill, an' he asks me when you went home. i told him you lived on the delaware shore, an' you skipped when the pungy got near shore. 'you're a liar,' says he, an' i agreed with him same's i had with the midshipmite. 'the boys have helped a deserter from the narcissus,' says he, 'an' have carried him to the mainland. i've a mind to seize your vessel.' i tell you what it is, lads, 'bout that time i thought the avenger was a goner, for britishers in american waters are mighty apt to do whatever comes into their minds." "well, did that settle it?" i asked as darius ceased speaking, much as though his story had come to an end. "no, we had three or four officers come aboard later, an' i ain't certain but that we'd lost the pungy if signals hadn't been sent up on the flag-ship, which i took to be a command to prepare for gettin' under way. leastways, them as was botherin' us scuttled over to their own craft in short order, an' then there was a heap of knockin' about in gigs an' barges, with nobody givin' any attention to us. we'd been hove to half a musket shot from the ship, an' when i saw they had other fish to fry an' plenty of 'em, i run close aboard as i yelled like a countryman, 'any orders for us, sir?' it was quite a long spell before anybody answered, an' i'd sung out two or three times, when that little midshipman squealed, 'you are to go about your business with that pungy, an' we'll overhaul you again when we have more time!" "then you started for the patuxent the best you knew how," i said, thinking i understood just what should have been done under the circumstances. "i wasn't such a bloomin' fool," darius replied. "we run down to the narcissus bold as lions, an' i told 'em we'd brought some more oysters; but they threatened to fire into us if we didn't sheer off, an' then i coaxed for 'em to take what cargo i had, offerin' to sell at six cents a bushel, till they must have thought i was a stark natural fool." "but why didn't you get away when you had the chance?" jerry asked in surprise. "i didn't want 'em to think i was anxious to go, an' meanwhile i had my eye on what they was doin', which told plain as the nose on your face that the signals were as i had thought. i almost cried when i said i'd have to run all the way to baltimore to sell the oysters, an' the best i got from them was more threats. then we could steer straight up the bay without givin' rise to suspicion that we was jest naturally hankerin' to come." "you played a fine trick on 'em!" i cried, filled with admiration at the old man's method of getting away from unpleasant neighbors. "it couldn't have been done better." "i'm not so certain of that," darius replied, but i could see that he was pleased by the praise. "i didn't have time to think up anythin' different, for the whole business come about so sudden like. howsomever, we've got news that joshua barney needs to hear, an' our cruise to the lower bay will pay if we can get to nottingham half a dozen hours ahead of the britishers, which seems to be a settled thing with this wind." then i told him that the commodore felt convinced the enemy would advance sooner than was generally believed, and he said in a tone of admiration: "there's a man for you! he can smell more'n the most of folks can see, an' when he says it's in his mind that a thing is so or so, you can set it down as comin' mighty near to bein' a fact." then the old man asked concerning our interview with the commodore, and by the time we had come to an end of our story hog point was so far astern that there was no longer any thought in my mind of returning. i was trying to make the best of the situation, when jerry said fretfully: "it was a big shame that we couldn't have taken elias macomber when he was there ready to drop, like a ripe peach. we might have walked right up to that house when we first saw him, an' the thing could have been done." "but we mightn't have walked back again, if there had happened to be two or three more in the building than we counted on. never mind, jerry, we'll have the traitor before we're many weeks older, and what's more, we'll take him ourselves, never asking any man for assistance." chapter x. a change of base. when we were come near benedict i was not minded to pass it for the third time without stopping to see my mother, and i said to darius: "there seems to be no good reason why jerry and i should not visit our homes, leaving you to continue on with the news. we can take the canoe, and paddle up the river to-night." "it is your place to remain aboard the avenger," the old man said almost sharply. "what can we do more than would be done by you?" jerry asked in surprise. "nothin', so far as sailin' up the river is concerned; but with the news we're takin' to the commodore, it is more'n likely there'll be a quick change, when you might be needed." "there can't be anything very serious happen 'twixt now and to-morrow morning," i persisted, yet holding to my scheme. "we wouldn't be more than twelve hours behind you under any circumstances." "not if everything was in your favor; but how if you met a boat-load of britishers such as we captured the other night? it ain't safe to be foolin' 'round the river alone just now, an' that's a fact." "meaning that there is more of fear in your mind lest we come upon spies of the enemy, than expectation commodore barney might need our services?" i asked, and the old man finally admitted that perhaps such was the case. then, in my pigheadedness, i declared we would stop in the village, and he gave proof of what he could do when things did not go exactly to his liking. "i shall stop you from leavin' the pungy!" he said doggedly, without looking towards us. "do you mean to say, darius thorpe, that you'd prevent us from goin' ashore?" jerry cried hotly. "that's exactly the size of it, lad. i never'd let a shipmate of mine run his nose into danger when there was nothin' to be made by so doin'." "but how would you stop us?" jerry asked, his anger rapidly giving way to mirth as he pictured to himself darius, the man whom we had hired to help us in the fishing, setting himself up to say what we should or should not do. "i'd knock you down, with a belayin' pin if it was handy, but if not, with my fist, knowin' joshua barney would uphold me in bringin' back at any price the same crew i took away." i felt certain that the old man believed it his duty to do exactly as he had said, in case we persisted in going contrary to what he thought was prudent, and i also came to realize that to his mind the danger was great, otherwise he never would have spoken in such a strain. however, i did not let him know what was in my mind; but stood well forward when we sailed past benedict, as if i was too angry to have further speech, and, probably, acted like a sulky school-boy thinking that i was upholding my dignity. when we had run past the village, however, and there was no longer any possibility jerry and i would attempt to go ashore, darius humbly asked us to come aft, and once there he explained in a friendly way why we, who had virtually bound ourselves to serve under commodore barney, should report to him before attending to pleasure or personal matters. he also made it plain that at this time, when we knew beyond a peradventure the enemy was about to make an attack, it was absolutely necessary every american who had agreed to aid in the defense, should be ready for duty at a moment's notice. in fact, he showed us so clearly that he was in the right and we wrong, that i was ashamed of having given way to the sulks, and told him so, whereat he said: "then we'll drop the whole thing right out of our minds, an' now that it's over, i'll bet you two or three cents' worth of silver spoons that we'll be in benedict on service, sent there by the commodore, before four an' twenty hours have passed." i would have asked him how that might be, but just then jim freeman sung out for me to have a look at the cable, which was considerably chafed, and i did not get an opportunity of continuing the conversation. again we came up to the fleet in the night; but darius did not hold any long parley with the occupants of the guard-boat who hailed us, simply saying as he steered the avenger straight for the scorpion: "private service for the commodore." we ran alongside the schooner, made the hawser fast ourselves, since the single militiaman standing guard at the top of the cabin companion-way did not see fit to aid us, and while this was being done darius leaped on board the vessel, saying in a loud tone: "we're come on board to report to the commander." "you can't see him now," the soldier said stiffly, presenting his musket as if intending to use it in case the old man persisted in advancing. "now look here, you lop-sided lobster," darius cried at the full strength of his lungs, "you report to the commodore that the avenger is alongside, or there'll be trouble 'twixt you an' me." it is not probable the old man expected that he could bully the sentinel, who had had his orders as a matter of course; but by bawling so loudly that he could have been heard on every craft of the fleet, he awakened joshua barney, which was exactly what he aimed at doing. "who's kickin' up this row?" the commodore asked sternly as he poked his head above the hatchway. "the crew of the avenger, sir, come to report." "get below here at once," and the commander spoke as if impatient to hear that report. i had counted that darius should go alone to the interview; but he insisted on being accompanied by jerry and me, therefore we followed him into the cabin. the old sailor did not spend much time in saluting; but in the fewest words possible told what he had learned, and the commodore did not appear surprised by the information. "it tallies with what i have already heard," he said grimly. "how long will it take the enemy to run up to the mouth of the river?" "they should be there to-morrow night, for there are some fast sailers in the fleet, sir." "find the swiftest canoe in the fleet; put on board rations for twenty-four hours, getting them from this schooner, and run down the river without delay. if your own crew is not huge enough to insure quick work, call on for what men you need. can you leave in thirty minutes?" "in five, sir, if we knew where to find the canoe. we're ready, an' i'll keep the same crew." the commodore ran on deck, hailed the guard-boat, spoke a few words in a low tone, and returned to us, saying as he did so: "rout out my cook, and tell him what you want. say that i give him five minutes in which to have your provisions on deck. if necessary, in order to learn all which should be known here, send a portion of your crew back with the boat, and do the remainder of your work ashore. in case i am not here when you get back, report to lieutenant frazier, and take his orders as you would mine." all this the commander had said hurriedly, as if the moments were precious, and, having come to an end, he began writing at the table, giving no more heed to us than if we never had an existence. we left the cabin without delay, and while darius went forward to have speech with the commodore's cook, jerry and i clambered on board the pungy to let jim and his friends know of the new duty to which we had been assigned. "its a case of keeping on as spies," i said, after repeating the commander's words. "you're to be ready at once; but who's to look after the avenger is something that hasn't been told us." there was no time to say anything more, for at that point the guard-boat came alongside, having in tow a long canoe which looked as if a single stroke of the paddle might send her on a long voyage. "here is the swiftest craft on the river, and her owner's heart will be broken if you allow the britishers to get hold of her," the officer in charge of the boat said as he passed me the painter of the canoe. "do you know what we are to do with the pungy?" i asked. "my orders are to anchor her further up stream after you have gone. don't leave anything valuable aboard, for there's a good chance you'll never see her again." "we don't own anything valuable, except the pungy herself, and i fancy she wouldn't be very precious save to two lads like jerry and me who may never own one again if anything happens to her," i said with a laugh, for, strange to say now, when we were about to set off on the most dangerous portion of our work, i failed to feel the slightest fear. at this moment darius and the commodore's cook came on deck, each bearing in his arms a certain amount of cooked food, and this the old sailor threw without care into the bottom of the new canoe, himself following with the utmost haste. "come on, lads, if you count on gettin' any sleep this night," he cried impatiently as he took up one of the paddles. "are we to go without weapons?" i asked. "we shan't need them. if we meet the britishers it will be in such force that half a dozen of the best rifles ever made would do us no good, and there will be none others on the river with whom we shall want to interfere." "but we might run across elias macomber," i urged, not minded to go empty-handed on such a perilous voyage. "it is too late to fool around with spies now," darius said sharply. "they've done us all the mischief possible, an' it's a case of standin' before an open enemy." i had no desire to argue further within hearing of the commodore, and scrambled down into the boat, where my comrades were seated ready to begin the voyage. now indeed was darius the leader of the party, and after the conversation in regard to the muskets, i was prepared to obey him without a murmur. it is a large canoe which will carry six people comfortably, without sign of being overloaded, yet the boat we were in did it, and i would not have hesitated to put in a couple more had it been necessary, while she paddled as easily as a craft half her size. "it's a great little boat," darius said approvingly as we began the voyage with a burst of speed which absolutely surprised me. "i reckon we could show our heels to the best that can be found on the river." "where are we goin'?" jim freeman asked, impatient to know more regarding our purpose. "that's what i can't say, lad. we'll run down till we see somethin' of the britishers, even though we come off the tangiers again; but i'm thinkin' we'll do well if we make hog point this trip." jim would have asked more questions; but that darius cut him short by saying gruffly: "there's a decently good reason for believin' that the enemy may show himself any minute now, an' if we don't want to get into trouble it'll be safe to hold our peace. there'll be plenty of time for tongue-waggin' later." it can be fancied that we remained silent after such a remark and the old man kept four of us at the paddles constantly, himself doing twice as much work as any other, while the helmsman occupied that post only in order to rest himself, the steering blade being shifted from one to the other accordingly as we grew tired. for the fourth time we passed benedict without making a stop, but on this occasion i made no protest, and when we had run a mile further down the river we came upon a pungy belonging to our village, the master of which was evidently doing his best to get all the speed possible out of the craft. "better put back!" he shouted nervously, and darius gave the word to cease paddling as he asked: "what's the news?" "the britishers are comin' this way thicker'n spatter, an' i made up my mind it was time to get under cover." "where were the foremost ships when you saw them?" "less'n a mile below hog point; it looked like there was more'n a hundred vessels." "you'd better not count on stoppin' long at benedict," darius cried as he motioned for us to take up the paddles again, and before the captain of the pungy had time to ask a question, we were beyond earshot. "it may be the fleet that's bound for baltimore," i suggested, not being prepared at that time to believe the enemy would attempt to take large vessels far enough up the river to disturb our fleet. "i allow some of 'em are headin' baltimore way," darius replied grimly; "but you'll find that a good many of the fleet will make a try at stirrin' up joshua barney." i knew the old man believed all he said, because from this out when we were come to a bend in the river we would steer the canoe close up to the bank, and slow down until he made certain that the next reach did not have in it any of the enemy's craft. in this cautious manner we ran down stream perhaps five miles below benedict, when, on rounding a bend, we saw no less than four armed vessels, with a dozen or fourteen barges, not more than a mile away. "back water, lads!" darius cried sharply, swinging the canoe's stern around with the steering paddle. "here's where we find our work. i'd like it better if you wasn't so nearly fagged out; but i reckon we can make five miles more before you give in." he had turned the canoe while speaking, and we were running up stream in less than two minutes after having sighted the britishers. "five miles should bring us to benedict," i suggested. "ay, lad, an' that's where we'll make the first stop." "but do you count that the enemy will get as far up as the village?" i asked in surprise mingled with no little consternation, for this was bringing the war home to us with a vengeance. "some of the ships may find the bottom; but they'll get a few of 'em there. take the helm, amos, an' i'll pull at the paddles." thus far, since we took service under commodore barney, all of darius' predictions had turned out to be correct, therefore i was fully prepared to believe all he said regarding the danger which threatened my native village. the old man would not allow us to indulge in conversation after the retreat was begun. "don't waste your breath by talkin'," he said peremptorily. "we'll need all our wind to take us to benedict, an' once there i'll give some of you a chance for tongue-waggin'." within two miles of the village we passed the pungy we had met while going down stream, going by her as if she was standing still, and darius shouted: "keep right on up the river! the britishers won't stop this side of benedict, an' you can only save your vessel by joinin' barney's fleet." "if all i've heard be true i'm as like to lose her where he is as in most any other place," the captain cried, looking here and there anxiously as if believing it possible he might find a few puffs of wind lying around loose. i was in good shape when we arrived finally at the village, because of having remained at the steering paddle; but the other fellows were well-nigh exhausted, and when we ran the bow of the canoe up on the shore, not one of them made a move toward changing his position. "get your wind, lads, as soon as may be, for we'll pull half a mile or more up-stream before settlin' down here for any length of time," the old man said, leaping ashore smartly as if he had just awakened from the most refreshing slumber, and while hurrying up the bank he added sharply, "stay where you are, all hands, until we finish this business." what it was he counted on finishing i could not so much as guess, and my companions were too weary to speculate upon the matter just at that moment. we saw him speak with this or that person who came out of the shops or buildings as he appeared, and immediately it was as if he had disturbed a colony of ants. men and women began running hither and thither in terror, and not a few carried with them household goods of such small value that it was a sheer waste of time to lug them around. in a twinkling the entire village was in a commotion, and no one appeared to have time to spend on us who had brought the disagreeable news. darius remained beyond our range of vision perhaps ten minutes, and then he appeared with the four byard brothers trailing behind him, whereupon jerry, who had no particular love for these lads, asked fretfully: "what do you reckon he counts on doin' with that trash? if he needed more of a crew, it strikes me he might have found better material." we soon learned what purpose the old man had in mind, for on nearing the place where our canoe was drawn up, the byard family went a short distance down stream in which direction their own craft was moored, and began making her ready for a voyage. "one of you lads must go to the commodore with news of what we have seen," darius said, speaking quick and sharp as if to prevent us from holding any parley on the subject. "the byards are to be paid for paddlin' the best they know how from here to nottingham, makin' no stop on the way, an' he who goes will only need to act as helmsman." "are the remainder of the party to stay here?" i asked, not minded to take myself out of the way when so much of excitement might soon be witnessed. "sure. we who stay will be ready to make the quickest trip on record, once we've found out all that's to be known. who will go to the commodore?" no one replied, and by this time the byards had their canoe afloat. "we'll draw lots," darius said after finding that neither of us was willing to volunteer for the service. "the one who pulls the shortest twig starts without delay or grumblin', an' i'm free to tell you that those who stay behind with me are like to have the toughest night's work they ever put in." while speaking he had been breaking into bits a small twig, and five of these he held in his clenched hand. "make your choice quickly, for we can't waste many seconds over this business," the old man cried impatiently, and we obeyed his command, i hoping most sincerely that the lot would fall to some other than myself, for i was willing to risk the hard work in order to remain with the leader. it was jim freeman who drew the short twig, and his face was pulled down very long when he found that he had been selected. "into the canoe with you!" darius cried, "an' listen well to what i say. tell the commodore that we came upon the advance ships of one fleet five miles below benedict, and are waitin' here to make certain what they will do. he is to give these byard boys three dollars for takin' you to nottingham. make the best time possible, for the fate of all our vessels in the river may hang on you're gettin' there quickly." the byards dug their paddles deep in the water as if determined to obey orders as promptly as possible, and in twenty seconds from the time darius ceased speaking the canoe was around the bend of the river, jim waving us a mournful adieu as he disappeared from view. "joshua coburn is to go with me to hide the boat further up-stream," the old man said with the air of a general giving his commands. "the others may stroll around the village; but in half an hour every one must be here on the shore to meet me." i gave no heed to my companions; but ran at full speed toward home, answering curtly the greetings from the neighbors as i passed, and soon i was where every fellow longs to be--in mother's arms. she, good soul, had heard from those who saw us, that we passed the village more than once; but never a word of complaint because i had not stopped to see her. the first question was whether i had come to benedict under orders of the commodore, or if i was taking time to visit her which should be devoted to some other purpose. i speedily soothed all such fears, and frightened her by saying that darius believed the britishers would make a halt at the village. at first it was my belief that she should take the children and go far into the thicket; but she, good soul, soon convinced me that such a course would be unwise, since it was not known how long the enemy would remain, and she could not stay in the forest very many hours with the young ones. "we will wait here, amos dear. the british cannot be so barbarous as to make war upon the helpless. if you or father was near at hand, and i could go to you, the situation would be far different." then she insisted that i should tell her all i had been doing, and by the time that long story was come to an end i had need to join darius on the shore, having stayed the full length of the furlough he gave us. it was not certain but that i could see my mother again before we went up river, therefore our parting was not as sorrowful as it would have been had i known all the perils which were to be encountered ere i looked upon her dear face again. the village was in even a greater state of confusion and bustle than when i first passed through it. a full half of the people were on the point of running away, taking with them as many household belongings as could be carried or transported in carts or boats. a large number stood on the streets undecided what course to pursue, and asking each person they saw for advice, while not a few were apparently bent on following the example set by my mother. i was appealed to for the latest news by a full score before i could reach the rendezvous; but to all i had the same reply, that i was in government service and could not delay. i was the last of our party to arrive at the shore; the other lads were standing near darius, looking uncommonly glum, and i could well understand the reason for the sadness. "did you hide the boat?" i asked, and the old man replied: "ay, a little better than half a mile up stream, where we can come at her conveniently in a hurry. we have just been talkin', however, about takin' stations on the opposite bank, where it will be possible to see what is done without gettin' in the way of the enemy." that seemed to me a very good idea, for there might be many chances against our slipping away after the british had landed, and i urged that the change of base be made without delay. it was if darius had only waited for my opinion. immediately after i gave it he led the way along the road which followed the course of the river. within an hour we had the canoe hidden on the opposite shore, and were seeking for some spot directly across from the village where we could see all that was done. it was some time before we found exactly what we wanted, and then it was in the midst of a small clump of trees on a gentle rise of the land, a full two hundred feet from the shore. here, by trimming away some of the branches, we could have a full view of the river and settlement, in addition to being at a safe distance from the enemy, who would hardly land on that side of the stream. "we've got into position none too soon," darius said as he pointed over the trees on the opposite shore, where we could see the upper spars of what appeared to be a reasonably large vessel moving through the water slowly. "within ten minutes we shall know whether it's a case of watchin' 'em come to anchor an' landin', or takin' to our heels to gain the canoe before they can get that far up the river." chapter xi. the british forces. after we were in a position to see all that might be going on immediately opposite, and for a mile or more down the river, we could make out the spars of several ships which appeared to be at a stand-still, and at once the question was raised as to whether they were aground or at anchor. "you lads shall stay here, never venturin' to leave the hidin'-place unless the britishers themselves drive you out, an' i'll take a little trip down stream to see what is goin' on. if the enemy has come into the river without a pilot, i'll go bail that more than one of his vessels has taken the ground." then the old man stole softly through the underbrush, and we gave but little heed to his departure, so intent were we on the wondrous panorama spread out before us. the first craft to heave in sight was an armed brig, the decks of which were brilliant with red uniforms and glittering weapons, and immediately astern of this vessel were a dozen or more barges, and two pungies. then came boats filled with soldiers, one astern of the other until it surely seemed as if every craft in the chesapeake had been brought here to make up the procession, which was more imposing than anything i had ever seen. it was the glittering, fanciful side of war, which would be transformed into something hideous immediately the actual work was begun, for then one lost sight of the pomp and parade, seeing only the ominous stains of blood, and unable to hear aught save the shrieks of the dying and the groans of the wounded. then, to our great surprise, we found that the britishers were making preparations to take possession of the village. the armed brig was moored stem and stern in the channel where her full broadside could be brought to bear upon the settlement, and the three barges, each having on board a twelve-pounder, were rowed up to the beach on which no less than four hundred soldiers, with weapons ready for use, stood as if to repel an attack. "they are makin' a mighty lot of fuss." jerry said with a laugh. "a corporal's guard could capture benedict without turnin' a hair, an' yet look at that crowd!" it was truly astonishing that so many men should have been brought to take possession of our little village. boat-load after boat-load came up the river, landing their living cargoes in the cove where we lads had always kept our canoes, and before the disembarkation had been concluded, the shore of the river was literally covered with soldiers, marines, and, strangely enough, companies of negroes who were decked out in uniforms of the british army. since that day i have seen statements made by the enemy's officers to the effect that five thousand men were landed at benedict, and for what purpose we lads were unable to imagine. i had never seen such a throng of people before; the town was over-run, and the woods above and below seemed to be packed full of armed men. fortunately for us, none attempted to come on our side of the river; but all stood in something approaching a military formation as if expecting an immediate attack. as a matter of course all us lads were greatly alarmed lest our families should come to harm amid such a gathering; but we could not have afforded them any relief had we been at home, and it was necessary to choke back our anxieties as best we might, though it was difficult at times to prevent the tears from coming into a fellow's eyes. the troops and guns had been landed before darius returned, and, what seemed to me strange, no other vessels of any size had put in an appearance. there were pungies, barges and row-boats enough to entirely choke up the river; but nothing larger than the armed brig which had first arrived. when the old man came back we learned why the fleet had apparently shrunken to such small proportions as compared with the size of the army. "nearly every vessel is aground," he said when he approached our hiding-place with every evidence of having traveled long and rapidly. "the river is black with 'em from here to the point, an' some are likely to stay quite a spell on the mud unless mighty quick work at lighterin' is done. i allowed the britishers had better sense than to run ships up here where there's about half water enough to float 'em." "but what is the meaning of their landing so many men?" i asked. "there are twice as many as would be needed to capture the whole of charles and calvert counties." "it's washington they're aimin' at," the old man said confidently, "though why they've stopped here i can't figger out, unless it is that so many of the ships are aground. whoever is responsible for this end of the britishers' movement has made a big blunder." "will they do any harm to the townspeople, think you?" i asked anxiously. "it don't stand to reason they would. there may be some plunderin' by the rank an' file; but that's to be expected. you're thinkin' of your mother an' the children, eh? well, don't worry; they won't come to harm, an' on that i'll go bail." "there's no tellin' how soon some of that crowd will come over here," jerry suggested. "there ain't room enough on that side of the river for all hands of 'em, an' they'll begin to spread out pretty quick." "that won't bother us any, for we're goin' to pull up stakes," darius replied quietly. "are we to join the fleet?" i asked. "it's the proper thing just now, i reckon, seein's there ain't likely to be anythin' new around here till the enemy pushes on up the river, which will be when he has floated some of his vessels." even after making this statement darius appeared to be in no hurry to move on. he sat amid the foliage watching the throngs on the opposite side of the river until half a dozen officers came down close to the water's edge, having in their midst one in civilian's garb. "there's a friend of yours," the old man said quietly as he motioned toward the group, "an' you can eat my head if i don't guess what's up." my face flushed with answer as i looked in the direction indicated, and there saw in earnest converse with the britishers, elias macomber, the traitor. "he has joined his friends without losin' any time. i wish i could get my fingers around his throat for a couple of minutes!" jerry cried, shaking his fist in impotent rage. "an' i reckon you'll soon have that chance, lad," darius said, calm and serene as a summer's morning. "watch out now, an' you'll get an idee of the whole business, which will go to show that you didn't lose anythin' much when you left him at hog point. it wouldn't surprise me a little bit if he's had a good share in sendin' the ships aground, for he couldn't have told within ten feet, of the water to be found in the channel." i failed to understand very much of what the old man referred to; but kept my eyes fixed on the opposite shore, and saw that elias was making ready to embark in a canoe, which was hauled up near at hand. "he's goin' back to see how many vessels are aground," jerry suggested, and darius added placidly: "you'll find that he's bound up river spyin', an' we count on goin' in the same direction." now i understood! elias was to reconnoiter the river for his very good friends, and we could catch him on his return, as we had done once before. i was near to crying aloud with joy when i realized that once he set out as darius predicted, nothing could save him from our clutches, therefore i literally held my breath as he took his seat in the canoe and pushed off. just for one instant my heart sank within me, for it seemed as if he was bound down river; but it appeared that he was simply making a flourish to exhibit his skill with the paddle, and then he pulled up stream, thereby doing jerry and me the greatest possible favor. "yes, he's our meat," darius said with an odd smile as i looked at him questioningly. "he'll go somewhere near the fleet, to make certain it yet remains at the place where he made his escape, an' we won't press the villain. give him plenty of time to get well away from his friends." then the old man settled back amid the foliage as if counting on remaining quite a while, and i no longer thought of anything save the pleasing fact that we would once more present to commodore barney the miserable renegade. darius soon learned that it would not be well to prolong his halt; we could see the soldiers pointing toward the thicket in which we were hidden, as if suggesting it as a pleasant camping place when the day was so hot as to bring perspiration to a negro's face, and a few moments later some of the lighter boats were pushed out from the shore. "i reckon it's time for us to make a move," darius said as he arose to his feet lazily. "we may as well be movin' toward the canoe, though i had counted on stoppin' here till it was a bit cooler." according to my way of thinking we had no more than time enough in which to get away, for now at least an hundred soldiers were coming across, and in case we were discovered lurking amid the underbrush there would be such a hue and cry that we could not hope to escape. darius, however, would not move one whit more quickly because of my urging; in fact, it seemed much as if he walked the slower to test my nerves, and instead of parleying with him further, jerry and i went ahead at full speed, having due care, of course, to caution. it pleased me when the old man was obliged to quicken his pace to a run, for before we were well out of the thicket the foremost of the boats had gained the shore. we pressed on rapidly until coming to where our canoe was hidden, and there we halted, not wanting to embark until elias had had plenty of time in which to get well up the river, for, to me at least, his recapture was more important than the task of carrying information to the commanding officer. lying within the shade of the trees, and so far up river that we could neither see nor hear the swarm of soldiers which had lighted upon benedict, we took things easy for a couple of hours, keeping sharp watch, however, to make certain that no craft passed us, and then darius gave the word to get under way. by this time it was night, but the young moon and the stars in a cloudless sky, lighted up the water-way clearly, and we had no fear that macomber could give us the slip, unless he returned by land. we paddled leisurely, for our news was not of such a nature that an hour or two sooner or later would make a difference so far as commodore barney's plans were concerned, and had gotten such a distance on our journey that i began to fear the traitor had struck across the country, when we hove him in view half a mile or more ahead. he was still running up the river, but i questioned if he intended to take any chances on being discovered, for such as he would rather manufacture information out of his head than encounter danger. darius, who had been using one of the paddles, now took the helm, and the canoe was swung inshore where she would be partially hidden by the shadows of the foliage, for we did not care to start in open chase because he would probably take to the woods on discovering us, and then our chances of making the capture would be small indeed. when our quarry rounded a bend in the river, shutting himself out from view, we bent all our energies to the paddles, sneaking inshore immediately we opened him up again, and thus we rapidly lessened the distance until at the third turn of the shore we were less than thirty yards astern. "now give it to her, lads!" darius said sharply. "put all your strength to the blades, an' we'll heave him to in short order!" as we rounded the bend, the water foaming from the boat's bow much as it would have done from the stem of a ship under full sail, macomber was but a short distance ahead, and darius cried: "push her along, lads! now's our time!" then, bringing the paddle to his shoulder as if it had been a musket, he shouted, "drop that oar mighty quick, macomber, or i'll fire!" the traitor, thus receiving the first intimation that an enemy was near at hand, glanced backward quickly, and, seeing the supposed weapon leveled full at him, threw down his paddle with an exclamation of mingled fear and anger. we shot up alongside him like an arrow from the bow, all hands of us reaching out to grasp the gunwale of his canoe, and as we thus made fast darius grasped the fellow by the throat. "you may as well give in quietly," the old man said, tightening his grasp until it would have been impossible for the man to make the lightest outcry. "if you flounder about much all hands will go into the water, an' once there i give my word that you won't come to the surface, for we don't count on losin' you the second time." the scoundrel was as meek as any lamb, and when darius told me to fasten his arms together with my belt, he held them out obediently. i took a double turn around his elbows, and darius ordered him to step into our canoe, which he did without hesitation, but once there, seated on the flooring of the boat with his back against the old man's knees, he glowered at us like an angry cat. "we reckoned you wanted to see barney's fleet, when you put off from benedict, an' it ain't jest right to make you paddle a heavy canoe so far," darius said grimly. "you're goin' back with us, master macomber, an' this time you'll stay." "not very long," the reptile said with a snarl. "admiral cochrane declares that he'll destroy barney's fleet friday, an' dine in washington sunday. so you see i'm not likely to stay with you any great while after the british come up the river." "that is as may be; now i'm countin' that when your admiral gets as far up the river as nottingham, if he ever does, you'll be somewhere else, for we've taken you in charge." "my time will come, an' then i'll pay off a good many old scores," macomber cried with a look on his face which was not pleasant to see. "if it does you any good, keep right on thinkin' so," darius replied mildly, "an' in the meantime we'll keep our eyes on you. give way, lads, the sooner we're with the fleet now, the better it will be." we had no more than settled well to work when darius ordered us to cease paddling, as he half rose to peer steadily ahead, and, quite naturally, all of us glanced in the same direction. a canoe carrying four men was coming down stream, and while i was asking myself if we might not have come upon more british spies, the old man settled back with a sigh of relief. "it's the byard boys goin' home," he announced, and then, as the other canoe came within hail, he gave them information of what was happening at benedict. "it don't look as if we'd better go back there," sam byard said thoughtfully when darius had come to an end of his news. "i reckon the britishers might make trouble for us, eh?" "they'd be apt to if it was known you'd just come from our fleet," the old man replied with a laugh. "the best thing you can do is to turn around an' follow us. did you get your money?" "oh yes, the commodore handed that over all right." "where is jim freeman?" i asked. "the commander allowed it wouldn't be many hours before all hands of you came back, so he went aboard the pungy to keep ship." "there!" darius said triumphantly. "you can see how near joshua barney comes to the truth when he makes a guess! i believe he could stay at nottingham without ever gettin' a report from anybody, an' tell just what the enemy was doin'." "he'll have a chance to see what they're doin', as soon as some of the ships can be floated!" macomber said with a laugh which was not pleasant to hear. "which is more'n you can say for yourself if there's any danger of the britishers comin'," darius retorted. "you're our meat, master traitor, an' will stay in the same keepin' till we've settled our part of what you call old scores." then the word to buckle down to the paddles once more was given, and the byard boys pulled their craft around to follow in our wake. an hour later we were alongside the scorpion again, and this time it was not necessary to parley with those on the guard-boat, for, on recognizing us, they sheered off, leaving our canoe to go where we pleased. neither did the guard on the schooner hesitate to arouse the commodore, and within one minute after arriving, darius was explaining to the commander all that had taken place at benedict. "it must be they counted on coming further up the river," the commodore said half to himself when the story was come to an end, and darius took it upon himself to add: "i allow there wouldn't have been any stop if the fleet hadn't gone ashore; then the men were landed to prevent you from makin' an attack." "that seems reasonable; but they'll be here soon enough, for it is to this place they must come in order to strike the direct road to washington." then it was that darius bethought himself of what macomber had said, and he repeated the words, adding in conclusion as he laid his hand on the prisoner's shoulder, for as yet we had not left the canoe: "we've brought this cur back, sir, an' hope he won't find it as easy to slip away a second time. he left benedict to spy on you, as we saw from the other side of the river, so we gathered him in." the commodore looked at the man as one would at a snake, and then said curtly: "you'll have to keep him on board your vessel, darius. our facilities for taking care of prisoners are not what they should be. do whatsoever you will with him, so that we can make certain of putting our hands on him when the matter is to be settled. you had better take up your quarters on the pungy, and if you're needing provisions, my cook will supply you until rations are dealt out." then the commodore turned on his heel, returning to the cabin, and we pulled around the fleet hunting for the avenger. not until after getting speech with the officer in charge of the guard-boat did we find the craft, and when we came alongside jim freeman acted as if beside himself with joy. one would have said that we had been separated a full year by the way he welcomed us, and when his eyes fell on elias macomber it was as if he had lost his senses. well, we took the prisoner aboard the pungy, securing him in the hold by lashing his hands behind him, and making them fast to a ringbolt, thus giving him a chance to sit down; but he could neither stand nor stretch out at full length. "it won't be none too comfortable; but it's the best we can do now," darius said to the prisoner as if apologizing for not making him more secure. "at all events, i reckon you'll be here in the mornin', an' then we may make a change." the main hatch was put on and fastened down with the bar, after which we went into the cuddy, ready for anything in the way of provisions that jim could set before us. he was not overly well supplied, having been on board only a few hours, but we contrived to make a hearty meal, and while eating jim heard all we could tell him regarding the occupation of benedict by the british forces. it was past midnight when we turned in, so tired that all hands fell asleep within two minutes after making ready, and it seemed to me that i had not fairly closed my eyes when we were awakened by a vigorous pounding on the side of the vessel. darius had his head out of the companion-way before it was possible for me to get on my feet, and i heard a strange voice cry sharply: "it is the order of the commodore that every vessel in the fleet move up to pig point without delay. rations will be served there at noon to-morrow." then i heard the sound of oars as the messenger-boat was pulled to the next craft, and darius said hurriedly: "lads, i'll admit that there are a good many vessels in this 'ere fleet what can sail clean around the avenger; but let's show the commodore that there's no crew under him who will obey orders more smartly. turn out lively, my bully boys! jim, you an' dody get home the anchor, an' the rest of us will tail on to the halliards!" darius had a willing crew if there was any opportunity to win the praise of the commander, and he was not yet at an end of giving his orders when we began work. i venture to say that within sixty seconds from the time we were hailed, the avenger was making way, rubbing past this craft and that as she literally forced a passage through the fleet, and all this before any signs of life could be seen on the other vessels. even the scorpion was yet lying idly at her moorings. "that's what i call a good start, lads," the old man said when we were well clear of the flotilla, and the pungy forged ahead in good style under the force of a fairly strong night breeze. "we're first under sail, an' it'll go hard if we don't come to anchor off pig point ahead of any one else." "why do you suppose this move is being made?" i asked, for it smacked much of running away from the enemy, to retreat so far up stream, and darius had made us believe that joshua barney never retreated. "the commander has got some good plan in his head, an' it'll come out before we're many days older," the old man replied confidently. "but surely we're tryin' to get away from the enemy," jerry suggested. "ay, it has that look just now, i'll admit; but you'll see some big scheme in it very soon, or i'm a dutchman, which i ain't." "there's a boat dead ahead, with four men rowin' an' one steerin'," jim freeman, who had stationed himself in the tow as a lookout, came aft to report. "some smarty who's tryin' to make the anchorage first," darius growled; "but with this wind we can sail two miles to his one, so it won't be that craft which will beat us in." by this time we were well up with the boat, and to our surprise it was commodore barney himself who hailed: "sloop ahoy! pass a line, and i'll come aboard." he got the line smartly enough, and when he came over the rail darius saluted, as he said: "we counted you were aboard the scorpion, sir." "that schooner won't get off for ten minutes or more, and i allowed that the other vessels would be handled in the same leisurely fashion, so, i pulled ahead, thinking to be at the rendezvous before the flotilla was well under way. you lads obeyed orders smartly." "it's a way they have, sir," darius said with a grin, as he looked over the rail to see that the commodore's boat was being towed where she would be the least drag on the pungy. then it was that i tried to play the host, by asking the commander if he would go into the cabin. "it isn't a very nice place, sir; but it's clean, and you may be able to get some sleep." "i'll venture to say it's as good a sea-parlor as i, or any other man, deserves, lad; but i'm not needing sleep just now, therefore will stay on deck." then he fell to pacing the starboard quarter, as if he had been on his own ship at sea, and we lads gathered well forward in order that he might see we understood somewhat of the respect due a commander. chapter xii. suspense. it is now in my mind to set down what may be dry reading for some who chance to see this labor of love on which i am engaged, and yet if any one desires to know exactly why it was the britishers could destroy the capital of our country, and come off very nearly scot-free, it is absolutely necessary to become familiar with all our means of defense at this time. therefore it is that i shall copy that which was published many years later, by mr. lossing in his "war of ," and in so doing the reader will ask how it is that i am writing this poor apology for a tale in the year of grace , and yet putting into it facts which were made public many years later? the answer to the riddle is not as puzzling as it would seem. i am now man grown, with children of my own. many years ago i put together this story, and to-day, desiring that my own boys may read it, i am running over the leaves to add here or there that which may make plain what i, a lad of seventeen years, overlooked at the time, or believed to be of little importance. how strange it is that the same thing appears entirely different when viewed from the standpoints of a man and a lad! this is what mr. lossing says concerning the time of which i wrote when everything was fresh in my mind, and the sense of a wrong done this country by england still rankling deep in my heart: "on the th of august ( ) the small british squadron in the chesapeake was reinforced by a fleet of twenty-one vessels under admiral sir alexander cochrane, the senior commander on the american station. these were soon joined by another under commodore sir charles malcolm. these vessels bore several thousand land troops commanded by general ross, an irish officer, and one of wellington's most active leaders. washington and baltimore appear to have been chosen objects of attack simultaneously. a part of the british naval force, under sir peter parker, went up the chesapeake toward baltimore, and another portion, under captain gordon, went up the potomac. "at that time commodore barney, with a flotilla of thirteen armed barges and the schooner scorpion, with an aggregate of about five hundred men, was in the patuxent river. his vessels had been chased out of the chesapeake, and blockaded in st. leonard's bay. of this confinement they were relieved by some artillery under colonel henry carbery, with which he drove away the loire, the blockading frigate, when the released flotilla went up the patuxent, first to benedict, and then to nottingham, that it might be within co-operating distance of both washington and baltimore. "seeing this, the british determined to capture or destroy it, and on the th of august a force of a little more than five thousand men, composed of regulars, marines, and negroes went up the patuxent, and landed at benedict with three cannon, under cover of an armed brig. most of the other large british vessels were below, some of them aground, and all too heavy to ascend the comparatively shallow stream. "barney, then at nottingham, promptly informed the navy department of the movement, and of a boast of the british admiral that he would destroy the american flotilla, and dine in washington on the following sunday. general winder, by direction of the war department, immediately ordered general samuel smith's division (the third) of the maryland militia into actual service. he also called upon general john p. van ness, commander of the militia of the district of columbia, for two brigades, to be encamped near alexandria; and he sent a circular letter to all the brigadiers of the maryland militia, asking for volunteers to the amount of one-half their respective commands. "by his orders, his adjutant-general, hite, issued a stirring appeal to the citizens to come forward, 'without regard to sacrifices and privation,' in defense of the national capital. winder also asked general stricker, of baltimore, to send to washington his volunteer regiments of infantry and his rifle battalion. "the veteran patriot, general smith, promptly responded to the call of the government. he at once issued a division order, in which he gave notice of the invasion, and directed the whole of general stansbury's brigade to be held in readiness for active service, adding, 'the third brigade is now under the pay of the united states, in its service, and subject to the articles of war.' that corps general smith declared to be 'the finest set of men he ever saw.' they paraded at four o'clock the same day, and on the following morning general stansbury left baltimore for washington with thirteen hundred of his corps. another force, under lieutenant-colonel joseph sterett, consisting of the fifth regiment of baltimore volunteers, major pinkney's rifle battalion, and the artillery companies of captains myers and magruder, left baltimore on the evening of the th, and joined stansbury on the evening of the d. "with wise precaution, general smith ordered the eleventh brigade and colonel moore's cavalry to hold themselves in readiness to march to baltimore at a moment's warning, for it seemed probable that the enemy would strike at both cities simultaneously. "the british in the meantime had moved up the patuxent from benedict, the land troops being accompanied by a flotilla of launches and barges that kept abreast of them. the naval forces were under the command of the notorious marauder, cockburn. they reached lower marlborough on the st, when barney's flotilla, then in charge of lieutenant frazier and a sufficient number of men to destroy it if necessary, moved up to pig point, where some of the vessels grounded in the shallow water. "for the defense of washington the whole force was about seven thousand strong, of whom nine hundred were enlisted men. the cavalry did not exceed four hundred in number. the little army had twenty-six pieces of cannon, of which twenty were only six-pounders. this force, if concentrated, would have been competent to roll back the invasion had the commanding officer been untrammeled by the interference of the president and his cabinet." all that was written when the facts of the case were well known, and now the story shall be taken up as i wrote it when a boy. * * * * * it was not all plain sailing from nottingham to pig point, for the water was shallow, and there were many places where it was necessary to handle even a pungy very tenderly in order to avoid taking the ground. while darius was not well acquainted with the stream, he had a sailorly eye for bad places, and never made the mistake of trying to jump the little vessel where she was likely to be held hard and fast. many times were we forced to take to the canoe in order to pull the avenger's nose around more sharply than could be done by the helm, and when it came to such labor of pulling and hauling the commodore lent a hand as if we had been his equal in station. and we did work lively, for a fact, hoping to have our anchor down before any other craft could arrive, therefore no one complained when darius called on us for labor which might have been saved at the expense of three or four minutes in time. the commander was even more eager than were we, to arrive at the appointed rendezvous speedily, and we could readily guess that some big change was to be made in the general plans, although what it might be we came far from guessing, since all of us, save darius thorpe, believed he was simply running away from the enemy. well, we succeeded in doing as we wished in regard to beating out the remainder of the fleet, for when we came to anchor off the point and snugged everything down bristol fashion, there were no signs that a single craft was following. commodore barney was chafing because of the delay, as could be seen by the way in which he paced the deck, rubbing his hands from time to time as he gazed down stream in vain for some token of the laggards. "it's only a deep water sailor who obeys smartly, darius," the commander said, halting in his nervous walk to face the old man, and jerry and i, who were seated on the main-hatch, pricked up our ears, for it seemed positive we were to learn somewhat of future doings. "these younger men know too bloomin' much, that's what's the matter with them," darius said in reply. "i'll go bail that half the crowd we left at nottingham believed they knew better'n you when the start should be made, an' stopped to curl their hair before makin' sail." commodore barney laughed heartily at the old man's growling, and then said suddenly: "i count on leaving you second in command under frazier, and it may be as well for you to understand matters in case i don't get a chance to speak with you at any length after the lieutenant arrives." "you count on _leavin'_ me, sir? does that mean you're goin' away right soon?" "ay, when my force comes up. there is no question but that the enemy is making the attack on our flotilla to cover his designs on washington. he can have the fleet if he comes thus far. i hope by daylight to be on the march for the wood yard, where winder is encamped, and count to take with me all the men that can be spared, for force enough will be left behind to destroy the fleet in case the enemy appears. lieutenant frazier is to be in charge of those who remain here, and you will act as his second in command. this is my plan: you shall have seventy men or more, and as soon as we leave you will make every craft ready for the torch; see to it that there are combustibles on board in sufficient quantity to insure a clean job when fire is applied. after that has been done, you will wait for the british. once it becomes certain that you cannot save the fleet, start your fires, and put out for the american army, which will likely be near washington by that time." "we've got some good boats with us, sir," darius said thoughtfully. "ay, my old shell-back, and that is why i am determined that they shall not be of service to the enemy. you who remain behind will have more danger to face than those who move in advance, and because of that it is necessary you keep the force well in hand. see to it that every order, however trifling, is obeyed on the instant, and in event of any disposition to shirk a command, or to loiter after the word has been given, deal with the culprit as you would on shipboard. quick work is the only thing which will save you from being killed or made prisoners." when the commander spoke this last word the thought came to me that i had, for the moment, entirely forgotten elias macomber, and i was puzzled to know what could be done with him while we were destroying the fleet, if it so chanced we were forced to such an extremity. i spoke with jerry about it; but he had no suggestion to offer, save that i had better refer the matter to joshua barney. "he's forgotten all about macomber, as we did, an' now is the time to find out what we shall do with him. it would hurt me mighty bad to let the cur join his british friends simply because we couldn't take care of him." this last idea nerved me to do that which i would have shrunk from at any other time, and, approaching the commander, i asked: "what is to be done with our prisoner, sir? jerry and i couldn't help hearing what you said to darius, and we don't want to let such as him have a free foot after capturing him twice." "don't fear for that, lad," the commodore said with a kindly smile. "give your man breakfast now, so that he may be in condition to march, and when you see that we are ready to set off, bring him to me. i will see to it that he has a care-taker who won't wink at an escape." then the commander fell to pacing the deck again, and i called jim freeman and dody wardwell into the cuddy that they might cook breakfast for all hands, including elias macomber. jerry insisted that the cur ought to be sent on his way with an empty stomach; but to that i would not have agreed even though the commodore had failed to give especial orders to the effect that he be fed. by the time our cooking operations were well under way, the foremost of the fleet began to heave in sight, and from that moment joshua barney had something more to do than pace the avenger's deck. we learned very soon that the scorpion had run aground, which fact delayed several of the smaller boats, since lieutenant frazier called upon many of the men for assistance; but all reports ran to the effect that the fleet would unquestionably be at the rendezvous by early dawn. we drew lots to see who should feed the prisoner, and josiah coburn selected the unlucky slip, which was a great relief to me, for i question if i could have put food into the villain's mouth with any very good grace. we were yet at work on the breakfast when my father came aboard, the barge to which he was drafted having been the third to arrive, and it made me feel mighty good when he complimented us on our smartness in handling the avenger. we two went well forward where we might converse privately, and i did not think i was betraying any confidences when i told him of the commodore's plans. he was in nowise surprised, and said as one would if talking to a particular friend: "i guessed that something of the kind might be in the wind when the word was given to get under way. it would have pleased me better, amos, if you had been detailed to go with the advance." "why so, sir?" i asked, secretly rejoicing because he was treating me as if i had been of his own age. "because those who remain to destroy the fleet will be in great danger. you cannot begin the work until the enemy is close upon you, otherwise it might be said that valuable property had been sacrificed needlessly, and your risk will be greater than mine." "that is as it should be, sir," i replied, forgetting that i had ever been weak-kneed or lukewarm in the cause. "for mother's sake you should be the one to go home, if both cannot." "you have ever been a good boy, and a dutiful son, amos. i shall pray that god will spare your life, whatever he may will shall become of me." then my father kissed me, and i never remember of his having done such a thing before, after which he went over the rail hurriedly, as if not caring to look me in the face. it was not a particularly cheerful conversation which we had had, and yet i was wondrously heartened because of it. the possible danger was very far from my mind as i dwelt upon father's words and his good-bye. it was as if i had suddenly come to know him in a different fashion than ever before. commodore barney used the avenger as his flag-ship while we were waiting for the scorpion, and our deck was literally crowded with men who had been summoned to receive orders. he even ate breakfast with us, doing the greater portion of the eating holding converse with one or another, and it can well be fancied that we were proud because of having made possible such an honor for our pungy. the day was just breaking when the scorpion, attended by all the other laggards, came up the stream. the schooner was anchored alongside our pungy, and the commodore and lieutenant frazier had a private interview in the cabin of the larger vessel, after which word was given for the men to disembark. the captain of each vessel had received orders to go ashore with so many men, therefore we saw no confusion when the final moment arrived. jerry and i made ready the canoe in order to take elias macomber out of the vessel, and, seeing us thus engaged, lieutenant frazier said as if in surprise: "i thought all you lads had been ordered to remain behind?" "so we have, sir," i replied, and then i explained what we would do, whereupon he called for a couple of men from the blushing susan to attend the prisoner, we going with the party to make certain he was delivered up in good order. commodore barney had not forgotten the matter, as could be seen when he came forward with the cur, and he handed elias to a man from nottingham, with this injunction: "you are answerable for him until we arrive at general winder's camp. if he attempts to escape, shoot him without compunction; but give him fair treatment so long as he obeys orders." then the commander nodded to us, as if we were old acquaintances, and the march was begun, every man stepping out briskly, as if it pleased him to aid in the defense of the national capital. it really gave me a sensation as of homesickness, to be thus left behind. although sixty or seventy men yet remained, they were so scattered among the fleet that it seemed as if we of the avenger were the only ones left to watch the enemy. "you may as well take up your quarters on the schooner," lieutenant frazier said to darius when the detachment was lost to view in the distance. "all of her crew are gone, therefore we shall have plenty of room." "i shipped with the boys, an' i reckon i'd best stay with 'em, sir, though i thank you kindly for the offer," darius replied, and the lieutenant added quickly: "i meant the invitation for the entire crew of the pungy. some of them can do the cooking while we stay here, which won't be very long i'm thinking." and thus it was we made a change of quarters, which neither pleased nor displeased me even though the cabin was decidedly finer than our cuddy, because i had come to have a certain affection for the shabby pungy which cost us so much labor in the buying. according to lieutenant frazier's laying out of the work, there was nothing for us of the avenger to do save care for the schooner, and prepare the meals. six men were sent down the river in canoes, to watch and report the movements of the enemy, that we might have timely warning of their near approach, and the remainder of the party which had been left behind were set about getting ready for the destruction of the fleet, if that should become necessary. one may think that jerry and i had no reason to feel badly if our pungy should be burned, since we had the guarantee from commodore barney which would insure our receiving much more money than she cost us, and yet we did feel badly, because it then seemed to us as if we could never get another craft quite so much to our liking. a fellow cannot live on board a vessel many months, sailing her in all kinds of weather, and depending upon her for a livelihood, without having a certain sentimental attachment for the fabric different from that felt for all others of its kind. however, i had quite persuaded myself that the british would not come so far up stream simply in order to destroy the flotilla, for it did not seem as if the outlay would be repaid by the result, whichever way it might be viewed. i had it in mind that when they learned how shallow the river was above nottingham, the plan would be abandoned, therefore i felt comparatively secure from harm as we idled away the hours. the fact that darius was so uneasy should have convinced me of the full danger, for the old man was not one who borrowed trouble. he fretted because he was forced to remain with the boats, instead of acting as spy, and nothing save the fact that joshua barney had placed him second in command could have kept him at pig point when it seemed to him that he might be able to accomplish much elsewhere. when the first of those who had been sent down stream returned, i also began to feel uneasy in mind. the report came that the entire force of britishers was embarking on barges and small boats, with half a dozen -pounders and as many mortars, which showed that it was expected we would make some resistance, and it angered me to hear the men talking as if we were to do no more than set the flotilla on fire when the enemy hove in sight. "it seems to me that we might worry them some," i said to darius, when he had spoken in much the same tone as the others. "forty or fifty men posted along the shores would make them a little trouble, i reckon." "ay, lad, an' effect about as much as so many wasps. we might shoot down a few men; but could not even delay the advance, an' what would be gained? their five thousand soldiers would make it mighty warm for our people on the shore, an' when it came to killin', i'm thinkin' they'd be able to do the most execution." before he ceased speaking i understood how foolish had been my words; but i was burning with such a desire to inflict some injury upon those to whose account could be laid the destruction of our property, that i was not really responsible for the speech. it was on the evening of the day when joshua barney left us, that i began to be sensible of the suspense in which one would necessarily be at such a time. if the enemy came upon us suddenly, it might be possible for them to capture all hands of us, as well as carry away the boats, and this last would be considered more of a disaster than the first. twenty of our men were posted at different points on both sides of the stream to act as sentinels, and the remainder distributed among the fleet in such a manner that the flames could be started in very short order. neither lieutenant frazier nor darius proposed to turn in on this night. they were to keep on the move from one sentinel to another, in order to make certain each man was doing his duty, and we lads were ordered to have a meal prepared for them at midnight. shortly after sunset another of our people came up the river with the report that a portion of the enemy's force had started and it began to seem as if a night attack had been determined upon. it can well be fancied that we of the avenger had very little desire for slumber, although, had we been so disposed, all of us might have had a good night's rest, and also had the midnight meal ready when it would be required. we paced to and fro after the lieutenant and darius had left, speaking only in whispers, as if it might be possible the enemy could hear us, and each moment expecting that the alarm would ring out. the suspense was to me most painful, and i said to jerry: "almost anything is better than this. i wish we were not so well aware of their coming." "if the fleet is to be burned, an' we know the enemy has started to come up here, i can't see what is to be gained by waitin'," and my partner spoke in a tone of petulance. "we shall do no good stayin' here, and it may be that some of us could be of service elsewhere." "it's no use for you fellows to grumble," jim freeman said with a laugh, he having come up just in time to hear the useless words. "the orders are to wait till the britishers show themselves, an' i reckon neither lieutenant frazier nor darius would like to take the responsibility of doin' anythin' else. you two will make a good thing out of this business, in case the avenger is burned, eh?" "we've got a guarantee for more than she cost; but at the same time i'd rather have her than a better one," jerry said promptly, and i put my hand in his, for he had spoken that which was in my heart. then we fell to talking for at least the tenth time of how the work of destruction would be accomplished, and while we were thus engaged darius came alongside. "you lads can turn in," he said as he clambered over the rail. "mitchell has just come up the river with the news that the britishers are makin' camp less'n two miles below. we shan't see 'em to-night; but they're likely to be here mighty early in the mornin'." "some of us must stay up to do the cooking," i replied, thinking of the meal the lieutenant had ordered. "i'll call you in case frazier don't change his mind about it, but i reckon he'll be willin' to wait for breakfast." "are you going to stay on board?" "i shall be here off an' on; just now we're goin' to inspect each craft, so's to make certain the flames can be started quickly, for there's no longer any chance but that the fleet must be destroyed." chapter xiii. burning the vessels. it seemed to me much like disastrous defeat to burn the flotilla on the approach of the enemy, without making any effort whatsoever to defend it, and for the time i believed that darius and all those who bragged so much about commodore barney's fighting qualities, were making idle talk, otherwise he would have attempted to hold his own, no matter how great the odds against him. at the time i failed to realize that our fleet of small boats amounted to nothing, as compared with either city which the british was threatening, and that the commodore never showed himself to be a better fighter than when he allowed the enemy to spend their time with a lot of boats of little value, while he was marching his men across country to aid in the defense of washington. one can readily fancy that we lads were not much inclined for sleep when darius brought word that we might turn in. it was definitely known that the british were only two miles away, and would make no prolonged halt until after striking a blow at our fleet. in fact, it was possible they might approach within an hour, the halt having been called only to make us believe they would not attempt to do any mischief during the night. we gathered aft, but with no desire to go below, and stood there leaning far out over the rail with eyes and ears open for some token of the coming foe. it was possible to distinguish even in the gloom a boat which was pulled from one craft to another, stopping only a few seconds at each vessel, and we knew the lieutenant and darius were making their rounds. again we questioned the wisdom of waiting until the enemy was close at hand before beginning the work of destruction, never realizing how important it was to keep the britishers at the task of destroying the fleet so long as possible that the defenders of washington might have opportunity to make ready; but we actually grew impatient because the torch was not applied at once. before lieutenant frazier brought the inspection to a close, one of the men who had been sent to spy out the enemy's movements, came aboard the scorpion to make a report. from him we learned that the british were really encamped for the night, and there seemed little possibility any move would be made before daylight. even with this assurance we lads had no desire for slumber, and were on deck listening and watching when darius returned. "why didn't you turn in?" he asked almost sharply, and i replied, striving to speak in such a tone as would give him to understand that we were not to be dictated to regarding our individual actions while off duty. "we prefer to remain awake. even though the enemy was not so near, i question if either of us would care to go into the hot cabin, unless orders were given to the effect that we must do so." "well, i have it in mind to get forty winks when i'm able. we may be kept on the move pretty much all the time after leavin' here, an' it stands a man in hand to bottle up what sleep he can." "i thought you counted on moving around all night?" "so i did before we knew that the britishers had settled down for a spell; but now there's no need of more watchers than are already on duty," the old man said as he disappeared through the companion-way hatch, leaving me fully sensible of the fact that i had proven myself a prig and a fool by trying to assert my right to do as i pleased. we could see boats moving slowly to and fro a short distance down the river, and thus knew, the guard having been largely increased, that if an enemy came our way during the hours of darkness, he must be seen by the sentinels some time before we on the schooner could distinguish him in the gloom. then jim freeman and his friends followed darius' example, by going into the cabin, and but for what had passed between the old man and me i would have gone with them. as it was, i felt bound to remain, and jerry, understanding the situation, although he refrained from speaking of it, stayed with me like the true friend that he always has been. before midnight my eyes grew heavy with slumber, and i said to my partner, as i led him well forward where we could not be overheard in case any of those in the cabin were awake: "it would seem as if you and i were left to look after the schooner, and surely some one ought to be on duty, even though the spies have reported that the enemy has encamped for the night." "well, that's about what we're doin', ain't it?" jerry asked, and i fancied he was trying not to laugh. "yes, and yet i'm getting mighty tired. i propose that we stretch out on the deck a few minutes, just to rest our legs." "won't that be deserting our post?" jerry asked gravely. "i don't think so, because we can hear all that is going on, and while it is so dark there isn't much chance of seeing anything." "but suppose we fall asleep?" "i'll see to it there's no chance of that," i replied, finding it hard work to repress a yawn, and then jerry's mirth could be controlled no longer. "what are you laughing at?" i asked sharply. "at you, amos! you haven't made a bloomin' success of it whenever you've tried to put on airs over darius; somehow he always contrives to get the best of you. if you hadn't pulled him up with a sharp turn, we'd be below havin' a good snooze with the other fellows; but now we're ashamed to go, consequently we'll camp on deck." i was angry, and yet i knew he had spoken only the truth. however, it seemed too late to mend matters, and without making any reply i laid down under the rail, fully determined to be more of a gentleman in the future. there had been in my mind a promise not to close my eyes in slumber that night; but no sooner was i at full length on the deck than i crossed over into dreamland, and knew nothing until the report of a cannon, seemingly near at hand, brought me to my feet very suddenly. "what's happening?" i cried loudly, and from the after rail jim freeman replied: "the enemy are comin' into position. they began to show up nearly half an hour ago; but i thought there was no need to waken you till the work was begun." those who had turned in, as sensible fellows should have done, were awake and on the alert in due season, while i who believed the safety of the schooner devolved upon myself, slept until the britishers were ready to begin operations. the day had dawned, although it was a full half-hour before the sun would show himself. down the stream, within long range of our fleet, were eight or ten barges, each carrying a cannon, drawn across the river in such manner as to make the flotilla a good target, and the gun which had aroused me was evidently fired for the purpose of testing the position. i ran aft to where jim and his friends stood, asking eagerly: "what are our people going to do?" "the word has just been given to start the blaze, and the lieutenant believes that we can hold the britishers in check until the vessels are well afire. we're to form on the shore, and oppose the force which you see yonder." gazing in the direction of jim's outstretched finger, i could make out a line of red-coated men on the southerly shore some distance below the barges, and it was not difficult to guess that they intended to move up, once an action was begun, to where they could fire at us from the bank. the british commander evidently believed we would fight to prevent the fleet from being destroyed, and, therefore, was forcing his men to perform a great deal of unnecessary work. looking around at the boats and vessels of our fleet i could see that the work of destruction had already begun. from the hatch of the avenger, which craft was lying thirty or forty yards further up stream than the scorpion, a thin thread of blue smoke was ascending lazily on the clear air, and on five or six other pungies the same ominous token of approaching ruin could be seen. then it was that i saw little knots of our men pulling for the northerly shore, and, on gaining the bank, stave in the hulls of their canoes to such purpose that the little craft could not again be made serviceable. i understood then that each squad was under orders to land immediately the task assigned them had been performed, and wondered if the schooner was to be reserved until the last. "does the lieutenant count on saving the scorpion to hold the britishers in check?" i asked of jim, and for reply he pointed toward the main hatch, from out of which darius was just emerging. "have your canoe ready!" the old man cried, addressing dody wardwell, who was holding the painter of a small craft which lay under the stern. "i allow that we'll need to leave here in mighty quick time, for when the fire starts it'll run from stem to stern like a flash." [illustration: as we pulled away i glanced back at our fleet and saw that the vessels were well on fire.] even as darius spoke i saw a curl of flame from the forward hatch, and then a long, glowing tongue leaped up toward the cordage. while i stood watching it, fascinated by the eager lapping of the destroying element, the enemy opened fire from the barges, sending solid shot amid the fleet which had already been deserted. at almost the same moment that line of red, which had been motionless, could be seen flashing here and there amid the foliage, telling that the advance of the land force had begun. glancing back at our fleet after making certain that the britishers were coming toward us, i saw that the vessels were well on fire, although unquestionably many of them might have been saved had efforts been made immediately to that end. "in five minutes more salt won't save 'em," darius said in a tone of satisfaction. "them bloomin' red-coats started a little too late. come on, lads! it looks as if we were the last to leave the fleet, an' there isn't overly much time on our hands. into the canoe with you!" we obeyed the order without delay, more particularly since the flames were already coming out of the scorpion's after companion-way, and while paddling for the shore i saw that our people were drawn up in line ready to meet the enemy in case it became necessary to prevent them from interfering with the work of destruction. "are we the only ones to go unarmed?" i asked, noting that all of those ashore appeared to have weapons in their hands. "i reckon we'll find what may be needed when we join our people," darius replied. "the guns an' ammunition were taken out of the vessels last night, for powder ain't a nice thing to have around when you're foolin' with fire." it must be borne in mind that while we were thus speaking the cannon on the barges were being served with spirit, and more than one solid shot had gone crashing through a burning vessel; but none had come near enough to us to cause any particular alarm. when we were ashore i saw that there would be no scarcity of weapons among us, and, in fact, several of the men were forced to carry two muskets because of the supply which had been left behind by those who marched away under the immediate command of commodore barney. we lads succeeded in getting a good outfit, with quite as much ammunition as could be carried comfortably, and by the time we had taken our places in the line, the enemy's shots were beginning to come dangerously near some of us. a cannon ball cut down a sapling within four feet of where lieutenant frazier was standing, and another crashed among the splintered canoes on the bank, while from the distance came those sounds which told of bullets striking amid the foliage. the soldiers were almost within effective range, and the shot from the barges was by no means comforting, while we could accomplish nothing by remaining idle. i wondered why the retreat was not begun, if we were to make one, and felt as if i had a personal grievance against the lieutenant because he failed to give that order which would permit of our getting away from such a disagreeable situation. "growin' uneasy, lad?" darius asked with a grin, as i involuntarily ducked my head when a solid shot passed over us. "it strikes me that we can't do any great amount of good by standing here," i replied irritably. "the lieutenant is a reg'lar little man who believes in obeyin' orders, no matter what happens. joshua barney left word that we were not to move from here till all the vessels were well afire, an' here i reckon we'll stay quite a spell longer." "but they are all burning," i said, turning to look at the fleet, each craft of which appeared to be enveloped in flames. "yes, they've started well; but if i was the one who had been left to decide when there was no longer a chance of savin' 'em, i'd hold here a spell longer, as the lieutenant is doin'." "do you believe it possible that we could save the schooner now?" and i pointed toward the scorpion, along whose spars the flames were creeping rapidly. "two or three hundred men might do it if they set to work this minute, though it would be a tough job," the old man said as he gazed at the flames which were already sending forth heat enough to render our position too warm for comfort, and at that instant a musket ball came humming past the end of his nose, causing him to spring backward very suddenly. "growing uneasy, darius?" i asked, and the old man laughed good-naturedly as i thus passed him some of his own coin. "it's gettin' warm all around; but i reckon we've come mighty nigh to the limit set by the commander." then it was that the man next beside me cried aloud as he held up his right hand from which the blood was beginning to flow from a bullet wound. i was too angry to be frightened just then, for it seemed as if lieutenant frazier was remaining too long under fire, and a moment later came the welcome command. i dare venture to say that, with the exception of lieutenant frazier and darius, every man moved more readily and quickly than he ever did before, until we were a good mile from the scene of destruction, striking directly across the country for upper marlboro. now and then it was possible to catch glimpses of the flames, which towered above the tops of the nearby trees; but we heard nothing of the enemy, which seemed to me strange until i mentioned the fact to darius when he came up, after loitering in the rear with the lieutenant as if to show his contempt for the britishers. "i allow there's plenty of sense in their stayin' where the fleet is burnin'," the old man said quietly. "they saw only a few men leave when it had been said that joshua barney had five hundred with him. now what more natural for them to suppose that we are tryin' to lead 'em into an ambush--for the britishers still believe we fight in injun fashion? then again, it ain't likely the foot soldiers are carryin' rations, havin' the boats with 'em, an' it would be poor judgment to send a lot of men into the woods empty-handed, so to speak." "then you do not believe we shall be pursued?" "if we are it'll be a fool trick," the old man replied, and then he fell back to the rear in response to a signal from the lieutenant. after he had thus given his opinion, which i believe to be shared by lieutenant frazier, it was in my mind that we would tramp leisurely across the country until coming up with commodore barney's force; but immediately we appeared to be out of danger word was given to quicken the pace. now it was that the officer and darius marched in advance, the former having given the word that we were to keep close at his heels, and during two hours i traveled faster than i ever did before. it seemed as if the musket, which had seemingly been a feather's weight when we started, weighed more than twenty pounds at the end of the second hour, and i was so nearly winded that it was as if i could go no further without first taking some rest. jerry was no less fatigued than i, and did not hesitate to say he believed the lieutenant was making us march thus fast simply to gratify some foolish whim. then we were come to upper marlboro, after fording the stream, and the pleasure i felt at being allowed to sit down that i might rest my aching feet was so great that it cannot properly be described. while jerry and i were grumbling because of what seemed to us unseemly haste, jim freeman, who had been lying down a short distance away, came over to where we were sitting, his eyes bulging as if he had seen two or three ghosts at the very least. "what do you suppose?" he said excitedly. "i heard the lieutenant telling darius that a big force of britishers was marchin' up from nottingham on the west side of the river, bound for washington!" "how did he know that?" jerry asked sharply. "a man who was sent back by commodore barney on a scout, got here about the same time we did, an' he reported to the lieutenant. but that ain't all; some of the folks livin' 'round here say that a small force--near three hundred--landed on the west side of the river after the enemy went into camp last night, an' is mighty near this place now!" "'cordin' to that it would seem as if we come pretty close to bein' surrounded!" jerry exclaimed. "that's just what darius said," jim replied, "an' the lieutenant told him he'd been afraid all along that we'd run into some such kind of a muss. commodore barney warned him to be on the watch for what appears to be happenin', an' it begins to look as if we might have trouble mighty quick." "there can't be a great deal of it for the britishers, if their smallest force is three hundred, for they'd make short work of us," i said with an inward quaking. "i've been blaming the lieutenant for making us march so swiftly, and now i wish he had pushed us on twice as fast." i had hardly more than ceased speaking when the command was given to fall into line once more, and the men obeyed eagerly, for the word had been passed around that our small force was in most serious danger. every man among us was tired, i venture to say, yet we literally over-ran the lieutenant, who was setting the pace, and pressed forward like a flock of sheep pursued by dogs. it was nearly noon when we arrived at what is known as the wood yard, where general winder had encamped and thrown up some slight entrenchments, and where commodore barney was to have joined him; but now the place was deserted, save for one man whom i remembered having seen on our fleet. as we soon came to know, he had been sent back from long old fields by the commodore to quicken our movements, and both jerry and i heard that which he said to the lieutenant when we came up. it seems that the american troops from all quarters were hastening to washington, and commodore barney had given orders that we hurry forward with the least possible delay. "the commodore told me to say that unless you kept your men moving night and day you would be captured, for no less than three british forces are known to be on the way here from the patuxent," so the messenger said, and lieutenant frazier asked if he knew what body of the enemy was coming up the potomac. "a portion of the british fleet under captain gordon is already to be seen from high point," the man replied, and then he withdrew some distance with the lieutenant as if to give him private instructions. there is no need for me to set down the fact that our small force was in a state of the greatest excitement. from no less than three sources we had learned that the enemy was so near as to make capture seem certain, and our only hope of safety was to press forward at the best possible speed until arriving at washington, where we were told the commodore had already arrived. it was a good deal like being out of the frying-pan into the fire, for in case we contrived to elude those who were close in the rear, we must come face to face with a yet larger body of the enemy when we did our feeble best toward defending the city. i was getting quite a big taste of warfare, and it was by no means to my liking, although i had by this time come to understand that i must not put such ideas into words lest my companions accuse me of showing the white feather. we had marched eleven miles with only one halt of fifteen minutes, and now, instead of going into camp as had been supposed, we were to press forward, marching night and day, for a distance of at least fourteen miles; but even though it had been twice as far i would have gone on with at least a show of cheerfulness, so great was my fear of being taken prisoner. we halted at the wood yard half an hour, and then were going ahead once more; but at a less rapid pace, for we could not be expected to travel many hours at the same speed which had been kept up since leaving the burning fleet. we ate as we marched, munching the corn-bread and bacon as best we might, and falling out of line to get a drink of water whenever we came to a brook or spring. at the end of the first hour we were halted for ten minutes, and then the advance was continued until it seemed to me that i could not put one foot before the other. "i suppose i shall hold out as long as the rest of you do; but it seems as if i'd got to drop down right here," jerry said to me as we trudged along side by side on as fatiguing and dispiriting a march as i have ever known since. "it's better for a fellow to kill himself by walkin', than be sent back to a prison on board one of the british ships." i tried to cheer the dear lad, although i myself was needing encouragement most woefully, and perhaps i succeeded somewhat by saying: "our fathers would set us down as cowards and drones, if the men went in with the report that we couldn't travel twenty-five or thirty miles without knocking under." "you're right, amos!" and jerry stepped out briskly. "we should be able to do more of this kind of work than darius, who has spent all his life aboard ship, an' yet there he is, humpin' along chipper as a sparrow." i turned to look at the old man, who was in the rear, marching in good order, and acting as if on some pleasure excursion which he hoped would not come to an end too soon. it shamed me to see him so jolly when i was feeling so sore. from that moment, whenever i felt as if it was impossible to take another step, i looked at darius, and forced myself to forget weariness or hunger. it was nearly sunset when we were come to long old fields, where a portion of general winder's army had encamped the day previous, and here we were met by another messenger from the commodore. this last man had as large a store of fresh provisions as could be hauled by one mule, and within five minutes after coming up with him we were getting supper, giving no heed to anything save the fact that we had food in plenty for at least one meal. later, darius told me that the second messenger repeated orders for us to press forward without unnecessary delay; but when our hunger was appeased the lieutenant gave the word that we would be allowed to remain in camp a full two hours, and this was no sooner made known than the majority of us stretched our tired bodies on the ground for a time of sleep. jerry and i lay side by side, and when we were first in the proper position for sleeping i spoke to my comrade, but he made no reply. the dear lad had actually fallen into slumber at the very instant his head touched the ground. perhaps i remained awake while one might have counted twenty; but i am confident it was no longer than that, and then i closed my eyes, not to open them again until conscious of a heavy blow on the soles of my feet. chapter xiv. at washington. the first thought in my mind, on being aroused from deep slumber by a heavy blow on my feet, was that the enemy had come upon us, and a battle had been begun while i remained unconscious. springing up quickly, my eyes hardly half-open, i made ready to defend myself with no other weapons than those provided by nature, but nothing more formidable confronted me than darius thorpe, whose mouth was stretched wide in a grin, as if he saw something exceeding comical in thus disturbing a fellow's slumbers. "this is no time for horse-play!" i cried indignantly. "having but two hours for rest, it would seem that such jokes might be dispensed with." "i don't allow that i'm jokin'," the old man replied gravely, the smile disappearing from his face as he understood that i was thoroughly angry. "you have used up your allowance of time in sleepin', an' now it's a case of gettin' into line." "i haven't had a five-minutes nap!" i cried, firmly believing that i spoke the truth. "it's a good two hours since we came to a halt, but even though the time wasn't up, we'd have to get into motion, for another messenger has arrived from the commodore, an' there won't be any more loafin' 'twixt here an' washington." "what is the news?" i asked, beginning to be ashamed of myself because of having lost my temper. "general ross, commandin' the british forces on land, has arrived at the wood yard, an' the chances are that, with troops accustomed to long marches, he will push on without much of a halt. even if we were not needed in washington, it would stand us in hand to move mighty quick." then darius continued his task of awakening the sleepers, and i made ready for another march when it seemed as if the word to halt had but just been given. when we set out again all of us from the avenger were side by side, and, although it may seem childish to say so, the fact that i had friends at either hand gave me renewed strength of body as well as of mind. it is not well that i make any further attempt at following step by step what was supposed to be a hurried movement to reinforce our comrades of the flotilla, but which in reality was neither more nor less than a hasty retreat. it is enough if i say that late in the night following the day when commodore barney's fleet was destroyed, we arrived at the marine barracks in washington, where was the force which had accompanied our commander. just then we were too tired and foot-sore to give any heed to our friends who had been impatiently awaiting the arrival of us who had been left behind on a dangerous duty. we only asked permission to lie down anywhere in order to rest our aching limbs, and this we were able to do, as a matter of course. when morning came, however, and we were awakened by the bustle and confusion which would naturally arise when five or six hundred men are quartered in four buildings forming a square, we gave little heed to the stiffness of joints and blistered feet which remained as mementoes of that long march, as we greeted those for whom we had greater or less affection. the first person whom i saw was bill jepson. he had been searching through the barracks for jerry and me, and i really believe the old fellow was heartily pleased at seeing us once more. "well, my bullies, how about that famous ship avenger, amos grout commander, and darius thorpe general supercargo?" bill cried in a voice of thunder as he shook hands with each of us in turn, beginning with me, and ending with dody wardwell. "what there is left of her might be found at the bottom of the patuxent, if you hunted long enough," i replied, feeling a bit saddened by the loss of the pungy, and not having had time before to think very much about her fate. "the whole fleet went up, eh? tell me about it," and bill seated himself on the edge of a bunk as if expecting to hear a long yarn. there wasn't much to be told, as is known by any one who has had the patience to read what has been set down here; but i gave him a full account of all we had done, and wound up by complaining of the long march we had been forced to take. "don't let a little thing like that distress you, matey, for unless the britishers whip us out of our boots here in washington, i'm thinkin' we'll have to scratch gravel a good many times before this 'ere war is ended. where's darius?" we could give him no information concerning the old man, save to say that he was with us when we went to sleep the night previous, whereupon bill said with a laugh: "i reckon he's tellin' the commodore how this little business should be carried on, though he claims that the man never lived who could give joshua barney points." i had no particular desire to hear about the commodore or darius, therefore i asked if he knew anything concerning elias macomber, and as i mentioned the name bill burst into a hearty laugh. "know anythin' about him, lad? i reckon i do, seein's i helped lodge him in jail, an' how the hound whined for a chance to escape! he promised me more dollars than i could carry in my hat, if i'd give him five minutes the start; but so long's he didn't let on where he'd get the coin, or how it might be passed over to me, i couldn't make any dicker." "then there's no need to worry any more about his getting away," i said to myself, whereat bill jepson looked grave, and i made haste to say: "one might think from the look on your face that you believed his chances for escape were good?" "he'll stay where he is while we hold possession of the city, an' of that you may be certain, lad; but in case the british----" "you are not thinking that the enemy can take washington?" jerry cried in amazement. "ay, lad, an' if the truth was known, i'm not the only one who is believin' much the same thing." "but all the people in this country would come here to defend the city!" i exclaimed, thinking for the moment that bill jepson was trying to play upon our fears. "they haven't done it so far," and the sailor looked grave again. "as near as i can hear we've got about seven thousand men near about, an' more'n three-quarters of 'em are so green that it would be dangerous to let the cows have a whack at 'em." "have the britishers a larger force?" jim freeman asked. "no, lad, not quite so many when you come to number 'em up; but they are all trained soldiers, every one the match for three of ours in a reg'lar battle, no matter how well the americans can fight. then again, what with the president an' all the big bugs takin' a hand, we've got too many commanders. leave the whole business to one man--say joshua barney, for example--, an' i believe we could hold our own." to us youngsters who had come expecting to aid in a successful defense of the city, this kind of talk was not particularly cheerful, and i would have welcomed any change in the conversation; but bill jepson had used his eyes to good advantage during the short stay in washington, and was determined that we should receive the benefit of what he had seen and heard. "last night mr. monroe, the secretary of state, sent a despatch to the president, an' i saw a copy of it while on duty at the commodore's quarters. it read like this: 'the enemy are advanced six miles on the road to the wood yard, and our troops are retiring. our troops were on the march to meet them, but in too small a body to engage. general winder proposes to retire till he can collect them in a body. the enemy are in full march to washington. have the materials prepared to destroy the bridges.' that was signed with mr. monroe's name, lads, an' after so much, he wrote, 'you had better remove the records.' now do you think i'm so far out of the way in sayin' that there's a good chance of our gettin' the worst of it?" just at that moment, to my great relief of mind, my father appeared in the doorway of the barracks, and i sprang to meet him. how good it was to see his dear face once more! what a sense of relief came over me because he was near! i was yet so young as to believe that no harm could come to a fellow while his father was near, and on the moment all the fears which had been aroused by bill jepson passed out of mind. it is not necessary for me to set down that conversation between my father and me while it related to the dear ones at home, or our own two selves; but when we had spoken our fill on such matters it was but natural we should come back to the situation in which our troops were placed, and, greatly to my surprise, i found that my father despaired of success in much the same measure as did bill jepson. "we can only do our best, lad, and for your mother's sake we'll pray that both of us may go back to benedict; but if only one, then it should be you, who have promise of so many more years of life than i." we were yet speaking of matters much too private to be set down in a story like this, when the command came for all the men of commodore barney's force to fall into line, and on the instant we understood that we were to join the small army led by general winder. i know not how it was we were so confident as to our destination, except that the general and our commander had been long in consultation before this day; but certain it is we felt positive all of us were about to retrace our steps. and now, while our men are scurrying to and fro making ready for another march before having recovered from the one just ended, let me set down here what i afterward read in print, for it will serve to explain why we did not do that which the country expected, and even demanded: "winder's situation was an unenviable one.[a] with a comparatively strong foe on his front, ready to fall upon him or the capital he was expected to defend, he had only about twenty-five hundred armed and effective men in camp, and many of these had been from their homes only three or four days. they were undisciplined and untried, and surrounded and influenced by a crowd of excited civilians, to whose officious but well-intended information and advice the general was compelled to listen. in addition to this intrusion and interference of common men, he was embarrassed by the presence and suggestions of the president and his cabinet ministers, the most of them utterly ignorant of military affairs. better would it have been for winder and the country if these civilians, from the president down, had kept away from the camp and the field, and prudently preserved silence." [a] lossing's "war of ." as a matter of course, we of the rank and file knew very little concerning the trials of the officer who was charged with the defense of the city; but we did understand that our force was not sufficient in either discipline or numbers to cope with that which we must meet, yet i did not hear a word of grumbling or fear as we made ready for the march. it was as if a full knowledge of the danger served to inspire us with courage. we set out within ten minutes after the order had been received; but i did not see commodore barney until we had retraced our steps to long old fields, and there we found the small army throwing up a slight breastwork, as if believing that an attack was imminent. "this looks as if you an' i might see more of war than may be pleasant," jerry whispered to me as we stood in line waiting to be dismissed. "it is all very well to fight when you're on board a good vessel; but runnin' around on shore, marchin' here till you can do no more than move, an' then marchin' back again, is a little better than i hanker after." "it's too late to talk like that," i replied, smiling as i remembered how eager my partner had been to go as a soldier when i was hanging back. "we're like to see an hundred times worse than this before we're many hours older." "ay, an' there's never one here, save you, amos, who shall have an inklin' of the fact that i'm growin' mighty sick of my bargain." then we were dismissed, to find such tents and rations as general winder's force could spare us, for our baggage-train was yet on the road, and while we were thus engaged jim freeman shouted to us. "darius has got a tent for our crowd; it's close by the commodore's, an', what's better, the old sailor has been rummagin' 'round till he's got all the grub we'll need for some time to come." "where are dody and josiah?" i asked. "holdin' down the tent till we can take possession; there's so much pullin' an' haulin' after rations an' quarters, that it ain't safe to leave anything alone." i supposed that we would be ordered to aid in throwing up the breastworks, therefore it stood us in hand to learn where we belonged, before the labor was begun, and without delay we followed jim. indeed we had been fortunate in having darius to care for us, since, thanks to him, none at long old fields, save the officers, were quartered as well as we. in a few moments the canvas tent, strewn with our belongings, had quite a home air, and we lost no time in making an attack on the store of provisions which the old sailor had gathered for us. we were eating hurriedly, lest we should be ordered to take up the picks and shovels before our hunger could be satisfied, when darius came in looking thoroughly fagged and worn out. "but for you we'd been without a shelter to-night," i said as he threw himself on the ground near me. "an' that would have made little difference, lad, for the open air in a summer's night is ahead of any canvas house. howsomever, the tent serves as a place where we can keep our belongings without fear some of these clodhoppin' imitations of soldiers will get away with 'em." "i suppose we shall be called upon to take a hand in throwing up breastworks?" i suggested, and a more cheerful look came over the old man's face than i had seen since word was given to fire the fleet. "we who have just come in will be allowed to take it easy, if the britishers don't interfere, till mornin', when, if there's time left us, we'll turn to at throwin' dirt." all of us lads settled back with a certain sense of comfort and satisfaction difficult to describe. there were many in that small army who were hungry, because of the delay and confusion in sending out supplies, and yet more who would lie down with nothing to shelter them from the heavy dew, while we were well protected, and with a goodly food supply, all of which spoke well for the forethought and ability of darius thorpe. "i'm goin' to turn in, if so be we've got nothin' to do till mornin'," jim freeman said as he suited the action to the words, and josiah and dody followed his example. i was not minded to close my eyes in slumber until after having heard from the old sailor all he could tell, although it goes without saying that i was tired enough to be able to sleep standing up. "have you heard anything new since we arrived?" i asked, and darius replied in a low tone, as if afraid his words might be overheard by some one on the outside: "the commodore says we shall have a battle within eight an' forty hours, an' you know how well he can smell out such things. it seems certain we can't meet the enemy here, unless more men are sent, an', as i take it, we shall march hither an' yon till we come to the fight fit for nothin' but to turn in." "where are the british now?" "the main body is at upper marlboro; but there are a couple of columns movin' about in a way that betokens mischief for some of us 'twixt now an' mornin'." "what have you been doing? i didn't see anything of you after we started back for this place." "i came on ahead, ridin' part of the way, with the commodore, an' we've been on the move pretty much ever since. general stansbury is at bladensburg, an' general winder counts on goin' there to-morrow for a conference, leavin' our commodore in command here." "but what have you been doing to tire you so thoroughly?" i persisted. "nothin' exceptin' tag around at joshua barney's heels, an' he's a reg'lar tiger at walkin', whereas it puts me in bad shape." "why not lie down while you may, and get some sleep?" i asked. "because i'm under orders to go back to the commodore. you lads turn in, an' i'll creep under cover whenever it's possible." having thus evaded my question as to what he had been doing, the old man went out of the tent, leaving jerry and i gazing at each other, but not daring to speak the thoughts which were in our mind. if commodore barney and darius thorpe were so anxious as to what might be the result of our meeting with the enemy, surely we two lads, ignorant of everything pertaining to warfare, save marching, had cause for alarm. we sat facing each other a full ten minutes without speaking. it was possible to hear the laborers as they threw up the slight breastwork which could be of but little service save to mark our position, or the hum of conversation as the idlers paced to and fro near the tent, and all these sounds was token that we were a tiny part of the living machine with which nations waged war. "there's no sense in sittin' here like a couple of dummies," jerry finally said. "we'd best be gettin' all the sleep we can, an' then we'll be the better prepared for what is before us." it would have pleased me well to find my father and have a talk with him; but i did not feel warranted in leaving my comrades at such a time, therefore i acted at once upon jerry's suggestion. it was not a difficult matter to fall asleep, after the long march, and until late in the night i enjoyed a most refreshing slumber, when the entrance of darius awakened me. "what is the time?" i asked. "near to midnight." "have you been working all this while?" "movin' around with the commodore, that's all," darius replied, as he laid down beside me, and a moment later his heavy breathing told that the weary old man was resting after nearly twenty hours of labor. try as i might, it was impossible to close my eyes in sleep immediately. my thoughts would stray back to benedict, and the more my mind dwelt upon mother and the children the less inclined did i feel for slumber. i twisted and turned while my tent-mates slept more or less noisily, until by the cries of the sentinels i knew it was two o'clock in the morning, and then the idea that in a few hours i must be at work with no chance for rest, caused me to feel drowsy. save for the measured tread of the sentinels, and their calls from time to time, the silence of the encampment was profound, and i was idly saying to myself that it seemed difficult to fancy one was in the midst of more than two thousand men, when suddenly came a sharp cry from a distance, followed by another and another until the long roll of the drums rang out on the night air like distant thunder. "what is it?" i cried, as darius sprang to his feet. "the call for all hands," the old man said as he groped around for his musket and ammunition. "the britishers have shown themselves, hopin' to take us by surprise, most like. move lively, lads, for joshua barney's followin' must be the first in line." how we contrived to arm ourselves and get out of the tent into the midst of a throng of apparently bewildered men, i know not; but certain it is we found ourselves there following darius, who was the only one i saw that evidently had his wits about him. left to ourselves we would have wandered aimlessly around the encampment, as did many hundred of the men; but the old sailor, who surely should have been born a soldier, led us to the proper place as if he had always served his country on land instead of water. we found our people from the flotilla in fairly good formation, ready to repel an attack, while the raw militia were scurrying to and fro like frightened sheep, and such fact made me feel proud that i was a member of "barney's seamen." "you've done well, lads," the commodore said approvingly, while he moved to and fro in front of us to make certain that we were all there. "we'll show these landsmen before this little scrimmage is over, that we old shell-backs are not web-footed when it comes to obeying orders." then it was that i began to understand why those who served under joshua barney were so proud of, and had such confidence in, him. there was in the ring of his voice, in his way of looking at a fellow, and his every movement, something which bespoke him a friend, and from that moment, i became as ardent an admirer of the fighting captain as ever was darius thorpe. of a verity i believe a full fifteen minutes elapsed before all our people were in line of battle, which spoke badly for what might happen in case the enemy planned a surprise, and then we learned that the alarm was a false one. "some weak-kneed sentinel was frightened at his own shadow," the commodore said, speaking quietly to his men. "but it hasn't done us any harm to be routed out in short order, for now we can see how necessary it may be to know our stations. turn in, my hearties, and get what rest you can before we stand up in front of the red-coats to give them a lesson which they're needing." then we went back to our tent; but not to sleep. there is a mighty lot of excitement in turning out at night to be shot at, and darius was the only member of our party who felt inclined to lie down. we sat under the canvas talking in whispers, lest we disturb those near at hand, and the old sailor was soon giving good proof that he had sailed over into dreamland. of what did we talk? i can't really tell; but you might put yourself in our places, and say if you would not naturally speak of those most dear when you knew beyond a peradventure that within a few hours at the most you would be standing face to face with death. when the day broke we stole softly out of the tent that darius might get all the sleep possible, and, building a small fire, toasted the strips of bacon which made up the greater portion of our rations. then all hands sat around the tent to prevent any one from awakening the old man without good and sufficient cause, until sunrise, when word was passed from one to another that orders had been given to load all tents on the baggage-wagons, for the army was to move within an hour. then it was that we felt obliged to call darius, and he came up on his feet at the first word, having all his wits about him at the moment of awakening, as is the habit of sailormen. "goin' to move, eh?" he said, when we told him of the order. "then i'm thinkin' the next halt will be at whatsoever place general winder has picked out for a battle-field. look after the tent, lads, while i get a word with the commodore." he marched off in the direction of headquarters, and we set about the task, i observing while passing among the militia, that the men as a rule were looking mighty glum, which augured ill for their performances if indeed a battle was near at hand. chapter xv. bladensburg. if i would tell all that was done in and around washington by our people, and then have space in which to set down that which we lads were able to accomplish after the british had worked their will, very much of what then seemed highly interesting to us of the avenger, must be passed over with but few words. perhaps it is well that it should be so, for we moved here and there without apparent aim or purpose until every man and officer was on the verge of exhaustion, and then, when it required no slight effort simply to remain on our feet, we were forced to meet the british army, which had advanced by short stages to the end that the men should be in the best physical condition for that struggle which decided the fate of the nation's capital. we had no sooner struck our tents than word was brought that the president was on his way from the potomac to review our troops, and at such information darius grumbled loud and long, therefore we lads knew full well that commodore barney was opposed to such monkey-shines, otherwise the old sailor would not have dared to voice his complaints so stoutly. when we might have been resting preparatory to the extraordinary fatigues that were before us, all our little army were forced to remain in line a good two hours, when president madison was ready to begin the review, after which we marched and countermarched in front of him when three men out of every four were unable to understand the words of command. it was a most ridiculous performance, as can well be fancied, and if the chief magistrate of the land was well pleased with the result, it is more than can be said for the officers in command. by the time this mockery of a review had come to an end, scouts arrived with information that the main body of the enemy was still resting comfortably at upper marlboro, whereupon we were allowed to remain in line while the general sent couriers to the different commanders under him, directing them to move in the direction of the british camp. we remained on parade from shortly after sunrise until ten o'clock in the forenoon, when we were as tired as if from a long march. then we were dismissed; but since all the tents had been carried away in the baggage-wagons, there was nothing for us to do save lounge around in the open field exposed to the burning rays of the sun. nothing more was done in the way of throwing up breastworks, therefore we who had been the last to leave the fleet, were not called upon to handle pick or shovel. an hour before noon general winder, escorted by a troop of laval's cavalry, left the encampment, and it was reported that he had gone to hold a conference with general stansbury at bladensburg. all our rations, save what each man had held back in his pockets, were with the baggage-train, therefore we did not make a very hearty meal at noon, and perhaps it was as well, for while we were eating the small amount of food at our disposal two companies of maryland militia, under command of major peter, came into camp on the double quick, with every evidence of terror on their faces. immediately the long roll was sounded, and as we fell into line once more, expecting to see the enemy advancing, word was whispered around that major peter, scouting in the direction of marlboro on the wood yard road, had skirmished with the britishers, and been driven back. commodore barney and general smith, who had command of the militia in the absence of general winder, set about making preparations for battle, and major mckenney was sent in hot haste to inform our commander of the position of affairs. we remained under arms, and in momentary expectation of being engaged in a life or death struggle, until near sunset, when general winder arrived, and without loss of time we were headed for washington at a sharp pace, thus being forced to march over the same ground three times without having seen the enemy once. we arrived for the second time at the capital about midnight, and were posted near the eastern branch bridge, there to get such repose as might be possible while we did guard duty on that side of the city. in order to show that my grumbling had good foundation, i am going to set down here a portion of general smith's report, as i heard it read a week later: "the arrival at the eastern branch bridge terminated the four days of service of the troops of this district. they have been under arms, with but little intermission, the whole of the time, both night and day; have traveled, during their different marches in advance and retreat, a considerable tract of country, exposed to the burning heat of a sultry sun by day, and many of them to the cold dews of the night, uncovered. they have in this period drawn but two rations, the requisition therefor in the first instance being but partially complied with, and it being afterward almost impossible to procure the means of transportation, the wagons employed by our quartermaster for that purpose being constantly impressed by the government agents for the purpose of removing the public records when the enemy's approach was known, and some of them thus seized while proceeding to take in provisions for the army." on that night after our arrival we heard that the british were advanced within two miles of long old fields. we who comprised the command under general winder were worn and dispirited; laval's horsemen were exhausted, and stansbury's men at bladensburg were tired out by long marches, lack of sleep and scarcity of food. as if to make bad matters worse, our general fell from his horse near about daybreak, and really was not fit to remain in the saddle, although he pluckily kept on duty, not the least of which were many conferences with the president and members of his cabinet. at sunrise, after our force had indulged in less than two hours' sleep, laval's scouts brought in positive information that the british general ross was marching directly toward bladensburg; half an hour later messengers came from general stansbury with the word that the enemy was in his front, and urging that reinforcements be sent at once. it was a case of making another march without breakfast, and, for the matter of that, we had had no supper the night previous. there was more than one grumbler when we obeyed the summons to "fall in;" but the men under commodore barney held their peace after our leader urged that we act "like patriots, and not like children who had come out expecting to enjoy a holiday." well, off we posted for bladensburg, a good eight miles from where we had halted, and i for one hoped that the battle, since there must be one, would be on at once, for it seemed better to be shot at than worn down by apparently aimless running to and fro. we of the flotilla arrived near bladensburg shortly after noon, and were stationed about a mile from the village on the washington road. there we found two eighteens and three -pounders, all ship's guns, mounted on carriages, which had been drawn to the spot by the marines from the navy yard, and with these we were supposed to hold our position, having no other support than a crowd of raw militia in front of us. our force, meaning those under commodore barney's command, numbered, as i have already said, about five hundred, and although we had no knowledge of military tactics, we knew enough to obey our officers to the best of our ability, which was considerably more than could be said for very many of the troops near at hand. i cannot set down that which followed, in proper fashion so that it could be understood by those familiar with the game of war; i only know what happened near my comrades and myself, for the crew of the avenger had taken good care to stand side by side at this time when one or all of us might meet death through the medium of british lead. for myself, i can say this: that when i looked around at the mass of men--five thousand strong i have since heard--, and saw them wrangling over this trifling matter or that, openly disputing some command, or boldly leaving an assigned position to take up one which pleased them better, i had more fear of what might come to us through the cowardice or ignorance of our own people, than regarding the ability of the enemy to cut us up. darius made his preparations for the conflict by stuffing a huge piece of tobacco into his mouth, after which he proceeded to read us a lecture on behavior while under fire. "remember this," he said with the air of one who knows it all, "it isn't every bullet that finds its billet, an' the toughest time is just now, when we're waitin' for what all hands know is bound to come. think of the folks at benedict, an' kind'er figger out what they'd say if you went home after showin' yourselves cowards under fire. there are worse things than bein' killed or wounded in battle, an' the hardest is to live knowin' every youngster on the street has the right to call you a white-livered sneak what ran away when danger came. stand here behind joshua barney, for i warrant he won't give you a chance to get in front of him, an' you'll be doin' about right." when the old man had come to an end of his instructions, we would have conversed among ourselves, speaking much, no doubt, of the folks at home; but he sternly bade us hold our tongues, thinking that we would not be heartened by such talk, and straightway began to tell us a yarn of how he and bill jepson had fought under commodore barney, when the enemy was a ship of thirty-two guns, and they in a schooner carrying only twelve -pounders. the yarn had not yet come to an end when a commotion among the men in front of us caused me to crane my neck to look in the direction many were pointing, and there i saw the lines of red marching directly toward us in perfect order, as if on parade. at almost the same moment the enemy began to throw rockets among our people, and these, exploding, hurled bullets' in every direction. within two minutes from the time i first saw the britishers, no less than five men near me were stricken down, and the sight of the gaping wounds, together with the moans of the sufferers, gave me a sensation of faintness which was well-nigh overpowering. "stand steady you lads from the avenger!" darius cried sharply, warned, no doubt, by the sight of our pale faces that we were growing sick in more ways than one. "somebody must get hurt, else the battle would never be over, an' we're here to spoil the britishers' fun, which we shall do mighty soon. joshua barney is only waitin' for the proper time, an' when he gives the word to begin work, there'll be a change of tune." at that moment, and before a gun had been fired, the militiamen in front of us broke into a run toward the rear, many of them throwing down their muskets as they took part in a most disgraceful retreat. for the credit of our flotillamen, and the marines, i must set it down that not one of them wavered when the retreat was begun, and after the last of the cowards was in the rear i heard the commodore shout: "now's your time, lads! give it to 'em hot an' strong, but make every charge count!" then our ship's guns were discharged, and the faintness left me as i saw the missiles cut down long lanes in the red-coated ranks; the smell of burning powder must have got into my brain, for from that moment i knew nothing save that my musket was to be loaded and discharged as rapidly as possible. men fell around me by the score, yet i gave no heed to the evidences of suffering. once, a man shot through the head, pitched forward directly into my arms, covering me with blood as he sank dead at my feet, and yet, unused though i was to such scenes, it caused me no other feeling than that of anger because he had spoiled my aim. i knew nothing of what was going on immediately in front of me, save that the red line, now broken by many a gap, was before my eyes; that it advanced, fell back and advanced again, sending among us such a shower of bullets that the buzzing in the air was like unto a swarm of angry bees. once jerry tried to say something to me, but i pushed him back petulantly, so strong a hold had the fever of battle upon me. my musket barrel grew hot to the touch, and it was no longer possible to charge it properly. without compunctions i exchanged weapons with one of the dead men at my feet, and continued the work, shouting aloud in vengeful joy when i saw an enemy fall by my hand. darius cried out in my ear; but i heard him not, nor did i heed the fact that he wanted to speak with me. i was insane with the scene of carnage, the salty odor of blood, and the choking, stifling fumes of burning powder. then, suddenly, darius pulled me back by the coat-collar, forcing me to run with him, and as we went swiftly past our guns toward the rear, i asked what he was doing. "the word had been given to retreat!" he cried. "do the best you can with your legs, lad, for there'll be no quarter given if we are taken. we of the flotilla, with the marines, have borne the brunt of this whole battle for the last half hour, an' we've left our mark on the red-coats, even if we are turnin' tail now!" "but the commodore?" i cried, now getting back a portion of my scattered senses. "wounded ten minutes ago, an' taken off the field, i hope. it was in my mind to help him; but he ordered me to go back to duty, an' i went, for when joshua barney gives the word, even though he's half dead, it's safest to obey without makin' much talk. captain miller of the marines was shot down at about the same time." then i had sense enough to see that all my comrades of the avenger were close about me, none of them appearing to be hurt, and while we ran to save ourselves from being made prisoners, let me set down that which was written less than a week after the battle of bladensburg, for, as it turned out, we had fought a regular battle. "no troops remained in line, except the party under commodore barney, and two detachments on his right, that were well posted. having been so roughly handled, the enemy made no attempt to advance directly in front of the seamen and marines, but, after forcing the troops on their right from the field, by a demonstration in that direction, they prepared to turn the rear of barney in order to surround him. "while these movements were going on in front, a party of light troops had been thrown out on the enemy's right, and the militia having abandoned the ground, they were also beginning to close upon the americans that stood. by this time commodore barney, captain miller, and several other officers were wounded, and, victory being impossible against odds so great, an order was given to commence a retreat. "the defense had been too obstinate to admit of carrying off the guns, which were necessarily abandoned. all the men retired, with the exception of the badly wounded; among the latter, however, were commodore barney and captain miller, who both fell into the enemy's hands. "of the marines, nearly one-third were among the casualties, and the flotilla-men suffered considerably, though in smaller proportions. the people of the flotilla, under the orders of barney, and the marines, were justly applauded for their excellent conduct. no troops could have stood better, and the fire of both artillery and musketry has been described as to the last degree severe." jerry, who reads each day what i write, says that by putting down the account of what we of the flotilla did, i am blowing my own horn; but i do not so consider it, since the fact is a matter of history, and if we won praise on that disastrous day, then we should boast of it to the end that the picture may not be so black. and now to return to us of the avenger who were fugitives, without any idea of where safety might be found. strange to say, not one of us had been wounded, while many a better man close beside us had met his death. darius took it upon himself to lead our party, and right willing were we to have him act as commander, though i question if he really knew where he was going when we left the bloody field. there is no shame in my heart when i set it down that we ran from the enemy, and did our level best at that game; the order to retreat had been given after we had done all that might have been expected from well seasoned troops, and to have remained longer would have been a useless sacrifice. by instinct, rather than deliberation, darius led us southward, close on the heels of several hundred men, all of whom were quite as eager as we to keep out of the enemy's clutches. to the best of my knowledge the british did not pursue; they had won a victory, but in so doing received quite as much of a drubbing as was needed, and officers as well as privates were willing to remain on the hard-earned field. i believe it was a full hour before darius would allow us to slacken the pace, and then we were well among the foremost of the fugitives. by this time we were so nearly winded that it was impossible to continue the flight without a breathing spell, and the old man allowed us to halt when we were close upon the city. we could see that our people were bearing to the west, in order to give washington a wide berth, and, when it was possible to speak because of my heavy breathing, i asked darius where he proposed to go. "that's what i haven't rightly made up my mind on," the old man said thoughtfully. "it stands to reason that the enemy will, sooner or later, try to make as many prisoners as possible, an' i'm allowin' that those fellows ahead are bound to have a hot time of it before they're many hours older. if we could only get down the river!" "but we can't, an' that much is certain," jerry said petulantly. "perhaps you've got another scheme in your head, since the oyster business turned out so well," and it is possible that i spoke sharply, realizing with bitterness just then that but for my partner's proposition to sell fish to the fleet i might never have discovered i owed my country a duty, and, consequently, would not at that moment be hunted down, or in danger of it. "perhaps i have," jerry replied quietly, giving no heed to my disagreeable manner of speaking. "what is it, lad?" darius asked curiously. "i take it that at such a time as this a bit of advice, no matter from whom it comes, is well worth listenin' to." "why not go straight into washington, an' stay there till we find a chance to slip down the river?" "into washington?" jim freeman cried in alarm. "why the britishers have promised to burn the town!" "i know that, an' it ain't likely any of our people will go there because of that same thing." "an' yet you allow that we should stick our noses into the mess?" darius asked. "ay, because the britishers never will suspect that any who took part in the fight would go there. it should be possible to find a hiding-place somewhere in the town, an' it strikes me we wouldn't be in as much danger as if we kept with the crowd." i began to think that there was more in jerry's scheme than appeared when he first suggested it, and darius seemed to be considering the matter very seriously. "in the first place," my partner continued, warming to the subject when he saw that we were interested, "it would be necessary to get there before the britishers took possession, an' it might be we could pass ourselves off as fellows who had stayed in the town like cowards, rather than take the chances of bein' shot." "it's a pretty good scheme, lad, an' i for one am willin' to try it," darius said abruptly as he rose to his feet. "if the others think as i do, we'd better be movin'." after the old man had thus spoken there was not one of us who would have ventured to object, for he had shown that in any business of this kind he knew more than all of us put together, therefore we made ready to set out; but before the first step had been taken we saw coming toward us from the direction of bladensburg, a man riding a mule, and waving his arms as if to attract our attention. "go on," i said petulantly. "we can't afford to hang around here very long if we count on finding a hiding-place in the city, and that is only one of the country people who wants to sell his mule." "i reckon we'll wait a bit," darius replied firmly. "unless i'm way out of my reckonin', yonder man was in the fight, an' has scooped up one of the baggage-wagon mules to help him along." "but our party is too big for safety now, and what will it be if we allow every straggler to trail on behind? we might as well follow the other fugitives." all this i said like a peevish child, and no sooner had i ceased speaking than darius seized me by the shoulder, forcing me to turn until i had a full view of the newcomer. "look at the man," the sailor cried sternly, "an' then say whether you will allow every straggler to trail on behind us when the road is as free to one as another?" in an instant i was covered with confusion and remorse. the man to whose company i had objected was none other than my own father, and as he approached i could see that he was wounded in the right leg. there was nothing i could say just then to show my comrades how deeply i regretted having spoken in such a tone, therefore i ran forward to greet him who, a moment previous, i had been eager to leave behind. my comrades joined me as i saluted my father much more warmly than i might have done but for the unkind words i had spoken, and in a few seconds we heard all the story he could tell. he had been wounded quite severely during the early part of the battle, and went to the rear in search of the surgeons. failing to find those whose duty it was to be near the scene of action, and unable to walk any further owing to loss of blood, he laid down under one of the baggage-wagons which had been used to transport ammunition. here he bandaged his wound as well as possible, and was about to set out once more in search of aid, when the final retreat was ordered. unable to walk, he would soon have been made a prisoner, or, perhaps, in the heat of the moment, received worse treatment, when the idea of escaping on one of the mules occurred to him. cutting the traces he rode off, taking a course to the north in his ignorance of the country; but, discovering his mistake, he turned about, and the first persons he saw were those of our party. without wasting any time we told him of jerry's scheme, and he, having nothing better to propose, agreed to make the venture, more particularly because he stood sadly in need of some attention, since the wound had been only rudely bandaged. darius claimed that he could treat it after a sailorly fashion, provided we found clean water and cotton cloth, and declared that it would heal as well after such treatment as if any save a skilled surgeon had dressed it. as a matter of course we kept the mule, for it was necessary my father should ride, and after the delay needed in which to explain matters, our little party started toward washington, knowing full well that we were going where it was certain the enemy would soon come. although i had agreed to jerry's scheme, and was willing to do whatsoever the majority of my companions decided was for the best, i could not but believe that ours was as rash a move as fugitives ever made, for of a verity it was thrusting ourselves into the jaws of the lion. now that my father was with us, having his wound as proof that he had taken part in the battle, we could no longer hope to pass ourselves off as cowards who remained at home while others were fighting for us, and in event of being captured in the city i believed we would receive rougher usage than those taken prisoners on the battle-field. chapter xvi. in hiding. i question if my companions were any less uneasy in mind regarding our seeking a refuge in the city about to be occupied by the british, than was i; but no one ventured to say exactly what he thought lest it serve to check our courage, and of a verity we needed that in abundance if we were to make a success of jerry's scheme. darius and i walked either side of the mule on which my father rode, where we might be ready to give the wounded man assistance in case his strength failed him suddenly; but neither of us dared discuss the possibilities of the future. when we were come nearly to the city my father asked me if we had any money with which to purchase food, and i replied by showing him the two silver coins remaining of the amount paid by the britishers for oysters. darius had the same number of pieces in copper, and jim freeman was the capitalist among us, he having no less than two shillings. we had funds in plenty for the purchase of such food as would satisfy our hunger during two or three days, and the only matter which gave us any uneasiness was regarding a shelter, which had now become absolutely necessary since father joined us, for it went without saying that he must not be seen. when jerry conceived the scheme we were attempting to carry into execution, he believed, as did i, that washington would be almost wholly abandoned by the citizens, and, in fact, it was reasonable to suppose that when the news of the defeat was brought to the city nearly every one would seek safety in flight, therefore we counted on being able to take shelter in any building which took our fancy. while yet in the outskirts of the town, however, we understood that we were mistaken. so far as i could see, the inhabitants remained within their homes, probably under the belief that the enemy would behave like civilized people rather than as barbarians, and our chances for finding a hiding-place seemed small. having no acquaintance with the city, we walked on at haphazard until having come within a short distance of a tavern near the capitol, hard by a large building which looked not unlike a rope walk. it was in my mind that we could do no better than stop at the tavern, trusting that our small store of money would suffice to pay for one room in which all of us might gather; but to this darius made most decided objection. "it is the last place for us to choose," he said decidedly. "even if the house is not taken as quarters by some of the officers, it will be visited by the rank and file, and we might as well be in the open air. yonder smoke-house would suit our purpose better." it seemed to me that in a city said to contain nine hundred buildings we could do better than hide in a smoke-house, and so i said, claiming that we would be in no more danger by making ourselves as comfortable as possible under the circumstances, than if we huddled into some corner. jim freeman and jerry seemed to be in my way of thinking; but darius declared that unless we could content ourselves with such a hiding-place as was not likely to attract the attention of the enemy, we might count him out of the scheme. "but what can be done with the mule, if we take to the smoke-house?" i cried, believing i thus had an argument which he could not well answer. "turn him loose, of course. he is government property, and would give stronger proof of our havin' been with the army than your father's wound. besides, should the soldiers hear him, an' you can't reckon on keepin' that kind of a beast quiet, they'd be bound to have him out, if only for the sake of sport." then darius went toward his chosen place of refuge, leaving us to follow or not as best pleased us, and the result can well be imagined. we would not cut loose from the old sailor who, because of his experience in such circumstances, was best calculated to advise and aid, therefore we followed him meekly, but with many a mental complaint. when we were come to the rough building, which was hardly larger than the cabin of the scorpion, darius lifted my father from the animal's back as if he had been no more than a child, and carried him into the place that was less inviting than the hold of the avenger after we had taken out a cargo of oysters. placing him in one corner where he might sit with his back against the boards, the old sailor went outside and drove the mule in the direction of the tavern, himself following until he was lost to view, much to our surprise and disquietude. "now what is he about?" jerry asked petulantly. "i thought we were to stay here?" "it seems that we are," i replied with a mirthless laugh; "but it appears that master thorpe counts on being better lodged." "do you suppose he allows to stop at the tavern while we're to stay in this smoke-house?" jim freeman asked in a tone of dismay, and i, sore at heart because my advice had not been followed, replied bitterly, thereby setting myself down for at least the twentieth time as a simple: "we can be certain he'll look after himself, no matter how we may fare." then we stood waiting in silence until it should be certain that darius had really abandoned us, when my father said, striving to suppress any evidence of the pain which he suffered: "you lads are making a big mistake if you think darius thorpe would leave you at such a time as this. he has ever had the name of holding to a comrade, and he'll not steer another course while we're in so much danger." five minutes later i was covered with shame because of my unkind words, when we saw the old man returning with as much hay as he could stagger under. "here's what will make our cripple a bit more comfortable," he said cheerily as he thrust his burden through the narrow door. "pile it well up under him, an' i'll go back for the rest of the supplies." none of us lads made any comment when darius returned toward the tavern; but that all hands were conscious of the same sense of shame as had come over me, i understood by the expression on their faces. when the old man joined us the second time he had in his arms the larger part of a ham, some strips of cotton cloth, and a jug of water. "how did you get all that stuff?" jerry asked in surprise. "traded the mule. when i was drivin' the beast off it struck me that he might be made to serve us a bit, so i drove a bargain." "did you give the people to understand that he was yours?" "not a bit of it, lad; i ain't tryin' that kind of business even when i'm hungry. i told the truth; but claimed that the beast was under my protection, an' i'd be willin' to leave him for the few things we might need. it ain't certain but i'd got what i asked for without the mule, though it was better to have a reg'lar trade made. pitch into the ham, and later, it may be we can get some bread." we did not wait for the second invitation; but began chipping off bits of the meat, eating greedily regardless of the fact that it was uncooked, when i saw that darius was making no effort toward getting his share. "why don't you eat?" i asked as i gave my father a small handful of the uninviting food. "i'm the surgeon now, an' till this job is finished i reckon i can contrive to get along without more in my mouth than a piece of terbacco. it's mighty lucky i laid in a good supply before we left pig point." the true-hearted old sailor had provided us lads with a meal, and now proposed to dress my father's wound before attending to his own wants, which must have been greater than ours because he had performed more work. i resolved then and there, that however much against him might be appearances, i would never believe him guilty of any mean act toward his comrades, and in the future he should have the full half of anything which might come into my possession. darius washed and bandaged father's wound; raised the bed of hay that he might recline more comfortably; fastened the door in such a manner that there would be no token on the outside of our occupancy, and not until all this had been done did he give heed to his own necessities. "we're not so bad off here as we might be," the old man said in a tone of content as he whittled away at the small remnant of ham, while we lads were stretched at full length on the hay. "i'm allowin' that whatever happens, the britishers won't look in a smoke-house for american soldiers or sailors, an' we can stay here snug as bugs in a rug, barrin' bein a little hungry, till amos' father is in better condition to travel." "but it will be a long while before that wound is healed!" jim freeman exclaimed in dismay. "yes, i reckon it'll be quite a spell, pervidin' the britishers stay in the city; but if they go it won't be a hard job to find a boat that'll take us to the patuxent. but there's little call to make much talk about movin', for we can't leave one of the crowd, no matter what happens to the rest of us." by the time all this had been done it was sunset. the retreat from bladensburg had been begun about four o'clock in the afternoon, and we were not so badly off to be in washington and housed so soon after the defeat. the one distressing question was whether the enemy would make search in the city for such as we? after he had eaten all the scraps of ham remaining on the bone, darius set about making a more thorough examination of our refuge, beginning with the small shutter at the top of the building which was used when, the meat having been cured, it was desired to clear the place of smoke. "what are you doing up there?" my father asked when the old sailor clambered on the logs to get at the shutter. "makin' sure we can keep a lookout in case things get too hot," darius replied with a laugh. "i'm allowin' this shutter can be swung open a crack without its bein' noticed from the outside." he had no more than opened the window when an exclamation burst from his lips, and without delay i clambered up beside him. from this point of vantage we had a fairly good view of what was going on near about the capitol building, and my heart beat fast and furiously with fear as i saw the enemy advancing. "there seems to be the biggest part of the british army," darius said, pointing in the direction of the burying-ground, where i could see the soldiers bivouacking for the night; but nearer at hand were two officers, evidently high in command--general ross and admiral cockburn, as i afterward learned--, with an escort of three or four hundred men, riding directly toward us. within full view of our hiding-place was a dwelling standing near the government building, and as we gazed i saw the flash of a musket come from this house, when the horse on which the general was riding fell dead, carrying the officer to the ground with him in what looked to be an ugly fall. "that's a fool trick!" darius cried angrily when no other sign of attack could be seen or heard. "a crazy man must have fired that shot, which can do no other good than to make the enemy hot to inflict some punishment!" we saw a score or more of the escort rush to the assistance of the officer, while the remainder of the soldiers were wheeled about to face the dwelling. i was confident that they would fire a volley into the house, and, indeed, i could well have excused such a course, considering the provocation; but instead of this a squad of men were told off to enter the building, as we saw when the force ran forward on the double-quick with fixed bayonets. by this time, as may well be imagined, all our party, with the exception of my father, were clinging to the timbers of the building that a view might be had of what was going on outside, and darius, ever mindful of others, took it upon himself to keep our invalid informed of what was being done. "they've sent a squad of men to clean out the house, i reckon," the old sailor said for father's benefit. "the officer ain't hurt so but that he can mount a spare horse which a colonel has just brought him. now the two in command are pointin' out the different buildin's; looks as if they were pickin' out their quarters. there's one thing certain, fine birds like them won't want to sleep in a smoke-house, so we ain't likely to be turned out right away." i interrupted the report by exclaiming aloud in my excitement, for i saw smoke issuing from the dwelling, which i afterward learned was the home of mr. robert sewall, and then it was i understood for what purpose the squad had been sent. "they've fired the house," darius continued to my father, "an' without givin' them who may be livin' there a chance to carry anythin' out. soldiers are stationed to prevent the people from tryin' to fight the flames, an' it wouldn't surprise me if we saw a pretty hot time in this town." at this moment a squad of men was sent to the rope-walk, another to the tavern hard by our place of refuge, and a third to the next building, which from the sign on its front i knew to be the national intelligencer newspaper. after what we had seen it was not difficult to guess the purpose of these soldiers, and darius said to my father: "they're firin' the rope-walk now, an' it looks as if the whole city might go." "surely the british wouldn't do so barbarous a deed!" my father exclaimed. "war isn't carried on in that way these days." "it seems to be goin' so now. there comes the smoke from the tavern, an' men are stationed to prevent the people from savin' anything. how about it, lads? if we had spent our last cent hirin' a room there, the smoke would be forcin' us out by this time, an' we'd soon find ourselves prisoners in the hands of such as stand ready to burn a city where are mostly women an' children!" "it's not certain but that we'll be forced out as it is!" i exclaimed. "when the tavern barns get afire this smoke-house stands a good chance of burning." "it may be, lad; but the wind draws in on the other side, an' i'm allowin' that this shanty, small as it is, won't come to harm, though if it does go, we'll try to keep our upper lips stiff so the villainous red-coats shan't have a chance to crow over us very much." we saw the men comprising the escort now break ranks, each going, apparently, where he pleased, and darius cried in anger: "it is to be a reg'lar sack of the city, such as we're told they had in the old times, when men were reckoned as bein' little better than brutes! work like this will count big for the britishers before the other nations of the world! there goes a crowd of soldiers into the little shop beyond the tavern; they're plunderin' it in piratical style! see 'em throw the goods out into the street! the red-coats from the encampment, scentin' booty, are comin' up by the hundreds!" from where we were perched it was possible to see three shops, and by the time the tavern was well afire no less than five hundred men had robbed these, tramping into the dirt such goods as they did not want to carry away, and then the buildings were set on fire. verily it was a barbarous sack of the city! then it was, when the flames from the buildings of which i have spoken were mounting high in the sky, that i observed the commander order up a full company of soldiers. it was possible to see, for although night had come the fire lighted up surrounding objects as at noonday, that he gave them orders at great length, after which they started off toward the capitol at full speed. "they're goin' to burn the government buildin's!" darius cried for my father's benefit. "a hundred or more have been detailed to do the work, an' the commanders are watchin' proceedin's like that chap, i forget his name, who played on the fiddle while rome was burnin'. an' all this is bein' done by the high an' lofty britishers, who count on settin' the pace for the whole world!" jim freeman and dody wardwell, who could not find perches near the window that they might look out, now opened the door regardless of consequences, and stood gazing at as cruel a scene as can well be imagined. women and children, driven back by the red-coats, stood tearfully watching the destruction of their homes, forced to see every cherished article destroyed, and, more than that! i saw a soldier tear from the hands of an old lady a small box which he opened, took some things therefrom which i judged were pieces of jewelry, and threw the remainder into the flames. the smoke-house was as hot a place as i care to remain in very long at a time, and as well filled with smoke as when put to the use for which it was originally intended. even darius had doubts about the small buildings escaping the flames, and said to my father: "keep watch for the first show of fire, master grout, an' we'll see that you're posted as to what is bein' done outside. if we have to leave here, it'll be a good idee to draw off toward the rope-walk; there's no one near by that place, an' we may contrive to steer clear of the enemy." now it was that long tongues of fire curled above the government building, swaying this way and that in the wind like fiery serpents, until the inflammable portion of the nation's capitol was ablaze. it seemed as if our smoke-house was completely surrounded by burning buildings. had the britishers given any attention to such an insignificant structure as we were concealed in, jim and dody must have been discovered, for they gave no heed to hiding themselves as they stood literally transfixed with horror at the terrible scenes. not until all the buildings were so enveloped in flames that there could be no possibility of saving them, did the two officers ride away, and then it was to go in the direction of their encampment. i gave no further heed to the barbarians; but watched with a sort of fascination the destroying element until darius cried: "there's more mischief afoot! see, a full regiment are under marchin' orders!" "what can they do now?" i asked helplessly. "everything around here is in flames; the entire city is ruined!" "there's the president's house, an' a good many fine dwellin's at the other end of the town," the old sailor replied. "unless i'm way out of my reckonin', you'll see more fire before there's less." the barns of the tavern were now burning; but the wind drew in with greater force, a draft having been formed by the flames, i suppose, and while our refuge was as hot as it well could be, the more intense heat was carried in the opposite direction. "i reckon this 'ere smoke-house will stand while many a better buildin' goes down," darius announced. "we're gettin' the biggest part of the heat from the stables now, an' i don't see any signs of fire on these logs. you lads stay here with our invalid, an' i'll sneak 'round outside a bit. there may be a chance to get somethin' in the way of rations if the men break into more shops, as is likely." then the old man slipped down from his uncomfortable perch, stopped at the door to warn jim and dody that they must not stray far away, and disappeared behind the ruins of the tavern. it gave me a certain sensation of loneliness to have darius go at that time. although it was late in the day to make such a discovery, i had come to understand of how much assistance he was to us lads, and how helpless we would be without him; but, as a matter of course, i could not presume to dictate as to his movements. the one singular thing to me in this wanton work of destruction, was the fact that not all the buildings in this portion of the city had been given over to the flames. it seemed as if the british commander had singled out certain dwellings to be burned, while the others were unmolested, save in two cases where i saw soldiers bringing out plunder which was valueless to them, and had been taken only in a spirit of cruelty. perhaps an hour was spent by the enemy in our immediate vicinity, and then that quarter of the city was deserted by all save the homeless ones, or those who mourned over the loss of property. the conflagration was still sufficient to light up the streets and fields near by, therefore we could not venture out save at the risk of being seen; but i question if any especial attention would have been given us, except in the case of my father, had we gone boldly forth. had he not been with us i should have proposed that the moment was come when we might be able to slip down the river unobserved, for who would give heed to a party of lads when the capital city of the united states was in flames? with my father, however, we were forced to remain in hiding, for his wound was sufficient evidence that he had taken part in the battle of bladensburg, and this would insure his being seized as a prisoner of war. jim and dody, however, went across to where two shops were in flames, and returned a few moments later with a piece of bacon which had been trampled upon in the street, a bag of dirty flour, and, what was better than all, three loaves of bread, the whole of which had been thrown aside by the britishers when they plundered the buildings. it was quite a store for our empty larder, unsavory though the bread and flour looked; but hungry lads, and particularly those who are fugitives, cannot afford to be squeamish in regard to their food. in less than half an hour after the regiment marched from the encampment toward the upper end of the city, we saw the flames rising in great volume, telling that there was no idea in the minds of the victors to spare anything which could readily be destroyed. as a matter of course, we did not then know what was being done; but later we learned that the president's mansion, the treasury buildings, the arsenal, and the barracks, where three thousand troops could be quartered, were all laid in ashes under the orders of general ross and admiral cockburn. before midnight the conflagration in the portion of the city where we had sought refuge, had so far subsided, because there was nothing left for the flames to feed upon, that only glowing embers, and the blackened walls of the capitol could be seen; but the night was turned into day because of the fires at the other end of the town. we lads were weary with watching the wicked work; jim and dody had toasted a large piece of bacon over the embers of the tavern; we had partaken of a second meal rather because the food was at hand than owing to hunger, and now all hands felt the need of sleep, even though we were literally surrounded by enemies. but darius had not returned, and we could not give ourselves up to slumber while he remained absent. at first i fancied that he was watching the work of the britishers; but when my father began to show signs of alarm because the old sailor did not return, my anxiety was great. if any of the red-coats came upon him, they would suspect that he had been among that company of seamen and marines who had inflicted so much injury upon them during the day just passed, and it was not difficult to understand that he would speedily be made a prisoner. chapter xvii. missing. i am minded to set down here what i afterward saw printed, concerning the doings in other portions of washington, the particulars of which we were ignorant at the time. "while the public buildings in washington were in flames, the national shipping, stores, and other property were blazing at the navy yard; also the great bridge over the potomac, from washington city to the virginia shore. "commodore thomas tingey was in command of the navy yard, and, before the battle, had received orders to set fire to the public property there in event of the british gaining a victory, so as to prevent its falling into the hands of the invaders. tingey delayed the execution of the order for four hours after the contingency had occurred. "when, at half-past eight in the evening, he was informed that the enemy was encamped within the city limits, near the capitol, he applied the torch, and property valued at about a million of dollars was destroyed. "the schooner lynx was saved, and most of the metallic work at the navy yard remained but little injured. the fine naval monument was somewhat mutilated, but whether accidentally at the time of the conflagration, or wantonly by the british, who went there the next day to complete the destructive work, is an unsettled question. "at the same time, the long bridge over the potomac was fired at both ends. the americans on the virginia side thought a large body of british troops were about to pass over, and fired that end to foil them, while the british on the city side, perceiving, as they thought, a large body of americans about to cross over from the virginia side, fired the maryland end of the bridge. the value of the entire amount of property destroyed at washington by the british and americans was estimated at about two million dollars." while we awaited the coming of darius thorpe, and believing that the city of washington would be totally destroyed before the britishers had gratified their desire for vengeance, jerry started a subject which caused me to be more uncomfortable in mind than i had been concerning the absence of the old sailor. "the enemy are bent on burnin' all the government buildin's in the city, even if they do no more, an' what about the jails?" i was at a loss to fully understand the question; but my father replied: "they won't go so far as to burn the prisoners, lad. all that crowd of evil-doers will be set at liberty, and i reckon they'll be the only americans who can rejoice because of the english victory at bladensburg. "then in that case," jerry said grimly, "we can set it down as a fact that elias macomber is paradin' the streets with his good friends the british, boastin' of his suffering at the hand of the americans." i started up in very unpleasant surprise. until this moment i had given no heed to the cur whom we had captured twice, since we left the burning fleet at pig point; but now i realized that my partner was right. there could be no question but that elias macomber was a free man once more, and all our efforts to bring him to justice had only resulted in giving him an opportunity to pose as a martyr! "well, he's got a chance to pay off old scores now, if he only knew it," jim freeman suggested. "how happy the villain would be if he knew where he could find us in hidin'!" "don't talk about him," i said petulantly. "it makes me heartsick to think that after all our work he is in fine feather, strutting around the city as one of the best friends the british had in this section. speak of something else. what of bill jepson? does any one know if he came out of the battle alive?" "i saw him not more than five minutes before the order was given to retreat," my father said. "he had been sent back to the wagons for ammunition, and appeared to be having a royal time." "we'll hope he got away at the last, for if he's taken they'll hang him as a deserter," i said, and then, finding it impossible to prevent my thoughts from straying to our missing comrade, i added, "darius wouldn't have stayed away so long unless something serious had happened. we ought to go in search of him." "where would you look first?" jerry asked. "if the britishers got their hands on him we stand little chance of seein' the poor fellow, for they'll keep him a close prisoner." "it doesn't seem possible that we can accomplish very much," i said with a long drawn sigh; "but we must do as he would if one of us was missing." "and what would that be?" my father asked. "i wish i knew, sir. he surely would search for us, as we must for him; but i am all at sea as to how the work should be begun." every member of the party was eager to be doing something, but so far as having any plan in mind, they were all like me, and we sat there staring at each other like a lot of frightened rabbits until i could remain idle no longer. "i'm going out somewhere!" i cried. "almost anything is better than sitting here in suspense, when it may be that he has simply fallen into difficulties from which we might extricate him." "but what of the british?" my father asked, and i replied recklessly: "we must take our chances as to them, sir. it does not seem probable that two or three lads would be looked upon by them with suspicion, for there must be many wandering around the city this night." "who will go with you?" "that's for me to do," jerry said promptly. "the other fellows will stay here with you, sir, and the door must not be opened without good reason. keep under cover while we are gone," he added to jim, "an' don't let one of the boys so much as stick his nose outside. come on, amos, the longer we stand here talkin' about it the greater will the danger appear." then he stepped outside quickly, and i followed his example, closing the door behind me lest father should attempt to say something in the nature of a farewell, which i knew would unnerve me, because i believed it was exceedingly dangerous for any of our party to move around the city. when we were alone in the night, where the shadows were distorted by the dancing glow of the live embers on every hand, jerry said grimly: "it was foolish to make any talk about what we would do toward findin' darius, while we were in the smoke-house, because we might have argued till mornin' without comin' to any conclusion; but now that we've started out i'd like to know how we're goin' to work?" i could make no satisfactory reply to this question, and plainly told him so. we had nothing to guide us on the search. the old man had given us no idea of where he might go, and all we knew was that he disappeared beyond the burning tavern. "he wouldn't have followed the britishers," i said after a long pause, "therefore it seems foolish to look for him at the other end of the city. if we only knew what he went after!" "i reckon the first thing in his mind was to get food, and he might have thought that could be done where the shops were bein' robbed." "and then would come to his mind the question as to how we might get down the river while father is unable to walk," i added, believing that by thus trying to make out what darius was most likely to do we could hit upon a plan for the search. "the only way we'd be able to leave this city by water, if we wanted to get home, would be on the potomac river, an' he'd need a stout canoe for such a voyage." we were not coming to any understanding by this line of thought, therefore i harked back to the belief that he might have followed the britishers to the upper end of the city, and proposed, knowing of no better course, to walk in that direction. the day was beginning to dawn. no soldiers were to be seen on the streets, and i began to believe that the invaders, wearied with their work of destruction, had returned to the encampment near the burying-ground. we came upon the ruins of the president's mansion; the fire had eaten out the interior of the building, but the walls were yet standing, and near about, apparently having neither purpose nor business there, were an hundred people or more, all gazing at the evidences of the most approved method of making war by the british standard. we mingled with these idlers to make certain darius was not among them, and then went toward the other ruins on a like errand, but with no success. it was sunrise, perhaps a little later, when we stood near the ruins of the barracks, where a number of negroes were digging amid the glowing embers with the hope of finding weapons which might be restored to a condition of usefulness after being subjected to such great heat. one of these searchers for useless treasure straightened up as we approached, and i saw that he was an old man, who looked as if he might have been a gentleman's servant. "do you live here in washington, uncle?" i asked, and the old darkey replied: "i'se ain't noways conditioned fur to answer dat question, sah, kase i dunno whar massa am ter be foun' dese yere queer days wha' we'se habin'." "who is your master?" "massa clayton, sah. he's foolin' 'roun' wid some ob dem militious men; but i ain't foun' out wedder he whipped de britishers, or ef dey done gone got de bes' ob him." "i reckon you can say that he has got the worst of it up to the present time, for your 'militious' men didn't make any great showing," i said with a laugh, and then there came into my mind the memory of elias macomber. "tell me, uncle, where did the american soldiers keep their prisoners?" "right hyar, sah; i'se done seed de barracks jail many a time." "were you around here when the building was fired?" "yes sah, i stood right hyar when de ossifers rode up." "did they set the prisoners free?" "sure enuf, honey, more'n twenty ob dem, an' i'se tellin' you dat dem white men was mighty glad fo' to get clear so easy like." "come on, amos," jerry said impatiently. "you can do no good talkin' with the old darkey, for he doesn't know anything concerning our business." i recognized that fact fully, and yet i lingered to ask one more question, never fancying of how much importance the answer might be to us. "where do the british keep their prisoners? surely they must have brought in some since the battle, and these barracks would have been a prime place for anything of the kind." "dey is pilin' de 'mericans inter dat stone house back ob whar de arsenal uster was 'fore it got set on fire las' night." "where is that, uncle?" jerry cried excitedly, and the old darkey replied as he pointed out the direction: "ober yander, sah, des whar you'se kin see de red roof." now it was that i understood what was in jerry's mind, and only with difficulty could i restrain myself from running forward at full speed. if darius had been captured, then it was in the "stone house" he must be confined, and i believed our search would be at an end if we could look into every portion of that building. there were many loungers near about, and no one might say how many were british spies or sympathizers, therefore we remained looking at the men who were digging amid the ruins until feeling certain our departure would not attract undue attention. there were many lads of about our age idling on the streets, watching simply from curiosity the movements of the enemy, and i said to myself that if we were careful to do nothing which might cause suspicion, we could walk wheresoever we pleased without fear of being taken for lads who, under commodore barney, had given the invaders such good battle for the possession of the hill at bladensburg. "now we know where darius is!" jerry exclaimed when we were where there was little danger our words would be overheard. "how can you be so certain of that? he might have come to grief in many another way than that of being gobbled up by the enemy." "in any other case i'll warrant he'd have contrived to send some word to us. i'm convinced he's in the 'stone house.'" "in which event i'm afraid we can't be of much assistance to the poor fellow. the britishers will take good care that their prisoners don't escape." "i'm not so certain about that," jerry replied stoutly. "in case we have time enough, it should be possible to do somethin'. if we could let him know that we're near at hand i'll go bail he'd cook up some kind of a plan." while thus talking we had been walking at a reasonably rapid pace toward the ruins of the arsenal, and were now arrived so near that it was possible to see the red-coated sentries pacing to and fro in front of the building. at one side a number of soldiers were bivouacked, probably that they might be on hand in case the prisoners attempted to rise against the keepers, and here, there, everywhere were curious ones--perhaps some interested as were we--gazing at the small building where were so many brave fellows, most likely penned up like cattle. "the greater number of those idlers must be townspeople, and since they are allowed to loiter around the buildin' there's no good reason why we shouldn't do the same," jerry said as i came to a halt, and he had hardly more than spoken before he stepped back very suddenly, pulling me with him. "what's the matter?" i asked in alarm, for at such a time one's fears rise rapidly. "look at that fellow who is standin' on his tiptoes to look in at the window!" my partner whispered, and obeying, i saw that miserable cur whom we had twice captured, and who had contrived to escape us the same number of times. "elias macomber!" i cried involuntarily. "ay," jerry replied, "an' now i can read you the whole riddle. darius came around this way when the prisoners were set free; macomber saw him, and gave information to the enemy, thus causin' the old man's arrest. now the villain is tryin' to get a glimpse of the sailor in order to crow over him!" i had no doubt but that the lad had come very near the truth in his guessing; but i did not speculate upon it very long, for the question in my mind was whether we could be of any service to the old man who had served us so truly and faithfully. "what's to be done?" jerry asked as we stepped behind a clump of bushes in a nearby garden where we might not be seen by the fellow who would have rejoiced if he could have put us in the same place with darius. at the moment jerry spoke i had never an idea as to what might be done; but i replied as if the plan was plainly mapped out in my mind: "you shall go back to the smoke-house and tell father and the lads what we have learned. say that we may not be back until dark; but they are to stay under cover no matter what happens, short of being discovered by the british. i'll watch here till macomber goes away, for he isn't likely to play at that game all day, and you should be back within an hour." jerry started off without stopping to argue the question, and i was left alone to keep in view the man who could do us so much mischief if he had an inkling that we were in the vicinity. twice he spoke with the sentinel, as if asking some favor, and each time the man shook his head decidedly, therefore i concluded that the cur had tried to enter the building that he might jeer such of the prisoners as had been friends of his in the past. then he peered in at the window again, never making an effort to look through any other, and i concluded that from such position he could see the prisoner he had most reason to hate, which, of course, must be darius. i did not dare remain in one position all the while, lest some one see that i was spying upon the prison and grow suspicious as to my motives, while macomber was so intent upon gazing at his enemies that i might have brushed past him without attracting attention. therefore it was that i paced to and fro, never taking my eyes from the cur, however, and making certain there was a place of concealment near at hand into which i could dart at a moment's warning. not until fully half an hour had passed did he abandon his fruitless efforts, and then he walked in the direction of the british encampment as if with some fixed purpose in his mind, which, i had no doubt, was to ask for a permit to visit the prisoners. had he gone toward any other quarter of the city it would have pleased me to see him go; but now i was sorely distressed in mind, for his way led the same course jerry must pursue when returning from the smoke-house, and it would be the irony of fate if the two should come face to face. however, that was an evil which i could not mend, and, therefore, i put the matter from my mind so far as possible, while i set about doing the only thing which seemed to promise a chance to have speech with our comrade. i proposed to take macomber's place at the window, and if it was possible to see darius inside, there was no question in my mind but that i could contrive to attract his attention. there was no little danger in making the attempt, because i might thus arouse suspicion in the mind of the sentry, or be seen by an officer who would insist on knowing why i was there; but it was the only way by which i could have speech with darius, if indeed he was a prisoner, and i determined to take the chances. i lounged across the street as if having no particular purpose in view; walked past the end of the building twice, peering about me like a simple, and then stepped up to the window. one glance inside and i saw the man for whom i had been searching. he was lying at full length on the floor, chewing tobacco most industriously, and seated tailor-fashion beside him was bill jepson. there were very many militiamen in the room; but these two old shell-backs seemed to hold themselves aloof from the others, and i could well understand that this exclusiveness was because of the cowardice shown by many of the toy soldiers the day previous. neither darius nor bill seemed to be paying any attention to what was going on around them, and i began to realize that it might not be as simple a matter to attract their attention as i had supposed. i did not dare do anything which would cause the sentry to be curious, or be noticed particularly by those who were passing in either direction, therefore the most i ventured was to drum idly on the glass with the tips of my fingers, which was not a difficult task since the iron bars were so far apart that i could thrust my entire arm between them and the window-sash. darius was not as heedless to the surroundings as he appeared. no sooner had i begun to tap ever so gently than he looked up, and after one quick, meaning glance, rose leisurely to his feet, speaking softly meanwhile to bill. the latter never so much as looked toward me; but the two moved here or there as if weary with remaining long in one position, and all the while they were approaching the window. then darius leaned against the sash, with bill facing the middle of the room, as he talked with many gesticulations to his companion. i noticed that the old man bent over as if weary, until his face was very near the glass, and while bill waved his arms as if in the midst of a heated argument, i saw darius' lips move. "on the roof--to-night--bring rope--ten o'clock." no less than three times were these words repeated, i reading them from the motion of his lips, for as a matter of course he did not dare to speak so loud that i could hear him. then i went through the same motions with _my_ lips, in order to make certain there could be no mistake, and darius nodded his head in token that i had the words correctly. now it was my business to get away from the prison as soon as possible, for elias macomber might return at any moment, and i backed into the street while gazing at the top of the building, looking, most likely, the greenest lad that ever visited a city. while thus acting the simple i was making ready for whatsoever plan darius wanted to carry into effect, for i studied the outside of the jail until i could tell within a foot of how much rope would be needed. the "stone house" was three stories in height, with an ordinary pitched roof from which projected four chimneys--two at each end. from the eaves to the ground i judged it was not less than thirty feet, and from the eaves to the nearest chimney, measuring at whichsoever corner you chose, was ten feet. to that length add three feet for a turn around the chimney and two half-hitches, and one had the length of rope darius wanted--say forty-three or four feet. i noticed that on the side of the roof nearest the street was a trap-door or scuttle very nearly in the middle, well up toward the ridge-pole, and it must be that our comrades would come through that, since i saw no other way by which they could get outside. without doubt those two old shell-backs had made a careful survey of the place within ten minutes after being imprisoned, and had a plan for escape mapped out ready to be carried into execution, providing any aid could be had from the outside. by the time i had backed entirely across the street i had a picture of the jail in my mind which could be recalled at any moment, and as i turned to saunter away i came face to face with jerry. "have you been over there?" he asked, motioning toward the "stone house." "yes, and have the same as talked with darius and bill jepson. let us get out of sight where we shan't be watched. i was afraid you would run into macomber; he started off some time ago, and i got it into my head that he was going to the british encampment." "i reckon that's where he was bound for. i kept my eyes open mighty wide both goin' an' comin', therefore saw the cur while he was a long distance away, otherwise we might have run into each other as you an' i did." "all right at the smoke-house?" "snug as bugs, an' your father is as chipper as a sparrow." then i led the way up what appeared to be a lane in the rear of some dwelling, until we were where we could talk without danger of being seen or heard. chapter xviii. the escape. jerry was thoroughly astonished, after i had told my story, because we had had such plain sailing when there was nothing to start us on a course for the missing comrade. we had gone out blindly, and by sheer accident ran upon our man without trouble or delay. "it heartens a fellow to have things happen this way," my partner said in a tone of satisfaction. "there's no question but that we're in a bad box, take it all around, for after the british get settled down in the city they will most likely look about for such as us, therefore our work must be done quickly, an' by your hittin' the nail square on the head it looks as if we might pull through all right." the future did not look so promising to me. darius and bill undoubtedly knew that they could gain the roof of the "stone house" during the night; but even then they were far from being free, and i questioned if it would be possible for us to loiter around the building after sunset without attracting the attention of the sentries. however, it was not for me to throw cold water, because a fellow needs all his courage when he would do that which lay before us, and it was well jerry should feel confident as to the result. therefore it was that instead of discussing how we could set about rendering the necessary aid, i began by questioning as to how the rope might be procured, and, as a matter of fact, it was by no means a simple matter to get one of the desired length. "we've got to buy it, of course," jerry said quickly, and as if it was possible for us to make such purchases at any time. "in the first place we haven't money enough," i suggested, "and secondly, how many shops will you find open in this city?" these questions were sufficient to let jerry understand that it was not all plain sailing before us, and after some reflection he said: "suppose we go back to the smoke-house? there we can talk it over with the others, an' at the same time get something by way of breakfast." there was plenty of time at our disposal, since darius had set ten o'clock that night as the hour when we could aid him, and i welcomed my partner's proposition; but instead of going directly to the place of refuge, i insisted on making a long detour to lessen the chances of running across elias macomber. that the cur had gone to the encampment hoping to get a permit to see the prisoners, in order to gloat over their misfortune, i had no doubt, and if he was successful i felt equally certain he would go to the jail by the shortest route. in event of failure, however, and i was positive he would fail, the villain might wander anywhere while working off his disappointment, therefore it stood us in hand to be exceeding cautious. as it proved, however, we had seen the last of that miserable british-lover, and after jerry saw him on the street, he passed out of our lives for many months. i believed of a verity that we walked at least three miles, cutting across lots here, or traveling many rods out of our course there, until it seemed as if we had traversed every lane and obscure passage to be found in the city. but we arrived safely at last, which repaid us for all the extra work; we had seen no one who gave any heed to us, and when we sneaked into the smoke-house from behind the ruins of the tavern, i felt positive no one saw us. it can well be supposed that our comrades gave us a hearty welcome, and when i explained how much had been accomplished, they became quite as certain of ultimate success as jerry; but the question of procuring a rope put the matter in a different light. we counted every penny belonging to the party, and had less than three shillings, while the length of rope we needed would cost three or four times as much. "it's certain we can't buy one, even though all the shop-keepers in the city stood ready to wait upon us," i said after we had ascertained the amount of capital on hand. "now what is to be done?" no one answered for many minutes, and then jim freeman proposed that if we couldn't get what we needed in any other way, it would be admissible to steal the rope, in view of the use to which it would be put. dody wardwell thought we might go to a shopkeeper who dealt in such goods, and, telling the story, beg what was needed. it was my father who solved the riddle. "i don't believe we are warranted in stealing," he said, "no matter what might be accomplished, neither do i think it safe to confide in any stranger whom you should meet; but the begging proposition, if carried out properly, comes nearer filling the bill than anything else." "what do you call doin' it properly?" jerry asked. "there must be oystermen in port, either here, at georgetown, or alexander, and the chances are you would know some of them. go round the water front, and see what can be found. then try the other towns, and i'll guarantee you can strike an acquaintance somewhere. after that everything is simple, for you may borrow a rope without fear that information will be lodged against you." "come on, amos!" jerry cried, springing to his feet in excitement. "your father has hit upon the very plan, an' we were thick-headed not to have thought of it at first!" there was no time to be lost, more particularly in case we should be forced to visit the two towns mentioned; but i believe that we would really be forwarding the business if we delayed long enough to get something to eat, and my comrades were of the same opinion. jim had tried his hand at making bread by mixing flour and water together, and baking the stuff in an old tin pan over the embers of the tavern ruins. it was possible to eat the mixture, and that was the best that could be said, therefore we satisfied our hunger with raw bacon and imitation bread, which did not require very many minutes. jim and both the other fellows were eager to go with jerry and me; but they would not be able to forward matters, and it seemed like taking too many risks to make our party so large, therefore we decided that they must stay in the smoke-house as before, a decision which was not to their liking, although neither of the lads made any protest. then jerry and i set out, after listening to such advice as my father had to give, and began the search on the eastern branch. there were but few vessels in port; the greater number of those that remained when the enemy entered the potomac had run up the river as high as possible lest they be destroyed, and we did not find an oyster pungy until we were well over toward georgetown. it was then near noon, and jerry and i decided that if the captain of the boat before us looked like an honest seaman, we would take the chances of telling him so much of our story as might be necessary, rather than run the risk of not finding another craft of the kind. there were no sign of life on deck; but as we went over the rail the companion-way hatch was opened a few inches, and some one cried: "what's wanted? this vessel is hauled up for repairs, an' there's nobody here but me--the keeper." "will you let us come below for a short time?" i asked, and the hatch was closed very suddenly as the voice cried emphatically: "no; my orders are to allow no company here." "let me have a try at the old idiot," jerry said in a low tone as he went toward the companion-way, and the voice from below replied, thus showing that he could hear very well even though the hatch was closed: "the 'old idiot' don't want any truck with boys, so keep off or i'll make it hot for you!" "listen to me, shipmate, and then perhaps you'll sing a different tune," i said, going close to the companion-way where it might not be necessary to raise my voice. "we are a couple of oystermen from benedict, in trouble, and are looking for some one to lend a hand." "tell me your names?" i gave the desired information, and added: "we owned the pungy avenger, which was burned at pig point when the enemy came up the river." the hatch was opened in a twinkling, and when we descended to the cuddy i was both surprised and overjoyed by seeing robert hanaford, an oysterman from st. leonard's bay. "shut that hatch," he said nervously, and jerry did as he was bidden. "i got caught in the river, like a fool, an' am now expectin' the bloomin' britishers will burn the craft when they fall short of like amusement in the city. tell me how you happened to be here?" i told him so much of our story as seemed necessary, and when i was come to the retreat from bladensburg, he said grumpily: "i reckon you two lads an' darius thorpe are bigger fools than i am. it was accident that brought me into this scrape, whereas you got into a muss with your eyes wide open. where's darius?" "the britishers are holding him prisoner, and count on sending him down to the fleet, i suppose." "he'll rot there, unless he offers to serve the king, in which case, seein's how the enemy needs good sailors, they'll give him a show that a dog wouldn't welcome." "did you ever run across bill jepson from baltimore?" i asked at random, not knowing exactly how to lead up to the request for a rope. "ay, that i have, lad. bill an' me run on this same pungy more'n two years. i've heard it said that one of the king's press gangs gathered him in." then i told the captain how we had helped bill to desert, and wound up the story by sayin: "bill is a prisoner with darius, and will be hung when the britishers learn who he is. there's a show to help both the sailors out of the scrape; but we're needing six or eight fathom of good manilla rope, an' haven't got the money with which to buy it." "how do you count on usin' it?" and captain hanaford leaned forward in a manner which told that he was thoroughly excited. then i told him all we had accomplished that morning, and explained what darius proposed we should do, whereupon he cried heartily: "take anything i've got, lads, an' if it so be i can lend a hand, count on me to the finish. i'll risk even the pungy to help a sailorman out of a hole, an' a good deal more'n that when it comes to bein' bill jepson who's in trouble!" now that we were assured of getting what was needed, there was no need of great haste, and i told the captain the remainder of our story, even to describing where father and the lads were hiding. "whether you get bill an' darius out of jail or not, you'll be wantin' to go down the river, lad, so why don't you bring all hands aboard? i've known your father this many a day, an' would like to do him a good turn. we'd be a little crowded, i reckon; but some of you youngsters can bunk in the hold, an' if the britishers don't burn the pungy, she'll be a sight better than a smoke-house." "what about provisions, captain?" jerry asked. "i've got enough an' to spare, unless we're held here a couple of weeks. i didn't count on doin' any fightin' in this 'ere war; but when it comes to lendin' shipmates an' neighbors a hand, you'll find that bob hanaford is willin' to go down to his last cent." i realized what a blessing it would be if we could get father on board the pungy, where he would have a comfortable bunk to lie in, and such nursing as captain hanaford might give when we lads were absent; but how to get him down to the boat was a puzzle. "supposin' you free darius an' bill to-night, what'll you do with 'em?" the owner of the pungy asked, and i replied mournfully: "we hadn't got as far as that in our plans. of course they must be taken out of the city." "an' the british fleet is loafin' down in the river somewhere 'twixt here an' the bay," the captain added. "ay, but if we can get hold of a boat, it shouldn't be such a hard job to slip by the vessels on a dark night." "would you leave your father behind?" "certainly not; he must go with us." "then you ought'er have him down here on the river before beginnin' work. i'll tell you how it might be fixed, lad. allowin' that there ain't any more burnin' of houses to-night, i could help him through the streets, if it so be he can make any fist at walkin'. the other lads would set out on their own hook, an' it should be we'd come together on this 'ere craft, unless the britishers are overhaulin' everybody that's aboard. i don't know how things may be runnin', for i haven't been outside this cuddy since the fires began." i told him that jerry and i had not been interfered with on the streets, and i believed he could go where he pleased, provided it was not too near the encampments. "then i'll try it, lads, an' start for your hidin' place within an hour. can you give me the bearin's?" the captain was reasonably familiar with that portion of the city, and there was no doubt in my mind but that he could find the smoke-house without any difficulty. then we overhauled his spare rope in the hold, selecting a length of half-inch manilla which had been used no more than enough to make it pliable, and carried it to the cuddy. it would not be safe to lug the rope through the streets in the daytime, lest some over officious person should insist on knowing what we proposed to do with it. we would be forced to take a long walk in order to fetch it; but that was of little consequence compared with the additional security such a plan seemed to afford. then we separated, captain hanaford agreeing to be at the smoke-house within an hour, and when jerry and i went over the side of the pungy it was with lighter hearts than when we came on board. it is true that the most dangerous portion of the undertaking was yet to be performed; but everything had turned so favorably for us since we set out in search of darius, that we could not but feel a wonderful degree of courage regarding the remainder of the task. jerry was so well pleased that he would have talked about what we were to do even on the street; but i insisted that we should hold our peace until it was impossible any one could overhear us, and in silence we made our way toward the place of refuge. it is needless for me to attempt to describe the joy of our comrades when we told them of the friend we had met, and the plans which had been laid. my father showed plainly by his face the relief of mind because of the possibility that he might have different quarters. "i haven't grumbled, because i knew you lads had about all you could stagger under," he said when we told him that captain hanaford was bent on trying to get him aboard the pungy. "i can't stay in this place very much longer, without taking big chances of going under, for the wound needs careful attention; but if i can be with bob hanaford everything will come around shipshape, because he knows by experience what a gunshot hurt is like." "do you think it will be possible to keep on your feet for such a long distance?" i asked anxiously, because until this moment i supposed my father was getting on as comfortably as a man in his condition could reasonably expect. "i'll manage that part of it, lad; the knowledge of what is to be gained will keep me up." well, there is no good reason why i should try to set down all we said while waiting for the owner of the pungy, and when he finally arrived, having had little or no difficulty in finding the smoke-house, it was as if a great and beneficial change was immediately apparent. the captain's first act was to rebandage my father's wound, jerry getting him a supply of fresh water from the well at the ruins of the tavern, and when that was done he set about making arrangements for our moving, taking upon himself the entire direction of affairs, much to my relief. his first act was to explain to jim, dody and josiah the location of the pungy, sending them off at once, with explicit directions as to the streets through which they should pass. the lads were to go into the cuddy without loitering on deck, and keep the hatch closed and bolted until his arrival. jerry and i were to stay in the smoke-house until it was time to begin work in behalf of darius and bill, while the captain and my father were to set out as soon as it was sufficiently dark to screen them from view of the curious ones. jim and his friends started without delay, welcoming any change after being shut in from the open air so long, and when they were gone the captain announced that he would bring the rope to the jail shortly before ten o'clock. "i ain't sayin' but that you two lads could work the thing as well without me; but i'm achin' to have a hand in settin' them two old shell-backs free. you'll find that i won't be in the way, even if i don't do any good." it was a big relief to know that we were to have his assistance, and i so gave him to understand. after father had been made as comfortable as was possible under the circumstances, we lounged around waiting for the night to come; but never saying another word concerning what we hoped to do. i for one was too nervous regarding the possible outcome to care about holding converse even with friends, for there was in my mind a very vivid realization of what would be the result in case we failed while trying to get the sailors from the roof of the "stone house," or if they were discovered when getting through the scuttle. it seemed very much like death for all hands concerned if the slightest slip was made, and when a fellow believes he stands near a violent end he is not given to speech. the moments dragged so heavily that it seemed to me the night would never come. once during this painful time of waiting jerry spoke of the possibility that jim and his friends might lose their way, or be taken in charge as suspicious persons; but i could not arouse myself to feel any anxiety concerning them. my thoughts were with those two old sailors in jail, and the part which the british sentries might play while we were trying to effect their release. finally, after it was as if we had spent a full day in the smoke-house, the sun went down, and it was yet quite light when captain hanaford announced that he and my father might safely make the start. "we've got to steer a roundabout course," he said, "an' i reckon it'll be plain sailin' from now till dark. stay where you are, lads, an' don't so much as poke your nose out till half-after-nine." "how shall we be able to tell the time?" i asked, rather for the sake of saying something, than because i wanted information. "you will hear the sentinels at the encampment often enough to give you a fair idee. get there as near as possible to the hour set, an' you'll find me close at hand." then he went out, my father leaning heavily on his arm, and jerry and i faced each other in the gloom, heeding not the fact that we had had nothing to eat during nearly eight and forty hours, save the chips of ham and the unsavory mess prepared by jim; thinking only of what we were to do, and the many chances against success. it was jerry who broke a long silence by saying with an attempt at cheerfulness: "i don't know of any reason why we should moon 'round here like a couple of chumps. it won't help matters any, an' surely it don't improve my courage." then i forced myself to take part in conversation, speaking of this or that trouble or adventure in the past; but never once of what might be before us in the future, and thus the time passed until we believed we were warranted in setting forth. with all due regard to prudence, we went by the most direct course to the "stone house," never seeing a britisher on our way, and it must have been at least a quarter-hour before the time set, when we were come to where it was possible to have a good view of the roof of the jail. the night was dark, with heavy, ominous looking clouds hanging low in the sky; but yet we could have distinguished the form of a man on the top of the building. we were half hidden by the clump of bushes in the garden of the dwelling where i had been screened from view of elias macomber, when we saw a man approaching leisurely, and looking from side to side in search of some one. i recognized captain hanaford, and stepped out to meet him, asking how he and father had managed to get along. "he pulled through all right, lad, an' was lyin' in my bunk happy as a cricket when i left." "but you've forgotten the rope!" i exclaimed, and the captain opened his coat to show me the line wound around his waist in such a fashion that one might have come close upon him without suspecting that he carried anything. he stepped behind the bush to unwind it, and while he was thus engaged i distinctly saw the form of a man emerge from the scuttle-hatch on the roof of the jail. "they're coming out!" i whispered excitedly, and then glanced hurriedly around to learn where the sentries were stationed. to my surprise i could not see a single person, save the soldier who appeared at the corner once in every two or three minutes as he paced his beat at the end of the building. it seemed extraordinary that there should be no others in sight; but such was the fact, and surely we had no reason to complain because the enemy was careless. a few hours later i understood the reason for this seeming neglect of the prisoners. my comrades were ready for the work on hand immediately i gave the alarm, and swiftly the three of us crossed over, i wondering if it would be possible for us to throw the rope to the roof where the sailors could catch it. [illustration: as soon as the line was made fast a man slipped down quickly followed by another.] as we neared the building i saw that darius had already made arrangements for getting one end of the rope into his possession. a bit of cloth was swinging to and fro at the corner of the jail when i arrived, and taking hold of it curiously, i saw that it was made fast to a string formed of two or three strands of yarn. the old sailor had unraveled their socks in order to procure that which would enable them to haul up the rope. there was no need of word or signal. captain hanaford made fast one end of the half-inch manilla, gave the yarn-twine a jerk in token that all was ready, and then we payed out on the rope to make certain it went up without kinks. in less than three minutes a man slipped down the line at a rate of speed that must have heated his hands in great shape, and he was hardly more than on the ground before the second prisoner followed. we had effected the escape, and it now remained to get under cover in the shortest possible space of time. "it won't do to run; but you can keep close at my heels," the captain said as he set off at a walk which fully equaled running, and we followed very closely, i literally holding my breath as i tried to realize that the task which had seemed so formidable a few moments previous, had been accomplished with the greatest ease. chapter xix. the unexpected. there is little need for me to set it down that we neither slackened pace nor halted until we were in the cuddy of the pungy. not a member of our party spoke until we descended the companion-way stairs, and faced the lads and my father, who had lighted a candle as a sort of welcome, and then darius exclaimed: "well i'm blowed if you don't look kind'er cozy here! who'd think this crowd had been hob-nobbin' with the britishers for the last two or three days? bob hanaford, where did the lads run afoul of you, an' why didn't you get your pungy down river before the enemy's fleet came up?" there was a deal of handshaking and congratulations before we settled down to anything like rational talk, and then jerry and i told how we found the captain, and what had happened since darius left the smoke-house. then it was the old man's turn to give an account of his misadventures, and this he did after refreshing himself with an enormous piece of tobacco. "i went out, leavin' you people in hidin', with the idee that if many shops were to be robbed by the soldiers i might get somethin' to eat out'er the general wreck. first off nothin' came my way, an' then i ran square across a basket of ship's bread. thinks i, this is good enough for one trip, an' i gathered the stuff under my arm, puttin' for the smoke-house under full sail without bein' noticed by the red-coats, who were havin' too lively a time to give me much attention. as luck would have it, the thought never came into my mind that i had need to look for anybody but britishers, an' before i was halfway to port i struck up agin that sneak, elias macomber. "then it was i understood that the red-coats wasn't the only snags in the road, an' i gave him one clip on the jaw that i counted would knock him down an' out; but my calkerlations was wrong. instead of topplin' over as a decent man would have done after gettin' the full weight of my fist, he began to screech an' yell fit to raise the dead. my legs moved mighty lively jest then, for a blind man could have seen what might happen; but the britishers had me foul before i'd more'n got well started. no less than six grappled me, an' i hauled down my flag, 'cause there wasn't any sense in makin' a bad matter worse. "them soldiers must have had orders in advance to lug any prisoners they might take, to the shanty back of the arsenal, for they steered a straight course for the place without stoppin' to ask any man's advice, an' what chafed me more'n everythin' else was that rat of a macomber, close at my heels, as he told what he would do now that his friends had taken possession of the country. i contrived to give him one kick on the shins which i'll guarantee he remembers this minute, an' then he kept well back in the rear. that's the end of the yarn, lads." "but where did you meet bill?" i asked. "in the jail. he was brought up with a sharp turn durin' the retreat, bein' so stuffy that he kept well in the rear, instead of pushin' ahead as he might have done." "did macomber succeed in getting into the prison?" "he wasn't inside, an' that's a fact; but he stood at the window, an' kept shoutin' all kinds of threats till one of the sentries drove him away, havin' had too much of his yip." "you saw me quickly enough." "well, you see, lad, i had my eye on the window, countin' to throw my shoe through the glass when he showed his ugly face again, hopin' that he'd get cut a bit, an', besides, i somehow had it in my head that you an' jerry would flash up sooner or later." "but how did you contrive to come at the scuttle?" captain hanaford asked. "that was plain sailin'. bill was one of the first put into the place, an' knowin' he'd take a trip to the yard-arm when the britishers found out who he was, he naturally took advantage of the chance to snoop 'round a bit. we had the run of the whole buildin', seein's there wasn't many of us, an' when he went in the prisoners didn't number more'n twenty. he found a key in the door that led up to the attic, which seemed to be a sort of store-room, an', thinkin' it might come in handy if the others didn't know the lay of the land, he locked the bloomin' place, havin' done so without bein' seen. when i came he didn't know anythin' about the scuttle; but we figgered that if there wasn't one, we could get up stairs an' pull bricks enough out of the chimney to give us a hole. there wasn't any need of doin' that, however, 'cause we found the hatch bolted on the inside, an' the rest was easy. the only thing about the whole business which bothers me is, why the britishers didn't have a good look around before turnin' the buildin' into a jail." "the drubbin' they got at bladensburg, even though they did win the battle, confused them," my father said with a chuckle of satisfaction. "it strikes me that we'd better get the pungy under way mighty soon," captain hanaford interrupted. "it can't be a great while before some of the crowd sees the rope we left danglin' from the chimney, an' then you may set it down as a fact that this city will be searched in a way that won't be comfortable for us." "but where'll you go, bob?" bill jepson asked. "the british fleet is in the river, an' to sail up stream strikes me as bein' dangerous, for they can send light boats after us, an' this draft won't make much fist of runnin' away from them in such a breeze as you've got now." "i had an idee the wind was gettin' up," the oysterman said as he opened the hatch a few inches, and at that instant a gust swept into the cuddy bringing with it a full pail of water. "a good, nice little thunder squall," the captain said in a tone of content, "an' if it comes from the right quarter, we're in luck." darius was on deck in a twinkling, and i followed him, hoping that we might be able to leave our mooring, for at such a time it would not be a very difficult matter to get so far up stream as to baffle pursuit. at the moment, however, it seemed as if our good fortune had deserted us. the wind was drawing down the river with a force that shut off all hope of sending the pungy against it, and the rain came in such torrents that the deck was awash in short order. "it's a case of stayin' where we are, or takin' the chances of runnin' down river when you couldn't see a nigger under your nose," darius said as he and i re-entered the cabin wet to the skin, although we had not been exposed to the fury of the tempest above two minutes. "i'm willin' to run a good many risks; but puttin' this pungy under sail, with half a dozen frigates somewhere on the course, is a little too steep for me." captain hanaford was exceeding anxious to be under way; but he understood that nothing could be done while the storm raged with such fury, and we sat in the darkness, discussing what might be done when the morning came. it was finally decided that we would take all the risk of going down stream as soon as the tempest abated, for there were many creeks along the shore where we might run under cover to avoid the fleet, or, if the worst came, we could go on shore, abandoning the pungy. in order that captain hanaford might be willing to take the chances of losing his vessel, i showed him the guarantee we had received from commodore barney, and promised that when we got the money from the government he should share equally with us. "i'm ready to do whatsoever is agreed upon without askin' you lads to pay for my pungy in case i lose her," he said stoutly. "there ain't any certainty i'd been able to keep her if you hadn't come aboard, for if the britishers will burn nigh on to a whole city, they won't stop at a few oyster-boats, if there's any fun to be had in settin' 'em afire. i don't jest hanker, though, to fool around with a lot of frigates, an' that's a fact." "we won't fool with 'em," darius said decidedly. "it stands to reason they must be below fort washington, else we'd heard the firin' when they tried to come past. now 'twixt here an' there we should find a creek where a pungy like this could be hidden." "i know of a place about eight miles from here," the captain said thoughtfully, and bill jepson cried cheerfully: "then that settles the whole business. we'll get under way when this 'ere squall is over, and before daylight be where we can keep out of sight till the fleet comes up. once they're this side of us we shall be in clear water." but bill was not calculating on the force of the "squall." i have seen a good many summer storms; but never one to equal that on the night of august twenty-fifth, in the year of grace . we could hear now and then ashore, even amid the howling of the wind and the crashing thunder the rending of wood as houses were unroofed, and from the terrible uproar which came later we believed the trees growing near where we lay were being torn up by the roots, as was really found to be the case when morning dawned. the pungy rocked to and fro as if in the open bay, straining at her hawsers until it became necessary to pass extra ones, otherwise she would have been swept from her moorings. those of us who went on deck to do this work were wetted in an instant as if we had jumped overboard, and at times it became necessary to hold fast by the rail, otherwise we would have been literally blown into the river. there was no possibility of getting under way that night, and all hands kept watch in the cuddy until day broke, when, and not until then, did the storm abate. the wind had aided the britishers in working havoc. from the deck of the pungy i saw no less than four houses, the roofs of which had been torn off, and one negro shanty was in ruins. as far as we could see the trees were uprooted, and the river ran so full of wreckage that i wondered we had not been swamped off hand. "we'll stay here a few hours longer, i reckon," darius said to me as he pointed toward the fragments of buildings and trees with which the river seemed literally to be choked. "if this pungy struck fair on somethin' like that yonder, she'd founder for a fact." the veriest landsman who ever lived would have understood that it was folly to think of getting under way just then, and my heart grew heavy as lead in my breast, for i firmly believed that before another hour had passed the enemy would be out searching for the prisoners who had escaped, in which case all hands of us stood a good chance of seeing the interior of that "stone house." as we stood on deck, regardless of the possibility that some of the enemy might come that way, a man ran down the street toward the water's edge, waving his arms about and otherwise acting as if nearly beside himself with joy or grief. "what is the matter, friend?" captain hanaford cried at the full strength of his lungs, and the man made quite a lengthy reply; but all we could hear of it was this one exclamation: "the british!" "are they comin' this way?" the captain demanded, screaming until his face was crimson, and bill jepson suddenly dropped out of sight through the companion-way. "they've gone!" the man replied, and we could now hear his words more distinctly because he was coming nearer each instant. "gone where?" captain hanaford cried impatiently. "can't you tell us what has happened?" "the british have cleared out bag an' baggage--went durin' the storm!" "what?" darius screamed, and we looked at each other incredulously, for surely it could not be possible that the enemy had evacuated the city so soon. "come on board an' tell us what you know!" captain hanaford cried. "it is of the greatest importance for us to learn exactly the situation of affairs." the stranger did not accept the invitation to come on board; but he halted within easy speaking distance and thus told the story, which seemed incredible: "last night the people livin' near the encampment were warned, on pain of death, to remain within doors from sunset till sunrise. those who were curious enough to look out of the windows saw that the camp fires had been increased, an' supposed reinforcements were comin' in; but this mornin' neither hide nor hair is to be seen of the red-coats, an' a planter comin' in from nearabout long old fields, reports that the soldiers are marchin' in the direction of nottingham. an' that ain't all, for the troops that stayed at bladensburg after the battle, are on the way to upper marlboro, 'cordin to the report of an old darkey who came into town not half an hour ago." having thus unfolded his budget of news, the man hurried on to spread the glad tidings, leaving us who were aboard the pungy in a state of mingled bewilderment and joy. "i can't understand it," darius said after a brief pause, during which we had looked at each other questioningly. "i'm goin' to take the chances of findin' out for myself." the old man went over the rail as he spoke, and i would have followed, but that he said sharply: "stay where you are, lad. we ain't dead certain 'bout that yarn, an' if it's a case of gettin' into trouble, it better be one than two who pays for nosin' 'round a british camp." captain hanaford felt certain the news must be correct, for our informant had the appearance of being an honest man, and nothing could have been gained by spreading such a story. "we'll cook the best breakfast to be had, by way of rejoicin'," he said, "an' after that's been done all hands shall come into a council of war, to decide if we're to make the venture down the river." "if the enemy has really evacuated the city, it is reasonable to suppose that the fleet will go back down the bay," i said, thinking myself very wise in such matters. "it strikes me that the way home lies open before us." my companions were of the same opinion, and a very merry party we were on the oyster pungy that morning as we tried in vain to guess why the enemy had left so suddenly, when there seemed to be nothing to prevent him from taking possession of all the country round about. before the feast was ready to be eaten darius returned, and a single glance at his face was sufficient to show that the good news was true. "they've gone, an' there's no mistake about it," he announced, as he sprang over the rail lightly as any boy. "i went to the place where the troops were encamped, before bein' willin' to believe they'd turned tail so suddenly. now i'd like to know if that very friendly gentleman elias macomber, has been left behind, or if he followed the force? if he's in this city i could make it mighty interestin' for him." "never mind the sneak, darius!" my father cried. "there is no need for you to punish him, because if the british go away he'll find it very uncomfortable around here, and that's enough to serve the cur out for all he has done." darius did not appear to think that macomber's misdeeds could be atoned so easily; but he kept his opinion to himself, and joined us in what was at the same time a feast of rejoicing and thanksgiving. not until the meal was come to an end did we begin the discussion as to how we should get home, and then captain hanaford opened the question by asking: "now, lads, are we to run up stream into the mud, or take our chances of findin' the british fleet 'twixt here an' the bay?" darius immediately proposed that we strike out for the chesapeake, using the same argument i had, that since the retreat of the soldiers there was little chance the vessels would make any effort at running past fort washington. bill jepson, who could not be blamed for feeling a bit nervous at going any nearer a british vessel of war than was absolutely necessary, believed that it would be safer for us to go back to benedict by land, keeping at a respectful distance in the rear of the enemy; but his plan was not considered, because it would be impossible for my father to travel on foot, and i, at least, was not disposed to part company with him. we spent a full hour discussing the situation, and then it had been decided that we would run boldly down the river, nearly all of us feeling confident that there were no longer any british vessels to block our way. there was nothing to delay us in making the start as soon as the river should be clear of the tokens sent by the storm, except darius' desire to make systematic search for elias macomber; but to this all of us objected so strongly that, much against his will, he was forced to give over the idea. for my part i had seen enough of the british-lover; we had captured him twice, which was our full share of such business, and if we did spend time hunting him down, providing he yet remained in the city, what could we do with the villain? he had forfeited all rights of citizenship in our section of the country, and i had no doubt that wherever he went his sins would find him out. it was better we leave him alone, from whatever standpoint i viewed it. captain hanaford decided that the river would be clear of drift by morning, therefore we were agreed to set sail then, and, as a means of passing the time pleasantly, we lads went over to the "stone house" to see how the old shell-backs managed to escape so readily. we found the building open and abandoned. the enemy had taken the prisoners away, and we were not hindered in going over it thoroughly. when that inspection was ended, we viewed the ruins in the different parts of the city, paid a visit to the smoke-house, and returned to the pungy late in the afternoon, well satisfied to bring our visit to the capital to the earliest possible close. on that evening captain hanaford brought aboard a surgeon, who cared for my father's wound, and, what was better, declared that he saw no reason why it should not heal speedily, leaving him none the worse for having received it. we were eager to be under way, as may be supposed, and as soon as the day dawned on the th of august, we cast off from the dock, feeling that the good god had been very kind in permitting us to return to our homes when so many had been left at bladensburg to fill soldiers' graves. it was as if everything favored us at the start of the homeward journey. the river was free from the drift of all kinds which had covered its surface; the wind was blowing gently from the north, and the day gave promise of being clear. the pungy slipped along as if conscious that she, like ourselves, had escaped from great dangers, and was longing for another cargo of oysters in her hold. bill jepson acted as if he had suddenly lost his senses. he sang the wildest kind of songs, danced two or three hornpipes, and then insisted on darius joining him, while jim freeman furnished the music by whistling fast and furiously. as a matter of fact, all of us, even including my father, were disposed to be exceeding jolly now that we were homeward bound with the belief that the enemy was no longer in a position to annoy us. we lads talked of the pungy we would buy when the government paid us for the avenger, and laid many a plan for the future when jim, his two friends, jerry, darius and i would begin oystering again, in a craft capable of carrying three or four times the cargo we had been able to squeeze into the old boat which had been sacrificed at pig point. then, when it was near noon, we had come within sight of fort washington, and as we rounded the bend captain hanaford gave vent to an exclamation of surprise and fear, which was echoed by bill jepson. at some considerable distance down the river it was possible to see the upper spars of seven vessels of war which were slowly approaching the fortification from the southward. "it's the british fleet!" captain hanaford cried as he shoved the tiller hard down, thereby swinging the pungy's nose into the mud of the eastern bank. "we were bloomin' fools to think that the enemy had all run away!" "it's the fleet under captain gordon, an' i can tell you just how strong it is," bill jepson said as he rubbed his head nervously. "there are two frigates of thirty-six an' thirty-eight guns; two rocket ships of eighteen guns each, two bomb vessels of eight guns each, an' one schooner carryin' two guns." "the schooner would be enough to bring us up with a sharp turn, therefore i hold that it don't make any difference how many frigates are behind her," darius cried. "the question is whether the fort can prevent their comin' up the river?" no one aboard could say what might be done by those in the fortification, or how strongly it was garrisoned; but later i read the following in one of the newspapers, and will set it down here so that what happened while we were on the river may be the better understood. "the only obstruction to the passage of the fleet on which the americans might place the least reliance, was fort washington, on the maryland side of the potomac, about twelve miles below the national capital. it was a feeble fortress, but capable of being made strong. so early as may , a deputation from alexandria, georgetown and washington waited upon the secretary of war, and represented the importance of strengthening the post. "an engineer was sent to examine it. he reported in favor of additional works in the rear, while he believed that the armament of the fort, and its elevated situation, would enable a well-managed garrison to repulse any number of ships of war which might attempt to pass up the river. nothing more was done. "in july, , when a british fleet and army were in the chesapeake, the authorities of alexandria again called the attention of the secretary of war to the feeble condition of fort washington. the secretary did not believe the enemy would push for the capital, and nothing was done. the alexandrians appealed to general winder, who recommended the strengthening of the post. three of the banks in alexandria offered to loan the government fifty thousand dollars for the construction of more defences for the district. the money was accepted, but nothing was done to fort washington. when the battle of bladensburg occurred, and the seat of government was left to the mercy of the invaders, fort washington was as feebly armed as ever, and its garrison consisted of only about eighty men, under captain samuel t. dyson." chapter xx. dodging the enemy. as i have said, captain hanaford shoved his tiller hard over, throwing the pungy around until her nose struck the mud, and it was a question of getting her off the bank in the shortest possible space of time, unless we were minded to lay there when the action began, for none of us doubted but that an engagement was close at hand. "it's a case of runnin' back up the river," bill jepson said nervously, "an' the sooner we get about it the better." darius was not of the same opinion, as was shown when he said, after waiting a moment to learn if any other had an opinion to express: "i'm willin' to agree that we're bound to put back a bit, so's to be out of the way when the iron begins to fly; but i don't hold that we should run very far off until findin' out how things are goin' to turn." "you might settle that question after the pungy is afloat," my father said grimly. "just at present we're in a bad place if there's to be any firing done, and when we're off the mud you'll have plenty of time in which to discuss the situation." "that's about the size of it," captain hanaford added emphatically, and then he ordered us lads into the small boat that we might pull the pungy's bow around. any one who has ever run an oysterman such as we have in the chesapeake, knows that when a craft of that build takes ground ever so lightly, it is not a simple matter to float her, especially when there's no cargo that can be shifted to bring the stern down and the bow up. we lads worked our prettiest with the paddles after making fast to the vessel's nose, and, finding that we were making no headway, the three able-bodied men began pushing with poles which are kept aboard for such purpose, until she slid slowly into deeper water. then it was a case of clawing away from the fort, which was not easy, since the wind that had brought us down so finely, now blew directly in our teeth, and the pungy was a master-hand for sliding off when you tried to tack. as a matter of course it was necessary to stand over toward the opposite shore, which was not a pleasant piece of business since it carried us within view of the enemy; but we had no choice in the matter. "if we get back as far as alexandria by sunset we'll be doin' mighty well, unless you bring her around an' try to slide up," bill jepson said grumblingly; but she did not make any better headway because of his being disgruntled. "we'll have to take things as they are, matey," darius said grimly. "if the old hooker won't carry us out of harm's way, we can take to the shore at any time, which is a bit of consolation you'd better keep pasted in your hat." "this breeze will fine down within an hour," captain hanaford said as if speaking to himself, "an' then it'll be a case of anchorin', no matter where we----" he did not finish the remark, for at that moment it was as if the earth and sky had come together with one deafening crash; then followed three or four reports like unto peals of thunder near at hand, and those of us who chanced to be looking astern, saw the fort actually leap into the air, while from the mass of earth and stone came a shower of fragments such as literally obscured the light of the sun for an instant, after which it fell upon us with a crash that caused the pungy to rock to and fro like an egg-shell. while one might have counted fifty i stood dazed, unable to understand what had happened, and bleeding from a dozen scratches caused by the fall of fragments which absolutely covered the deck of the pungy to a depth of two or three inches. then i understood that the fort had been blown up, captain dyson believing he could not hope, with the small force under his command, to withstand an assault from the fleet. as we afterward came to know, his instructions from the war department were to the effect that he should destroy the fortification rather than take the chances of its being captured by the enemy; but what seemed strange to me then, and does now, was the fact that he had not fired a single gun in defiance. surely he might have discharged his pieces once, in the hope of doing a little damage, before setting a match to the magazine. of all our party in the pungy, not one escaped more or less severe bruises or scratches, and the wonder is that the vessel was not sent to the bottom off hand. however, we were yet afloat, and the river was open for the passage of the britishers, therefore it may be understood that we could not afford to spend many minutes in speculations upon what might or might not have been done. within three minutes from the time of the explosion, darius and bill jepson were in the small boat making fast to the bow of the pungy, and when captain hanaford shouted to ask what they counted on doing, the old sailor replied: "there's a creek half a mile further up stream, an' if you can get any headway on this apple-bowed lugger, we may be able to hide before the britishers come in sight." it was absolutely certain that we could not hope to escape by sailing, because any four-oared boat in the british fleet would have overtaken us in a twinkling, therefore, unless it might be possible to hide, we were in a bad scrape, from which i saw no relief save at the expense of abandoning the pungy. how we worked to push the vessel through the water! darius and bill plied the paddles with every ounce of strength in their bodies, while we on deck trimmed the sails to a nicety, shifted everything movable to bring her into better trim for sailing, and even swung the two long sweeps outboard. we five lads manned the enormous oars with which the pungy was provided to help her around, or when she drifted too near inshore, and i dare venture to say that we did quite as much toward forcing the craft ahead as the two old shell-backs did by towing. fortunately for us, the britishers did not appear to think it necessary to move up the river swiftly, knowing full well that all the towns above were at their mercy whenever they arrived; but the fleet hove to off the ruins of the fortification while some of the officers landed to ascertain the amount of damage done. it was this last which gave us the opportunity of which we stood so sorely in need, otherwise we were taken prisoners beyond a peradventure. by dint of pulling and paddling we contrived to get the pungy into the creek of which darius had spoken, before the enemy came in sight again, and then it was a case of hauling her so far inland that she would be hidden from view by the foliage. it can well be supposed that we did not waste any time at this last work; the perspiration was running down our faces in tiny streams when the craft was finally as far up the narrow water-way as she could be taken, and then all hands were so exhausted that we threw ourselves on the deck to regain breath and strength. all the while that we had been in strenuous flight my father stood at the helm, thus giving captain hanaford the chance to aid us, otherwise the task would not have been accomplished so quickly. but even when we were thus snug, unless, perchance, the britishers took it into their heads to search the river banks, our work was by no means done. it was now necessary that we should know if the enemy went up stream, and after we had rested no more than five minutes, when a full hour would have been hardly enough to put me in proper trim again, darius said: "come, amos, you an' i will stand the first watch. bill an' jerry can spell us in a couple of hours." "what do you count on watching?" i asked curtly. "the britishers, of course. we'll paddle down to the river, an' lay there till the fleet goes one way or the other." it would have been a long watch had we remained on duty until the entire fleet sailed in one direction; but as to that we were happily ignorant, and i took my place in the canoe believing the enemy would sail past our hiding place in a very short time. we allowed the canoe to drift down the creek until we were come within a few yards of the river, and then, well hidden by the undergrowth, we made ourselves as comfortable as possible where we could command a full view of the channel. "it doesn't appear to be as easy to get back home as we counted on," i said, by way of starting a conversation, and darius replied confidently: "this 'ere stop won't put us back very much, though it'll make a power of extra work, for i count to be slippin' down river within a couple of hours at the longest." then the old man fell silent, and i was not disposed to wag my tongue, because of looking ahead to the meeting with mother and the children, which now seemed so near at hand. we had been on watch an hour or more when the enemy appeared. the schooner was leading the way slowly, being towed by boats, with the men taking soundings every fifteen or twenty yards in order to show the channel to the two frigates close astern, and another hour went by before the three vessels had passed our hiding-place. then we watched eagerly, expecting to see the rocket-ships and bomb-vessels appear; but they did not heave in sight, although it seemed to me as if they should have been close behind the larger ships in order to take advantage of the labor being performed by those on board the schooner. when half an hour had passed, and the river, so far as we could see in either direction, was free from craft of any kind, darius bestowed a resounding slap upon his leg as he cried angrily: "what an old fool i am, to be sure! in two years more, if i keep on runnin' down hill, i won't be able to tell my own nose from somebody's else, even when it's pulled." "what's the matter now?" i asked in surprise. "what's the matter, lad? can't you see that only part of the fleet is goin' up stream? if the other ships counted on leavin' anchorage they'd been in the wake of the frigates. we're shut in here between two ends of the british force, an' likely to stay quite a spell." there could be no question but that he was right, and i sat staring at him like a stupid, the dreams in which i had been indulging disappearing like mist before the morning sun. of a verity mother and the children were further from me than when we had crouched in the smoke-house at washington with general ross' army close at hand. "what _can_ we do?" i asked at length. "that's a question easier asked than answered," the old man replied as if he had come to an end of his ideas. "while your father is wounded beyond the power of walkin', we're anchored to the pungy, so to speak." "what would you do if he was in good shape?" "it couldn't be such a terrible tough voyage to strike across the country from here to benedict, leavin' the pungy in the creek till the britishers get tired of foolin' around in the potomac; but it's no use to spend breath on what can't be done. our crew will hang together, whatever comes. let's go an' report; it won't do us any good to stay here." we paddled slowly back to our comrades, and when we had told them the situation of affairs they were in as much of a muddle as had been darius and i. "there's no tellin' how long the frigates will stay 'round washington," captain hanaford said, and then, as a sudden thought came to him, he added, "i'm gettin' the best of this scrape, i reckon. if the pungy was where you lads found her, she'd fare badly when the bloomin' englishmen get where they can make mischief." "i'll stay here and keep ship, while the rest of you walk across lots to benedict," my father suggested; but darius refused to hear any such proposition, declaring as he had when we were in the canoe, that our party should hang together to the last. "so far as bodily harm is concerned, we're safe here till the cows come home," the old man said thoughtfully, "an' that oughter make us feel reasonably good, seein's how, one spell, it looked a deal like bein' killed, or stayin' in a british prison-ship. we're a mighty poor crowd if we can't manage to lay still a week or two." it did really seem as if we had reason to be ashamed of grumbling when matters had been so much worse, and i mentally resolved that i would make the best of the situation, even though we were forced to remain in hiding a full month. my father did his best at cheering us by saying, and with a deal of reason in his speech, that the enemy would not dare remain shut up in the river very long, lest the american fleet come to the mouth of the river and blockade him, or with a superior force, force him to surrender. "it's captain gordon of the sea horse, who is in command," bill jepson said, "an' you can count that he won't be caught nappin'." "then we can reckon on bein' free to leave this creek within three or four days at the outside, and after that it'll be a question of dodging the britishers into chesapeake bay, which shouldn't be a hard task." taking this view of the matter, and knowing we had provisions in plenty, all hands began to look at affairs in a more cheerful light, with the result that ours was soon a jolly party, with but one aim, which was to make the time pass as pleasantly as possible. during the remainder of that day we talked of all that had occurred since commodore barney left pig point, and speculated upon the result of an attack upon baltimore. that night we turned in without standing watch, and next morning came a light, drizzling rain which forced us to keep under cover unless we were willing to toddle around on the wet decks, which was not particularly cheerful amusement. by three o'clock in the afternoon we had talked until our tongues were tired, and every topic of conversation was exhausted. then we fell silent, with none too pleasing thoughts for company, until darius sprang to his feet with an exclamation that aroused us all. "what bloomin' idjuts we are to think we must needs wait here till the britishers come down the river!" he cried excitedly. "i thought it was settled that we couldn't well do anything else," captain hanaford said in mild surprise. "so it was; but the sun was shinin', with every prospect of a fair night." i looked at the old sailor in bewilderment. it seemed as if he had suddenly taken leave of his senses, for there was nothing to be made of his words. "what's crawlin' over you, darius?" captain hanaford asked. "has anythin' happened suddenly?" "yes, an' that's a fact! here we are lyin' up here in a nasty storm as if we was bound to stay, when it's only a case of haulin' the pungy into the channel, an' lettin' her drift past the vessels below the fort. i'll wager an apple against a doughnut that we'll go by slick as fallin' down hill, 'cause it'll be darker 'n sam hill to-night; there ain't any moon to break the blackness, an' unless we come plump on to the enemy, they'll never be any the wiser." i could see that the older members of the party believed as did darius; but to me it seemed like taking needless chances, when by remaining in hiding a few days we might set sail without hindrance, for if our pungy was seen, there could be little doubt but that she would be sunk off hand. however, it was not for me to start any argument with my elders who understood such matters far better than did either of us lads, and i held my peace, expecting that an argument would ensue. to my great surprise no further word was spoken regarding the plan; but captain hanaford pulled on his oiled-coat as he said curtly: "it'll be a good two-hours' job to pull the pungy into the stream, an' won't be handy work after dark." darius and bill made ready to accompany him on deck, and, to my great surprise, i found that these three, at least, believed the plan of trying to drift past the british ships in the darkness one which should be carried into effect. i looked at my father; but he appeared to think all was as it should be, and for the moment i was dumfounded at the idea of taking so many and such great chances simply to save idling a few days. when the men went on deck we lads followed, as a matter of course; but never one of us was called upon to perform any part in the labor. the creek was too narrow to admit of turning the pungy, therefore it became necessary to tow her out stern first, and this the three men did quite handily, with darius and bill jepson in the boat, and captain hanaford on deck, to keep the branches of the trees from fouling with the rigging. half an hour before sunset the little vessel was at the mouth of the water-way where she could be put into the stream with but a small amount of labor, and captain hanaford ordered jim freeman and dody wardwell to turn to at getting supper. while the meal was being prepared the captain and the two old sailors talked about the probable location of the enemy's ships, and when the conversation was come to an end i learned that they counted on letting the pungy take her own course, after rounding the point on which the fort had been located. it was to be a piece of blind luck all the way through, and i made up my mind that if the vessel was afloat after we passed the ships, it would be a sure case of interposition of that divinity which watches over fools. i seemed to be the only one, however, who was borrowing any trouble on account of the proposed venture, and it can well be fancied that i held my peace, although i did a power of thinking. when supper had been eaten, and the last spark of fire in the cook-stove extinguished lest it should be seen by the enemy, all hands went on deck. of a verity the night was black enough, if that was the only thing wanted to insure success. standing at the tiller i could not even make out the loom of the mainmast, and as for saying whether the pungy was in the stream or the river, it was impossible. darius and bill jepson went about their portion of the task, however, as if it was broad day. the pungy was pulled out into the current, the old sailors came over the rail, and we were fully committed to the venture. i had supposed that some portion of the sails would be spread to give us steerage-way if nothing more; but in this i was mistaken. a square of white canvas could be more readily seen in the darkness than the entire hull of the pungy, which was painted black, therefore we would go through with only the empty spars to give an alarm, if so be the enemy caught a glimpse of us. we had hardly more than started when the rain began to fall heavily, and bill jepson said with a chuckle of satisfaction: "everythin' is workin' our way. there ain't a barnacle aboard the ships that'll stand up an' take all this water when he can keep himself dry by seekin' the shelter of the rail." "but suppose we run plump on to them?" i asked in a whisper. "then it'll be a case of doin' some tall an' lively hustlin', lad, an' no man can say what ought'er be done till we're in the scrape." "can you make out the shore on either side?" i asked. "yes, by stoopin' low so's to sight the sky over the tree-tops, you can contrive to get an idee of whether we're in the middle of the stream; but you can't do much more." "i might stand on my head without being able to tell which was land and which water." "i reckon that's true," bill said with a laugh; "but when you've knocked around at sea as long as i have, you'll learn to see through ink, bottle an' all." "stop that noise!" darius whispered harshly. "you're not even to breathe loud from this out, an' walkin' across the deck will make trouble with me for the man or lad who does it." thus it was that each fellow felt obliged to remain wherever he stood when the order had been given. we could well understand the reason for such caution, and were not disposed to go contrary to the command. i peered into the gloom intently, hoping i might distinguish the shadows of the trees ashore; but it was impossible, and from that moment i remained with my eyes shut, as one involuntarily does when the blackness is intense. how slowly the time passed! i tried to get some idea of the minutes by counting up to sixty, allowing that number of seconds had gone by; but failed in so doing because my anxiety was so great that i did not keep the reckoning. it seemed as if an hour had fled, although the current should have carried us among the fleet in less than half that time, when i was startled by hearing a voice close by my side, apparently. "it's a bloomin' nasty night, matey." "right you are," was the reply. "it's jest my luck to be muckin' 'round here when the lads from the other ships are havin' high jinks in one of the yankee cities." then it was that i realized we were within a few yards of a ship, and by some stroke of good fortune had missed fowling her. it surely seemed as if they must see us, although i could not make out even a shadow of her, strain my eyes as i might, and in case we were discovered, the end would come very rapidly, as i then believed. from that moment it was as if i did not breathe, so fearful was i of giving some alarm which would betray our whereabouts. the pattering of the rain on the water raised no slight noise, and this was favorable to us. our tiller had been lashed, so that there might be no possibility the rudder-head would creak in its socket, and every rope was brailed to guard against its flapping. had ours been the ghost of a ship and those on board a phantom crew, we could not have glided down stream more silently; but the danger which had been ever present in my thoughts was that of coming in collision with one of the ships. we had already passed the first in safety; but there were three others, and in fear and trembling i admitted to myself that we could not hope to slip by them all. chapter xxi. in port. the moments passed in silence, save for the hissing of the rain-drops as they mingled with the water of the river, and i was saying to myself that of a verity we must have drifted safely through the fleet without touching a ship, when that came which i had been fearing. suddenly i felt a shock; then a noise as of wood grinding against wood, and i knew we had fouled the enemy! while one might have counted five the pungy rubbed against the side of the ship, and then came the hail: "ahoy there! ahoy!" "what are you hailing?" a strange voice cried, and he who had first broken the silence replied: "there's a craft of some kind alongside, sir!" then it was as if a swarm of bees had been let loose. the enemy's ship was alive with moving, buzzing beings, some of whom cried out this or that order, and others called down maledictions on the head of the man who had needlessly aroused them. "there's nothin' here, sir. sam was dreamin'," i heard the voice of a sailor cry, and almost at the same instant came the rattling of fire-arms as they were being handled, sounding so near aboard that it seemed as if a portion of the enemy had leaped upon our decks. "make ready! fire!" sounded the command, sharp and quick. then came a sheet of flame which lighted up surrounding objects until we could distinctly see the deck of the bomb-vessel, and the eager men thronging her deck. this illumination was but as the lightning's flash, and then we could hear the angry hum of the bullets as they swarmed above our heads. we had been seen, and i believed that a broadside would follow in short order, yet at the same time i realized that our good fortune had followed us when it sent the pungy afoul of a bomb-vessel, instead of a craft which had her guns ready trained for service. now had come the time, however, when we were to remain idle no longer. i heard darius call bill jepson, and knew by the noises which followed that the two sailors were taking to the canoe in order to tow the pungy, and at the same time captain hanaford cast off the lashing of the tiller as he ordered us to run up the canvas. work? i have never moved so lively before nor since, as i did then when i felt positive that within a very few seconds our deck would be swept by grape and cannister. at such moments of supreme danger one's senses are unnaturally acute, and while i gave strict attention to all that was taking place aboard the pungy, it became possible to understand what the enemy was about. the other vessels of the fleet were making ready to take a hand in our destruction. from every quarter we could hear cries of command, mingled with the noise of men running to and fro, and just when the pungy began to feel the effect of the canvas which was clapped on her in such a hurry, a rocket went up, illumining the scene for ten seconds or more. then it was i saw that we had passed three of the ships, having come to grief on the last in the line, and had no time to take further note of the surroundings when the guns of all four craft belched forth with a mighty roar that caused the pungy to tremble, but the impact of the shot did not follow. thus suddenly aroused, and in the intense darkness which had been dispelled only long enough to dazzle a fellow's eyes, the gunners had not been able to take accurate aim, otherwise we must have gone to the bottom like a stone. "they won't have time to try that game more than once again before we'll be well out of their way," i heard darius say, and i knew we had sufficient speed to render useless the work of towing, otherwise the two sailors would not have come aboard. now three rockets were sent up in rapid succession, and while the light lasted i knew that the british gunners were taking aim at us; but we had slipped so far down the river by this time that there were some few chances in our favor, however closely they might shoot. "down on your faces!" darius cried, and i dropped like a stone, understanding that such an order had been given to lessen the chances of our being hit; but at the same time the thought came to me that it was better to be killed by a round-shot which would cut a man's life short instantly, than mangled by a splinter. then came the flash of burning powder; the mighty roar of big guns; the hurtling shot striking the water on every side, and the pungy reeled and quivered as if she had struck a rock. "one ball went home that time!" darius cried, and i knew by the sound that he had leaped to his feet, running with all speed into the cuddy. from below i made out the tiny gleam of the match as darius lighted a lantern, and did not need to be told that he was gone to learn what injury our vessel had received. immediately the cannon had been discharged captain hanaford was on his feet, grasping the tiller as if it was possible to steer the pungy while the blackness continued so dense that one might fancy he could feel it, and then came the glare of more rockets. this aided the helmsman of ours more than it did the british gunners, since it gave him an opportunity to see exactly where his vessel was; but as to that i gave no heed. all my mind was centered on the distance between us and the enemy. i could have cried aloud with joy, and am not certain but that i did, on seeing that we were drawing away with more speed than i had believed was in the clumsy craft, and, what was of greater importance, the pungy was rounding a bend which, once passed, would put us beyond reach of the guns. the rockets had been fired just in the nick of time, otherwise we would have gone ashore on the western bank. for the third time we heard the thunder of the guns; but the shot must have passed astern of us, for i did not hear either the splashing of water or the splintering of our wood-work to tell where they struck. then darius came on deck with an announcement that relieved me of nearly all my fears. "the pungy has a solid shot above the water-line well forward; but there's no need of pluggin' it, for the ball didn't get through the timber. i reckon we've done the trick, eh, captain?" "we're off for a fact, an' unless we strike the mud 'twixt here an' the bay, we've seen the last of that lot of britishers." now it was that all hands of us were ordered forward to act as look-outs, and the pungy danced along in the darkness, as if rejoicing at her escape from a peril that had well-nigh proved her ending. it is impossible for me to set down what we said or did when it was seen that we had really escaped from as dangerous a venture as human beings ever embarked in. i dare say we acted like a party of simples, and certain it is that the older members of the crew were no less boisterous in their rejoicings than we lads. and now there remains but little more to be said, for the homeward voyage was short. at midnight the rain ceased falling; the clouds were partially dispersed, and we had sufficient light to enable us to navigate the little vessel without difficulty. in four and twenty hours, without having come across an enemy, or anything to cause alarm, we were in benedict once more, captain hanaford having sailed past his own home in order to land us, and well was it for all hands that we did not arrive the day previous, because not until then did the fleet under admiral cochrane, with the land forces under general ross, take their final departure, leaving the little village looking as if a herd of cattle had been pastured there. it only remains for me to say, since this story has nothing to do with my movements after we were returned from service under commodore barney, that in due time the government honored the commodore's guarantee, thus enabling jerry and me to purchase a pungy much larger and better than the avenger, and at the same time have quite a substantial sum of money to give our parents. and all this i have written in the cuddy of the new boat, which we have named the "joshua barney," while jim freeman, dody wardwell, josiah coburn, darius and jerry have discussed each portion as it was set down, for we are shipmates in the oyster business, sharing the profits as well as the work, until a stranger would find it difficult to say which is the captain or which the cook. now that my portion of the work has come to an end, i shall copy here that which will serve to wind up the yarn in proper shape. referring to the close of the battle of bladensburg, a newspaper writer says: "the english sharp-shooters had straggled about, and were doing much mischief; barney's horse fell between two of the guns, pierced by two balls; several of his officers were killed or wounded, the ammunition wagon had gone off in the general confusion and retreat of the army; the enemy began to flank out to the right, under cover of a thick wood, and had nearly surrounded the commodore. his men were nearly exhausted, having undergone a three-days' march without a regular supply of provisions. he had received a wound in the thigh some time before, and was faint from loss of blood, when he ordered a retreat, which was effected in good order by the men and such officers as could follow. he retired a few yards with the help of three of his officers whom he had ordered away, and fell from weakness, in which situation he was found by the enemy. "general ross and admiral cockburn came to him and tendered every assistance. he was carried in a litter to the village of bladensburg, and the next day, in the company of his wife and son, was taken home in a carriage. a week later he was formally exchanged for two british colonels. the ball had been probed for by the english surgeons, but without effect, and it was not found until after his death, which is said to have been caused by the wound." and now regarding the fleet which we dodged, mr. lossing says in his "war of ." "the british squadron appeared before fort washington on the th of august, three days after the capture of the capital. captain dyson either misunderstood general winder's order, or was influenced by mortal fear, for he blew up and abandoned the fort without firing a gun. no doubt the british fleet could have been kept below by the heavy cannon of the fort. dyson chose not to try the experiment, and for his injurious conduct he was dismissed from the service. "the british squadron now had nothing to fear, and without interference the frigates sailed on, anchoring off alexandria on the evening of the th. on the morning of the th it assumed a hostile attitude a hundred yards from the wharves, and was well prepared to lay every building in the town in ashes. the citizens sent a deputation to captain gordon to ask upon what terms he would consent to spare the town. he replied that all naval stores and ordnance; all the shipping and its furniture; merchandise of every description in the city, or which had been carried out of it to a place of safety; and refreshments of every kind, must be immediately given up to him. also that the vessels which had been scuttled to save them from destruction must be raised, and delivered up to him. 'do all this,' he said, 'and the town of alexandria, with the exception of public works, shall be spared, and the inhabitants shall remain unmolested." "these were harsh and humiliating terms, and the inhabitants were allowed only one hour for consideration. they were powerless, and were compelled to submit. the merchandise that had been carried from the town and the sunken vessels could not be given up to the invader, so he contented himself by burning one vessel and loading several others, chiefly with flour, cotton and tobacco. with these in charge, the squadron weighed anchor and sailed down the potomac." the end. good fiction worth reading. a series of romances containing several of the old favorites in the field of historical fiction, replete with powerful romances of love and diplomacy that excel in thrilling and absorbing interest. * * * * * =a colonial free-lance.= a story of american colonial times, by chauncey c. hotchkiss. cloth, mo. with four illustrations by j. watson davis. price, $ . . a book that appeals to americans as a vivid picture of revolutionary scenes. the story is a strong one, a thrilling one. it causes the true american to flush with excitement, to devour chapter after chapter, until the eyes smart, and it fairly smokes with patriotism. the love story is a singularly charming idyl. =the tower of london.= a historical romance of the times of lady jane grey and mary tudor. by wm. harrison ainsworth. cloth, mo. with four illustrations by george cruikshank. price, $ . . this romance of the "tower of london" depicts the tower as palace, prison and fortress, with many historical associations. the era is the middle of the sixteenth century. the story is divided into two parts, one dealing with lady jane grey, and the other with mary tudor as queen, introducing other notable characters of the era. throughout the story holds the interest of the reader in the midst of intrigue and conspiracy, extending considerably over a half a century. =in defiance of the king.= a romance of the american revolution. by chauncey c. hotchkiss. cloth, mo. with four illustrations by j. watson davis. price, $ . . mr. hotchkiss has etched in burning words a story of yankee bravery, and true love that thrills from beginning to end, with the spirit of the revolution. the heart beats quickly, and we feel ourselves taking a part in the exciting scenes described. his whole story is so absorbing that you will sit up far into the night to finish it. as a love romance it is charming. =garthowen.= a story of a welsh homestead. by allen raine. cloth, mo. with four illustrations by j. watson davis. price, $ . . "this is a little idyl of humble life and enduring love, laid bare before us, very real and pure, which in its telling shows us some strong points of welsh character--the pride, the hasty temper, the quick dying out of wrath.... we call this a well-written story, interesting alike through its romance and its glimpses into another life than ours. a delightful and clever picture of welsh village life. the result is excellent."--detroit free press. =mifanwy.= the story of a welsh singer. by allen raine. cloth, mo. with four illustrations by j. watson davis. price, $ . . "this is a love story, simple, tender and pretty as one would care to read. the action throughout is brisk and pleasing; the characters, it is apparent at once, are as true to life as though the author had known them all personally. simple in all its situations, the story is worked up in that touching and quaint strain which never grows wearisome, no matter how often the lights and shadows of love are introduced. it rings true, and does not tax the imagination."--boston herald. * * * * * =darnley=, a romance of the times of henry viii. and cardinal wolsey. by g. p. r. james. cloth, mo. with four illustrations by j. watson davis. price, $ . . in point of publication, "darnley" is that work by mr. james which follows "richelieu," and, if rumor can be credited, it was owing to the advice and insistence of our own washington irving that we are indebted primarily for the story, the young author questioning whether he could properly paint the difference in the characters of the two great cardinals. and it is not surprising that james should have hesitated; he had been eminently successful in giving to the world the portrait of richelieu as a man, and by attempting a similar task with wolsey as the theme, was much like tempting fortune. irving insisted that "darnley" came naturally in sequence, and this opinion being supported by sir walter scott, the author set about the work. as a historical romance "darnley" is a book that can be taken up pleasurably again and again, for there is about it that subtle charm which those who are strangers to the works of g. p. r. james have claimed was only to be imparted by dumas. if there was nothing more about the work to attract especial attention, the account of the meeting of the kings on the historic "field of the cloth of gold" would entitle the story to the most favorable consideration of every reader. there is really but little pure romance in this story, for the author has taken care to imagine love passages only between those whom history has credited with having entertained the tender passion one for another, and he succeeds in making such lovers as all the world must love. =captain brand, of the schooner centipede.= by lieut. henry a. wise, u. s. n. (harry gringo). cloth, mo. with four illustrations by j. watson davis. price, $ . . the re-publication of this story will please those lovers of sea yarns who delight in so much of the salty flavor of the ocean as can come through the medium of a printed page, for never has a story of the sea and those "who go down in ships" been written by one more familiar with the scenes depicted. the one book of this gifted author which is best remembered, and which will be read with pleasure for many years to come, is "captain brand," who, as the author states on his title page, was a "pirate of eminence in the west indies." as a sea story pure and simple, "captain brand" has never been excelled, and as a story of piratical life, told without the usual embellishments of blood and thunder, it has no equal. =nick of the woods.= a story of the early settlers of kentucky. by robert montgomery bird. cloth, mo. with four illustrations by j. watson davis. price, $ . . this most popular novel and thrilling story of early frontier life in kentucky was originally published in the year . the novel, long out of print, had in its day a phenomenal sale, for its realistic presentation of indian and frontier life in the early days of settlement in the south, narrated in the tale with all the art of a practiced writer. a very charming love romance runs through the story. this new and tasteful edition of "nick of the woods" will be certain to make many new admirers for this enchanting story from dr. bird's clever and versatile pen. * * * * * =guy fawkes.= a romance of the gunpowder treason. by wm. harrison ainsworth. cloth, mo. with four illustrations by george cruikshank. price, $ . . the "gunpowder plot" was a modest attempt to blow up parliament, the king and his counsellors. james of scotland, then king of england, was weak-minded and extravagant. he hit upon the efficient scheme of extorting money from the people by imposing taxes on the catholics. in their natural resentment to this extortion, a handful of bold spirits concluded to overthrow the government. finally the plotters were arrested, and the king put to torture guy fawkes and the other prisoners with royal vigor. a very intense love story runs through the entire romance. =the spirit of the border.= a romance of the early settlers in the ohio valley. by zane grey. cloth, mo. with four illustrations by j. watson davis. price, $ . . a book rather out of the ordinary is this "spirit of the border." the main thread of the story has to do with the work of the moravian missionaries in the ohio valley. incidentally the reader is given details of the frontier life of those hardy pioneers who broke the wilderness for the planting of this great nation. chief among these, as a matter of course, is lewis wetzel, one of the most peculiar, and at the same time the most admirable of all the brave men who spent their lives battling with the savage foe, that others might dwell in comparative security. details of the establishment and destruction of the moravian "village of peace" are given at some length, and with minute description. the efforts to christianize the indians are described as they never have been before, and the author has depicted the characters of the leaders of the several indian tribes with great care, which of itself will be of interest to the student. by no means least among the charms of the story are the vivid word-pictures of the thrilling adventures, and the intense paintings of the beauties of nature, as seen in the almost unbroken forests. it is the spirit of the frontier which is described, and one can by it, perhaps, the better understand why men, and women, too, willingly braved every privation and danger that the westward progress of the star of empire might be the more certain and rapid. a love story, simple and tender, runs through the book. =richelieu.= a tale of france in the reign of king louis xiii. by g. p. r. james. cloth, mo. with four illustrations by j. watson davis. price, $ . . in mr. james published his first romance, "richelieu," and was recognized at once as one of the masters of the craft. in this book he laid the story during those later days of the great cardinal's life, when his power was beginning to wane, but while it was yet sufficiently strong to permit now and then of volcanic outbursts which overwhelmed foes and carried friends to the topmost wave of prosperity. one of the most striking portions of the story is that of cinq mar's conspiracy; the method of conducting criminal cases, and the political trickery resorted to by royal favorites, affording a better insight into the statecraft of that day than can be had even by an exhaustive study of history. it is a powerful romance of love and diplomacy, and in point of thrilling and absorbing interest has never been excelled. * * * * * windsor castle. a historical romance of the reign of henry viii., catharine of aragon and anne boleyn. by wm. harrison ainsworth. cloth, mo. with four illustrations by george cruikshank. price, $ . . "windsor castle" is the story of henry viii., catharine, and anne boleyn. "bluff king hal," although a well-loved monarch, was none too good a one in many ways. of all his selfishness and unwarrantable acts, none was more discreditable than his divorce from catharine, and his marriage to the beautiful anne boleyn. the king's love was as brief as it was vehement. jane seymour, waiting maid on the queen, attracted him, and anne boleyn was forced to the block to make room for her successor. this romance is one of extreme interest to all readers. horseshoe robinson. a tale of the tory ascendency in south carolina in . by john p. kennedy. cloth, mo. with four illustrations by j. watson davis. price, $ . . among the old favorites in the field of what is known as historical fiction, there are none which appeal to a larger number of americans than horseshoe robinson, and this because it is the only story which depicts with fidelity to the facts the heroic efforts of the colonists in south carolina to defend their homes against the brutal oppression of the british under such leaders as cornwallis and tarleton. the reader is charmed with the story of love which forms the thread of the tale, and then impressed with the wealth of detail concerning those times. the picture of the manifold sufferings of the people, is never overdrawn, but painted faithfully and honestly by one who spared neither time nor labor in his efforts to present in this charming love story all that price in blood and tears which the carolinians paid as their share in the winning of the republic. take it all in all, "horseshoe robinson" is a work which should be found on every book-shelf, not only because it is a most entertaining story, but because of the wealth of valuable information concerning the colonists which it contains. that it has been brought out once more, well illustrated, is something which will give pleasure to thousands who have long desired an opportunity to read the story again, and to the many who have tried vainly in these latter days to procure a copy that they might read it for the first time. the pearl of orr's island. a story of the coast of maine. by harriet beecher stowe. cloth, mo. illustrated. price, $ . . written prior to , the "pearl of orr's island" is ever new; a book filled with delicate fancies, such as seemingly array themselves anew each time one reads them. one sees the "sea like an unbroken mirror all around the pine-girt, lonely shores of orr's island," and straightway comes "the heavy, hollow moan of the surf on the beach, like the wild angry howl of some savage animal." who can read of the beginning of that sweet life, named mara, which came into this world under the very shadow of the death angel's wings, without having an intense desire to know how the premature bud blossomed? again and again one lingers over the descriptions of the character of that baby boy moses, who came through the tempest, amid the angry billows, pillowed on his dead mother's breast. there is no more faithful portrayal of new england life than that which mrs. stowe gives in "the pearl of orr's island." * * * * * for sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers, a. l. burt company, - duane st., new york. the gilded age a tale of today by mark twain and charles dudley warner part . chapter xxxvii. that chairman was nowhere in sight. such disappointments seldom occur in novels, but are always happening in real life. she was obliged to make a new plan. she sent him a note, and asked him to call in the evening--which he did. she received the hon. mr. buckstone with a sunny smile, and said: "i don't know how i ever dared to send you a note, mr. buckstone, for you have the reputation of not being very partial to our sex." "why i am sure my, reputation does me wrong, then, miss hawkins. i have been married once--is that nothing in my favor?" "oh, yes--that is, it may be and it may not be. if you have known what perfection is in woman, it is fair to argue that inferiority cannot interest you now." "even if that were the case it could not affect you, miss hawkins," said the chairman gallantly. "fame does not place you in the list of ladies who rank below perfection." this happy speech delighted mr. buckstone as much as it seemed to delight laura. but it did not confuse him as much as it apparently did her. "i wish in all sincerity that i could be worthy of such a felicitous compliment as that. but i am a woman, and so i am gratified for it just as it is, and would not have it altered." "but it is not merely a compliment--that is, an empty complement--it is the truth. all men will endorse that." laura looked pleased, and said: "it is very kind of you to say it. it is a distinction indeed, for a country-bred girl like me to be so spoken of by people of brains and culture. you are so kind that i know you will pardon my putting you to the trouble to come this evening." "indeed it was no trouble. it was a pleasure. i am alone in the world since i lost my wife, and i often long for the society of your sex, miss hawkins, notwithstanding what people may say to the contrary." "it is pleasant to hear you say that. i am sure it must be so. if i feel lonely at times, because of my exile from old friends, although surrounded by new ones who are already very dear to me, how much more lonely must you feel, bereft as you are, and with no wholesome relief from the cares of state that weigh you down. for your own sake, as well as for the sake of others, you ought to go into society oftener. i seldom see you at a reception, and when i do you do not usually give me very, much of your attention" "i never imagined that you wished it or i would have been very glad to make myself happy in that way.--but one seldom gets an opportunity to say more than a sentence to you in a place like that. you are always the centre of a group--a fact which you may have noticed yourself. but if one might come here--" "indeed you would always find a hearty welcome, mr. buckstone. i have often wished you would come and tell me more about cairo and the pyramids, as you once promised me you would." "why, do you remember that yet, miss hawkins? i thought ladies' memories were more fickle than that." "oh, they are not so fickle as gentlemen's promises. and besides, if i had been inclined to forget, i--did you not give me something by way of a remembrancer?" "did i?" "think." "it does seem to me that i did; but i have forgotten what it was now." "never, never call a lady's memory fickle again! do you recognize this?" "a little spray of box! i am beaten--i surrender. but have you kept that all this time?" laura's confusion was very, pretty. she tried to hide it, but the more she tried the more manifest it became and withal the more captivating to look upon. presently she threw the spray of box from her with an annoyed air, and said: "i forgot myself. i have been very foolish. i beg that you will forget this absurd thing." mr. buckstone picked up the spray, and sitting down by laura's side on the sofa, said: "please let me keep it, miss hawkins. i set a very high value upon it now." "give it to me, mr. buckstone, and do not speak so. i have been sufficiently punished for my thoughtlessness. you cannot take pleasure in adding to my distress. please give it to me." "indeed i do not wish to distress you. but do not consider the matter so gravely; you have done yourself no wrong. you probably forgot that you had it; but if you had given it to me i would have kept it--and not forgotten it." "do not talk so, mr. buckstone. give it to me, please, and forget the matter." "it would not be kind to refuse, since it troubles you so, and so i restore it. but if you would give me part of it and keep the rest--" "so that you might have something to remind you of me when you wished to laugh at my foolishness?" "oh, by no means, no! simply that i might remember that i had once assisted to discomfort you, and be reminded to do so no more." laura looked up, and scanned his face a moment. she was about to break the twig, but she hesitated and said: "if i were sure that you--" she threw the spray away, and continued: "this is silly! we will change the subject. no, do not insist--i must have my way in this." then mr. buckstone drew off his forces and proceeded to make a wily advance upon the fortress under cover of carefully--contrived artifices and stratagems of war. but he contended with an alert and suspicious enemy; and so at the end of two hours it was manifest to him that he had made but little progress. still, he had made some; he was sure of that. laura sat alone and communed with herself; "he is fairly hooked, poor thing. i can play him at my leisure and land him when i choose. he was all ready to be caught, days and days ago --i saw that, very well. he will vote for our bill--no fear about that; and moreover he will work for it, too, before i am done with him. if he had a woman's eyes he would have noticed that the spray of box had grown three inches since he first gave it to me, but a man never sees anything and never suspects. if i had shown him a whole bush he would have thought it was the same. well, it is a good night's work: the committee is safe. but this is a desperate game i am playing in these days --a wearing, sordid, heartless game. if i lose, i lose everything--even myself. and if i win the game, will it be worth its cost after all? i do not know. sometimes i doubt. sometimes i half wish i had not begun. but no matter; i have begun, and i will never turn back; never while i live." mr. buckstone indulged in a reverie as he walked homeward: "she is shrewd and deep, and plays her cards with considerable discretion--but she will lose, for all that. there is no hurry; i shall come out winner, all in good time. she is the most beautiful woman in the world; and she surpassed herself to-night. i suppose i must vote for that bill, in the end maybe; but that is not a matter of much consequence the government can stand it. she is bent on capturing me, that is plain; but she will find by and by that what she took for a sleeping garrison was an ambuscade." chapter xxxviii. now this surprising news caus'd her fall in 'a trance, life as she were dead, no limbs she could advance, then her dear brother came, her from the ground he took and she spake up and said, o my poor heart is broke. the barnardcastle tragedy. "don't you think he is distinguished looking?" "what! that gawky looking person, with miss hawkins?" "there. he's just speaking to mrs. schoonmaker. such high-bred negligence and unconsciousness. nothing studied. see his fine eyes." "very. they are moving this way now. maybe he is coming here. but he looks as helpless as a rag baby. who is he, blanche?" "who is he? and you've been here a week, grace, and don't know? he's the catch of the season. that's washington hawkins--her brother." "no, is it?" "very old family, old kentucky family i believe. he's got enormous landed property in tennessee, i think. the family lost everything, slaves and that sort of thing, you know, in the war. but they have a great deal of land, minerals, mines and all that. mr. hawkins and his sister too are very much interested in the amelioration of the condition of the colored race; they have some plan, with senator dilworthy, to convert a large part of their property to something another for the freedmen." "you don't say so? i thought he was some guy from pennsylvania. but he is different from others. probably he has lived all his life on his plantation." it was a day reception of mrs. representative schoonmaker, a sweet woman, of simple and sincere manners. her house was one of the most popular in washington. there was less ostentation there than in some others, and people liked to go where the atmosphere reminded them of the peace and purity of home. mrs. schoonmaker was as natural and unaffected in washington society as she was in her own new york house, and kept up the spirit of home-life there, with her husband and children. and that was the reason, probably, why people of refinement liked to go there. washington is a microcosm, and one can suit himself with any sort of society within a radius of a mile. to a large portion of the people who frequent washington or dwell where, the ultra fashion, the shoddy, the jobbery are as utterly distasteful as they would he in a refined new england city. schoonmaker was not exactly a leader in the house, but he was greatly respected for his fine talents and his honesty. no one would have thought of offering to carry national improvement directors relief stock for him. these day receptions were attended by more women than men, and those interested in the problem might have studied the costumes of the ladies present, in view of this fact, to discover whether women dress more for the eyes of women or for effect upon men. it is a very important problem, and has been a good deal discussed, and its solution would form one fixed, philosophical basis, upon which to estimate woman's character. we are inclined to take a medium ground, and aver that woman dresses to please herself, and in obedience to a law of her own nature. "they are coming this way," said blanche. people who made way for them to pass, turned to look at them. washington began to feel that the eyes of the public were on him also, and his eyes rolled about, now towards the ceiling, now towards the floor, in an effort to look unconscious. "good morning, miss hawkins. delighted. mr. hawkins. my friend, miss medlar." mr. hawkins, who was endeavoring to square himself for a bow, put his foot through the train of mrs. senator poplin, who looked round with a scowl, which turned into a smile as she saw who it was. in extricating himself, mr. hawkins, who had the care of his hat as well as the introduction on his mind, shambled against miss blanche, who said pardon, with the prettiest accent, as if the awkwardness were her own. and mr. hawkins righted himself. "don't you find it very warm to-day, mr. hawkins?" said blanche, by way of a remark. "it's awful hot," said washington. "it's warm for the season," continued blanche pleasantly. "but i suppose you are accustomed to it," she added, with a general idea that the thermometer always stands at deg. in all parts of the late slave states. "washington weather generally cannot be very congenial to you?" "it's congenial," said washington brightening up, "when it's not congealed." "that's very good. did you hear, grace, mr. hawkins says it's congenial when it's not congealed." "what is, dear?" said grace, who was talking with laura. the conversation was now finely under way. washington launched out an observation of his own. "did you see those japs, miss leavitt?" "oh, yes, aren't they queer. but so high-bred, so picturesque. do you think that color makes any difference, mr. hawkins? i used to be so prejudiced against color." "did you? i never was. i used to think my old mammy was handsome." "how interesting your life must have been! i should like to hear about it." washington was about settling himself into his narrative style, when mrs. gen. mcfingal caught his eye. "have you been at the capitol to-day, mr. hawkins?" washington had not. "is anything uncommon going on?" "they say it was very exciting. the alabama business you know. gen. sutler, of massachusetts, defied england, and they say he wants war." "he wants to make himself conspicuous more like," said laura. "he always, you have noticed, talks with one eye on the gallery, while the other is on the speaker." "well, my husband says, its nonsense to talk of war, and wicked. he knows what war is. if we do have war, i hope it will be for the patriots of cuba. don't you think we want cuba, mr. hawkins?" "i think we want it bad," said washington. "and santo domingo. senator dilworthy says, we are bound to extend our religion over the isles of the sea. we've got to round out our territory, and--" washington's further observations were broken off by laura, who whisked him off to another part of the room, and reminded him that they must make their adieux. "how stupid and tiresome these people are," she said. "let's go." they were turning to say good-by to the hostess, when laura's attention was arrested by the sight of a gentleman who was just speaking to mrs. schoonmaker. for a second her heart stopped beating. he was a handsome man of forty and perhaps more, with grayish hair and whiskers, and he walked with a cane, as if he were slightly lame. he might be less than forty, for his face was worn into hard lines, and he was pale. no. it could not be, she said to herself. it is only a resemblance. but as the gentleman turned and she saw his full face, laura put out her hand and clutched washington's arm to prevent herself from falling. washington, who was not minding anything, as usual, looked 'round in wonder. laura's eyes were blazing fire and hatred; he had never seen her look so before; and her face, was livid. "why, what is it, sis? your face is as white as paper." "it's he, it's he. come, come," and she dragged him away. "it's who?" asked washington, when they had gained the carriage. "it's nobody, it's nothing. did i say he? i was faint with the heat. don't mention it. don't you speak of it," she added earnestly, grasping his arm. when she had gained her room she went to the glass and saw a pallid and haggard face. "my god," she cried, "this will never do. i should have killed him, if i could. the scoundrel still lives, and dares to come here. i ought to kill him. he has no right to live. how i hate him. and yet i loved him. oh heavens, how i did love that man. and why didn't he kill me? he might better. he did kill all that was good in me. oh, but he shall not escape. he shall not escape this time. he may have forgotten. he will find that a woman's hate doesn't forget. the law? what would the law do but protect him and make me an outcast? how all washington would gather up its virtuous skirts and avoid me, if it knew. i wonder if he hates me as i do him?" so laura raved, in tears and in rage by turns, tossed in a tumult of passion, which she gave way to with little effort to control. a servant came to summon her to dinner. she had a headache. the hour came for the president's reception. she had a raving headache, and the senator must go without her. that night of agony was like another night she recalled. how vividly it all came back to her. and at that time she remembered she thought she might be mistaken. he might come back to her. perhaps he loved her, a little, after all. now, she knew he did not. now, she knew he was a cold-blooded scoundrel, without pity. never a word in all these years. she had hoped he was dead. did his wife live, she wondered. she caught at that--and it gave a new current to her thoughts. perhaps, after all --she must see him. she could not live without seeing him. would he smile as in the old days when she loved him so; or would he sneer as when she last saw him? if be looked so, she hated him. if he should call her "laura, darling," and look so! she must find him. she must end her doubts. laura kept her room for two days, on one excuse and another--a nervous headache, a cold--to the great anxiety of the senator's household. callers, who went away, said she had been too gay--they did not say "fast," though some of them may have thought it. one so conspicuous and successful in society as laura could not be out of the way two days, without remarks being made, and not all of them complimentary. when she came down she appeared as usual, a little pale may be, but unchanged in manner. if there were any deepened lines about the eyes they had been concealed. her course of action was quite determined. at breakfast she asked if any one had heard any unusual noise during the night? nobody had. washington never heard any noise of any kind after his eyes were shut. some people thought he never did when they were open either. senator dilworthy said he had come in late. he was detained in a little consultation after the congressional prayer meeting. perhaps it was his entrance. no, laura said. she heard that. it was later. she might have been nervous, but she fancied somebody was trying to get into the house. mr. brierly humorously suggested that it might be, as none of the members were occupied in night session. the senator frowned, and said he did not like to hear that kind of newspaper slang. there might be burglars about. laura said that very likely it was only her nervousness. but she thought she world feel safer if washington would let her take one of his pistols. washington brought her one of his revolvers, and instructed her in the art of loading and firing it. during the morning laura drove down to mrs. schoonmaker's to pay a friendly call. "your receptions are always delightful," she said to that lady, "the pleasant people all seem to come here." "it's pleasant to hear you say so, miss hawkins. i believe my friends like to come here. though society in washington is mixed; we have a little of everything." "i suppose, though, you don't see much of the old rebel element?" said laura with a smile. if this seemed to mrs. schoonmaker a singular remark for a lady to make, who was meeting "rebels" in society every day, she did not express it in any way, but only said, "you know we don't say 'rebel' anymore. before we came to washington i thought rebels would look unlike other people. i find we are very much alike, and that kindness and good nature wear away prejudice. and then you know there are all sorts of common interests. my husband sometimes says that he doesn't see but confederates are just as eager to get at the treasury as unionists. you know that mr. schoonmaker is on the appropriations." "does he know many southerners?" "oh, yes. there were several at my reception the other day. among others a confederate colonel--a stranger--handsome man with gray hair, probably you didn't notice him, uses a cane in walking. a very agreeable man. i wondered why he called. when my husband came home and looked over the cards, he said he had a cotton claim. a real southerner. perhaps you might know him if i could think of his name. yes, here's his card--louisiana." laura took the card, looked at it intently till she was sure of the address, and then laid it down, with, "no, he is no friend of ours." that afternoon, laura wrote and dispatched the following note. it was in a round hand, unlike her flowing style, and it was directed to a number and street in georgetown:-- "a lady at senator dilworthy's would like to see col. george selby, on business connected with the cotton claims. can he call wednesday at three o'clock p. m.?" on wednesday at p. m, no one of the family was likely to be in the house except laura. chapter xxxix. col. selby had just come to washington, and taken lodgings in georgetown. his business was to get pay for some cotton that was destroyed during the war. there were many others in washington on the same errand, some of them with claims as difficult to establish as his. a concert of action was necessary, and he was not, therefore, at all surprised to receive the note from a lady asking him to call at senator dilworthy's. at a little after three on wednesday he rang the bell of the senator's residence. it was a handsome mansion on the square opposite the president's house. the owner must be a man of great wealth, the colonel thought; perhaps, who knows, said he with a smile, he may have got some of my cotton in exchange for salt and quinine after the capture of new orleans. as this thought passed through his mind he was looking at the remarkable figure of the hero of new orleans, holding itself by main strength from sliding off the back of the rearing bronze horse, and lifting its hat in the manner of one who acknowledges the playing of that martial air: "see, the conquering hero comes!" "gad," said the colonel to himself, "old hickory ought to get down and give his seat to gen. sutler--but they'd have to tie him on." laura was in the drawing room. she heard the bell, she heard the steps in the hall, and the emphatic thud of the supporting cane. she had risen from her chair and was leaning against the piano, pressing her left hand against the violent beating of her heart. the door opened and the colonel entered, standing in the full light of the opposite window. laura was more in the shadow and stood for an instant, long enough for the colonel to make the inward observation that she was a magnificent woman. she then advanced a step. "col. selby, is it not?" the colonel staggered back, caught himself by a chair, and turned towards her a look of terror. "laura? my god!" "yes, your wife!" "oh, no, it can't be. how came you here? i thought you were--" "you thought i was dead? you thought you were rid of me? not so long as you live, col. selby, not so long as you live;" laura in her passion was hurried on to say. no man had ever accused col. selby of cowardice. but he was a coward before this woman. may be he was not the man he once was. where was his coolness? where was his sneering, imperturbable manner, with which he could have met, and would have met, any woman he had wronged, if he had only been forewarned. he felt now that he must temporize, that he must gain time. there was danger in laura's tone. there was something frightful in her calmness. her steady eyes seemed to devour him. "you have ruined my life," she said; "and i was so young, so ignorant, and loved you so. you betrayed me, and left me mocking me and trampling me into the dust, a soiled cast-off. you might better have killed me then. then i should not have hated you." "laura," said the colonel, nerving himself, but still pale, and speaking appealingly, "don't say that. reproach me. i deserve it. i was a scoundrel. i was everything monstrous. but your beauty made me crazy. you are right. i was a brute in leaving you as i did. but what could i do? i was married, and--" "and your wife still lives?" asked laura, bending a little forward in her eagerness. the colonel noticed the action, and he almost said "no," but he thought of the folly of attempting concealment. "yes. she is here." what little color had wandered back into laura's face forsook it again. her heart stood still, her strength seemed going from her limbs. her last hope was gone. the room swam before her for a moment, and the colonel stepped towards her, but she waved him back, as hot anger again coursed through her veins, and said, "and you dare come with her, here, and tell me of it, here and mock me with it! and you think i will have it; george? you think i will let you live with that woman? you think i am as powerless as that day i fell dead at your feet?" she raged now. she was in a tempest of excitement. and she advanced towards him with a threatening mien. she would kill me if she could, thought the colonel; but he thought at the same moment, how beautiful she is. he had recovered his head now. she was lovely when he knew her, then a simple country girl, now she was dazzling, in the fullness of ripe womanhood, a superb creature, with all the fascination that a woman of the world has for such a man as col. selby. nothing of this was lost on him. he stepped quickly to her, grasped both her hands in his, and said, "laura, stop! think! suppose i loved you yet! suppose i hated my fate! what can i do? i am broken by the war. i have lost everything almost. i had as lief be dead and done with it." the colonel spoke with a low remembered voice that thrilled through laura. he was looking into her eyes as he had looked in those old days, when no birds of all those that sang in the groves where they walked sang a note of warning. he was wounded. he had been punished. her strength forsook her with her rage, and she sank upon a chair, sobbing, "oh! my god, i thought i hated him!" the colonel knelt beside her. he took her hand and she let him keep it. she, looked down into his face, with a pitiable tenderness, and said in a weak voice. "and you do love me a little?" the colonel vowed and protested. he kissed her hand and her lips. he swore his false soul into perdition. she wanted love, this woman. was not her love for george selby deeper than any other woman's could be? had she not a right to him? did he not belong to her by virtue of her overmastering passion? his wife--she was not his wife, except by the law. she could not be. even with the law she could have no right to stand between two souls that were one. it was an infamous condition in society that george should be tied to her. laura thought this, believed it; because she desired to believe it. she came to it as an original propositions founded an the requirements of her own nature. she may have heard, doubtless she had, similar theories that were prevalent at that day, theories of the tyranny of marriage and of the freedom of marriage. she had even heard women lecturers say, that marriage should only continue so long as it pleased either party to it --for a year, or a month, or a day. she had not given much heed to this, but she saw its justice now in a dash of revealing desire. it must be right. god would not have permitted her to love george selby as she did, and him to love her, if it was right for society to raise up a barrier between them. he belonged to her. had he not confessed it himself? not even the religious atmosphere of senator dilworthy's house had been sufficient to instill into laura that deep christian principle which had been somehow omitted in her training. indeed in that very house had she not heard women, prominent before the country and besieging congress, utter sentiments that fully justified the course she was marking out for herself. they were seated now, side by side, talking with more calmness. laura was happy, or thought she was. but it was that feverish sort of happiness which is snatched out of the black shadow of falsehood, and is at the moment recognized as fleeting and perilous, and indulged tremblingly. she loved. she was loved. that is happiness certainly. and the black past and the troubled present and the uncertain future could not snatch that from her. what did they say as they sat there? what nothings do people usually say in such circumstances, even if they are three-score and ten? it was enough for laura to hear his voice and be near him. it was enough for him to be near her, and avoid committing himself as much as he could. enough for him was the present also. had there not always been some way out of such scrapes? and yet laura could not be quite content without prying into tomorrow. how could the colonel manage to free himself from his wife? would it be long? could he not go into some state where it would not take much time? he could not say exactly. that they must think of. that they must talk over. and so on. did this seem like a damnable plot to laura against the life, maybe, of a sister, a woman like herself? probably not. it was right that this man should be hers, and there were some obstacles in the way. that was all. there are as good reasons for bad actions as for good ones,--to those who commit them. when one has broken the tenth commandment, the others are not of much account. was it unnatural, therefore, that when george selby departed, laura should watch him from the window, with an almost joyful heart as he went down the sunny square? "i shall see him to-morrow," she said, "and the next day, and the next. he is mine now." "damn the woman," said the colonel as he picked his way down the steps. "or," he added, as his thoughts took a new turn, "i wish my wife was in new orleans." chapter xl. open your ears; for which of you will stop, the vent of hearing when loud rumor speaks? i, from the orient to the drooping west, making the wind my post-horse, still unfold the acts commenced on this ball of earth: upon my tongues continual slanders ride; the which in every, language i pronounce, stuffing the ears of men with false reports. king henry iv. as may be readily believed, col. beriah sellers was by this time one of the best known men in washington. for the first time in his life his talents had a fair field. he was now at the centre of the manufacture of gigantic schemes, of speculations of all sorts, of political and social gossip. the atmosphere was full of little and big rumors and of vast, undefined expectations. everybody was in haste, too, to push on his private plan, and feverish in his haste, as if in constant apprehension that tomorrow would be judgment day. work while congress is in session, said the uneasy spirit, for in the recess there is no work and no device. the colonel enjoyed this bustle and confusion amazingly; he thrived in the air of-indefinite expectation. all his own schemes took larger shape and more misty and majestic proportions; and in this congenial air, the colonel seemed even to himself to expand into something large and mysterious. if he respected himself before, he almost worshipped beriah sellers now, as a superior being. if he could have chosen an official position out of the highest, he would have been embarrassed in the selection. the presidency of the republic seemed too limited and cramped in the constitutional restrictions. if he could have been grand llama of the united states, that might have come the nearest to his idea of a position. and next to that he would have luxuriated in the irresponsible omniscience of the special correspondent. col. sellers knew the president very well, and had access to his presence when officials were kept cooling their heels in the waiting-room. the president liked to hear the colonel talk, his voluble ease was a refreshment after the decorous dullness of men who only talked business and government, and everlastingly expounded their notions of justice and the distribution of patronage. the colonel was as much a lover of farming and of horses as thomas jefferson was. he talked to the president by the hour about his magnificent stud, and his plantation at hawkeye, a kind of principality--he represented it. he urged the president to pay him a visit during the recess, and see his stock farm. "the president's table is well enough," he used to say, to the loafers who gathered about him at willard's, "well enough for a man on a salary, but god bless my soul, i should like him to see a little old-fashioned hospitality--open house, you know. a person seeing me at home might think i paid no attention to what was in the house, just let things flow in and out. he'd be mistaken. what i look to is quality, sir. the president has variety enough, but the quality! vegetables of course you can't expect here. i'm very particular about mine. take celery, now --there's only one spot in this country where celery will grow. but i an surprised about the wines. i should think they were manufactured in the new york custom house. i must send the president some from my cellar. i was really mortified the other day at dinner to see blacque bey leave his standing in the glasses." when the colonel first came to washington he had thoughts of taking the mission to constantinople, in order to be on the spot to look after the dissemination, of his eye water, but as that invention; was not yet quite ready, the project shrank a little in the presence of vaster schemes. besides he felt that he could do the country more good by remaining at home. he was one of the southerners who were constantly quoted as heartily "accepting the situation." "i'm whipped," he used to say with a jolly laugh, "the government was too many for me; i'm cleaned out, done for, except my plantation and private mansion. we played for a big thing, and lost it, and i don't whine, for one. i go for putting the old flag on all the vacant lots. i said to the president, says i, 'grant, why don't you take santo domingo, annex the whole thing, and settle the bill afterwards. that's my way. i'd, take the job to manage congress. the south would come into it. you've got to conciliate the south, consolidate the two debts, pay 'em off in greenbacks, and go ahead. that's my notion. boutwell's got the right notion about the value of paper, but he lacks courage. i should like to run the treasury department about six months. i'd make things plenty, and business look up.'" the colonel had access to the departments. he knew all the senators and representatives, and especially, the lobby. he was consequently a great favorite in newspaper row, and was often lounging in the offices there, dropping bits of private, official information, which were immediately, caught up and telegraphed all over the country. but it need to surprise even the colonel when he read it, it was embellished to that degree that he hardly recognized it, and the hint was not lost on him. he began to exaggerate his heretofore simple conversation to suit the newspaper demand. people used to wonder in the winters of - and -, where the "specials" got that remarkable information with which they every morning surprised the country, revealing the most secret intentions of the president and his cabinet, the private thoughts of political leaders, the hidden meaning of every movement. this information was furnished by col. sellers. when he was asked, afterwards, about the stolen copy of the alabama treaty which got into the "new york tribune," he only looked mysterious, and said that neither he nor senator dilworthy knew anything about it. but those whom he was in the habit of meeting occasionally felt almost certain that he did know. it must not be supposed that the colonel in his general patriotic labors neglected his own affairs. the columbus river navigation scheme absorbed only a part of his time, so he was enabled to throw quite a strong reserve force of energy into the tennessee land plan, a vast enterprise commensurate with his abilities, and in the prosecution of which he was greatly aided by mr. henry brierly, who was buzzing about the capitol and the hotels day and night, and making capital for it in some mysterious way. "we must create, a public opinion," said senator dilworthy. "my only interest in it is a public one, and if the country wants the institution, congress will have to yield." it may have been after a conversation between the colonel and senator dilworthy that the following special despatch was sent to a new york newspaper: "we understand that a philanthropic plan is on foot in relation to the colored race that will, if successful, revolutionize the whole character of southern industry. an experimental institution is in contemplation in tennessee which will do for that state what the industrial school at zurich did for switzerland. we learn that approaches have been made to the heirs of the late hon. silas hawkins of missouri, in reference to a lease of a portion of their valuable property in east tennessee. senator dilworthy, it is understood, is inflexibly opposed to any arrangement that will not give the government absolute control. private interests must give way to the public good. it is to be hoped that col. sellers, who represents the heirs, will be led to see the matter in this light." when washington hawkins read this despatch, he went to the colonel in some anxiety. he was for a lease, he didn't want to surrender anything. what did he think the government would offer? two millions? "may be three, may be four," said the colonel, "it's worth more than the bank of england." "if they will not lease," said washington, "let 'em make it two millions for an undivided half. i'm not going to throw it away, not the whole of it." harry told the colonel that they must drive the thing through, he couldn't be dallying round washington when spring opened. phil wanted him, phil had a great thing on hand up in pennsylvania. "what is that?" inquired the colonel, always ready to interest himself in anything large. "a mountain of coal; that's all. he's going to run a tunnel into it in the spring." "does he want any capital?", asked the colonel, in the tone of a man who is given to calculating carefully before he makes an investment. "no. old man bolton's behind him. he has capital, but i judged that he wanted my experience in starting." "if he wants me, tell him i'll come, after congress adjourns. i should like to give him a little lift. he lacks enterprise--now, about that columbus river. he doesn't see his chances. but he's a good fellow, and you can tell him that sellers won't go back on him." "by the way," asked harry, "who is that rather handsome party that's hanging 'round laura? i see him with her everywhere, at the capitol, in the horse cars, and he comes to dilworthy's. if he weren't lame, i should think he was going to run off with her." "oh, that's nothing. laura knows her business. he has a cotton claim. used to be at hawkeye during the war. "selby's his name, was a colonel. got a wife and family. very respectable people, the selby's." "well, that's all right," said harry, "if it's business. but if a woman looked at me as i've seen her at selby, i should understand it. and it's talked about, i can tell you." jealousy had no doubt sharpened this young gentleman's observation. laura could not have treated him with more lofty condescension if she had been the queen of sheba, on a royal visit to the great republic. and he resented it, and was "huffy" when he was with her, and ran her errands, and brought her gossip, and bragged of his intimacy with the lovely creature among the fellows at newspaper row. laura's life was rushing on now in the full stream of intrigue and fashionable dissipation. she was conspicuous at the balls of the fastest set, and was suspected of being present at those doubtful suppers that began late and ended early. if senator dilworthy remonstrated about appearances, she had a way of silencing him. perhaps she had some hold on him, perhaps she was necessary to his plan for ameliorating the condition the tube colored race. she saw col. selby, when the public knew and when it did not know. she would see him, whatever excuses he made, and however he avoided her. she was urged on by a fever of love and hatred and jealousy, which alternately possessed her. sometimes she petted him, and coaxed him and tried all her fascinations. and again she threatened him and reproached him. what was he doing? why had he taken no steps to free himself? why didn't he send his wife home? she should have money soon. they could go to europe--anywhere. what did she care for talk? and he promised, and lied, and invented fresh excuses for delay, like a cowardly gambler and roue as he was, fearing to break with her, and half the time unwilling to give her up. "that woman doesn't know what fear is," he said to himself, "and she watches me like a hawk." he told his wife that this woman was a lobbyist, whom he had to tolerate and use in getting through his claims, and that he should pay her and have done with her, when he succeeded. chapter xli. henry brierly was at the dilworthy's constantly and on such terms of intimacy that he came and went without question. the senator was not an inhospitable man, he liked to have guests in his house, and harry's gay humor and rattling way entertained him; for even the most devout men and busy statesmen must have hours of relaxation. harry himself believed that he was of great service in the university business, and that the success of the scheme depended upon him to a great degree. he spent many hours in talking it over with the senator after dinner. he went so far as to consider whether it would be worth his while to take the professorship of civil engineering in the new institution. but it was not the senator's society nor his dinners--at which this scapegrace remarked that there was too much grace and too little wine --which attracted him to the house. the fact was the poor fellow hung around there day after day for the chance of seeing laura for five minutes at a time. for her presence at dinner he would endure the long bore of the senator's talk afterwards, while laura was off at some assembly, or excused herself on the plea of fatigue. now and then he accompanied her to some reception, and rarely, on off nights, he was blessed with her company in the parlor, when he sang, and was chatty and vivacious and performed a hundred little tricks of imitation and ventriloquism, and made himself as entertaining as a man could be. it puzzled him not a little that all his fascinations seemed to go for so little with laura; it was beyond his experience with women. sometimes laura was exceedingly kind and petted him a little, and took the trouble to exert her powers of pleasing, and to entangle him deeper and deeper. but this, it angered him afterwards to think, was in private; in public she was beyond his reach, and never gave occasion to the suspicion that she had any affair with him. he was never permitted to achieve the dignity of a serious flirtation with her in public. "why do you treat me so?" he once said, reproachfully. "treat you how?" asked laura in a sweet voice, lifting her eyebrows. "you know well enough. you let other fellows monopolize you in society, and you are as indifferent to me as if we were strangers." "can i help it if they are attentive, can i be rude? but we are such old friends, mr. brierly, that i didn't suppose you would be jealous." "i think i must be a very old friend, then, by your conduct towards me. by the same rule i should judge that col. selby must be very new." laura looked up quickly, as if about to return an indignant answer to such impertinence, but she only said, "well, what of col. selby, sauce-box?" "nothing, probably, you'll care for. your being with him so much is the town talk, that's all?" "what do people say?" asked laura calmly. "oh, they say a good many things. you are offended, though, to have me speak of it?" "not in the least. you are my true friend. i feel that i can trust you. you wouldn't deceive me, harry?" throwing into her eyes a look of trust and tenderness that melted away all his petulance and distrust. "what do they say?" "some say that you've lost your head about him; others that you don't care any more for him than you do for a dozen others, but that he is completely fascinated with you and about to desert his wife; and others say it is nonsense to suppose you would entangle yourself with a married man, and that your intimacy only arises from the matter of the cotton, claims, for which he wants your influence with dilworthy. but you know everybody is talked about more or less in washington. i shouldn't care; but i wish you wouldn't have so much to do with selby, laura," continued harry, fancying that he was now upon such terms that his, advice, would be heeded. "and you believed these slanders?" "i don't believe anything against you, laura, but col. selby does not mean you any good. i know you wouldn't be seen with him if you knew his reputation." "do you know him?" laura asked, as indifferently as she could. "only a little. i was at his lodgings' in georgetown a day or two ago, with col. sellers. sellers wanted to talk with him about some patent remedy he has, eye water, or something of that sort, which he wants to introduce into europe. selby is going abroad very soon." laura started; in spite of her self-control. "and his wife!--does he take his family? did you see his wife?" "yes. a dark little woman, rather worn--must have been pretty once though. has three or four children, one of them a baby. they'll all go of course. she said she should be glad enough to get away from washington. you know selby has got his claim allowed, and they say he has had a run, of luck lately at morrissey's." laura heard all this in a kind of stupor, looking straight at harry, without seeing him. is it possible, she was thinking, that this base wretch, after, all his promises, will take his wife and children and leave me? is it possible the town is saying all these things about me? and a look of bitterness coming into her face--does the fool think he can escape so? "you are angry with me, laura," said harry, not comprehending in the least what was going on in her mind. "angry?" she said, forcing herself to come back to his presence. "with you? oh no. i'm angry with the cruel world, which, pursues an independent woman as it never does a man. i'm grateful to you harry; i'm grateful to you for telling me of that odious man." and she rose from her chair and gave him her pretty hand, which the silly fellow took, and kissed and clung to. and he said many silly things, before she disengaged herself gently, and left him, saying it was time to dress, for dinner. and harry went away, excited, and a little hopeful, but only a little. the happiness was only a gleam, which departed and left him thoroughly, miserable. she never would love him, and she was going to the devil, besides. he couldn't shut his eyes to what he saw, nor his ears to what he heard of her. what had come over this thrilling young lady-killer? it was a pity to see such a gay butterfly broken on a wheel. was there something good in him, after all, that had been touched? he was in fact madly in love with this woman. it is not for us to analyze the passion and say whether it was a worthy one. it absorbed his whole nature and made him wretched enough. if he deserved punishment, what more would you have? perhaps this love was kindling a new heroism in him. he saw the road on which laura was going clearly enough, though he did not believe the worst he heard of her. he loved her too passionately to credit that for a moment. and it seemed to him that if he could compel her to recognize her position, and his own devotion, she might love him, and that he could save her. his love was so far ennobled, and become a very different thing from its beginning in hawkeye. whether he ever thought that if he could save her from ruin, he could give her up himself, is doubtful. such a pitch of virtue does not occur often in real life, especially in such natures as harry's, whose generosity and unselfishness were matters of temperament rather than habits or principles. he wrote a long letter to laura, an incoherent, passionate letter, pouring out his love as he could not do in her presence, and warning her as plainly as he dared of the dangers that surrounded her, and the risks she ran of compromising herself in many ways. laura read the letter, with a little sigh may be, as she thought of other days, but with contempt also, and she put it into the fire with the thought, "they are all alike." harry was in the habit of writing to philip freely, and boasting also about his doings, as he could not help doing and remain himself. mixed up with his own exploits, and his daily triumphs as a lobbyist, especially in the matter of the new university, in which harry was to have something handsome, were amusing sketches of washington society, hints about dilworthy, stories about col. sellers, who had become a well-known character, and wise remarks upon the machinery of private legislation for the public-good, which greatly entertained philip in his convalescence. laura's name occurred very often in these letters, at first in casual mention as the belle of the season, carrying everything before her with her wit and beauty, and then more seriously, as if harry did not exactly like so much general admiration of her, and was a little nettled by her treatment of him. this was so different from harry's usual tone about women, that philip wondered a good deal over it. could it be possible that he was seriously affected? then came stories about laura, town talk, gossip which harry denied the truth of indignantly; but he was evidently uneasy, and at length wrote in such miserable spirits that philip asked him squarely what the trouble was; was he in love? upon this, harry made a clean breast of it, and told philip all he knew about the selby affair, and laura's treatment of him, sometimes encouraging him--and then throwing him off, and finally his belief that she would go, to the bad if something was not done to arouse her from her infatuation. he wished philip was in washington. he knew laura, and she had a great respect for his character, his opinions, his judgment. perhaps he, as an uninterested person whom she would have some confidence, and as one of the public, could say some thing to her that would show her where she stood. philip saw the situation clearly enough. of laura he knew not much, except that she was a woman of uncommon fascination, and he thought from what he had seen of her in hawkeye, her conduct towards him and towards harry, of not too much principle. of course he knew nothing of her history; he knew nothing seriously against her, and if harry was desperately enamored of her, why should he not win her if he could. if, however, she had already become what harry uneasily felt she might become, was it not his duty to go to the rescue of his friend and try to save him from any rash act on account of a woman that might prove to be entirely unworthy of him; for trifler and visionary as he was, harry deserved a better fate than this. philip determined to go to washington and see for himself. he had other reasons also. he began to know enough of mr. bolton's affairs to be uneasy. pennybacker had been there several times during the winter, and he suspected that he was involving mr. bolton in some doubtful scheme. pennybacker was in washington, and philip thought he might perhaps find out something about him, and his plans, that would be of service to mr. bolton. philip had enjoyed his winter very well, for a man with his arm broken and his head smashed. with two such nurses as ruth and alice, illness seemed to him rather a nice holiday, and every moment of his convalescence had been precious and all too fleeting. with a young fellow of the habits of philip, such injuries cannot be counted on to tarry long, even for the purpose of love-making, and philip found himself getting strong with even disagreeable rapidity. during his first weeks of pain and weakness, ruth was unceasing in her ministrations; she quietly took charge of him, and with a gentle firmness resisted all attempts of alice or any one else to share to any great extent the burden with her. she was clear, decisive and peremptory in whatever she did; but often when philip, opened his eyes in those first days of suffering and found her standing by his bedside, he saw a look of tenderness in her anxious face that quickened his already feverish pulse, a look that, remained in his heart long after he closed his eyes. sometimes he felt her hand on his forehead, and did not open his eyes for fear she world take it away. he watched for her coming to his chamber; he could distinguish her light footstep from all others. if this is what is meant by women practicing medicine, thought philip to himself, i like it. "ruth," said he one day when he was getting to be quite himself, "i believe in it?" "believe in what?" "why, in women physicians." "then, i'd better call in mrs. dr. longstreet." "oh, no. one will do, one at a time. i think i should be well tomorrow, if i thought i should never have any other." "thy physician thinks thee mustn't talk, philip," said ruth putting her finger on his lips. "but, ruth, i want to tell you that i should wish i never had got well if--" "there, there, thee must not talk. thee is wandering again," and ruth closed his lips, with a smile on her own that broadened into a merry laugh as she ran away. philip was not weary, however, of making these attempts, he rather enjoyed it. but whenever he inclined to be sentimental, ruth would cut him off, with some such gravely conceived speech as, "does thee think that thy physician will take advantage of the condition of a man who is as weak as thee is? i will call alice, if thee has any dying confessions to make." as philip convalesced, alice more and more took ruth's place as his entertainer, and read to him by the hour, when he did not want to talk --to talk about ruth, as he did a good deal of the time. nor was this altogether unsatisfactory to philip. he was always happy and contented with alice. she was the most restful person he knew. better informed than ruth and with a much more varied culture, and bright and sympathetic, he was never weary of her company, if he was not greatly excited by it. she had upon his mind that peaceful influence that mrs. bolton had when, occasionally, she sat by his bedside with her work. some people have this influence, which is like an emanation. they bring peace to a house, they diffuse serene content in a room full of mixed company, though they may say very little, and are apparently, unconscious of their own power. not that philip did not long for ruth's presence all the same. since he was well enough to be about the house, she was busy again with her studies. now and then her teasing humor came again. she always had a playful shield against his sentiment. philip used sometimes to declare that she had no sentiment; and then he doubted if he should be pleased with her after all if she were at all sentimental; and he rejoiced that she had, in such matters what he called the airy grace of sanity. she was the most gay serious person he ever saw. perhaps he waw not so much at rest or so contented with her as with alice. but then he loved her. and what have rest and contentment to do with love? chapter xlii mr. buckstone's campaign was brief--much briefer than he supposed it would be. he began it purposing to win laura without being won himself; but his experience was that of all who had fought on that field before him; he diligently continued his effort to win her, but he presently found that while as yet he could not feel entirely certain of having won her, it was very manifest that she had won him. he had made an able fight, brief as it was, and that at least was to his credit. he was in good company, now; he walked in a leash of conspicuous captives. these unfortunates followed laura helplessly, for whenever she took a prisoner he remained her slave henceforth. sometimes they chafed in their bondage; sometimes they tore themselves free and said their serfdom was ended; but sooner or later they always came back penitent and worshiping. laura pursued her usual course: she encouraged mr. buckstone by turns, and by turns she harassed him; she exalted him to the clouds at one time, and at another she dragged him down again. she constituted him chief champion of the knobs university bill, and he accepted the position, at first reluctantly, but later as a valued means of serving her--he even came to look upon it as a piece of great good fortune, since it brought him into such frequent contact with her. through him she learned that the hon. mr. trollop was a bitter enemy of her bill. he urged her not to attempt to influence mr. trollop in any way, and explained that whatever she might attempt in that direction would surely be used against her and with damaging effect. she at first said she knew mr. trollop, "and was aware that he had a blank-blank;"--[**her private figure of speech for brother--or son-in-law]--but mr. buckstone said that he was not able to conceive what so curious a phrase as blank-blank might mean, and had no wish to pry into the matter, since it was probably private, he "would nevertheless venture the blind assertion that nothing would answer in this particular case and during this particular session but to be exceedingly wary and keep clear away from mr. trollop; any other course would be fatal." it seemed that nothing could be done. laura was seriously troubled. everything was looking well, and yet it was plain that one vigorous and determined enemy might eventually succeed in overthrowing all her plans. a suggestion came into her mind presently and she said: "can't you fight against his great pension bill and, bring him to terms?" "oh, never; he and i are sworn brothers on that measure; we work in harness and are very loving--i do everything i possibly can for him there. but i work with might and main against his immigration bill, --as pertinaciously and as vindictively, indeed, as he works against our university. we hate each other through half a conversation and are all affection through the other half. we understand each other. he is an admirable worker outside the capitol; he will do more for the pension bill than any other man could do; i wish he would make the great speech on it which he wants to make--and then i would make another and we would be safe." "well if he wants to make a great speech why doesn't he do it?" visitors interrupted the conversation and mr. buckstone took his leave. it was not of the least moment to laura that her question had not been answered, inasmuch as it concerned a thing which did not interest her; and yet, human being like, she thought she would have liked to know. an opportunity occurring presently, she put the same question to another person and got an answer that satisfied her. she pondered a good while that night, after she had gone to bed, and when she finally turned over, to, go to sleep, she had thought out a new scheme. the next evening at mrs. gloverson's party, she said to mr. buckstone: "i want mr. trollop to make his great speech on the pension bill." "do you? but you remember i was interrupted, and did not explain to you--" "never mind, i know. you must' make him make that speech. i very. particularly desire, it." "oh, it is easy, to say make him do it, but how am i to make him!" "it is perfectly easy; i have thought it all out." she then went into the details. at length mr. buckstone said: "i see now. i can manage it, i am sure. indeed i wonder he never thought of it himself--there are no end of precedents. but how is this going to benefit you, after i have managed it? there is where the mystery lies." "but i will take care of that. it will benefit me a great deal." "i only wish i could see how; it is the oddest freak. you seem to go the furthest around to get at a thing--but you are in earnest, aren't you?" "yes i am, indeed." "very well, i will do it--but why not tell me how you imagine it is going to help you?" "i will, by and by.--now there is nobody talking to him. go straight and do it, there's a good fellow." a moment or two later the two sworn friends of the pension bill were talking together, earnestly, and seemingly unconscious of the moving throng about them. they talked an hour, and then mr. buckstone came back and said: "he hardly fancied it at first, but he fell in love with it after a bit. and we have made a compact, too. i am to keep his secret and he is to spare me, in future, when he gets ready to denounce the supporters of the university bill--and i can easily believe he will keep his word on this occasion." a fortnight elapsed, and the university bill had gathered to itself many friends, meantime. senator dilworthy began to think the harvest was ripe. he conferred with laura privately. she was able to tell him exactly how the house would vote. there was a majority--the bill would pass, unless weak members got frightened at the last, and deserted--a thing pretty likely to occur. the senator said: "i wish we had one more good strong man. now trollop ought to be on our side, for he is a friend of the negro. but he is against us, and is our bitterest opponent. if he would simply vote no, but keep quiet and not molest us, i would feel perfectly cheerful and content. but perhaps there is no use in thinking of that." "why i laid a little plan for his benefit two weeks ago. i think he will be tractable, maybe. he is to come here tonight." "look out for him, my child! he means mischief, sure. it is said that he claims to know of improper practices having been used in the interest of this bill, and he thinks be sees a chance to make a great sensation when the bill comes up. be wary. be very, very careful, my dear. do your very-ablest talking, now. you can convince a man of anything, when you try. you must convince him that if anything improper has been done, you at least are ignorant of it and sorry for it. and if you could only persuade him out of his hostility to the bill, too--but don't overdo the thing; don't seem too anxious, dear." "i won't; i'll be ever so careful. i'll talk as sweetly to him as if he were my own child! you may trust me--indeed you may." the door-bell rang. "that is the gentleman now," said laura. senator dilworthy retired to his study. laura welcomed mr. trollop, a grave, carefully dressed and very respectable looking man, with a bald head, standing collar and old fashioned watch seals. "promptness is a virtue, mr. trollop, and i perceive that you have it. you are always prompt with me." "i always meet my engagements, of every kind, miss hawkins." "it is a quality which is rarer in the world than it has been, i believe. i wished to see you on business, mr. trollop." "i judged so. what can i do for you?" "you know my bill--the knobs university bill?" "ah, i believe it is your bill. i had forgotten. yes, i know the bill." "well, would you mind telling me your opinion of it?" "indeed, since you seem to ask it without reserve, i am obliged to say that i do not regard it favorably. i have not seen the bill itself, but from what i can hear, it--it--well, it has a bad look about it. it--" "speak it out--never fear." "well, it--they say it contemplates a fraud upon the government." "well?" said laura tranquilly. "well! i say 'well?' too." "well, suppose it were a fraud--which i feel able to deny--would it be the first one?" "you take a body's breath away! would you--did you wish me to vote for it? was that what you wanted to see me about?" "your instinct is correct. i did want you--i do want you to vote for it." "vote for a fr--for a measure which is generally believed to be at least questionable? i am afraid we cannot come to an understanding, miss hawkins." "no, i am afraid not--if you have resumed your principles, mr. trollop." "did you send for we merely to insult me? it is time for me to take my leave, miss hawkins." "no-wait a moment. don't be offended at a trifle. do not be offish and unsociable. the steamship subsidy bill was a fraud on the government. you voted for it, mr. trollop, though you always opposed the measure until after you had an interview one evening with a certain mrs. mccarter at her house. she was my agent. she was acting for me. ah, that is right--sit down again. you can be sociable, easily enough if you have a mind to. well? i am waiting. have you nothing to say?" "miss hawkins, i voted for that bill because when i came to examine into it--" "ah yes. when you came to examine into it. well, i only want you to examine into my bill. mr. trollop, you would not sell your vote on that subsidy bill--which was perfectly right--but you accepted of some of the stock, with the understanding that it was to stand in your brother-in-law's name." "there is no pr--i mean, this is, utterly groundless, miss hawkins." but the gentleman seemed somewhat uneasy, nevertheless. "well, not entirely so, perhaps. i and a person whom we will call miss blank (never mind the real name,) were in a closet at your elbow all the while." mr. trollop winced--then he said with dignity: "miss hawkins is it possible that you were capable of such a thing as that?" "it was bad; i confess that. it was bad. almost as bad as selling one's vote for--but i forget; you did not sell your vote--you only accepted a little trifle, a small token of esteem, for your brother-in-law. oh, let us come out and be frank with each other: i know you, mr. trollop. i have met you on business three or four times; true, i never offered to corrupt your principles--never hinted such a thing; but always when i had finished sounding you, i manipulated you through an agent. let us be frank. wear this comely disguise of virtue before the public--it will count there; but here it is out of place. my dear sir, by and by there is going to be an investigation into that national internal improvement directors' relief measure of a few years ago, and you know very well that you will be a crippled man, as likely as not, when it is completed." "it cannot be shown that a man is a knave merely for owning that stock. i am not distressed about the national improvement relief measure." "oh indeed i am not trying to distress you. i only wished, to make good my assertion that i knew you. several of you gentlemen bought of that stack (without paying a penny down) received dividends from it, (think of the happy idea of receiving dividends, and very large ones, too, from stock one hasn't paid for!) and all the while your names never appeared in the transaction; if ever you took the stock at all, you took it in other people's names. now you see, you had to know one of two things; namely, you either knew that the idea of all this preposterous generosity was to bribe you into future legislative friendship, or you didn't know it. that is to say, you had to be either a knave or a--well, a fool --there was no middle ground. you are not a fool, mr. trollop." "miss hawking you flatter me. but seriously, you do not forget that some of the best and purest men in congress took that stock in that way?" "did senator bland?" "well, no--i believe not." "of course you believe not. do you suppose he was ever approached, on the subject?" "perhaps not." "if you had approached him, for instance, fortified with the fact that some of the best men in congress, and the purest, etc., etc.; what would have been the result?" "well, what would have been the result?" "he would have shown you the door! for mr. blank is neither a knave nor a fool. there are other men in the senate and the house whom no one would have been hardy enough to approach with that relief stock in that peculiarly generous way, but they are not of the class that you regard as the best and purest. no, i say i know you mr. trollop. that is to say, one may suggest a thing to mr. trollop which it would not do to suggest to mr. blank. mr. trollop, you are pledged to support the indigent congressmen's retroactive appropriation which is to come up, either in this or the next session. you do not deny that, even in public. the man that will vote for that bill will break the eighth commandment in any other way, sir!" "but he will not vote for your corrupt measure, nevertheless, madam!" exclaimed mr. trollop, rising from his seat in a passion. "ah, but he will. sit down again, and let me explain why. oh, come, don't behave so. it is very unpleasant. now be good, and you shall have, the missing page of your great speech. here it is!"--and she displayed a sheet of manuscript. mr. trollop turned immediately back from the threshold. it might have been gladness that flashed into his face; it might have been something else; but at any rate there was much astonishment mixed with it. "good! where did you get it? give it me!" "now there is no hurry. sit down; sit down and let us talk and be friendly." the gentleman wavered. then he said: "no, this is only a subterfuge. i will go. it is not the missing page." laura tore off a couple of lines from the bottom of the sheet. "now," she said, "you will know whether this is the handwriting or not. you know it is the handwriting. now if you will listen, you will know that this must be the list of statistics which was to be the 'nub' of your great effort, and the accompanying blast the beginning of the burst of eloquence which was continued on the next page--and you will recognize that there was where you broke down." she read the page. mr. trollop said: "this is perfectly astounding. still, what is all this to me? it is nothing. it does not concern me. the speech is made, and there an end. i did break down for a moment, and in a rather uncomfortable place, since i had led up to those statistics with some grandeur; the hiatus was pleasanter to the house and the galleries than it was to me. but it is no matter now. a week has passed; the jests about it ceased three or four days ago. the, whole thing is a matter of indifference to me, miss hawkins." "but you apologized; and promised the statistics for next day. why didn't you keep your promise." "the matter was not of sufficient consequence. the time was gone by to produce an effect with them." "but i hear that other friends of the soldiers' pension bill desire them very much. i think you ought to let them have them." "miss hawkins, this silly blunder of my copyist evidently has more interest for you than it has for me. i will send my private secretary to you and let him discuss the subject with you at length." "did he copy your speech for you?" "of course he did. why all these questions? tell me--how did you get hold of that page of manuscript? that is the only thing that stirs a passing interest in my mind." "i'm coming to that." then she said, much as if she were talking to herself: "it does seem like taking a deal of unnecessary pains, for a body to hire another body to construct a great speech for him and then go and get still another body to copy it before it can be read in the house." "miss hawkins, what do yo mean by such talk as that?" "why i am sure i mean no harm--no harm to anybody in the world. i am certain that i overheard the hon. mr. buckstone either promise to write your great speech for you or else get some other competent person to do it." "this is perfectly absurd, madam, perfectly absurd!" and mr. trollop affected a laugh of derision. "why, the thing has occurred before now. i mean that i have heard that congressmen have sometimes hired literary grubs to build speeches for them.--now didn't i overhear a conversation like that i spoke of?" "pshaw! why of course you may have overheard some such jesting nonsense. but would one be in earnest about so farcical a thing?" "well if it was only a joke, why did you make a serious matter of it? why did you get the speech written for you, and then read it in the house without ever having it copied?" mr. trollop did not laugh this time; he seemed seriously perplexed. he said: "come, play out your jest, miss hawkins. i can't understand what you are contriving--but it seems to entertain you--so please, go on." "i will, i assure you; but i hope to make the matter entertaining to you, too. your private secretary never copied your speech." "indeed? really you seem to know my affairs better than i do myself." "i believe i do. you can't name your own amanuensis, mr. trollop." "that is sad, indeed. perhaps miss hawkins can?" "yes, i can. i wrote your speech myself, and you read it from my manuscript. there, now!" mr. trollop did not spring to his feet and smite his brow with his hand while a cold sweat broke out all over him and the color forsook his face --no, he only said, "good god!" and looked greatly astonished. laura handed him her commonplace-book and called his attention to the fact that the handwriting there and the handwriting of this speech were the same. he was shortly convinced. he laid the book aside and said, composedly: "well, the wonderful tragedy is done, and it transpires that i am indebted to you for my late eloquence. what of it? what was all this for and what does it amount to after all? what do you propose to do about it?" "oh nothing. it is only a bit of pleasantry. when i overheard that conversation i took an early opportunity to ask mr. buckstone if he knew of anybody who might want a speech written--i had a friend, and so forth and so on. i was the friend, myself; i thought i might do you a good turn then and depend on you to do me one by and by. i never let mr. buckstone have the speech till the last moment, and when you hurried off to the house with it, you did not know there was a missing page, of course, but i did. "and now perhaps you think that if i refuse to support your bill, you will make a grand exposure?" "well i had not thought of that. i only kept back the page for the mere fun of the thing; but since you mention it, i don't know but i might do something if i were angry." "my dear miss hawkins, if you were to give out that you composed my speech, you know very well that people would say it was only your raillery, your fondness for putting a victim in the pillory and amusing the public at his expense. it is too flimsy, miss hawkins, for a person of your fine inventive talent--contrive an abler device than that. come!" "it is easily done, mr. trollop. i will hire a man, and pin this page on his breast, and label it, 'the missing fragment of the hon. mr. trollop's great speech--which speech was written and composed by miss laura hawkins under a secret understanding for one hundred dollars--and the money has not been paid.' and i will pin round about it notes in my handwriting, which i will procure from prominent friends of mine for the occasion; also your printed speech in the globe, showing the connection between its bracketed hiatus and my fragment; and i give you my word of honor that i will stand that human bulletin board in the rotunda of the capitol and make him stay there a week! you see you are premature, mr. trollop, the wonderful tragedy is not done yet, by any means. come, now, doesn't it improve?" mr trollop opened his eyes rather widely at this novel aspect of the case. he got up and walked the floor and gave himself a moment for reflection. then he stopped and studied laura's face a while, and ended by saying: "well, i am obliged to believe you would be reckless enough to do that." "then don't put me to the test, mr. trollop. but let's drop the matter. i have had my joke and you've borne the infliction becomingly enough. it spoils a jest to harp on it after one has had one's laugh. i would much rather talk about my bill." "so would i, now, my clandestine amanuensis. compared with some other subjects, even your bill is a pleasant topic to discuss." "very good indeed! i thought. i could persuade you. now i am sure you will be generous to the poor negro and vote for that bill." "yes, i feel more tenderly toward the oppressed colored man than i did. shall we bury the hatchet and be good friends and respect each other's little secrets, on condition that i vote aye on the measure?" "with all my heart, mr. trollop. i give you my word of that." "it is a bargain. but isn't there something else you could give me, too?" laura looked at him inquiringly a moment, and then she comprehended. "oh, yes! you may have it now. i haven't any, more use for it." she picked up the page of manuscript, but she reconsidered her intention of handing it to him, and said, "but never mind; i will keep it close; no one shall see it; you shall have it as soon as your vote is recorded." mr. trollop looked disappointed. but presently made his adieux, and had got as far as the hall, when something occurred to laura. she said to herself, "i don't simply want his vote under compulsion--he might vote aye, but work against the bill in secret, for revenge; that man is unscrupulous enough to do anything. i must have his hearty co-operation as well as his vote. there is only one way to get that." she called him back, and said: "i value your vote, mr. trollop, but i value your influence more. you are able to help a measure along in many ways, if you choose. i want to ask you to work for the bill as well as vote for it." "it takes so much of one's time, miss hawkins--and time is money, you know." "yes, i know it is--especially in congress. now there is no use in you and i dealing in pretenses and going at matters in round-about ways. we know each other--disguises are nonsense. let us be plain. i will make it an object to you to work for the bill." "don't make it unnecessarily plain, please. there are little proprieties that are best preserved. what do you propose?" "well, this." she mentioned the names of several prominent congressmen. "now," said she, "these gentlemen are to vote and work for the bill, simply out of love for the negro--and out of pure generosity i have put in a relative of each as a member of the university incorporation. they will handle a million or so of money, officially, but will receive no salaries. a larger number of statesmen are to, vote and work for the bill--also out of love for the negro--gentlemen of but moderate influence, these--and out of pure generosity i am to see that relatives of theirs have positions in the university, with salaries, and good ones, too. you will vote and work for the bill, from mere affection for the negro, and i desire to testify my gratitude becomingly. make free choice. have you any friend whom you would like to present with a salaried or unsalaried position in our institution?" "well, i have a brother-in-law--" "that same old brother-in-law, you good unselfish provider! i have heard of him often, through my agents. how regularly he does 'turn up,' to be sure. he could deal with those millions virtuously, and withal with ability, too--but of course you would rather he had a salaried position?" "oh, no," said the gentleman, facetiously, "we are very humble, very humble in our desires; we want no money; we labor solely, for our country and require no reward but the luxury of an applauding conscience. make him one of those poor hard working unsalaried corporators and let him do every body good with those millions--and go hungry himself! i will try to exert a little influence in favor of the bill." arrived at home, mr. trollop sat down and thought it all over--something after this fashion: it is about the shape it might have taken if he had spoken it aloud. "my reputation is getting a little damaged, and i meant to clear it up brilliantly with an exposure of this bill at the supreme moment, and ride back into congress on the eclat of it; and if i had that bit of manuscript, i would do it yet. it would be more money in my pocket in the end, than my brother-in-law will get out of that incorporatorship, fat as it is. but that sheet of paper is out of my reach--she will never let that get out of her hands. and what a mountain it is! it blocks up my road, completely. she was going to hand it to me, once. why didn't she! must be a deep woman. deep devil! that is what she is; a beautiful devil--and perfectly fearless, too. the idea of her pinning that paper on a man and standing him up in the rotunda looks absurd at a first glance. but she would do it! she is capable of doing anything. i went there hoping she would try to bribe me--good solid capital that would be in the exposure. well, my prayer was answered; she did try to bribe me; and i made the best of a bad bargain and let her. i am check-mated. i must contrive something fresh to get back to congress on. very well; a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush; i will work for the bill--the incorporatorship will be a very good thing." as soon as mr. trollop had taken his leave, laura ran to senator dilworthy and began to speak, but he interrupted her and said distressfully, without even turning from his writing to look at her: "only half an hour! you gave it up early, child. however, it was best, it was best--i'm sure it was best--and safest." "give it up! i!" the senator sprang up, all aglow: "my child, you can't mean that you--" "i've made him promise on honor to think about a compromise tonight and come and tell me his decision in the morning." "good! there's hope yet that--" nonsense, uncle. i've made him engage to let the tennessee land bill utterly alone!" "impossible! you--" "i've made him promise to vote with us!" "incredible! abso--" "i've made him swear that he'll work for us!" "pre - - - posterous!--utterly pre--break a window, child, before i suffocate!" "no matter, it's true anyway. now we can march into congress with drums beating and colors flying!" "well--well--well. i'm sadly bewildered, sadly bewildered. i can't understand it at all--the most extraordinary woman that ever--it's a great day, it's a great day. there--there--let me put my hand in benediction on this precious head. ah, my child, the poor negro will bless--" "oh bother the poor negro, uncle! put it in your speech. good-night, good-bye--we'll marshal our forces and march with the dawn!" laura reflected a while, when she was alone, and then fell to laughing, peacefully. "everybody works for me,"--so ran her thought. "it was a good idea to make buckstone lead mr. trollop on to get a great speech written for him; and it was a happy part of the same idea for me to copy the speech after mr. buckstone had written it, and then keep back a page. mr. b. was very complimentary to me when trollop's break-down in the house showed him the object of my mysterious scheme; i think he will say, still finer things when i tell him the triumph the sequel to it has gained for us. "but what a coward the man was, to believe i would have exposed that page in the rotunda, and so exposed myself. however, i don't know--i don't know. i will think a moment. suppose he voted no; suppose the bill failed; that is to suppose this stupendous game lost forever, that i have played so desperately for; suppose people came around pitying me--odious! and he could have saved me by his single voice. yes, i would have exposed him! what would i care for the talk that that would have made about me when i was gone to europe with selby and all the world was busy with my history and my dishonor? it would be almost happiness to spite somebody at such a time." chapter xliii. the very next day, sure enough, the campaign opened. in due course, the speaker of the house reached that order of business which is termed "notices of bills," and then the hon. mr. buckstone rose in his place and gave notice of a bill "to found and incorporate the knobs industrial university," and then sat down without saying anything further. the busy gentlemen in the reporters' gallery jotted a line in their note-books, ran to the telegraphic desk in a room which communicated with their own writing-parlor, and then hurried back to their places in the gallery; and by the time they had resumed their seats, the line which they had delivered to the operator had been read in telegraphic offices in towns and cities hundreds of miles away. it was distinguished by frankness of language as well as by brevity: "the child is born. buckstone gives notice of the thieving knobs university job. it is said the noses have been counted and enough votes have been bought to pass it." for some time the correspondents had been posting their several journals upon the alleged disreputable nature of the bill, and furnishing daily reports of the washington gossip concerning it. so the next morning, nearly every newspaper of character in the land assailed the measure and hurled broadsides of invective at mr. buckstone. the washington papers were more respectful, as usual--and conciliatory, also, as usual. they generally supported measures, when it was possible; but when they could not they "deprecated" violent expressions of opinion in other journalistic quarters. they always deprecated, when there was trouble ahead. however, 'the washington daily love-feast' hailed the bill with warm approbation. this was senator balaam's paper--or rather, "brother" balaam, as he was popularly called, for he had been a clergyman, in his day; and he himself and all that he did still emitted an odor of sanctity now that he had diverged into journalism and politics. he was a power in the congressional prayer meeting, and in all movements that looked to the spread of religion and temperance. his paper supported the new bill with gushing affection; it was a noble measure; it was a just measure; it was a generous measure; it was a pure measure, and that surely should recommend it in these corrupt times; and finally, if the nature of the bill were not known at all, the 'love feast' would support it anyway, and unhesitatingly, for the fact that senator dilworthy was the originator of the measure was a guaranty that it contemplated a worthy and righteous work. senator dilworthy was so anxious to know what the new york papers would say about the bill; that he had arranged to have synopses of their editorials telegraphed to him; he could not wait for the papers themselves to crawl along down to washington by a mail train which has never run over a cow since the road was built; for the reason that it has never been able to overtake one. it carries the usual "cow-catcher" in front of the locomotive, but this is mere ostentation. it ought to be attached to the rear car, where it could do some good; but instead, no provision is made there for the protection of the traveling public, and hence it is not a matter of surprise that cows so frequently climb aboard that train and among the passengers. the senator read his dispatches aloud at the breakfast table. laura was troubled beyond measure at their tone, and said that that sort of comment would defeat the bill; but the senator said: "oh, not at all, not at all, my child. it is just what we want. persecution is the one thing needful, now--all the other forces are secured. give us newspaper persecution enough, and we are safe. vigorous persecution will alone carry a bill sometimes, dear; and when you start with a strong vote in the first place, persecution comes in with double effect. it scares off some of the weak supporters, true, but it soon turns strong ones into stubborn ones. and then, presently, it changes the tide of public opinion. the great public is weak-minded; the great public is sentimental; the great public always turns around and weeps for an odious murderer, and prays for-him, and carries flowers to his prison and besieges the governor with appeals to his clemency, as soon as the papers begin to howl for that man's blood.--in a word, the great putty-hearted public loves to 'gush,' and there is no such darling opportunity to gush as a case of persecution affords." "well, uncle, dear; if your theory is right, let us go into raptures, for nobody can ask a heartier persecution than these editorials are furnishing." "i am not so sure of that, my daughter. i don't entirely like the tone of some of these remarks. they lack vim, they lack venom. here is one calls it a 'questionable measure.' bah, there is no strength in that. this one is better; it calls it 'highway robbery.' that sounds something like. but now this one seems satisfied to call it an 'iniquitous scheme'. 'iniquitous' does not exasperate anybody; it is weak--puerile. the ignorant will imagine it to be intended for a compliment. but this other one--the one i read last--has the true ring: 'this vile, dirty effort to rob the public treasury, by the kites and vultures that now infest the filthy den called congress'--that is admirable, admirable! we must have more of that sort. but it will come--no fear of that; they're not warmed up, yet. a week from now you'll see." "uncle, you and brother balaam are bosom friends--why don't you get his paper to persecute us, too?" "it isn't worth while, my, daughter. his support doesn't hurt a bill. nobody reads his editorials but himself. but i wish the new york papers would talk a little plainer. it is annoying to have to wait a week for them to warm up. i expected better things at their hands--and time is precious, now." at the proper hour, according to his previous notice, mr. buckstone duly introduced his bill entitled "an act to found and incorporate the knobs industrial university," moved its proper reference, and sat down. the speaker of the house rattled off this observation: "'fnobjectionbilltakuzhlcoixrssoreferred!'" habitues of the house comprehended that this long, lightning-heeled word signified that if there was no objection, the bill would take the customary course of a measure of its nature, and be referred to the committee on benevolent appropriations, and that it was accordingly so referred. strangers merely supposed that the speaker was taking a gargle for some affection of the throat. the reporters immediately telegraphed the introduction of the bill.--and they added: "the assertion that the bill will pass was premature. it is said that many favorers of it will desert when the storm breaks upon them from the public press." the storm came, and during ten days it waxed more and more violent day by day. the great "negro university swindle" became the one absorbing topic of conversation throughout the union. individuals denounced it, journals denounced it, public meetings denounced it, the pictorial papers caricatured its friends, the whole nation seemed to be growing frantic over it. meantime the washington correspondents were sending such telegrams as these abroad in the land; under date of-- saturday. "congressmen jex and fluke are wavering; it is believed they will desert the execrable bill." monday. "jex and fluke have deserted!" thursday. "tubbs and huffy left the sinking ship last night" later on: "three desertions. the university thieves are getting scared, though they will not own it." later: "the leaders are growing stubborn--they swear they can carry it, but it is now almost certain that they no longer have a majority!" after a day or two of reluctant and ambiguous telegrams: "public sentiment seems changing, a trifle in favor of the bill --but only a trifle." and still later: "it is whispered that the hon. mr. trollop has gone over to the pirates. it is probably a canard. mr. trollop has all along been the bravest and most efficient champion of virtue and the people against the bill, and the report is without doubt a shameless invention." next day: "with characteristic treachery, the truckling and pusillanimous reptile, crippled-speech trollop, has gone over to the enemy. it is contended, now, that he has been a friend to the bill, in secret, since the day it was introduced, and has had bankable reasons for being so; but he himself declares that he has gone over because the malignant persecution of the bill by the newspapers caused him to study its provisions with more care than he had previously done, and this close examination revealed the fact that the measure is one in every way worthy of support. (pretty thin!) it cannot be denied that this desertion has had a damaging effect. jex and fluke have returned to their iniquitous allegiance, with six or eight others of lesser calibre, and it is reported and believed that tubbs and huffy are ready to go back. it is feared that the university swindle is stronger to-day than it has ever been before." later-midnight: "it is said that the committee will report the bill back to-morrow. both sides are marshaling their forces, and the fight on this bill is evidently going to be the hottest of the session.--all washington is boiling." chapter xliv. "it's easy enough for another fellow to talk," said harry, despondingly, after he had put philip in possession of his view of the case. "it's easy enough to say 'give her up,' if you don't care for her. what am i going to do to give her up?" it seemed to harry that it was a situation requiring some active measures. he couldn't realize that he had fallen hopelessly in love without some rights accruing to him for the possession of the object of his passion. quiet resignation under relinquishment of any thing he wanted was not in his line. and when it appeared to him that his surrender of laura would be the withdrawal of the one barrier that kept her from ruin, it was unreasonable to expect that he could see how to give her up. harry had the most buoyant confidence in his own projects always; he saw everything connected with himself in a large way and in rosy lines. this predominance of the imagination over the judgment gave that appearance of exaggeration to his conversation and to his communications with regard to himself, which sometimes conveyed the impression that he was not speaking the truth. his acquaintances had been known to say that they invariably allowed a half for shrinkage in his statements, and held the other half under advisement for confirmation. philip in this case could not tell from harry's story exactly how much encouragement laura had given him, nor what hopes he might justly have of winning her. he had never seen him desponding before. the "brag" appeared to be all taken out of him, and his airy manner only asserted itself now and then in a comical imitation of its old self. philip wanted time to look about him before he decided what to do. he was not familiar with washington, and it was difficult to adjust his feelings and perceptions to its peculiarities. coming out of the sweet sanity of the bolton household, this was by contrast the maddest vanity fair one could conceive. it seemed to him a feverish, unhealthy atmosphere in which lunacy would be easily developed. he fancied that everybody attached to himself an exaggerated importance, from the fact of being at the national capital, the center of political influence, the fountain of patronage, preferment, jobs and opportunities. people were introduced to each other as from this or that state, not from cities or towns, and this gave a largeness to their representative feeling. all the women talked politics as naturally and glibly as they talk fashion or literature elsewhere. there was always some exciting topic at the capitol, or some huge slander was rising up like a miasmatic exhalation from the potomac, threatening to settle no one knew exactly where. every other person was an aspirant for a place, or, if he had one, for a better place, or more pay; almost every other one had some claim or interest or remedy to urge; even the women were all advocates for the advancement of some person, and they violently espoused or denounced this or that measure as it would affect some relative, acquaintance or friend. love, travel, even death itself, waited on the chances of the dies daily thrown in the two houses, and the committee rooms there. if the measure went through, love could afford to ripen into marriage, and longing for foreign travel would have fruition; and it must have been only eternal hope springing in the breast that kept alive numerous old claimants who for years and years had besieged the doors of congress, and who looked as if they needed not so much an appropriation of money as six feet of ground. and those who stood so long waiting for success to bring them death were usually those who had a just claim. representing states and talking of national and even international affairs, as familiarly as neighbors at home talk of poor crops and the extravagance of their ministers, was likely at first to impose upon philip as to the importance of the people gathered here. there was a little newspaper editor from phil's native town, the assistant on a peddletonian weekly, who made his little annual joke about the "first egg laid on our table," and who was the menial of every tradesman in the village and under bonds to him for frequent "puffs," except the undertaker, about whose employment he was recklessly facetious. in washington he was an important man, correspondent, and clerk of two house committees, a "worker" in politics, and a confident critic of every woman and every man in washington. he would be a consul no doubt by and by, at some foreign port, of the language of which he was ignorant--though if ignorance of language were a qualification he might have been a consul at home. his easy familiarity with great men was beautiful to see, and when philip learned what a tremendous underground influence this little ignoramus had, he no longer wondered at the queer appointments and the queerer legislation. philip was not long in discovering that people in washington did not differ much from other people; they had the same meannesses, generosities, and tastes: a washington boarding house had the odor of a boarding house the world over. col. sellers was as unchanged as any one philip saw whom he had known elsewhere. washington appeared to be the native element of this man. his pretentions were equal to any he encountered there. he saw nothing in its society that equalled that of hawkeye, he sat down to no table that could not be unfavorably contrasted with his own at home; the most airy scheme inflated in the hot air of the capital only reached in magnitude some of his lesser fancies, the by-play of his constructive imagination. "the country is getting along very well," he said to philip, "but our public men are too timid. what we want is more money. i've told boutwell so. talk about basing the currency on gold; you might as well base it on pork. gold is only one product. base it on everything! you've got to do something for the west. how am i to move my crops? we must have improvements. grant's got the idea. we want a canal from the james river to the mississippi. government ought to build it." it was difficult to get the colonel off from these large themes when he was once started, but philip brought the conversation round to laura and her reputation in the city. "no," he said, "i haven't noticed much. we've been so busy about this university. it will make laura rich with the rest of us, and she has done nearly as much as if she were a man. she has great talent, and will make a big match. i see the foreign ministers and that sort after her. yes, there is talk, always will be about a pretty woman so much in public as she is. tough stories come to me, but i put'em away. 'taint likely one of si hawkins's children would do that--for she is the same as a child of his. i told her, though, to go slow," added the colonel, as if that mysterious admonition from him would set everything right. "do you know anything about a col. selby?" "know all about him. fine fellow. but he's got a wife; and i told him, as a friend, he'd better sheer off from laura. i reckon he thought better of it and did." but philip was not long in learning the truth. courted as laura was by a certain class and still admitted into society, that, nevertheless, buzzed with disreputable stories about her, she had lost character with the best people. her intimacy with selby was open gossip, and there were winks and thrustings of the tongue in any group of men when she passed by. it was clear enough that harry's delusion must be broken up, and that no such feeble obstacle as his passion could interpose would turn laura from her fate. philip determined to see her, and put himself in possession of the truth, as he suspected it, in order to show harry his folly. laura, after her last conversation with harry, had a new sense of her position. she had noticed before the signs of a change in manner towards her, a little less respect perhaps from men, and an avoidance by women. she had attributed this latter partly to jealousy of her, for no one is willing to acknowledge a fault in himself when a more agreeable motive can be found for the estrangement of his acquaintances. but now, if society had turned on her, she would defy it. it was not in her nature to shrink. she knew she had been wronged, and she knew that she had no remedy. what she heard of col. selby's proposed departure alarmed her more than anything else, and she calmly determined that if he was deceiving her the second time it should be the last. let society finish the tragedy if it liked; she was indifferent what came after. at the first opportunity, she charged selby with his intention to abandon her. he unblushingly denied it. he had not thought of going to europe. he had only been amusing himself with sellers' schemes. he swore that as soon as she succeeded with her bill, he would fly with her to any part of the world. she did not quite believe him, for she saw that he feared her, and she began to suspect that his were the protestations of a coward to gain time. but she showed him no doubts. she only watched his movements day by day, and always held herself ready to act promptly. when philip came into the presence of this attractive woman, he could not realize that she was the subject of all the scandal he had heard. she received him with quite the old hawkeye openness and cordiality, and fell to talking at once of their little acquaintance there; and it seemed impossible that he could ever say to her what he had come determined to say. such a man as philip has only one standard by which to judge women. laura recognized that fact no doubt. the better part of her woman's nature saw it. such a man might, years ago, not now, have changed her nature, and made the issue of her life so different, even after her cruel abandonment. she had a dim feeling of this, and she would like now to stand well with him. the spark of truth and honor that was left in her was elicited by his presence. it was this influence that governed her conduct in this interview. "i have come," said philip in his direct manner, "from my friend mr. brierly. you are not ignorant of his feeling towards you?" "perhaps not." "but perhaps you do not know, you who have so much admiration, how sincere and overmastering his love is for you?" philip would not have spoken so plainly, if he had in mind anything except to draw from laura something that would end harry's passion. "and is sincere love so rare, mr. sterling?" asked laura, moving her foot a little, and speaking with a shade of sarcasm. "perhaps not in washington," replied philip,--tempted into a similar tone. "excuse my bluntness," he continued, "but would the knowledge of his love; would his devotion, make any difference to you in your washington life?" "in respect to what?" asked laura quickly. "well, to others. i won't equivocate--to col. selby?" laura's face flushed with anger, or shame; she looked steadily at philip and began, "by what right, sir,--" "by the right of friendship," interrupted philip stoutly. "it may matter little to you. it is everything to him. he has a quixotic notion that you would turn back from what is before you for his sake. you cannot be ignorant of what all the city is talking of." philip said this determinedly and with some bitterness. it was a full minute before laura spoke. both had risen, philip as if to go, and laura in suppressed excitement. when she spoke her voice was very unsteady, and she looked down. "yes, i know. i perfectly understand what you mean. mr. brierly is nothing--simply nothing. he is a moth singed, that is all--the trifler with women thought he was a wasp. i have no pity for him, not the least. you may tell him not to make a fool of himself, and to keep away. i say this on your account, not his. you are not like him. it is enough for me that you want it so. mr. sterling," she continued, looking up; and there were tears in her eyes that contradicted the hardness of her language, "you might not pity him if you knew my history; perhaps you would not wonder at some things you hear. no; it is useless to ask me why it must be so. you can't make a life over--society wouldn't let you if you would--and mine must be lived as it is. there, sir, i'm not offended; but it is useless for you to say anything more." philip went away with his heart lightened about harry, but profoundly saddened by the glimpse of what this woman might have been. he told harry all that was necessary of the conversation--she was bent on going her own way, he had not the ghost of a chance--he was a fool, she had said, for thinking he had. and harry accepted it meekly, and made up his own mind that philip didn't know much about women. chapter xlv. the galleries of the house were packed, on the momentous day, not because the reporting of an important bill back by a committee was a thing to be excited about, if the bill were going to take the ordinary course afterward; it would be like getting excited over the empaneling of a coroner's jury in a murder case, instead of saving up one's emotions for the grander occasion of the hanging of the accused, two years later, after all the tedious forms of law had been gone through with. but suppose you understand that this coroner's jury is going to turn out to be a vigilance committee in disguise, who will hear testimony for an hour and then hang the murderer on the spot? that puts a different aspect upon the matter. now it was whispered that the legitimate forms of procedure usual in the house, and which keep a bill hanging along for days and even weeks, before it is finally passed upon, were going to be overruled, in this case, and short work made of the, measure; and so, what was beginning as a mere inquest might, torn out to be something very different. in the course of the day's business the order of "reports of committees" was finally reached and when the weary crowds heard that glad announcement issue from the speaker's lips they ceased to fret at the dragging delay, and plucked up spirit. the chairman of the committee on benevolent appropriations rose and made his report, and just then a blue-uniformed brass-mounted little page put a note into his hand. it was from senator dilworthy, who had appeared upon the floor of the house for a moment and flitted away again: "everybody expects a grand assault in force; no doubt you believe, as i certainly do, that it is the thing to do; we are strong, and everything is hot for the contest. trollop's espousal of our cause has immensely helped us and we grow in power constantly. ten of the opposition were called away from town about noon,(but--so it is said--only for one day). six others are sick, but expect to be about again tomorrow or next day, a friend tells me. a bold onslaught is worth trying. go for a suspension of the rules! you will find we can swing a two-thirds vote--i am perfectly satisfied of it. the lord's truth will prevail. "dilworthy." mr. buckstone had reported the bills from his committee, one by one, leaving the bill to the last. when the house had voted upon the acceptance or rejection of the report upon all but it, and the question now being upon its disposal--mr. buckstone begged that the house would give its attention to a few remarks which he desired to make. his committee had instructed him to report the bill favorably; he wished to explain the nature of the measure, and thus justify the committee's action; the hostility roused by the press would then disappear, and the bill would shine forth in its true and noble character. he said that its provisions were simple. it incorporated the knobs industrial university, locating it in east tennessee, declaring it open to all persons without distinction of sex, color or religion, and committing its management to a board of perpetual trustees, with power to fill vacancies in their own number. it provided for the erection of certain buildings for the university, dormitories, lecture-halls, museums, libraries, laboratories, work-shops, furnaces, and mills. it provided also for the purchase of sixty-five thousand acres of land, (fully described) for the purposes of the university, in the knobs of east tennessee. and it appropriated [blank] dollars for the purchase of the land, which should be the property of the national trustees in trust for the uses named. every effort had been made to secure the refusal of the whole amount of the property of the hawkins heirs in the knobs, some seventy-five thousand acres mr. buckstone said. but mr. washington hawkins (one of the heirs) objected. he was, indeed, very reluctant to sell any part of the land at any price; and indeed--this reluctance was justifiable when one considers how constantly and how greatly the property is rising in value. what the south needed, continued mr. buckstone, was skilled labor. without that it would be unable to develop its mines, build its roads, work to advantage and without great waste its fruitful land, establish manufactures or enter upon a prosperous industrial career. its laborers were almost altogether unskilled. change them into intelligent, trained workmen, and you increased at once the capital, the resources of the entire south, which would enter upon a prosperity hitherto unknown. in five years the increase in local wealth would not only reimburse the government for the outlay in this appropriation, but pour untold wealth into the treasury. this was the material view, and the least important in the honorable gentleman's opinion. [here he referred to some notes furnished him by senator dilworthy, and then continued.] god had given us the care of these colored millions. what account should we render to him of our stewardship? we had made them free. should we leave them ignorant? we had cast them upon their own resources. should we leave them without tools? we could not tell what the intentions of providence are in regard to these peculiar people, but our duty was plain. the knobs industrial university would be a vast school of modern science and practice, worthy of a great nation. it would combine the advantages of zurich, freiburg, creuzot and the sheffield scientific. providence had apparently reserved and set apart the knobs of east tennessee for this purpose. what else were they for? was it not wonderful that for more than thirty years, over a generation, the choicest portion of them had remained in one family, untouched, as if, separated for some great use! it might be asked why the government should buy this land, when it had millions of yes, more than the railroad companies desired, which, it might devote to this purpose? he answered, that the government had no such tract of land as this. it had nothing comparable to it for the purposes of the university: this was to be a school of mining, of engineering, of the working of metals, of chemistry, zoology, botany, manufactures, agriculture, in short of all the complicated industries that make a state great. there was no place for the location of such a school like the knobs of east tennessee. the hills abounded in metals of all sorts, iron in all its combinations, copper, bismuth, gold and silver in small quantities, platinum he--believed, tin, aluminium; it was covered with forests and strange plants; in the woods were found the coon, the opossum, the fox, the deer and many other animals who roamed in the domain of natural history; coal existed in enormous quantity and no doubt oil; it was such a place for the practice of agricultural experiments that any student who had been successful there would have an easy task in any other portion of the country. no place offered equal facilities for experiments in mining, metallurgy, engineering. he expected to live to see the day, when the youth of the south would resort to its mines, its workshops, its laboratories, its furnaces and factories for practical instruction in all the great industrial pursuits. a noisy and rather ill-natured debate followed, now, and lasted hour after hour. the friends of the bill were instructed by the leaders to make no effort to check it; it was deemed better strategy to tire out the opposition; it was decided to vote down every proposition to adjourn, and so continue the sitting into the night; opponents might desert, then, one by one and weaken their party, for they had no personal stake in the bill. sunset came, and still the fight went on; the gas was lit, the crowd in the galleries began to thin, but the contest continued; the crowd returned, by and by, with hunger and thirst appeased, and aggravated the hungry and thirsty house by looking contented and comfortable; but still the wrangle lost nothing of its bitterness. recesses were moved plaintively by the opposition, and invariably voted down by the university army. at midnight the house presented a spectacle calculated to interest a stranger. the great galleries were still thronged--though only with men, now; the bright colors that had made them look like hanging gardens were gone, with the ladies. the reporters' gallery, was merely occupied by one or two watchful sentinels of the quill-driving guild; the main body cared nothing for a debate that had dwindled to a mere vaporing of dull speakers and now and then a brief quarrel over a point of order; but there was an unusually large attendance of journalists in the reporters' waiting-room, chatting, smoking, and keeping on the 'qui vive' for the general irruption of the congressional volcano that must come when the time was ripe for it. senator dilworthy and philip were in the diplomatic gallery; washington sat in the public gallery, and col. sellers was, not far away. the colonel had been flying about the corridors and button-holing congressmen all the evening, and believed that he had accomplished a world of valuable service; but fatigue was telling upon him, now, and he was quiet and speechless--for once. below, a few senators lounged upon the sofas set apart for visitors, and talked with idle congressmen. a dreary member was speaking; the presiding officer was nodding; here and there little knots of members stood in the aisles, whispering together; all about the house others sat in all the various attitudes that express weariness; some, tilted back, had one or more legs disposed upon their desks; some sharpened pencils indolently; some scribbled aimlessly; some yawned and stretched; a great many lay upon their breasts upon the desks, sound asleep and gently snoring. the flooding gaslight from the fancifully wrought roof poured down upon the tranquil scene. hardly a sound disturbed the stillness, save the monotonous eloquence of the gentleman who occupied the floor. now and then a warrior of the opposition broke down under the pressure, gave it up, and went home. mr. buckstone began to think it might be safe, now, to "proceed to business." he consulted with trollop and one or two others. senator dilworthy descended to the floor of the house and they went to meet him. after a brief comparison of notes, the congressmen sought their seats and sent pages about the house with messages to friends. these latter instantly roused up, yawned, and began to look alert. the moment the floor was unoccupied, mr. buckstone rose, with an injured look, and said it was evident that the opponents of the bill were merely talking against time, hoping in this unbecoming way to tire out the friends of the measure and so defeat it. such conduct might be respectable enough in a village debating society, but it was trivial among statesmen, it was out of place in so august an assemblage as the house of representatives of the united states. the friends of the bill had been not only willing that its opponents should express their opinions, but had strongly desired it. they courted the fullest and freest discussion; but it seemed to him that this fairness was but illy appreciated, since gentlemen were capable of taking advantage of it for selfish and unworthy ends. this trifling had gone far enough. he called for the question. the instant mr. buckstone sat down, the storm burst forth. a dozen gentlemen sprang to their feet. "mr. speaker!" "mr. speaker!" "mr. speaker!" "order! order! order! question! question!" the sharp blows of the speaker's gavel rose above the din. the "previous question," that hated gag, was moved and carried. all debate came to a sudden end, of course. triumph no. . then the vote was taken on the adoption of the report and it carried by a surprising majority. mr. buckstone got the floor again and moved that the rules be suspended and the bill read a first time. mr. trollop--"second the motion!" the speaker--"it is moved and--" clamor of voices. "move we adjourn! second the motion! adjourn! adjourn! order! order!" the speaker, (after using his gavel vigorously)--"it is moved and seconded that the house do now adjourn. all those in favor--" voices--"division! division! ayes and nays! ayes and nays!" it was decided to vote upon the adjournment by ayes and nays. this was in earnest. the excitement was furious. the galleries were in commotion in an instant, the reporters swarmed to their places. idling members of the house flocked to their seats, nervous gentlemen sprang to their feet, pages flew hither and thither, life and animation were visible everywhere, all the long ranks of faces in the building were kindled. "this thing decides it!" thought mr. buckstone; "but let the fight proceed." the voting began, and every sound ceased but the calling if the names and the "aye!" "no!" "no!" "aye!" of the responses. there was not a movement in the house; the people seemed to hold their breath. the voting ceased, and then there was an interval of dead silence while the clerk made up his count. there was a two-thirds vote on the university side--and two over. the speaker--"the rules are suspended, the motion is carried--first reading of the bill!" by one impulse the galleries broke forth into stormy applause, and even some of the members of the house were not wholly able to restrain their feelings. the speaker's gavel came to the rescue and his clear voice followed: "order, gentlemen--! the house will come to order! if spectators offend again, the sergeant-at-arms will clear the galleries!" then he cast his eyes aloft and gazed at some object attentively for a moment. all eyes followed the direction of the speaker's, and then there was a general titter. the speaker said: "let the sergeant-at arms inform the gentleman that his conduct is an infringement of the dignity of the house--and one which is not warranted by the state of the weather." poor sellers was the culprit. he sat in the front seat of the gallery, with his arms and his tired body overflowing the balustrade--sound asleep, dead to all excitements, all disturbances. the fluctuations of the washington weather had influenced his dreams, perhaps, for during the recent tempest of applause he had hoisted his gingham umbrella, and calmly gone on with his slumbers. washington hawkins had seen the act, but was not near enough at hand to save his friend, and no one who was near enough desired to spoil the effect. but a neighbor stirred up the colonel, now that the house had its eye upon him, and the great speculator furled his tent like the arab. he said: "bless my soul, i'm so absent-minded when i, get to thinking! i never wear an umbrella in the house--did anybody 'notice it'? what-asleep? indeed? and did you wake me sir? thank you--thank you very much indeed. it might have fallen out of my hands and been injured. admirable article, sir--present from a friend in hong kong; one doesn't come across silk like that in this country--it's the real--young hyson, i'm told." by this time the incident was forgotten, for the house was at war again. victory was almost in sight, now, and the friends of the bill threw themselves into their work with enthusiasm. they soon moved and carried its second reading, and after a strong, sharp fight, carried a motion to go into committee of the whole. the speaker left his place, of course, and a chairman was appointed. now the contest raged hotter than ever--for the authority that compels order when the house sits as a house, is greatly diminished when it sits as committee. the main fight came upon the filling of the blanks with the sum to be appropriated for the purchase of the land, of course. buckstone--"mr. chairman, i move you, sir, that the words 'three millions of' be inserted." mr. hadley--"mr. chairman, i move that the words two and a half dollars be inserted." mr. clawson--"mr. chairman, i move the insertion of the words five and twenty cents, as representing the true value of this barren and isolated tract of desolation." the question, according to rule, was taken upon the smallest sum first. it was lost. then upon the nest smallest sum. lost, also. and then upon the three millions. after a vigorous battle that lasted a considerable time, this motion was carried. then, clause by clause the bill was read, discussed, and amended in trifling particulars, and now the committee rose and reported. the moment the house had resumed its functions and received the report, mr. buckstone moved and carried the third reading of the bill. the same bitter war over the sum to be paid was fought over again, and now that the ayes and nays could be called and placed on record, every man was compelled to vote by name on the three millions, and indeed on every paragraph of the bill from the enacting clause straight through. but as before, the friends of the measure stood firm and voted in a solid body every time, and so did its enemies. the supreme moment was come, now, but so sure was the result that not even a voice was raised to interpose an adjournment. the enemy were totally demoralized. the bill was put upon its final passage almost without dissent, and the calling of the ayes and nays began. when it was ended the triumph was complete--the two-thirds vote held good, and a veto was impossible, as far as the house was concerned! mr. buckstone resolved that now that the nail was driven home, he would clinch it on the other side and make it stay forever. he moved a reconsideration of the vote by which the bill had passed. the motion was lost, of course, and the great industrial university act was an accomplished fact as far as it was in the power of the house of representatives to make it so. there was no need to move an adjournment. the instant the last motion was decided, the enemies of the university rose and flocked out of the hall, talking angrily, and its friends flocked after them jubilant and congratulatory. the galleries disgorged their burden, and presently the house was silent and deserted. when col. sellers and washington stepped out of the building they were surprised to find that the daylight was old and the sun well up. said the colonel: "give me your hand, my boy! you're all right at last! you're a millionaire! at least you're going to be. the thing is dead sure. don't you bother about the senate. leave me and dilworthy to take care of that. run along home, now, and tell laura. lord, it's magnificent news--perfectly magnificent! run, now. i'll telegraph my wife. she must come here and help me build a house. everything's all right now!" washington was so dazed by his good fortune and so bewildered by the gaudy pageant of dreams that was already trailing its long ranks through his brain, that he wandered he knew not where, and so loitered by the way that when at last he reached home he woke to a sudden annoyance in the fact that his news must be old to laura, now, for of course senator dilworthy must have already been home and told her an hour before. he knocked at her door, but there was no answer. "that is like the duchess," said he. "always cool; a body can't excite her-can't keep her excited, anyway. now she has gone off to sleep again, as comfortably as if she were used to picking up a million dollars every day or two" then he vent to bed. but he could not sleep; so he got up and wrote a long, rapturous letter to louise, and another to his mother. and he closed both to much the same effect: "laura will be queen of america, now, and she will be applauded, and honored and petted by the whole nation. her name will be in every one's mouth more than ever, and how they will court her and quote her bright speeches. and mine, too, i suppose; though they do that more already, than they really seem to deserve. oh, the world is so bright, now, and so cheery; the clouds are all gone, our long struggle is ended, our, troubles are all over. nothing can ever make us unhappy any more. you dear faithful ones will have the reward of your patient waiting now. how father's wisdom is proven at last! and how i repent me, that there have been times when i lost faith and said, the blessing he stored up for us a tedious generation ago was but a long-drawn curse, a blight upon us all. but everything is well, now--we are done with poverty, sad toil, weariness and heart-break; all the world is filled with sunshine." the gilded age a tale of today by mark twain and charles dudley warner part . preface. this book was not written for private circulation among friends; it was not written to cheer and instruct a diseased relative of the author's; it was not thrown off during intervals of wearing labor to amuse an idle hour. it was not written for any of these reasons, and therefore it is submitted without the usual apologies. it will be seen that it deals with an entirely ideal state of society; and the chief embarrassment of the writers in this realm of the imagination has been the want of illustrative examples. in a state where there is no fever of speculation, no inflamed desire for sudden wealth, where the poor are all simple-minded and contented, and the rich are all honest and generous, where society is in a condition of primitive purity and politics is the occupation of only the capable and the patriotic, there are necessarily no materials for such a history as we have constructed out of an ideal commonwealth. no apology is needed for following the learned custom of placing attractive scraps of literature at the heads of our chapters. it has been truly observed by wagner that such headings, with their vague suggestions of the matter which is to follow them, pleasantly inflame the reader's interest without wholly satisfying his curiosity, and we will hope that it may be found to be so in the present case. our quotations are set in a vast number of tongues; this is done for the reason that very few foreign nations among whom the book will circulate can read in any language but their own; whereas we do not write for a particular class or sect or nation, but to take in the whole world. we do not object to criticism; and we do not expect that the critic will read the book before writing a notice of it: we do not even expect the reviewer of the book will say that he has not read it. no, we have no anticipations of anything unusual in this age of criticism. but if the jupiter, who passes his opinion on the novel, ever happens to peruse it in some weary moment of his subsequent life, we hope that he will not be the victim of a remorse bitter but too late. one word more. this is--what it pretends to be a joint production, in the conception of the story, the exposition of the characters, and in its literal composition. there is scarcely a chapter that does not bear the marks of the two writers of the book. s. l. c. c. d. w. [etext editor's note: the following chapters were written by mark twain: - , , , , , , - , , , , , , - , , - ; and portions of , , and . see twain's letter to dr. john brown feb. , d.w.] chapter i. june --. squire hawkins sat upon the pyramid of large blocks, called the "stile," in front of his house, contemplating the morning. the locality was obedstown, east tennessee. you would not know that obedstown stood on the top of a mountain, for there was nothing about the landscape to indicate it--but it did: a mountain that stretched abroad over whole counties, and rose very gradually. the district was called the "knobs of east tennessee," and had a reputation like nazareth, as far as turning out any good thing was concerned. the squire's house was a double log cabin, in a state of decay; two or three gaunt hounds lay asleep about the threshold, and lifted their heads sadly whenever mrs. hawkins or the children stepped in and out over their bodies. rubbish was scattered about the grassless yard; a bench stood near the door with a tin wash basin on it and a pail of water and a gourd; a cat had begun to drink from the pail, but the exertion was overtaxing her energies, and she had stopped to rest. there was an ash-hopper by the fence, and an iron pot, for soft-soap-boiling, near it. this dwelling constituted one-fifteenth of obedstown; the other fourteen houses were scattered about among the tall pine trees and among the corn-fields in such a way that a man might stand in the midst of the city and not know but that he was in the country if he only depended on his eyes for information. "squire" hawkins got his title from being postmaster of obedstown--not that the title properly belonged to the office, but because in those regions the chief citizens always must have titles of some sort, and so the usual courtesy had been extended to hawkins. the mail was monthly, and sometimes amounted to as much as three or four letters at a single delivery. even a rush like this did not fill up the postmaster's whole month, though, and therefore he "kept store" in the intervals. the squire was contemplating the morning. it was balmy and tranquil, the vagrant breezes were laden with the odor of flowers, the murmur of bees was in the air, there was everywhere that suggestion of repose that summer woodlands bring to the senses, and the vague, pleasurable melancholy that such a time and such surroundings inspire. presently the united states mail arrived, on horseback. there was but one letter, and it was for the postmaster. the long-legged youth who carried the mail tarried an hour to talk, for there was no hurry; and in a little while the male population of the village had assembled to help. as a general thing, they were dressed in homespun "jeans," blue or yellow--here were no other varieties of it; all wore one suspender and sometimes two--yarn ones knitted at home,--some wore vests, but few wore coats. such coats and vests as did appear, however, were rather picturesque than otherwise, for they were made of tolerably fanciful patterns of calico--a fashion which prevails thereto this day among those of the community who have tastes above the common level and are able to afford style. every individual arrived with his hands in his pockets; a hand came out occasionally for a purpose, but it always went back again after service; and if it was the head that was served, just the cant that the dilapidated straw hat got by being uplifted and rooted under, was retained until the next call altered the inclination; many' hats were present, but none were erect and no two were canted just alike. we are speaking impartially of men, youths and boys. and we are also speaking of these three estates when we say that every individual was either chewing natural leaf tobacco prepared on his own premises, or smoking the same in a corn-cob pipe. few of the men wore whiskers; none wore moustaches; some had a thick jungle of hair under the chin and hiding the throat--the only pattern recognized there as being the correct thing in whiskers; but no part of any individual's face had seen a razor for a week. these neighbors stood a few moments looking at the mail carrier reflectively while he talked; but fatigue soon began to show itself, and one after another they climbed up and occupied the top rail of the fence, hump-shouldered and grave, like a company of buzzards assembled for supper and listening for the death-rattle. old damrell said: "tha hain't no news 'bout the jedge, hit ain't likely?" "cain't tell for sartin; some thinks he's gwyne to be 'long toreckly, and some thinks 'e hain't. russ mosely he tote ole hanks he mought git to obeds tomorrer or nex' day he reckoned." "well, i wisht i knowed. i got a 'prime sow and pigs in the, cote-house, and i hain't got no place for to put 'em. if the jedge is a gwyne to hold cote, i got to roust 'em out, i reckon. but tomorrer'll do, i 'spect." the speaker bunched his thick lips together like the stem-end of a tomato and shot a bumble-bee dead that had lit on a weed seven feet away. one after another the several chewers expressed a charge of tobacco juice and delivered it at the deceased with steady, aim and faultless accuracy. "what's a stirrin', down 'bout the forks?" continued old damrell. "well, i dunno, skasely. ole, drake higgins he's ben down to shelby las' week. tuck his crap down; couldn't git shet o' the most uv it; hit wasn't no time for to sell, he say, so he 'fotch it back agin, 'lowin' to wait tell fall. talks 'bout goin' to mozouri--lots uv 'ems talkin' that-away down thar, ole higgins say. cain't make a livin' here no mo', sich times as these. si higgins he's ben over to kaintuck n' married a high-toned gal thar, outen the fust families, an' he's come back to the forks with jist a hell's-mint o' whoop-jamboree notions, folks says. he's tuck an' fixed up the ole house like they does in kaintuck, he say, an' tha's ben folks come cler from turpentine for to see it. he's tuck an gawmed it all over on the inside with plarsterin'." "what's plasterin'?" "i dono. hit's what he calls it. 'ole mam higgins, she tole me. she say she wasn't gwyne to hang out in no sich a dern hole like a hog. says it's mud, or some sich kind o' nastiness that sticks on n' covers up everything. plarsterin', si calls it." this marvel was discussed at considerable length; and almost with animation. but presently there was a dog-fight over in the neighborhood of the blacksmith shop, and the visitors slid off their perch like so many turtles and strode to the battle-field with an interest bordering on eagerness. the squire remained, and read his letter. then he sighed, and sat long in meditation. at intervals he said: "missouri. missouri. well, well, well, everything is so uncertain." at last he said: "i believe i'll do it.--a man will just rot, here. my house my yard, everything around me, in fact, shows' that i am becoming one of these cattle--and i used to be thrifty in other times." he was not more than thirty-five, but he had a worn look that made him seem older. he left the stile, entered that part of his house which was the store, traded a quart of thick molasses for a coonskin and a cake of beeswax, to an old dame in linsey-woolsey, put his letter away, an went into the kitchen. his wife was there, constructing some dried apple pies; a slovenly urchin of ten was dreaming over a rude weather-vane of his own contriving; his small sister, close upon four years of age, was sopping corn-bread in some gravy left in the bottom of a frying-pan and trying hard not to sop over a finger-mark that divided the pan through the middle--for the other side belonged to the brother, whose musings made him forget his stomach for the moment; a negro woman was busy cooking, at a vast fire-place. shiftlessness and poverty reigned in the place. "nancy, i've made up my mind. the world is done with me, and perhaps i ought to be done with it. but no matter--i can wait. i am going to missouri. i won't stay in this dead country and decay with it. i've had it on my mind sometime. i'm going to sell out here for whatever i can get, and buy a wagon and team and put you and the children in it and start." "anywhere that suits you, suits me, si. and the children can't be any worse off in missouri than, they are here, i reckon." motioning his wife to a private conference in their own room, hawkins said: "no, they'll be better off. i've looked out for them, nancy," and his face lighted. "do you see these papers? well, they are evidence that i have taken up seventy-five thousand acres of land in this county --think what an enormous fortune it will be some day! why, nancy, enormous don't express it--the word's too tame! i tell your nancy----" "for goodness sake, si----" "wait, nancy, wait--let me finish--i've been secretly bailing and fuming with this grand inspiration for weeks, and i must talk or i'll burst! i haven't whispered to a soul--not a word--have had my countenance under lock and key, for fear it might drop something that would tell even these animals here how to discern the gold mine that's glaring under their noses. now all that is necessary to hold this land and keep it in the family is to pay the trifling taxes on it yearly--five or ten dollars --the whole tract would not sell for over a third of a cent an acre now, but some day people wild be glad to get it for twenty dollars, fifty dollars, a hundred dollars an acre! what should you say to" [here he dropped his voice to a whisper and looked anxiously around to see that there were no eavesdroppers,] "a thousand dollars an acre! "well you may open your eyes and stare! but it's so. you and i may not see the day, but they'll see it. mind i tell you; they'll see it. nancy, you've heard of steamboats, and maybe you believed in them--of course you did. you've heard these cattle here scoff at them and call them lies and humbugs,--but they're not lies and humbugs, they're a reality and they're going to be a more wonderful thing some day than they are now. they're going to make a revolution in this world's affairs that will make men dizzy to contemplate. i've been watching--i've been watching while some people slept, and i know what's coming. "even you and i will see the day that steamboats will come up that little turkey river to within twenty miles of this land of ours--and in high water they'll come right to it! and this is not all, nancy--it isn't even half! there's a bigger wonder--the railroad! these worms here have never even heard of it--and when they do they'll not believe in it. but it's another fact. coaches that fly over the ground twenty miles an hour--heavens and earth, think of that, nancy! twenty miles an hour. it makes a main's brain whirl. some day, when you and i are in our graves, there'll be a railroad stretching hundreds of miles--all the way down from the cities of the northern states to new orleans--and its got to run within thirty miles of this land--may be even touch a corner of it. well; do you know, they've quit burning wood in some places in the eastern states? and what do you suppose they burn? coal!" [he bent over and whispered again:] "there's world--worlds of it on this land! you know that black stuff that crops out of the bank of the branch?--well, that's it. you've taken it for rocks; so has every body here; and they've built little dams and such things with it. one man was going to build a chimney out of it. nancy i expect i turned as white as a sheet! why, it might have caught fire and told everything. i showed him it was too crumbly. then he was going to build it of copper ore--splendid yellow forty-per-cent. ore! there's fortunes upon fortunes of copper ore on our land! it scared me to death, the idea of this fool starting a smelting furnace in his house without knowing it, and getting his dull eyes opened. and then he was going to build it of iron ore! there's mountains of iron ore here, nancy--whole mountains of it. i wouldn't take any chances. i just stuck by him--i haunted him--i never let him alone till he built it of mud and sticks like all the rest of the chimneys in this dismal country. pine forests, wheat land, corn land, iron, copper, coal-wait till the railroads come, and the steamboats! we'll never see the day, nancy--never in the world---never, never, never, child. we've got to drag along, drag along, and eat crusts in toil and poverty, all hopeless and forlorn--but they'll ride in coaches, nancy! they'll live like the princes of the earth; they'll be courted and worshiped; their names will be known from ocean to ocean! ah, well-a-day! will they ever come back here, on the railroad and the steamboat, and say, 'this one little spot shall not be touched--this hovel shall be sacred--for here our father and our mother suffered for us, thought for us, laid the foundations of our future as solid as the hills!'" "you are a great, good, noble soul, si hawkins, and i am an honored woman to be the wife of such a man"--and the tears stood in her eyes when she said it. "we will go to missouri. you are out of your place, here, among these groping dumb creatures. we will find a higher place, where you can walk with your own kind, and be understood when you speak--not stared at as if you were talking some foreign tongue. i would go anywhere, anywhere in the wide world with you i would rather my body would starve and die than your mind should hunger and wither away in this lonely land." "spoken like yourself, my child! but we'll not starve, nancy. far from it. i have a letter from beriah sellers--just came this day. a letter that--i'll read you a line from it!" he flew out of the room. a shadow blurred the sunlight in nancy's face --there was uneasiness in it, and disappointment. a procession of disturbing thoughts began to troop through her mind. saying nothing aloud, she sat with her hands in her lap; now and then she clasped them, then unclasped them, then tapped the ends of the fingers together; sighed, nodded, smiled--occasionally paused, shook her head. this pantomime was the elocutionary expression of an unspoken soliloquy which had something of this shape: "i was afraid of it--was afraid of it. trying to make our fortune in virginia, beriah sellers nearly ruined us and we had to settle in kentucky and start over again. trying to make our fortune in kentucky he crippled us again and we had to move here. trying to make our fortune here, he brought us clear down to the ground, nearly. he's an honest soul, and means the very best in the world, but i'm afraid, i'm afraid he's too flighty. he has splendid ideas, and he'll divide his chances with his friends with a free hand, the good generous soul, but something does seem to always interfere and spoil everything. i never did think he was right well balanced. but i don't blame my husband, for i do think that when that man gets his head full of a new notion, he can out-talk a machine. he'll make anybody believe in that notion that'll listen to him ten minutes--why i do believe he would make a deaf and dumb man believe in it and get beside himself, if you only set him where he could see his eyes tally and watch his hands explain. what a head he has got! when he got up that idea there in virginia of buying up whole loads of negroes in delaware and virginia and tennessee, very quiet, having papers drawn to have them delivered at a place in alabama and take them and pay for them, away yonder at a certain time, and then in the meantime get a law made stopping everybody from selling negroes to the south after a certain day --it was somehow that way--mercy how the man would have made money! negroes would have gone up to four prices. but after he'd spent money and worked hard, and traveled hard, and had heaps of negroes all contracted for, and everything going along just right, he couldn't get the laws passed and down the whole thing tumbled. and there in kentucky, when he raked up that old numskull that had been inventing away at a perpetual motion machine for twenty-two years, and beriah sellers saw at a glance where just one more little cog-wheel would settle the business, why i could see it as plain as day when he came in wild at midnight and hammered us out of bed and told the whole thing in a whisper with the doors bolted and the candle in an empty barrel. oceans of money in it --anybody could see that. but it did cost a deal to buy the old numskull out--and then when they put the new cog wheel in they'd overlooked something somewhere and it wasn't any use--the troublesome thing wouldn't go. that notion he got up here did look as handy as anything in the world; and how him and si did sit up nights working at it with the curtains down and me watching to see if any neighbors were about. the man did honestly believe there was a fortune in that black gummy oil that stews out of the bank si says is coal; and he refined it himself till it was like water, nearly, and it did burn, there's no two ways about that; and i reckon he'd have been all right in cincinnati with his lamp that he got made, that time he got a house full of rich speculators to see him exhibit only in the middle of his speech it let go and almost blew the heads off the whole crowd. i haven't got over grieving for the money that cost yet. i am sorry enough beriah sellers is in missouri, now, but i was glad when he went. i wonder what his letter says. but of course it's cheerful; he's never down-hearted--never had any trouble in his life--didn't know it if he had. it's always sunrise with that man, and fine and blazing, at that--never gets noon; though--leaves off and rises again. nobody can help liking the creature, he means so well--but i do dread to come across him again; he's bound to set us all crazy, of coarse. well, there goes old widow hopkins--it always takes her a week to buy a spool of thread and trade a hank of yarn. maybe si can come with the letter, now." and he did: "widow hopkins kept me--i haven't any patience with such tedious people. now listen, nancy--just listen at this: "'come right along to missouri! don't wait and worry about a good price but sell out for whatever you can get, and come along, or you might be too late. throw away your traps, if necessary, and come empty-handed. you'll never regret it. it's the grandest country --the loveliest land--the purest atmosphere--i can't describe it; no pen can do it justice. and it's filling up, every day--people coming from everywhere. i've got the biggest scheme on earth--and i'll take you in; i'll take in every friend i've got that's ever stood by me, for there's enough for all, and to spare. mum's the word--don't whisper--keep yourself to yourself. you'll see! come! --rush!--hurry!--don't wait for anything!' "it's the same old boy, nancy, jest the same old boy--ain't he?" "yes, i think there's a little of the old sound about his voice yet. i suppose you--you'll still go, si?" "go! well, i should think so, nancy. it's all a chance, of course, and, chances haven't been kind to us, i'll admit--but whatever comes, old wife, they're provided for. thank god for that!" "amen," came low and earnestly. and with an activity and a suddenness that bewildered obedstown and almost took its breath away, the hawkinses hurried through with their arrangements in four short months and flitted out into the great mysterious blank that lay beyond the knobs of tennessee. chapter ii. toward the close of the third day's journey the wayfarers were just beginning to think of camping, when they came upon a log cabin in the woods. hawkins drew rein and entered the yard. a boy about ten years old was sitting in the cabin door with his face bowed in his hands. hawkins approached, expecting his footfall to attract attention, but it did not. he halted a moment, and then said: "come, come, little chap, you mustn't be going to sleep before sundown" with a tired expression the small face came up out of the hands,--a face down which tears were flowing. "ah, i'm sorry i spoke so, my boy. tell me--is anything the matter?" the boy signified with a scarcely perceptible gesture that the trouble was in the, house, and made room for hawkins to pass. then he put his face in his hands again and rocked himself about as one suffering a grief that is too deep to find help in moan or groan or outcry. hawkins stepped within. it was a poverty stricken place. six or eight middle-aged country people of both sexes were grouped about an object in the middle of the room; they were noiselessly busy and they talked in whispers when they spoke. hawkins uncovered and approached. a coffin stood upon two backless chairs. these neighbors had just finished disposing the body of a woman in it--a woman with a careworn, gentle face that had more the look of sleep about it than of death. an old lady motioned, toward the door and said to hawkins in a whisper: "his mother, po' thing. died of the fever, last night. tha warn't no sich thing as saving of her. but it's better for her--better for her. husband and the other two children died in the spring, and she hain't ever hilt up her head sence. she jest went around broken-hearted like, and never took no intrust in anything but clay--that's the boy thar. she jest worshiped clay--and clay he worshiped her. they didn't 'pear to live at all, only when they was together, looking at each other, loving one another. she's ben sick three weeks; and if you believe me that child has worked, and kep' the run of the med'cin, and the times of giving it, and sot up nights and nussed her, and tried to keep up her sperits, the same as a grown-up person. and last night when she kep' a sinking and sinking, and turned away her head and didn't know him no mo', it was fitten to make a body's heart break to see him climb onto the bed and lay his cheek agin hern and call her so pitiful and she not answer. but bymeby she roused up, like, and looked around wild, and then she see him, and she made a great cry and snatched him to her breast and hilt him close and kissed him over and over agin; but it took the last po' strength she had, and so her eyelids begin to close down, and her arms sort o' drooped away and then we see she was gone, po' creetur. and clay, he--oh, the po' motherless thing--i cain't talk abort it--i cain't bear to talk about it." clay had disappeared from the door; but he came in, now, and the neighbors reverently fell apart and made way for him. he leaned upon the open coffin and let his tears course silently. then he put out his small hand and smoothed the hair and stroked the dead face lovingly. after a bit he brought his other hand up from behind him and laid three or four fresh wild flowers upon the breast, bent over and kissed the unresponsive lips time and time again, and then turned away and went out of the house without looking at any of the company. the old lady said to hawkins: "she always loved that kind o' flowers. he fetched 'em for her every morning, and she always kissed him. they was from away north somers--she kep' school when she fust come. goodness knows what's to become o' that po' boy. no father, no mother, no kin folks of no kind. nobody to go to, nobody that k'yers for him--and all of us is so put to it for to get along and families so large." hawkins understood. all, eyes were turned inquiringly upon him. he said: "friends, i am not very well provided for, myself, but still i would not turn my back on a homeless orphan. if he will go with me i will give him a home, and loving regard--i will do for him as i would have another do for a child of my own in misfortune." one after another the people stepped forward and wrung the stranger's hand with cordial good will, and their eyes looked all that their hands could not express or their lips speak. "said like a true man," said one. "you was a stranger to me a minute ago, but you ain't now," said another. "it's bread cast upon the waters--it'll return after many days," said the old lady whom we have heard speak before. "you got to camp in my house as long as you hang out here," said one. "if tha hain't room for you and yourn my tribe'll turn out and camp in the hay loft." a few minutes afterward, while the preparations for the funeral were being concluded, mr. hawkins arrived at his wagon leading his little waif by the hand, and told his wife all that had happened, and asked her if he had done right in giving to her and to himself this new care? she said: "if you've done wrong, si hawkins, it's a wrong that will shine brighter at the judgment day than the rights that many' a man has done before you. and there isn't any compliment you can pay me equal to doing a thing like this and finishing it up, just taking it for granted that i'll be willing to it. willing? come to me; you poor motherless boy, and let me take your grief and help you carry it." when the child awoke in the morning, it was as if from a troubled dream. but slowly the confusion in his mind took form, and he remembered his great loss; the beloved form in the coffin; his talk with a generous stranger who offered him a home; the funeral, where the stranger's wife held him by the hand at the grave, and cried with him and comforted him; and he remembered how this, new mother tucked him in his bed in the neighboring farm house, and coaxed him to talk about his troubles, and then heard him say his prayers and kissed him good night, and left him with the soreness in his heart almost healed and his bruised spirit at rest. and now the new mother came again, and helped him to dress, and combed his hair, and drew his mind away by degrees from the dismal yesterday, by telling him about the wonderful journey he was going to take and the strange things he was going to see. and after breakfast they two went alone to the grave, and his heart went out to his new friend and his untaught eloquence poured the praises of his buried idol into her ears without let or hindrance. together they planted roses by the headboard and strewed wild flowers upon the grave; and then together they went away, hand in hand, and left the dead to the long sleep that heals all heart-aches and ends all sorrows. chapter iii. whatever the lagging dragging journey may have been to the rest of the emigrants, it was a wonder and delight to the children, a world of enchantment; and they believed it to be peopled with the mysterious dwarfs and giants and goblins that figured in the tales the negro slaves were in the habit of telling them nightly by the shuddering light of the kitchen fire. at the end of nearly a week of travel, the party went into camp near a shabby village which was caving, house by house, into the hungry mississippi. the river astonished the children beyond measure. its mile-breadth of water seemed an ocean to them, in the shadowy twilight, and the vague riband of trees on the further shore, the verge of a continent which surely none but they had ever seen before. "uncle dan'l"(colored,) aged ; his wife, "aunt jinny," aged , "young miss" emily hawkins, "young mars" washington hawkins and "young mars" clay, the new member of the family, ranged themselves on a log, after supper, and contemplated the marvelous river and discussed it. the moon rose and sailed aloft through a maze of shredded cloud-wreaths; the sombre river just perceptibly brightened under the veiled light; a deep silence pervaded the air and was emphasized, at intervals, rather than broken, by the hooting of an owl, the baying of a dog, or the muffled crash of a raving bank in the distance. the little company assembled on the log were all children (at least in simplicity and broad and comprehensive ignorance,) and the remarks they made about the river were in keeping with the character; and so awed were they by the grandeur and the solemnity of the scene before then, and by their belief that the air was filled with invisible spirits and that the faint zephyrs were caused by their passing wings, that all their talk took to itself a tinge of the supernatural, and their voices were subdued to a low and reverent tone. suddenly uncle dan'l exclaimed: "chil'en, dah's sum fin a comin!" all crowded close together and every heart beat faster. uncle dan'l pointed down the river with his bony finger. a deep coughing sound troubled the stillness, way toward a wooded cape that jetted into the stream a mile distant. all in an instant a fierce eye of fire shot out froth behind the cape and sent a long brilliant pathway quivering athwart the dusky water. the coughing grew louder and louder, the glaring eye grew larger and still larger, glared wilder and still wilder. a huge shape developed itself out of the gloom, and from its tall duplicate horns dense volumes of smoke, starred and spangled with sparks, poured out and went tumbling away into the farther darkness. nearer and nearer the thing came, till its long sides began to glow with spots of light which mirrored themselves in the river and attended the monster like a torchlight procession. "what is it! oh, what is it, uncle dan'l!" with deep solemnity the answer came: "it's de almighty! git down on yo' knees!" it was not necessary to say it twice. they were all kneeling, in a moment. and then while the mysterious coughing rose stronger and stronger and the threatening glare reached farther and wider, the negro's voice lifted up its supplications: "o lord', we's ben mighty wicked, an' we knows dat we 'zerve to go to de bad place, but good lord, deah lord, we ain't ready yit, we ain't ready --let dese po' chilen hab one mo' chance, jes' one mo' chance. take de ole niggah if you's, got to hab somebody.--good lord, good deah lord, we don't know whah you's a gwyne to, we don't know who you's got yo' eye on, but we knows by de way you's a comin', we knows by de way you's a tiltin' along in yo' charyot o' fiah dat some po' sinner's a gwyne to ketch it. but good lord, dose chilen don't b'long heah, dey's f'm obedstown whah dey don't know nuffin, an' you knows, yo' own sef, dat dey ain't 'sponsible. an' deah lord, good lord, it ain't like yo' mercy, it ain't like yo' pity, it ain't like yo' long-sufferin' lovin' kindness for to take dis kind o' 'vantage o' sick little chil'en as dose is when dey's so many ornery grown folks chuck full o' cussedness dat wants roastin' down dah. oh, lord, spah de little chil'en, don't tar de little chil'en away f'm dey frens, jes' let 'em off jes' dis once, and take it out'n de ole niggah. heah i is, lord, heah i is! de ole niggah's ready, lord, de ole----" the flaming and churning steamer was right abreast the party, and not twenty steps away. the awful thunder of a mud-valve suddenly burst forth, drowning the prayer, and as suddenly uncle dan'l snatched a child under each arm and scoured into the woods with the rest of the pack at his heels. and then, ashamed of himself, he halted in the deep darkness and shouted, (but rather feebly:) "heah i is, lord, heah i is!" there was a moment of throbbing suspense, and then, to the surprise and the comfort of the party, it was plain that the august presence had gone by, for its dreadful noises were receding. uncle dan'l headed a cautious reconnaissance in the direction of the log. sure enough "the lord" was just turning a point a short distance up the river, and while they looked the lights winked out and the coughing diminished by degrees and presently ceased altogether. "h'wsh! well now dey's some folks says dey ain't no 'ficiency in prah. dis chile would like to know whah we'd a ben now if it warn't fo' dat prah? dat's it. dat's it!" "uncle dan'l, do you reckon it was the prayer that saved us?" said clay. "does i reckon? don't i know it! whah was yo' eyes? warn't de lord jes' a cumin' chow! chow! chow! an' a goin' on turrible--an' do de lord carry on dat way 'dout dey's sumfin don't suit him? an' warn't he a lookin' right at dis gang heah, an' warn't he jes' a reachin' for 'em? an' d'you spec' he gwyne to let 'em off 'dout somebody ast him to do it? no indeedy!" "do you reckon he saw, us, uncle dan'l? "de law sakes, chile, didn't i see him a lookin' at us?". "did you feel scared, uncle dan'l?" "no sah! when a man is 'gaged in prah, he ain't fraid o' nuffin--dey can't nuffin tetch him." "well what did you run for?" "well, i--i--mars clay, when a man is under de influence ob de sperit, he do-no, what he's 'bout--no sah; dat man do-no what he's 'bout. you mout take an' tah de head off'n dat man an' he wouldn't scasely fine it out. date's de hebrew chil'en dat went frough de fiah; dey was burnt considable--ob coase dey was; but dey didn't know nuffin 'bout it--heal right up agin; if dey'd ben gals dey'd missed dey long haah, (hair,) maybe, but dey wouldn't felt de burn." "i don't know but what they were girls. i think they were." "now mars clay, you knows bettern dat. sometimes a body can't tell whedder you's a sayin' what you means or whedder you's a sayin' what you don't mean, 'case you says 'em bofe de same way." "but how should i know whether they were boys or girls?" "goodness sakes, mars clay, don't de good book say? 'sides, don't it call 'em de he-brew chil'en? if dey was gals wouldn't dey be de she-brew chil'en? some people dat kin read don't 'pear to take no notice when dey do read." "well, uncle dan'l, i think that-----my! here comes another one up the river! there can't be two!" "we gone dis time--we done gone dis time, sho'! dey ain't two, mars clay--days de same one. de lord kin 'pear eberywhah in a second. goodness, how do fiah and de smoke do belch up! dat mean business, honey. he comin' now like he fo'got sumfin. come 'long, chil'en, time you's gwyne to roos'. go 'long wid you--ole uncle daniel gwyne out in de woods to rastle in prah--de ole nigger gwyne to do what he kin to sabe you agin" he did go to the woods and pray; but he went so far that he doubted, himself, if the lord heard him when he went by. chapter iv. --seventhly, before his voyage, he should make his peace with god, satisfie his creditors if he be in debt; pray earnestly to god to prosper him in his voyage, and to keep him from danger, and, if he be 'sui juris' he should make his last will, and wisely order all his affairs, since many that go far abroad, return not home. (this good and christian counsel is given by martinus zeilerus in his apodemical canons before his itinerary of spain and portugal.) early in the morning squire hawkins took passage in a small steamboat, with his family and his two slaves, and presently the bell rang, the stage-plank; was hauled in, and the vessel proceeded up the river. the children and the slaves were not much more at ease after finding out that this monster was a creature of human contrivance than they were the night before when they thought it the lord of heaven and earth. they started, in fright, every time the gauge-cocks sent out an angry hiss, and they quaked from head to foot when the mud-valves thundered. the shivering of the boat under the beating of the wheels was sheer misery to them. but of course familiarity with these things soon took away their terrors, and then the voyage at once became a glorious adventure, a royal progress through the very heart and home of romance, a realization of their rosiest wonder-dreams. they sat by the hour in the shade of the pilot house on the hurricane deck and looked out over the curving expanses of the river sparkling in the sunlight. sometimes the boat fought the mid-stream current, with a verdant world on either hand, and remote from both; sometimes she closed in under a point, where the dead water and the helping eddies were, and shaved the bank so closely that the decks were swept by the jungle of over-hanging willows and littered with a spoil of leaves; departing from these "points" she regularly crossed the river every five miles, avoiding the "bight" of the great binds and thus escaping the strong current; sometimes she went out and skirted a high "bluff" sand-bar in the middle of the stream, and occasionally followed it up a little too far and touched upon the shoal water at its head--and then the intelligent craft refused to run herself aground, but "smelt" the bar, and straightway the foamy streak that streamed away from her bows vanished, a great foamless wave rolled forward and passed her under way, and in this instant she leaned far over on her side, shied from the bar and fled square away from the danger like a frightened thing--and the pilot was lucky if he managed to "straighten her up" before she drove her nose into the opposite bank; sometimes she approached a solid wall of tall trees as if she meant to break through it, but all of a sudden a little crack would open just enough to admit her, and away she would go plowing through the "chute" with just barely room enough between the island on one side and the main land on the other; in this sluggish water she seemed to go like a racehorse; now and then small log cabins appeared in little clearings, with the never-failing frowsy women and girls in soiled and faded linsey-woolsey leaning in the doors or against woodpiles and rail fences, gazing sleepily at the passing show; sometimes she found shoal water, going out at the head of those "chutes" or crossing the river, and then a deck-hand stood on the bow and hove the lead, while the boat slowed down and moved cautiously; sometimes she stopped a moment at a landing and took on some freight or a passenger while a crowd of slouchy white men and negroes stood on the bank and looked sleepily on with their hands in their pantaloons pockets,--of course--for they never took them out except to stretch, and when they did this they squirmed about and reached their fists up into the air and lifted themselves on tip-toe in an ecstasy of enjoyment. when the sun went down it turned all the broad river to a national banner laid in gleaming bars of gold and purple and crimson; and in time these glories faded out in the twilight and left the fairy archipelagoes reflecting their fringing foliage in the steely mirror of the stream. at night the boat forged on through the deep solitudes of the river, hardly ever discovering a light to testify to a human presence--mile after mile and league after league the vast bends were guarded by unbroken walls of forest that had never been disturbed by the voice or the foot-fall of man or felt the edge of his sacrilegious axe. an hour after supper the moon came up, and clay and washington ascended to the hurricane deck to revel again in their new realm of enchantment. they ran races up and down the deck; climbed about the bell; made friends with the passenger-dogs chained under the lifeboat; tried to make friends with a passenger-bear fastened to the verge-staff but were not encouraged; "skinned the cat" on the hog-chains; in a word, exhausted the amusement-possibilities of the deck. then they looked wistfully up at the pilot house, and finally, little by little, clay ventured up there, followed diffidently by washington. the pilot turned presently to "get his stern-marks," saw the lads and invited them in. now their happiness was complete. this cosy little house, built entirely of glass and commanding a marvelous prospect in every direction was a magician's throne to them and their enjoyment of the place was simply boundless. they sat them down on a high bench and looked miles ahead and saw the wooded capes fold back and reveal the bends beyond; and they looked miles to the rear and saw the silvery highway diminish its breadth by degrees and close itself together in the distance. presently the pilot said: "by george, yonder comes the amaranth!" a spark appeared, close to the water, several miles down the river. the pilot took his glass and looked at it steadily for a moment, and said, chiefly to himself: "it can't be the blue wing. she couldn't pick us up this way. it's the amaranth, sure!" he bent over a speaking tube and said: "who's on watch down there?" a hollow, unhuman voice rumbled up through the tube in answer: "i am. second engineer." "good! you want to stir your stumps, now, harry--the amaranth's just turned the point--and she's just a--humping herself, too!" the pilot took hold of a rope that stretched out forward, jerked it twice, and two mellow strokes of the big bell responded. a voice out on the deck shouted: "stand by, down there, with that labboard lead!" "no, i don't want the lead," said the pilot, "i want you. roust out the old man--tell him the amaranth's coming. and go and call jim--tell him." "aye-aye, sir!" the "old man" was the captain--he is always called so, on steamboats and ships; "jim" was the other pilot. within two minutes both of these men were flying up the pilothouse stairway, three steps at a jump. jim was in his shirt sleeves,--with his coat and vest on his arm. he said: "i was just turning in. where's the glass" he took it and looked: "don't appear to be any night-hawk on the jack-staff--it's the amaranth, dead sure!" the captain took a good long look, and only said: "damnation!" george davis, the pilot on watch, shouted to the night-watchman on deck: "how's she loaded?" "two inches by the head, sir." "'t ain't enough!" the captain shouted, now: "call the mate. tell him to call all hands and get a lot of that sugar forrard--put her ten inches by the head. lively, now!" "aye-aye, sir." a riot of shouting and trampling floated up from below, presently, and the uneasy steering of the boat soon showed that she was getting "down by the head." the three men in the pilot house began to talk in short, sharp sentences, low and earnestly. as their excitement rose, their voices went down. as fast as one of them put down the spy-glass another took it up--but always with a studied air of calmness. each time the verdict was: "she's a gaining!" the captain spoke through the tube: "what steam are you carrying?" "a hundred and forty-two, sir! but she's getting hotter and hotter all the time." the boat was straining and groaning and quivering like a monster in pain. both pilots were at work now, one on each side of the wheel, with their coats and vests off, their bosoms and collars wide open and the perspiration flowing down heir faces. they were holding the boat so close to the shore that the willows swept the guards almost from stem to stern. "stand by!" whispered george. "all ready!" said jim, under his breath. "let her come!" the boat sprang away, from the bank like a deer, and darted in a long diagonal toward the other shore. she closed in again and thrashed her fierce way along the willows as before. the captain put down the glass: "lord how she walks up on us! i do hate to be beat!" "jim," said george, looking straight ahead, watching the slightest yawing of the boat and promptly meeting it with the wheel, "how'll it do to try murderer's chute?" "well, it's--it's taking chances. how was the cottonwood stump on the false point below boardman's island this morning?" "water just touching the roots." "well it's pretty close work. that gives six feet scant in the head of murderer's chute. we can just barely rub through if we hit it exactly right. but it's worth trying. she don't dare tackle it!"--meaning the amaranth. in another instant the boreas plunged into what seemed a crooked creek, and the amaranth's approaching lights were shut out in a moment. not a whisper was uttered, now, but the three men stared ahead into the shadows and two of them spun the wheel back and forth with anxious watchfulness while the steamer tore along. the chute seemed to come to an end every fifty yards, but always opened out in time. now the head of it was at hand. george tapped the big bell three times, two leadsmen sprang to their posts, and in a moment their weird cries rose on the night air and were caught up and repeated by two men on the upper deck: "no-o bottom!" "de-e-p four!" "half three!" "quarter three!" "mark under wa-a-ter three!" "half twain!" "quarter twain!-----" davis pulled a couple of ropes--there was a jingling of small bells far below, the boat's speed slackened, and the pent steam began to whistle and the gauge-cocks to scream: "by the mark twain!" "quar--ter--her--er--less twain!" "eight and a half!" "eight feet!" "seven-ana-half!" another jingling of little bells and the wheels ceased turning altogether. the whistling of the steam was something frightful now--it almost drowned all other noises. "stand by to meet her!" george had the wheel hard down and was standing on a spoke. "all ready!" the, boat hesitated seemed to hold her breath, as did the captain and pilots--and then she began to fall away to starboard and every eye lighted: "now then!--meet her! meet her! snatch her!" the wheel flew to port so fast that the spokes blended into a spider-web --the swing of the boat subsided--she steadied herself---- "seven feet!" "sev--six and a half!" "six feet! six f----" bang! she hit the bottom! george shouted through the tube: "spread her wide open! whale it at her!" pow-wow-chow! the escape-pipes belched snowy pillars of steam aloft, the boat ground and surged and trembled--and slid over into---- "m-a-r-k twain!" "quarter-her----" "tap! tap! tap!" (to signify "lay in the leads") and away she went, flying up the willow shore, with the whole silver sea of the mississippi stretching abroad on every hand. no amaranth in sight! "ha-ha, boys, we took a couple of tricks that time!" said the captain. and just at that moment a red glare appeared in the head of the chute and the amaranth came springing after them! "well, i swear!" "jim, what is the meaning of that?" "i'll tell you what's the meaning of it. that hail we had at napoleon was wash hastings, wanting to come to cairo--and we didn't stop. he's in that pilot house, now, showing those mud turtles how to hunt for easy water." "that's it! i thought it wasn't any slouch that was running that middle bar in hog-eye bend. if it's wash hastings--well, what he don't know about the river ain't worth knowing--a regular gold-leaf, kid-glove, diamond breastpin pilot wash hastings is. we won't take any tricks off of him, old man!" "i wish i'd a stopped for him, that's all." the amaranth was within three hundred yards of the boreas, and still gaining. the "old man" spoke through the tube: "what is she-carrying now?" "a hundred and sixty-five, sir!" "how's your wood?" "pine all out-cypress half gone-eating up cotton-wood like pie!" "break into that rosin on the main deck-pile it in, the boat can pay for it!" soon the boat was plunging and quivering and screaming more madly than ever. but the amaranth's head was almost abreast the boreas's stern: "how's your steam, now, harry?" "hundred and eighty-two, sir!" "break up the casks of bacon in the forrard hold! pile it in! levy on that turpentine in the fantail-drench every stick of wood with it!" the boat was a moving earthquake by this time: "how is she now?" "a hundred and ninety-six and still a-swelling!--water, below the middle gauge-cocks!--carrying every pound she can stand!--nigger roosting on the safety-valve!" "good! how's your draft?" "bully! every time a nigger heaves a stick of wood into the furnace he goes out the chimney, with it!" the amaranth drew steadily up till her jack-staff breasted the boreas's wheel-house--climbed along inch by inch till her chimneys breasted it --crept along, further and further, till the boats were wheel to wheel --and then they, closed up with a heavy jolt and locked together tight and fast in the middle of the big river under the flooding moonlight! a roar and a hurrah went up from the crowded decks of both steamers--all hands rushed to the guards to look and shout and gesticulate--the weight careened the vessels over toward each other--officers flew hither and thither cursing and storming, trying to drive the people amidships--both captains were leaning over their railings shaking their fists, swearing and threatening--black volumes of smoke rolled up and canopied the scene,--delivering a rain of sparks upon the vessels--two pistol shots rang out, and both captains dodged unhurt and the packed masses of passengers surged back and fell apart while the shrieks of women and children soared above the intolerable din---- and then there was a booming roar, a thundering crash, and the riddled amaranth dropped loose from her hold and drifted helplessly away! instantly the fire-doors of the boreas were thrown open and the men began dashing buckets of water into the furnaces--for it would have been death and destruction to stop the engines with such a head of steam on. as soon as possible the boreas dropped down to the floating wreck and took off the dead, the wounded and the unhurt--at least all that could be got at, for the whole forward half of the boat was a shapeless ruin, with the great chimneys lying crossed on top of it, and underneath were a dozen victims imprisoned alive and wailing for help. while men with axes worked with might and main to free these poor fellows, the boreas's boats went about, picking up stragglers from the river. and now a new horror presented itself. the wreck took fire from the dismantled furnaces! never did men work with a heartier will than did those stalwart braves with the axes. but it was of no use. the fire ate its way steadily, despising the bucket brigade that fought it. it scorched the clothes, it singed the hair of the axemen--it drove them back, foot by foot-inch by inch--they wavered, struck a final blow in the teeth of the enemy, and surrendered. and as they fell back they heard prisoned voices saying: "don't leave us! don't desert us! don't, don't do it!" and one poor fellow said: "i am henry worley, striker of the amaranth! my mother lives in st. louis. tell her a lie for a poor devil's sake, please. say i was killed in an instant and never knew what hurt me--though god knows i've neither scratch nor bruise this moment! it's hard to burn up in a coop like this with the whole wide world so near. good-bye boys--we've all got to come to it at last, anyway!" the boreas stood away out of danger, and the ruined steamer went drifting down the stream an island of wreathing and climbing flame that vomited clouds of smoke from time to time, and glared more fiercely and sent its luminous tongues higher and higher after each emission. a shriek at intervals told of a captive that had met his doom. the wreck lodged upon a sandbar, and when the boreas turned the next point on her upward journey it was still burning with scarcely abated fury. when the boys came down into the main saloon of the boreas, they saw a pitiful sight and heard a world of pitiful sounds. eleven poor creatures lay dead and forty more lay moaning, or pleading or screaming, while a score of good samaritans moved among them doing what they could to relieve their sufferings; bathing their chinless faces and bodies with linseed oil and lime water and covering the places with bulging masses of raw cotton that gave to every face and form a dreadful and unhuman aspect. a little wee french midshipman of fourteen lay fearfully injured, but never uttered a sound till a physician of memphis was about to dress his hurts. then he said: "can i get well? you need not be afraid to tell me." "no--i--i am afraid you can not." "then do not waste your time with me--help those that can get well." "but----" "help those that can get well! it is, not for me to be a girl. i carry the blood of eleven generations of soldiers in my veins!" the physician--himself a man who had seen service in the navy in his time--touched his hat to this little hero, and passed on. the head engineer of the amaranth, a grand specimen of physical manhood, struggled to his feet a ghastly spectacle and strode toward his brother, the second engineer, who was unhurt. he said: "you were on watch. you were boss. you would not listen to me when i begged you to reduce your steam. take that!--take it to my wife and tell her it comes from me by the hand of my murderer! take it--and take my curse with it to blister your heart a hundred years--and may you live so long!" and he tore a ring from his finger, stripping flesh and skin with it, threw it down and fell dead! but these things must not be dwelt upon. the boreas landed her dreadful cargo at the next large town and delivered it over to a multitude of eager hands and warm southern hearts--a cargo amounting by this time to wounded persons and dead bodies. and with these she delivered a list of missing persons that had drowned or otherwise perished at the scene of the disaster. a jury of inquest was impaneled, and after due deliberation and inquiry they returned the inevitable american verdict which has been so familiar to our ears all the days of our lives--"nobody to blame." **[the incidents of the explosion are not invented. they happened just as they are told.--the authors.] chapter v. il veut faire secher de la neige au four et la vendre pour du sel blanc. when the boreas backed away from the land to continue her voyage up the river, the hawkinses were richer by twenty-four hours of experience in the contemplation of human suffering and in learning through honest hard work how to relieve it. and they were richer in another way also. in the early turmoil an hour after the explosion, a little black-eyed girl of five years, frightened and crying bitterly, was struggling through the throng in the boreas' saloon calling her mother and father, but no one answered. something in the face of mr. hawkins attracted her and she came and looked up at him; was satisfied, and took refuge with him. he petted her, listened to her troubles, and said he would find her friends for her. then he put her in a state-room with his children and told them to be kind to her (the adults of his party were all busy with the wounded) and straightway began his search. it was fruitless. but all day he and his wife made inquiries, and hoped against hope. all that they could learn was that the child and her parents came on board at new orleans, where they had just arrived in a vessel from cuba; that they looked like people from the atlantic states; that the family name was van brunt and the child's name laura. this was all. the parents had not been seen since the explosion. the child's manners were those of a little lady, and her clothes were daintier and finer than any mrs. hawkins had ever seen before. as the hours dragged on the child lost heart, and cried so piteously for her mother that it seemed to the hawkinses that the moanings and the wailings of the mutilated men and women in the saloon did not so strain at their heart-strings as the sufferings of this little desolate creature. they tried hard to comfort her; and in trying, learned to love her; they could not help it, seeing how she clung, to them and put her arms about their necks and found-no solace but in their kind eyes and comforting words: there was a question in both their hearts--a question that rose up and asserted itself with more and more pertinacity as the hours wore on--but both hesitated to give it voice--both kept silence --and--waited. but a time came at last when the matter would bear delay no longer. the boat had landed, and the dead and the wounded were being conveyed to the shore. the tired child was asleep in the arms of mrs. hawkins. mr. hawkins came into their presence and stood without speaking. his eyes met his wife's; then both looked at the child--and as they looked it stirred in its sleep and nestled closer; an expression of contentment and peace settled upon its face that touched the mother-heart; and when the eyes of husband and wife met again, the question was asked and answered. when the boreas had journeyed some four hundred miles from the time the hawkinses joined her, a long rank of steamboats was sighted, packed side by side at a wharf like sardines, in a box, and above and beyond them rose the domes and steeples and general architectural confusion of a city--a city with an imposing umbrella of black smoke spread over it. this was st. louis. the children of the hawkins family were playing about the hurricane deck, and the father and mother were sitting in the lee of the pilot house essaying to keep order and not greatly grieved that they were not succeeding. "they're worth all the trouble they are, nancy." "yes, and more, si." "i believe you! you wouldn't sell one of them at a good round figure?" "not for all the money in the bank, si." "my own sentiments every time. it is true we are not rich--but still you are not sorry---you haven't any misgivings about the additions?" "no. god will provide" "amen. and so you wouldn't even part with clay? or laura!" "not for anything in the world. i love them just the same as i love my own: they pet me and spoil me even more than the others do, i think. i reckon we'll get along, si." "oh yes, it will all come out right, old mother. i wouldn't be afraid to adopt a thousand children if i wanted to, for there's that tennessee land, you know--enough to make an army of them rich. a whole army, nancy! you and i will never see the day, but these little chaps will. indeed they will. one of these days it will be the rich miss emily hawkins--and the wealthy miss laura van brunt hawkins--and the hon. george washington hawkins, millionaire--and gov. henry clay hawkins, millionaire! that is the way the world will word it! don't let's ever fret about the children, nancy--never in the world. they're all right. nancy, there's oceans and oceans of money in that land--mark my words!" the children had stopped playing, for the moment, and drawn near to listen. hawkins said: "washington, my boy, what will you do when you get to be one of the richest men in the world?" "i don't know, father. sometimes i think i'll have a balloon and go up in the air; and sometimes i think i'll have ever so many books; and sometimes i think i'll have ever so many weathercocks and water-wheels; or have a machine like that one you and colonel sellers bought; and sometimes i think i'll have--well, somehow i don't know--somehow i ain't certain; maybe i'll get a steamboat first." "the same old chap!--always just a little bit divided about things.--and what will you do when you get to be one of the richest men in the world, clay?" "i don't know, sir. my mother--my other mother that's gone away--she always told me to work along and not be much expecting to get rich, and then i wouldn't be disappointed if i didn't get rich. and so i reckon it's better for me to wait till i get rich, and then by that time maybe i'll know what i'll want--but i don't now, sir." "careful old head!--governor henry clay hawkins!--that's what you'll be, clay, one of these days. wise old head! weighty old head! go on, now, and play--all of you. it's a prime lot, nancy; as the obedstown folk say about their hogs." a smaller steamboat received the hawkinses and their fortunes, and bore them a hundred and thirty miles still higher up the mississippi, and landed them at a little tumble-down village on the missouri shore in the twilight of a mellow october day. the next morning they harnessed up their team and for two days they wended slowly into the interior through almost roadless and uninhabited forest solitudes. and when for the last time they pitched their tents, metaphorically speaking, it was at the goal of their hopes, their new home. by the muddy roadside stood a new log cabin, one story high--the store; clustered in the neighborhood were ten or twelve more cabins, some new, some old. in the sad light of the departing day the place looked homeless enough. two or three coatless young men sat in front of the store on a dry-goods box, and whittled it with their knives, kicked it with their vast boots, and shot tobacco-juice at various marks. several ragged negroes leaned comfortably against the posts of the awning and contemplated the arrival of the wayfarers with lazy curiosity. all these people presently managed to drag themselves to the vicinity of the hawkins' wagon, and there they took up permanent positions, hands in pockets and resting on one leg; and thus anchored they proceeded to look and enjoy. vagrant dogs came wagging around and making inquiries of hawkins's dog, which were not satisfactory and they made war on him in concert. this would have interested the citizens but it was too many on one to amount to anything as a fight, and so they commanded the peace and the foreign dog coiled his tail and took sanctuary under the wagon. slatternly negro girls and women slouched along with pails deftly balanced on their heads, and joined the group and stared. little half dressed white boys, and little negro boys with nothing whatever on but tow-linen shirts with a fine southern exposure, came from various directions and stood with their hands locked together behind them and aided in the inspection. the rest of the population were laying down their employments and getting ready to come, when a man burst through the assemblage and seized the new-comers by the hands in a frenzy of welcome, and exclaimed--indeed almost shouted: "well who could have believed it! now is it you sure enough--turn around! hold up your heads! i want to look at you good! well, well, well, it does seem most too good to be true, i declare! lord, i'm so glad to see you! does a body's whole soul good to look at you! shake hands again! keep on shaking hands! goodness gracious alive. what will my wife say?--oh yes indeed, it's so!--married only last week--lovely, perfectly lovely creature, the noblest woman that ever--you'll like her, nancy! like her? lord bless me you'll love her--you'll dote on her --you'll be twins! well, well, well, let me look at you again! same old --why bless my life it was only jest this very morning that my wife says, 'colonel'--she will call me colonel spite of everything i can do--she says 'colonel, something tells me somebody's coming!' and sure enough here you are, the last people on earth a body could have expected. why she'll think she's a prophetess--and hanged if i don't think so too --and you know there ain't any, country but what a prophet's an honor to, as the proverb says. lord bless me and here's the children, too! washington, emily, don't you know me? come, give us a kiss. won't i fix you, though!--ponies, cows, dogs, everything you can think of that'll delight a child's heart-and--why how's this? little strangers? well you won't be any strangers here, i can tell you. bless your souls we'll make you think you never was at home before--'deed and 'deed we will, i can tell you! come, now, bundle right along with me. you can't glorify any hearth stone but mine in this camp, you know--can't eat anybody's bread but mine--can't do anything but just make yourselves perfectly at home and comfortable, and spread yourselves out and rest! you hear me! here--jim, tom, pete, jake, fly around! take that team to my place--put the wagon in my lot--put the horses under the shed, and get out hay and oats and fill them up! ain't any hay and oats? well get some--have it charged to me--come, spin around, now! now, hawkins, the procession's ready; mark time, by the left flank, forward-march!" and the colonel took the lead, with laura astride his neck, and the newly-inspired and very grateful immigrants picked up their tired limbs with quite a spring in them and dropped into his wake. presently they were ranged about an old-time fire-place whose blazing logs sent out rather an unnecessary amount of heat, but that was no matter-supper was needed, and to have it, it had to be cooked. this apartment was the family bedroom, parlor, library and kitchen, all in one. the matronly little wife of the colonel moved hither and thither and in and out with her pots and pans in her hands', happiness in her heart and a world of admiration of her husband in her eyes. and when at last she had spread the cloth and loaded it with hot corn bread, fried chickens, bacon, buttermilk, coffee, and all manner of country luxuries, col. sellers modified his harangue and for a moment throttled it down to the orthodox pitch for a blessing, and then instantly burst forth again as from a parenthesis and clattered on with might and main till every stomach in the party was laden with all it could carry. and when the new-comers ascended the ladder to their comfortable feather beds on the second floor--to wit the garret--mrs. hawkins was obliged to say: "hang the fellow, i do believe he has gone wilder than ever, but still a body can't help liking him if they would--and what is more, they don't ever want to try when they see his eyes and hear him talk." within a week or two the hawkinses were comfortably domiciled in a new log house, and were beginning to feel at home. the children were put to school; at least it was what passed for a school in those days: a place where tender young humanity devoted itself for eight or ten hours a day to learning incomprehensible rubbish by heart out of books and reciting it by rote, like parrots; so that a finished education consisted simply of a permanent headache and the ability to read without stopping to spell the words or take breath. hawkins bought out the village store for a song and proceeded to reap the profits, which amounted to but little more than another song. the wonderful speculation hinted at by col. sellers in his letter turned out to be the raising of mules for the southern market; and really it promised very well. the young stock cost but a trifle, the rearing but another trifle, and so hawkins was easily persuaded to embark his slender means in the enterprise and turn over the keep and care of the animals to sellers and uncle dan'l. all went well: business prospered little by little. hawkins even built a new house, made it two full stories high and put a lightning rod on it. people came two or three miles to look at it. but they knew that the rod attracted the lightning, and so they gave the place a wide berth in a storm, for they were familiar with marksmanship and doubted if the lightning could hit that small stick at a distance of a mile and a half oftener than once in a hundred and fifty times. hawkins fitted out his house with "store" furniture from st. louis, and the fame of its magnificence went abroad in the land. even the parlor carpet was from st. louis--though the other rooms were clothed in the "rag" carpeting of the country. hawkins put up the first "paling" fence that had ever adorned the village; and he did not stop there, but whitewashed it. his oil-cloth window-curtains had noble pictures on them of castles such as had never been seen anywhere in the world but on window-curtains. hawkins enjoyed the admiration these prodigies compelled, but he always smiled to think how poor and, cheap they were, compared to what the hawkins mansion would display in a future day after the tennessee land should have borne its minted fruit. even washington observed, once, that when the tennessee land was sold he would have a "store" carpet in his and clay's room like the one in the parlor. this pleased hawkins, but it troubled his wife. it did not seem wise, to her, to put one's entire earthly trust in the tennessee land and never think of doing any work. hawkins took a weekly philadelphia newspaper and a semi-weekly st. louis journal--almost the only papers that came to the village, though godey's lady's book found a good market there and was regarded as the perfection of polite literature by some of the ablest critics in the place. perhaps it is only fair to explain that we are writing of a by gone age--some twenty or thirty years ago. in the two newspapers referred to lay the secret of hawkins's growing prosperity. they kept him informed of the condition of the crops south and east, and thus he knew which articles were likely to be in demand and which articles were likely to be unsalable, weeks and even months in advance of the simple folk about him. as the months went by he came to be regarded as a wonderfully lucky man. it did not occur to the citizens that brains were at the bottom of his luck. his title of "squire" came into vogue again, but only for a season; for, as his wealth and popularity augmented, that title, by imperceptible stages, grew up into "judge;" indeed' it bade fair to swell into "general" bye and bye. all strangers of consequence who visited the village gravitated to the hawkins mansion and became guests of the "judge." hawkins had learned to like the people of his section very much. they were uncouth and not cultivated, and not particularly industrious; but they were honest and straightforward, and their virtuous ways commanded respect. their patriotism was strong, their pride in the flag was of the old fashioned pattern, their love of country amounted to idolatry. whoever dragged the national honor in the dirt won their deathless hatred. they still cursed benedict arnold as if he were a personal friend who had broken faith--but a week gone by. chapter vi. we skip ten years and this history finds certain changes to record. judge hawkins and col. sellers have made and lost two or three moderate fortunes in the meantime and are now pinched by poverty. sellers has two pairs of twins and four extras. in hawkins's family are six children of his own and two adopted ones. from time to time, as fortune smiled, the elder children got the benefit of it, spending the lucky seasons at excellent schools in st. louis and the unlucky ones at home in the chafing discomfort of straightened circumstances. neither the hawkins children nor the world that knew them ever supposed that one of the girls was of alien blood and parentage: such difference as existed between laura and emily is not uncommon in a family. the girls had grown up as sisters, and they were both too young at the time of the fearful accident on the mississippi to know that it was that which had thrown their lives together. and yet any one who had known the secret of laura's birth and had seen her during these passing years, say at the happy age of twelve or thirteen, would have fancied that he knew the reason why she was more winsome than her school companion. philosophers dispute whether it is the promise of what she will be in the careless school-girl, that makes her attractive, the undeveloped maidenhood, or the mere natural, careless sweetness of childhood. if laura at twelve was beginning to be a beauty, the thought of it had never entered her head. no, indeed. her mind wad filled with more important thoughts. to her simple school-girl dress she was beginning to add those mysterious little adornments of ribbon-knots and ear-rings, which were the subject of earnest consultations with her grown friends. when she tripped down the street on a summer's day with her dainty hands propped into the ribbon-broidered pockets of her apron, and elbows consequently more or less akimbo with her wide leghorn hat flapping down and hiding her face one moment and blowing straight up against her fore head the next and making its revealment of fresh young beauty; with all her pretty girlish airs and graces in full play, and that sweet ignorance of care and that atmosphere of innocence and purity all about her that belong to her gracious time of life, indeed she was a vision to warm the coldest heart and bless and cheer the saddest. willful, generous, forgiving, imperious, affectionate, improvident, bewitching, in short--was laura at this period. could she have remained there, this history would not need to be written. but laura had grown to be almost a woman in these few years, to the end of which we have now come--years which had seen judge hawkins pass through so many trials. when the judge's first bankruptcy came upon him, a homely human angel intruded upon him with an offer of $ , for the tennessee land. mrs. hawkins said take it. it was a grievous temptation, but the judge withstood it. he said the land was for the children--he could not rob them of their future millions for so paltry a sum. when the second blight fell upon him, another angel appeared and offered $ , for the land. he was in such deep distress that he allowed his wife to persuade him to let the papers be drawn; but when his children came into his presence in their poor apparel, he felt like a traitor and refused to sign. but now he was down again, and deeper in the mire than ever. he paced the floor all day, he scarcely slept at night. he blushed even to acknowledge it to himself, but treason was in his mind--he was meditating, at last, the sale of the land. mrs. hawkins stepped into the room. he had not spoken a word, but he felt as guilty as if she had caught him in some shameful act. she said: "si, i do not know what we are going to do. the children are not fit to be seen, their clothes are in such a state. but there's something more serious still.--there is scarcely a bite in the house to eat" "why, nancy, go to johnson----." "johnson indeed! you took that man's part when he hadn't a friend in the world, and you built him up and made him rich. and here's the result of it: he lives in our fine house, and we live in his miserable log cabin. he has hinted to our children that he would rather they wouldn't come about his yard to play with his children,--which i can bear, and bear easy enough, for they're not a sort we want to associate with much--but what i can't bear with any quietness at all, is his telling franky our bill was running pretty high this morning when i sent him for some meal --and that was all he said, too--didn't give him the meal--turned off and went to talking with the hargrave girls about some stuff they wanted to cheapen." "nancy, this is astounding!" "and so it is, i warrant you. i've kept still, si, as long as ever i could. things have been getting worse and worse, and worse and worse, every single day; i don't go out of the house, i feel so down; but you had trouble enough, and i wouldn't say a word--and i wouldn't say a word now, only things have got so bad that i don't know what to do, nor where to turn." and she gave way and put her face in her hands and cried. "poor child, don't grieve so. i never thought that of johnson. i am clear at my wit's end. i don't know what in the world to do. now if somebody would come along and offer $ , --uh, if somebody only would come along and offer $ , for that tennessee land." "you'd sell it, s!" said mrs. hawkins excitedly. "try me!" mrs. hawkins was out of the room in a moment. within a minute she was back again with a business-looking stranger, whom she seated, and then she took her leave again. hawkins said to himself, "how can a man ever lose faith? when the blackest hour comes, providence always comes with it--ah, this is the very timeliest help that ever poor harried devil had; if this blessed man offers but a thousand i'll embrace him like a brother!" the stranger said: "i am aware that you own , acres, of land in east tennessee, and without sacrificing your time, i will come to the point at once. i am agent of an iron manufacturing company, and they empower me to offer you ten thousand dollars for that land." hawkins's heart bounded within him. his whole frame was racked and wrenched with fettered hurrahs. his first impulse was to shout "done! and god bless the iron company, too!" but a something flitted through his mind, and his opened lips uttered nothing. the enthusiasm faded away from his eyes, and the look of a man who is thinking took its place. presently, in a hesitating, undecided way, he said: "well, i--it don't seem quite enough. that--that is a very valuable property--very valuable. it's brim full of iron-ore, sir--brim full of it! and copper, coal,--everything--everything you can think of! now, i'll tell you what i'll, do. i'll reserve everything except the iron, and i'll sell them the iron property for $ , cash, i to go in with them and own an undivided interest of one-half the concern--or the stock, as you may say. i'm out of business, and i'd just as soon help run the thing as not. now how does that strike you?" "well, i am only an agent of these people, who are friends of mine, and i am not even paid for my services. to tell you the truth, i have tried to persuade them not to go into the thing; and i have come square out with their offer, without throwing out any feelers--and i did it in the hope that you would refuse. a man pretty much always refuses another man's first offer, no matter what it is. but i have performed my duty, and will take pleasure in telling them what you say." he was about to rise. hawkins said, "wait a bit." hawkins thought again. and the substance of his thought was: "this is a deep man; this is a very deep man; i don't like his candor; your ostentatiously candid business man's a deep fox--always a deep fox; this man's that iron company himself--that's what he is; he wants that property, too; i am not so blind but i can see that; he don't want the company to go into this thing--o, that's very good; yes, that's very good indeed--stuff! he'll be back here tomorrow, sure, and take my offer; take it? i'll risk anything he is suffering to take it now; here--i must mind what i'm about. what has started this sudden excitement about iron? i wonder what is in the wind? just as sure as i'm alive this moment, there's something tremendous stirring in iron speculation" [here hawkins got up and began to pace the floor with excited eyes and with gesturing hands]--"something enormous going on in iron, without the shadow of a doubt, and here i sit mousing in the dark and never knowing anything about it; great heaven, what an escape i've made! this underhanded mercenary creature might have taken me up--and ruined me! but i have escaped, and i warrant me i'll not put my foot into--" he stopped and turned toward the stranger; saying: "i have made you a proposition, you have not accepted it, and i desire that you will consider that i have made none. at the same time my conscience will not allow me to--. please alter the figures i named to thirty thousand dollars, if you will, and let the proposition go to the company--i will stick to it if it breaks my heart!" the stranger looked amused, and there was a pretty well defined touch of surprise in his expression, too, but hawkins never noticed it. indeed he scarcely noticed anything or knew what he was about. the man left; hawkins flung himself into a chair; thought a few moments, then glanced around, looked frightened, sprang to the door---- "too late--too late! he's gone! fool that i am! always a fool! thirty thousand--ass that i am! oh, why didn't i say fifty thousand!" he plunged his hands into his hair and leaned his elbows on his knees, and fell to rocking himself back and forth in anguish. mrs. hawkins sprang in, beaming: "well, si?" "oh, con-found the con-founded--con-found it, nancy. i've gone and done it, now!" "done what si for mercy's sake!" "done everything! ruined everything!" "tell me, tell me, tell me! don't keep a body in such suspense. didn't he buy, after all? didn't he make an offer?" offer? he offered $ , for our land, and----" "thank the good providence from the very bottom of my heart of hearts! what sort of ruin do you call that, si!" "nancy, do you suppose i listened to such a preposterous proposition? no! thank fortune i'm not a simpleton! i saw through the pretty scheme in a second. it's a vast iron speculation!--millions upon millions in it! but fool as i am i told him he could have half the iron property for thirty thousand--and if i only had him back here he couldn't touch it for a cent less than a quarter of a million!" mrs. hawkins looked up white and despairing: "you threw away this chance, you let this man go, and we in this awful trouble? you don't mean it, you can't mean it!" "throw it away? catch me at it! why woman, do you suppose that man don't know what he is about? bless you, he'll be back fast enough to-morrow." "never, never, never. he never will comeback. i don't know what is to become of us. i don't know what in the world is to become of us." a shade of uneasiness came into hawkins's face. he said: "why, nancy, you--you can't believe what you are saying." "believe it, indeed? i know it, si. and i know that we haven't a cent in the world, and we've sent ten thousand dollars a-begging." "nancy, you frighten me. now could that man--is it possible that i --hanged if i don't believe i have missed a chance! don't grieve, nancy, don't grieve. i'll go right after him. i'll take--i'll take--what a fool i am!--i'll take anything he'll give!" the next instant he left the house on a run. but the man was no longer in the town. nobody knew where he belonged or whither he had gone. hawkins came slowly back, watching wistfully but hopelessly for the stranger, and lowering his price steadily with his sinking heart. and when his foot finally pressed his own threshold, the value he held the entire tennessee property at was five hundred dollars--two hundred down and the rest in three equal annual payments, without interest. there was a sad gathering at the hawkins fireside the next night. all the children were present but clay. mr. hawkins said: "washington, we seem to be hopelessly fallen, hopelessly involved. i am ready to give up. i do not know where to turn--i never have been down so low before, i never have seen things so dismal. there are many mouths to feed; clay is at work; we must lose you, also, for a little while, my boy. but it will not be long--the tennessee land----" he stopped, and was conscious of a blush. there was silence for a moment, and then washington--now a lank, dreamy-eyed stripling between twenty-two and twenty-three years of age--said: "if col. sellers would come for me, i would go and stay with him a while, till the tennessee land is sold. he has often wanted me to come, ever since he moved to hawkeye." "i'm afraid he can't well come for you, washington. from what i can hear--not from him of course, but from others--he is not far from as bad off as we are--and his family is as large, too. he might find something for you to do, maybe, but you'd better try to get to him yourself, washington--it's only thirty miles." "but how can i, father? there's no stage or anything." "and if there were, stages require money. a stage goes from swansea, five miles from here. but it would be cheaper to walk." "father, they must know you there, and no doubt they would credit you in a moment, for a little stage ride like that. couldn't you write and ask them?" "couldn't you, washington--seeing it's you that wants the ride? and what do you think you'll do, washington, when you get to hawkeye? finish your invention for making window-glass opaque?" "no, sir, i have given that up. i almost knew i could do it, but it was so tedious and troublesome i quit it." "i was afraid of it, my boy. then i suppose you'll finish your plan of coloring hen's eggs by feeding a peculiar diet to the hen?" "no, sir. i believe i have found out the stuff that will do it, but it kills the hen; so i have dropped that for the present, though i can take it up again some day when i learn how to manage the mixture better." "well, what have you got on hand--anything?" "yes, sir, three or four things. i think they are all good and can all be done, but they are tiresome, and besides they require money. but as soon as the land is sold----" "emily, were you about to say something?" said hawkins. yes, sir. if you are willing, i will go to st. louis. that will make another mouth less to feed. mrs. buckner has always wanted me to come." "but the money, child?" "why i think she would send it, if you would write her--and i know she would wait for her pay till----" "come, laura, let's hear from you, my girl." emily and laura were about the same age--between seventeen and eighteen. emily was fair and pretty, girlish and diffident--blue eyes and light hair. laura had a proud bearing, and a somewhat mature look; she had fine, clean-cut features, her complexion was pure white and contrasted vividly with her black hair and eyes; she was not what one calls pretty --she was beautiful. she said: "i will go to st. louis, too, sir. i will find a way to get there. i will make a way. and i will find a way to help myself along, and do what i can to help the rest, too." she spoke it like a princess. mrs. hawkins smiled proudly and kissed her, saying in a tone of fond reproof: "so one of my girls is going to turn out and work for her living! it's like your pluck and spirit, child, but we will hope that we haven't got quite down to that, yet." the girl's eyes beamed affection under her mother's caress. then she straightened up, folded her white hands in her lap and became a splendid ice-berg. clay's dog put up his brown nose for a little attention, and got it. he retired under the table with an apologetic yelp, which did not affect the iceberg. judge hawkins had written and asked clay to return home and consult with him upon family affairs. he arrived the evening after this conversation, and the whole household gave him a rapturous welcome. he brought sadly needed help with him, consisting of the savings of a year and a half of work--nearly two hundred dollars in money. it was a ray of sunshine which (to this easy household) was the earnest of a clearing sky. bright and early in the morning the family were astir, and all were busy preparing washington for his journey--at least all but washington himself, who sat apart, steeped in a reverie. when the time for his departure came, it was easy to see how fondly all loved him and how hard it was to let him go, notwithstanding they had often seen him go before, in his st. louis schooling days. in the most matter-of-course way they had borne the burden of getting him ready for his trip, never seeming to think of his helping in the matter; in the same matter-of-course way clay had hired a horse and cart; and now that the good-byes were ended he bundled washington's baggage in and drove away with the exile. at swansea clay paid his stage fare, stowed him away in the vehicle, and saw him off. then he returned home and reported progress, like a committee of the whole. clay remained at home several days. he held many consultations with his mother upon the financial condition of the family, and talked once with his father upon the same subject, but only once. he found a change in that quarter which was distressing; years of fluctuating fortune had done their work; each reverse had weakened the father's spirit and impaired his energies; his last misfortune seemed to have left hope and ambition dead within him; he had no projects, formed no plans--evidently he was a vanquished man. he looked worn and tired. he inquired into clay's affairs and prospects, and when he found that clay was doing pretty well and was likely to do still better, it was plain that he resigned himself with easy facility to look to the son for a support; and he said, "keep yourself informed of poor washington's condition and movements, and help him along all you can, clay." the younger children, also, seemed relieved of all fears and distresses, and very ready and willing to look to clay for a livelihood. within three days a general tranquility and satisfaction reigned in the household. clay's hundred and eighty or ninety, dollars had worked a wonder. the family were as contented, now, and as free from care as they could have been with a fortune. it was well that mrs. hawkins held the purse otherwise the treasure would have lasted but a very little while. it took but a trifle to pay hawkins's outstanding obligations, for he had always had a horror of debt. when clay bade his home good-bye and set out to return to the field of his labors, he was conscious that henceforth he was to have his father's family on his hands as pensioners; but he did not allow himself to chafe at the thought, for he reasoned that his father had dealt by him with a free hand and a loving one all his life, and now that hard fortune had broken his spirit it ought to be a pleasure, not a pain, to work for him. the younger children were born and educated dependents. they had never been taught to do anything for themselves, and it did not seem to occur to them to make an attempt now. the girls would not have been permitted to work for a living under any circumstances whatever. it was a southern family, and of good blood; and for any person except laura, either within or without the household to have suggested such an idea would have brought upon the suggester the suspicion of being a lunatic. chapter vii. via, pecunia! when she's run and gone and fled, and dead, then will i fetch her again with aqua vita, out of an old hogshead! while there are lees of wine, or dregs of beer, i'll never want her! coin her out of cobwebs, dust, but i'll have her! raise wool upon egg-shells, sir, and make grass grow out of marrow-bones, to make her come! b. jonson. bearing washington hawkins and his fortunes, the stage-coach tore out of swansea at a fearful gait, with horn tooting gaily and half the town admiring from doors and windows. but it did not tear any more after it got to the outskirts; it dragged along stupidly enough, then--till it came in sight of the next hamlet; and then the bugle tooted gaily again and again the vehicle went tearing by the horses. this sort of conduct marked every entry to a station and every exit from it; and so in those days children grew up with the idea that stage-coaches always tore and always tooted; but they also grew up with the idea that pirates went into action in their sunday clothes, carrying the black flag in one hand and pistolling people with the other, merely because they were so represented in the pictures--but these illusions vanished when later years brought their disenchanting wisdom. they learned then that the stagecoach is but a poor, plodding, vulgar thing in the solitudes of the highway; and that the pirate is only a seedy, unfantastic "rough," when he is out of the pictures. toward evening, the stage-coach came thundering into hawkeye with a perfectly triumphant ostentation--which was natural and proper, for hawkey a was a pretty large town for interior missouri. washington, very stiff and tired and hungry, climbed out, and wondered how he was to proceed now. but his difficulty was quickly solved. col. sellers came down the street on a run and arrived panting for breath. he said: "lord bless you--i'm glad to see you, washington--perfectly delighted to see you, my boy! i got your message. been on the look-out for you. heard the stage horn, but had a party i couldn't shake off--man that's got an enormous thing on hand--wants me to put some capital into it--and i tell you, my boy, i could do worse, i could do a deal worse. no, now, let that luggage alone; i'll fix that. here, jerry, got anything to do? all right-shoulder this plunder and follow me. come along, washington. lord i'm glad to see you! wife and the children are just perishing to look at you. bless you, they won't know you, you've grown so. folks all well, i suppose? that's good--glad to hear that. we're always going to run down and see them, but i'm into so many operations, and they're not things a man feels like trusting to other people, and so somehow we keep putting it off. fortunes in them! good gracious, it's the country to pile up wealth in! here we are--here's where the sellers dynasty hangs out. hump it on the door-step, jerry--the blackest niggro in the state, washington, but got a good heart--mighty likely boy, is jerry. and now i suppose you've got to have ten cents, jerry. that's all right--when a man works for me--when a man--in the other pocket, i reckon--when a man --why, where the mischief as that portmonnaie!--when a--well now that's odd--oh, now i remember, must have left it at the bank; and b'george i've left my check-book, too--polly says i ought to have a nurse--well, no matter. let me have a dime, washington, if you've got--ah, thanks. now clear out, jerry, your complexion has brought on the twilight half an hour ahead of time. pretty fair joke--pretty fair. here he is, polly! washington's come, children! come now, don't eat him up--finish him in the house. welcome, my boy, to a mansion that is proud to shelter the son of the best man that walks on the ground. si hawkins has been a good friend to me, and i believe i can say that whenever i've had a chance to put him into a good thing i've done it, and done it pretty cheerfully, too. i put him into that sugar speculation--what a grand thing that was, if we hadn't held on too long!" true enough; but holding on too long had utterly ruined both of them; and the saddest part of it was, that they never had had so much money to lose before, for sellers's sale of their mule crop that year in new orleans had been a great financial success. if he had kept out of sugar and gone back home content to stick to mules it would have been a happy wisdom. as it was, he managed to kill two birds with one stone--that is to say, he killed the sugar speculation by holding for high rates till he had to sell at the bottom figure, and that calamity killed the mule that laid the golden egg--which is but a figurative expression and will be so understood. sellers had returned home cheerful but empty-handed, and the mule business lapsed into other hands. the sale of the hawkins property by the sheriff had followed, and the hawkins hearts been torn to see uncle dan'l and his wife pass from the auction-block into the hands of a negro trader and depart for the remote south to be seen no more by the family. it had seemed like seeing their own flesh and blood sold into banishment. washington was greatly pleased with the sellers mansion. it was a two-story-and-a-half brick, and much more stylish than any of its neighbors. he was borne to the family sitting room in triumph by the swarm of little sellerses, the parents following with their arms about each other's waists. the whole family were poorly and cheaply dressed; and the clothing, although neat and clean, showed many evidences of having seen long service. the colonel's "stovepipe" hat was napless and shiny with much polishing, but nevertheless it had an almost convincing expression about it of having been just purchased new. the rest of his clothing was napless and shiny, too, but it had the air of being entirely satisfied with itself and blandly sorry for other people's clothes. it was growing rather dark in the house, and the evening air was chilly, too. sellers said: "lay off your overcoat, washington, and draw up to the stove and make yourself at home--just consider yourself under your own shingles my boy --i'll have a fire going, in a jiffy. light the lamp, polly, dear, and let's have things cheerful just as glad to see you, washington, as if you'd been lost a century and we'd found you again!" by this time the colonel was conveying a lighted match into a poor little stove. then he propped the stove door to its place by leaning the poker against it, for the hinges had retired from business. this door framed a small square of isinglass, which now warmed up with a faint glow. mrs. sellers lit a cheap, showy lamp, which dissipated a good deal of the gloom, and then everybody gathered into the light and took the stove into close companionship. the children climbed all over sellers, fondled him, petted him, and were lavishly petted in return. out from this tugging, laughing, chattering disguise of legs and arms and little faces, the colonel's voice worked its way and his tireless tongue ran blithely on without interruption; and the purring little wife, diligent with her knitting, sat near at hand and looked happy and proud and grateful; and she listened as one who listens to oracles and, gospels and whose grateful soul is being refreshed with the bread of life. bye and bye the children quieted down to listen; clustered about their father, and resting their elbows on his legs, they hung upon his words as if he were uttering the music of the spheres. a dreary old hair-cloth sofa against the wall; a few damaged chairs; the small table the lamp stood on; the crippled stove--these things constituted the furniture of the room. there was no carpet on the floor; on the wall were occasional square-shaped interruptions of the general tint of the plaster which betrayed that there used to be pictures in the house--but there were none now. there were no mantel ornaments, unless one might bring himself to regard as an ornament a clock which never came within fifteen strokes of striking the right time, and whose hands always hitched together at twenty-two minutes past anything and traveled in company the rest of the way home. "remarkable clock!" said sellers, and got up and wound it. "i've been offered--well, i wouldn't expect you to believe what i've been offered for that clock. old gov. hager never sees me but he says, 'come, now, colonel, name your price--i must have that clock!' but my goodness i'd as soon think of selling my wife. as i was saying to ---- silence in the court, now, she's begun to strike! you can't talk against her--you have to just be patient and hold up till she's said her say. ah well, as i was saying, when--she's beginning again! nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twen----ah, that's all.--yes, as i was saying to old judge ----go it, old girl, don't mind me.--now how is that?----isn't that a good, spirited tone? she can wake the dead! sleep? why you might as well try to sleep in a thunder-factory. now just listen at that. she'll strike a hundred and fifty, now, without stopping,--you'll see. there ain't another clock like that in christendom." washington hoped that this might be true, for the din was distracting --though the family, one and all, seemed filled with joy; and the more the clock "buckled down to her work" as the colonel expressed it, and the more insupportable the clatter became, the more enchanted they all appeared to be. when there was silence, mrs sellers lifted upon washington a face that beamed with a childlike pride, and said: "it belonged to his grandmother." the look and the tone were a plain call for admiring surprise, and therefore washington said (it was the only thing that offered itself at the moment:) "indeed!" "yes, it did, didn't it father!" exclaimed one of the twins. "she was my great-grandmother--and george's too; wasn't she, father! you never saw her, but sis has seen her, when sis was a baby-didn't you, sis! sis has seen her most a hundred times. she was awful deef--she's dead, now. aint she, father!" all the children chimed in, now, with one general babel of information about deceased--nobody offering to read the riot act or seeming to discountenance the insurrection or disapprove of it in any way--but the head twin drowned all the turmoil and held his own against the field: "it's our clock, now--and it's got wheels inside of it, and a thing that flutters every time she strikes--don't it, father! great-grandmother died before hardly any of us was born--she was an old-school baptist and had warts all over her--you ask father if she didn't. she had an uncle once that was bald-headed and used to have fits; he wasn't our uncle, i don't know what he was to us--some kin or another i reckon--father's seen him a thousand times--hain't you, father! we used to have a calf that et apples and just chawed up dishrags like nothing, and if you stay here you'll see lots of funerals--won't he, sis! did you ever see a house afire? i have! once me and jim terry----" but sellers began to speak now, and the storm ceased. he began to tell about an enormous speculation he was thinking of embarking some capital in--a speculation which some london bankers had been over to consult with him about--and soon he was building glittering pyramids of coin, and washington was presently growing opulent under the magic of his eloquence. but at the same time washington was not able to ignore the cold entirely. he was nearly as close to the stove as he could get, and yet he could not persuade himself, that he felt the slightest heat, notwithstanding the isinglass' door was still gently and serenely glowing. he tried to get a trifle closer to the stove, and the consequence was, he tripped the supporting poker and the stove-door tumbled to the floor. and then there was a revelation--there was nothing in the stove but a lighted tallow-candle! the poor youth blushed and felt as if he must die with shame. but the colonel was only disconcerted for a moment--he straightway found his voice again: "a little idea of my own, washington--one of the greatest things in the world! you must write and tell your father about it--don't forget that, now. i have been reading up some european scientific reports--friend of mine, count fugier, sent them to me--sends me all sorts of things from paris--he thinks the world of me, fugier does. well, i saw that the academy of france had been testing the properties of heat, and they came to the conclusion that it was a nonconductor or something like that, and of course its influence must necessarily be deadly in nervous organizations with excitable temperaments, especially where there is any tendency toward rheumatic affections. bless you i saw in a moment what was the matter with us, and says i, out goes your fires!--no more slow torture and certain death for me, sir. what you want is the appearance of heat, not the heat itself--that's the idea. well how to do it was the next thing. i just put my head, to work, pegged away, a couple of days, and here you are! rheumatism? why a man can't any more start a case of rheumatism in this house than he can shake an opinion out of a mummy! stove with a candle in it and a transparent door--that's it--it has been the salvation of this family. don't you fail to write your father about it, washington. and tell him the idea is mine--i'm no more conceited than most people, i reckon, but you know it is human nature for a man to want credit for a thing like that." washington said with his blue lips that he would, but he said in his secret heart that he would promote no such iniquity. he tried to believe in the healthfulness of the invention, and succeeded tolerably well; but after all he could not feel that good health in a frozen, body was any real improvement on the rheumatism. chapter viii. --whan pe horde is thynne, as of seruyse, nought replenesshed with grete diuersite of mete & drinke, good chere may then suffise with honest talkyng---- the book of curtesye. mammon. come on, sir. now, you set your foot on shore in novo orbe; here's the rich peru: and there within, sir, are the golden mines, great solomon's ophir!---- b. jonson the supper at col. sellers's was not sumptuous, in the beginning, but it improved on acquaintance. that is to say, that what washington regarded at first sight as mere lowly potatoes, presently became awe-inspiring agricultural productions that had been reared in some ducal garden beyond the sea, under the sacred eye of the duke himself, who had sent them to sellers; the bread was from corn which could be grown in only one favored locality in the earth and only a favored few could get it; the rio coffee, which at first seemed execrable to the taste, took to itself an improved flavor when washington was told to drink it slowly and not hurry what should be a lingering luxury in order to be fully appreciated--it was from the private stores of a brazilian nobleman with an unrememberable name. the colonel's tongue was a magician's wand that turned dried apples into figs and water into wine as easily as it could change a hovel into a palace and present poverty into imminent future riches. washington slept in a cold bed in a carpetless room and woke up in a palace in the morning; at least the palace lingered during the moment that he was rubbing his eyes and getting his bearings--and then it disappeared and he recognized that the colonel's inspiring talk had been influencing his dreams. fatigue had made him sleep late; when he entered the sitting room he noticed that the old hair-cloth sofa was absent; when he sat down to breakfast the colonel tossed six or seven dollars in bills on the table, counted them over, said he was a little short and must call upon his banker; then returned the bills to his wallet with the indifferent air of a man who is used to money. the breakfast was not an improvement upon the supper, but the colonel talked it up and transformed it into an oriental feast. bye and bye, he said: "i intend to look out for you, washington, my boy. i hunted up a place for you yesterday, but i am not referring to that,--now--that is a mere livelihood--mere bread and butter; but when i say i mean to look out for you i mean something very different. i mean to put things in your way than will make a mere livelihood a trifling thing. i'll put you in a way to make more money than you'll ever know what to do with. you'll be right here where i can put my hand on you when anything turns up. i've got some prodigious operations on foot; but i'm keeping quiet; mum's the word; your old hand don't go around pow-wowing and letting everybody see his k'yards and find out his little game. but all in good time, washington, all in good time. you'll see. now there's an operation in corn that looks well. some new york men are trying to get me to go into it--buy up all the growing crops and just boss the market when they mature--ah i tell you it's a great thing. and it only costs a trifle; two millions or two and a half will do it. i haven't exactly promised yet--there's no hurry--the more indifferent i seem, you know, the more anxious those fellows will get. and then there is the hog speculation --that's bigger still. we've got quiet men at work," [he was very impressive here,] "mousing around, to get propositions out of all the farmers in the whole west and northwest for the hog crop, and other agents quietly getting propositions and terms out of all the manufactories--and don't you see, if we can get all the hogs and all the slaughter horses into our hands on the dead quiet--whew! it would take three ships to carry the money.--i've looked into the thing--calculated all the chances for and all the chances against, and though i shake my head and hesitate and keep on thinking, apparently, i've got my mind made up that if the thing can be done on a capital of six millions, that's the horse to put up money on! why washington--but what's the use of talking about it--any man can see that there's whole atlantic oceans of cash in it, gulfs and bays thrown in. but there's a bigger thing than that, yes bigger----" "why colonel, you can't want anything bigger!" said washington, his eyes blazing. "oh, i wish i could go into either of those speculations--i only wish i had money--i wish i wasn't cramped and kept down and fettered with poverty, and such prodigious chances lying right here in sight! oh, it is a fearful thing to be poor. but don't throw away those things --they are so splendid and i can see how sure they are. don't throw them away for something still better and maybe fail in it! i wouldn't, colonel. i would stick to these. i wish father were here and were his old self again--oh, he never in his life had such chances as these are. colonel; you can't improve on these--no man can improve on them!" a sweet, compassionate smile played about the colonel's features, and he leaned over the table with the air of a man who is "going to show you" and do it without the least trouble: "why washington, my boy, these things are nothing. they look large of course--they look large to a novice, but to a man who has been all his life accustomed to large operations--shaw! they're well enough to while away an idle hour with, or furnish a bit of employment that will give a trifle of idle capital a chance to earn its bread while it is waiting for something to do, but--now just listen a moment--just let me give you an idea of what we old veterans of commerce call 'business.' here's the rothschild's proposition--this is between you and me, you understand----" washington nodded three or four times impatiently, and his glowing eyes said, "yes, yes--hurry--i understand----" ----"for i wouldn't have it get out for a fortune. they want me to go in with them on the sly--agent was here two weeks ago about it--go in on the sly" [voice down to an impressive whisper, now,] "and buy up a hundred and thirteen wild cat banks in ohio, indiana, kentucky, illinois and missouri--notes of these banks are at all sorts of discount now--average discount of the hundred and thirteen is forty-four per cent--buy them all up, you see, and then all of a sudden let the cat out of the bag! whiz! the stock of every one of those wildcats would spin up to a tremendous premium before you could turn a handspring--profit on the speculation not a dollar less than forty millions!" [an eloquent pause, while the marvelous vision settled into w.'s focus.] "where's your hogs now? why my dear innocent boy, we would just sit down on the front door-steps and peddle banks like lucifer matches!" washington finally got his breath and said: "oh, it is perfectly wonderful! why couldn't these things have happened in father's day? and i--it's of no use--they simply lie before my face and mock me. there is nothing for me but to stand helpless and see other people reap the astonishing harvest." "never mind, washington, don't you worry. i'll fix you. there's plenty of chances. how much money have you got?" in the presence of so many millions, washington could not keep from blushing when he had to confess that he had but eighteen dollars in the world. "well, all right--don't despair. other people have been obliged to begin with less. i have a small idea that may develop into something for us both, all in good time. keep your money close and add to it. i'll make it breed. i've been experimenting (to pass away the time), on a little preparation for curing sore eyes--a kind of decoction nine-tenths water and the other tenth drugs that don't cost more than a dollar a barrel; i'm still experimenting; there's one ingredient wanted yet to perfect the thing, and somehow i can't just manage to hit upon the thing that's necessary, and i don't dare talk with a chemist, of course. but i'm progressing, and before many weeks i wager the country will ring with the fame of beriah sellers' infallible imperial oriental optic liniment and salvation for sore eyes--the medical wonder of the age! small bottles fifty cents, large ones a dollar. average cost, five and seven cents for the two sizes. "the first year sell, say, ten thousand bottles in missouri, seven thousand in iowa, three thousand in arkansas, four thousand in kentucky, six thousand in illinois, and say twenty-five thousand in the rest of the country. total, fifty five thousand bottles; profit clear of all expenses, twenty thousand dollars at the very lowest calculation. all the capital needed is to manufacture the first two thousand bottles --say a hundred and fifty dollars--then the money would begin to flow in. the second year, sales would reach , bottles--clear profit, say, $ , --and in the meantime the great factory would be building in st. louis, to cost, say, $ , . the third year we could, easily sell , , bottles in the united states and----" "o, splendid!" said washington. "let's commence right away--let's----" "---- , , bottles in the united states--profit at least $ , --and then it would begin to be time to turn our attention toward the real idea of the business." "the real idea of it! ain't $ , a year a pretty real----" "stuff! why what an infant you are, washington--what a guileless, short-sighted, easily-contented innocent you, are, my poor little country-bred know-nothing! would i go to all that trouble and bother for the poor crumbs a body might pick up in this country? now do i look like a man who----does my history suggest that i am a man who deals in trifles, contents himself with the narrow horizon that hems in the common herd, sees no further than the end of his nose? now you know that that is not me--couldn't be me. you ought to know that if i throw my time and abilities into a patent medicine, it's a patent medicine whose field of operations is the solid earth! its clients the swarming nations that inhabit it! why what is the republic of america for an eye-water country? lord bless you, it is nothing but a barren highway that you've got to cross to get to the true eye-water market! why, washington, in the oriental countries people swarm like the sands of the desert; every square mile of ground upholds its thousands upon thousands of struggling human creatures--and every separate and individual devil of them's got the ophthalmia! it's as natural to them as noses are--and sin. it's born with them, it stays with them, it's all that some of them have left when they die. three years of introductory trade in the orient and what will be the result? why, our headquarters would be in constantinople and our hindquarters in further india! factories and warehouses in cairo, ispahan, bagdad, damascus, jerusalem, yedo, peking, bangkok, delhi, bombay--and calcutta! annual income--well, god only knows how many millions and millions apiece!" washington was so dazed, so bewildered--his heart and his eyes had wandered so far away among the strange lands beyond the seas, and such avalanches of coin and currency had fluttered and jingled confusedly down before him, that he was now as one who has been whirling round and round for a time, and, stopping all at once, finds his surroundings still whirling and all objects a dancing chaos. however, little by little the sellers family cooled down and crystalized into shape, and the poor room lost its glitter and resumed its poverty. then the youth found his voice and begged sellers to drop everything and hurry up the eye-water; and he got his eighteen dollars and tried to force it upon the colonel--pleaded with him to take it--implored him to do it. but the colonel would not; said he would not need the capital (in his native magnificent way he called that eighteen dollars capital) till the eye-water was an accomplished fact. he made washington easy in his mind, though, by promising that he would call for it just as soon as the invention was finished, and he added the glad tidings that nobody but just they two should be admitted to a share in the speculation. when washington left the breakfast table he could have worshiped that man. washington was one of that kind of people whose hopes are in the very, clouds one day and in the gutter the next. he walked on air, now. the colonel was ready to take him around and introduce him to the employment he had found for him, but washington begged for a few moments in which to write home; with his kind of people, to ride to-day's new interest to death and put off yesterday's till another time, is nature itself. he ran up stairs and wrote glowingly, enthusiastically, to his mother about the hogs and the corn, the banks and the eye-water--and added a few inconsequential millions to each project. and he said that people little dreamed what a man col. sellers was, and that the world would open its eyes when it found out. and he closed his letter thus: "so make yourself perfectly easy, mother-in a little while you shall have everything you want, and more. i am not likely to stint you in anything, i fancy. this money will not be for me, alone, but for all of us. i want all to share alike; and there is going to be far more for each than one person can spend. break it to father cautiously--you understand the need of that--break it to him cautiously, for he has had such cruel hard fortune, and is so stricken by it that great good news might prostrate him more surely than even bad, for he is used to the bad but is grown sadly unaccustomed to the other. tell laura--tell all the children. and write to clay about it if he is not with you yet. you may tell clay that whatever i get he can freely share in-freely. he knows that that is true--there will be no need that i should swear to that to make him believe it. good-bye--and mind what i say: rest perfectly easy, one and all of you, for our troubles are nearly at an end." poor lad, he could not know that his mother would cry some loving, compassionate tears over his letter and put off the family with a synopsis of its contents which conveyed a deal of love to then but not much idea of his prospects or projects. and he never dreamed that such a joyful letter could sadden her and fill her night with sighs, and troubled thoughts, and bodings of the future, instead of filling it with peace and blessing it with restful sleep. when the letter was done, washington and the colonel sallied forth, and as they walked along washington learned what he was to be. he was to be a clerk in a real estate office. instantly the fickle youth's dreams forsook the magic eye-water and flew back to the tennessee land. and the gorgeous possibilities of that great domain straightway began to occupy his imagination to such a degree that he could scarcely manage to keep even enough of his attention upon the colonel's talk to retain the general run of what he was saying. he was glad it was a real estate office--he was a made man now, sure. the colonel said that general boswell was a rich man and had a good and growing business; and that washington's work world be light and he would get forty dollars a month and be boarded and lodged in the general's family--which was as good as ten dollars more; and even better, for he could not live as well even at the "city hotel" as he would there, and yet the hotel charged fifteen dollars a month where a man had a good room. general boswell was in his office; a comfortable looking place, with plenty of outline maps hanging about the walls and in the windows, and a spectacled man was marking out another one on a long table. the office was in the principal street. the general received washington with a kindly but reserved politeness. washington rather liked his looks. he was about fifty years old, dignified, well preserved and well dressed. after the colonel took his leave, the general talked a while with washington--his talk consisting chiefly of instructions about the clerical duties of the place. he seemed satisfied as to washington's ability to take care of the books, he was evidently a pretty fair theoretical bookkeeper, and experience would soon harden theory into practice. by and by dinner-time came, and the two walked to the general's house; and now washington noticed an instinct in himself that moved him to keep not in the general's rear, exactly, but yet not at his side--somehow the old gentleman's dignity and reserve did not inspire familiarity. chapter ix washington dreamed his way along the street, his fancy flitting from grain to hogs, from hogs to banks, from banks to eyewater, from eye-water to tennessee land, and lingering but a feverish moment upon each of these fascinations. he was conscious of but one outward thing, to wit, the general, and he was really not vividly conscious of him. arrived at the finest dwelling in the town, they entered it and were at home. washington was introduced to mrs. boswell, and his imagination was on the point of flitting into the vapory realms of speculation again, when a lovely girl of sixteen or seventeen came in. this vision swept washington's mind clear of its chaos of glittering rubbish in an instant. beauty had fascinated him before; many times he had been in love even for weeks at a time with the same object but his heart had never suffered so sudden and so fierce an assault as this, within his recollection. louise boswell occupied his mind and drifted among his multiplication tables all the afternoon. he was constantly catching himself in a reverie--reveries made up of recalling how she looked when she first burst upon him; how her voice thrilled him when she first spoke; how charmed the very air seemed by her presence. blissful as the afternoon was, delivered up to such a revel as this, it seemed an eternity, so impatient was he to see the girl again. other afternoons like it followed. washington plunged into this love affair as he plunged into everything else--upon impulse and without reflection. as the days went by it seemed plain that he was growing in favor with louise,--not sweepingly so, but yet perceptibly, he fancied. his attentions to her troubled her father and mother a little, and they warned louise, without stating particulars or making allusions to any special person, that a girl was sure to make a mistake who allowed herself to marry anybody but a man who could support her well. some instinct taught washington that his present lack of money would be an obstruction, though possibly not a bar, to his hopes, and straightway his poverty became a torture to him which cast all his former sufferings under that held into the shade. he longed for riches now as he had ever longed for them before. he had been once or twice to dine with col. sellers, and had been discouraged to note that the colonel's bill of fare was falling off both in quantity and quality--a sign, he feared, that the lacking ingredient in the eye-water still remained undiscovered--though sellers always explained that these changes in the family diet had been ordered by the doctor, or suggested by some new scientific work the colonel had stumbled upon. but it always turned out that the lacking ingredient was still lacking--though it always appeared, at the same time, that the colonel was right on its heels. every time the colonel came into the real estate office washington's heart bounded and his eyes lighted with hope, but it always turned out that the colonel was merely on the scent of some vast, undefined landed speculation--although he was customarily able to say that he was nearer to the all-necessary ingredient than ever, and could almost name the hour when success would dawn. and then washington's heart world sink again and a sigh would tell when it touched bottom. about this time a letter came, saying that judge hawkins had been ailing for a fortnight, and was now considered to be seriously ill. it was thought best that washington should come home. the news filled him with grief, for he loved and honored his father; the boswells were touched by the youth's sorrow, and even the general unbent and said encouraging things to him.--there was balm in this; but when louise bade him good-bye, and shook his hand and said, "don't be cast down--it will all come out right--i know it will all come out right," it seemed a blessed thing to be in misfortune, and the tears that welled up to his eyes were the messengers of an adoring and a grateful heart; and when the girl saw them and answering tears came into her own eyes, washington could hardly contain the excess of happiness that poured into the cavities of his breast that were so lately stored to the roof with grief. all the way home he nursed his woe and exalted it. he pictured himself as she must be picturing him: a noble, struggling young spirit persecuted by misfortune, but bravely and patiently waiting in the shadow of a dread calamity and preparing to meet the blow as became one who was all too used to hard fortune and the pitiless buffetings of fate. these thoughts made him weep, and weep more broken-heartedly than ever; and be wished that she could see his sufferings now. there was nothing significant in the fact that louise, dreamy and distraught, stood at her bedroom bureau that night, scribbling "washington" here and there over a sheet of paper. but there was something significant in the fact that she scratched the word out every time she wrote it; examined the erasure critically to see if anybody could guess at what the word had been; then buried it under a maze of obliterating lines; and finally, as if still unsatisfied, burned the paper. when washington reached home, he recognized at once how serious his father's case was. the darkened room, the labored breathing and occasional moanings of the patient, the tip-toeing of the attendants and their whispered consultations, were full of sad meaning. for three or four nights mrs. hawkins and laura had been watching by the bedside; clay had arrived, preceding washington by one day, and he was now added to the corps of watchers. mr. hawkins would have none but these three, though neighborly assistance was offered by old friends. from this time forth three-hour watches were instituted, and day and night the watchers kept their vigils. by degrees laura and her mother began to show wear, but neither of them would yield a minute of their tasks to clay. he ventured once to let the midnight hour pass without calling laura, but he ventured no more; there was that about her rebuke when he tried to explain, that taught him that to let her sleep when she might be ministering to her father's needs, was to rob her of moments that were priceless in her eyes; he perceived that she regarded it as a privilege to watch, not a burden. and, he had noticed, also, that when midnight struck, the patient turned his eyes toward the door, with an expectancy in them which presently grew into a longing but brightened into contentment as soon as the door opened and laura appeared. and he did not need laura's rebuke when he heard his father say: "clay is good, and you are tired, poor child; but i wanted you so." "clay is not good, father--he did not call me. i would not have treated him so. how could you do it, clay?" clay begged forgiveness and promised not to break faith again; and as he betook him to his bed, he said to himself: "it's a steadfast little soul; whoever thinks he is doing the duchess a kindness by intimating that she is not sufficient for any undertaking she puts her hand to, makes a mistake; and if i did not know it before, i know now that there are surer ways of pleasing her than by trying to lighten her labor when that labor consists in wearing herself out for the sake of a person she loves." a week drifted by, and all the while the patient sank lower and lower. the night drew on that was to end all suspense. it was a wintry one. the darkness gathered, the snow was falling, the wind wailed plaintively about the house or shook it with fitful gusts. the doctor had paid his last visit and gone away with that dismal remark to the nearest friend of the family that he "believed there was nothing more that he could do" --a remark which is always overheard by some one it is not meant for and strikes a lingering half-conscious hope dead with a withering shock; the medicine phials had been removed from the bedside and put out of sight, and all things made orderly and meet for the solemn event that was impending; the patient, with closed eyes, lay scarcely breathing; the watchers sat by and wiped the gathering damps from his forehead while the silent tears flowed down their faces; the deep hush was only interrupted by sobs from the children, grouped about the bed. after a time--it was toward midnight now--mr. hawkins roused out of a doze, looked about him and was evidently trying to speak. instantly laura lifted his head and in a failing voice he said, while something of the old light shone in his eyes: "wife--children--come nearer--nearer. the darkness grows. let me see you all, once more." the group closed together at the bedside, and their tears and sobs came now without restraint. "i am leaving you in cruel poverty. i have been--so foolish--so short-sighted. but courage! a better day is--is coming. never lose sight of the tennessee land! be wary. there is wealth stored up for you there --wealth that is boundless! the children shall hold up their heads with the best in the land, yet. where are the papers?--have you got the papers safe? show them--show them to me!" under his strong excitement his voice had gathered power and his last sentences were spoken with scarcely a perceptible halt or hindrance. with an effort he had raised himself almost without assistance to a sitting posture. but now the fire faded out of his eyes and be fell back exhausted. the papers were brought and held before him, and the answering smile that flitted across his face showed that he was satisfied. he closed his eyes, and the signs of approaching dissolution multiplied rapidly. he lay almost motionless for a little while, then suddenly partly raised his head and looked about him as one who peers into a dim uncertain light. he muttered: "gone? no--i see you--still. it is--it is-over. but you are--safe. safe. the ten-----" the voice died out in a whisper; the sentence was never finished. the emaciated fingers began to pick at the coverlet, a fatal sign. after a time there were no sounds but the cries of the mourners within and the gusty turmoil of the wind without. laura had bent down and kissed her father's lips as the spirit left the body; but she did not sob, or utter any ejaculation; her tears flowed silently. then she closed the dead eyes, and crossed the hands upon the breast; after a season, she kissed the forehead reverently, drew the sheet up over the face, and then walked apart and sat down with the look of one who is done with life and has no further interest in its joys and sorrows, its hopes or its ambitions. clay buried his face in the coverlet of the bed; when the other children and the mother realized that death was indeed come at last, they threw themselves into each others' arms and gave way to a frenzy of grief. senator north by gertrude atherton _"when, mr. president, a man, however eminent in other pursuits and whatever claims he may have to public confidence, becomes a member of this body, he has much to learn and much to endure. little does he know of what he will have to encounter. he may be well read in public affairs, but he is unaware of the difficulties which must attend and embarrass every effort to render what he may know available and useful. he may be upright in purpose and strong in the belief of his own integrity, but he cannot even dream of the ordeal to which he cannot fail to be exposed; of how much courage he must possess to resist the temptations which must daily beset him; of that sensitive shrinking from undeserved censure which he must learn to control; of the ever recurring contest between a natural desire for public approbation and a sense of public duty; of the load of injustice he must be content to bear even from those who should be his friends; the imputations on his motives; the sneers and sarcasms of ignorance and malice; all the manifold injuries which partisan or private malignity, disappointed of its object, may shower upon his unprotected head. all this, if he would retain his integrity, he must learn to ear unmoved and walk steadily onward in the path of public duty, sustained only by the reflection that time may do him justice; or if not, that his individual hopes and aspirations and even his name among men should be of little account to him when weighed in the balance of a people of whose destiny he is a constituted guardian and defender."_ --william pitt fessenden _in memorial address before the senate, ._ _miss betty madison embarks on the political sea. her discoveries, surprises, and triumphs._ senator north i "if we receive this lady mary montgomery, we shall also have to receive her dreadful husband." "he is said to be quite charming." "he is a representative!" "of course they are all wild animals to you, but one or two have been pointed out to me that looked quite like ordinary gentlemen--really." "possibly. but no person in official life has ever entered my house. i do not feel inclined to break the rule merely because the wife of one of the most objectionable class is an englishwoman with a title. i think it very inconsiderate of lady barnstaple to have given her a letter to us." "lee, never having lived in washington, doubtless fancies, like the rest of the benighted world, that its officials are its aristocracy. the senate of the united states is regarded abroad as a sort of house of peers. one has to come and live in washington to hear of the 'old washingtonians,' the 'cave-dwellers,' as sally calls us; i expected to see a coat of blue mould on each of them when i returned." "really, betty, i do not understand you this morning." mrs. madison moved uneasily and took out her handkerchief. when her daughter's rich southern voice hardened itself to sarcasm, and her brilliant hazel eyes expressed the brain in a state of cold analysis, mrs. madison braced herself for a contest in which she inevitably must surrender with what slow dignity she could command. betty had called her molly since she was fourteen months old, and, sweet and gracious in small matters, invariably pursued her own way when sufficiently roused by the strength of a desire. mrs. madison, however, kept up the fiction of an authority which she thought was due to herself and her ancestors. she continued impatiently,-- "you have been standing before that fireplace for ten minutes with your shoulders thrown back as if you were going to make a speech. it is not a nice attitude for a girl at all, and i wish you would sit down. i hope you don't think that because sally carter crosses her knees and cultivates a brutal frankness of expression you must do the same now that you have dropped all your friends of your own age and become intimate with her. i suppose she is old enough to do as she chooses, and she always was eccentric." "she is only eight years older than i. you forget that i shall be twenty-seven in three months." "well, that is no reason why you should stand before the fireplace like a man. do sit down." "i'd rather stand here till i've said what is necessary--if you don't mind. i am sorry to be obliged to say it, and i can assure you that i have not made up my mind in a moment." "what is it, for heaven's sake?" mrs. madison drew a short breath and readjusted her cushions. in spite of her wealth and exalted position she had known much trouble and grief. her first six children had died in their early youth. her husband, brilliant and charming, had possessed a set of affections too restless and ardent to confine themselves within the domestic limits. his wife had buried him with sorrow, but with a deep sigh of relief that for the future she could mourn him without torment. he had belonged to a collateral branch of a family of which her father had been the heir; consequently the old madison house in washington was hers, as well as a large fortune. harold madison had been free to spend his own inheritance as he listed, and he had left but a fragment. mrs. madison's nerves, never strong, had long since given way to trouble and ill-health, and when her active strong-willed daughter entered her twentieth year, she gladly permitted her to become the mistress of the household and to think for both. betty had been educated by private tutors, then taken abroad for two years, to france, germany, and italy, in order, as she subsequently observed, to make the foreign attache. feel more at ease when he proposed. her winters thereafter until the last two had been spent in washington, where she had been a belle and ranked as a beauty. in the fashionable set it was believed that every attache, in the city had proposed to her, as well as a large proportion of the old beaux and of the youths who pursue the business of society. her summers she spent at her place in the adirondacks, at northern watering-places, or in europe; and the last two years had been passed, with brief intervals of paris and vienna, in england, where she had been presented with distinction and seen much of country life. she had returned with her mother to washington but a month ago, and since then had spent most of her time in her room or on horseback, breaking all her engagements after the first ten days. mrs. madison had awaited the explanation with deep uneasiness. did her daughter, despite the health manifest in her splendid young figure, feel the first chill of some mortal disease? she had not been her gay self for months, and although her complexion was of that magnolia tint which never harbours colour, it seemed to the anxious maternal eye, looking back to six young graves, a shade whiter than it should. or had she fallen in love with an englishman, and hesitated to speak, knowing her mother's love for washington and bare tolerance of the british isles? she looked askance at betty, who stood tapping the front of her habit with her crop and evidently waiting for her mother to express some interest. mrs. madison closed her eyes. betty therefore continued,-- "i see you are afraid i am going to marry an oriental minister or something. i hear that one is looking for an american with a million. well, i am going to do something you will think even worse. i am going in for politics." "you are going to do what?" mrs. madison's voice was nearly inaudible between relief and horrified surprise, but her eyes flew open. "do you mean that you are going to vote?--or run for congress?--but women don't sit in congress, do they?" "of course not. do you know i think it quite shocking that we have lived here in the very brain of the united states all our lives and know less of politics than if we were indians in alaska? i was ashamed of myself, i can assure you, when lord barnstaple asked me so many questions the first time i visited maundrell abbey. he took for granted, as i lived in washington, i must be thoroughly well up in politics, and i was obliged to tell him that although i had occasionally been in the room with one or two senators and cabinet ministers, who happened to be in society first and politics afterward, i didn't know the others by name, had never put my foot in the white house or the capitol, and that no one i knew ever thought of talking politics. he asked me what i had done with myself during all the winters i had spent in washington, and i told him that i had had the usual girls'-good-time,--teas, theatre, germans, dinners, luncheons, calls, calls, calls! i was glad to add that i belonged to several charities and had read a great deal; but that did not seem to interest him. well, i met a good many men like lord barnstaple, men who were in public life. some of them were dull enough, judged by the feminine standard, but even they occasionally said something to remember, and others were delightful. this is the whole point--i can't and won't go back to what i left here two years ago. my day for platitudes and pouring tea for men, who are contemptible enough to make society their profession, is over. i am going to know the real men of my country. it is incredible that there are not men in that senate as well worth talking to as any i met in england. the other day i picked up a bound copy of the congressional record in a book-shop. it was frantically interesting." "it must have been! but, my dear--of course i understand, darling, your desire for a new intellectual occupation; you always were so clever--but you can't, you really can't know these men. they are--they are--politicians. we never have known politicians. they are dreadful people, who have come from low origins and would probably call me 'marm.'" "you are all wrong, molly. i bought a copy of the congressional directory a day or two ago, and have read the biography of every senator. nine-tenths of them are educated men; if only a few attended the big universities, the rest went to the colleges of their state. that is enough for an american of brains. and most of them are lawyers; others served in the war, and several have distinguished records. they cannot be boors, whether they have blue blood in them or not. i'm sick of blue blood, anyway. vienna was the deadliest place i ever visited. what makes london interesting is its red streak of plebeianism;--well, i repeat, i think it really dreadful that we should not know even by name the men who make our laws, who are making history, who may be called upon at any moment to decide our fate among nations. i feel a silly little fool." "i suppose you mean that i am one too. but it always has been my boast, betty, that i never have had a politician in my house. your father knew some, but he never brought them here; he knew the fastidious manner in which i had been brought up; and although i am afraid he kept late hours with a good many of them at chamberlin's and other dreadful places, he always spared me. i suppose this is heredity working out in you." "possibly. but you will admit, will you not, that i am old enough to choose my own life?" "you always have done every single thing you wanted, so i don't see why you talk like that. but if you are going to bring a lot of men to this house who will spit on my carpets and use toothpicks, i beg you will not ask me to receive with you." "of course you will receive with me, molly dear--when i know anybody worth receiving. unfortunately i am not the wife of the president and cannot send out a royal summons. i am hoping that lady mary montgomery will help me. but my first step shall be to pay a daily visit to the senate gallery." "what!" mrs. madison's weary voice flew to its upper register. "i _do_ know something about politics--i remember now--the only women who go to the capitol are lobbyists--dreadful creatures who--who--do all sorts of things. you can't go there; you'll be taken for one." "we none of us are taken very long for what we are not. i shall take leontine with me, and those interested enough to notice me will soon learn what i go for." mrs. madison burst into tears. "you are your father all over again! i've seen it developing for at least three years. at first you were just a hard student, and then the loveliest young girl, only caring to have a good time, and coquetting more bewitchingly than any girl i ever saw. i don't see why you had to change." "time develops all of us, one way or another. i suppose you would like me to be a charming girl flirting bewitchingly when i am forty-five. i am finished with the meaningless things of life. i want to live now, and i intend to." "it will be wildly exciting--the senate gallery every day, and knowing a lot of lank raw-boned yankees with political beards." "i am not expecting to fall in love with any of them. i merely discovered some time since that i had a brain, and they happen to be the impulse that possesses it. you always have prided yourself that i am intellectual, and so i am in the flabby 'well-read' fashion. i feel as if my brain had been a mausoleum for skeletons and mummies; it felt alive for the first time when i began to read the newspapers in england. i want no more memoirs and letters and biographies, nor even of the history that is shut up in calf-skin. i want the life of to-day. i want to feel in the midst of current history. all these men here in washington must be alive to their finger-tips. sally carter admires senator north and senator maxwell immensely." "what does she say about politicians in general?" mrs. madison looked almost distraught. "of course the norths and the maxwells come of good new england families--i never did look down on the north as much as some of us did; after all, nearly three hundred years are very respectable indeed--and if these two men had not been in politics i should have been delighted to receive them. i met senator north once--at bar harbor, while you were with the carters at homburg--and thought him charming; and i had some most interesting chats with his wife, who is much the same sort of invalid that i am. but when i establish a standard i am consistent enough to want to keep to it. i asked you what sally carter says of the others." "oh, she admits that there may be others as _convenable_ as senator north and senator maxwell, and that there is no doubt about there being many bright men in the senate; but she 'does not care to know any more people.' being a good cave-dweller, she is true to her traditions." "people will say you are _passee,_" exclaimed mrs. madison, hopefully. "they will be sure to." her daughter laughed, showing teeth as brilliant as her eyes. then she snatched off her riding-hat and shook down her mane of warm brown hair. her black brows and lashes, like her eyes and mouth, were vivid, but her hair and complexion were soft, without lustre, but very warm. she looked like a flower set on so strongly sapped a stem that her fullness would outlast many women's decline. she had inherited the beauty of her father's branch of the family. mrs. madison was very small and thin; but she carried herself erectly and her delicately cut face was little wrinkled. her eyes were blue, and her hair, which was always carefully rolled, was as white as sea foam. betty would not permit her to wear black, but dressed her in delicate colours, and she looked somewhat like an animated miniature. she dabbed impatiently at her tears. "everybody will cut you--if you go into that dreadful political set." "i am on the verge of cutting everybody myself, so it doesn't matter. positively--i shall not accept an invitation of the old sort this winter. the sooner they drop me the better." mrs. madison wept bitterly. "you will become a notorious woman," she sobbed. "people will talk terribly about you. they will say--all sorts of things i have heard come back to me--these politicians make love to every pretty woman they meet. they are so tired of their old frumps from oshkosh and kalamazoo." "they do not all come from oshkosh and kalamazoo. there are six new england states whose three centuries you have just admitted lift them into the mists of antiquity. there are fourteen southern states, and i need make no defence--" "their gentlemen don't go into politics any more." "you have admitted that senator north and senator maxwell are gentlemen. there is no reason why there should not be many more." "count de bellairs told me that there was a spittoon at every desk in the senate and that he counted eight toothpicks in one hour." "well, i'll reform them. that will be my holy mission. as for spittoons and toothpicks, they are conspicuous in every hotel in the united states. they should be on our coat-of-arms, and the great american novel will be called 'the great american toothpick.' statesmen have cut their teeth on it, and it has been their solace in the great crises of the nation's history. as for spittoons, they were invented for our own southern aristocrats who loved tobacco then as now. they decorate our capitol as a mere matter of form. i don't pretend to hope that ninety representative americans are beau brummels, but there must be a respectable minority of gentlemen--whether self-made or not i don't care. i am going to make a deliberate attempt to know that minority, and shall call on lady mary montgomery this afternoon as the first step. so you are resigned, are you not, molly dear?" "no, i am not! but what can i do? i have spoiled you, and you would be just the same if i hadn't. you are more like the men of the family than the women--they always would have their own way. are they all married?" she added anxiously. "do you mean the ninety senators and the three hundred and fifty-six representatives? i am sure i do not know. don't let that worry you. it is my mind that is on the _qui vive_, not my heart." "you'll hear some old fool make a websterian speech full of periods and rhetoric, and you'll straight-way imagine yourself in love with him. your head will be your worst enemy when you do fall in love." "webster is the greatest master of style this country has produced. i should hate a man who used either 'periods' or rhetoric. i am the concentrated essence of modernism and have no use for 'oratory' or 'eloquence.' some of the little speeches in the record are masterpieces of brevity and pure english, particularly senator north's." "you _are_ modern. if we had a clay, i could understand you--i am too exhausted to discuss the matter further; you _must_ drop it for the present. what will jack emory say?" "i have never given him the least right to say anything." "i almost wish you were safely married to him. he has not made a great success of his life, but he is your equal and his manners are perfect. i shall live in constant fear now of your marrying a horror with a twang and a toothpick." "i promise you i won't do that--and that i never will marry jack emory." ii betty madison had exercised a great deal of self-control in resisting the natural impulse to cultivate a fad and grapple with a problem. only her keen sense of humour saved her. on the sunday following her return, while sauntering home after a long restless tramp about the city, she passed a church which many coloured people were entering. her newly awakened curiosity in all things pertaining to the political life of her country prompted her to follow them and sit through the service. the clergyman was light in colour, and prayed and preached in simpler and better english than she had heard in more pretentious pulpits, but there was nothing noteworthy, in his remarks beyond a supplication to the almighty to deliver the negro from the oppression of the "southern tyrant," followed by an admonition to the negro to improve himself in mind and character if he would hope to compete with the whites; bitter words and violence but weakened his cause. this was sound commonsense, but the reverse of the sensational entertainment betty had half expected, and her eyes wandered from the preacher to his congregation. there were all shades of afro-american colour and all degrees of prosperity represented. coal-black women were there, attired in deep and expensive mourning. "yellow girls" wore smart little tailor costumes. three young girls, evidently of the lower middle class of coloured society, for they were cheaply dressed, had all the little airs and graces and mannerisms of the typical american girl. in one corner a sleek mulatto with a semitic profile sat in the recognized attitude of the banker in church; filling his corner comfortably and setting a worthy example to the less favoured of mammon. but betty's attention suddenly was arrested and held by two men who sat on the opposite side of the aisle, although not together, and apparently were unrelated. there were no others quite like them in the church, but the conviction slowly forced itself into her mind, magnetic for new impressions, that there were many elsewhere. they were men who were descending the fifties, tall, with straight gray hair. one was very slender, and all but distinguished of carriage; the other was heavier, and would have been imposing but for the listless droop of his shoulders. the features of both were finely cut, and their complexions far removed from the reproach of "yellow." they looked like sun-burned gentlemen. for nearly ten minutes betty stared, fascinated, while her mind grappled with the deep significance of all those two sad and patient men expressed. they inherited the shell and the intellect, the aspirations and the possibilities of the gay young planters whose tragic folly had called into being a race of outcasts with all their own capacity for shame and suffering. betty went home and for twenty-four hours fought with the desire to champion the cause of the negro and make him her life-work. but not only did she abominate women with missions; she looked at the subject upon each of its many sides and asked a number of indirect questions of her cousin, jack emory. sincere reflection brought with it the conclusion that her energies in behalf of the negro would be superfluous. the careless planters were dead; she could not harangue their dust. the southerners of the present generation despised and feared the coloured race in its enfranchised state too actively to have more to do with it than they could help; if it was a legal offence for whites and blacks to marry, there was an equally stringent social law which protected the coloured girl from the lust of the white man. therefore, as she could not undo the harm already done, and as a crusade in behalf of the next generation would be meaningless, not to say indelicate, she dismissed the "problem" from her mind. but the image of those two sad and stately reflections of the old school sank indelibly into her memory, and rose to their part in one of the most momentous decisions of her life. iii the montgomerys had come to washington for the first time at the beginning of the previous winter, while the madisons were in england. lady mary had left her note of introduction the day before betty's declaration of independence. betty was anxious to meet the young englishwoman, not only because she possessed the charmed key to political society, but her history as related by certain gossips of authority commanded interest. randolph montgomery, a young californian millionaire, had followed his mother's former ward, lady maundrell, to england, nursing an old and hopeless passion. what passed between him and the beautiful young countess the gossips did not attempt to state, but he left england two days after the tragedy which shelved cecil maundrell into the house of lords, and returned to california accompanied by his mother and lady barnstaple's friend, lady mary montgomery. bets were exchanged freely as to the result of this bold move on the part of a girl too fastidious to marry any of the english parvenus that addressed her, too poor to marry in her own class. the wedding took place a few months later, immediately after mrs. montgomery's death; an event which left lady mary the guest in a foreign country of a young bachelor. from all accounts, the marriage, although a wide deflection from the highest canons of romance, was a successful one, and the montgomerys were living in splendid state in washington. lady mary was approved by even the "old washingtonians"--a thoughtful californian of lineage had given her a letter to miss carter, who in turn had given her a tea--and as her husband was brilliant, accomplished, and of the best blood of louisiana, the little set, tenaciously clinging to its traditional exclusiveness amidst the whirling ever-changing particles of the political maelstrom, found no fault in him beyond his calling. and as he was a man of tact and never mentioned politics in its presence, and as his wife was not at home to the public on the first tuesday of the month, reserving that day for such of her friends as shunned political petticoats, the young couple were taken straight into the bosom of that inner set which the ordinary outsider might search for a very glimpse of in vain. how lady mary stood with the large and heterogeneous political set betty had no means of knowing, and she was curious to ascertain; she could think of no position more trying for an englishwoman of mary gifford's class. as she drove toward the house several hours after announcing her plan of campaign to her mother, she found massachusetts avenue blocked with carriages and recalled suddenly that tuesday was "representatives' day." she gave a little laugh as she imagined mrs. madison's plaintive distaste. and then she felt the tremor and flutter, the pleasurable desire to run away, which had assailed her on the night of her first ball. that was eight years ago, and she had not experienced a moment of nervous trepidation since. "am i about to be re-born?" she thought. "or merely rejuvenated? i certainly do feel young again." she looked about critically as she entered the house. her own home, which was older than the white house, was large and plain, with lofty rooms severely trimmed in the colonial style. there were no portieres, no modern devices of decoration. everything was solid and comfortable, worn, and of a long and honourable descent. the dining-room and large square hall were striking because of the blackness of their oak walls, the many family portraits, and certain old trophies of the chase, as vague in their high dark corners as fading daguerreotypes. so imbued was betty with the idea that anything more elaborate was the sign manifest of too recent fortune, that she had indulged in caustic criticism of the modern palaces of certain new york friends. but although the immediate impression of the montgomery house was of soft luxurious richness, and it was indubitably the home of wealthy people determined to enjoy life, miss madison's dainty nose did not lift itself. "at all events, the money is not laid on with a trowel," she thought. and then she became aware of a curious sensuous longing as she looked again at the dim rich beauty about her, the smothered windows, the suggested power of withdrawal from every vulgar or annoying contact beyond those stately walls. "i should like--i should like--" thought betty, striving to put her vague emotion into words, "to live in this sort of house when i marry." and then her humour flashed up: it was a sense that sat at the heels of every serious thought. "what a combination with the twang and the toothpick! can they really be my fate? of course i might reform both, and cut off his uncle sam beard while he slept." she had taken the wrong direction and entered a room in which there was not even a stray guest. a loud buzz of voices rose and fell at the end of a long hall, and she slowly made her way to the drawing-room, pausing once to watch a footman who was busily sorting visiting-cards into separate packs at a table. she handed him her card, and he slipped it into a pack marked "i street." the drawing-room was thronged with people, and as many of them surrounded the hostess, while constant new-comers pressed forward to shake a patient hand, betty decided to stand apart for a few moments and look at the crowd. she was in a new world, and as eager and curious as if she had been shot from earth to mars. lady mary was quite as handsome as her portraits: a cold blue and white and ashen beauty whose carriage and manifest of race were in curious contrast, lee had told betty, to a nervous manner and the loud voice of one who conceived that social laws had been invented for the middle class. but there was little vivacity in her manner to-day, and her voice was not audible across the large room. she looked tired. it was half-past five o'clock, and doubtless she had been on her feet since three. but she was smiling graciously upon her visitors, and gave each a warmth of welcome which betrayed the wife of the ambitious politician. "her mouth is not so selfish as in her photographs," observed the astute betty. "i suppose in the depths of her soul she hates this, but she does it; and if she loves the man, she must think it well worth while." she turned her attention to the visitors. there were many women superbly dressed, in taste as perfect as her own. she never had seen any of them before, but they had the air of women of importance. the majority looked frigid and bored, a few dignified and easy of manner. the younger women of the same class were more animated, but no less irreproachable in style. there were others, middle-aged and young, with all the native style of the second-class, and still others who were clad in coarse serges, cashmeres, or cheap silks, shapelessly made with the heavy hand of many burdens. these did not detain the hostess in conversation, but gathered in groups, or walked about the room gazing at the many beautiful pictures and ornaments. there were only three or four really vulgar-looking women present, and they were clothed in conspicuous raiment. one, and all but her waist was huge, wore a bodice of transparent gauze; another, also of middle years, had crowned her hard over-coloured face with a large gentian-blue hat turned up in front with a brass buckle. another was in pink silk and heavily powdered. but although these women were offensively loud, they did not suggest any lack of that virtue whose exact proportions so often elude the most earnest seeker after truth. betty turned impulsively to an old woman clad in shabby black who stood besides her gazing earnestly at the crowd. her large bony face was crossed by the lines and wrinkles of long years of care, and her eyes were dim; but her mouth was smiling. "tell me," exclaimed betty, "please--are all these people in politics? i--i--am a stranger, and i should like to know who they are." "well, i can tell you pretty near everything you want to know, i guess," replied the old lady. she had the drawl and twang and accent of rural new england. "i guess you've come here, like myself, jest to see the folks. a few here, like you and me, ar'n't in official life, but the most are, i guess. nearly all the cabinet ladies are here to-day and a good many senators' wives and darters. that there lady in heliotrope and fur is the wife of the secretary of war, and the one in green velvet and chinchilla is mis' senator maxwell. that real stylish handsome girl just behind is her darter, and i guess she has a good many beaux. they're real elegant, ar'n't they? i guess we have good cause to be proud of our ladies." she paused that betty might express her approval, and upon being assured that paris was responsible for many of the gowns present, continued in her monotonous but kindly drawl, "and some of them began life doin' their own work. the president ain't no aristocrat, and most of his friends ain't neither; but i tell you when their wives begin to entertain they do it jest as if they was born to it. i presume if my husband--he was a physician--had gone into politics and had luck, i'd have been jest like those ladies; but as he didn't, i'm still doin' most of my own work and look it. but the lord knows what he's about, i guess. senator maxwell's a swell; they've always been rich, the maxwells, and he married a new york girl, so she didn't have much to learn, i guess. mis' senator shattuc--she's the one in wine colour--was the darter of a big railroad man out west, so i guess she had all the schoolin' and yurrup she wanted. now that real pretty little woman jest speakin' to lady montgomery is mis' senator freeman. they do say as how she was the darter of a baker in chicago and used to run barefoot around the streets, but she looks as well as any of 'em now and she dines at every embassy in washington. her dresses are always described in the _post_: she wears pink and blue mostly. you kin tell by her face that she's got a lot of determination and that she'd git where she had a mind to. i guess she'd dine with queen victoria if she had a mind to." "i feel exactly as if i were at a pantomime," cried betty, delightedly. "even you--" she caught herself up. "i mean i always thought the new england playwrights invented all their characters. who are these plainly dressed women and--and--half-way ones?" "oh, they're representatives' wives mostly," drawled the old lady, who looked puzzled. "they take a day off and call on each other. one or two is senators' wives. some of the senators is rich, but some ar'n't. mis' montgomery's jest as nice to them as to the swells, and she told me to be sure and go into the next room and have a cup of tea. i don't care much about tea excep' for lunch, and she don't have a collation--i presume she can't; too many people'd come, and i guess she has about enough. now, those ladies that don't look exactly as if they was ladies," indicating the large birds of tawdry plumage and striking complexions, "they don't live here. washington ladies don't dress like that. i guess they're the wives of men out west that have made their pile lately and come here to see the sights. first they look at all the public buildin's, and i guess they about walk all over the capitol, and hear a speech or two in the ladies' gallery--from their senators, if they can--and after that they go about in society a bit. you see, washington is a mighty nice place fur people who haven't much show at home--those that live in small towns, fur instance. there is so many public receptions they can go to--the white house, the wednesdays of the cabinet ladies, the thursdays of the senator's wives, and six or seven representatives--mebbe more--who have real elegant houses; and then there is several legations that give public receptions. you can always see in the _post_ who's goin' to receive; and those women can go home and talk fur the rest of their lives about the fine time they had in washington society. amurricans heighst themselves whenever they git a chance. i don't care to do that. my sister--she's a heap younger 'n i am and awful spry--and i come down from the north of new hampshire every winter and keep a boardin'-house in washington so that we can see the world. we don't go home with ten dollars over railroad fare in our pockets, but we don't mind, because the farm keeps us and we've had a real good time. i often sit down up in new hampshire and think of the beautiful houses and dresses and pictures i've seen, and i can always remember that i've shaken hands with the president and his wife and the ladies of the cabinet. they're just as nice as they can be." betty, whose sympathies were quick and keen, winked away a tear. "i'm so glad you enjoy it so much," she exclaimed, "and that there is so much for you here to enjoy. i never thought of it in that way. i'm awfully interested in it all, myself, and i feel deeply indebted to you." "well, you needn't mind that. my sister says i always talk when i can git anybody to listen to me, and i guess i do. where air you from? new york, i guess." "oh, i am a washingtonian. my name is madison." "so? i don't remember seeing it in the society columns." "we are never mentioned in society columns," exclaimed betty, with her first thrill of pride since entering the new world. "but i seldom have passed a winter out of washington, although--i am sorry to say--i never have met any of these people." "you don't say. i ain't curious, but you don't look as if you had to stay to home and do the work. but amurrican girls are so smart they can about look anything they have a mind to." "oh--i am really sorry, but everybody seems to be going, and i haven't spoken to lady mary yet. i'm _so_ much obliged to you." "now, you needn't be, for you're a real nice young lady, and i've enjoyed talkin' to you. likely we'll meet again, but i'd be happy to have you call. here's my card. our house is right near here--in the real fashionable part; and we've several ladies livin' with us that you might like to meet." "oh, thanks! thanks!" betty put the card carefully into her case, shook her new friend warmly by the hand, and went forward. lady mary's tired white face had set into an almost mechanical smile, but as her eyes met betty's they illumined with sudden interest and her hard-worked muscles relaxed. "you are betty madison!" she exclaimed. and as the two girls shook hands they conceived one of those sudden and violent friendships which are so full of interest while they last. "how awfully good of you to call so soon!" continued lady mary, after betty had expatiated upon her long-cherished desire for this meeting. "i hoped you would, although miss carter rather frightened me with her account of your mother's aversion to political people. but they have all been so good to me--all your delightful set." she lowered her voice, which had rung out for a moment in something of its old style, albeit platitudes had worn upon its edges. "i _couldn't_ stand just this--although i must add that many of the official women are charming and have the most stunning manners; but many are the reverse, and unfortunately i can't pick and choose. it seems that when one gets into politics in this country that is the end of nine-tenths of one's personal life; and washington is certainly the headquarters of democracy. here every american really does feel that he is as good as every other american; i wish to heaven he didn't." "washington is a democracy with a kernel of the most exclusive aristocracy," said betty, with a laugh. "some one has said that it is the drawing-room of the republic. it is the hotel drawing-room with a holy of holies opening upon the area. i'm sick of the holy of holies, and i 've never enjoyed a half-hour so much as while i've been looking on here--waiting for you to be disengaged." "oh, this is nothing. you must let me take you to a large evening reception. that is really interesting, for you see so many famous people. can't you dine with me to-morrow? we've a big political dinner on. about fifteen members of a senate and a house committee that are deliberating a very important bill are coming. senator north--he is well worth meeting--is chairman of the senate committee, and my husband, although a new member, stands very high with the chairman of his committee, most of whom are old members of the house. senator ward also will be here. do come, if you have nothing more important on hand. i can easily get another member of the house committee." "come! i'd break twenty engagements to come." betty's eyes sparkled and she lifted her head with a motion peculiar to her when reminded that she was the favoured of the gods. "i suppose there is a good deal of fag about this sort of life to you, but it has all the charm of the undiscovered country for me." "oh, i am deeply interested," said lady mary. the two women were alone now, and the hostess, released after three hours of stereotyped amenities, surrendered herself to the charm of natural intercourse with one of her own sort, and rang for tea. "i always liked politics, and i feel quite sure that my husband will achieve his high ambitions. it interests me greatly to help him." "of course he'll be president!" cried betty, enthusiastic in the warmth of her new friendship and its possibilities. she was surprised by a tilt of the nose and an emphatic shake of the head. "no, indeed!" exclaimed lady mary, "presidents are politicians only. my husband aspires higher than that. to be a senator of the first rank requires very different qualities." "ah! i shall quote that to mol--my mother. she is not predisposed in their favour." "of course there are senators and senators," said lady mary, hastily. "you can't get ninety men of equal ability together, anywhere. there are the six who are admittedly the first,--north, maxwell, ward, march, howard, and eustis,--and about ten who are close behind them. then there is the venerable group to which senator maxwell also belongs; and the younger men of forty-five or so who are not quite broken in yet, and whose enthusiasm is apt to take the wrong direction; and the fire-eaters, populists usually; and the hard-working second-rate men, many of them millionaires (western, as a rule) who are accused of having bought their legislatures to get in, but who do good work on committee, whether or not they came under the delusion that they had bought an honour with nothing beneath it: a man who presumed on his wealth in the senate would fare as badly as a boy at eton who presumed on his title. beyond all, are the nonentities that are in every body. so, you see, it is worth while to aim for the first place and to keep it." "there are certainly all sorts to choose from! i'll never mistrust my instincts again. i am glad i shall meet senator north to-morrow. i suppose he is a courtly person of the old school with a websterian intellect." "i don't know anything about webster; i can't read your history and live in it, too; but certainly there is nothing of the old school about senator north. he is very modern and has a truly republican--or shall i say aristocratic?--simplicity--although no one could dress better--combined with a cold manner to most men and a warm manner to most women." "tell me all about him!" exclaimed betty, sipping her tea. "i never was so happy and excited in my life. i feel as if i was theodosia burr, or nelly custis, or dolly madison come to life. and now i'm going to know an american statesman before his coat has turned to calf-skin. quick! how old is he?" "just sixty, and looks much younger, as most of the senators do. he is a hard worker--he is chairman of one committee and a member of five others; a brilliant debater, the most accomplished legislator in the senate, unyielding in his convictions, and absolutely independent. he is not popular, as it has never occurred to him to conciliate anybody. he is very kind and attentive to his invalid wife and proud of his sons, and he adored a daughter who died four years ago. rumor has it that more than one charming woman has consoled him for domestic afflictions and political trials, but i do not pay much attention to rumours of that sort. how odd that i, an alien, should be instructing a washingtonian in politics and the personalities of her senators; but i quite understand. i do hope mrs. madison will not object to your coming to-morrow night." "i shall come. and go now. i feel a brute to have let you talk so much, but i never have been so interested!" the two women kissed and parted; and lady mary's dreams that night were undisturbed by any vision of herself in the ranks of the fates. iv betty returned home much elated with the success of her visit. she heard the voice of her cousin jack emory in the parlor and went at once to her room to dress. the voice sounded solemn, and so did her mother's; they doubtless were sitting in conference upon her. she selected her evening gown with some care; her cousin was an old story, but he was a very attractive man, and coquetry would hold its own in her, become she never so intellectual. jack emory had been her undeclared lover since his middle teens. somewhere in the same immature interval, just after her first return from europe, she had imagined herself passionately in love with him. but she had a large fortune left her by her maternal grandfather, besides a hundred thousand her father had died too soon to spend, and jack was the son of a virginian who had been a rebel to his death, haughtily refusing to have his disabilities removed, and threatening to shoot any negro in his employ who dared to go to the ballot box. he had left his son but a few thousands out of his large inheritance, and adjured him on his death bed to hold no office under the federal government and to shoot a yankee rather than shake his hand. jack inherited his father's prejudices without his violent temper. he had a contemptuous dislike for the north, a loathing for politics, and adistaste for everybody outside his own diminishing class. love for betty madison had driven him west in the hope of retrieving his fortunes, but he was essentially a gentleman and a scholar; the hustling quality was not in him, and he returned south after two years of unpleasant endeavour and started a small produce farm adjoining an old house on the outskirts of washington, left him by his mother. here he lived with his books, and made enough money to support himself decently. he never had asked betty to marry him, although he knew that his aunt would champion his cause. during the period of betty's maiden passion his pride had caused her as much suffering as her youth and buoyant nature would permit; but as the years slipped by she felt inclined to personify that pride and burn a candle beneath it. even before her mind had awakened, the energy and strength of her character had cured her of love for a man as supine as jack emory. he was charming and well read, all that she could desire in a brother, but as a husband he would be intolerable. as his love cooled she liked him better still, particularly as his loyalty would not permit him to acknowledge even to himself that he could change; but its passing left him with fewer clouds on a rather melancholy spirit, a readier tongue, and a complete recovery from the habits of sighing and of leaving the house abruptly. betty's maid dressed her in a bright blue taffeta, softened with much white lace, and she went slowly down to the hall, rustling her skirts that emory might hear and come out for a word before dinner if he liked. it was a relief to be able to coquet with him without fearing that he would go home and shoot himself; and it helped him to sustain the pleasant fiction that he still was in love with her. he came out at once and raised her hand to his lips, murmuring a compliment as his grandfather might have done. he was only thirty-two, but his face was sallow and lined from trouble and fever. otherwise he was very handsome, with his golden head and intellectual blue eyes, his haughty profile and tall figure, listlessly carried as it was. in spite of the fact that he took pride in dressing well, he always looked a little old-fashioned. when with betty, invariably as smart as paris and new york could make her, he almost appeared as if wearing his father's old clothes. his southern accent and intonation were nearly as broad as a negro's. betty had almost lost hers; she retained just enough to enrich and individualize without a touch of provincialism. she belonged to that small class of americans whose ear-mark is the absence of all americanisms. mr. emory looked perturbed. "there is something i should like to say," he remarked hesitatingly. "there is yet a quarter of an hour before dinner. i think this old hall with its portraits of your grandmothers is a good place to say it in--" "molly has pressed you into service, i see. let us have it out, by all means. please straighten your necktie before you begin. you cannot possibly be impressive while it looks as if it were standing on one leg." "please be serious, betty dear. i am indeed most disturbed. it surely cannot be that you meant what you told your mother this morning,--that you intended to change the whole current of your life in such an unprecedented manner." "great heavens! one would think i was about to go on the stage or enter a convent." "i would rather you did either than soil your mind with the politics of this country. i say nothing about there being no statesmen;--there is not an honest man in politics the length and breadth of the union. the country is a sink of corruption, as far as politics are concerned. every congressman buys his seat or is put in as the agent of some disgraceful trust or syndicate or railroad corporation." betty drew her eyelids together in a fashion that robbed her eyes of their coquetry and fire and made them look unpleasantly judicial. "exactly how much do you know about american politics?" she asked coldly. "i have known you all my life and i never heard you mention them before--" "i never have considered them a fit subject for you to listen to--" "i have been in your library a great many times and i do not recall a copy of the congressional record. you have said often that you despise the newspapers and only read the telegrams; that the only paper you read through is the london _times_. so, i repeat, what do you know about the american politics of to-day?" "what i have told you." "where did you learn it? do you ever go to the senate or the house?" "god forbid! but i am a man, and those things are in the atmosphere; a man's brain accumulates naturally all widely diffused impressions. i've been a great deal in the smoking-cars of railroad-trains, and spent two years in a western state where a man who had taken a fortune out of a mine made no bones of buying a seat in the senate from the legislature, nor the legislature about selling it. it was the most abominable transaction i ever came close to, and had as much to do with my leaving the place as anything else." "and you mean to say that you judge all the old states of the country by a newly settled community of adventurers out west?" "new york and pennsylvania are notorious." "there are bad boys in every school. what i want to know is--can you assert on your knowledge that all the southern and new england states are corrupt and send only small politicians to washington? this is a more serious charge than molly's assertion that they all use toothpicks." "i repeat that i do not believe there is an honest man in that capitol." "do you know this? have you investigated the life of every man in the senate and the house?" "what a good district attorney you would make!" "you are talking a lot of copybook platitudes with which you have allowed your mind to stagnate. but you must convince me, for if what you say is true i shall have nothing to do with politics. let us begin with senator north. how and when did he buy his seat, and what trust does he represent?" "oh, i never have heard anything against north. he is too big a gun in washington--" "you will admit then that _he_ is not corrupt--" "i don't doubt he has his own methods--" "i don't care three cents about your suppositions. i want facts. how about senator maxwell?" "he has been in congress since before i was born. one never hears him discussed." "and his puritanical state has heaped every honour on him that it can think of. tell me the biography of senator ward--all that is too awful to be printed in the congressional directory--" "he is from one of those dreadful north-western states and bound to be corrupt," cried emory, triumphantly. he wished desperately that he had waited and got up his case. he spoke from sincere conviction. "there may be a rag of decency left in the older states, but the west is positively fetid. i give you my word i am speaking the truth, betty dear, and in your own interest. if i have no more details to give you, it is because i promised my father on his death-bed that i would have nothing to do with politics, and i have kept my word to the extent of reading as little about them as possible. but i can assure you that i know as much about them as anybody not in the accursed business. it is in the air--" "there are so many things in the air that they get mixed up. your whole argument is based on air. now, _mon ami_, you turn to to-morrow and study up the record of every man in that senate, as well as the legislative methods of his state. when you know all about it, i shall be delighted to be instructed. but i don't want any more air. now come in to dinner, and if you allude to the subject before molly, i'll leave the table." he bowed over her hand again with his old-fashioned courtesy. "when you issue a command i am bound to obey," he said, "and although you have set me an unpleasant, an obnoxious task, i certainly shall accomplish that also to the best of my ability. you belong to this old house, betty, to this old set; i love to think of you as the last rose on the old southern tree, and you shall not be blighted if i can help it." betty tapped him lightly with her fan. "i belong to the whole country, my dear boy; i am no old cabbage rose on a half-dead bush, but the same vegetable under a new name,--the american beauty rose. do you see the parable? and i've a great many thorns on my long stem. remember that also." v betty, in accordance with a time-honoured habit, was the last to arrive at the dinner-party on the following evening. she had arranged her heavy large-waved hair low on her neck, and the pale green velvet of her gown lifted its dull mahogany hue and the deep southern whiteness of her skin. she did not take a beautiful picture, for her features had the national irregularity, but she seldom entered a room that several men did not turn and stare at her. she carried herself with the air of one used to commanding the homage of men, her lovely colouring was always enhanced by dress, and she radiated magnetism. it was such an alive, warm, buoyant personality that men turned to her as naturally as children do to the maternal woman; even when they did not love her they liked to be near her, for she recalled some vague ideal. she knew her power perfectly, and after one or two memorable lessons had put from her the temptation to give it active exercise. it should be the instrument of unqualified happiness when her hour came; meanwhile she cultivated an impersonal attitude which baffled men unable to propose and tempered the wind to those that could. during the few moments in the drawing-room she could gather only a collective impression of the men who stared at her to-night. there was a general suggestion of weight, in the sculptor's sense, and repose combined with alertness, and they stood very squarely on their feet. betty had only had time to single out one long beard dependent from a visage otherwise shorn, and to observe further that some of the women were charmingly dressed, while others wore light silk afternoon frocks, when dinner was announced. her partner was evidently one of the younger senators, one of those juvenile enthusiasts of forty-five who beat their breasts for some years upon the senate's impassive front. he was extremely good-looking, with a fair strong impatient face, trimmed with a moustache only, and a well-built figure full of nervous energy. he had less repose than most of the men about him, but he suggested the same solidity. he might fail or go wrong, but not because there was any room in his mind for shams. his name was burleigh, but what his section was, betty, as they exchanged amenities and admired the lavish display of flowers, could not determine; he had no accent whatever, and although his voice was deep and sonorous, it had not the peculiar richness of the south. his gray eyes smiled as they met hers, and his manners were charming; but betty, accustomed to grasp the salient points of character in a first interview, fancied that he could be overbearing and truculent. "are they going to talk politics to-night?" she asked, when the platitudes had run their course. "i hope not. i've had enough of politics, all day." "oh, i hoped you would," said betty, in a deeply disappointed tone. he looked amused. "why?" he asked. "oh, i am so interested. that sounds very vague, but i am. when lady mary told me she was dining members of the two committees, i thought it was to talk politics, and--and--settle it amicably or something." betty could look infantile when she chose, and was always ready to cover real ignorance with an exaggerated assumption which inspired doubt. "we have the excessive pleasure of discussing the bill in senator north's comfortable committee room for several hours every few days, and we usually are amiable. we are merely dining out to-night in each other's good company. still, i guess your desire will be more or less gratified. second nature is strong, and one or two will probably get down to it about the middle of dinner." "you are from new england," exclaimed betty, triumphantly. "i have been waiting for you to say 'i reckon' or 'i guess.'" "i was born and educated in maine, but i went west to practise law as soon as i knew enough, and i am senator from one of the middle western states." "ah!" betty gave him a swift side glance. he looked anything but "corrupt," and that truculent note in his voice did not indicate subservience to party bosses. she determined to write to jack emory in the morning and command him to look up senator burleigh's record at once. "i suppose all the senators here to-night are the--big ones?" "oh, no; north and ward are the only two on this committee belonging to the very first rank. the other four here are in that group that is pressing close upon their heels; and myself, who am a new member: i've been here four years only. would you mind telling me who you are? of course american women don't take much interest in politics, but--do you know as little as you pretend?" "i wish i knew more; but i've been abroad for the last two years, and my mother prefers rattlesnakes to politics. which is senator north?" "he is at the head of the table with lady mary, but that rosebush is in the way; you cannot see him." "and which is senator ward?" "over there by mrs. shattuc,--the woman in ivory-white and heliotrope." betty flashed him a glance of renewed interest. "you like women," she exclaimed. "and you must be married, or have sisters." "i like women and i am not married, nor have i any sisters. i particularly like woman's dress. if you'll pardon me, that combination of pale green and white lace and soft stuff is the most stunning thing i've seen for a long while." "law, politics, and woman's dress! how hard you must have worked!" "our strong natural inclinations help us so much!" he gave her an amused glance, and his manner was a trifle patronizing, as of a prominent man used to the admiration of pretty girls. it was evident that he knew nothing of her and her long line of conquests. "senator ward looks half asleep," she remarked abruptly. "he usually does until dinner is two-thirds over. he is chairman of one committee and serving on two others; and all have important bills before them at present. so he is tired." "he doesn't look corrupt." "corrupt? who? ward? who on earth ever said he was corrupt?" "well, i heard his state was." "'corruption' is the father of more platitudes than any word in the american language. there are corrupt men in his state, no doubt, and one of the trusts with which we are ridden at present tried to buy its legislature and put their man in. but ward won his fight without the expenditure of a dollar beyond paying for the band and a few courtesies of that sort. his state is proud of him both as a statesman and a scholar, and he is likely to stay in the senate until he drops in his tracks." "then he comes here with the intention of remaining for life? i think you should all do that." "you are quite right. when a man achieves the honour of being elected honestly to the united states senate,--it is the highest honour in the republic,--he should feel that he is dedicating himself to the service of the country, and should have so arranged his affairs that he can stay there for life." betty's eyes kindled with approval. "oh, i am glad," she said, "i am glad." "glad of what, may i ask?" "oh--" and then she impulsively told him something of her history, of her determination to take up politics as her ruling interest, and of the opposition of her mother and cousin. senator burleigh listened with deep attention, and if he was amused he was too gallant to betray the fact, now that she had honoured him with her confidence. "well," he said, "that is very interesting, very. and you are quite right. you'll do yourself good and us good. mind you stand to your guns. would you mind telling me your name? lady mary never thinks a mere name worth mentioning." "madison--elizabeth madison. i had almost forgotten the elizabeth. i have always been called betty." "ah!" he said, "ah!" he turned and regarded her with a deeper interest. "have you heard of me?" she asked irresistibly. "who has not?" he said gallantly. "and although you are a great deal younger than i,--i am forty-four,--my father, who was in congress before me, was a great friend of your father's. he wears a watch to this day that mr. madison gave him. he always expressed regret that he never met your mother, but she seemed to have an unconquerable aversion to politics." "and they met at chamberlin's!" exclaimed betty, with a delighted laugh. "it will be the last straw--my having gone into dinner with the son of one of papa's hated boon companions. my mother is a lovely intelligent woman," she added hastily, "but she is intensely southern and conservative. her great pride is that she never changes a standard once established." "oh, that's a very safe quality in a woman. but of course you have a right to establish your own, and i am glad it points in our direction. and anything you want to know i'll be glad to tell you. can't i take you up to the senate to-morrow and put you in our private gallery? there ought to be some good debating, for north is going to attack an important bill that is on the calendar." "i will go; but let me meet you there. i must ask you to call in due form first, as my poor mother must not have too many shocks. will you come a week from sunday?--i am going to new york for a few days." "i will, indeed. if i were unselfish, i should let you listen for a few minutes, for they are all talking politics; not bills, however, but the possibility of war with spain. i don't think i shall, though. tell me what you want to know and i will begin our lessons right here." "why should we go to war with spain?" "oh dear! oh dear! where have you been? there is a small island off the coast of florida called cuba. it has many natives, and they are oppressed, tormented, tortured by spain." "i visited cuba once. they are nothing but a lot of negroes and frightfully dirty. why should we go to war about them?" "only about one-third are negroes and there is a large brilliantly educated and travelled upper class. and i see you need instruction in more things than politics,--humanity, for instance. forget that you are a southerner, divorce yourself from traditions, and try to imagine several hundred thousand people--women and children, principally--starving, hopeless, homeless, unspeakably wretched. cannot you feel for them?" "oh, yes! yes!" betty's quick sympathy sent the tears to her eyes, and he looked at her with deepening admiration,--a fact the tears did not prevent her from grasping. "and are we going to war in order to release them?" "ah! i do not know. there is a war feeling growing in the country; there is no doubt of that. but how high it will grow no one can tell. the leading men in congress are indifferent, and won't even listen to recognizing the cubans as belligerents. north will not discuss the subject, and i doubt not is talking over the latest play with lady mary at the present moment." "and you? do you want war?" "i do!" his manner gave sudden rein to its inherent nervousness, and his voice rang out for a moment as if he were angrily haranguing the senate. "of course i want it. every human instinct i have compels me to want it, and i cannot understand the apathy and conservatism which prevents our being at war at the present moment. we have posed as the champions of liberty long enough; it is time we did something." "ah, this is the youthful enthusiasm of the senate," thought betty. "and i have been accustomed to think of forty-five as quite elderly. i feel a mere infant and shall not call myself an old maid till i'm fifty." she smiled approvingly into the senator's illuminated face, and he plunged at once into details, including the entire history of spanish colonial misrule. the history was told in head-lines, so to speak, but it was graphic and convincing. betty nodded encouragingly and asked an occasional intelligent question. she knew the history of spain as thoroughly as he did, but she would not have told him so for the world. it is only the woman with a certain masculine fibre in her brain who ever really understands men, and when these women have coquetry also, they convince the sex born to admire that they are even more feminine than their weaker sisters. when senator burleigh finished, betty thanked him so graciously and earnestly, with such lively pleasure in her limpid hazel eyes, that he raised his glass impulsively and touched it to hers. "you must have a _salon_" he exclaimed. "we need one in washington, and it would do us incalculable good. only you could accomplish it: you not only have beauty and brains--and tact?--but you are so apart that you can pick and choose without fear of giving offence. and you are not _blas?_ of the subject like congressmen's wives, nor has the wild rush and wear and tear of official society chopped up your individuality into a hundred little bits. it would be brutal to mention politics to a woman in political life, and consequently we feel as if no one takes any interest in us unless she has an axe to grind. but you are what we all have been waiting for i feel sure of that! let it be understood that no mere politician, no man who bought his legislature or is under suspicion in regard to any trust, can enter your doors. of course you will have to study the whole question thoroughly; and mind, i am to be your instructor-in-chief." betty laughed and thanked him, wondering how well he understood her. he looked like a man who would waste no time on the study of woman's subtleties: he knew what he wanted, and recognized the desired qualities at once, but by a strong masculine instinct, not by analysis. a few moments later the women went into the drawing-room, and the conversation for the next half-hour was a languid babble of politics, dress, new york, the lady of the white house, and the play. betty thought the women very nice, but less interesting than the men, possibly because they were women. they certainly looked more intelligent than the average one sat with during the trying half-hour after dinner; but their conversation was fragmentary, and they oddly suggested having left their personality at home and taken their shell out to dinner. betty also was interested to observe that their composite expression was a curious mingling of fatigue, unselfishness, and peremptoriness. "what does it mean?" she asked of lady mary, with whom she stood apart for a moment. "oh, they are worked to death,--paying calls, entertaining, receiving people on all sorts of business, and helping their husbands in various ways. they have no time to be selfish,--rich or poor,--and they have acquired the art of disposing of bores and detrimentals in short order. even their own sort they pass on much in the fashion of royalty. how do you like senator burleigh?" "i never learned so much in two hours in my life. my head feels like a beehive." "i never saw him quite so devoted." "i thought you were occupied with senator north." "i was, but my eyes and ears understand each other. he wants to meet you after dinner. he knows all about you." "he has been pointed out to me, but in those days when i was only interested in possible partners for the german. i do not recall him." "that is he, the second one." the men were entering the drawing-room. betty was relieved that the political beard was not on senator north. he wore only a very short moustache on his ugly powerful face. he stood for a few moments talking to his host, and betty, to whom the political beard was immediately presented, gave him an occasional glance of exploration while her companion was assuring her, with neither a twang nor an accent, that he had long looked forward to the pleasure of meeting the famous miss betty madison. senator shattuc was in his late fifties, but it was evident that the cares of congress had not smothered his appreciation of a pretty woman. he had a strong face and an infantile complexion, and his beard sparkled with care. senator ward, who was presented a few moments later, told her that he had envied burleigh throughout the long dinner. betty decided that the senatorial manner certainly was agreeable. the two men fell into conversation with one another, and betty turned her attention to senator north. he was standing alone for the moment, glancing about the room. his attitude was one of absolute repose; he did not look as if he ever had hurried or wasted his energies or lost his self-control in his life. his face was impenetrable; his eyes, black and piercing, were wholly without that limpidity which reveals depths and changes of expression; his mouth was somewhat contemptuous, and betrayed neither tenderness nor humour. if possible, he stood even more squarely on his feet than the other men. he had the powerful thick-set figure which invariably harbours strong passions. "i don't know whether i like him or not," thought betty. "i think i don't--but perhaps i do. he might be made of new england rock, and he looks as if the earth could swallow him before he'd yield an inch. but i can feel his magnetism over here. why have all these men so much magnetism? is that, too, senatorial?" senator north caught her eye at the moment, and turned at once to lady mary. a moment later he had been presented to betty and they stood alone. "i once mended your hoop for you, when you were a little girl, just in front of your house; but i am afraid you have forgotten it." "oh,--i think i do remember it. yes--i do." she evoked the incident out of the mists of childish memories. "was it you? i am afraid i was looking harder at the hoop than at its mender. but--i recall--i thought how kind you were." and then he inquired for her mother, and spoke pleasantly of his own and his wife's acquaintance with mrs. madison at bar harbor. betty wondered afterward why she had thought his face repellent. his eyes defied investigation, but his mouth relaxed into a smile that was very kind, and his voice had almost a caress in it. but at the moment she was too eager to hear him express himself to receive a strong personal impression, and while she was casting about in her mind for a leader, she was obliged to give him her hand. "good-night," she said with a little pout, "i am so sorry." "so am i," he said, smiling, and shaking her hand. "good-night. i shall look forward to meeting you again soon." "miss madison, may i see you to your carriage?" asked senator burleigh. "i have tried to get near you ever since dinner," he said discontentedly, as they walked down the hall, "and now you are going. but you will come to the senate to-morrow? come right up to the door of the senators' gallery at precisely three o'clock and i will meet you there." a few moments later, betty paused on her way to her own room and opened her mother's door softly. "molly," she whispered. "well?" asked a severe voice. "i went in to dinner with the son of one of papa's old chamberlin companions, and he was simply charming. so were all the others, and i never met a man who could shake hands as well as senator north. i had a heavenly time." mrs. madison groaned and turned her face to the wall. "and there wasn't a toothpick, and i didn't hear a twang." "kindly allow me to go to sleep." vi as soon as betty awoke the next morning, she turned her mind to the events of the night before. unlike most occasions eagerly anticipated, it had contained no disappointment; she had, indeed, been pleasurably surprised, for despite her strong common-sense the dark picture of corruption and objectionable toilet accessories had made its impression upon her. she foresaw much amusement in witnessing the unwilling surrender of her mother to even senator shattuc, him of the political beard. as for senator burleigh, she would yield to his magnetism and power of compelling interest in himself, while pronouncing his manners too abrupt and his personality too "western." and if he admired intelligently the old lace which she always wore at her throat and wrists and on her pretty head, she would confess that there might be exceptions even to political rules. but somewhat to betty's surprise it was not of senator burleigh that she thought most, although she had talked with him for two hours and pronounced him charming. she had talked with senator north for exactly six minutes, but she saw his face more distinctly than burleigh's and retained his voice in her ear. he had not paid her a compliment, but his manner had expressed that she interested him and that he thought her worth meeting. for the first time in her life betty felt flattered by the admiration of a man; and she had held her own with more than one of distinction on the other side. even royalty had not fluttered her, but she conceived an eager desire to make this man think well of her. it irritated her to remember that she could have made no mental impression on him whatever. she became uncheerful, and reflected that the subtle flattery in his manner was probably a mere habit; lady mary had intimated that he liked women and had loved several. well, she cared nothing about that; he was thirty years older than herself and married; but she admired him and wished for his good opinion and to hear him talk. doubtless they soon would meet again, and if they were left in conversation for a decent length of time she would ask him to call. she cast about in her mind for a subterfuge which would justify a note, but she could think of none, and was too worldly-wise to evoke a smile from the depths of a man's conceit. her mother refused to bid her good-by when, accompanied by her maid, she started for the capitol at twenty minutes to three. a few moments later she found herself admiring for the first time the big stately building on the hill at the end of pennsylvania avenue. she always had thought washington a beautiful city, with its wide quiet avenues set thick with trees, its graceful parks, each with a statue of some man gratefully remembered by the republic, but she had given little heed to its public buildings and their significance. as she approached the great white capitol, she experienced a sudden thrill of that historical sense which, after its awakening, dominates so actively the large intelligence. the capitol symbolized the greatness of the young nation; all the famous american statesmen after the first group had moved and made their reputations within its walls. all laws affecting the nation came out of it, and the judges of the supreme court sat there. and of its kind there was none other in the civilized world, had been but one other since the world began. the historic building shed an added lustre upon senator burleigh; but it was of senator north that she thought most as she half rose in the victoria and scanned the long sweep. the cleverest of women cannot class with anything like precision the man who has stamped himself into her imagination. betty knew that there were six men in the senate who ranked as equals; their quiet epoch gave them little chance to discover latent genius other than for constructive legislation; nevertheless she arbitrarily conceived the capitol to-day as the great setting for one man only; and the building and the man became one in her imagination henceforth. the truth was that betty, being greatly endowed for loving and finding that all men fell short of her high standard, was forced to seek companionship in an ideal. she had had several loves in history, but had come to the conclusion some years since that dead men were unsatisfactory. since then she had fancied mightily one or two public men on the other side, whom she had never met; but in time they had bored or disappointed her. but here was a conspicuous figure in her own country, appealing to her through the powerful medium of patriotic pride; a man so much alive that he might at any moment hold the destinies of the united states in his hands, and who, owing to his years and impenetrable dignity, was not to be considered from the ordinary view-point of woman. she would coquet with senator burleigh; it was on the cards that she would love him, for he was brilliant, ambitious, and honourable; but senator north was exalted to the vacant pedestal reserved for ideals, and betty settled herself comfortably to his worship; not guessing that he would be under her memory's dust-heap in ten days if senator burleigh captured her heart. the coachman was directed by a policeman to the covered portico of the senate wing. betty had a bare glimpse of corridors apparently interminable, before another policeman put her into the elevator and told her to get off when the boy said "gallery." senator burleigh was waiting for her, and she thought him even manlier and more imposing in his gray tweed than in evening dress. he shook her hand heartily, and assured her in his abrupt dictatorial way that it gave him the greatest pleasure to meet her again. "i'm sorry i haven't time to take you all over the building," he said, "but i have two committee meetings this afternoon. you must come down some morning." his manner was very businesslike, and he seemed a trifle absent as he paused a moment and called her attention to the daub illustrating the electoral commission; but this, betty assumed, was the senatorial manner by day. in a moment he led her to one of the doors in the wall that encloses the senate gallery. "you see this lady," he said peremptorily to the doorkeeper, who rose hastily from his chair. "she is always to be admitted to this gallery. take a good look at her." "yes, sir; member of your family, i presume?" "you can assume that she is my sister. only see that you admit her." "the rules are very strict in regard to this gallery," he added, as he closed the door behind them. "it is only for the families of the senators, but you will like it better than the reserved gallery. send for me if there should be trouble at any time about admittance." "i usually get where i wish! i sha'n't trouble you." "don't you ever think twice about troubling me," he said. "let us go down to the front row." the galleries surrounding the great chamber were almost dark under the flat roof, but the space below was full of light. it looked very sumptuous with its ninety desks and easy-chairs, and a big fire beyond an open door; and very legislative with its president elevated above the senators and the row of clerks beneath him. there were perhaps thirty senators in the room, and they were talking in groups or couples, reading newspapers, or writing letters. one senator was making a speech. "i don't think they are very polite," said betty. "why don't they listen? he seems to be in earnest and speaks very nicely." "oh, he is talking to his constituents, not to the senate--although he would be quite pleased if it would listen to him. he does not amount to much. we listen to each other when it is worth while; but this is a club, miss madison, the most delightful club in the united states. just beyond are the cloakrooms, where we can lounge before the fire and smoke, or lie down and go to sleep. the hard work is in the committee rooms, and it is hard enough to justify all the pleasure we can get out of the other side of the life. now, i'll tell you who these are and something about them." he pointed out one after the other in his quick businesslike way, rattling off biographical details; but betty, feeling that she was getting but a mass of impressions with many heads, interrupted him. "i don't see senator north," she said. "i thought he was going to speak." "he will, later. he is in his committee room now, but he'll go down as soon as a page takes him word that the clerk is about to read the bill whose committee amendments he is sure to object to. now i must go. i shall give myself the pleasure of calling a week from sunday. you must come often, and always come here. and let me give you two pieces of advice: never bow to any senator from up here, and never go to the marble room and send in a card. then you can come every day without attracting attention. good-bye." betty thanked him, and he departed. for the next hour she found the proceedings very dull. the unregarded senator finished his speech and retired behind a newspaper. other members clapped their hands, and the pages scampered down the gangways and carried back documents to the clerk below the vice-president's chair, while their senders made a few remarks meaningless to betty. two or three delivered brief speeches which were equally unintelligible to one not acquainted with current legislation. during one of them a man of imposing appearance entered and was apparently congratulated by almost every one in the room, the senators leaving their seats and coming to the middle aisle, where he stood, to shake him by the hand. betty felt sorry for leontine, who was on the verge of tears, but determined to remain until senator north appeared if she did not leave until it should be time to dress for dinner. he entered finally and went straight to his desk. he looked preoccupied, and began writing at once. in a few moments the clerk commenced to read from a document, and senator north laid aside his pen and listened attentively. so did several other senators. it was a very long document, and betty, who could not understand one word in ten as delivered by the clerk's rumbling monotonous voice, was desperately bored, and was glad her senators had the solace of the cloak-rooms. several did in fact retire to them, but when the clerk sat down and senator north rose, they returned; and betty felt a personal pride in the fact that they were about to listen to the senator whom herself had elected to honour. she had to lean forward and strain her ears to hear him. it was evident that he did not recognize the existence of the gallery, for he did not raise his voice from beginning to end; and yet it was of that strong rich quality that might have carried far. but it neither "rang out like a clarion," nor "thundered imprecation." neither did he utter an impassioned phrase nor waste a word, but he denounced the bill as a party measure, exposed its weak points, riddled it with sarcasm, and piled up damaging evidence of partisan zeal. "this is an honourable body," he concluded, "and few measures go out of it that are open to serious criticism by the self-constituted guardians of legislative virtue, but if this bill goes through the senate we shall invite from the thinking people of the country the same sort of criticism which we now receive from the ignorant. if the high standard of this body is to be maintained, it must be by sound and conservative legislation, not by grovelling to future legislatures." having administered this final slap, he sat down and began writing again, apparently paying no attention to the chairman of the bill, who defended his measure with eloquence and vigour. it was a good speech, but it contained more words than the one that had provoked it and fewer points. senator north replied briefly that the only chance for the bill was for its father to refrain from calling attention to its weak points, then went into the republican cloak-room, presumably to smoke a cigar. betty, whose head ached, went home. vii that evening, as betty was rummaging through a cupboard in the library looking for a seal, she came upon a box of cuban cigars. they could have been her father's only and of his special importation: he had smoked the choicest tobacco that havana had been able to furnish. she knew that many men would prize that box of cigars, carefully packed in lead and ripened by time, and she suddenly determined to send it to senator north. she felt that it would be an acute pleasure to give him something, and as for the cigars they were too good for any one else. she took the box to her room and wrapped it up carefully and badly; but when she came to the note which must accompany it, she paused before the difficulties which mechanically presented themselves. senator north might naturally feel surprise to receive a present from a young woman with whom he had talked exactly six minutes. if she wrote playfully, offering a small tribute at the shrine of statesmanship, he might wonder if she worked slippers for handsome young clergymen and burned candles before the photograph of a popular tenor. she might send them anonymously, but that would not give her the least satisfaction. finally, she reluctantly decided to wait until she met him again and could lead the conversation up to cigars. "perhaps he will see me in the gallery to-morrow," she thought. but although he sat in his comfortable revolving-chair for two hours the next afternoon, he never lifted his eyes to the gallery. she heard several brief and excellent speeches, but went home dissatisfied. on the day after her return from new york, whither she went to perform the duty of bridesmaid; she had a similar experience, twice varied. senator burleigh made a short speech in a voice that was truly magnificent, and following up senator north's attack on the bill unpopular on the republican side of the chamber. he was answered by "blunderbuss" pepper, the new senator who had turned every aristocrat out of office in his aristocratic southern state and filled the vacancies with men of his own humble origin. he was a burly untidy-looking man, and frequently as uncouth in speech, a demagogue and excitable. but the senate, now that three years in that body had toned him down, conceded his ability and took his abuse with the utmost good-nature. betty recalled his biography as sketched by senator burleigh, and noted that almost every senator wheeled about with an expression of lively interest, as his reiterated "mr. president, mr. president," secured him the floor. they were not disappointed, nor was betty. in a few moments he was roaring like a mad bull and hurling invective upon the entire republican party, which "would deprive the south of legitimate representation if it could." he was witty and scored many points, provoking more than one laugh from both sides of the chamber; and when he finished with a parting yell of imprecation, his audience returned to their correspondence and conversation with an indulgent smile. betty wondered what he had been like before the senate had "toned him down." that night she addressed the cigars to jack emory and sent them off at once. "i do believe i came very close to making a fool of myself," she thought. "what on earth made me want to give those cigars to senator north?--to give him anything? what a little ninny he would have thought me!" she puzzled long over this deflection from her usual imperious course with men, but concluding that women having so many silly twists in their brains, it was useless to try to understand them all, dismissed the matter from her mind. viii "how many politicians are coming this afternoon?" asked mrs. madison, at the sunday midday dinner. her voice indicated that all protest had not gone out of her. "senator burleigh and mr. montgomery--and lady mary. not a formidable array." "they are exactly two too many. i have written and asked sally carter to come over and chaperon you in case i do not feel equal to the ordeal at the last moment. i am surprised that she takes your course so quietly, but on the whole am relieved; you need some one respectable to keep you in countenance." "this house reeks with respectability; no one would ever notice the absence of a chaperon. sally is not only quiescent, but sympathetic. she knows that i have got to the end of teas and charities, and she believes in people choosing their own lives. she says she would join a travelling circus if her proclivities happened to point that way." mrs. madison shuddered. "i do not pretend to understand the present generation, and the more i hear of it the less i wish to. as for sally i love her, but i should detest her if i didn't, for she is the worst form of snob: she is so rich and so well born that she thinks she can dress like a servant-girl and affect the manners of a barmaid." "molly! so you were haunting 'pubs' when i supposed you were yawning at home? i hope you did not tell the barmaids your real name." "well, i suppose i should not criticise people that i know nothing about," said mrs. madison, colouring and serious. she changed the subject hastily. "jack, i hope you will stay this afternoon. it would be the greatest comfort to have you in the house." "i will stay, certainly," said emory. he had taken his sunday dinner at the old house in i street for almost a quarter of a century. to-day he had been unusually silent, and had contracted his brows nervously every time betty looked at him. she understood perfectly, and amused herself by turning round upon him several times with abrupt significance. however, she spared him until they had taken mrs. madison to the parlor and gone to the library, where he might smoke his after-dinner cigar. he sat down in front of a window, and the sunlight poured over him, glistening his handsome head and illuminating his skin. betty supposed that some women might fall quite desperately in love with him; and in addition to his beauty he was a noble and high-minded gentleman, whose narrowness was due to the secluded life he chose to lead. "now!" she exclaimed, "come out with it! you've had eleven days, and one can learn a good deal in that time." he bit sharply at the end of his cigar, but answered without hesitation. "it is almost impossible to learn anything in washington to the detriment of the senate. there seems to be a sort of _esprit de corps_ in the entire city. they look politely horrified if you suggest that a senator of the united states, honouring washington with the society of his wives and daughters, is anything that he should not be. i was obliged to go to new york and boston to get the information i wanted, and even now it is far from complete. i don't believe it is possible to arrive at anything like accurate knowledge on the subject." "well, what did you get? washington is a well-ordered community with a high moral tone--it is said to have fewer scandals than any city in the country--and there is no sordid commercial atmosphere to lower it. it is the great city of leisure in everything but legislation and paying calls; so it seems to me that it would be the last place to fondle in its bosom ninety distinguished scoundrels. but go on. what did you learn in boston and new york?" "that a little of everything is represented in the senate,--that is about what it amounts to. there are unquestionably men there who bought their seats from legislatures, and there are men who are agents for trusts, syndicates, and railroad corporations, as well as three party bosses--" "ninety senators leave a large margin for a number of loose fish. what i want to know is, how do the big men stand--north, maxwell, ward, march--and fifteen or twenty others, all the men who are the chairmen of the big committees? the new england men seem to have charge of everything of importance in the house and of a good deal in the senate." "some of the southern and north-western and most of the new england states seem to have honest enough legislatures," said emory, unwillingly. "but that leaves plenty of others. only a few of the western states are above suspicion, and as for new york, pennsylvania, and delaware, they would not waste time defending themselves; and as no senators are better than the people that elect them--" "oh, yes, they are sometimes--look at the senator from delaware. i too have been asking questions for eleven days. it all comes to this: there are millionaireism and corrupting influences in the senate, but that element is in the minority, and the greater number of leading, or able senators are above suspicion. and they seem to have things pretty much all their own way. they could not if the majority in the senate were scoundrels. no corrupt body was ever led by its irreproachable exceptions--" "in another ten years there will be no exceptions. all that are making a desperate stand for honesty to-day will be overwhelmed by the unprincipled element--" "or have forced it to reform. the good in human nature predominates; we are a healthy infant, and do not know the meaning of the word 'decadent;' and we are extraordinarily clever. senator burleigh says that you can always bank on the american people going right in the end. they may not bother for a long time, but when they do wake up they make things hum." "senator burleigh evidently has all the easy-going optimism of this country. but, betty, i am no more reconciled than i was before to your having anything to do with these people. politics have a bad name, whatever the truth of the matter. i think myself our sensational press is largely to blame--" "there is nothing so interesting as the pursuit of truth," said betty, lightly. "reconcile yourself to the sight of me in pursuit of it--" "ah, here you are!" exclaimed a staccato voice. sally carter entered the room, kissed betty, shook hands heartily with emory, and threw herself into a chair. her fortune equalled betty's, but it was her pleasure to wear frocks so old and so dowdy that her friends wondered where they had come from originally. she had been a handsome girl, and her blue eyes were still full of fire, her fair hair abundant, but her face was sallow and lined from many attacks of malarial fever. her manner was breezy and full of energy, and she was not only popular but a very important person indeed. she lived alone with her father in the old house in k street and entertained rarely, but she had strawberry leaves on her coronet, and it was currently reported that when she arrived in england, clad in a rusty black serge and battered turban,--which she certainly slept in at intervals during the day,--she was met in state by the entire ducal family--including a prolific connection--whose ancestor had founded the great house of carter in the british colonies of north america. what their private opinion was of this representative of the american dukedom was never quite clear to the washington mind, but to know sally carter in her own city meant complete social recognition, and not to know her an indifferent success. "senator north tells me that he met you the other day and would like to meet you again," she said to betty, who lifted her head with attention. "i dropped in on my way here for a little call on mrs. north, poor dear! there's a real invalid for you--something the matter with her spine--is liable to paralysis any minute. it must be so cheerful to sit round and anticipate that. why on earth do women let their nerves run away with them, in the first place? nerves in this country are a mixture of climate, selfishness, and stupidity. i could be as nervous as a witch, but i won't. i walk miles every day and don't think about myself. well! i told mr. north all about the bold course of the young lady weary of frivolities, and he seemed much interested, paid you some compliment or other, i've forgotten what. he said he would look out for you in the senate gallery and go up and speak to you--" emory rose with an exclamation of disgust. "i hope you told him to do nothing of the kind." "on the contrary, i told him not to forget, for as betty would sail her little yacht on the political sea, i wanted her to be recognized by the men-of-war, not by the trading-ships and pirates." emory threw away his cigar. "i think i will go in and see my aunt," he said. "all this is most distasteful to me." he left the room, followed by betty's mocking laugh. but miss carter said with a sigh,-- "he can't expect us all to live up to his ideals. it is better not to have any, like my practical self. but i'm afraid he sits out there in his damp old library and dreams of a world in which all the men are sir galahads and all the women madame rolands. he is an ideal himself, if he only knew it; i've always been half in love with him. well, betty, how do you like your new toy? after all, what is even a senate but a toy for a pretty woman? that is really your attitude, only you don't know it. life is serious only for women with babies and bills. as for charities, they were specially invented to give old maids like myself an occupation in life. what--what--should i have done without charities when society palled?" "why did you never marry, sally?" asked betty, abruptly. the question never had occurred to her before, but as she asked it her eyes involuntarily moved to the empty chair before the window. "what on earth should i do with a husband?" asked miss carter, lightly. "i only love men when they are in bronze in the public parks. poor dear old general lathom proposed to me four times, and the only time i felt like accepting him was when i saw his statue unveiled. i couldn't put a man on a pedestal to save my life, but when my grateful country does it i'm all humble adoration. could you idealize a live thing in striped trousers and a frock coat?" "woolen is hopeless," said betty, with an attempt at playfulness. "we must do the best we can with the inner man." "how on earth do you know what a man is like on the inside? idealize is the right word, though. women make a god out of what they cannot understand in a man. if he has a bad temper, they think of him as a 'dominant personality.' if he is unfaithful to his wife, he is romantic in the eyes of a woman who has given no man a chance to be unfaithful to her. if he comes to your dinner with an attack of dyspepsia, you compare him sentimentally with the brutes that eat. _you_ haven't married yet, i notice, and you are on the corner of twenty-seven." "american men don't give you a chance to idealize them," said betty, plaintively. "they tell you all about themselves at once. and although englishmen have more mystery and provoke your curiosity, they don't understand women and don't want to; the women can do the adapting. i never could stand that; and as i can't endure foreigners i'm afraid i shall die an old maid. that's the reason i've gone into politics--" the butler announced that senator burleigh was in the parlor. "what of his inner man?" asked sally. "i never have given it two thoughts. but his outer is all that could be desired." "he would look well in bronze. i understand that his state thinks a lot of him: as you know, i read the _post_ and _star_ through every day to papa. i _have_ to know something of politics." they found senator burleigh talking to mrs. madison, apparently oblivious of her frigid attempt at tolerance and of emory's sullen silence. sally carter's eyes flashed with amusement, and she shook the senator warmly by the hand. "such a very great pleasure!" she announced in her staccato tones. "now the only time i really allow myself pride is when i meet the statesmen of my country. i am sure that is the way you feel, dear cousin molly--is it not? we are such oysters, the few of us who always have lived here, that a whiff from the political world puts new life into us." emory left the room. burleigh looked surprised but gratified, and assured her that it was the greatest possible pleasure as well as an honour to meet miss carter. he appeared to have left his businesslike manner on capitol hill, and he was even less abrupt than on the night of the dinner. only his exuberant vitality seemed out of place in that dark old room, and it was an effort for him to keep his sonorous voice in check. "mrs. madison says she takes no interest in politics," he added, "and fears to be a wet blanket on the conversation. i have been assuring her that on one day of the week politics are non-existent so far as i am concerned." mrs. madison, who had been staring at sally carter, replied with an evident attempt to be agreeable, "of course i always find it interesting to hear people talk about what they understand best." "politics are what i should like to understand least. since i have come to the senate i have endeavoured to forget all i ever knew about them. i rely upon my friends to keep me in office while i am making a desperate attempt to become a fair-minded legislator." he spoke lightly. betty could not determine whether he was posing or telling the simple truth to people who would be glad to take him at his word. there was a twinkle of amusement in his eye; but he looked too impatient for even the milder sort of hypocrisy. mrs. madison thawed visibly. "you younger men should try to restore the old ideals," she said. "ah, madam," he replied, "if you only knew what the censors said about the old ideals when they were alive! if time will be as kind to us, we can swallow our own dose with a reasonable amount of philosophy. john quincy adams arraigned the politics of his day in the bitterest phrases he could create; but to-day we are asked to remember the glorious past and hide our heads." the montgomery's entered the room. randolph, who was as tall as senator burleigh and very slender, looked so distinguished that mrs. madison immediately decided to remember only that his family was as old as her own. he had lost none of the repose he had found during his three years' residence in europe, but the effort to keep it in the house had made his handsome face thin and touched his mouth with cynicism. his hair was still black, and there were no lines about his cool gray eyes. "blessed day of rest!" exclaimed his wife. "i got up just one hour ago. do you know, miss madison, i paid twenty-six calls on thursday, eighteen on friday and twelve on saturday? never marry into political life." senator burleigh, who had been talking to miss carter, turned round quickly. "some women are so manifestly made for it," he said, "that it would be folly for them to attempt to escape their fate." ix a month passed. betty received with lady mary on tuesdays, and under that popular young matron's wing called on a number of women prominent in the official life of the dying administration, whom she received on fridays. they were very polite, and returned her calls promptly; but they did not always remember her name, and her personality and position impressed but a few of these women, overwhelmed with social duties, visiting constituents, and people-with-letters. most of them paid from fifteen to twenty calls on six days out of seven, and had filled their engagement books for the season during its first fortnight. betty was chagrined at first, then amused. moreover, her incomplete success raised the political world somewhat in mrs. madison's estimation; she had expected that her house would be besieged by these temporary beings, eager for a sniff at old washington air. betty realized that she must be content to go slowly this winter, and begin to entertain as soon as the next season opened. lady mary took her to four large receptions, and she was invited to two or three dinners of a semi-official character; for several women not only fancied her, but appreciated the fact that the official were not the highest social honours in the land, and were glad to further her plans. senator burleigh called several times. one day he arrived with a large package of books: bryce's "american commonwealth," a volume containing the constitution and washington's farewell address, and several of the "american statesmen" monographs. "read all these," he said dictatorially. ("he certainly takes me very seriously," thought betty. "doubtless he'll stand me in a corner with my face to the wall if i don't get my lessons properly.") "i want you to acquire the national sense. i don't believe a woman in this country knows the meaning of the phrase. study and think over the characters of the men who created this country: washington and hamilton, particularly. you'll know what i mean when you've read these little volumes; and then i'll bring you some thirty volumes containing the letters and despatches and communications to congress of these two greatest of all americans. i don't know which i admire most. hamilton was the most creative genius of his century, but the very fact that he was a genius of the highest order makes him hopeless as a standard. but all men in public life who desire to attain the highest and most unassailable position analyze the character of washington and ponder over it deeply. there never was a man so free from taint, there never was such complete mental poise, there never was such cold, rarified, unerring judgment. the man seems to us--who live in a turbulent day when the effort to be and to remain high-minded makes the brain ache--to have been nothing less than inspired. and his political wisdom is as sound for to-day as for when he uttered it; although, for the life of me, i cannot help disregarding his admonition to keep hands out of foreign pie, this time. i want the country to go to the rescue of cuba, and i'll turn over every stone i can to that end." betty had listened to him with much interest. "would washington have gone?" she asked. "would he advise it now, supposing he could?" "no, i don't believe he would. washington had a brain of ice, and his ideal of american prosperity was frozen within it. he would fear some possible harm or loss to this country, and the other could be left to the care of an all-merciful providence. i love my country with as sound a patriotism as a man may, and i revere the memory of washington, but i have not a brain of ice, and i think a country, like a man, should think of others besides itself. and the united states has got to that point where almost nothing could hurt it. a few months' patriotic enthusiasm, for that matter, would do it no end of good. if you care to listen, i'll read the farewell address to you." he read it in his sonorous rolling voice, that must have done as much to make him a popular idol in his state as his more distinguished gifts for public life. betty decided that the more senatorial he was the better she liked him. she knew that he was a favourite with men, and had a vague idea that men, when in the exclusive society of their own sex, always told witty anecdotes, but she could not imagine herself making small talk with senator burleigh. her day for small talk, however, she fervently hoped was over. she had seen senator north again but once. lady mary montgomery gave a great evening reception, as magnificent an affair of the sort as betty was likely to see in washington. it was given in honour of a distinguished englishman, who, rumour whispered, had come over in the interests of the general arbitration treaty between the united states and great britain, now at the mercy of the committee on foreign relations. there was another impression, equally alive in washington that lady mary aspired to be the historic link between the two countries. certain it was that the secretary of state, the british ambassador, and the committee on foreign relations dined and called constantly at her house. the distinguished guest had called on her every day since his arrival. betty knew what others divined; for the friends were inseparable, and mary montgomery was very frank with her few intimates. "of course i want the treaty to go through," she had said to betty, only the day before her reception; "and i am quite wild to know what the committee are doing with it. but of course they will say nothing. senator ward kisses my hand and talks shakespeare and socrates to me, and when i use all my eloquence in behalf of a closer relationship between the two greatest nations on earth--for i want an alliance to follow this treaty--he says: _'ma belle dame sans merci,_ the american language shall yet be spoken in the british isles; i promise you that.' he is one of the few americans i cannot understand. he has eyes so heavy that he never looks quite awake, and he is as quick as an italian's blade in retort. he has a large and scholarly intellect, and it is almost impossible to make him serious. you never see him in his chair on the floor of the senate, although he sometimes drifts across the room with a cigar in the hollow of his hand, and he is admittedly one of its leading spirits, and the idol of a western state--of all things! senator north is the reverse of transparent, but sometimes he goes to the point in a manner which leaves nothing to be desired. he is not on the committee of foreign relations, so i asked him point blank the other day if he thought the treaty would go through and if he did not mean to vote for it. he is usually as polite as all men who are successful in politics and like women, but he gave a short and brutal laugh. 'lady mary,' he said, 'when some of my colleagues were cultivating their muscles on the tail of your lion in the winter of , i told them what i thought of them in language which only senatorial courtesy held within bounds. if the committee on foreign relations--for whose members i have the highest respect: they are picked men--should do anything so foolish and so unpatriotic as to report back that treaty in a form to arouse the enthusiasm of the british press, i fear i should disregard senatorial courtesy. but the united states senate does not happen to be composed of idiots, and the president may amuse himself writing treaties, but he does not make them.' "then i asked him if he had no sentiment, if he did not think the spirit of the thing fine: the union of the great english-speaking races; and he replied that he saw no necessity for anything of the sort: we did very well on our separate sides of the water; and as for sentiment, we were like certain people,--much better friends while coquetting than when married. he added that the divorce would be so extremely painful. i asked him what was to prevent another lover's quarrel, if there were no ring and no blessing, and he replied: 'ah that is another question. to keep out of useless wars with the old country and to tie our hands fast to her quarrels are two things, and the one we will do and the other we won't do.' "that is all he would say, but fortunately there is a less conservative element in the senate than his, although i believe they all become saturated with that constitution in time. i can see it growing in senator burleigh." all elements had come to her reception to-night. ambassadors and envoys extraordinary were there in the full splendour of their uniforms. so were generals and admirals; and the women of the eastern legations had come in their native costumes. the portly ladies of the cabinet were as resplendent as their position demanded, and the aristocracy of the senate and the women of fashion were equally fine. other women were there, wives of men important but poor, who walked unabashed in high-neck home-made frocks; and their pretty daughters, were as simple as themselves. one wore a cheese-cloth frock, and another a blue merino. the dames of the plutocracy were there, blazing with converted capital,--westerners for the most part, with hogsheads of money, who had come to the city of open doors to spend it. it was seldom they were in the same room with the old washingtonians, and when they were they sighed; then reminded themselves of recent dinners to people whose names were half the stock in trade of the daily press. sally carter, who regarded them through her lorgnette with much the same impersonal interest as she would accord to actors on the boards, wore a gown of azure satin trimmed with lace whose like was not to be found in the markets of the world. her hair was elaborately dressed, and her thin neck sufficiently covered by a curious old collar of pearls set with tiny miniatures. careless as she was by day, it often suited her to be very smart indeed by night. she looked brilliant; and jack emory, who had been commanded by betty to accept lady mary's invitation, did not leave her side. and she snubbed her more worldly-minded followers and devoted herself to his amusement. all the men wore evening clothes. it seemed to be an unwritten law that the politician should have his dress-suit did his wife wear serge for ever. consequently they presented a more uniformly fine appearance than their women, and most of them held themselves with a certain look of power. their faces were almost invariably keen and strong. few of the younger members of the house were here to-night, only those who had been in it so many years that they were high in political importance. among them the big round form and smooth round head of their present and perhaps most famous speaker were conspicuous: the united states was moving swiftly to the parting of the ways, and there are times when a speaker is a greater man than a president. what few authors washington boasts were there, as well as judges of the supreme court, scholars, architects, scientists, and journalists. and they moved amid great splendour. lady mary had thrown open her ball-room, and the walls looked like a lattice-work of american beauty roses and thorns. great bunches of the same expensive ornament swung from the ceiling, and the piano was covered with a quilt of them deftly woven together. the pale green drawing-room was as lavishly decorated with pink and white orchids and lilies of the valley. lady mary felt that she could vie in extravagance with the most ambitious in her husband's ambitious land. betty was entertaining four senators, the distinguished guest, and the speaker of the house when she caught a glimpse of senator north. she immediately became a trifle absent, and permitted senator shattuc, who liked to tell anecdotes of famous politicians, to take charge of the conversation. while he was thinking her the one woman in washington charming enough to establish a _salon_, she was congratulating herself that she should meet senator north again when she looked her best. she wore a wonderful new gown of mignonette green and ivory white, and many pearls in her warm hair and on her beautiful neck. she looked both regal and girlish, an effect she well knew how to produce. her head was thrown back and her eyes were sparkling with triumph as they met senator north's. he moved toward her at once. "i should be stupid to inquire after your health," he said as he shook her hand. "you are positively radiant. i shall ask instead if you still find time to come up and see us occasionally, and if we improve on acquaintance?" "i go very often indeed, but i have seen you only three times." "i have been north for a week, and in my committee room a good deal since my return." betty was determined not to let slip this opportunity. she resented the platitudes that are kept in stock by even the greatest minds, and wished that he would hold out a peremptory arm and lead her to some quiet corner and talk to her for an hour. but he evidently had a just man's appreciation of the rights of others, for he betrayed no intention to do anything of the kind. his eyes dwelt on her with frank admiration, but washington is the national headquarters of pretty women, and he doubtless contented himself with a passing glimpse of many. and this time betty felt the full force of the man's magnetism. she would have liked to put up a detaining hand and hold him there for the rest of the evening. even were there no chance for conversation, she would have liked to be close beside him. she forgot, that he was an ideal on a pedestal and shot him a challenging glance. "i have hoped that you would come up to the gallery and call on me," she said pointedly. he moved a step closer, then drew back. his face did not change. "i certainly shall when i am so fortunate as to see you up there," he said. "but the fourth of march is not far off, and the pressure accumulates. i am obliged to be in my committee room, as well as in other committee rooms, for the better part of every day. but if i can do anything for you, if there is any one you would care to meet, do not fail to let me know. send word to my room, and if possible i will go to you." betty looked at him helplessly. she wanted to ask him to call at her house on sunday, but felt a sudden diffidence. after all, why should he care to call on her? he had more important things to think of; and doubtless he spent his few leisure hours with some woman far more brilliant than herself. her head came down a trifle and she turned it away. he stood there a moment longer, then said,-- "good-night," and, after a few seconds' hesitation, and with unmistakable emphasis: "remember that it would give me the greatest possible pleasure to do anything for you i could." immediately after, he left the room. when she was alone an hour later, she anathematized herself for a fool. diffidence had no permanent part in her mental constitution. she was sure that if she could talk with him for thirty consecutive minutes she could interest him and attach him to her train. her pride, she felt, was now involved. she should estimate herself a failure unless she compelled senator north to forget the more experienced women of the political world and spend his leisure hours with her. she had been a brilliant success in other spheres, she would not fail in this. but two more weeks passed and she did not see him. he came neither to the floor of the senate within her experience of it, nor to the gallery. nor did he appear to care for society. few of the senators did, for that matter. they did not mind dining out, as they had to dine somewhere, and an agreeable and possibly handsome partner would give zest to any meal; but they were dragged to receptions and escaped as soon as they could. x betty rose suddenly from the breakfast-table and went into the library, carrying a half-read letter. she had felt her face flush and her hand tremble, and escaped from the servants into a room where she could think alone for hours, if she wished. the letter ran as follows:-- the parsonage, st. andrew, virginia. to miss elizabeth madison: dear madam,--i have a communication of a somewhat trying nature to make, and believe me; i would not make it were not my end very near. your father, dear madam, the late harold carter madison, left an illegitimate daughter by a woman whom he loved for many years, an octaroon named cassandra lee. before his death he gave poor cassie a certain sum of money, and made her promise to leave washington and never return. she came here and devoted the few remaining years of her life to the care of her child. i and my wife were the only persons who knew her story, and when she was dying we willingly promised to take the little one. for the last ten years harriet has lived here in the parsonage and has been the only child i have ever known,--a dearly beloved child. she has been carefully educated and is a lady in every sense of the word. i had until the last two years a little school, and she was my chief assistant. but the public school proved more attractive--and doubtless is more thorough--and this passed from me. last year my wife died. now i am going, and very rapidly. i have only just learned the nature of my illness, and i may be dead before you receive this letter. i write to beg you to receive your sister. there is no argument i can use, dear lady, which your own conscience will not dictate. you will not be ashamed of her. she shows not a trace of the taint in her blood. the money your father gave cassie has gone long since, but harriet asks no alms of you, only that you will help her to go somewhere far from those who know that she is not as white as she looks, and to give her a chance to earn her living. she is well fitted to be a governess or companion, and no doubt you could easily place her. but she is lonely and frightened and miserable. be merciful and receive her into your home for a time. "i dare not write this to your mother. she has no cause to feel warmly to harriet. but you are young, and wealthy in your own right. her future rests with you. here in this village she can do absolutely nothing, and after i am buried she will not have enough to keep her for a month. answer to her--she bears my name." i am, dear lady, your humble and obd't servant, abraham walker. p. s. harriet is twenty-three. she has letters in her possession which prove her parentage. betty's first impulse was to take the next train for st. andrew. her heart went out to the lonely girl, deprived of her only protector, wretched under the triple load of poverty, friendlessness, and the curse of race. she remembered vividly those two men in the church whose bearing expressed more forcibly than any words the canker that had blighted their manhood. and this girl bore no visible mark of the wrong that had been done her, and only needed the opportunity to be happy and respected. could duty be more plain? and was she a chosen instrument to right one at least of the great wrongs perpetrated by the brilliant, warm-hearted, reckless men of her race? but in a moment she shuddered and dropped the letter, a wave of horror and disgust rising within her. this girl was her half-sister, and was, light or dark, a negress. betty had seen too much of the world in her twenty-seven years to weep at the discovery of her father's weakness, or to shrink from a woman so unhappy as to be born out of wedlock; but she was southern to her finger-tips: the blacks were a despised, an unspeakably inferior race, and they had been slaves for hundreds of years to the white man. to be sure, she loved the old family servants, and rarely said a harsh word to them, and it was a matter of indifference to her that they had been freed, as she had plenty of money to pay their wages. but that the negro should vote had always seemed to her incredible and monstrous, and she laughed to herself when she met on the streets the smartly dressed coloured folk out for a walk. they seemed farcically unreal, travesties on the people to whom a discriminating almighty had given the world. to her the entire race were first slaves, then servants, entitled to all kindness so long as they kept their place, but to be stepped on the moment they presumed. she recoiled in growing disgust from this girl with the hidden drop of black in her body. but her reasoning faculty was accustomed to work independently of her brain's inherited impressions. she stamped her foot and anathematized herself for a narrow-minded creature whose will was weaker than her prejudices. the girl was blameless, helpless. she might have a mind as good as her own, be as well fitted to enjoy the higher pleasures of life. and she might have a beauty and a temperament which would be her ruin did her natural protectors tell her that she was a pariah, an outcast, that they could have none of her. betty conjured her up, a charming and pathetic vision; but in vain. the repulsion was physical, inherited from generations of proud and intolerant women, and she could not control it. she longed desperately for a confidant and adviser. her mother she could not speak to until she had made up her mind. emory and sally carter would tell her to give the creature an allowance and think no more about her; and the matter went deeper than that. the girl had heart and an educated mind; her demands were subtle and complex. senator burleigh? he would laugh impatiently at her prejudices, and tell her that she ought to go out and live in the free fresh air of the west. they probably would quarrel irremediably. mary montgomery would only stare. betty could hear her exclaim: "but why? what? and you say she is quite white? i do not think that negroes are as nice as white people, of course; but i cannot understand your really tragic aversion." there was only one person to whom it would be a luxury to talk, senator north. she knew that he would not only understand but sympathize with her, and she was sure he would give her wise counsel. she regretted bitterly that she had not been able to make a friend of him, as she had of several of his colleagues. she would have sent for him without hesitation. she glanced at the clock; it pointed to ten minutes past ten. he was doubtless at that moment in his committee room looking over his correspondence. she knew that senators received letters at the rate of a hundred a day, and were early risers in consequence. if only she dared to go to him, if only he were not so desperately busy. but he had intimated that he had leisure moments, had taken the trouble to say that it would give him pleasure to serve her. why should he not? what if he were a senator? was she not a woman? why should she of all women hesitate to demand a half-hour's time of any man? she needed advice, must have it: a decision should be reached in the next twenty-four hours. not for a second did she admit that she was building up an excuse for the long-desired interview with senator north. she was a woman confronted with a solemn problem. her coupe was at the door; she had planned a morning's shopping. she ran upstairs and dressed herself for the street, wondering what order she would give the footman. she changed her mind hurriedly twenty times, but was careful to select the most becoming street-frock she possessed, a gentian blue cloth trimmed with sable. there were three hats to match it, and she tried on each, to the surprise of her maid, who usually found her easy to please. she finally decided upon a small toque which was made to set well back from her face into the heavy waves of her hair. she was too wise to wear a veil, for her complexion was flawless, her forehead low and full, and her hair arranged loosely about it; she wore no fringe. as the footman closed the door of the coupe and she said curtly, "the capitol," she knew that her mind had made itself up in the moment that it had conceived the possibility of a call upon senator north. that point settled, she was calm until she reached the familiar entrance to the senate wing, and rehearsed the coming interview. but her cheeks were hot and her knees were trembling as she left the elevator and hurried down the corridor to the committee room which burleigh, when showing her over the building one morning, had pointed out as senator north's. she never had felt so nervous. she wondered if women felt this sudden terror of the outraged proprieties when hastening to a tryst of which the world must know nothing. and she was overwhelmed with the vivid consciousness that she was actually about to demand the time and attention of one of the busiest and most eminent men in the country. if it had not been for a stubborn and long-tried will, she would have turned and run. a mulatto was sitting before the door. when she asked, with a successful attempt at composure, for senator north, he demanded her card. she happened to have one in her purse, and he went into the room and closed the door, leaving her to be stared at by the strolling sight-seers. the mulatto reopened the door and invited her to enter a large room with a long table, a bookcase, and a number of leather chairs. before he had led her far, senator north appeared within the doorway of an inner room. "i am glad to see you," he said. "i know that you are in trouble or you would not have done me this honour. it is an honour, and as i told you before i shall feel it a privilege to serve you in any way. sit here, by the fire." betty felt so grateful for his effort to put her at her ease, so delighted that he was all her imagination had pictured, and had not snubbed her in what she conceived to be the superior senatorial manner, that she flung herself into the easy-chair and burst into tears. senator north knew women as well as a man can. he let the storm pass, poked the already glowing fire, and lowered two of the window-shades. "i feel so stupid," said betty, calming herself abruptly. "i have no right to take up your time, and i shall say what i have to say and go." "i have practically nothing to do for the next hour. please consider it yours." betty stole a glance at him. he was leaning back in his chair regarding her intently. it was impossible to say whether his eyes had softened or not, but he looked kind and interested. "i never have told you that your father was a great friend of mine," he said. "you really have a claim on me." in spite of the fact that the congressional directory gave him sixty years, he looked anything but fatherly. although there never was the slightest affectation of youth in his dress or manner, he suggested threescore years as little. so strong was his individuality that betty could not imagine him having been at any time other than he was now. he was senator north, that was the rounded fact; years had nothing to do with him. "well, i'm glad you knew papa; it will help you to understand. i--but perhaps you had better read this." she took the clergyman's letter from her muff, and senator north put on a pair of steel-rimmed eyeglasses and read it. when he had finished he put the eyeglasses in his pocket, folded the letter, and handed it to her. he had read the contents with equal deliberation. it seemed impossible that he would act otherwise in any circumstance. "well?" he said, looking keenly at her. "what are you going to do about it?" "i am ashamed to tell you how i have felt. but we southerners feel so strongly on--on--that subject--it is difficult to explain!" "we northerners know exactly how you feel," he said dryly. "we should be singularly obtuse if we did not. however, do not for a moment imagine that i am unsympathetic. we all have our prejudices, and the strongest one is a part of us. and for the matter of that, the average american is no more anxious to marry a woman with negro blood in her than the southerner is, and looks down upon the black from almost as lofty a height. only our prejudice is passive, for he is not the constant source of annoyance and anxiety with us that he is with you." "then you understand how repulsive it is to me to have a sister who is white by accident only, and how torn i am between pity for her and a physical antipathy that i cannot overcome?" "i understand perfectly." "that is why i have come to you--to ask you what i _must_ do. this is the first time i have been confronted by a real problem; my life has been so smooth and my trials so petty. it is too great a problem for me to solve by myself, and i could not think of anybody's advice but yours that--that i would take," she finished, with her first flash of humour. "i fully expect you to take the advice i am going to give you. your duty is plain; you must do all you can for this girl. but by no means receive her into your house until you have made her acquaintance. take the ten o'clock b. & o. to-morrow morning and go to st. andrew; it is about four hours' journey and on the line of the railroad. spend several hours with the girl, and, if she is worth the trouble, bring her back with you and do all you can for her: it would be cruel and heartless to refuse her consolation if she is all this old man describes--and you are not cruel and heartless. and if this drop of black blood is abhorrent to you, think what it must be to her. it is enough to torment a high-strung woman into insanity or suicide. on the other hand, if she is common, or looks as if she had a violent temper, or is conceited and self-sufficient like so many of that hybrid race, settle an income on her and send her to europe: in placing her above temptation you will have done your duty." "but that is the whole point--to be sure that _you_ do the right thing." "i almost hope she will be impossible, so that i can wipe her off the slate at once. otherwise it will be a terrible problem." "it is no problem at all. there is no problem in plain duty. problems exist principally in works of fiction and in the minds of unoccupied women. if you meet each development of every question in the most natural and reasonable manner,--presupposing that you possess that highest attribute of civilization, common-sense,--no question will ever resolve itself into a problem. and difficulties usually disappear as the range of vision contracts. if your house takes fire, you save what you can, not what you have elaborately planned to save in case of fire. train your common-sense and let the windy analysis pertaining to problems alone." "but how can i ever get over the horror of the thing, mr. north?" "you will forget all about it when she has been your daily companion for a few weeks. if she lacked a nose, you would as soon cease to remember it. if this girl is worth liking, you will like her, and soon cease to feel tragic. leave that to her!" "i know that you are right, and of course i shall take your advice. i did not come here to trouble you for nothing. but if i liked her at first and not afterward--" "pack her off to europe. europe will console an american woman for every ill in life. if you take the right attitude in the beginning, it all rests with her after that. you will have but one duty further. if she wishes to marry, you must tell the man the truth, if she will not. don't hesitate on that point a moment. her children are liable to be coal-black. that african blood seems to have a curse on it, and the curse is usually visited on the unoffending." "i will, i will," said betty. she rose, and he rose also and took her hand in both of his. she felt an almost irresistible desire to put her head on his shoulder, for she was tired and depressed. "your attitude in the matter is the important thing to me," he said. "that is why i have spoken so emphatically. you are a child yet, in spite of your twenty-seven years and your admirable intelligence. this is practically your first trial, the first time you have been called upon to make a decision which, either way, is bound to have a strong effect on your character, and to affect still greater decisions you may be called upon to make in the future. you have only one defect; you are not quite serious enough--yet." "i feel very serious just now," said betty, with a sigh; and in truth she did, and her new-found sister was not the only thing that perplexed her. "one of these days you will be a singularly perfect woman," he added, and then he dropped her hand and walked to the door. as he was about to open it, she touched his arm timidly. "will you come and see me on sunday?" she asked. "i shall have been through a good deal between now and then, and i shall want--i shall want to talk to you." "i will come," he said. "not before half-past four. my mother will be asleep then, and my cousin, jack emory, have gone home--there will be so many things i shall want to talk to you about." "i shall be there at half-past four," he said. "good-bye. good-bye." xi betty went home to her room and cried steadily for an hour. she would not analyze the complex source of her emotions, but addressed a bitter reproach to her father's shade; and she reassured herself by frankly admitting that it would give her pleasure to win the approval of senator north. she bathed her eyes and went to her mother's room. the sooner that ordeal was over, she reflected, the better. mrs. madison was reading an amusing novel and looked up with a smile, then pushed the book aside. "have you been crying, darling?" she asked. "what can be the matter?" betty told her story without preamble. her mother's nerves could stand a shock, but not three minutes of uncertainty. mrs. madison listened with more equanimity than betty anticipated. "i suppose i may consider myself fortunate that i have not had one of his brats thrust on me before," she remarked philosophically. "what are we to do about this creature?" "there is only one human thing to do. it is not her fault, and she is very wretched at present. and now that i know the truth i suppose i am as responsible as my father would be if he were alive. i shall go to see her to-morrow, and if she is presentable and seems good i shall bring her to washington. of course i shall not bring her here without your permission--it is your house. let me read you his letter." "do you feel very strongly on the subject?" mrs. madison asked when betty had finished. "oh, i do! i do! i will promise not to bring her to washington at all if she is impossible, but if she is all i feel sure she must be, let me bring her here for a few weeks, until we have decided what to do for her. i know it is a great deal to ask--her presence cannot fail to be hateful to you--" "my dear, i have outlived any feeling of that sort, and i have not put everything on your shoulders all these years to thwart you now, when you feel so deeply. moreover, an old memory came to me while you were reading that letter. when i was a little girl, about eight or ten, i spent an entire summer with aunt mary eager at her home in virginia. she had a house full, and there were five other little girls beside myself. a brook ran across the foot of the plantation, and we were very fond of playing there. directly across was the hut of a freed slave who had a little girl about our own age. the child was a beautiful octaroon. i can see her plainly, with her honey-coloured skin, her immense black eyes, her long straight black hair, and her stiff little white frock tucked to the waist. her mother took the greatest pride in her, and was always changing her clothes. "every day she used to come to the edge of her side of the brook and watch us. we never noticed her, for although we often played with the little black piccaninnies, the yellow child of a freed slave was another matter. one day--i think she had watched us for about a week--she came half-way across the bridge. we stared at each other, but took no notice of her. the next day she walked straight across and up to us, and asked us very nicely if she might play with us. we turned upon her six scarlet scandalized faces, and what we said, in what brutal child language, i do not care to repeat. the child stared at us for a moment as if she were looking into the inferno itself, and i expect she was, poor little soul! then she gave a cry, and tore across the bridge and up the 'pike as hard as she could run. as long as we could see her she was running, and as i never saw her again--we avoided the brook after that--it seemed to me for years as if she must be running still. and for years those flying feet haunted me, and i used to long as i grew older to do penance in some way. i befriended many a poor yellow girl, hoping she might be that child. then life grew too sad for me to remember the sins of my childhood. but i like the idea of making penance at this late day and receiving this girl for a few weeks into my house: it will be a penance, for i do not fancy sitting at the table with a woman with negro blood in her veins, i can assure you. but i shall do it. i believe if i did not i should be haunted again by those little flying feet. there is no chance of this being her daughter, for she would have been too old to attract your father's fancy. but that is not the point. i make one condition. no one must know the truth, not even sally or jack. she must pass for a distant relative, left suddenly destitute." "she would probably be the last to wish the truth known. but you have taken a weight off my mind, molly dear, and i am deeply grateful to you." xii the next day betty left the train a few minutes after two o'clock and walked up the winding street of a small village to the parsonage. she passed a number of cottages picturesquely dilapidated, a store in which a half-dozen men were smoking, and about thirty lounging negroes. on rising ground was a large house, but the village looked forlorn, neglected, almost lifeless. the men in the store came out and stared at her; so did the women from the cottages. and the negroes stood still. doubtless they thought her a wealthy vision; the day was cold, and she wore a brown cloth dress and a sable jacket and toque. "what a life for an intelligent woman!" she thought, glancing about her with deep distaste. "it would be enough to induce melancholia without the 'taint.'" she had made a desperate effort in the last twenty-four hours to overcome her repugnance, but had only succeeded in making sure that she could conceal it. she had recalled her interview with senator north again and again. his indubitable interest gave her courage, and a desire to use the best that was in her. and she had turned her mind more often still to those men in the church and the sentiments they had inspired. the shutters of the parsonage were closed, there was crape on the door. betty turned the knob and entered. a number of people were in a room on the right of the hall. at the head of the room, barely out-lined in the heavy shadows, was a coffin on its trestle. the house smelt musty and damp. betty pushed back the door and let in the bright winter sunlight. some one rose from the group beside the coffin and came slowly forward. betty waited, clinching her hands in her muff, her breath coming shorter. the dark figure in the dark room looked like the shadow of death itself. but it was not superstition that made betty brace herself. in a moment the figure had stepped into the sunlight beside her. betty had imagined the girl handsome; she was not prepared for splendid beauty. harriet walker was far above the ordinary height of woman, and very slender and graceful. her hair and eyes were black, her skin smooth and white, her features aquiline. hauteur should have been her natural expression, but her eyes were dreamy and melancholy, her mouth discontented. betty, in that first rapid survey, detected but two flaws in her beauty: her chin was weak and her hands were coarse. "you are miss madison," she said, with the monotonous inflection of grief. "thank you for coming." "i am your half-sister," said betty, putting out her hand. and then the desire to use the best that was in her overcame the repugnance that made her very knees shake, and she put her arms about the girl and kissed her. "you are mighty kind," said the other. "will you come into my room?" betty followed her into a small room, simpler than any in her own servants' quarter. but it was neat, and there was an attempt at smartness in the bright calico curtains and bedspread. the furniture looked home-made, and there was no carpet on the floor. "poor girl! poor girl!" exclaimed betty, impulsively. "have you ever been happy--here?" "well, i don't reckon i've been very happy, ever; but i've given some happiness and i've been loved and sheltered. that is something to be thankful for in this world." "i am going to take you away," said betty, abruptly. "mr. walker wrote me that you'd be willing to come." "oh, yes, i'll go, i reckon. i told him i would. i want to hold up my head. here i never have, for everybody knows. the white men all round here insulted me until they got tired of trying to make me notice them. one of the young men up on the plantation fell in love with me, and they sent him away and he was drowned at sea. he never knew that i had the black in my blood, and he had asked me to marry him. they did not tell him the truth, for they feared he would then wish to make me his mistress." she spoke without passion, with a deep and settled melancholy, as if her intelligence had forbidden her to combat the inevitable. betty burst into tears. "don't cry," said the other. "i never do--any more. i used to. and if you'll kindly take me away, i know i'll feel as if i were born over. if there is anything in this world to enjoy, be right sure i shall enjoy it. i'm young yet, and i reckon nobody was made to be sad for ever." "you shall be happy," exclaimed betty. "i will see to that. i pledge myself to it. i will make you forget--everything." harriet shook her head. "not everything. somewhere in my body, hidden away, but there, is a black vein, the blood of slaves. i might get to be happy with lots of books and kind people and no one to despise me for what i can't help, but every night i'd remember _that_, and then i reckon i'd feel mighty bad." "you think so now," said betty, soothingly, and longing for consolation herself. "but when you are surrounded by friends who love you for what you are, by all that goes to make life comfortable and--and--gay; it seems terribly soon to speak of it, but i shall take you to all the theatres and buy you beautiful clothes, and i shall settle on you what your father left me: it is only right you should have it and feel independent. you will travel and see all the beautiful things in europe. oh, i know that in time you will forget. when you are away from all that reminds, you cannot fail to forget." harriet, who had followed betty's words with an eager lifting of her heavy eyelids and almost a smile on her mouth, brought her lips together as betty ceased speaking, and held out her hand. "do you see nothing?" she asked. betty took the hand in hers. "what do you mean?" she demanded. "all that--the roughness--will wear off. it will be gone in a month." "there is something there that will never wear off. look right hard at the finger-nails." betty lifted the hand to her face, vaguely recalling observations of her mother when discussing suspicious looking brunettes seen in the north. there was a faint bluish stain at the base of the nails; and she remembered. it was the outward and indelible print of the hidden vein within. the nails are the last stronghold of negro blood. she dropped the hand with an uncontrollable shudder and covered her face with her muff. "i feel so horribly sorry for you," she said hastily. "it seemed to me for the moment as if your trouble were my own." if the girl understood, she made no sign; hers had been a life of self-control, and she had been despised from her birth. "tell me what you wish me to do now," said betty, lifting her head. "when can you leave here? do you wish me to stay with you? is it impossible for you to go to-day?" "i cannot leave him until he is buried. and you couldn't stay here. this is tuesday. i'll go thursday." betty thrust a roll of bills into a drawer. "they are yours by right," she said hurriedly. "go first to richmond and get a handsome black frock; you will be sure to find what you want ready made, and it will be better--on account of the servants--for you to look well when you arrive. spend it all. there is plenty more. buy all sorts of nice things. i will go now. there is a train soon. telegraph when you start for washington and i will meet you. good by, and please be sure that i shall make you happy." harriet walked out to the gate, and betty saw that there were fine lines on her brow and about her mouth. but she was very beautiful, sombre and blighted as she was. she clung to betty for a moment at parting, then went rapidly into the house. when betty reached the street, she restrained an impulse to run, but she walked faster than she had ever walked in her life, persuading herself that she feared to miss her train. she waited three quarters of an hour for it, and there were four dreary hours more before she saw the dome of the capitol. she arrived at home with a splitting headache and an animal craving to lock herself in her room and get into bed. for the time being no mortal interested her, she was exhausted and emotionless. she described the interview briefly to her mother, then sought the solitude she craved. and as she was young and healthy, she soon fell asleep. xiii when she awoke next morning she arose and dressed herself at once: in bed the will loses its control over thought, and she wished to think as little as possible. but her mind reverted to the day before, in spite of her will, and she laughed suddenly and went to her desk and wrote on a slip of paper,-- "every woman writes with one eye on the page and one eye on some man, except the countess hahn-hahn, who has only one eye."--heine. "some day when i know him better i will give him this," she thought, and put the slip into a drawer by itself. the load of care had lifted itself and gone. she had done the right thing, the momentous question was settled for the present, and betty madison had merely to shake her shoulders and enjoy life again. she threw open the window and let in the sun. there had been a rain-storm in the night and then a severe frost. the ice glistened on the naked trees, encasing and jewelling them. a park near by looked as if the crystal age of the world had come. the bronze equestrian statue within that little wood of radiant trees alone defied the ice-storm, as if the dignity of the death it represented rebuked the lavish hand of nature. betty felt happy and elated, and blew a kiss to the beauty about her. she always had had a large fund of the purely animal joy in being alive, but to-day she was fully conscious that the tremulous quality of her gladness was due to the knowledge that she should see senator north within five more days and the light of approval in his eyes. exactly what her feeling for him was she made no attempt to define. she did not care. it was enough that the prospect of seeing him made her happier than she ever had felt before. that might go on indefinitely and she would ask for nothing more. her recent contact with the serious-practical side of life--as distinct from the serious-intellectual which she had cultivated more than once--had terrified her; she wanted the pleasant, thrilling, unformulated part. for the first time one of her ideals had come forth from the mists of fancy and filled her vision as a man; and he was become the strongest influence in her life. as yet he was unaware of this honour, and she doubtless occupied a very small corner of his thought; but he was interested at last, and he was coming to see her. and then he would come again and again, and she would always feel this same glad quiver in her soul. she felt no regret that she could not marry him; the question of marriage but brushed her mind and was dismissed in haste. that was a serious subject, glum indeed, and dark. she was glad that circumstance limited her imagination to the happy present. she felt sixteen, and as if the world were but as old. love and the intellect have little in common. they can jog along side by side and not exchange a comment. "come down and take a walk," cried a staccato voice. sally carter was standing on the sidewalk, her head thrown back. betty nodded, put on her things and ran downstairs. miss carter was wrapped in an old cape, and her turban was on one side, but she looked rosier than usual. "i've been half-way out to chevy chase," she said, "and i was just thinking of paying poor old general lathom a visit. he does look so well in bronze, poor old dear, and all that ice round him will make him seem like an ogre in fairy-land. he wasn't a bit of an ogre, he was downright afraid of me." "i suppose a man really feels as great a fool as he looks when he is proposing to a woman he is not sure of. i wonder why they ever do. after i gave up coquetting, came to the conclusion that it wasn't honest, they proposed just the same." "some women unconsciously establish a habit of being proposed to. i've had very few proposals, and i know several really beautiful women who have had practically none. as i said, it's a habit, and you can't account for it." "i went yesterday to virginia to call on a relative who has just lost her last adopted parent," said betty, abruptly, "and she looked so forlorn that i asked her to visit us for a while. i hope you'll like her." "ah? she must be some relation of mine, too. you and i are third cousins." "don't ask me to straighten it out. the ramifications of southern kinships are beyond me. she is a beauty--very dark and tragic." "that is kind of you--to run the risk of senator burleigh going off at a tangent," said miss carter, sharply. "by the way, you cannot deny that you have given him encouragement; you have neither eyes nor ears for any one else when he is round." "he is usually the most interesting person 'round;' and i have a concentrative mind. but i never intend to marry, and senator burleigh has never even looked as if he wanted to propose. by the way, molly has actually asked him to come to the adirondacks for a few days. can't you and your father come for a month or two? jack has promised to stay with us the whole summer, and we'll be quite a family party." "yes, i will," said miss carter, promptly. "i haven't been in the adirondacks for six years and i should love it." "harriet walker--that's our new cousin--will be with us too, most likely. she looks delicate, and i shall try to persuade her that she needs the pines." "ah! look out for the senator--in the dark pine forests on the mountain." "i don't know why you should be so concerned for me. i usually have kept an admirer as long as i wanted him." "oh, no offence, dear. the dark and tragic lady merely filled my eye at the moment. by the way, mrs. north thinks of going to the lake hotel this summer. isn't that close by your place?" "it is just across the lake. there is your old general. he does look like an ogre, and he's got a patch of green mould on his nose. you ought to take better care of him." "he looks so much better than he did in life that i have no fault to find. the doctor has told mrs. north that the pine forests may do her all the good in the world, prolong her life, and mr. north has written to see if he can get an entire wing for her. i hope he can go too, but he always seems to have so much to do at home in summer. i do like him. he's the only man i know who, i feel positive, never could make a fool of himself." "i am half starved. come home and have your breakfast with me." "i should like to. senator north--" "there is mr. burleigh on horseback--with mr. montgomery. he _will_ look well in bronze--but they only put generals on horseback, don't they? there--he sees me. i am going to ask them to come in to breakfast." "i believe you like him better than you think, my dear. your eyes shine like two suns, and i never saw you look so happy." "the morning is so beautiful and i am so glad that i am alive. i know exactly how much i like mr. burleigh." xiv "do all southerners make such delicious coffee?" asked senator burleigh, as the four sat about the attractive table in the breakfast-room. "the southerners are the only cooks in the united states," announced miss carter. "the real difference between the south and the north is that one enjoys itself getting dyspepsia and the other does not." "there are just six kinds of hot bread on this table," said burleigh, meditatively. "and no pie and no doughnuts. mr. montgomery, you are really a southerner--ar'n't you glad to get back to darky cooks?" "i was until we began on this tariff bill, and now there is not an object you can mention, edible or otherwise, that i don't loathe." "the details of such a bill must be maddening," said betty, sympathetically, "but, after all, it is an honour to be on the ways and means committee. there is compensation in everything." "i don't know. when a man lobbyist tries to find out your weak spot and play on it, you can kick him out of the house, but when they set a woman at you, all you can do is to bow and say: 'my dear madam, it is with the greatest regret i am obliged to inform you that i have sat up every night until three o'clock studying this subject, and that i have made up my mind.' whereupon she talks straight ahead and hints at trouble with certain constituents next year who want free coal and an exorbitant duty on zante currants, raisins, wine, and wool. the whole army of lobbyists have camped on my doorstep ever since we began to draw up this bill. how they find time to camp on any one's else would make an interesting study in ubiquity." "i am afraid some of your ideals have been shattered, and i am afraid you are shattering some of miss madison's," said burleigh, smiling into betty's disgusted face. "i hate the dirty work of politics," said montgomery, gloomily. "of course it doesn't demoralize you so long as you keep your own hands clean, but it is sickening to suspect that you are sitting cheek by jowl in the committee room with a man whose pocket is stuffed with some trust company's shares." "i used to hate it, but i don't see any remedy until we have an educated generation of high-class politicians, and i think that millennium is not far off. as matters stand, there is bound to be a certain percentage of scoundrels and of men too weak to resist a bribe in a great and shifting body like the house. any scoundrel feels that he can slink among the rest unseen. the old members who have been returned term after term since they began to grow stubby beards on their cast-iron chins are an argument against rotation; they have had a chance to acquire the confidence of the public, they are experienced legislators, and they are incorruptible." betty drew a long sigh of relief. "you have cleared up the atmosphere a little," she said. "i thought i was going to learn that the house, at least, was one hideous mass of corruption, praying for burial." "that is what they think of us outside," said montgomery. "we might as well all be gangrene, for we get the credit of it." "i don't like your similes," said miss carter; "i haven't finished my breakfast. mr. burleigh, you've put on your senatorial manner and i like you better without it. i thought you were going to say, 'don't interrupt, please,' or 'would you kindly be quiet until i finish?' at least twice." "i beg pardon humbly. i am flattered to know that you have thought it worth while to listen to any remarks i may have been forced to make in the senate." "i have been twice to the gallery with betty, and both times you were talking like a steam-engine and warning people off the track." it was so apt a description of burleigh's style when on his feet that even he laughed. "i don't like to be interrupted or contradicted," he said, "i frankly admit it." "better not marry an american girl." "some englishwomen have wills of their own," remarked mr. montgomery. "some men are tyrants in public life and slaves at home--to a beautiful woman," remarked senator burleigh. "some men are so clever," said miss carter. "give me another waffle, please." xv betty went to the senate gallery that afternoon for the first time in several days. it was hard work to keep up with the calling frenzy of washington and cultivate one's intellect at the same time. there was no one in the private gallery but an old man with a hayseed beard and horny hands. he sat on the first chair in the front row, but rose politely to let betty pass; and she took off her veil and jacket and gloves and settled herself for a comfortable afternoon. she felt almost as much at home in this family section of the senate gallery as in her own room with a copy of the congressional record in her hand. sometimes save for herself it would be empty, when every other gallery, but the diplomats', of that fine amphitheatre would be nearly full. it was crowded, however, when it was unofficially known that a favourite senator would speak, or an important bill on the calendar provoke a debate. leontine no longer accompanied her mistress; she had threatened to leave unless exempted from political duty. to-day a distinguished senator on the other side of the chamber was attacking with caustic emphasis a republican measure. he was the only man in the senate with a real uncle sam beard. senator shattuc's waved like a golden fan from his powerful jaw; but the democratic appendage opposite was long and narrow, and whisked over the senator's shoulder like the tail of a comet, when he became heated in controversy. it was flying about at a great rate to-day, and betty was watching it with much interest, when a proud voice remarked in her ear,-- "that's my senator, marm. he's powerful eloquent, ain't he?" betty nodded. "he's quite a leader." "i allow he is. he's been leadin' in our state fur twenty years. i allus wanted to hear him speak in congress, and when i called on him last monday--when i come to washington--he told me to come up here to-day and hear him, and he would set me in the senators' gallery. and he did." his voice became a distant humming in betty's ears. senator north had entered and taken his seat. he apparently settled himself to listen to the speech, and he looked as calm and unhurried as usual. "that's north," whispered the old man. "there wuz a lady in here a spell since who pinted a lot of 'em out to me. he looks a little too hard and stern to suit me. i like the kind that slaps you on the back and says 'howdy.' now senator north, he never would: i know plenty that knows him. he's aristocratic; and i don't like his politics, neither. i allus suspicion that politicians ain't all right when they're aristocratic." "he does not happen to be a politician." "hey?" "don't you want to listen to your senator? he is very eloquent." "he's been speakin' fur an hour steady," said the visitor to washington, philosophically. "i kinder thought i'd like to talk to you a spell. hev you seen the new library?" "oh, yes; i live here." "do ye? well, you're lucky. for this city's so grand it's jest a pleasure to walk around. and that library's the most beautiful buildin' i ever saw in all my seventy-two years. i've been twice a day to look at it, and it makes me feel proud to be an amurrican. if paradise is any more beautiful than that there buildin', i do want to go there." betty smiled with the swift sympathy she always felt for genuine simplicity, and the old man's pride in his country's latest achievement was certainly touching. she refrained from telling him that she thought the red and yellow ceilings hideous, and delighted him with the assurance that it was the finest modern building in the world. "what's happened to ye?" he asked sharply, a moment later. "you've straightened up and thrown back your head as if ye owned the hull senate." senator north had wheeled about slowly and glanced up at the private gallery. then he had risen abruptly and gone into the cloak-room. "perhaps i do," said betty. she spoke thickly. it seemed incredible that he was coming up to the gallery at last. she had another humble moment and felt it to be a great honour. but she smiled so brilliantly at the old man that he grinned with delight. "i presume you're the darter of one of these here senators," he said; "one of the rich ones. you look as if ye hed it all your own way in life, and seein' as you're young and pretty, meanin' no offence, i'm glad you hev. is your pa one of the leadin' six?" "my father is dead." she heard the door open and turned her head quickly. it was senator shattuc who had entered. he walked rapidly down the aisle, took a seat in the second row of chairs, and gave her a hearty grip of the hand. "how are you?" he asked. "i was glad to see you were up here. you always look so pleased with the world that it does me good to get a glimpse of you." betty liked senator shattuc, and held him in high esteem, but at that moment she would willingly have set fire to his political beard. she was used to self-control, however, and she chatted pleasantly with him for ten minutes, while her heart seemed to descend to a lower rib, and her brain reiterated that eternal question of woman which must reverberate in the very ears of time himself. he came at last, and senator shattuc amiably got up and let him pass in, then took the chair behind the old man and asked him a few good-natured questions before turning to betty again. "i started to come some time ago," said senator north, "but i was detained in one of the corridors. it is hard to escape being buttonholed. this time it was by a young woman from my state who wants a position in the pension office. if it had been a man i should have ordered him about his business, but of course one of your charming sex in distress is another matter. however, i got rid of her, and here i am." "i knew you were coming. i should have waited for you." now that he was there she subdued her exuberance of spirit; but she permitted her voice to soften and her eyes to express something more than hospitality. he was looking directly into them, and his hard powerful face was bright with pleasure. "it suddenly occurred to me that you might be up here," he said; "and i lost no time finding out." he lowered his voice. "did you go? has it turned out all right?" "yes, i went! i'll tell you all about it on sunday. i never had such a painful experience." "well, i'm glad you had it. you would have felt a great deal worse if you had shirked it. however--yes?" senator shattuc was asking him if he thought the democratic senator was in his usual form. "no," he said, "i don't. what is he wasting his wind for, anyway? we'll pass the bill, and he's all right with his constituents. they know there's no more rabid watch-dog of the treasury in america." "i suspect it does him good to bark at us," said senator shattuc. the old man looked uneasy. "ain't that a great speech?" he asked. the two senators laughed. "well, it's better than some," said shattuc. "and few can make a better when he's got a subject worthy of him," he added kindly. "that's perlite, seein' as you're a republican. i allow as i'll go. good-day, marm. i'll never forgit as how you told me you'd bin all over yurrup and that there ain't no modern buildin' so fine as our new library. good-day to ye, sirs." senator shattuc shook him warmly by the hand. senator north nodded, and betty gave him a smile which she meant to be cordial but was a trifle absent. she wished that senator shattuc would follow him, but he sat down again at once. he, too, felt at home in that gallery, and it had never occurred to him that one senator might be more welcome there than another. senator north's face hardened, and betty, fearing that he would go, said hurriedly,-- "ar'n't you ever going to speak again? i have heard you only once." "i rarely make set speeches, although i not infrequently engage in debate--when some measure comes up that needs airing." "you ought to speak oftener, north," said senator shattuc. "you always wake us up." "you have no business to go to sleep. if i talked when i had nothing to say, you'd soon cease to be waked up. our friend over there has put three of our esteemed colleagues to sleep. he'll clear the galleries in a moment and interfere with norris's record.--i suppose you have never seen that memorable sight," he said to betty: "an entire gallery audience get up and walk out when a certain senator takes the floor?" "how very rude!" "the great american public loves a show, and when the show is not to its taste it has no hesitation in making its displeasure known." "why do you despise the great american public? you never raise your voice so that any one in the second row up here can hear you." "i have no love for the gallery. nor do i talk to constituents. when it is necessary to talk to my colleagues, i do so, and it matters little to me whether the reporters and the public hear me or not. when my constituents are particularly anxious to know what stand i have taken on a certain question, i have the speech printed and send it to them; but as a rule they take my course for granted and let me alone." "but tell me, mr. north," said betty, squaring about and putting her questions so pointedly that he, perforce, must answer them, "would you really not like to make a speech down there that would thrill the nation, as the speeches of clay and webster used to? and you could make a speech like that. _why_ don't you?" "my dear miss madison, if i attempted to thrill the american people by lofty emotions and an impassioned appeal to their higher selves, i should only bring down a storm of ridicule from seven-eighths of the american press. i could survive that, for i should not read it, but my effort would be thrown away. the people to whom it was directed would feel ashamed of what thrill was left in it after it had reached them through the only possible medium. this is the age--in this country--of hard practical sense without any frills, or thrills. it is true that there is a certain amount of sham oratory surviving in the senate, but the very fact that it is sham protects it from the press. the real thing would irritate and alarm the spirits of mediocrity and sensationalism which dominate the press to-day. a sensational speech, one in which a man makes a fool of himself, it delights in, and it encourages him by half a column of head-lines. a speech by a great man, granted that we had one, carried away by lofty patriotism and striving to raise his country, if only for a moment, to his own pure altitude, would make the press feel uneasy and resentful, and it would neutralize every word he uttered by the surest of all acids, ridicule. an american statesman of to-day must be content to legislate quietly, to use his intellect and his patriotism in the committee room, and to keep a sharp eye on the bills brought forward by other committees. as for speeches, those look best in the record which make no appeal to the gallery. there, you cannot say i have not made you a speech!" "well, make me another, and tell me why you even consider the power of the press. i mean, how you bring yourself even to think about it. you have defied public opinion more than once. you have stood up and told your own state that it was wrong and that you would not legislate as it demanded. i am sure you would defy the whole country, if you felt like it." "ah, that is another matter. the hard-headed american respects honest convictions, especially when they are maintained in defiance of self-interest. i never shall lose my state by an unwavering policy, however much i may irritate it for the moment. i could a heterogeneous western state, of course, but not a new england one. we are a conservative, strong-willed race, and we despise the waverer. we are hard because it always has been a hard struggle for survival with us. therefore we know what we want, and we have no desire to change when we get it. there goes the bell for executive session. you and i must go our different ways." xvi "do you dislike her?" asked betty anxiously of her mother on the night of harriet's arrival. "i do not, and yet i feel that i never can love her--could not even if it were not for _that_." "it is that. you never will love her. i cannot say that she has made any impression on me whatever, so far. she seems positively congealed. i suppose she is frightened and worn out, poor thing! she may improve when she is rested and happier." and the next day, as betty drove her about the city and showed her the classic public buildings, the parks, white and glittering under a light fall of snow, the wide avenues in which no one seemed to hurry, and the stately private dwellings, harriet's eyes were wide open with pleasure, and she sat up straight and alert. "and i am really to live in this wonderful city?" she exclaimed. "how long will it be before i shall have seen all the beautiful things inside those buildings? do you mean that i can go through all of them? why, i never even dreamed that i'd really see the world one day. all i prayed for was books, more books. and now i'm living in a house with a right smart library, and you will let me read them all. i don't know which makes me feel most happy." "i will ask my cousin, mr. emory, to take you to all the galleries, and you must go to the white house and shake hands with the president." "oh, i should like to!" she exclaimed. "i should like to! i should indeed feel proud." she flushed suddenly and turned away her head. betty called her attention hastily to a shop window: they had turned into f street. she was determined that the obnoxious subject should never be mentioned between them if she could help it. "i'll take you to new york and show you the shops there," she continued. "new york was invented that woman might appreciate her superiority over man." "i'd love a yellow satin dress trimmed with red and blue beads," said harriet, thoughtfully. betty shuddered. for the moment f street seemed flaunting with old aunty dinah's bandannas. she replied hurriedly,-- "you will have all sorts of new ideas by the time you go out of mourning. i suppose you will wear black for a year." "that makes me think. while i'm in black i can't see your fine friends. i'd like to study. could i afford a teacher?" "you can have a dozen. i've told you that i intend to turn over to you the money father left me. mr. emory will attend to it. you will have about five hundred dollars a month to do what you like with." the girl gasped, then shook her head. "i can't realize that sum," she said. "but i know it's riches, and i wish--i wish _he_ were alive." "if he were you would not have it, for i should not know of you. you will enjoy having a french teacher and a professor of belles lettres. have you any talent for music?" "i can play the banjo--" "i mean for the piano." "i never saw one till yesterday, so i can't say. but i reckon i could play anything." her southern brogue was hardly more marked than jack emory's, but she mispronounced many of her words and dropped the final letters of others: she said "hyah" for "here" and "do'" for "door," and once she had said "done died." betty determined to give special instructions to the professor. senator burleigh and emory dined at the house that evening, and although harriet was shy, and blushed when either of the men spoke to her the deep and tragic novelty of their respectful admiration finally set her somewhat at her ease, and she talked under her breath to emory of the pleasurable impression washington had made on her rural mind. after dinner she went with him to the library, where he showed her his favourite books, and advised her to read them. "will you have a cigarette?" he asked. "betty accuses me of being old-fashioned, but i am modern enough to think that a woman and a cigarette make a charming combination: she looks so companionable." "i've smoked a pipe," said harriet, doubtfully; "but i've never tried a cigarette. i reckon i could, though." he handed her a cigarette, and she smoked with the natural grace which pervaded all her movements. she sank back in the deep chair she had chosen, and puffed out the smoke indolently. "i am so happy," she said. "i reckoned down there that the world was beautiful somewhere, but i never expected to see it. and it is, it is. poor old uncle used to say that nothing amounted to much when you got it, but he didn't know, he didn't know. this room is so big, and the light is so soft, and this chair is so lazy, and the fire is so warm--" she looked at emory with the first impulse of coquetry she had ever experienced; and her eyes were magnificent. "are you, too, happy?" she asked softly. he stood up suddenly and gave a little nervous laugh, darting an embarrasing glance over his shoulder. "i feel uncommonly better than usual," he admitted. xvii betty awoke the next morning with the impression that she was somewhere on the border of a negro camp-meeting. she had passed more than one when driving in the country, and been impressed with the religious frenzy for which the human voice seemed the best possible medium. as she achieved full consciousness, she understood that it was not a chorus of voices that filled her ear, but one,--rich, sonorous, impassioned. it was singing one of the popular methodist hymns with a fervour which not even its typical african drawl and wail could temper. it was some moments before betty realized that the singer was harriet walker, and then she sprang out of bed and flung on her wrapper. "great heaven!" she thought. "how shall we ever be able to keep her secret? a bandanna gown and a voice like a cornfield darky's! i suppose all the servants are listening in the hall." they were,--even the upper servants, who were english,--but they scuttled away as their mistress appeared. she crossed the hall to harriet's room, rapped loudly, and entered. her new sister, still in her nightgown, was enjoying the deep motion of a rocking-chair, hymn-book in hand. she brought her song to a halt as betty appeared, but it was some seconds before the inspired expression in her eyes gave place to human greeting. her face happened to be in shadow, and for the moment betty saw her black. her finely cut features were indistinct, and the ignorant fanaticism of a not remote grandmother looked from her eyes. "harriet!" exclaimed betty. "i don't want to be unkind, but you must not do that again. if you want to keep your secret, never sing a hymn again as long as you live." "ah!" harriet gave a gasp, then a half-sob. "ah! but i love to sing them, honey. i have sung them every sunday all my life, and _he_ loved them. he said i could sing with anybody, he wouldn't except angels. i 'most felt he was listening." "you have a magnificent voice, and you must have it cultivated. but never sing another hymn." "when i go to church i know i'll just shout--without knowing what i'm doing." "then don't go to church," said betty, desperately. "i must! i must! what'll the lode say to me? oh, my po' old uncle!" she was weeping like a passionate child. betty sat down beside her and took her hand. "come," she said, "listen to me. the first time i saw you the deepest impression i received of you was one of fine self-control. doubtless you wept and stormed a good deal before you acquired it--at all the different stages of what was both renunciation and acquisition. the last few days have unsettled you a little because you have found yourself in a new world, minus all your old responsibilities and trials, and the experience has made you feel younger, robbed you of some of your hold on yourself. but that habit of self-control is in your brain,--it is the last to leave us,--and all you have to do is to sit down and think hard and adjust yourself. it is even more important that you make no mistakes now than it was before. fate seldom gives any one two chances to begin life over again. think hard and keep a tight rein on yourself." betty had more than negro hymns in her mind, but she did not care to be explicit. the generalities of the subject were disagreeable enough. harriet had ceased her sobbing and was listening intently. she dried her eyes as betty finished speaking. "you are right, honey," she said. "and i reckon you haven't spoken any too soon, for i was likely to get my head turned. i'll go to church and i _won't_ sing. first i'll tie a string round my neck to remember, and after that it'll be easy. i'm afraid i'm just naturally lazy, and if i didn't watch myself i'd soon forget all the hard lessons i've learned and get to be like some fat ornary old nigger who's got an easy job." betty shuddered. "the white race is not devoid of laziness. if you want a reason for yours, just remember that the southern sun has prevented many a man from becoming great. keep your mind as far away from the other thing as possible." "oh, i think i'll forget it. i felt that way yesterday. but perhaps i'd better not," she added anxiously, as her glance fell on the hymn-book. "no cross, no crown." "you will find crosses enough as you go through life," said betty, dryly. she rose to go, and harriet rose also and drew herself up to her full height. for the moment she looked again the tragic figure of the first day of their acquaintance. "you must have seen by this time how ignorant i am," she said mournfully. "poor old uncle gave me all the schooling he had himself, but i knew even then it wasn't what they have nowadays. and i've had so few books to read. once i found a five-dollar bill, and as he wouldn't take it--the most i could do--i tramped all the way to the nearest town and back, twenty miles, and bought a big basket full of cheap reprints of english standard novels. those and the few old latin books and the bible and the pilgrim's progress are about all i've ever read. i felt like writing you that when i read his letter, and also telling you that i was afraid you wouldn't find me a lady in your sense of the word--" "you are my sister," interrupted betty; "of course you are a lady. dismiss any other idea from your mind. and in a year you will know so much that i shall be afraid of you. i have neglected my books for several years." "you are mighty good, and i'll humbly take all the advice you'll give me." betty went back to her room and sought the warm nest she had left. "she makes me feel old," she thought. "am i to be responsible for the development of her character? i can't send her off to europe yet. there's nothing to do but keep her for at least a year, until she knows something of the world and feels at home in it. meanwhile i suppose i must be her guide and philosopher! i believe that my acquaintance with senator north has made me feel like a child. he is so much wiser in a minute than i could be in a lifetime; and as i have made him the pivot on which the world revolves, no wonder i feel small by contrast. "but after all, i am twenty-seven, and what is more, i have seen a good deal of men," she added abruptly. and in a moment she admitted that she had allowed her heart, full of the youth of unrealities and dreams, to act independently of her more mature intelligence. "and that is the reason i have been so happy," she mused. "there is a facer for the intelligence. as long as i have exercised it i have never felt as if i were walking on air and song." but still her imagination did not wander beyond today's meeting and many like it. he was married, and, independent as she was, she had received that sound training in the conventions from which the mind never wholly recovers. she registered a vow then and there that she would become his friend of friends, the woman to whom he came for all his pleasant hours, in time his confidante. she would devote her thought to the making of herself into the companion he most needed and desired; and she would conceal her love lest he conceive it his duty to avoid her. she wondered if she had betrayed herself, and concluded that she had not. even he could not guess how much of her admiration emanated from frankness and how much from coquetry. she would be careful in the future. "that point settled," she thought, curling down deeper into her bed and preparing for a nap, "i'll anticipate his coming and think about him with all the youthful exuberance i please." xviii betty had invited senator burleigh to dinner on saturday, that he might feel free to call elsewhere on sunday. at four o'clock, when mrs. madison had retired for her nap, she commanded jack emory to take harriet for a long walk and a long ride on the cable cars, and to stop for sally carter. no one else was likely to call, and she retired to her boudoir, a three-cornered room in an angle between the parlor and library, to await senator north. the boudoir was a room that any man might look forward to after a hard day on capitol hill. its easychairs were very soft and deep, its rugs were rosy and delicate, and the walls and windows and doors were hung with one of those old french silk stuffs with a design of royal conventionality and uniformly old rose in colour. all of betty's own books were there, her piano, several handsome pieces of carved oak, and a unique collection of ivory. betty had banished the former girlish simplicity of this room a few days after her introduction to the montgomery house. she had imagined herself greeting senator north in it many times, and had received no other man within its now sacred walls. she wore a white cloth gown today and a blue ribbon in her hair. there was also a touch of blue at the neck, to make her throat look the whiter. otherwise, the long closely fitting gown was without ornament as far down as the hem, which was lightly embroidered in white. she looked tall and lithe, but her figure was round, and did not sway like a reed that a strong wind would beat to the ground, as harriet's did. although that possible descendant of african kings possessed the black splendour of eyes and hair and a marble regularity of feature, betty was the more beautiful woman of the two; for her colour filled and warmed the eye, she seemed typical of womanhood in its highest development, and she was a chosen receptacle of enchantment. moreover, she was more modern and original, and as healthy as had been the fashion for the past generation, harriet looked like an old roman coin come to life, with a blight on her soul and little blood in her thin body. it was not in betty's nature to fear any woman, much less to experience petty jealousy, but it was not without satisfaction she reflected that she and harriet would hardly attract the same sort of man. jack was doing his duty nobly, and he liked vivacious women who amused him, poor soul! as for senator burleigh, he had said politely that she was handsome but looked delicate, and then unquestionably dismissed her from his mind. he and betty had talked politics on the previous evening until mrs. madison had slipped off to bed an hour earlier than usual. betty dismissed them all from her mind and glanced at the clock. it was half-past four. she thrust the poker between the glowing logs, and the flames leaped and sent a quivering glow through the charming room. betty leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, almost holding her breath that she might hear the advancing step of the butler the sooner. in what seemed to her exactly thirty minutes she looked at the clock again. it was twenty-five minutes to five. she nestled down, assuring herself that nobody could be expected to come on the moment, but this time she did not close her eyes; she watched the clock. and the joy imperceptibly died out of her; the hands travelled inexorably round to ten minutes to five; she remembered that she had not seen senator north since wednesday, and that in four days a busy legislator might easily forget the existence of every woman he knew, except perhaps of the woman he loved. within her seemed to rise a tide of bitter memories, the memories of all those women who had sat and waited through dreary hours for man's uncertain coming. she shivered and drew close to the fire and covered her face with her hands. her heart ached for the helpless misery of her sex. but she sprang suddenly to her feet. the butler was coming down the hall. a moment later he had ushered in senator north, and betty forgot the misery of the world, forgot it so completely that there was no violent reaction; she was merely what she had been at half-past four, full of pleasurable excitement held down and watched over by the instinct of caution. "i must apologize humbly for being late," he said, "but on sunday i always sit with my wife until she falls asleep, and to-day she was nearly an hour later than usual. what a room to come into out of a biting wind! thank heaven i was able to get here." betty thought of the sister and cousin she had turned out into the cruel afternoon, and then looked at senator north deep in the chair where she had so often imagined him, and forgot their existence. this was her hour--her first, at least--and visions of pneumonia and possible consumption should not mar it. she sat opposite him in a straight dark high-backed chair, and she was quite aware that she made a delightful picture. "well?" he asked. "what of your visit and its consequences?" betty told the story; and her description of the dilapidated parsonage at the head of the miserable village, the group of silent women about the coffin in the dark room, and her interview with her melancholy relative was as dramatic as she had felt at the time. "i thought i was running from a nightmare when i left the house," she concluded, smiling at him as if to demonstrate that it had left no shadow in her brain; "but now we both feel better. she wants a gown of many colours, and this morning she roused the house at five o'clock singing camp-meeting hymns. but i think she is quick and observant, and will soon cease to be in any danger of betraying herself. but she is a great responsibility, and i really felt old this morning." senator north laughed. "i hope she won't give you any real trouble. if she does, i shall feel more than half responsible. but otherwise she will be an interesting study for you. she is nearly all white; how much of racial lying, and slothfulness, barbarism, and general incapacity that black vein of hers contains will give you food for thought, for she certainly will reveal herself in the course of a year." "you must admit that a nature like that is a great responsibility." "yes, but she alone can work through all the contradictions to the light, and she will do it naturally, under pressure of new experiences, within and without. don't suggest even the word 'problem' to her, and don't look upon her as one, yourself. you have put her in the right conditions. leave her alone and time will do the rest. his work is indubious; never forget that. are you going to marry burleigh?" he added abruptly. she answered vehemently, "no! no!" "i thought not. i know you very little, so far, but i was willing to deny the report." "i often wonder why i don't fall in love with him. he really has every quality i admire. but much as i like him i should not mind if i knew i never should see him again. i have thought a good deal about it and i should like to understand it." she looked at him coaxingly, and he smiled, for he understood women very well; but he gave her the explanation she desired. "the reason is simple enough. the admired qualities, even when they are the component parts of a personality of one who more or less resembles a cherished ideal, never yet inspired love. love is the result of two responsive sparks coming within each other's range of action. their owners may be in certain ways unfitted for one another, but the responsive sparks, rising nature only knows out of what combination of elements, fly straight, and reason sulks. to put it in another way: love is merely the intuitive faculty recognizing in another being the power to give its own lord happiness. it is a faculty that is very active in some people," he added with a laugh, "and when it is overworked it often goes wrong, like any other machinery. that is the reason why men who have loved many women make a mistake in marrying; the intuitive faculty is both dulled and coarsened by that time. they are still susceptible to charm, and that is about all." "have you loved many women?" asked betty, without preamble. he stood up and turned his back to the fire. betty noted again how squarely he planted himself on his feet. "a few," he said bluntly. "not many. i have not overworked my intuitive faculty, if that is what you mean. i was not thinking of myself when i spoke." he stared down at her for a few moments, during which it seemed to betty that the air vibrated between them. her breath began to shorten, and she dropped her eyes, lest their depths reveal the spark which was active enough in her. "will you play for me?" he asked. "i lost a little girl a few years ago who played well, although she was only sixteen. i have disliked the piano ever since, but i should like to hear you play." she played to him for an hour, with tenderness, passion, and brilliancy. a gift had been cultivated by the best masters and hours of patient study. when he thanked her and rose to go and she put her hand in his, her face expressed all the bright earnestness of genuine friendship; there was not a sparkle of coquetry in her eyes. "will you come in often on your way home when you are tired and would like to forget bills and things, and let me play to you? i won't talk--you must get so tired of voices!--and the practice will do me good." "of course i will come. the pleasantest thing in life is a charming woman's face at the close of a busy day. good-bye." when he had gone, betty got into the depths of a chair and covered her eyes with her hand. for the first time she knew out of her own experience that love means a greater want than the satisfaction of the eye and mind. she would have given anything but her inherited ideals of right and wrong if he had come back and taken her in his arms and kissed her; and she loved him with adoration that he did not, that in all probability he never would, that although he had the great passions which stimulate all great brains, the inflexible honour which his state had rewarded and never questioned for thirty-five years must make short work of struggles with the ordinary temptations of man. as soon as a man awakens a woman's passions she begins to idealize him and there is no limit to the virtues he will be made to carry. but let a man be endowed by nature with every noble and elevated attribute she has in her power to bestow, if he lacks sensuality a woman will see him in the clear cold light of reason. betty madison, having something of the intuitive faculty, in addition to that knowledge of man which any girl of twenty-seven who has had much love offered her must possess, made fewer mistakes even in the thick of a throbbing brain than most women make; the great danger she did not foresee until time had accustomed her somewhat to the wonder of being able to love at last, and reason had resumed her place in a singularly clear and logical mind. xix when betty awoke next morning, she made up her mind that she would not suffer so long as she could see him. beyond the present she absolutely refused to look. she had found more on the political sea than she had gone in search of, but if she could have foreseen this tumult that would have overwhelmed a weaker woman, she would not have clung to the shore. for although the ultimate of love was forbidden her, she had come into her kingdom, and was immeasurably happier than the millions of women whose love had run its course and turned cold, or been cast back at them. after all, there were so few people who were really happy, why should she complain because her love could not come to rice and old shoes, instead of being a beautiful secret thing, the more perfect, perhaps, because commonplace, that ogre whose girth increases from year to year, and who sits remorseless in the dwellings of the united, could not breathe upon it? harriet had returned without a cold, and the next morning emory came in and took her to the congressional library, where they had luncheon. he also engaged her masters, and before the week was over she had settled down to steady work. "she has a wonderful mind, i am positive of that," he said to betty. "she has made so much out of so few advantages. i shall take the greatest interest in watching a mind like that unfold. what relation is she to us, anyway? i can't make out, for the life of me. there was cousin amelia--" "for heaven's sake, don't ask me to write up the genealogical tree. didn't i refuse to join the colonial dames because it meant raking over the bones of all my ancestors--whom may the saints rest! most southern relationships amount to no relationship at all, and harriet's is too insignificant to mention." "well, i must say it is angelic in you to take her in and shower blessings on her in this way--" "her father had a great claim on us, but that is a family secret, even from you. mind you take her tomorrow to see the 'declaration of independence' and the portrait of hamilton." the days passed very quickly to the end of the session. it was the short term; congress would adjourn on the fourth of march. although the great official receptions were over, dinners and luncheons crowded each other as closely as before, for washington pays little attention to lent beyond releasing its weary hostesses from weekly reception days, and their callers from an absurd and antiquated custom. betty went frequently to the gallery on capitol hill, and although she sometimes was bored by "business," she seldom heard a dull speech, for the intellectual average of the senate is very high, and its aptitude and the variety of its information unexcelled. harriet accompanied her two or three times, but her mind turned naturally to the past and concerned itself little with the present. she found the history of the roman empire vastly more entertaining than debates on the arbitration treaty. betty had recently met a mrs. fonda, a handsome widow in the vague thirties, who had that fascination of manner and that brilliant talent for politics which went to make up miss madison's ideal of the women with whom tired statesmen spent their leisure hours. she was the daughter of a former distinguished member of the house and the widow of a naval officer, and her life may be said to have been passed in washington with intervals of europe. although the old washingtonians knew her not, her position in the kaleidoscope of official society was always brilliant. she professed to have no party politics, but to be profoundly interested in all great questions affecting the nation. during the early winter she had visited cuba and had announced upon her return that no other subject would command her attention until the united states had exterminated spanish rule in that unhappy island. she occupied one of the smaller houses in massachusetts avenue, and her dining-room seated only ten people with comfort. betty had heard that as many as nine of her country's chosen men had sat about that board at the same time and decided upon matters of state; and she envied her deeply. as mrs. fonda lived with no less than two elderly aunts who wore caps, and was a devout member of st. john's church, mrs. madison, with a sigh, concluded that there was no reason why betty should not go to her house. "i suppose she is no worse than the rest," she added. "i prefer people with husbands, but the more you see of this new life the sooner you may get tired of it." mrs. fonda paid betty marked attention whenever they happened to meet, and upon the last occasion had offered playfully to tell her "all she knew" about politics. "they are engrossing," she added with a sigh, "so engrossing that they have taken the best of my years. a woman should be married and happy, i think, but i have become quite depersonalized. and i really think i have done a little good. you will marry, of course; you are young and so beautiful; but let politics be your second great interest. you will, indeed, never give them up if you let them absorb you for one year, and i am more glad than i can say that you already have gone so far." she then invited betty to a dinner she was giving, and even made an appointment for an hour's "talk" beforehand; but this appointment betty was unable to keep, as her mother fell ill for a day or two, and mrs. fonda's hour occurred while mrs. madison desired to have her hand held. betty went to the dinner, however, and expected brilliant and unusual things. mrs. fonda, who was tall and dark and distinguished looking, and too wise in her unprotected position to annul the attentions of time with those artifices which are rather a pity but quite condonable in the married woman, was handsomely dressed in black net embroidered with gold, and received with an aunt on either side of her. her manner was very fine, and, without any relaxation of the dignity which was an integer of her personality, she made each comer feel the guest of the evening. to betty she was almost affectionate, and surrounded her with the aunts, who looked at her with such kindly and cordial, albeit sadly patient eyes, that betty almost loved them. the dining-room accommodated twelve tonight, and two were not the aunts. betty wondered if they were picking up crumbs in the pantry. she suspected that mrs. fonda was more worldly than she would admit, and that ambition and love of admiration had somewhat to do with her patriotism. there were four members of the senate present, two wives of members who had been unable to come, and three eminent representatives. it was seldom that mrs. fonda's invitations were declined, for no man went to her house with the miserable conviction that he was about to eat his twenty-seventh dinner by the same cook. mrs. fonda had picked up a woman in belgium who was a genius. betty went in with senator burleigh, and they examined the menu together. "by jove," he said, "it's even more gorgeous than usual. and did you ever see so many flowers outside of a conservatory?" the room was a bower of violets and lilies of the valley. the mantelpiece was obliterated, the table looked like a garden, and great bunches of the flowers swung from the ceiling. as what could be seen of the room was green and gold, the effect was very beautiful. the lights were pink, and in this room mrs. fonda defied time and looked so wholly attractive that it was not difficult to fancy her the cause of another war, albeit not its helen. but much to betty's disappointment the conversation, which was always general when that radiant hostess presided, soon wandered from the suffering cuban and fixed itself interminably about a certain measure which had been agitating congress for the last four years. it was a measure which demanded an immense appropriation, and so far senator north had kept it from passing the upper chamber; it was generally understood that it would fare still worse at the hands of the speaker, did it ever reach the house. these two intractable gentlemen had evidently not been bidden to the feast; but three of the senators, betty suddenly observed, were members of the select committee for the measure under discussion. five courses had come and gone, and still the conversation raged along a tiresome bill that happened to be betty's pet abomination, the only subject discussed in the senate that bored her. mrs. fonda, in the brightest, most impersonal way, defended the unpopular measure, pointing out the immense advantage the country at large must derive from the success of the bill, and, while appealing to the statesmen gathered at her board to set her right when she made mistakes,--she couldn't be expected to keep up with every bill while her head was full of cuba,--assailed the weak points in those statesmen's arguments. "i'm bored to death," muttered betty, finally. "i wish i hadn't come. you won't talk to me and i can't eat any more." burleigh turned to her at once. "i've merely been watching her game," he whispered. "now, i'm nearly sure." "what?" asked betty, interested at once. "she has given a dinner a week this winter, and there is a rumour that she is spending the money of the syndicate interested in this much desired appropriation. heretofore, when i have been here, at least, although she has always graciously permitted the subject to come up and has delivered herself of a few trenchant and memorable remarks, this is the first time she has deliberately made it run through an entire dinner; every attempt to turn the conversation has been a sham. she's in the ring for votes, there's no further doubt in my mind on that subject; and she's getting desperate, as it is so near the end of the session." "then she is a lobbyist," said betty, in a tone of deep disgust, and pushing away her plate. "'sh! she is too clever to have got herself called that. she has very successfully made the world believe that the great game alone interests her; there never has been a more subtle woman in washington. during the last two years there has been one of those vague rumours going about that she has lost heavily through certain investments; but one hasn't much time for gossip in washington, and it is only lately that this other rumour has been in the wind. how long she has been doing this sort of thing, of course no one knows." "but do you mean to say these other men don't see through her?" "more than one does, no doubt. if he is against the bill he will be amused, as i am, and probably decline her invitations in the future. if he is for it--and there is a good deal to be said in favour of the bill, only we cannot afford the appropriation at present--he will make her think, as a reward for her excellent dinner, that she has secured his vote. others may be influenced by having it thrashed out in these luxurious surroundings, so different from the chill simplicity of legislative halls. those that she may be able to get in love with her, of course will believe nothing that is said of her, and when she travels from the committees to the more or less indifferent members of both chambers, and gets to work on the nonentities whose convictions can always be readjusted by a clever and pretty woman,--and whose vote is as good as north's or ward's,--you see just how much she can accomplish." "and if i have my _salon_, shall i come under suspicion of being a high-class lobbyist?" "there is not the slightest danger if you are careful to have only first-rate men, and avoid the temptation to make a pet of any bill. besides, as i have told you, your position peculiarly fits you for having a _salon_. no one could question your motive in the beginning, and your tact would protect you always. don't give up the idea, for its success would mean not only the best political society in the country, but a famous _salon_ would tend to draw art and literature to washington. and you are just the one woman who could make it famous; and we'd all help you. north would be sure to, his ambition for washington is so great. he won't put his foot in this house. i never heard him discuss her, but i am convinced that he has seen through her for a long while." the next day betty left a card on mrs. fonda and struck her from her list; but she carefully secluded her discovery from mrs. madison. xx senator north, until the last six days of the session, came twice a week to see her. she played for him, and they talked on many subjects, in which they discovered a common interest, usually avoiding politics, of which he might reasonably be supposed to have enough on capitol hill. he told her a good deal about himself, of his early determination to go into public life, the interest that several distinguished men in his state had taken in him, and of the influence they had had on his mind. "they were almost demi-gods to my youthful enthusiasm," he said, "and doubtless i exaggerated their virtues, estimable as is the record they have left. but the ideals this conception of them set up in my mind i have clung to as closely as i could, and whatever the trials of public life--i will tell you more about them some day--the rewards are great enough if no one can question your sense of public duty, if no accusation of private interest or ignoble motive has ever been able to stand on its feet after the usual nine days' babble." "would you sacrifice yourself absolutely to your country?" asked betty, who kept him to the subject of himself as long as she could. he laughed. "that is not a fair question to ask any man, for an affirmative makes a prig of him and a negative a mere politician. i will therefore generalize freely and tell you that a man who believes himself to be a statesman considers the nation first, as a matter of course. howard, for instance, nearly killed himself at the end of last session over a measure which was of great national importance. he should have been in his bed, and he worked day and night. but although it was touch and go with him afterward, it was no more than he should have done, for almost everything depends on the chairman of a committee; and as howard is a man of enormous personal influence and knows more about the subject than any man in congress, he dared not resign in favour of any one. and yet he is accused of being hand-in-glove with one of the greatest moneyed interests in the country." "is he?" asked betty, pointedly. "those are accusations that it is almost impossible to prove. howard is a rich man, and his wealth is derived from the principal industry of his state, which is unquestionably monopolized by a trust. it would be his duty to look after it in congress in any case, as it is his state's great source of wealth; so it is hard to tell. it does not interfere with his being one of the ablest legislators and hardest workers in the senate--and over matters from which he can derive no possible gain. but the suspicion will lower his position in the history of the senate." "does any one know the truth about the senate? even bryce says it is impossible to get at it, the country is so prone to exaggeration; but estimates that one-fifth of the senate is corrupt." "no one knows. the whole point is this: the senate is the worst place in the world for a weak man, and there are weak men in it. a senatorship is the highest honour to-day in the gift of the republic; therefore ambitious men strive for it. a man no sooner achieves this ambition than he finds himself beset by many temptations. he is tormented by lobbyists who will never let him alone until he has proved himself to be a man of incorruptible character and iron will; and that takes time. he also finds that the senate is a sort of aristocracy, the more so as many of its members are rich men and live well. if he never wanted money before, he wants it then, and if he does not, his wife and daughters do. then, if he is weak, he finds his way into the pocket of some trust company or railroad corporation, and his desire for re-election--to retain his brilliant position--multiplies his shackles; for if he proves himself useful, the trust will buy his legislature--if it happens to be venal--and keep him in his place. but these instances i know must be rare, for i know the personal character of every man in the senate. one senator who is nearing the end of his first term told me the other day that he should not return, for his experience in the senate had given him such a keen desire to be a rich man that he should go into wall street and try to make a fortune. he is honest, but his patriotism is a poor affair. but if the senate makes a weak man weaker, it makes a strong man stronger, owing to the very temptations he must resist from the day he enters, the compromises he is forced to make, and the danger to his convictions from the subtler brains of older men. and the senate is full of strong men. but they don't make picturesque 'copy' for the enterprising press; the weak and the corrupt do, and so much space is given them, as well as so much attention by the comic weeklies,--which are regarded as a sort of current history,--that the average man, who does not do his own thinking, accepts the minority as the type." he talked to her sometimes about his family life. his wife had been a beautiful and accomplished girl, the daughter of a governor of his state, and he had married her when he was twenty-four. she had been a great help to him, both at home and in washington, during those years when he needed help. she had not broken down until after the birth of his daughter, but that was twenty years ago, and she had been an invalid ever since. he spoke of this long period of imperfect happiness in a matter-of-fact way, and betty assumed that by this time he was used to it. he alluded to his wife once as "a very dear old friend," but betty guessed that she was nearly obliterated from his life. of his sons he expected great things, but the larger measure of his affections had been given to his daughter, or it seemed so, now that he had lost her. during the last week of the session she saw him from the senate gallery only, but she consoled herself by admiring the cool deliberation with which he worked his bills through, with populists thundering on either side of him. xxi on thursday she not only witnessed the last moments of the last session of the fifty-fourth congress, but the initial ceremonies of the inauguration of a president of the united states. she had seen the galleries crowded before, but never as they were to-day. even the diplomatists' gallery, usually empty, was full of women and attaches, and the very steps of the other galleries were set thick with people. thousands had stood patiently in the corridors since early morning, and thousands stood there still, or wandered about looking at the statues and painted walls. the senators were all in their seats; most of them would gladly have been in bed, for they had been up all night; and the ambassadors and envoys were brilliant and glittering curves of colour: the effect greatly enhanced by the republican simplicity of the men to whose country they were accredited. the judges of the supreme court, in their flowing silk gowns, alone reminded the spectator that the united states had not sprung full-fledged from nothing, without traditions and without precedent. what little is left of form in the republic was observed. two senators and one representative, the committee appointed to call on the retiring president, who had just signed his last bill in his room close by, entered and announced that mr. cleveland had no further messages for the senate, and extended his congratulations to both houses of congress upon the termination of their labours. the united states had been without a ruler for twenty minutes when the assistant doorkeeper announced the vice-president, two pages drew back the doors, and mr. hobart entered on the arm of a senator and took the seat on the dais beside his predecessor, who still occupied the chair of the presiding officer of the senate. then there was another long wait, during which the people in the galleries gossiped loudly and the senators yawned. finally the president elect and the ex-president, after being formally announced, entered arm in arm. both looked very republican indeed, especially poor mr. cleveland, who toiled along with the gout, leaning what he could of his massive figure upon an umbrella. the women stood up, and with one accord pronounced their president-elect as good-looking as he undoubtedly was strong and amiable and firm and calm and pious. mr. hobart took the oath of office, and after the necessary speeches and the proclamation for an extra session, the new senators were sworn in by the new vice-president, and betty wondered how any man would dare to break so solemn an oath. as soon as the move began toward the platform outside, betty escaped through the crowd and went home. as she drove down the avenue, she heard the stupendous shout of joy, some fifty thousand strong, with which the american public ever greets its new president and the consequent show. be he republican or democrat, it is all one for the day; he is an excuse to gather, to yell, and to gaze. betty turned her head and caught a glimpse of a bareheaded man on his feet, bowing and bowing and bowing, and of a heavy figure with its hat on seated beside him. she speculated upon the sardonic reflections active inside of that hat. she did not expect to see senator north for at least twenty-four hours, but his card was brought to her while she was still at luncheon. she went rapidly to her boudoir, and found him standing with his overcoat on and his hat in his hand. although he had been up all the night before and had not had his full measure of rest for a week, he looked as calm as usual, and there was not a hint of fatigue in his face nor of disorder in his dress. "you deserted us last night," he said, smiling. "i thought perhaps you would sit up and see us through." "i was up there at nine this morning and saw the senate floor littered with papers. it had a very allnight look. have you had luncheon? won't you come in?" "i should be glad to, but i haven't time. i find i must go north to-night, and am on my way home to get a few hours' rest. i wanted to thank you for many pleasant hours--in this room." his eyes moved about slowly and softened somewhat. it is not improbable that he would have liked to throw himself among the cushions of the divan and go to sleep. "well! you might postpone that until we part for life," said betty, lightly. "you forget that congress will convene in extra session on the fifteenth." "yes, but there is no necessity for me to be here until some time in may at earliest. the principal object of the session is the revision of the tariff, and the new bill originates with the ways and means committee. after it has been thrashed out in the house and returned to the committee for amendments, it will be referred to the finance committee of the senate. all that takes time. i am not a member of the finance committee this term, and i shall not return until the debate opens in the senate. as to the arbitration business, ward will look after that. i would not stir if there were a chance of the treaty coming back to the senate in its original form, but there is not. when ward telegraphs me i shall come down and cast my vote." his long speech had given betty time to recover from his first announcement, and her eyes were full of the frank earnestness which had established the desired relation between herself and senator north. "i am glad you are going to have a rest," she said; "that is, if you are." "oh, it is work that sits very lightly on me, and is very congenial: i am going to do all i can to allay this war fever in my own state. it is not too late to appeal to their reason; but it might be at any moment." "well, at all events, you go to the bracing climate of the north. but i am sorry you go so soon. mother cannot stay in washington after the third week in may. i am afraid we shall not meet again until you come to the adirondacks." "ah, the adirondacks!" he said. "yes, i shall see you there. good-bye." he did not smile. there were times when he seemed to turn a key and lock up his features. this was one of them. betty felt as if she were looking at a mask contrived with unusual skill. he shook her warmly by the hand, however. "i forgot to say that i shall be in washington off and on--for a day or so. my wife remains here. it is still too cold for her in the north. good-bye again." he left her, and she did not return to her luncheon. xxii betty, after several long and restless nights, decided that she was not equal to the ordeal of sitting down patiently in washington awaiting the rare and flying visits of senator north. if she could place herself quite beyond the possibility of seeing him before the first of june, she could get through the intervening months with a respectable amount of endurance, but not otherwise. hers was not the nature of the patient watcher, the humble applicant for crumbs. she might put up with slices where she could not get the whole loaf, but her head lifted itself at the notion of crumbs. her heart had not yet begun to ache. she determined that it should not until it was in far more desperate straits than now. when lady mary montgomery, who was tired and wanted a long rest before december, invited her to go to california, she accepted at once; and, a week after the adjournment of congress, went through the formality of obtaining her mother's consent. "well," said mrs. madison, philosophically, "i have lost you for three months at a time before, and i suppose i can stand it again. i think you need a change. you've been nervous lately, and you're thinner than you were. as long as you don't marry i can resign myself quite gracefully to these little partings." "you're a dear, mollyanthus. i only wish you were going with me, but i'll keep a journal for you and post it every night. i am glad you do not dislike harriet. of course if you did i should not go, for it is too soon to turn her adrift." "she is inoffensive enough, poor soul, and so deep in her books that i should not know she was in the house if she didn't come to the table." "make jack take her to the theatre once a week. she has promised me that she will go for a walk every day with sally." "sally says she is convinced harriet is a roman empress reborn, and may astonish washington at any moment," said mrs. madison, anxiously. "do you believe in reincarnation?" "i don't believe or disbelieve anything i don't understand. we none of us can even guess what is latent in harriet--for the matter of that i don't know what is latent in myself. i can only suspect. i don't think harriet will ever go very deep into herself; she has not imagination enough. if circumstances are not too unfavourable, she may slip through life happy and respected, in spite of her tragic appearance: she is so slothful by nature, so much more susceptible to good influences than to bad. all of us possess every good and bad instinct in the whole book of human nature, but few of us have imagination enough to find it out. and the less we know of ourselves the better." "betty, you certainly do need a change. you looked tragic yourself as you said that; and if you became tragic it would mean something. i'm afraid your conscience is tormenting you about mr. burleigh, and perhaps i did not do right in asking him to come to the adirondacks; but probably he would have come to the hotel, anyhow; and if i did have to lose you--" "you'll never get rid of me." and she went to her room to consult with leontine. the night before she left harriet came into her room and said timidly,-- "betty, i sometimes wonder if you have told mr. emory the truth about myself--" "certainly not. why should i tell mr. emory--or anyone else?" "well, he is so kind to me and we have become such friends, i thought perhaps you would think he ought to know." "that is pure nonsense. do you suppose i tell my friends everything i know? no friend is so close as to demand to know more than you choose to tell him." "all right, honey; but i am always afraid he will see my finger-nails when he is helping me with my lessons--" "he is very near-sighted; and i doubt if anyone would notice those faint blue marks unless they were looking for them." "of course they seem the most conspicuous things i've got, to me." "are you happy here, harriet?" asked betty, gently. harriet nodded and looked at her benefactor with glowing eyes. "oh, yes," she said. "yes--yes. it is like heaven, in spite of the hard work they make me do. i'm right down afraid of that old frenchman, and when professor morrow shuts his eyes and groans, 'door--d-o-o-r, miss walker, _not_ d-o-u-g-h,' i could cry. but i'm happy all the same, and i forgot _that_ for a whole week." "well, forget it altogether. and remember to have a thin travelling dress and a lot of summer things made. and of all people do not confide in jack emory or sally carter--or any other southerner." _part ii_ _senator north, miss betty madison, and several other characters in this history go in search of a mountain lake and find an ocean._ i betty never denied that she enjoyed her visit to california, despite the several thousand miles between the atlantic and the pacific coasts, and senator north's rooted aversion to writing letters. she received exactly three brief epistles from him in almost as many months, but in one he said that he missed her even in the north, in another that washington was not washington without her, and in the third that he looked forward with pleasure to the cool adirondacks and herself. and a woman can live on less than that. betty read and re-read these simple and possibly perfunctory statements until they were weighted with love. and although she visited all the wonders of the most wonderful state in the union, and was deeply grateful to them, they never pushed the man from the forefront of her mind for a moment. the egoism of love reduces scenery to a setting and the splendours of sunset to a background. betty thought of him by day and by night, in company and in solitude, but even the agony of longing to which her imagination sometimes rose contained no heartbreak. for the future was all over there, on the far side of the continent; its grave-clothes were deep under lavender and rosemary. to think of him was a luxury and a delight, and would remain so until imagination had been pushed aside by the contradictory details of reality. sometimes she wept pleasurably, but she smiled oftener. and still, although she laid no reins on her imagination, she refused to look beyond the summer among the adirondack pines, the frequent and more frequent hours at the close of busy days. if pressed, she would doubtless have answered that she must bow to circumstance, but that in thought he was wholly hers. ii betty reached her part of the adirondacks late at night. there were two miles between the station and the house, and jack emory and sally carter came to meet her. they told her the recent news of the family as the horses toiled up the steep road cut through the dark and fragrant forest. "aunt is unusually well and seems to enjoy interminable talks with major carter," said emory. "harriet is very much improved; she holds herself regally and sometimes has a colour. she studied until the last minute, and even here is always at her books. i don't say she hasn't intervals of laziness," he added with a laugh, "but she always pulls up; and it is very creditable of her, for she is full of southern indolence. she would like to lie in the sun all day and sleep, i am sure; although she won't admit it." "does she seem any happier? she had suffered too much privation to have become really happy before i left." "i am sure she is--" jack began, but sally interrupted him. "i think she is one of those people who hardly know whether they are happy or not. she seems to me to be in a sort of transition state. one moment she will be gay with the natural gayety of a girl, and the next she will look puzzled, and occasionally tragic. i think there must be a big love affair somewhere in her past." "i am sure there is nothing of the sort. have the norths come?" "mrs. north is here, and the senator brought her, but he had to go back; for that disgraceful tariff bill still hangs on. i believe we are to pay for the very air we breathe: a trust company has bought it up. oh, by the way, you have a new housekeeper;" and both she and emory laughed. "do you mean that old mrs. sawyer has left? she was invaluable." "her son wanted her to keep house for him, and she secured the services of a female from a neighboring village. miss trumbull is forty-odd and unmarried. she has a large bony face, the nondescript colouring of the average american, and a colossal vanity. we amuse ourselves watching her smirk as she passes a looking-glass. but she is an excellent housekeeper, and her vanity would be of no consequence if she would keep her place. the day we arrived she hinted broadly that she wanted to sit at table with us, and one night when john was ill and she had to help wait, she joined in the conversation. she's a good-natured fool, but an objectionable specimen of that 'i'm-as-good-as-you-are' american. i've been waiting for you to come and extinguish her." "i certainly shall extinguish her." "she victimizes poor harriet, whom she seems to think more on her level," said miss carter, not without unction. betty could feel her face flush. "the sooner she puts that idea out of her head the better," she said coldly. "i am surprised that harriet permits a liberty of that sort." "harriet lacks pride, my dear, in spite of her ambition and what nature has done for her outside. she is curiously contradictory. but that lack is one which persons of miss trumbull's sort are quick to detect and turn to their own account. your housekeeper's variety of pride is common and blatant, and demands to be fed, one way or another." mrs. madison had not retired and was awaiting her daughter in the living-room. betty found the household an apparently happy one. the major was a courtly gentleman who told stories of the war. harriet in her soft black mull with a deep colour in her cheeks looked superb, and betty kissed and congratulated her warmly; as senator north had predicted, the physical repulsion had worn away long since. the big room with its matting and cane divans and chairs, heaped with bright cushions, and the pungent fire in the deep chimney--for the evenings were still cold--looked cosey and inviting; no wonder everybody was content. even jack looked less careworn than usual; doubtless the pines, as ever, had routed his malaria. only sally's gayety seemed a little forced, and there was an occasional snap in her eye and dilation of her nostril. when betty had put her mother to bed and talked her to sleep, she went to her own room and opened the window. she could hear the lake murmuring at the foot of the terrace, the everlasting sighing of the pines; but it was very dark: she could hardly see the grim mountains across the water. just below them was a triple row of lights. he should have been behind those lights and he was not. for the moment she hated politics. she closed the window and wrote the following letter:-- dear mr. north,--i am home, you see. don't reply and tell me that the tariff bill surrounds you like a fortress wall. i am going for a walk at five o'clock on saturday morning, and i expect to meet you somewhere in the forest above the north end of the lake. you can reach it by the path on your side. i shall row there. do not labour over an excuse, my friend. i know how you hate to write letters, and you know that i am a tyrant whose orders are always obeyed. betty madison. "that should not worry him," she thought, "and it should bring him." iii as soon as she awoke next morning, she dressed and went downstairs. a woman stood in the lower hall, and from sally's description betty recognized miss trumbull. the woman's large mouth expanded in a smile, which, though correct enough, betrayed the self-satisfaction which pervaded her being. she was youngish-looking, and not as ugly as miss carter's bald description had implied. "good-mornin'," she drawled. "i had a mind to set up for you last night, but i was tired. you like to get up early, don't you? it's just six. miss walker and miss carter don't git up till eight, mr. emory till nine fifteen, and your ma till eleven. the major's uncertain. but i'm real glad you like gittin' up early--" "will you kindly send me a boy?" interrupted betty. "i wish a letter taken to the post-office." the woman came forward and extended her hand. "i'll give it to him," she said. "send the boy to me. i have other orders to give him." as the woman turned away, betty thought she detected a shade of disappointment on her face. "has she that most detestable vulgarity of her class, curiosity?" she thought. "she seems to have observed the family very closely." the boy came, accompanied by miss trumbull, who made a slight but perceptible effort to see the address of the letter as betty handed it to him. "take this at once and bring me back a dollar's worth of stamps; and go also to the village store and bring me some samples of worsted." she thought of several other things she did not want, reflecting that she must in the future herself take to the post-office such letters as she did not wish miss trumbull to inspect and possibly read. the boy went his way, and betty turned to the housekeeper and regarded her sharply. "i'm afraid you will find this a lonely situation," she said. "we are only here for a few months in the summer." "well, of course i like the society of nice people, but i guess i can stand it. poor folks can't pick and choose, and i suppose you wouldn't mind my havin' a friend with me in the winter, would you?" "certainly not," said betty, softening a little. but she did not like the woman, who was not frankly plebeian, but had buttered herself over with a coat of third-rate pretentiousness. and her voice and method of speech were irritating. she had a fat inflection and the longest drawl betty had ever heard. upon every fourth or fifth word she prolonged the drawl, and accomplished the effect of smoothing down her voice with her tongue. capable as she might be, betty wondered if she could stand miss trumbull through the summer. but the position was a very difficult one to fill. even an old couple found it lonely, and a woman with a daughter never had been permitted to remain for two consecutive years. if the woman could be kept in the background, it might be worth while to give her a trial. betty went out of doors and down to the lake. it lay in the cup of a peak, and about it towered higher peaks, black with pine forests, only a path here and there cutting their primeval gloom. betty stepped into a boat and rowed beyond sight of her house and the hotel. then she lay down, pushed a cushion under her head, and drifted. it had been a favourite pastime of hers since childhood, but this morning her mind for the first time opened to the danger of a wild and brooding solitude, still palpitating with the passions which had given it birth, for those whose own were awake. "civilization does wonders for us," she said aloud; she could have raised her voice and been unheard, and she revelled in her solitude. "it makes us really believe that conventions are the only comfortable conditions in the world, certainly indispensable. up here--" "if he and i were here alone for one week," she continued uncompromisingly and aloud to the mountains, "the world would cease to exist as far as we both were concerned. and i wish he were here and the adirondacks adrift in space!" she sat up suddenly after this wish; but although it had flushed her face, she had said the words deliberately and made no haste to unsay them. she looked ahead to the north end of the lake and the dark quiet aisles above. and when she met him there on saturday morning, she must hold down her passion as she would hold down a mad dog. she must look with bright friendly eyes at the man to whose arms her imagination had given her unnumbered times. it seemed to her that she was an independent intellect caught and tangled in a fish-net of traditions. to violate the greatest of social laws was abhorrent to every inherited instinct. her intellect argued that man was born for happiness and was a fool to put it from him. the social laws were arbitrary and had their roots in expediency alone; man and his needs were made before the community. but the laws had been made long before her time, and they were bone of her bone. she knew that he would not be the one to break down the barrier, that he would leave her if she manifested uncontrollable weakness,--not from the highest motives only, but because he had long since ceased to court ruin by folly; his self-control was many years older than herself. doubtless he would never betray himself to her, no matter how much he might love her, unless she so tempted him that passion leaped above reason. and she knew that this was possible. there was no mistaking the temperament of the man. he was virile and sensual, but he had ordered that his passions should be the subjects of his brain; and so no doubt they were. betty had no intention of forcing any such crisis, often as she might toy with the idea in her mind. but for the first time she compelled herself to look beyond the present, beyond the time when she could no longer sit in her boudoir and play to him, and shake him lightly by the hand as he left her. perhaps she could not even get through this summer without betraying the flood that shook her nerves. if the barriers went down she must look into what? she gave her insight its liberty, and turned white. it seemed to her that the lake and the forest disappeared and a blank wall surrounded her. she lay down in the boat and pressed the corner of the cushion against her eyes. a thousand voices in her soul, for generations dumb and forgotten, seemed to awake and describe the agony of women, an agony which survived the mortal part that gave it expression, to live again and again in unwary hearts. she sat up suddenly and took hold of the oars. "that will do for this morning," she said. "it is so true that none of us can stand more than just so much intensity that i suppose if this dear dream of mine went to pieces i should have intervals when life would seem brilliant by contrast with my misery. i might even find mental rest in pouring tea again for attaches. and there is always the pleasure of assuaging hunger. i am ravenous." iv after breakfast--an almost hilarious meal, for emory and sally carter were in the highest spirits and sparred with much vigour--betty and harriet went for a walk. there was a long level path about the lake for a mile or more before they turned into the forest, and betty noted that harriet, although her gait still betrayed indolence, held herself with an air of unmistakable pride. she had improved in other respects; her arrangement of dress and hair no longer looked rural, she not only had ceased to bite her nails, but had put them in vivid order, and the pronunciation of her words was wholly white. "she will be a social success one of these days," thought betty, "or with that voice and beauty she could doubtless win fame and wealth, and have a brilliant and enjoyable life. the tug will come when she wants to marry; but perhaps she won't want to for a long while--or will fall in love with a foreigner who won't mind." she longed to ask harriet if she were happy, if she had forgotten; but she dreaded reviving a distasteful subject. she would be glad never to hear it alluded to again. harriet did not allude to it. she talked of her studies, of the many pleasures she had found in washington, of the kindness of mr. emory and sally carter, and of her delight to see betty again. as she talked, betty decided that the change in her went below the surface. she had regained all the self-control that her sudden change of circumstances had threatened, and something more. it was not hardness, nor was it exactly coldness. it was rather a studied aloofness. "has she decided to shut herself up within herself?" thought betty. "does she think that will make life easier for her?" aloud she said,--"would not you like to go to europe for a year or so? i could easily find a chaperon, and you would enjoy it." "oh, yes, i shall enjoy it. i feel as if i held the world in the hollow of my hand, now that i have got used to gratifying every wish;" and she threw back her head and dilated her nostril. "what _have_ i launched upon the world?" thought betty. "she certainly will even with fate in some way." but she said, "i am glad you and sally get on well. she has her peculiarities." "i reckon i could get on with any one; but she doesn't like me, all the same." "are you sure? why shouldn't she?" "i don't know," replied miss walker, dryly. "women don't always understand each other." sally's name suggested the housekeeper to betty. "i don't want you to be offended with me, harriet," she said hesitatingly, "if i ask you not to be familiar with miss trumbull. you have not had the experience with that type that i have had. you cannot give them an inch. if you treat them consistently as upper servants when they are in your employ, and ignore them if they are not, they will keep their place and give you no annoyance; but treat them with something more than common decency and they leap at once for equality." "well--you must remember that i was not always so fine as i am now, and miss trumbull does not seem so much of an inferior to me as she does to you. to tell you the truth, it does me good to come down off my high horse occasionally. i reckon i'll get over that; sometimes i want to so hard i could step on everybody that is common and second-class. i don't deny i'm as ambitious as i reckon i've got a right to be, but old habits are strong, and i'm lazy, and it's lonesome up here. your mother and major carter talk from morning till night about the south before the war. mr. emory and sally are always together, and talk so much about things i don't understand that i feel in the way. miss trumbull knows the private affairs of most every one in her village, and amuses me with her gossip; that is all." betty pricked up her ears at one of harriet's revelation, and let the painful fact of her hospitality for vulgar gossip pass unnoticed. "do you mean," she asked, "do you think that mr. emory is beginning to care for sally?" "one can never be sure. i am certain he likes and admires her." "oh, yes, he always has done that. but i wish he would fall in love with her. i am nearly sure that she more than likes him." "i am quite sure," said harriet, dryly. "she would marry him about as quickly as he asked her. i knew that the first time i saw them together." "and she certainly would make him happy," said betty, thinking aloud. "she is so bright and amusing and cheerful. she is the only person i know who can always make him laugh, and the more he laughs the better it is for him, poor old chap! and i think he is too old now for the nonsense of ruining his happiness because a woman has more money--harriet!" harriet had one of those mouths that look small in repose, but widen surprisingly with laughter. betty, who had only seen her smile slightly at rare intervals, happened to glance up. harriet's mouth had stretched itself into a grin revealing nearly every tooth in her head. and it was the fatuous grin of the negro, and again betty saw her black. she gasped and covered her face with her hands. "oh, never do that again," she said sharply. "never laugh again as long as you live. oh, poor girl! poor girl!" "i won't ask you what you mean," said harriet, hurriedly. "i reckon i can guess. thank you for one more kindness." and the horror of that grin remained so long with betty that it was some time before she thought to wonder what had caused it. v betty amused herself for the next day or two observing jack emory and sally carter. they unquestionably enjoyed each other's society, and sally at times looked almost pretty again. but at the end of the second day miss madison shook her head. "he is not in love," she thought. "it does not affect him in that way." and she felt more satisfaction in her discovery than she would have anticipated. a woman would have a man go through life with only a skull cap where his surrendered scalp had been. to grow another is an insult to her power and pains her vanity. it occurred to betty that she was not the only observant person in the house. she seemed always stumbling over miss trumbull, who did not appear to listen at doors but was usually as closely within ear-shot as she could get. it was idle to suppose that the woman had any malignant motive in that well-conducted household, and she seemed to be good-natured and even kindly. interest in other people's affairs was evidently, save vanity, her strongest passion. it was the natural result of an empty life and a common mind. but simple or not, it was objectionable. her vanity, her mistress had cause to discover, was more so. on wednesday morning betty returned home from a long tramp, earlier than was her habit, and went to her room. miss trumbull was standing before the mirror trying on one of her hats. "that's real becomin' to me," she drawled, as miss madison entered the room. "i always could wear a hat turned up on one side, and most of your colours would suit me." betty controlled her temper, but the effort hurt her. she would have liked to pour her scorn all over the creature. "you may have the hat," she said. "only do me the favour not to enter my room again unless i send for you. the maid is very neat, and it needs no inspection." the woman's face turned a dark red. "i'm sorry you're mad," she said, "but there's no harm, as i can see, in tryin' on a hat." "it is a matter of personal taste, not of right or wrong. i particularly dislike having my things touched." "oh, of course i won't, then; but i like nice things, and i haven't seen too many of them." again betty relented. "i will leave you a good many at the end of the summer," she said. and the woman thanked her very nicely and went away. "i am glad i was not brutal to her," thought betty. "democracy is a great institution in spite of its nuisances. still, i admire hamilton more than jefferson." when, that night, mrs. madison had a painful seizure, and miss trumbull was sympathetic and efficient, sacrificing every hour of her night's rest, betty was doubly thankful that she had not been brutal. in the morning she gave her a wrap that matched the hat. miss trumbull tried it on at once, and revolved three times before the mirror, then strutted off with such evident delight in her stylish appearance that betty's smile was almost sympathetic. but she dared not be more gracious, and miss trumbull only approached her when it was necessary. on thursday afternoon betty and sally were rowing on the lake when the latter said abruptly,-- "have you noticed anything between jack and harriet?" betty nearly dropped her oars. "what--jack and harriet?" sally nodded. her mouth was set. there was an angry sparkle in her eyes. "yes, yes. they pretend to avoid each other, but they are in love or i never saw two people in love. i suspected it in washington, but i have become sure of it up here. what is the matter? i don't think she is his equal, if she is our thirty-first cousin, for i would bet my last dollar there was a misalliance somewhere--but you look almost horror-struck." "i was, but i can't tell you why. i don't believe it's true, though. she is not jack's style. she hasn't a grain of humour in her." "when a man's imagination is captured by a beauty as perfect as that, he doesn't discover that it is without humour till he has married it. besides, any man can fall in love with any woman; i'm convinced of that. you might as well try to turn this lake upside down as to mate types." "i don't think she would deceive me," exclaimed betty, hopefully. "i cannot tell you all, but i am nearly sure she would never do that." "any woman who has a secret constantly on her mind is bound to become secretive, not to say deceitful in other ways. what is her secret?" she asked abruptly. "has she negro blood in her veins?" "oh, sally!" this time betty did drop the oars, and her face was scarlet as she lunged after them. she was furious at having betrayed harriet's secret, but sally carter had a fashion of going straight for the truth and getting it. "i thought so," said miss carter, dryly. "don't take the trouble to deny it. and don't think for a moment, betty dear, that i am going to embarrass you with further questions. i could never imagine you actuated by any but the highest motives. i should consider the whole thing none of my business if it were not for jack. faugh! how he would hate her if he knew!" "i am afraid he would. i don't believe he is man enough to love her better for her miserable inheritance." "he is a southern gentleman; i should hope he would not. i am by no means without sympathy for her. i pity her deeply, and have ever since i discovered that she loved him. for he must be told." "shall you tell him?" sally did not answer for a moment, and her face flushed deeply. then she said unsteadily: "no; for i could not be sure of my motive. here is my secret. i have loved jack emory ever since i can remember. it is impossible for me to assure myself that i would consider interference in their affairs warrantable if i cared nothing for him. i cannot afford to despise myself for tattling out of petty jealousy. but you are responsible for her. you should tell him." "i will speak to her as soon as we go back. if it is true that they are engaged, and if she refuses to tell him, i shall. but i'd almost rather come out here and drown myself." "so should i." "you're a brick, sally, and i wish to heaven you were going to marry jack to-morrow. that would be a really happy marriage." "so i have thought for years! when he got over his attack of you, i began to hope, although i'd got wrinkles crying about him. i never thought of any other woman in the case." she laughed, with a defiant attempt to recover her old spirits. "and i cannot have the happiness of seeing him one day in bronze, and feeling that he is all mine! for he hasn't even that spark of luck which so often passes for infinitesimal greatness, poor dear!" "how did you guess that she had the taint in her?" asked betty, as they were about to land. "she has not a suggestion of it in her face." "i _felt_ it. so vaguely that i scarcely put it in words to myself until lately. and i never saw such an amount of pink on finger-nails in my life." vi betty went in search of harriet, and found her in a summer-house reading an innocuous french romance which her professor had selected. there was no place near by where miss trumbull might lie concealed, and betty went to the point at once. "harriet," she said, "i am obliged to say something horribly painful--if you want to marry any man you must tell him the truth. it would be a crime not to. the prejudices of--of--southerners are deep and bitter; and--and--oh, it is a terrible thing to have to say--but i must--if you had children they might be black." for a moment betty thought that harriet was dead, she turned so gray and her gaze was so fixed. but she spoke in a moment. "why do you say this to me--now?" "because i fear you and jack--oh, i hope it is not true. the person who thinks you love each other may have been mistaken. but i could not wait to warn you. i should have told you in the beginning that when the time came either you must tell the man or i should; but it was a hateful subject. god knows it is hard to speak now." harriet seemed to have recovered herself. the colour returned slowly to her face, her heavy lids descended. she rose and drew herself up to her full height with the air of complete melancholy which recalled one or two other memorable occasions. but there was a subtle change. the attitude did not seem so natural to her as formerly. "your informant was only half right," she said sadly. "i love him, but he cares nothing for me. he is the best, the kindest of friends. it is no wonder that i love him. i suppose i was bound to love the first man who treated me with affectionate respect. i reckon i'd have fallen in love with uncle if he'd been younger. perhaps--in europe--i may get over it. but he does not love me." betty rose and looked at her steadily. _what_ was in the brain behind those sad reproachful eyes? she laid her hand on the girl's shoulder. "harriet," she said solemnly, "give me your word of honour that you will not marry him without telling him the truth. it may be that he does not love you, but he might--and if you were without hope you would be unhappy. promise me." down in the depths of those melancholy eyes there was a flash, then harriet lifted her head and spoke with the solemnity of one taking an oath. "i promise," she said. "i will marry no man without telling him the truth." this time her tone carried conviction, and betty, relieved, sought sally carter. "nonsense!" exclaimed miss carter, when betty had related the interview. "he is in love with her, although for some reason or other he is making an elaborate effort to conceal it." "she spoke very convincingly," said betty, who would not admit doubt. "anything with a drop of negro blood in it will lie. it can't help it. i wish the race were exterminated." "i wish the english had left it in africa. they certainly saddled us with an everlasting curse." she was tempted to wish that mr. walker had never discovered her address; but although she did not love harriet, she was grateful still for the opportunity to rescue her from the usual fate of her breed. but assuredly she did not wish her old friend to be sacrificed. again she observed him closely, and came to the conclusion that harriet had spoken the truth. he was gayer than of old, but his health was better and he was in cheerful company, not living his days and nights in his lonely damp old house on the potomac river. he appeared to enjoy talking to harriet, but there was nothing lover-like in his attitude, and he was almost her guardian. true, he was occasionally moody and absent, but a man must retain a few of his old spots; and if he avoided somewhat the cousin whom he had once loved to melancholy, it was doubtless because she found him as uninteresting as she found all men but one, and was not at sufficient pains to conceal her indifference. and then she admitted with a laugh that in the back of her mind she had never acknowledged the possibility of his loving another woman. she but half admitted that she wished to believe no storm was gathering under her roof. she had no desire to handle a tragedy. vii it was saturday morning. betty arose at four, brewed herself a cup of coffee over a spirit lamp, and ate several biscuit with it. she hoped senator north would take the same precaution. healthy animals when hungry cannot take much interest in each other. she dressed herself in airy white with a blue ribbon in her hair. there was no necessity for a hat at that hour in the morning, but she took a white organdie one down to the boat and put it under a seat, lest she be late in returning and the sun freckling. it was faintly dawn as she pulled out into the middle of the lake and rowed toward its northern end. even the trailing thickets on the water's edge looked black, and the dark forest rising on every side seemed to whisper of old deeds of war and heroism, the bravery and the treachery of indian tribes, the mortal jealousies of french and english. every inch of ground about her was historical. these forests had resounded for years with the ugly sounds of battle, and more than once with the shrieks of women and children. to-day the woodpecker tapped, the bluejay cried in those depths unaffrighted; the singing of a mountain stream, the roar of a distant waterfall alone lifted a louder voice to the eternal whisper of the pines. the forest looked calmly down upon this flower of a civilization which no man in its first experience of man would have ventured to forecast, skimming the water to keep tryst with one whose ancestors had hewn a rougher wilderness than this down to a market-place that their inheritor might win the higher honours of the great republic to come. but betty was not thinking of the honours he had won. she was wondering if by so much as a glance he would betray that he cared a little for her. or did he care? in her thought he had been as full of love as herself. but reality was waiting for her there in the forest,--reality after three months of uninterrupted imaginings. perhaps he merely found her agreeable and amusing. but the idea did not start a tear. the uncertainty of his affections and the certainty that she was about to see him again were alike thrilling and gladdening. pleasurable excitement possessed her, and her hands would have trembled but for their tight grip on the oars. he stood watching her as she rowed toward him, and she was sure that she made a charming picture out on that great dark lake below the pines. the forest rose almost straight behind him, but she knew the winding paths which made ascent easy, and many a dry leafy platform where one might sit. a hundred times she had imagined herself in that forest with him; its dim vast solitude had become almost his permanent setting in her fancy. but as the boat grazed the shore, she said hurriedly,-- "get in and let us float about. i am sure it is cold in there. i am so glad to see you again." as her hands were occupied, he took the seat in the stern at once, and she pulled out a few yards, then crossed her oars. "you see, i have obeyed orders," he said, smiling. "fortunately, i am an early riser, particularly in the country." "i thought the change would do you good. it must be hot in washington." "it is frightful." he looked as well as usual, however, and his thin grey clothes became his spare though thickset figure. he was smiling humorously into betty's eyes, but his own were impenetrable. they might harbour the delight of a lover at a precious opportunity, or the amusement of a man of the world. but there was no doubt that he was glad to see her and that he appreciated the picture she made. "i hope i never may see you in anything but white again," he said. "you are a gracious vision to conjure up on stifling afternoons in the senate." betty did not want to talk about herself. "tell me the news," she said. "how is that tariff bill going?" "a story has just leaked out that a stormy scene occurred in the ways and means committee room between our friend montgomery and two members of the committee whose names i won't mention. he openly accused them of accepting bribes from certain trusts. it even is reported that they came to blows, but that is probably an exaggeration. we have had our sensation also. one of our fire-eaters accused--at the top of his voice--the entire senate of bribery and corruption. he is new and will think better of us in time. meanwhile he would amuse us if such things did not affect the dignity of the senate with the outside world. unfortunately we are obliged to accept whomsoever the people select to represent them, and can only possess our souls in patience till time and the senate tone the raw ones down." "is he representative, that man? and those hysterical members of the house, whose speeches make me wonder if humour is really a national quality?" "they are only too representative, unfortunately, but they are more hysterical than the average because they have the opportunity their constituents lack, of shouting in public. the house is america let loose. when a former private citizen belonging to the party out of power gets on his feet in it, he develops a species of hysteria for which there is no parallel in history. he seems to think that the louder he shouts and the more bad rhetoric he uses, the less will his party feel the stings of defeat. some of them tone down and become conscientious and admirable legislators, but these are the few of natural largeness of mind. party spirit, a magnificent thing at its best, warps and withers the little brain in the party out of power. but politics are out of place in this wilderness. there should be redskins and bows and arrows on all sides of us. i used to revel in cooper's yarns, but i suppose you never have read them." betty shook her head. "when can you come up here to stay?" "probably not for a month yet. there will be a good deal more wrangling before the bill goes through. i don't like it in its present shape and don't expect to in its ultimate; neither do a good many of us. but i shall vote for it, because the country needs a high tariff, and anything will be better than nothing for the present. later, the whole matter will be reopened and war waged on the trusts." "sally says they have bought up the atmosphere." "they may be said to have bought up several climates. i have spent a great many hours puzzling over that question, for they have put an end to the old days when young men could go into business with the hope of a progressive future. now they are swallowed up at once, depersonalized, and the whole matter is one of the great questions affecting the future development of the republic." he was not looking at betty; he was staring out on the lake. his eyes and mouth were hard again; he looked like a mere intellect, nothing more. as betty watched him, she experienced a sudden desire to put him back on the pedestal he had occupied in the first days of their acquaintance, and to worship him as an ideal and forget him as a man. that had been a period of intellectual days and quiet nights. and as he looked now, he seemed to ask no more of any woman. but in a moment he had turned to her again with the smile and the peculiar concentration of gaze which made women forget he was a statesman. "not another word of politics," he said. "i did not get up at four in the morning to meet the most charming woman in america and talk politics. do you know that it is over three months since i saw you last?" "you left washington, so, naturally, i left it too." "i wonder, how much you mean? if i were to judge you by myself--your few notes were very interesting. did you enjoy california?" "california was made to enjoy, but i felt very much alone in it." "of course you did. nature is a wicked old matchmaker. you have felt quite as lonely up here since your return." "yes, i have! but i have had a good deal to occupy my mind. sally terrified me by asserting that harriet and my cousin jack emory were in love with each other." "who is harriet?" "oh, you have forgotten! and you made me take her into the bosom of my family." "oh--yes; i had forgotten her name. i hope she is not making trouble for you." "she admitted that she loves him, but insists that he does not love her, and i don't think he does." "probably not. i should as soon think of falling in love with a weeping figure on a tombstone." "what kind of women do you fall in love with?" asked betty, irresistibly. she was sure of herself now. the passions of women are often calmed by the presence of their lover. passion is so largely mental in them that it reaches heights in the imagination that reality seldom justifies and mere propinquity quells. for this reason they often are recklessly unfair to men, who are made on simpler lines. they had floated under the spreading arms of a thicket on the water's edge, and she was a brilliant white figure in the gloom. "i have no recipe," he said, smiling. "certainly not with the women that weep, poor things!" betty wondered what his personal attitude was to the tears of twenty years. she knew from sally that mrs. north had long attacks of depression. but his mind had been occupied; that meant almost everything. and his heart? "do you love anybody now?" she broke out. "is there a woman in your life? some one who makes you happy?" the smile left his lips. it was too much to say that it had been in his eyes, but they changed also. "there is no woman in my life, as you put it. why do you ask?" "because i want to know." they regarded each other squarely. in a moment he said deliberately: "the greatest happiness that i have had in the past few months has been my friendship with you. if i were free, i should make love to you. if you will have the truth, i can conceive of no happiness so great as to be your husband. i have caught myself dreaming of it--and over and over again. but as it is i am not going to make love to you. when the strain becomes too great, i shall leave you. until then--ah, don't!" betty, who had dropped her head when he began to speak, had raised it slowly, and her face concealed nothing. "i, too, love you," she said in a moment. "i love you, love you, love you. if you knew what a relief it is to say it. that is the reason i would not go up into the forest with you just now. i was afraid. i have been with you there too often!" for the first time she saw the muscles of his face relax, and she covered her face with her hands. "i shouldn't have told you," she whispered, "i shouldn't have told you. i have made it harder. you will go away at once." he did not speak for some minutes. then he said,-- "can you do without what we have?" "oh, no!" she said passionately. "oh, no! no!" "nor can i--without the hope and the prospect of an occasional hour with you, of the sympathy and understanding which has grown up between us. i have conquered myself many times, relinquished many hopes, and i think and believe that my self-control is as great as a man's can be. i shall not let myself go with you unless you tempt me beyond endurance; for as i said before, if i find that i am not strong enough, i shall leave you. you are a beautiful and seductive woman, and your power if you chose to exert it would madden any man. will you forget it? will you help me?" she dropped her hands. "yes," she said, "i'd rather suffer anything; i'd rather make myself over than do without you. and i couldn't! i couldn't! every least thing that happens, i want to go straight to you about it. i know that trouble is ahead, although i haven't admitted it before. i want you in every way! in every way! and i can't even have you in that. i never will speak like this again, but i'd like you to know. if you love me, you must know how terrible it is. i am not a child. i am twenty-seven years old." "i know," he replied; and for a few moments he said no more, but looked down into the water. "i am not a believer in people parting because they can't have everything," he continued finally. "it is only the very young who do that. they take the thing tragically; passion and disappointment trample down common-sense. if love is the very best thing in life, it is not the only thing. every time i have seen you i have wanted to take you in my arms, and yet i have enjoyed every moment spent in your presence. the thought of giving you up is intolerable. we both are old enough to control ourselves. and i believe that any habit can be acquired." "and will you never take me in your arms? have i got to go through life without that? i must say everything to-day--i will row out into the middle of the lake if you like, but i must know that." "you can stay here. there are certain things that no man can say, betty, even to the most loved and trusted of women. the only answer that i can make to your question is, that if i find i must leave you, i certainly shall take you in my arms once." "are you sorry i told you i loved you? would it be easier if i had not?" "probably. but i am not sorry! love can give happiness even when one is denied the expression of it." "i never intended to tell you. i was afraid if i did you would leave me at once." "so i should if you were not--you. but i should think myself a fool if i did not make an attempt to achieve the second best. i may fail, but i shall try. and life is made up of compromises." "you are more certain of smashing the trusts," she said with the humour which never bore repression for long. "in dealing with methodical scoundrels you know at least where you are. a man and woman never can be too certain of what five minutes will bring forth. that ends it. we never will discuss the question again until it comes up for the last time--if it does. i do not mean that i shall not tell you again that i love you, for i shall. i have no desire that you shall forget it. i mean that we will not discuss possibilities again, nor give expression to the passionate regret we both must feel. is it a compact?" "i will keep my part in it. i promise to be good. i have prided myself on my intelligence. i am not going to disgrace it by ruining the only happiness i ever shall have. i love you, and i will prove it by making your part as easy as i can, and by giving you all the happiness i am permitted to give you." he leaned toward her for the first time, but he did not touch her. "and i promise you this, my darling," he said softly: "if you ever should be in great trouble and should send for me--as of course you would do--i will take you in my arms then and forget myself. now, change seats with me and i will row you part of the way home; i shall get out a half-mile from the hotel. there really was no reason why you should have made me walk nearly the entire length of the lake." "i had fancied you in this particular part of the forest, and i wanted to find you here." "that is so like a woman," he said humorously. "but all of us make an occasional attempt to realize a dream, i suppose." viii he came over to dinner that night, and betty, who had walked about in a vague dreamy state all day, dressed herself again in white. she woke up suddenly as she came into his presence, and was the life of the dinner. harriet seemed absent of mind and nervous, but emory's spirits were normal, and he was more attentive to sally carter than she to him. but betty's interest in her friends' affairs had dropped to a very low ebb. she was in a new mental world, stranger than that entered by most women, for her hands were empty, but she was happy. she had reflected again--in so far as she had been capable of reflection--that most marriages were prosaic, and that her own high romance, her inestimable happiness in loving and being loved by a man in whom her pride was so great, was a lot to be envied of all women. it was not all the destiny she herself would have chosen, but it compassed a great deal. she would have made him wholly happy, been his whole happiness; marriage between them never would have been prosaic, and she would not have cared if it were; she would have made him forget the deep trials and sorrows of his past and the worries and annoyances of the present. but this was not to be, and there was much she could do for him and would. they talked politics through dinner, and mrs. madison noted with a sigh that betty's interest in the undesirable institution was unabated. she admired senator north, however, and felt pride in his appreciation of her brilliant daughter. she expressed her regret amiably at not being able to meet again mrs. north, who would see none but old friends in these days, and senator north assured her of his wife's agreeable remembrance of her brief acquaintance with mrs. madison. "how wonderfully well people behave whose common secret would set their world by the ears," thought betty. "our worst enemies could detect nothing; and on what there is heaven knows a huge scandal could be built." after dinner she played to him for an hour, while the others, with the exception of mrs. madison, who went to sleep, became absorbed in whist. but she did not see him for a moment alone, and jack rowed him across the lake. she went to her bed, but not to sleep. she hardly cared if she never slept again. night in a measure gave him to her, and to sleep was to forget the wonder that he loved her. it was shortly after midnight that she heard a faint but unmistakable creaking on the tin roof of the veranda. she sat up. some one was about to pass her window. she sprang out of bed, crossed the room softly, and lifted the edge of the curtain. a figure was almost crawling past. it was a woman's figure; the stars gave enough light to define its outlines at close range. she had a shawl over her head, but her angular body was unmistakable. she was miss trumbull. betty dropped the curtain and stared into the darkness. "whom is she watching?" she thought. "whom is she watching?" she went back to bed and listened intently. in half an hour she heard the same sound again. "she is going back to her room," thought betty. "what has she seen?" the next morning she sent for miss trumbull to come to her room. she had no intention of asking her to sit down, but the woman did not wait to be invited. she took a chair and fanned herself with a palm leaf that she picked from the table. "lawsy, but it's hot," she said. "i had a long argument with miss walker yesterday about new york state bein' hotter 'n down south, and she wouldn't believe it. but i usually know what i'm talkin' about, and hotter it is. i near lost my temper, for i guess i know when it's hot--" "what were you doing on the roof of the veranda last night?" asked betty, abruptly. miss trumbull turned the dark ugly red of her embarrassed condition. "i--" she stammered. "i saw you. whom were you watching?" "i warn't watchin' anybody. i was takin' a walk. i couldn't sleep." "you know perfectly well that the roof of a veranda is not intended to be walked on. your curiosity is insufferable. i suppose it has become professional. or are you hoping for blackmail? if so, the hotel is the place for you." this time miss trumbull turned purple. "i like money as well as anybody, i guess," she stuttered; 'but i'd never sell a secret to get it. i ain't low down and despicable if i am poor." "then you admit it is mere curiosity? i would rather you stole." "well, i don't steal, thank heaven. and i don't see any harm in tryin' to know what's goin' on in the world." "read the newspapers and let your neighbours alone, at all events the people in this house. i have twice seen you reading over the addresses of the letters of the outgoing mail. don't you ever do it again. you are a good housekeeper, but if i find you attending to anything but your own business, once more, you go on the moment. that is all i have to say." the woman left the room hurriedly. an hour or two later betty met harriet on the terrace. "i am sorry to appear to be always admonishing you," she said, "but i must ask you to have nothing more to do with miss trumbull." "i don't want to have anything more to do with her, honey. she has taken to arguing with me in that long self-satisfied drawl, and i have 'most got to hate her. i wouldn't mind so much if she was ever right, but she is a downright fool, and i reckon all fools are pretty much alike. and i have a horrible idea that she suspects something. i have seen her staring at my finger-nails two or three times. and i am 'most sure some one has gone through the little trunk i keep my letters in. of course the key is always in my purse, but she may have had one that fits, and the things are not like i left them, i am 'most sure." "she probably envies your finger-nails, and the trunk, doubtless, was upset in travelling. besides, i don't think she's malignant. like most underbred persons, she is curious, and she has cultivated the trait until it has become a disease." "but there's no knowing what she might do if she took a dislike to me. she's not bad-hearted at all, but she could be spiteful, and i can't and won't stand her any longer. i reckon i'd like to go to europe, anyhow. i feel as if every one was guessing my secret. over there you say they don't mind those things, and i'd enjoy being in that kind of a place." "go, by all means. i'll write at once and inquire about a chaperon--" "oh, i don't want to go just yet. september will do. i reckon these mountains are about as cool at this time of the year as anywhere, and they make me feel strong." she added abruptly: "does sally suspect?" betty nodded. "yes, she surprised the truth out of me. i am more sorry--" harriet had gripped her arm with both hands. her face was ghastly. "she knows? she knows?" she gasped. "then she will tell him. oh! why was i ever born?" betty made her sit down and took her head in her arms. harriet was weeping with more passion than she ever had seen her display. "you believe me always, don't you?" she said. "for miss trumbull i cannot answer, but for sally i can--positively. she never would do a mean and ignoble thing." "she loves him!" that is the more reason for not telling him. cannot you understand high-mindedness?" "oh, yes. you are high-minded, and _he_--that is the reason i should die if he found out; for he hates, he loathes deceit. oh, i've grown to hate this country. i love you, but i'd like to forget that it was ever on the map. i wish i was coal black and had been born in africa." "why don't you go there and live, set up a sort of court?" asked betty, seized with an inspiration. "and live among niggers? i despise and abhor niggers! if one put his dirty black paw on me, i'd 'most kill him!" betty turned away her head to conceal a smile; but harriet, who was wholly without humour, continued: "betty, honey, i want you to promise me that if i ever do anything to disappoint you, you'll forgive me. i love you so i couldn't bear to have you despise me." "what have you been doing?" asked betty, anxiously. "nothing, honey," replied harriet, promptly. "i mean if i did." "don't do anything that requires forgiveness. it makes life so much simpler not to. and remember the promise you made me." "oh, i don't reckon i'll ever forget that." ix senator north started for washington that afternoon. betty did not see him again. he did not write, but she hardly expected that he would. he had remarked once that two-thirds of all the trouble in the world came out of letters, and betty, with miss trumbull in mind, was inclined to agree with him. he would not return for a fortnight. on friday, very late, senator burleigh arrived. he was on the finance committee, but had written that he should break his chains for this brief holiday if he never had another. he had sent her two boxes of flowers since her return, and had written her a large number of brief, emphatic, but impersonal letters during her sojourn in california. he looked big and breezy and triumphant as he entered the living-room, and he sprinkled magnetism like a huge watering-pot. betty knew by this time that all men successful in american politics had this qualification, and had come in contact with it so often since her introduction to the senate that it had ceased to have any effect on her except when emanating from one man. "are you not frightfully tired?" she asked. "what a journey!" "anything, even a fourteen hours' train journey, is heaven after washington in hot weather. the asphalt pavements are reeking, and your heels go in when you forget to walk on your toes--and stick. but it is enchanting up here." his eyes dwelt with frank delight on her fresh blue organdie. "oh, washington does not exist," he exclaimed. "i thought constantly of you when we were struggling over that tariff bill in committee, and i wanted to put all the fabrics you like on the free list, as a special compliment to you." "the unwritten history of a committee room! law does not seem like law at all when one knows the makers of it. but you must be starved. if you will follow me blindly down the hall, i promise that you will really be glad you came." miss trumbull had attended personally to the supper, and he did it justice, although he continued to talk to betty and to let his eyes express a more fervent admiration than had been their previous habit. "there's no hope for me," thought betty, when emory had taken him to his room. "he has made up his mind to propose during this visit. if i can only stave it off till the last minute!" as she went up the stair, she met miss trumbull, who was coming down. "your supper was very good," she said kindly. "thank you for sitting up." that was enough for the housekeeper, who appeared to have conceived a worship of the hand that had smitten her. it had seemed to betty in the last few days that she met her admiring eyes whichever way she turned. miss trumbull put out her hand and fumbled at the lace on miss madison's gown. "tell me," she drawled wheedlingly, "that's your beau, ain't it? i guessed he was when those flowers come, and the minute i set eyes on him, i said to myself, 'that's the gentleman for miss madison. my! but you'll make a handsome couple." "oh!" exclaimed betty. "oh!" then she laughed. the woman was too ridiculous for further anger. "good-night," she said, and went on to her room. x betty had organized a picnic for the following day, inviting several acquaintances from the hotel; and they all drove to a favourite spot in the forest. mrs. madison's maid had charge of many cushions, and disposed her tiny mistress--who looked like a wood fairy in lilac mull--comfortably on a bed of pine needles. major carter felt young once more as he grilled steaks at a camp-fire, and harriet enchanted him with her rapt attention while his memory rioted in deeds of war. senator burleigh had never appeared so well, betty thought. there was an out-of-door atmosphere about him at any time; no doubt he had been a mighty wind in the senate more than once during the stormy passage of the tariff bill; but with all out-doors around him he looked nothing less than a mountain king. his large well-knit frame, full of strength and energy, was at its triumphant best in outing tweeds and scotch stockings; his fair handsome face was boyish, despite its almost fierce determination, as he pranced about, intoxicated with the mountain air. "if you ever had spent one summer in washington, you would understand," he said to betty. "this is where i'd like to spend the rest of my life. i'd like to think i'd never see a city or the inside of a house again." "then you'd probably hew down the forest, which would be a loss to the state: you would have to do something with your superfluous energy. and what would you do with your brain? mere reading, when your arm ached from chopping, never would content you." "no, that is the worst of civilization. it either produces discontented savages like myself or goes too far and turns the whole body into brain. i have managed to get a sort of steam-engine into my head which gives me little rest and would wear out my body if i didn't happen to have the constitution of a buffalo. but i doubt if i shall be what north is, sixteen years hence. that man is the best example of equilibrium i have ever seen. his mental activity is enormous, but his control over himself is so absolute that he never wastes an ounce of force. i've seen him look as fresh at the end of a long day of debate as he was when he got on his feet. he never lets go of himself for a moment." that was the only time betty heard senator north's name mentioned during burleigh's visit, for the younger man was much more interested in himself and the object of his holiday. "i think if it hadn't been for this extra session i should have followed you to california," he said abruptly. "i didn't know how much i depended for my entire happiness upon my frequent visits to your house until i came back after the short vacation and found you gone." "it would have been jolly to have had you in california. but you must feel that your time has not been thrown away. are you satisfied with the tariff bill?" "i liked it fairly well as we re-wrote it, but i don't expect to care much about it after it comes out of conference. but there are no politics in the adirondacks, and when a weary senator is looking at a woman in a pale green muslin--" "you look anything but weary. i expect you will tramp over half the adirondacks before you go back. and i am sure you will eat one of those beefsteaks. come, they are ready." but although she managed to seat him between sally carter and an extremely pretty girl, he was at her side again the moment the gay party began to split into couples. "will you come for a walk?" he asked. "i do want to roam about on the old trails the indians made, and to get away from these hideous emblems of modern civilization--sailor hats. thank heaven you don't wear a sailor hat." betty shot a peremptory glance at sally carter, who nodded and started to follow with a small dark attache who had pursued herself and her million for five determined years. he was titled if not noble, a clever operator of a small brain, and a high-priest of teas. he knew the personnel of washington society so thoroughly that he never had been known to waste a solitary moment on a portion-less girl, and he had successfully cultivated every art that could commend him to the imperious favourites of fortune. betty madison had disposed of him in short order, but miss carter, although she refused him periodically, allowed him to hang on, for he amused her and read her favourite authors. they had not walked far when he seized the picturesque opportunity to press his suit, and miss carter, while scolding him soundly, forgot the rapid walkers in front. betty, as she tramped along beside the large swinging presence the forest seemed to embrace as its own, wondered why she did not love him, wondered if she should, had she never met the other man. doubtless, for he possessed all the attributes of the conquering hero, and she would have excavated the ideals of her romantic girlhood, brushed and re-cut their garments, and then deliberately set fire to her imagination. if the responsive spark had held sullenly aloof, awaiting its time, she, knowing nothing of its existence, would soon have ceased to remember the half-conscious labours of the initial stage of her affections, and doubtless would have married this fine specimen of american manhood, and been happy enough. but the responsive spark had struck, and illumined the deepest recesses of her heart in time to burn contempt into any effort of her brain, now or hereafter. the question did assail her--as burleigh talked of his summer outings among the stupendous mountains of his chosen state--could she turn to him in time were she suddenly and permanently separated from the other? she shook her head in resentment at the treasonable thought; but her brain had received every advantage of the higher civilization for twenty-seven years, and worked by itself. she was young and she had much to give; in consequence, much to receive. she could find the highest with one man only, for with him alone would her imagination do its final work. but nature is inexorable. she commands union; and as the years went by and one memory grew dimmer--who knew? but the thought gave her a moment of sadness so profound that she ceased to hear the voice of the man beside her. she had had moments of deep insight before, and again she stared down into the depths where so many women's agonized memories lie buried. she suddenly felt a warm clasp round her hand, and for a second responded to it gratefully, for hers had turned cold. then she realized that she was in the present, and withdrew her hand hurriedly. "forgive me," he said. "i simply couldn't help it. i could in washington, and i felt that i must wait. but up here--i want to marry you. you know that, do you not?" betty glanced over her shoulder. there was to be no interruption. she was mistress of herself at once. "i cannot marry you," she said. "i almost wish i could, but i cannot." he swung into the middle of the path and stood still, looking down upon her squarely. there was nothing of the suppliant in his attitude. he looked unconquerable. "i did not expect to win you in a moment," he said. "i should not have expected it if i had waited another year. i knew from the beginning that it would be hard work, for if a woman does not love at once it takes a long time to teach her what love is. i have tried to make you like me, and i think i have succeeded. that is all i can hope for now. you have been surfeited and satiated with admiration, and you regard all men as having been born to burn incense before you. i love you for that too. i should hate a woman who even had it in her to love a man out of gratitude. you have your world at your feet, and i want mine at my feet. you have won yours without effort, for you were born with the crown and sceptre of fascination, i have to fight for mine. but the same instinct is in us both, the same possibilities on different lines. i am not making you the broken passionate appeal of the usual lover, because so long as i know you do not love me i could not place myself at the mercy of emotion--i have no thought of making a fool of myself. but when i do win you--then--ah! that will be another matter." she shook her head, but smiling, for she never had liked and admired him more. she knew of what passion he was capable, and how absurd he would have looked if lashed by it while her cool eyes looked on. his self-control made him magnificent. "i never shall marry," she said, and then laughed, in spite of herself, at the world-old formula. burleigh laughed also. "there isn't time enough left before chaos comes again to argue with a woman a question which means absolutely nothing. i am going to marry you. i have accomplished everything big i have ever strived for. i never have wanted to marry any other woman, and i want to marry you more than i wanted to become a senator of the united states. nothing could discourage me unless i thought you loved another man, but so far as i can see there is no other suitor in the field. you appear to have refused every proposing man in washington. is there any one on the other side?" he asked anxiously. "no one. i have no suitor beside yourself; but--" "i don't understand that word, any more than i understand the word 'fail,'" he said in his rapid truculent tones. then he added more gently: "i am afraid you think i should be a tyrant, but no one would tyrannize over you, for you are any man's equal, and he never would forget it. i could not love a fool. i want a mate. and i should love you so much that i never should cease atoning for my fractious and other unpleasant qualities--" "you have none! i cannot do less than tell you i think you are one of the finest men this country has produced, and that i am as proud of you as she will be--" "let me interrupt you before you say 'but.' that i have won so high an opinion from you gives me the deepest possible gratification. but i want much more than that. let us go on with our walk. i'll say no more at present." xi he did not allude to the subject again by so much as a tender glance, and betty, who knew the power of man to exasperate, appreciated his consideration. she wondered how deep his actual knowledge of women went, how much of his success with them he owed to the strong manly instincts springing from a subsoil of sound common-sense which had carried him safely past so many of the pitfalls of life. nor did his high spirits wane. he stayed out of doors, in the forest or on the lake, until midnight, and was up again at five in the morning. betty was fond of fresh air and exercise, but she had so much of both during the two days of his visit that she went to bed on the night of his departure with a sense of being drugged with ozone and battered with energy. the next day she did not rise until ten, and was still enjoying the dim seclusion of her room when sally tapped and entered. miss carter looked nervous, and her usually sallow cheeks were flushed. "i've come to say something i'm almost ashamed to say, but i can't help it," she began abruptly. "i'm going away. i can't, i _can't _sit down at the table any longer with _her,_ and treat her as an equal. i writhe every time she calls me 'sally.' i know it's a silly senseless prejudice--no, it isn't. black blood is loathsome, horrible!--and the less there is of it the worse it is. i don't mind the out-and-out negroes. i love the dear old darkies in the country; and even the prosperous coloured people are tolerable so long as they don't presume; but there is something so hideously unnatural, so repulsive, so accursed, in an apparently white person with that hidden evidence in him of slavery and lechery. paugh! it is sickening. they are walking shameless proclamations of lust and crime. i'm sorry for them. if by any surgical process the taint could be extracted, i'd turn philanthropic and devote half my fortune to it; but it can't be, and i'm either not strong-minded enough, or have inherited too many generations of fastidiousness and refinement to bring myself to receive these outcasts as equals. i feel particularly sorry for harriet. she shows her cursed inheritance in more ways than one, but without it, think what she would be,--a high-bred, intellectual, charming woman. she just escapes being that now, but she does escape it. the taint is all through her. and she knows it. in spite of all you've done for her, of all you've made possible for her, she'll be unhappy as long as she lives." "she certainly will be if everybody discovers her secret and is as unjust as you are." betty, like the rest of the world, had no toleration for the weaknesses herself had conquered. "we cannot undo great wrongs, but it is our duty to make life a little less tragic for the victims, if we can." "i can't. i've tried, i've struggled with myself as i've never struggled before, ever since i learned the truth. it sickens me. it makes me feel the weak, contemptible, common clay of which we all are made, and our only chance of happiness is to forget that. but i've said all i've got to say about myself. i'm going, and that is the end of it. i'll wear a mask till the last minute, for i wouldn't hurt the poor thing's feelings for the world. and i'd die sixteen deaths before i'd betray her. but, betty, get rid of her. she wants to go to europe. let her go. keep her there. for as sure as fate her secret will leak out in time. she _breathes_ it. if i felt it, others will, and certainty soon follows suspicion. jack would have felt it long since if he were not blinded and intoxicated by her beauty; but you can't count on men. he'll soon forget her if you send her away in time, and for your own sake as well as his get rid of her. you don't want people avoiding your house!" "she is going. she has no desire to stay, poor thing! of course, i know how you feel. i felt that way myself at first, but i conquered it. others won't, i suppose, and it is best that she should go where such prejudices don't exist. i spoke to her again a day or two ago about it--for your idea that jack loves her has made me nervous, although i can see no evidence of it--and i suggested that she should go at once; but she seems to have made up her mind to september, and i cannot insist without wounding her feelings. i wish jack would go away, but he always is so much better up here than anywhere else that i can't suggest that, either." "well, i'm going now to tell papa he must prepare his mind for bar harbor. say that you forgive me, betty, for i love you." "oh, yes, i forgive you," said betty, with a half laugh, "for a wise man i know once said that our strongest prejudice is a part of us." xii after major carter and sally left, betty had less freedom, for her mother was lonely; moreover, she dared not leave emory and harriet too much together. the danger still might be averted if she did her duty and stood guard. she never had seen jack look so well as he looked this summer. the very gold of his hair seemed brighter, and his blue eyes were often radiant. his beauty was conventional, but betty could imagine its potent effect on a girl of harriet walker's temperament and limited experience. but he had appeared to prefer sally's society to harriet's, and his spirits dropped after her departure. it was only when harriet offered to read to mrs. madison and settled down to three hours' steady work a day, that betty allowed herself liberty after the early morning. from five till eight in the evening and for an hour or two before breakfast she roamed the forest or pulled indolently about the lake. the hours suited her, for the hotel people were little given to early rising; and although they boated industriously by day, they preferred the lower and more fashionable lake, and dined at half-past six. life with her no longer was a smooth sailing on a summer lake. there was a roar below, as if the lake rested lightly on a subterranean ocean; and the very pines seemed to have developed a warning note. harriet looked like a walking fate, nothing less. since sally's abrupt departure she had not smiled, and betty knew that instinct divined and explained the sudden aversion of a girl who did so much to add to the cheerfulness of her friends. emory also looked more like his melancholy self, and wandered about with a volume of pindar and an expression of discontent. did he love harriet? and were her spirits affecting his? since harriet's promise betty felt that she had no right to speak. he had weathered one love affair, he could weather another. when harriet was safe in europe, she would turn matchmaker and marry him to sally carter. betty thought lightly of the disappointments of men, having been the cause of many. so long as jack did not dishonour himself and his house by marriage with a proscribed race, nothing less really mattered. but she played his favourite music and strove to amuse him. she rallied him one day about the change in his spirits since the departure of sally carter, and he admitted that he missed her, that he always felt his best when with her. "not that i love her more than i do you," he added, fearing that he had been impolite. "but she strikes just that chord. she always makes me laugh. she is a sort of sun and warms one up--" "the truth of the matter is that she strikes more chords than you will admit. she's just the one woman you ought to marry. if you'd make up your mind to love her, you'd soon find it surprisingly easy, and wonder why it never had occurred to you before." betty thought she might as well begin at once. he shook his head, and his handsome face flushed. it was not a frank face; he had lived too solitary and introspective a life for frankness; but he met betty's eyes unflinchingly. "she is not in the least the woman for me. she lacks beauty, and i could not stand a woman who was gay--and--and staccato all the time. it is delightful to meet, but would be insufferable to live with." "what is your ideal type?" he rose and raised her hand to his lips with all his old elaborate gallantry. "oh, betty madison! betty madison!" he exclaimed. "that you should live to ask me such a question as that?" "i'd like to box his ears if he did not mean that," thought betty. "i particularly should dislike his attempting to blind me in that way." and herself? she asked this question more than once as she rowed toward the northern end of the lake in the dawn, or in the heavier shadows at the close of the day. could it last? and how long? and did he believe that it could last? or was he, with the practical instinct of a man of the world, merely determined to quaff that fragrant mildly intoxicating wine of mental love-making, until the gods began to grin? she had many moods, but when a woman is sure that her love is returned and is not denied the man's occasional presence, she cannot be unhappy for long, perhaps never wholly so. for while there is love there is hope, and while there is hope tears do not scald. betty dared not let her thought turn for a moment to mrs. north. her will was strong enough to keep her mind on the high plane necessary to her self-respect. she would not even ask herself if he knew how low the sands had dropped in that unhappy life. the horizon of the future was thick with flying mist. only his figure stood there, immovable, always. "and it is remarkable how things do go on and on and on," she thought once. "they become a habit, then a commonplace. it is because they are so mixed up with the other details of life. nothing stands out long by itself. the equilibrium is soon restored, and unless one deliberately starts it into prominence again, it stays in its proper place and swings with the rest." she knew her greatest danger. she had it in her to be one of the most intoxicating women alive. was this man she loved so passionately to go on to the end of his life only guessing what the fates forbade him? the years of the impersonal attitude to men which she had thought it right to assume had made her anticipate the more keenly the freedom which one man would bring her. she frankly admitted the strength of her nature, she almost had admitted it to him; should she always be able to control the strong womanly vanity which would give him something more than a passing glimpse of the woman, making him forget the girl? if she did anything so reprehensible, it would be the last glimpse he would take of her, she reflected with a sigh, she wondered that passion and the spiritual part of love should be so hopelessly entangled. she was ready to live a life of celibacy for his sake; she delighted in his mind, and knew that had it been commonplace she could not have loved him did he have every other gift in the workshop of the gods; she worshipped his strength of character, his independence, his lofty yet practical devotion to an ideal; she loved him for his attitude to his wife, the manly and uncomplaining manner with which he accepted his broken and shadowed home life, when his temperament demanded the very full of domestic happiness, and the heavy labours of his days made its lack more bitter; and she sympathized keenly in his love for and pride in his sons. there was nothing fine about him that she did not appreciate and love him the more exaltedly for; and yet she knew that had he been without strong passions she would have loved him for none of these things. for of such is love between man and woman when they are of the highest types that nature has produced. betty hated the thought of sin as she hated vulgarity, and did not contemplate it for a moment, but if she had roused but the calm affection of this man she would have been as miserable as for the hour, at least, she was happy. xiii betty was determined that saturday and sunday should be her own, free of care. she sent emory to new york to talk over an investment with her man of business, and she provided her mother with eight new novels. as harriet loved the novel only less than she loved the studies which furnished her ambitious mind, betty knew that she would read aloud all day without complaint. miss trumbull, of whom she had seen little of late, and who had looked sullen and haughty since harriet with untactful abruptness had placed her at arm's length, she requested to superintend in person the cleaning of the lower rooms. her mind being at rest, she arose at four on the morning of saturday. she rowed across the lake this time and picked up senator north about a half-mile from the hotel. his hands were full of fishing-tackle. "will you take me fishing?" he said. "can you give me the whole morning? i hear there is better fishing in the lake above, and a farmhouse where we can get breakfast. do you know the way?" she nodded, and he took the oars from her and rowed up the lake. "my wife always sleeps until noon," he said. "we can have seven hours if you will give them to me." "of course i'll give them to you. i may as well admit that i intended to have them. i made an elaborate disposition of my household to that end." they were smiling at each other, and both looked happy and free of desire for anything but seven long hours of pleasant companionship. the morning, bright and full of sound, mated itself with the superficial moods of man, and was not cast for love-making. "well, what have you been doing?" he asked. "i have had you in a permanent and most refreshing vision, floating up and down this lake, or flitting through the forest, in that white frock. i know that burleigh was here--" "i did not wear white for him." "ah! he has looked very vague, not to say mooning, since his return. i am thankful he is not seeing you exactly as i do. how is the lady of the shadows?" "sally's southern gorge rose so high, after she discovered the taint, that she left precipitately. she couldn't sit at the table with even a hidden drop of negro blood." "you southerners will solve the negro problem by inspiring the entire race with an irresistible desire to cut its throat. if a tidal wave would wash ireland out of existence and the blacks in this country would dispose of themselves, how happy we all should be! what else have you been doing?" "i have read the congressional record every day, and the _federalist_ and state papers of hamilton; to say nothing of the monographs in the american statesmen series. mr. burleigh insisted that i must acquire the national sense, and i have acquired it to such an extent that half the time i don't know whether i am living in history or out of it. even the record makes me feel impersonal, and as 'national' as mr. burleigh could wish." "burleigh intends that his state shall be proud of you." betty flushed. "don't prophesy, even in fun. i believe i am superstitious. his idea is that politics are to become a sort of second nature with me before i start my _salon_--why do you smile cynically? don't you think i can have a _salon?_" "you might build up one in the course of ten years if you devoted your whole mind to it and made no mistakes; nothing is impossible. but for a long while you merely will find yourself entertaining a lot of men who want to talk on any subject but politics after they have turned their backs on capitol hill. they will be extremely grateful if you will provide them with some lively music, a reasonable amount of punch, and an unlimited number of pretty and entertaining women. but don't expect them to invite you down the winding ways of their brains to the cupboards where they have hung up their great thoughts for the night. i do not even see them standing in groups of three, their right hands thrust under their coat fronts, gravely muttering at each other. i see them invariably doing their poor best to make some pretty woman forget they could be bores if they were not vigilant." "the pretty women i shall ask will not think them bores. the thing to do at first, of course, is to get them there." "oh, there will be no difficulty about that. why do you want a _salon_? are you ambitious?" betty nodded. "yes, i think i am. at first i only wanted a new experience. now that i have met so many men with careers, i want one too. if i succeed, i shall be the most famous woman in america." "you certainly would be. very well, i will do all i can to help you. it is possible, as i said. and you have many qualifications--" "ah!" betty's face lit up. "if there is war with spain, they will talk of nothing else--don't frown so at me. i'm sure i don't want a war if you don't. those are my politics. here is the water lane between the two lakes. i almost had forgotten it. i hope it isn't overgrown." she spoke lightly, but more truly than she was wholly willing to admit. women see political questions, as they see all life, through the eyes of some man. if he is not their lover, he is a public character for whom they have a pleasing sentiment. senator north pulled into the long winding lane of water in a cleft of the mountains. it was dark and chill here they were in the heart of the forest; they had but to turn their heads to look straight into the long vistas, heavy with silence and shadows. he rowed for some moments without speaking. he felt their profound and picturesque isolation, and had no desire to break the spell of it. she recalled her wish that the adirondacks would swing off into space, but smiled: she was too happy in the mere presence of the man to wish for anything more. he let his eyes meet hers and linger in their depths, and when he smiled at the end of that long communion it was with tenderness. but when he spoke he addressed himself to her mind alone. "no, you must not wish for war with spain. if we ever are placed in a position where patriotism commands war, i shall be the last to oppose it. if england had not behaved with her calm good sense at the time of the venezuela difficulty, but had taken our jingoes seriously and returned their insults, we should have had no alternative but war,--the serious and conservative of the country would have had to suffer from the errors of its fools, as is often the case. but for this war there would be no possible excuse. spain at one time owned nearly two-thirds of the earth's surface. she has lost every inch of it, except the peninsula and a few islands, by her cruelty and stupidity. her manifest destiny is to lose these islands in the same manner and for the same reasons. and brutal and stupid as she is, we have no more right to interfere in her domestic affairs than had europe to interfere in ours when we were torn by a struggle that had a far greater effect on the progress of civilization than the trouble between dissatisfied colonists and decadent spaniards in this petty island. god only knows how many intellects went out on those battlefields in the four years of the civil war, which, had they persisted and developed, would have added to the legislative wisdom of this country. we knew what we were losing, knew that the longer the struggle lasted the longer would our growth as a nation be retarded, and the horrors of our battlefields were quite as ghastly as anything set forth in the reports from cuba. and yet every thinking man among us, young and old, turned cold with apprehension when we were threatened with a european interference which would have dishonoured us. that spain is behaving with wanton brutality would not be to the point, even if the reports were not exaggerated, which they are,--for the matter of that, the cubans are equally brutal when they find the opportunity. the point is that it is none of our business. the cubans have rebelled. they must take the consequences, sustained by the certainty of success in the end. moreover, we not only are on friendly terms with spain, we not only have no personal grievance as a nation against her, but we are a great nation, she is a weak one. we have no moral right, we a lusty young country, to humiliate a proud and ancient kingdom, expose the weaknesses and diseases of her old age to the unpitying eyes of the world. it would be a despicable and a cowardly act, and it horrifies me to think that the united states could be capable of it. for spain i care nothing. the sooner she dies of her own rottenness the better; but let her die a natural death. my concern is for my own country. i don't want her to violate those fundamental principles to whose adherence alone she can hope to reach the highest pitch of development." betty smiled. "mr. burleigh says that washington had a brain of ice, and that his ideal of american prosperity was frozen within it. i suppose he would say the same of you." "i have not a brain of ice. i know that the only hope for this republic is to anchor itself to conservatism. the splits in the democratic party have generated enough policies to run several virile young nations on the rocks. the populist is so eager to help the farmer that he is indifferent to national dishonour. the riff-raff in the house is discouraging. the house ought to be a training-school for the senate. it is a forum for excitable amateurs. the new england senators are almost the only ones with a long--or any--record in the house." "they are bright, most of those representatives--even the woolly ones; as quick as lightning." "oh, yes, they are bright," he said contemptuously. "the average american is bright. if one prefixes no stronger adjective than that to his name, he accomplishes very little in life. don't think me a pessimist," he added, smiling. "all over the country the schools and colleges are instilling the principles of conservatism and practical politics on the old lines, and therein lies hope. i feel sure i shall live to see the republic safely past the dangers that threaten it now. the war with spain is the worst of these. no war finishes without far-reaching results, and the conscience of a country, like the conscience of a man, may be too severely tried. if we whip spain--the 'if,' of course, is a euphemism--we not only shall be tempted to do things that are unconstitutional, but we are more than liable to make a laughing-stock of the monroe doctrine. for reasons i am not going into this beautiful summer morning, with fish waiting to be caught, we are liable to be landed in foreign waters with all europe as our enemy and our second-rate statesmen at home pleading for a new constitution--which would mean a new united states and unimaginable and interminable difficulties. have i said enough to make you understand why i think we owe a higher duty to a country that should and could be greater than it is, than even to two hundred thousand cubans whom we should but starve the faster if we hemmed them in? very well, if you will kindly bait that hook i will see what i can get. the rest of the world may sink, for all i care this morning." they had entered another lake, smaller and even wilder in its surroundings, for there was no sign of habitation. "few people know of this lake, i am told," said senator north, contentedly; "and we are unlikely to see a living soul for hours, except while we are discovering that farmhouse. are you hungry?" "yes, but catch a lot of fish before we go to the farmhouse--i know where it is--for i detest bread and milk and eggs." the fish were abundant, and he had filled his basket at the end of an hour. then they tied up their boat and went in search of the farmhouse. it was a poor affair, but a good-natured woman fried their fish and contributed potatoes they could eat. betty was rattling on in her gayest spirits, when her glance happened to light on a photograph in a straw frame. she half rose to her feet, then sank back in her chair with a frown of annoyance. "what is it?" he asked anxiously. "a photograph of my housekeeper, a woman who is all curiosity where her brain ought to be." "well, it is only her photograph, not herself, and this woman does not know my name. you are not to bother about anything this morning." they went back to the lake. he caught another basket of fish, and then they floated about idly, sometimes silent, sometimes talking in a desultory way about many things that interested them both. betty wondered where he had found time to read and think so much on subjects that belong to the literary wing of the brain and have nothing to do with the vast subjects of politics and statesmanship, of which he was so complete a master. she recalled what her mother had said about her brain being her worst enemy when she fell in love. it certainly made her love this man more profoundly and passionately, for her own was of that high quality which demanded a greater to worship. and if she loved the man it was because his whole virile magnetic being was the outward and visible expression of the mind that informed it. it was almost noon when they parted, pleased with themselves and with life. they agreed to meet again on the following morning. xiv as betty ascended the terrace, she was amazed to see jack emory sitting on the veranda. he threw aside his cigarette and came to meet her. "anderson had gone to the other end of long island--sag harbor," he said; "and as i did not like to follow him into his home on a matter of business, i came back. new york is one vast oven; i could not make up my mind to wait there. i'd rather take the trip again." betty concealed her vexation, and replied that she was sorry he had had a disagreeable journey for nothing, while wondering if her conscience would permit her to absent herself for seven hours on the morrow. but harriet had read one novel through and begun another. it was evident that she had not left mrs. madison's side, and jack had been home for two hours. betty lightly forbade her to tire herself further that day, and after luncheon they all went for a drive. when mrs. madison retired for her nap at four o'clock, betty, who longed for the seclusion of her room and the delight of re-living the morning hours, established herself in the middle of the veranda, with harriet beside her and jack swinging in a hammock at the corner. "thank heaven she wants to go to europe in september," she thought. "if i had to be duenna for six months, i should become a cross old-maid. i'll never forgive sally for deserting me." she could have filled the house with company, but that would have meant late hours and the sacrifice of such solitude as she now could command. she had always disliked the burden of entertaining in summer, never more so than during this, when her loneliest hours were, with the exception of just fifteen others and twenty-one minutes, the happiest she ever had known. jack and harriet manifested not the slightest desire to be together, and betty went to bed at nine o'clock, wondering if she were not boring herself unnecessarily. she was deep in her first sleep when her consciousness struggled toward an unaccustomed sound. she awoke suddenly at the last, and became aware of a low, continuous, but peremptory knocking. she lit a candle at once and opened the door. miss trumbull stood there, her large bony face surrounded by curl-papers that stood out like horns, and an extremely disagreeable expression on her mouth. she wore a grey flannel wrapper and had a stocking tied round her throat. betty reflected that she never had seen a more unattractive figure, but asked her if she were ill--if her throat were ailing-- miss trumbull entered and closed the door behind her. "i'm a christian woman," she announced, "and an unmarried one, and i ain't goin' to stay in a house where there's sech goin's on." "what do you mean?" asked betty coldly, although she felt her lips turn white. "i mean what i say. i'm a christian--" "i do not care in the least about your religious convictions. i want to know what you wish to tell me. there is no necessity to lead up to it." "well--i can't say it. so there! i warn't brought up to talk about sech things. just you come with me and find out for yourself." "you have been prying in the servants' wing, i suppose. do i understand that that is the sort of thing you expect me to do?" "it ain't the servants' wing--where i've been listenin' and watchin' till i've made sure--out of dooty to myself." she lowered her voice and spoke with a hoarse wheeze. "it's the room at the end of the second turning." betty allowed the woman to help her into a wrapper, for her hands were trembling. she followed miss trumbull down the hall, hardly believing she was awake, praying that it might be a bad dream. they turned the second corner, and the housekeeper waved her arm dramatically at harriet's door. "very well," said betty. "go to your room. i prefer to be alone." miss trumbull retired with evident reluctance. betty heard a door close ostentatiously, and inferred that her housekeeper was returning to a point of vantage. but she did not care. she felt steeped in horror and disgust. she wished that she never had felt a throb of love. all love seemed vulgar and abominable, a thing to be shunned for ever by any woman who cared to retain her distinction of mind. she would not meet senator north to-morrow. she did not care if she never saw him again. she would like to go into a convent and not see any man again. she never ceased to be grateful that she was spared hours of musing that might have burnt permanently into her memory. she had not walked up and down the hall for fifteen minutes before the door at the end of the side corridor opened and emory came out. betty did not hesitate. she advanced at once toward him. he did not recoil, he stood rigid for a moment. then he said distinctly,-- "we have been married three months. will you come downstairs for a few moments?" she followed him down the stair, trembling so violently that she could not clutch the banisters, and fearing she should fall forward upon him. but before she had reached the living-room she had made a desperate effort to control herself. she realized the danger of betraying harriet's secret before she had made up her mind what course was best, but she was not capable of grappling with any question until the shock was over. her brain felt stunned. emory lit one of the lamps, and betty turned her back to it. he was very white, and she conceived a sudden and violent dislike to him. she never before had appreciated fully the weakness in that beautiful high-bred intellectual face. it was old-fashioned and dreamy. it had not a suggestion of modern grip and keenness and determination. "i have deceived you, betty," he began mournfully; but she interrupted him. "i am neither your mother nor your sister," she said cuttingly. "i am only your cousin. you were under no obligation to confide in me. i object to being made use of, that is all." "i am coming to that," he replied humbly. "let me tell you the story as best i can. we did not discover that we loved each other until after you left. it had taken me some time to realize it--for--for--i did not think i ever could change. i was almost horrified; but soon i made up my mind it was for the best. i had been lonely and miserable long enough, and i had it in my power to take the loneliness and misery from another. i was almost insanely happy. i wanted to marry at once, but for a few days harriet would not consent. she wanted to be an accomplished woman when she became my wife. then she suggested that we should be married secretly, and the next day we went over into virginia and were married--in a small village. she begged me not to tell you till you came back. when you returned, her courage failed her, for after all you were her benefactor and she had deceived you. she protested that she could not, that she dared not tell you. it has been an extremely disagreeable position to me, for i have felt almost a cad in this house, but i understood her feeling, for you had every reason to be angry and scornful. so we agreed to go to europe in september and write to you from there. she wanted to go at once--soon after you returned; but i must wait till certain money comes in. i cannot live on what you so generously gave her. she would not go without me, and in spite of everything, i am almost ashamed to say, i have been very happy here--" "is that all? i will go to my room now. goodnight." she hurried upstairs, wishing she had a sleeping powder. as she closed the door of her room, the tall sombre figure of harriet rose from a chair and confronted her. betty hastily lit two lamps. she could not endure harriet in a half light,--not while she wore black, at all events. "he has told me," she said briefly, answering the agonized inquiry in those haggard eyes. "i told him nothing." harriet drew a long breath and swayed slightly. "ah!" she said. "ah! thank the lord for that. i hope you will never have to go through what i have in this last half-hour." she seemed to recover herself rapidly, for after she had walked the length of the room twice, she confronted betty with a tightening of the muscles of her face that gave it the expression of resolution which her features always had seemed to demand. "this is wholly my affair now," she said. "it is all between him and me. it would be criminal for you to interfere. when i realised i loved him, i made up my mind to marry him at once. i knew that you would not permit it, and although i hated to deceive you, i made up my mind that i would have my happiness. i intended to tell you when you got back, but after what you said to me that day i was scared you'd tell him. if you do--if you do--i swear before the lord that i'll drown myself in that lake--" "i have no intention of telling him. as you say, it is now your own affair." "it is; it is. and although i may have to pay the price one day, i'll hope and hope till the last minute. i shall not let him return to america, and perhaps he will never guess. somehow it seems as if everything must be right different over there, as if all life would look different." "you will find your point of view quite the same when you get there, for you take yourself with you. i'd like to go to bed now, harriet, if you don't mind. i'm terribly tired." "i'll go. there is only one other thing i want to say. i shall have no children. i vowed long ago that the curse i had been forced to inherit should not poison another generation. your cousin's line will die, undishonoured, with him. the crimes of many men will die in me. no further harm will be done if jack never knows. and i hope and believe he never will. good-night." xv betty slept fitfully, her dreams haunted by miss trumbull's expression of outraged virtue surrounded by curl-papers. she rose at four, almost mechanically, rather glad than otherwise that she had some one with whom to talk over the events of the night. but although she admired senator north the more for his distinguished contrast to jack emory, she felt as if all romance and love had gone out of her. harriet's case was romantic enough in all conscience, and it was hideous. she met miss trumbull in the lower hall. outraged virtue had given way to an expression of self-satisfied importance. "well, i'm real glad they're married," she drawled. "it warn't in human nature not to listen, and i did--i ain't goin' to deny it, but i couldn't have slept a wink if i hadn't. ain't you glad i told you?" "i certainly am not glad that you told me, and i wish i had dismissed you three weeks ago. when i return i shall give you a month's wages and you can go to-day." she hurried down to the lake and unmoored her boat. her conscience was abnormally active this morning, and she reflected that she too was going to a tryst of which the world must know nothing. true, it was kept on the open lake and was as full of daylight as it was of impeccability, but it was not for the world to discover, for all that. she made no attempt to smile as senator north stepped into the boat, and he took the oars without a word and pulled rapidly up the lake. when they were beyond all signs of human habitation, he brought the boat under the spreading limbs of an oak and crossed his oars. "now," he said, "what is it? something very serious indeed has happened." "jack emory and harriet have been married three months." she filled in the statement listlessly and added no comment. "and your conscience is oppressed and miserable because you feel as if you were the author of the catastrophe," he replied. "what have you made up your mind to do?" it was evident that her attitude alone interested him, but he understood her mood perfectly. his voice was friendly and matter-of-fact; there was not a hint of the sympathizing lover about him. "it seems to me that as i did not act at the right time i only should make things worse by interfering now. as she said, it is a matter between her and him." "you are quite right. any other course would be futile and cruel. and remember that you have acted wisely and well from the beginning. you have nothing to reproach yourself for. you brought the girl to your house for a period, because justice and humanity demanded it. the same principles demanded that you should keep her secret--for the matter of that your mother made secrecy one of the conditions of her consent. i had hoped that you would get rid of her before she obeyed the baser instincts of her nature. for she was bound to deceive some man, and her victim is your cousin by chance only. have you noticed in washington--or anywhere in the south--that a negro is always seen with a girl at least one shade whiter than himself? the same instinct to rise, to get closer to the standard of the white man, whom they slavishly admire, is in the women as well as in the men. they are the weaker sex and must submit to circumstance, but they would sacrifice the whole race for marriage with a white man. if you had left this girl to her fate, she would have gone to the devil, for a woman as white as that would have starved rather than marry a negro. if you had given her money and told her to go her way, she would have established herself at once in some first-class hotel where she would be sure to meet men of the upper class. and she would have married the first that asked her and told him nothing. i am sorry that your cousin happens to be the victim, because he is your cousin. but if you will reflect a moment you will see that he is no better, no more honourable or worthy than many other men, one of whom was bound to be victimized. i don't think she would have been attracted to a fool or a cad; i am positive she would have married a gentleman. these women have a morbid craving for the caste they are so close upon belonging to." "i hate men," said betty, viciously. "i am sure you do, and i shall not waste time on their defence. i am concerned only in setting you right with yourself." "i always feel that what you say is true--must be true. i suppose it will take possession of my mind and i shall feel better after a while." "you will feel better after several hours' sleep. i am going to take you home now. go to bed and sleep until noon." "my conscience hurts me. i have spoiled your visit." "i can live on the memory of yesterday for some time, and i shall return in a fortnight." "well, i am glad you were here when it happened. i don't know what i should have done if i couldn't have talked to you about it. i feel a little better--but cross and disagreeable, all the same." "you are a woman of contrasts," he said, smiling. "a machine is not my ideal." he rowed her back to the point where he had boarded the boat, and shook her warmly by the hand. "good-bye," he said. "be sensible and take the only practical view of it. if you care to write to me about anything, i need not say that i shall answer at once." when she reached home, she took his advice and went to bed; and whether or not her mind obeyed his in small matters as in great, she slept soundly for five hours. when she awoke, she felt young and buoyant and untarnished again. she went at once to her mother's room and told the story. mrs. madison listened with horror and consternation. "it cannot be!" she exclaimed. "it cannot be! jack emory? it never could have been permitted. the very fates would interfere. his father will rise from his grave. why, it's monstrous. the woman ought to be hanged. and i thought her buried in her books! i never heard of such deceit." "it was the instinct of self-defence, i suppose." "he too! it never occurred to me to watch him or to warn him; for that such a thing could ever threaten a member of my family never entered my head. what on earth is to be done?" it took betty an hour to persuade her mother that jack must be left to find out the truth for himself; that they had no right, after placing harriet in the way of temptation, to make her more wretched than she was when they had rescued her. but she succeeded, as she always did; and mrs. madison said finally, with her long sigh of surrender,-- "well, perhaps he is paying for some of the sins of his fathers. but i wish he did not happen to be a member of our family. as the thing is done, i suppose i may as well be philosophical about it. it is so much easier to be philosophical now that i have let go my hold on most of the responsibilities of life. as long as nothing happens to you, i can accept everything else with equanimity. what story of her birth and family do you suppose she told him? he must have asked her a good many questions." "heaven knows. she is capable of concocting anything; and you must remember that we had accepted her as a cousin. she could put him off easily, for he had no suspicion to start with. i must now go and have a final delightful interview with miss trumbull." she met her in the hall, and experienced a sudden sense of helplessness in the face of that mighty curiosity. she almost respected it. "i just want to say," drawled miss trumbull, tossing her head, "that i know more'n you think i do. there just ain't nothin' i don't know, i'll tell you, as you've turned me out as if i was a common servant. i know who you meet up the lake and take breakfast in farmhouses with, and i know why miss harriet was so dreadful scared you'd find out--" betty understood then why some people murdered others. her eyes blazed so that the woman quailed. "oh, i ain't so bad as you think," she stammered. "i'd never think any harm of you, and i'd never be so despisable as to take away any woman's character. i'm a christian and i don't want to hurt any one, likewise, i'd never tell him _that_. bad as she's treated me--i who am as good and better'n she is any day--i wouldn't do any woman sech a bad turn as that. only i'm just glad i do know it. when i'm settin' in my poor little parlor waitin' for another position to turn up--six months, mebbe--it'll be a big satisfaction to me to think that i could ruin her if i had a mind to--a big satisfaction." betty went to her room, wrote a cheque for three months' wages and returned with it. "take this and go," she said. "and be kind enough not to look upon the amount as a bribe. the position of housekeeper is not an easy one to find, and i do not wish to think of any one in distress." xvi miss trumbull left that afternoon, and although betty half expected the woman, who had possessed some of the attributes of the villain in the play, to reappear at intervals in the interest of her role, the grave might have closed over her for all the sign she gave. but miss trumbull had done enough, and the fates do not always linger to complete their work. the housekeeper, with all her self-satisfaction, never would have thought of calling herself a fate; but motives are not always commensurate with results. she was only a common fool, and there were thousands like her, but her capacity for harm-doing was as far-reaching as had she had the brain of a genius and the soul of a devil. as emory positively refused to go to europe until money of his own came in, although betty offered to lend him what he needed, and as he was really well only when in the adirondacks, and an abrupt move to one of the hotels would have animated the gossips, it was decided finally that he and his wife should remain where they were until it was time to sail. harriet offered to take charge of the servants until another housekeeper could be found; and as she seemed anxious to do all she could to make amends for deceiving her benefactress, betty let her assume what would have been to herself an onerous responsibility. after a day or two of constraint and awkwardness, the little household settled down to its altered conditions; and in a week everybody looked and acted much as usual, so soon does novelty wear off and do mortals readjust themselves. jack and harriet seemed happy; but the former, at least, was too fastidious to vaunt his affections in even the little public of his lifelong friends. he spent hours swinging in a hammock, reading philosophy and smoking; occasionally he read aloud to his aunt and harriet, and in the afternoon he usually took his wife for a walk. harriet at this period was a curious mixture of humility and pride. she could not demonstrate sufficiently her gratitude to betty, but the very dilation of her nostril indicated gratified ambition. she had held her head high ever since her marriage; since her acknowledgment by the world as a wife, her carriage had been regal. betty gave a luncheon one day to some acquaintances at the hotel, and when she introduced harriet as mrs. emory, she saw her quiver like a blooded horse who has won a doubtful race. as for mrs. madison, she finished by regarding the whole affair in the light of a novel, and argued with betty the possible and probable results. her interest in the plot became so lively that she took to discussing it with harriet; and although the heroine was grateful at first for her interest, there came a time when she looked apprehensive and careworn. finally she begged mrs. madison, tearfully, not to allude to the subject again, and mrs. madison, who was the kindest of women, looked surprised and hurt, but replied that of course she would avoid the subject if harriet wished. "it's just this," said mrs. emory, bluntly; "the subject is so much on your mind that i'm in constant terror you'll begin talking of it before jack." "my dear girl, i never would tell him; for his sake as well as your own, you can rely on me." "i know you would never do it intentionally, ma'am, but i'm scared you'll do it without thinking; you talk of it so much, more than anything. the other night when you began to talk of the crime of miscegenation, i thought i should die." "that was very inconsiderate of me. poor girl, i'll be more careful." but in her secluded impersonal life few romantic interests entered, and although she was too courteous to harp upon a painful subject, it was evident that she avoided it with an effort, and that it dwelt in the forefront of her mind. one evening after betty had been playing some of the old southern melodies, she caught jack's hand in hers, and assured him brokenly that no people on earth were bound together as southerners were, and that he must think of her always as his mother and come to her in the dark and dreadful hours of his life. he pressed her hand, and continued smoking his cigarette; he never had doubted that his aunt loved him as a mother. harriet rose abruptly and left the room. she returned before long, however, and after that night she never left her husband alone with mrs. madison for a moment. xvii betty herself was happy again. she hated the dark places of life, and got away from them and out into the sunshine as quickly as possible. although she was too well disciplined to shirk her duty, she did it as quickly as possible and pushed it to the back of her mind. jack and harriet were married; that was the end of it for the present. let life go on as before. she gave several hours of the day to her mother, the rest to the forest and the lake. when senator north came up again, she was her old gay self, the more attractive perhaps for the faint impression which contact with deep seriousness is bound to leave. if jack and harriet had been safely out of the country, she would have felt like a pagan, especially after the tariff bill passed and senator north came up to stay. "i shouldn't have a care in the world," she said to him one morning, "if i did not know, little as i will permit myself to think of it, that exposure may come any day. there is only a chance that somebody at st. andrew will hear of the marriage and denounce her, but it might happen. if only they were in europe! she told me the other night that she knows she can keep him there, her influence is so great. i hope that is true, but she cannot make him go till he has his own money to go with." "what she means is that he won't leave her. he has her here now and is in no hurry to move. he should be able to rent his farm. it is a very good one." "he has rented it for a year--from september. he gets nothing till then. if pride were not a disease with him, he would let me advance the money, but he is not as sure as he might be of the man who has rented the farm and he will not take any risks, i am sorry for harriet. she has the idea on her mind now that molly will blurt it out, and she has the sort of mind that broods and exaggerates. i sincerely wish they had got off to europe undiscovered and sent the news back by the pilot. i had to speak to molly once or twice myself; i never knew her so garrulous about anything." senator north laughed. "you have a great deal of trouble with your parent," he said. "i fear you have not been firm enough with her in the past. will you come into the next lake? i like the fish better there. you are not to worry about anything, my dear, while we have the adirondacks to imagine ourselves happy in." "ar'n't you really happy?" she asked him quickly. "not wholly so," he replied. "but that is a question we are not to discuss." xviii senator north had been formally invited by mrs. madison for dinner that evening, and betty, who had parted from him just seven hours before, restrained an impulse to run down the terrace as his boat made the landing. emory and harriet were on the veranda, however, and she managed to look stately and more or less indifferent at the head of the steps. there were pillars and vines on either side of her, and bunches of purple wistaria hung above her head. it was a picturesque frame for a picturesque figure in white, and a kindly consideration for senator north's highly trained and exacting eye kept her immovable for nearly five minutes. as he reached the steps, however, self-consciousness suddenly possessed her and she started precipitately to meet him. she wore slippers with high louis quinze heels. one caught in a loosened strand of the mat. her other foot went too far. she made a desperate effort to reach the next step, and fell down the whole flight with one unsupported ankle twisted under her. for a moment the pain was so intense she hardly was aware that senator north had his arm about her shoulders while emory was straightening her out. harriet was screaming frantically. she gave a sharp scream herself as emory touched her ankle, but repressed a second as she heard her mother's voice. mrs. madison stood in the doorway with more amazement than alarm on her face. "betty?" she cried. "nothing can have happened to betty! why, she has not even had a doctor since she was six years old." "it's nothing but a sprained ankle," said emory. "for heaven's sake, keep quiet, harriet," he added impatiently, "and go and get some hot water. let's get her into the house." betty by this time was laughing hysterically. her ankle felt like a hot pincushion, and the unaccustomed experience of pain, combined with harriet's shrieks, delivered with a strong darky accent, and her mother's attitude of disapproval, assaulted her nerves. when they had carried her in and put her foot into a bucket of hot water, she forgot them completely, and while her mother fanned her and senator north forced her to swallow brandy, she felt that all the intensity of life's emotions was circumferenced by a wooden bucket. but when they had carefully extended her on the sofas and emory, who had a farmer's experience with broken bones, announced his intention of examining her ankle at once, betty with remarkable presence of mind asked senator north to hold her hand. this he did with a firmness which fortified her during the painful ordeal, and mrs. madison was not terrified by so much as a moan. "you have pluck!" exclaimed senator north when emory, after much prodding, had announced that it was only a sprain. "you have splendid courage." emory assured her that she was magnificent, and betty felt so proud of herself that she had no desire to undo the accident. in the days that followed, although she suffered considerable pain, she enjoyed herself thoroughly. it was her first experience of being "fussed over," as she expressed it. she never had had so much as a headache, no one within her memory had asked her how she felt, and she had regarded her mother as the centre of the medical universe. now a clever and sympathetic doctor came over every day from the hotel and felt her pulse, and intimated that she was his most important patient. mrs. madison insisted upon bathing her head, emory and harriet treated her like a sovereign whose every wish must be anticipated, even the servants managed to pass the door of her sitting-room a dozen times a day. senator north came over every morning and sat by her couch of many rose-coloured pillows; and not only looked tender and anxious, but suggested that the statesman within him was dead. "it is hard on you, though," she murmured one day, when they happened to be alone for a few moments. "two invalids are more than one man's portion. and no one ever enjoyed the outdoor life as you do." "this room is full of sunshine and fresh air, and i came up here to be with you. i don't know but what i am heartless enough to enjoy seeing such an imperious and insolently healthy person helpless for a time, and to be able to wait on her." "i feel as if the entire order of the universe had been reversed." "it will do you good. i hope you will have every variety of pleasure at least once in your life." "you are laughing at me--but as i am a truthful person i will confide to you that i almost hate the idea of being well again." "of course you do. and as for the real invalids they enjoy themselves thoroughly. the great compensation law is blessed or cursed, whichever way you choose to look at it." "i wonder if you had happened to be unmarried, what price we would have had to pay." "god knows. the compensation law is the most immutable of all the fates." "i have most of the gifts of life,--good looks, wealth, position, brains, and the power of making people like me. so i am not permitted to have the best of all. if i could, i wonder which of the others i'd lose. probably we'd have an accident on our wedding journey, which would reduce my nerves to such a state that i'd be irritable for the rest of my life and lose my good looks and power to make you happy. it's a queer world." he made no reply. "what are you thinking of?" she asked, meeting his eyes. "that you are not to become anything so commonplace as a pessimist. get everything out of the present that is offered you and give no thought to the future. what is it?" he added tenderly, as the blood came into her cheeks and she knit her brows. "i moved my ankle and it hurt me so!" she moved her hand at the same time, and he took it, and held it until her brows relaxed, which was not for some time. the best of women are frauds. betty made that ankle the pivot of her circle for the rest of the summer. when she wanted to see senator north look tender and worried, she puckered her brows and sighed. when she felt the promptings of her newly acquired desire to be "fussed over," she dropped suddenly upon a couch and demanded a cushion for her foot, or asked to be assisted to a hammock. she often laughed at herself; but the new experience was very sweet, and she wondered over life's odd and unexpected sources of pleasure. xix senator burleigh came up for a few days to the hotel before going west, and betty, who had anticipated his visit, invited two of the prettiest girls she knew to assist her to entertain him. they had been at one of the hotels on the lower lake, and came to her for a few days before joining their parents. she showed burleigh every possible attention, permitting him to eat nothing but breakfast at his hotel; but he did not see her alone for a moment. when he left, he felt that he had had three cheerful days among warm and admiring friends, but his satisfaction was far from complete. "betty," said senator north, one morning a fortnight later, "how much do you like burleigh? if you had not met me, do you think you could have loved him?" "i think i could have persuaded myself that i liked him better than i ever could have liked anybody; but it would not have been love." "are you sure?" "oh, yes, i am sure! you know that i am sure. it may be possible to mistake liking for love, but it is not possible to mistake love for anything else. and you cannot even pretend to believe that i do not know what love is." "oh, yes," he said softly, "i think you know." he resumed in a moment: "you are so young--i would leave you in a moment if i thought that you did not really love me, that you were deluding yourself and wasting your life. but i believe that you do; and you are happier than you would be with a man who could give you only the half that you demand. marriage is not everything. i love you well enough to make any sacrifice for you but a foolish one. and i know that there is much less in the average marriage than in the incomplete relation we have established. and there is another marriage that is incomparably worse. i shall never let you go--so long as i can hold you--unless i am satisfied that it is for your good." "if you leave me for any quixotic idea, i'll marry the first man that proposes to me," said betty, lightly. "i am too happy to even consider such a possibility. there are no to-morrows when to-day is flawless--hark! what is that?" they were on the upper lake. over the mountains came the sonorous yet wailing, swinging yet rapt, intonation of the negro at his hymns. "there is a darky camp-meeting somewhere," said senator north, indifferently. "i hope they don't fish." the fervent incantation rose higher. it seemed to fill the forest, so wide was its volume, so splendid its energy. the echoes took it up, the very mountains responded. five hundred voices must have joined in the chorus, and even senator north threw back his head as the columns of the forest seemed to be the pipes of some stupendous organ. as for betty, when the great sound died away in a wail that was hardly separable from the sighing of the pines, she trembled from head to foot and burst into tears. he took hold of the oars, and rowed out of the lake and down to the spot where he was in the habit of landing. she had quite recovered herself by that time, and nodded brightly to him as he handed her the oars and stepped on shore. at the breakfast-table she mentioned casually that there was a negro camp-meeting in the neighborhood, and that she never had heard such magnificent singing. she saw an eager hungry flash leap into harriet's eyes, but they were lowered immediately. harriet had lost much of her satisfied mien in the last few weeks, and of late had looked almost haggard. but she had fallen back into her old habit of reticence, a condition betty always was careful not to disturb. that afternoon, however, she asked betty if she could speak alone with her, and they went out to the summer-house. "i want to go to that camp-meeting," she began abruptly. "betty, i am nearly mad." she began to weep violently, and betty put her arms about her. "is there any new trouble?" she asked. "tell me and i will do all i can to help you. why do you wish to go to this camp-meeting?" "so that i can shout and scream and pray so loud perhaps the lord'll hear me. betty, i don't have one peaceful minute, dreading your mother will tell him, and that if she doesn't that dreadful miss trumbull will. she hated me, and she laughed that dry conceited laugh of hers when she said good-bye to me. what's to prevent her writing to jack any minute? i lost her a good place, and we both insulted her common morbid vanity. what's to prevent her taking her revenge? ever since that thought entered my head it has nearly driven me mad." the same thought had occurred to betty more than once, but she assured harriet as earnestly as she could that there was no possible danger, that the woman was conscientious in her way, and prided herself on being better than her neighbors. "you must put these ideas out of your head," she continued. "any fixed idea soon grows to huge proportions, and dwarfs all the other and more reasonable possibilities. you sail now in a few weeks. keep up your courage till then--" "that's why i want to go to the camp-meeting. i used to go to them regularly every year with uncle, and they always did me good. i'm right down pious by nature, and i loved to shout and go on and feel as if the lord was right there: i could 'most see him. of course i gave up the idea of going to camp-meetings after you made a high-toned lady of me, and i've never sung since you objected that morning; but it's hurt me not to--_it's all there;_ and if it could come out in camp-meeting along with all the rest that's torturing me, i think i'd feel better. you've always been fine and happy, you don't know the relief it is to holler." betty drew a long breath. "but, harriet, i thought you did not like negroes. i don't think any white people are at this camp." "i despise them except when they're full of religion, and then we're all equal. betty, i must go. can you think of an excuse to make to jack? couldn't i pretend to stay at the hotel all day?" "there is no reason to lie about it. nothing would induce him to go to a camp-meeting. but he knows that you are a methodist, and that you were raised in the thick of that religion. i will row you to the next lake to-morrow morning before he is up, and tell him that i am to return for you. i don't approve of it at all. i think it is a horrid thing for you to do, if you want to know the truth, and there are certain tastes you ought to get rid of, not indulge. but if you must go, you must, i suppose." xx she sent a note over to senator north that evening, explaining why she could not meet him in the morning; but as she rowed harriet up the lake, she saw him standing on the accustomed spot. he beckoned peremptorily, and she pulled over to the shore, wondering if he had not received her note. "will you take me with you?" he asked. "i cannot get a boat, and i should like to row for you, if you will let me." he boarded the boat, and betty meekly surrendered the oars. she sat opposite him, harriet in the bow, and he smiled into her puzzled and disapproving eyes. but he talked of impersonal matters until they had entered the upper lake, and explained to harriet the whereabouts of the farmhouse whence she might be directed to the camp. harriet had not parted her lips since she left home. she sprang on shore the moment senator north beached the boat, and almost ran up the path. "well!" he exclaimed. "did you suppose that i should allow you to row through that lane alone? there is no lonelier spot in america; and with the forest full of negroes--were you mad to think of such a thing?" "i never thought about it," said betty, humbly. "i am not very timid." "i never doubted that you would be heroic in any conditions, but that is not the question. you must not take such risks. i shall return with you tonight--" "and harriet!" exclaimed betty, in sudden alarm. "perhaps we should not leave her." "she will be with the crowd. besides, it is her husband's place to look after her. i am concerned about you only. and i certainly shall not permit you to go to a camp-meeting, nor shall i leave you to take care of her. so put her out of your mind for the present." and betty madison, who had been pleased to regard the world as her football, surrendered herself to the new delight of the heavy hand. he re-entered the long water lane in the cleft of the mountain, and she did not speak for some moments, but his eyes held hers and he knew of what she was thinking. "i wonder if you always will do what i tell you," he said at length. she recovered herself as soon as he spoke. "too much power is not good for any man! nothing would induce me to assure you that you held my destiny in your hands, even did you!" his face did not fall. "you are the most spirited woman in america, and nothing becomes you so much as obedience." "nevertheless--" "nevertheless, you always will do exactly what i tell you." "even if you told me to marry another man?" "ah! i never shall tell you to do that. on your head be that responsibility." he did not attempt to speak lightly. his face hardened, and his eyes, which could change in spite of their impenetrable quality, let go their fires for a moment. "of course, if you wanted to go, i should make no protest. but so long as you love me i shall hold you--should, if we ceased to meet. and whatever you do, don't marry some man suddenly in self-defence. no man ever loved a woman more than i love you, but you can trust me." "ah!" she said with her first moment of bitterness, "you _are_ strong. and you believe that if you held out your arms to me now, in the depths of this forest, i would spring to them. i might not stay. i believe, i hope i never should see you alone again; but-" "you are deliberately missing the point," he said gravely. "i am not willing to pay the price of a moment's incomplete happiness. i have lived too long for that. and i should not have ventured even so far on dangerous ground," he added more lightly, "if it were not quite probable that five hundred people are ranging the forest this minute. we are later than we were yesterday, and they are not at their hymns. this evening when we return i shall discuss with you the possible age of the adirondacks, or tell you one of cooper's yarns." she leaned toward him, her breath coming so short for a moment that she could not speak. finally, with what voice she could command she said,-- "then, as we are safe here and you have broken down the reserve for a moment, let me ask you this: do you know how much i love you? do you guess? or do you think it merely a girl's romantic fancy--" "no!" he exclaimed. "no! no!" this time she did not cower before the passion in his face. she looked at him steadily, although her eyes were heavy. "ah!" she said at last. "i am glad you know. it seemed to me a wicked waste of myself that you should not. and if you do--the rest does not matter so much. for the matter of that, life is always making sport of its ultimates. the most perfect dream is the dream that never comes true." he did not answer for a moment, but when he did he had recovered himself completely. "that is true enough," he said. "we who have lived and thought know that. but there never was a man so strong as to choose the dream when reality cast off her shackles and beckoned. imagination we regard as a compensation, not as the supreme gift. the wise never hate it, however, as the failures so often do. for what it gives let us be as thankful as the poet in his garret. if we awake in the morning to find rain when we vividly had anticipated sunshine, it is only the common mind who would regret the compensation of the dream." xxi jack had almost finished his breakfast when betty entered the dining-room. he looked beyond her with the surprised and sulky frown of the neglected husband. "where on earth is harriet?" he asked. "her natural inclination is to lie in bed all day. what induced her--" "she wanted to go to the camp-meeting," said betty, not without apprehension. "you know she always went with her adopted father, who was a methodist clergyman--" "great heaven!" her apprehension was justified. his face was convulsed with disgust. "my wife at a camp-meeting! and you let her go?" "harriet is not sixteen. and when a person has been brought up to a thing, you cannot expect her to change completely in a few months. poor harriet lived in a forsaken village where she had no sort of society; i suppose the camp-meeting was her only excitement. and you know how emotionally religious the--the methodists are--you glare at me so i scalded my throat." "i am sorry, and i am afraid i have been rude. but you must--you must know how distasteful it is for me to think of my wife at a camp-meeting. great heaven!" "it is even worse than my going over to politics, isn't it? don't take it so tragically, my dear. the truth is, i suspect, harriet worries about having deceived molly and me, and the camp-meeting is probably to the methodist what the confessional is to the catholic. both must ease one's mind a lot." "harriet will have to ease her mind in some other way in the future. and it will be some time before i can forget this." "thank heaven i am not married. are you going after her? shall you march her home by the ear?" "i certainly shall not go after her--that is, if she is in no danger. where is this camp-meeting?" "oh, there are five hundred or so of them, and it is near a farmhouse." it was evident that he had forgotten the colour of the camp. "seriously, i would let her alone for to-day. that form of hysteria has to wear itself out. i did not like the idea of her going, and told her so, but i saw what it meant to her, and took her. when you get her over to europe, settle in some old town with a beautiful cathedral and a dozen churches, where the choir boys are ducky little things in scarlet habits and white lace capes, and there are mediaeval religious processions with gorgeous costumes and solemn chants, and the bells ring all day long, and there is a service every five minutes with music, and a blessed relic to kiss in every church. she will be a catholic in less than no time, and look back upon the camp-meeting with a shudder of aristocratic disgust." "i hope so. if you will excuse me i will go out and smoke a cigarette." she said to senator north as they approached the head of the lake that evening, "a tempest is brewing in our matrimonial teapot. he looked ready to divorce her when i told him where she had gone." "i hope he won't divorce her when she gets home. keep them apart if you can. she has developed more than one characteristic of the race to which she is as surely forged as if her fetters were visible. if she has all its religious fanaticism in her, she is quite likely to work up to that point of hysteria where she will proclaim the truth to the world." "ah!" cried betty, sharply. "why did i not think of that? what a poor guardian i am! if i had warned her, she never would have gone--but probably she won't, as we have thought of it. the expected so seldom happens." "don't count too much on that when great crises threaten," he said grimly. "the law of cause and effect does not hide in the realm of the unexpected when intelligent beings go looking for it. to tell you the truth, i have been apprehensive ever since i saw her face this morning. all the intelligence had gone out of it. with her race, religion means the periodical necessity to relapse into barbarism, to act like shouting savages after the year of civilized restraints. i will venture to guess that harriet has forgotten to-day everything she has learned since she entered your family. within that sad, calm, high-bred envelope is--i am afraid--a mind which has the taint of the blood that feeds it." "i have thought that for a long while. poor thing, why was she ever born?" "because sin has a habit of persisting, and is remorseless in its choice of vehicles. i do not see anything of her." they waited almost an hour before she came hurrying down the path. she barely recognized them, but dropped on her seat in the bow and crouched there, sobbing and groaning. it was a cheerless journey through the forest and down the lake, and the element of the grotesque did nothing to relieve it. betty, distracted at first, soon realized that upon her lay the responsibility of averting a tragedy, and she ordered her brain to action. she leaned forward finally and whispered to senator north: "row me to my boat-house and i will ask jack to row you home. he is too courteous to suggest sending a servant if i make a point of his taking you." he nodded. she saw the confidence in his eyes, and even in that hour of supreme anxiety her mind leapt forward to the winning of his approval as the ultimate of her struggle to save the happiness of two human beings who were almost at her mercy. jack was walking on the terrace. betty called to him, and he consented with no marked grace to be boatman. he had taken the oars before he noticed that his wife, whom he was not yet ready to forgive, was being hurried off by his cousin. "mrs. emory is very tired and her head aches," said senator north. "miss madison is anxious to get her into bed. can't you dine with me to-night? it would give me great pleasure, and men are superfluous, i have observed, when women have headaches." and jack, who was not sorry to punish his wife, accepted the invitation and did not return home till midnight. xxii betty took harriet to her own room and put her to bed. she had dinner for both sent upstairs, but harriet would not eat; neither would she speak. she lay in the bed, half on her face, as limp as the newly dead. occasionally she sighed or groaned. betty tried several times to rouse her, but she would not respond. finally she shook her. "you shall listen," she said sternly. "as you seem to have left your common-sense up there with those negroes, you are not to leave this room until you have recovered it--until i give you permission. do you understand?" she had calculated upon striking the slavish chord in the demoralized creature, and her intelligence had acted unerringly. harriet bent her head humbly, and muttered that she would do what she was told. when betty heard jack return, she went out to meet him, locking the door behind her. "harriet is with me for to-night," she said. "she needs constant care, for she is both excited and worn out; and as you still are angry with her--" "oh, i am sorry if she is really ill, and i will do anything i can--" "then leave her with me for to-night. you know nothing about taking care of women." jack, who was sleepy and still sulky, thanked her and went off to his room. she returned to harriet, who finally appeared to sleep. betty took the key from the door and put it in her pocket, then lay down on the sofa to sleep while she could: she anticipated a long and difficult day with harriet. she was awakened suddenly by the noise of a door violently slammed. immediately, she heard the sound of running feet. she looked at the bed. harriet was not there. a draught of cold air struck her, and she saw a curtain flutter. she ran to the window. it was open. she stepped out upon the roof of the veranda, and went rapidly round the corner to emory's room. one of the windows was open. betty looked up at the dark forest behind the lonely house and caught her breath. what should she see? but she went on. a candle burned in the room. harriet sat on a chair in her nightgown, her black hair hanging about her. "i told him," she said, in a hollow but even voice. "i was drunk with religion, and i told him. i didn't come to my senses till i looked up--i was on the floor--and saw his face. he has gone away." "what did he say?" "nothing. not a word." she drew a long sigh. "i'm so tired," she said. "i reckon i'll go to bed." xxiii for four days they had no word from jack emory. harriet slept late on the first day. when she awoke she was an intelligent being again, and strove for the controlled demeanor which she always had seemed to feel was necessary to her self-respect. but more than once she let betty see how nervous and terrified she was. "i am sure he will come back," she said, with the emphasis of unadmitted doubt. "sure! he adores me. of course he would not have married me if he had known, but that is done and cannot be undone. when he realizes that, he will come back, for he loves me. we are bound together and he will return in time." betty, who scarcely left her, gave her what encouragement she could. men were contradictory beings. jack had the fanatical pride and prejudices of his race, but he was in love. it was possible that after a few months of loneliness in his old house he would give way to an uncontrollable longing and send for his wife. she had made inquiries at the railroad station, and ascertained that he had taken a ticket for new york. undoubtedly he had gone on to washington. she reproached herself bitterly for having slept and allowed harriet to escape; but harriet, to whom she did not hesitate to express herself, shook her head. "you could not have stayed awake for twenty-four hours, and i should have found a chance sooner or later. the idea came to me up there while i was shouting and nearly crazy with excitement and the excitement of all those half-mad negroes in that wild forest,--the idea came to me that i must tell him, and i believed that it came straight from the lord. it seemed to me that he was there and told me that was my only hope,--to tell him myself before he found it out from your mother or miss trumbull. the idea never left me for a minute; it possessed me. i was so afraid you wouldn't have waited when i found out i was late,--that they would tell him before i got home. but i wanted to tell him alone. when you ordered me not to leave the room, i felt like i wanted to do anything you told me, but when i found you'd gone to sleep, i felt like i couldn't wait another minute. i crawled out of the window and went to him. and perhaps i did right. i can't think it wasn't an inspiration to confess and be forgiven before he found out for himself." betty was in the living-room with senator north when a letter from jack emory was brought to her. with it, also bearing the washington postmark, was another, directed in an unfamiliar and illiterate hand. betty, cold with apprehension, tore open emory's letter. it read:-- dear betty,--you know, of course, that my wife confessed to me the terrible fact that she has negro blood in her veins. my one impulse when she told me was to get back to my home like a beaten dog to its kennel. i did little thinking on the train; whether i talked to people or whether i was too stupefied to think, i cannot tell you. but here i have done thinking enough. at first i hated, i loathed, i abhorred her. i resolved merely never to see her again, to ask you to send her to europe as quickly as possible, to threaten her with exposure and arrest if she ever returned. but, betty, although i have not yet forgiven her, although the thought of her awful hidden birthmark still fills me with horror and disgust, i know the weakness of man. the marriage is void according to the laws of virginia, and i know that if i returned to her she would insist upon remarriage in a northern state--and i might succumb. and rather than do that, rather than dishonour my blood, rather than do that monstrous wrong, not only to my family but to the south that has my heart's allegiance--as passionate an allegiance as if i had fought and bled on her battlefields--i am going to kill myself. do not for a moment imagine, betty, that i hold you to account. i can guess why you did not warn me in the beginning, why you did not tell me when it was too late. would that i had gone on to the end faithful to my ideal of you! my lonely years in this old house were brightened and made endurable with the mere thought of you. but man was not made to live on shadows, and i loved again, so deeply that i dare not trust myself to live. i send her only one message--she must drop my name. she has no legal title to it according to the laws of virginia; the marriage would be declared void were it known that she had black blood in her. i would spare her shame and exposure, but she shall not bear my name, and it is my dying request that you use any means to make her drop it. good-bye. jack emory. betty thrust the letter into senator north's hand. "read it!" she said. "read it! oh, do you suppose he has--" her glance fell on the other letter and she opened it with heavy fingers. it read:-- mis betty,--marse jack done shot himself. he tole me not to telegraf. yours truly, jim. betty stood staring at senator north as he read jack's letter. when he had finished it, she handed him the other. he read it, then took her cold hands in his. "you must tell her," he said. "it is a terrible trial for you, but you must do it." "ah!" she cried sharply. "i believe you are thinking of me only, not of that poor girl." "my dear," he said, "that poor creature was doomed the moment she entered the world. no amount of sympathy, no amount of help that you or i could give her would alter her fate one jot. for all the women of that accursed cross of black and white there is absolutely no hope--so long as they live in this country, at all events. they almost invariably have intelligence. if they marry negroes, they are humiliated. if they pin their faith to the white man, they become outcasts among the respectable blacks by their own act, as the act of others has made them outcasts among the whites, their one compensation is the inordinate conceit which most of them possess. do not think i am heartless. i have thought long and deeply on the subject. but no legislation can reach them, and the american character will have to be born again before there is any change in the social law. it is one of those terrible facts of life that rise isolated above the so-called problems. if harriet lives through this, she will fall upon other miseries incidental to her breed, as sure as there is life about us, for she has the seeds of many crops within her. so it is true that all my concern is for you. in a way i helped to bring this on you; but you did what was right, and i have no regrets. and you must think of me as always beside you, not only ready to help you, but thinking of you constantly." she forgot harriet for the moment. "oh, i do," she said, "i do! i wonder what strength i would have had through this if you had not been behind me." "you are capable of a great deal, but no woman is strong enough to stand alone long. send for harriet to come here. i don't wish you to be alone with her when she hears this news." betty rang the bell, and sent a servant for harriet. she put emory's letter in her pocket. "i shall not give her that terrible message of his until she quite has got over the shock of his death," she said. "let her be his widow for a little while. then she can go to europe and resume her own name. she soon will be forgotten here." harriet came in a few moments. she barely had sat down since she had risen after a restless night. but she had refused to talk even to betty. as she entered the room and was greeted by one of those silences with which the mind tells its worst news, she fell back against the door, her hands clutching at her gown. betty handed her the servant's letter. she took it with twitching fingers, and read it as if it had been a letter of many pages. then she extended her rigid arms until she looked like a cross. "oh!" she articulated. "oh! oh!" but in a moment she laughed. "i don't feel surprised, somehow," she said sullenly. "i suppose i knew all along he'd do it. every day that i live i'll curse your unjust and murderous race while other people are saying their prayers. may the black race overrun the world and taint every vein of blood upon it. for me, i accept my destiny. i'm a pariah, an outcast. i'll live to do evil, to square accounts with the race that has made me what i am. i'll go back to that camp, and leave it with whatever negro will have me, and when i'm so degraded i don't care for anything, i'll go out and ruin every white man i can. i'll keep the money you gave me, so that i'll be able to do more harm--" "you can go," said betty, "but not yet. you shall go with me first and bury your husband. if you attempt to escape until i give you permission, i shall have you locked up. i shall take two menservants with us. now come upstairs with me and pack your portmanteau." she slipped her hand into senator north's. "good-bye," she said hurriedly. "i shall return friday night. please come over saturday morning." harriet preceded betty upstairs, and obeyed her orders sullenly. betty locked her in her room, and went to break the news to her mother. mrs. madison received it without excitement, remarking among her tears that it was one of the denouements she had imagined, and that on the whole it was the best thing he could have done. she consented to go with her maid to the hotel till friday, and the party left for washington that evening. xxiv they returned late on friday night. as betty had anticipated, harriet's exhausted body had not harboured a violent spirit for long. when they arrived in new york, she bought herself a crape veil reaching to her toes, and when she entered the dilapidated old house where her husband lay dead, she began to weep heavily. her tears scarcely ceased to flow until she had started on her way to the mountains again, and, hot as it was, she never raised her veil during the nine hours' train journey from new york to the lake, except to eat the food that betty forced upon her. mrs. madison had returned, and betty, after telling her those details of the funeral which elderly people always wish to know, went to her room, for she was tired and longed for sleep. but harriet entered almost immediately and sat down. she barely had spoken since monday; but it was evident that she was ready to talk at last, and betty stifled a yawn and sat upon the edge of her bed. harriet was a delicate subject and must be treated with vigilant consideration, except at those times where an almost brutal firmness was necessary. she looked sad and haggard, but very beautiful, and betty reflected that with her voice she might begin life over again, and in a public career forget her brief attempt at happiness. if she failed, it would be because there was so little grip in her; nature had been lavish only with the more brilliant endowments. "betty," she began, "i want to tell you that i'm sorry i said those dreadful words when i learned he was dead. but suspense and the doubt that had begun to work had nearly driven me crazy. i don't mind saying, though, that i wish i had kept on meaning them, that i could do what i said i'd do, for i meant them then--i reckon i did! but i haven't any backbone, my will is a poor miserable weak thing that takes a spurt and then fizzles out. and i'd rather be good than bad. i reckon that has something to do with it. i'd have gone to the bad, i suppose, if you hadn't taken hold of me; i'd have just drifted that way, although i liked teaching sunday-school, and i liked to feel i was good and respectable and could look down on people that were no better than they should be. and now that i've been living with such respectable and high-toned people as you all are, i don't think i could stand niggers and poor white trash again--" "i am sure you will be good," interrupted betty, encouragingly. "and you owe him respect. don't forget that, and make allowances for him." "ah, yes!" her face convulsed, but she calmed herself and went on. "you will never know how i loved him. i was proud enough of the name, but i worshipped him; and he killed himself to get rid of me! oh, yes, i'll make allowances, for i killed him as surely as if i had pulled that trigger--" "put the heavier blame on those that went before you," said betty, with intent to soothe. "you did wrong in deceiving him, but helpless women should be forgiven much that they do, in their desperate battle with circumstance. think of it as a warning, but not as a crime." don't let _anything_ make you morbid. life is full of pleasure. go and look for it, and put the past behind you." harriet shook her head. "i am not you," she said. "i am _i_. and i feel as if there was a heavy hand on my neck pressing me down. if i should live to be a toothless old woman, i should never feel that i had any right to be happy again. heaven knows what i might be tempted to do, but i should laugh at myself for a fool, all the same." the colour rushed over her face, but she continued steadily: "there's something else i must tell you before i can sleep to-night. i've read his letter to you. i knew he'd written it, and down there while you were asleep i took it out of your pocket and read it. it was i who suggested going over to virginia, for i was afraid some newspaper would get hold of it if we were married in washington, where he was so well known. i didn't know there was such a law in virginia. so, you see, the lord was on his side a little. i don't bear his name. i'm as much of an outcast as the vengeance of a wronged man could wish--" "i am sure he thought of you kindly at the last, and i never shall think of you in that--that other way. you must go to europe and begin life over again." harriet rose and kissed betty affectionately. "good-night," she said. "you are just worn out, and i have kept you up. but i felt i wanted to tell you--and that no matter how ungrateful i sometimes appear i always love you; and i'd rather be you than any one in the world, because you're so unlike myself." betty went with her to the door. "go to sleep," she said. "don't lie awake and think." "oh, i will sleep," she said. "don't worry about that." xxv betty slept late on the following morning, but arose as soon as she awoke and dressed herself hurriedly. senator north was an early visitor. doubtless he was waiting for her on the veranda. she ran downstairs, feeling that she could hum a tune. the morning was radiant, and for the last five days it had seemed to her that the atmosphere was as black as harriet's veil. she wanted the fresh air and the sunshine, the lake and the forest again. she wanted to talk for long hours with the one man who she was sure could never do a weak or cowardly act. she wanted to feel that her heavy responsibilities were pushed out of sight, and that she could live her own life for a little. she almost had reached the front door when a man sprang up the steps and through it, closing it behind him. it was john, the butler, and his face was white. "what is it?" she managed to ask him. "what on earth has happened now?" "it's miss walker, miss. they found her three hours ago--on the lake. the coroner's been here. they're bringing her in. i told them to take her in the side door. i hoped we'd get her to her room before you come down. i'll attend to everything, miss." betty heard the slow tramp of feet on the side veranda. it was the most horrid sound she ever had heard, and she wondered if she should cease to hear it as long as she lived. she went into the living-room and covered her face with her hands. she had not cried for jack emory, but she cried passionately now. she felt utterly miserable, and crushed with a sense of failure; as if all the wretchedness and tragedy of the past fortnight were her own making. two lives had almost been given into her keeping, and in spite of her daring and will the unseen forces had conquered. and then she wondered if the water had been very cold, and shivered and drew herself together. and it must have been horribly dark. harriet was afraid of the dark, and always had burned a taper at night. she heard senator north come up the front steps and knock. as no one responded, he opened the door and came into the living-room. "i have just heard that she has drowned herself," he said; and if there was a note of relief in his voice, betty did not hear it. she ran to him and threw herself into his arms and clung to him. "you said you would," she sobbed. "and i never shall be in greater grief than this. i feel as if it were my entire fault, as if i were a terrible failure, as if i had let two lives slip through my hands. oh, poor poor harriet! why are some women ever born? what terrible purpose was she made to live twenty-four wretched years for? you wanted me to become serious. i feel as if i never could smile again." he held her closely, and in that strong warm embrace she was comforted long before she would admit; but he soothed her as if she were a child, and he did not kiss her. _part iii_ _the political sea turns red_ i betty madison arrived in washington two days before christmas, with the sensation of having lived through several life-times since lady mary's car had left the pennsylvania station on the fourteenth of march; she half expected to see several new public buildings, and she found herself wondering if her old friends were much changed. people capable of the deepest and most enduring impressions often receive these impressions upon apparently shallow waters. they feel the blow, but it skims the surface at the moment, to choose its place and sink slowly, surely, into the thinking brain. betty's immediate attitude toward the tragic fact of harriet's death was almost spectacular. she felt herself the central figure in a thrilling and awful drama, its horror stifling for a moment the hope that the man whose footsteps followed closely upon that tramping of heavy feet would fulfil his promise and take her in his arms. and when he did her sense of personal responsibility left her, as well as her clearer comprehension of what had happened to bring about this climax so long and so ardently desired. but she had not seen senator north since the day following the funeral. mrs. madison had announced with emphasis that she had had as much as she could stand and would not remain another day in the adirondacks; she wanted narragansett and the light and agreeable society of many southern friends who did not have frequent tragedies in their families. betty telegraphed for rooms at one of the large hotels at the pier, and thereafter had the satisfaction of seeing her mother gossip contentedly for hours with other ladies of lineage and ante-bellum reminiscences, or sit with even deeper contentment for intermediate hours upon the veranda of the casino. when she herself was bored beyond endurance, she crossed the bay and lunched or dined in newport, where she had many friends; and she spent much time on horseback. when the season was over, they paid a round of visits to country houses, and finished with the few weeks in new york necessary for the replenishment of miss madison's wardrobe. she had hoped to reach washington for the opening of congress, but her mother had been ill, prolonging the last visit a fortnight, and gowns must be consulted upon, fitted and altered did the world itself stand still. and this was the one period of mental rest that betty had experienced since her parting from senator north. she had been much with people during these five months, seeking and finding little solitude, and few had found any change in her beyond a deeper shade of indifference and more infrequent flashes of humour. she permitted men to amuse her if she did not amuse them, to all out-door sports she was faithful, and she read the new books and talked intelligently of the fashions. when the conversation swung with the precision of a pendulum from clothes and love to war with spain, her mind leapt at once to action, and she argued every advocate of war into a state of fury. she had responded heavily to the president's appeal in behalf of the reconcentrados, but her mind was no longer divided. the failure of the belligerency resolutions to reach the attention of the house during the extra session of congress had rekindled the war fever in the country; and the constant chatter about the suffering cuban and the duty of the united states, the black iniquity of the speaker and the timidity of the president, were wearying to the more evenly balanced members of the community. "you say that we need a war," said betty contemptuously one day, "that it will shake us up and do us good. if we had fallen as low as that, no war could lift us, certainly not the act of bullying a small country, of rushing into a war with the absolute certainty of success. but we need no war. american manhood is where it always has been and always will be until we reach that pitch of universal luxury and sloth and vice which extinguished rome. those commercial and financial pursuits should make a man less a man is the very acme of absurdity. if our men were drawn into a righteous war to-morrow or a hundred years hence, they would fight to the glory of their country and their own honour. but if they swagger out to whip a decrepit and wheezy old man, when the excitement is over they will wish that the whole episode could be buried in oblivion. and i would be willing to wager anything you like that if this war does come off, so false is its sentiment that it will not inspire one great patriotic poem, nor even one of merit, and that the only thing you will accomplish will be to drag cuba from the relaxing clutches of one tyrant and fling her to a horde of politicians and greedy capitalists." but, except when politics possessed it, her brain seldom ceased, no matter how crowded her environment, from pondering on the events of the summer, and pondering, it sobered and grew older. she had engaged in a conflict with the unseen forces of life and been conquered. she had been obliged to stand by and see these forces work their will upon a helpless being, who carried in solution the vices of civilizations and men persisting to their logical climax, almost demanding aloud the sacrifice of the victim to death that this portion of themselves might be buried with her. despite her intelligence, nothing else could have given her so clear a realization of the eternal persistence of all acts, of the sequential symmetrical links they forge in the great chain of circumstance. it was this that made her hope more eager that the united states would be guided by its statesmen and not by hysteria, and it was this that made her think deeply and constantly upon her future relation with senator north. the danger was as great as ever. her brain had sobered, but her heart had not. separation and the absence of all communication--they had agreed not to correspond--had strengthened and intensified a love that had been half quiescent so long as its superficial wants were gratified. troubled times were coming when he would need her, would seek her whenever he could, and yet when their meetings must be short and unsatisfactory. when hours are no longer possible, minutes become precious, and the more precious the more dangerous. if she were older, if tragedy and thought had sobered and matured her character, if she were deprived of the protection of the lighter moods of her mind, would not the danger be greater still? the childish remnant upon which she had instinctively relied had gone out of her, she had a deeper and grimmer knowledge of what life would be without the man who had conquered her through her highest ideals and most imperious needs; and of what it would be with him. she had no intention of making a problem out of the matter, constantly as her mind dwelt upon the future. senator north had told her once that problems fled when the time for action began. she supposed that one of two things would happen after her return to washington: great events would absorb his mind and leave him with neither the desire nor the time for more than an occasional friendly hour with her; or after a conscientious attempt to take up their relationship on the old lines and give each other the companionship both needed, all intercourse would abruptly cease. ii "i am going to have my _salon,_ or at all events the beginning of it, at once," said betty to sally carter on the afternoon of her arrival, "and i want you to help me." "i am ready for any change," said miss carter. her appearance was unaltered, and she had spoken of emory's death without emotion. whether she had put the past behind her with the philosophy of her nature, or whether his marriage with a woman for whose breed she had a bitter and fastidious contempt had killed her love before his death, betty could only guess. she made no attempt to learn the truth. sally's inner life was her own; that her outer was unchanged was enough for her friends. "i am going to give a dinner to thirty people on the sixth of january. here is the list. you will see that every man is in official life. there are eight senators, five members of the house, the british ambassador, and the librarian of congress. some of them know my desire for a _salon_ and are ready to help me. i shall talk about it quite freely. in these days you must come out plainly and say what you want. if you wait to be too subtle, the world runs by you. i am determined to have a _salon,_ and a famous one at that. this is an ambitious list, but half-way methods don't appeal to me." "nobody ever accused you of an affinity for the second best, my dear; but you may thank your three stars of luck for providing you with the fortune and position to achieve your ambitions: beauty and brains alone wouldn't do it. senator north," she continued from the list in her hand: "mrs. north is wonderfully improved, by the way; has not been so well in twenty years. senator burleigh: he is out flat-footed against free silver since the failure of the bi-metallic envoys, and his state is furious. senator shattuc is for it, so they probably don't speak. senator ward might be induced to fall in love with lady mary and turn his eloquence on the senate in behalf of a marriage between uncle sam and britannia. there is no knowing what your _salon_ may accomplish, and that would be a sight for the gods. senator maxwell will inveigh in twelve languages against recognizing the belligerency of the cubans. senator french will supply the distinguished literary element. senator march represents the conservative democrat who is too good for the present depraved condition of his state. if you want to immortalize yourself, invent a political broom. senator eustis: he thinks the only fault with the senate is that it is too good-natured and does not say no often enough. who are the representatives? the only speaker, the immortal chairman of the committee on ways and means--don't place me near him, for i've just paid a hideous bill at the custom house and i'd scratch his eyes out. mr. montgomery: he and lady mary are getting almost devoted. trust a clever woman to pinch the memory of any other woman to death. the redoubtable mr. legrand, also of maine, upon whom the shafts of an embittered minority seem to fall so harmlessly; and mr. armstrong--who is he? i thought i knew as much about politics as you, by this time, but i don't recall his name." "i met him at narragansett, and had several talks with him. he is a bryanite, but very gentlemanly, and his convictions were so strong and so unquestionably genuine that he interested me. i want the best of all parties. we can't sit up and agree with each other." "don't let that worry you, darling. mr. north has been contradicting everybody in the senate for twenty years. your devoted burleigh quarrels with everybody but yourself. mr. maxwell snubs everybody who presumes to disagree with him, and french is so superior that i long for some naughty little boys to give him a coat of pink paint. your _salon_ will probably fight like cats. if the war cloud gets any bigger, your mother will go to bed early on _salon_ nights and send for a policeman. i look forward to it with an almost painful joy. i want to go in to dinner with mr. march, by the way. he is the noblest-looking man in congress--looks like what the statues of the founders of the republic would look like if they were decently done. i'll paint the menu cards for you, and i'll wear a new gown i've just paid ninety-three dollars duty on--i certainly shall tear out the eyes of 'the honourable gentleman from maine.'" iii when sally had gone, after an hour of consultation on the various phases of the dinner, betty sat for some moments striving to call up something from the depths of her brain, something that had smitten it disagreeably as it fell, but sunk too quickly, under a torrent of words, to be analyzed at the moment. it had made an extremely unpleasant impression;--painful perhaps would be a better word. in the course of ten minutes she found the sentence which had made the impression: "mrs. north is wonderfully improved, by the way; has not been so well in twenty years." the words seemed to hang themselves up in a row in her mind; they turned scarlet and rattled loudly. betty made no attempt to veil her mental vision; she stared hard at the words and at the impression they had produced. mrs. north was out of danger, and the fact was a bitter disappointment to her. in spite of the resolute expulsion of the very shadow of mrs. north from her thought, her sub-consciousness had conceived and brought forth and nurtured hope. what had made her content to drift, what had made her look with an almost philosophical eye on the future, was the unadmitted certainty that in the natural course of events a woman with a shattered constitution must go her way and leave her husband free. had he thought of this? he must have, she concluded. she was beginning to look facts squarely in the face; it was an old habit with him, older than herself. there never was a more practical brain. for the first time in her life she almost hated herself. she had done and felt many things which she sincerely regretted, but this seemed incomparably the worst. and despite her protest, her bitter self-contempt, the sting of disappointment remained; she could not extract it. she went out and walked several miles, as she always did when nervous and troubled. she came to the conclusion that she was glad to have heard this news to-day. she and senator north were to meet in the evening for the first time in five months. she had looked forward to this meeting with such a mingling of delight and terror that several times she had been on the point of sending him word not to come. but the impression sally's information had made had hardened her. she was so disappointed in herself, so humiliated to find that a mortal may fancy himself treading the upper altitudes, only to discover that the baser forces in the brain are working independently of the will, that she felt in anything but a melting mood. she knew that this mood would pass; she had watched the workings of the brain, its abrupt transitions and its reactions, too long to hope that she suddenly had acquired great and enduring strength. the future had not expelled one jot of its dangers, perhaps had supplemented them, but for the hour she not only was safe from herself, but the necessity to turn him from her door had receded one step. she had intended to receive him in the large and formal environment of the parlor, but in her present mood the boudoir was safe, and she was glad not to disappoint him; she knew that he loved the room. and if her brain had sobered, her femininity would endure unaltered for ever. she wore a charming new gown of white crepe de chine flowing over a blue petticoat, and a twist of blue in her hair. she had written to him from new york when to call, and he had sent a large box of lilies of the valley to greet her. she had arranged them in a bowl, and wore only a spray at her throat. women with beautiful figures seldom care for the erratic lines and curves of the floral decoration. she heard him coming down the corridor and caught her breath, but that was all. she did not tremble nor change colour. when he came in, he took both her hands and looked at her steadily for a moment. they made no attempt at formal greeting, and there was no need of subterfuge of any sort between them. no two mortals ever understood each other better. "i see the change in you," he said. "i expected it. you have given me a great deal, and your last survival of childhood was not the least. the serious element has developed itself, and you look the embodiment of an ideal." he dropped her hands and walked to the end of the room. when he returned and threw himself into a chair, she knew that his face had changed, then been ordered under control. "what shall i talk to you about?" he asked with an almost nervous laugh. "politics? comparatively little happened in the senate before the holidays. the president's message was of peculiar interest to me, inasmuch as it indicated that he is approaching spain in the right way and will succeed in both relieving the cubans and averting war if the fire-eaters will let him alone. the cubans probably will not listen to the offer of autonomy, for it comes several years too late and their confidence in spain has gone forever; but i am hoping that while this country is waiting to see the result, it will come to its senses. the pressure upon us has been intolerable. both houses have been flooded with petitions and memorials by the thousands: from legislatures, chambers of commerce, societies, churches, from associations of every sort, and from perhaps a million citizens. the capitol looks like a paper factory. if autonomy fails soon enough, or if some new chapter of horrors can be concocted by the yellow press, or if the unforeseen happens, war will come. the average congressman and even senator does not resist the determined pressure of his constituents, and to do them justice they have talked themselves into believing that they are as excited as the idle minds at home who are feeling dramatic and calling it sympathy. and the average mind hates to be on the unpopular side. "forgive me if i am bitter," he said, standing up suddenly and looking down on her with a smile, "but a good many of us are, just now. we can't help it. a great and just war would be met unflinchingly and with all pride; but the prospect of this hysterical row between a bull pup and a senile terrier fills us with impatience and disgust. the president must feel that he is expiating all the sins of the human race. the only man in the united states to be envied, so far, is the speaker of the house; it is almost a satisfaction to think that he looks like the monument he is; and for the time being his importance overshadows the president's. if the president can hold on, however, he will negotiate spain out of this hemisphere in less than a year." "i knew you were worried about it," she said softly. "i felt that so keenly that i never lost an opportunity to war against the war. i made enemies right and left, and acquired a reputation for heartlessness." "our minds are much alike," he said, staring down at her and dropping his voice for a moment. "you may have done it for me, but you are as sincere as i am. i have stimulated your mind, that is all. how much you can do here in washington--among the men who legislate--i cannot say. a woman who takes a high and definite stand is always an influence for good; but the women who influence men's votes are not of your type. they are women who sacrifice anything to gain their ends, or those who have educated themselves to play upon the vanity and other petty qualities of men; every peg in their brain is hung with a political trick. the only men who attract you are too strong to vote under the influence of any woman, even if they loved her. if shattuc were not as obstinate as a mule," he added more lightly, "i should ask you to convert him to the principles of sound currency. that is another ugly cloud ahead: there is going to be an attempt made to pass through both houses a concurrent resolution advocating the free and unlimited coinage of silver and to pay the public debt with it. as far as our honour goes, the passing of such a resolution would affect us as deeply as if it were to become a law. we should stand before the world as willing and ready to violate the national honour, ignore our pledges and recklessly impair our credit. i don't think the resolution will pass the house, the republican majority is too strong there, but i am afraid it will pass the senate; although we are in the majority, a good many republicans are western men and silverites. a certain number on both sides of the chamber are voting merely to please their constituents, feeling reasonably sure that the resolution will fail in the house. they appear to care little for the honour of the senate; they certainly have not the backbone to defy their constituents if they do care for it. to the outside world the senate is a unit; every resolution that passes it might come out of one gigantic skull at peace with itself. this one will be passed by a small majority who have not imagination enough to read the works of future historians, nor even to grasp public opinion as unexpressed by their constituents. "there is one fact that the second-rate politician never grasps," he said, walking impatiently up and down; betty had never seen him so restless. "that is, that the true american respects convictions; no matter how many fads he may conceive nor how loud he may clamour for their indulgence, when his mind begins to balance methodically again, he respects the man who told him he was wrong and imperilled his own re-election rather than vote against his convictions. many a senator has lost re-election through yielding to pressure, for elections do not always occur at the height of a popular agitation; and when men have had time to cool off and think, they despise and distrust the waverer. if you will read the biographies in the congressional directory, you will see that with a very few exceptions the new englanders are the only men who come back here--to both houses--term after term. they practically are here for life; and the reason is that they belong to the same hard-headed, clear-thinking, unyielding, and puritanically upright race as the men who elect them to office. they have their faults, but they represent the iron backbone of this country, and in spite of fads and aberrations, and gales in general on the political sea, they will remain the prevailing influence. if i speak seldom in the senate, i certainly make a good many speeches to you. but i want you to understand all i can teach you and to do what you can." "yes," she said, rising abruptly, "i want an object in life, a vital interest. i need it! a year ago i took up politics out of curiosity and ennui; to-day they represent a safeguard as well as a necessity. i cannot write books nor paint pictures; charities bore me and i never shall marry. my heart must go to the wall, and my brain is very active. the more one studies and observes politics the more absorbing they become. but that is only a part of it. i want to be of some use to the country, to accomplish something for the public good; and it will be a form of happiness to think that i am working with you--for i certainly agree with you in all things, whatever the cause. when the time comes that we meet in public only, i can have that much happiness at least; and i always shall know where i can help you--" "the mere fact that you are alive is help enough--and torment enough. i shall go now. we have gotten through this first meeting better than i had hoped." they both laughed a little as they shook hands, for politics had cleared the air. iv he came in again on sunday, but burleigh and other men were there; and as the senate had adjourned until the fifth, there was no excuse for him to call at the late hour when she was sure to be alone; so he dropped in twice to luncheon, and they went for a long walk in rock creek park afterward. on one of these occasions sally carter joined them; and on the other, although but for the occasional passer-by they were alone for two hours in the wild beauty of rocky gorges and winter woods, they talked of war and spain. he left her at the door. on thursday night she was to have her dinner, and in spite of her stormy inner life she felt a pleasurable nervousness as the hour approached; for on its results depended the colour of her future. with love or without it she had to live on, and if she could see the way to serve her country, to preserve some of its higher ideals as well as to win a distinguished position, she had no doubt that in time she should find resignation. all her invitations but one had been accepted: the british ambassador was attending a diplomatic dinner, but would come in later. betty was not altogether regretful, for the question of precedence, with all her personages, was sufficiently complicated. the speaker ranked the senators, but there were eight senators to be disposed of with tact; they might overlook a mistake, but their wives or daughters would not. she had spared no pains to honour her guests. she still scorned the plutocratic multiplication of flowers until they seemed to rattle like the dollars they stood for, but the table looked very beautiful, and the silver and china and crystal had endured through several generations. some of it had been used in the white house in the days when it was an honour to have a president in one's family. her father's wine-cellar had been celebrated, and she had employed connoisseurs in its replenishment ever since the duties of entertaining had devolved upon her. she also had her own _chef,_ and knew with what satisfaction he filled the culinary brain-cells of the patient diner out in washington. all the lower house was softly lit with candles; except her boudoir, which was dark and locked. she wore a gown of apple-green satin which looked simple and was not. mrs. madison was like an exquisite miniature, in satin of a pinkish gray hue, trimmed with much alencon, a collar of diamonds, and a pink spray in her soft white hair. her blue eyes were very bright, and there was a pink colour in her cheeks, but she looked better than she felt. she was, indeed, hot and cold by turns, and she held herself with a majesty of mien which only a tiny woman can accomplish. sally carter was the first to arrive, and looked remarkably well in her black velvet of custom house indignities. the montgomerys followed, and lady mary wore the azure and white in which she appeared harmless and undiplomatic. no one was more than ten minutes late, and at eight o'clock the party was seated about the great round table in the dining-room. senator north sat on betty's right, senator ward on her left. next to that astute diplomatist was the lady in azure and white, whom he admired profoundly and understood thoroughly. she never knew the latter half of his attitude, however. he was a gallant american, and delighted to indulge a pretty woman in her fads and ambitions. mrs. madison achieved resignation between the speaker of the house and senator maxwell, and sally carter was paired with senator march. betty had meditated several hours over the placing of her guests, and had invited as many pretty and charming women as the matrimonial entanglements of her statesmen would permit. fortunately it was early in the year, and a number of wives had tarried behind their husbands. the family portraits on the dark old walls had not looked down upon so brilliant a gathering for half a century, and betty's eyes sparkled and she lifted her head, her nostrils dilating. the light in her inner life burned low, and her brain was luminous with the excitement of the hour. and as he was beside her, there really was no cause for repining. at once the talk was all of war. washington, like the rest of the country, did not rise to its highest pitch of excitement until after the destruction of the _maine_, but no other subject could hold its interest for long. in ordinary conditions politics are barely mentioned when the most political city in the world is in evening dress, but war is a microbe. "i am for it," announced lady mary, "if only to give you a chance to find out whom your friends are." "there is nothing in the history of human nature or of nations to disprove that our friends of to-day may be our enemies of to-morrow," observed senator north. "i believe you hate england." "on the contrary, i am probably the best friend she has in the senate. my mission is to forestall the hate which leads so many ardent but ill-mated couples into the divorce courts." "well, you will see," said lady mary, mysteriously. "i do not doubt it," said senator north, smiling. "and we shall be grateful. if the circumstances ever are reversed, we shall do as much for her." "how much?" "that will depend upon the quality of statesmanship in both houses." "i wish you would explain what you mean by that." lady mary's wide voice was too well trained to sharpen. her cold blue eyes wore the dreamy expression of their most active moments. "i wish i knew whether the statesmen of the future were to be populists or republicans." "well, whatever you mean you have no sentiment." "i have no sentimentalism." lady mary shrugged her shoulders and turned to senator ward. she knew better than to talk politics to him before dinner was two thirds over, but she bent her pretty head to him, and gave him her distinguished attentions while he re-invigorated his weary brain. he smiled encouragingly. "the statesmen of the future will be populists, senator," announced betty's last recruit, a man with a keen sharply cut face and a slightly nasal though not displeasing voice. he was forty and looked thirty. "the populist will have called himself so many things by that time that 'statesman' will do as well as any other," growled the speaker. "'the statesmen's party' would sound well, and would be worthy of the noble pretensions of your leader." "well, they are noble," said armstrong tartly, but glad of the opportunity to talk back to the personage who treated him in the house as a czar treats a minion. "we are the only party that is ready to cling to the constitution as if it were the rock of ages." "well, you've clung so hard you've turned it upside down, and the new inventions and patent improvements you've stuccoed it with will do for the 'statesmen's party,' but not for the united states--madam?" mrs. madison had touched his arm timidly, and asked him if he liked terrapin. her colour was deeper, but she exerted herself to keep the attention of this huge personality whom a poor worm might be tempted to assassinate. senator burleigh's voice rose above the chatter. "who would be a western senator?" he said plaintively. "my colleague and i received a document today, signed by two thousand of our constituents, the entire population of an obscure but determined town, in which we were ordered to acknowledge the belligerency of the cubans at once or expect to be tarred and feathered upon our return. the climate of my state is excellent for consumption, but bad for nerves. doubtless most of these men come of good new england stock, whose relatives 'back east' would never think of doing such a thing; but the intoxicating climate they have been inhaling for half a generation, to say nothing of the raw conditions, makes them want to fight creation." senator maxwell, who had more of the restlessness of youth than the repose of age, threw back his silver head and gave his little irritated laugh. "that is it," he said. "it is the lust of blood that possesses the united states. they don't know it. they call it sympathy; but their blood is aching for a fight, so that they can read the exciting horrors of it in the newspapers. you might as well reason with mad dogs." "i shall not attempt to reason with my kennel," said burleigh. "in the present congested state of the mails this particular memorial has gone astray." "the trials of a senator!" cried sally carter. "petitions and lobbyists, election clouds, fractious and dishonest legislatures, unprincipled bosses and the country gone mad!" "i can give you a list as long as my arm," said senator march, grimly; "and you may believe it or not, but it is all i can do to walk in my committee-room and i haven't a chair to sit on. i live under a snow-storm of petitions, memorials, and resolutions. i expect to see them come flying through the window, and i dream of nothing else." betty had taken part in the general conversation until the last few moments, but as it concentrated on the subject of cuban autonomy and her guests ceased to appeal to her, she fell into conversation with senator north, who she knew would be willing to dispense with politics for a few moments. "you have no idea how i miss jack emory," she said. "he half lived with us, you know, and i am always expecting to meet him in the hall. when i was writing my invitations i caught myself beginning a note, 'dear jack.' it is uncanny." "it is the only revenge the dead have; and doubtless it is this vivid after life of theirs in memory that is at the root of the belief in ghosts. you say that you are going to open your _salon_ every year with a dinner to the original members. it will be interesting to watch the two faces in some of the seats--if you attempt to fill the vacant chairs." betty pressed her handkerchief against her lips, for she knew they had turned white. she was but twenty-eight, and if her _salon_ was the success it promised to be she would sit at the head of this table for twenty-eight years to come, and then have compassed fewer years than the man beside her. she had refused resolutely to permit her thought to dwell on the tragic difference in their ages, a difference that had no meaning now, but would symbolize death and desolation hereafter; but her mind had moments of abrupt insight that no will could conquer, and not long since she had gasped and covered her face with her hands. "that was brutal of me," he said hurriedly. "your dinner is the brilliant success that it deserves to be, and you should be permitted to be entirely happy. there is not a bored face, and if they are all jabbering about the everlasting subject, so much the better for you. it gives your _salon_ its political character at once; you would have had a hard time getting them to begin on bimetallism and the census--perish the thought! ward is now making lady mary think that she is a greater diplomatist than himself. maxwell and the speaker are wrangling across your mother, who looks alarmed; burleigh is flirting desperately with miss alice maxwell, who is purring upon his senatorial vanity; your populist is breaking out into the turgid rhetoric of mr. bryan; french has persuaded that charming english girl that he is the most literary man in america, and miss carter is condoling with march about an ungrateful state. so be happy, my darling, be happy." his voice had dropped suddenly. she made an involuntary movement toward him. "i am," she said below her breath. "i am." she added in a moment, "will you always come to my thursday evenings, no matter what happens?" "always." he had turned slightly, and one hand was on his knee. she slipped hers into it recklessly; they were safe in the crowd, and her hand ached for his. it ached from the grasp it received, for he was a man whose self-control was absolute or non-existent. but she clung to him as long as she dared, and when she withdrew her hand she sought for distraction in her company. it looked as gay and happy as if war had been invented to animate conversation and make a bored people feel dramatic. death was close upon the heels of two of the distinguished men present; but even though the eyes of the soul be raised everlastingly to the world above, they are blind to the portal. the busy member who had incurred miss carter's disapproval and the brilliant librarian of congress were among the liveliest at the feast. it was senator ward at one end of the table and burleigh at the other, who finally started the topic of miss madison's intended _salon_, not only that those unacquainted with her ambition might be enlightened, but that the great intention should receive a concrete form without further delay. a half-hour later, when the women left the table, betty had the satisfaction of knowing that whatever the final result of her venture, her stand was as fully recognized as if she had written a book and found a publisher and critics to advertise her. v betty went to the senate gallery on the following day at the request of armstrong, and heard an exposition of the populist religion by the benevolent-looking bore from nebraska. he was followed by an arraignment of the "gold standard administration" and the republican party, from the leading advocate of bimetallism with-or-without-the-concurrence-of-europe. the utterances of both gentlemen were delivered with the repose and dignity peculiar to their body, and patriotism and the constitution would appear to be their watchword and fetish. burleigh came up to the gallery as the silver senator sat down, and smiled wearily at betty's puzzled comments. "of course they sound well," he replied. "in the first place there is always much to be said on both sides of any question, and a clever speaker can make his side dwarf the other. and of course no party could exist five minutes unless it had some good in it. there are several admirable principles in the populist creed; there are enough windy theories to upset the constitution of which they prate; and, by the way, the more wrong-headed a would-be statesman is the more hysterically does he plead for the constitution. as to the other senator--i sympathize as deeply with the farmer as any man, and i hoped against hope for the success of the bimetallic envoys; but the farmer is of considerably less importance than the national honour; and if a man is not statesman enough to take the national view when he comes to the senate, he had better stay at home and become a party boss." "are you in trouble at home? i saw that you made a speech just before you left." "they are furious, and elections are imminent; but i never have believed that it paid in the end to be a politician, and i propose to hold to that view. if i am not re-elected this time, i will venture to say that i shall be six years later--" "oh, i should be sorry! i should be sorry! your heart is in the senate. how could you settle down contentedly to practise law in a western city for six years?" "i certainly should have very little to offer a woman," he said bitterly. his frank handsome face had lost the expression of gayety which had sat so gracefully upon the determination of its contours; he looked harassed and a trifle cynical. "there is only one thing i hate more than leaving the united states senate--and god knows i love it and its traditions: what that is i feel i now have no right--" "oh, yes, you have; for if i loved you i would live at the north pole with you, and i hate cold weather. i don't want you to put me in that sort of position, both for the sake of your own pride and for our friendship." "that is like you, and i shall take you at your word. perhaps you can imagine what it cost me to come out and declare myself in a state howling for silver, when i knew that to leave washington meant losing my chance with you. for if i am not re-elected i must go out there and stay. i could afford to live here, of course--i hope you know that i have plenty of money--but my political future is there. even if you made it a condition, i should not pull up stakes, for a man who despised himself for abandoning his ambitions and his power for usefulness could not be happy with any woman." "i should not make such a condition. as i said, i willingly would go west with you if i loved you." "would to god you did! what i meant was that in going i lose my chance." betty looked at him and shook her head slowly. "yes!" he said. "yes! yes! i believe, i know that i could win you with time. and now that the future looks dark i want you more than ever." "ah, i wish i could love you," she exclaimed fervently. "i have enough of feminine insight to know that a woman is really happy only when she is making a man happy, and that she is almost ready to bless the troubles which give her the opportunity to console him." she was looking straight down at senator north as she spoke. her voice was impassioned as she finished, and she forgot the man at her side. but he never had suspected that she loved another man. his face flushed and he lowered his head eagerly. "betty!" he said, "betty! come to me and i swear to make you happy. you don't know what love is. you need to be taught. any man can make a woman of feeling love him if he loves her enough and she has no antipathy to him. and there is no reason under heaven why we should not be happy together." there was only one. betty was convinced of that; and for the moment the dull ache in her heart prompted her to wish that she never had seen the man down there listening impassively to remarks on the immigration bill. she wanted to be happy, she was made to be happy, and it was easy to imagine the most exacting woman deeply attached to robert burleigh. what was love that it defied the will? why could not she shake up her brain as one shakes up a misused sofa-cushion and beat it into proper shape? what was love that persisted in spite of the will and the judgment, that came whence no mortal could discover, but an abnormal condition of the brain, a convolution that no human treatment could reach? but she only shook her head at burleigh, although she knew that it would be wisdom to give him her hand in full view of the stragglers in the gallery. "i must go now," she said. "i have calls to pay. come and dine with us to-night. if there is even a chance of our losing you, my mother and i must have all of you that we can, meanwhile." vi "it is just a year ago to-day, betty, that you nearly killed me by announcing your determination to go into politics--or whatever you choose to call it. i put down the date. a great deal has happened since then--poor dear jack! and i often think of that unfortunate creature, too. but you and i are here in this same room, and i wonder if you are glad or sorry that you entered upon this eccentric course." "i have no regrets," said betty, smiling. "and i don't think you have. you like every man that comes here, and while they are talking to you forget that you ever had an ache. as for me--no, i have no regrets, not one. i am glad." "well, i will admit that they are much better than i thought. i must say i never saw a finer set of men than those at your dinner, and i felt proud of my country, although i was nervous once or twice. i almost love mr. burleigh; so i refrain from further criticism. but, betty, there is one thing i feel i must say--" she hesitated and readjusted her cushions nervously. betty looked at her inquiringly, and experienced a slight chill. she stood up suddenly and put her foot on the fender. "it is this," continued mrs. madison, hurriedly. "i think you are too much with senator north. he was here constantly before you left washington, and of course i know you boated with him a great deal last summer. since your return he has been here several times, and you treat him with twice the attention with which you treat any other man. of course i can understand the attraction which a man with a brain like that must have for you, but there is something more important to be considered. you have been the most noticeable girl in washington for years--in our set--and now that you have branched out in this extraordinary manner and are even going to have a _salon_, you'll quickly be the most conspicuous in the other set. mr. north is easily the most conspicuous figure in the senate--a half dozen of your new friends, including that speaker, have told me so--and if this friendship keeps on people will talk, as sure as fate. there is no harm done yet--i sounded sally carter--but there will be. that sort of gossip grows gradually and surely; it is not like a great scandal that blazes up and out and that people get tired of; they will get into the habit of believing all sorts of dreadful things, and they never will acquire the habit of disbelieving them." betty made no reply. she stood staring into the fire. "it would have been more difficult for me to say such a thing to you a year ago; but you seem a good deal older, somehow. i suppose it is being so much with men old enough to be your father, and talking constantly about things that give me the nightmare to think of. and of course you have had two terrible shocks. but you are so buoyant i hope you will get over all that in time. wouldn't you like to go to the riviera, and then to london for the season?" "and desert my _salon?_" asked betty, lightly. "you forget this is the long term. i am praying that summer will come late, so that you can stay on. it never had occurred to me that any one would notice my friendship with mr. north. i hope they will do nothing so silly as to comment on it." "well, they will, if you are not very careful. and there is no position in the world so unenviable as that of a girl who gets herself talked about with a married man. men lose interest in her and raise their eyebrows at the clubs when her name is mentioned, and women gradually drop her. money and position will cover up a good many indiscretions in a married woman or a widow, but the world always has demanded that a girl shall be immaculate; and if she permits society to think she is not, it punishes her for violating one of its pet standards. mr. north can be nothing to you. the day is sure to come when you will want to marry. no woman is really satisfied in any other state." betty turned and looked squarely at her mother, who had lost even the semblance of nervousness in her deep maternal anxiety. "do you believe that i love mr. north?" "yes, i do. and i know that he loves you. there is no mistaking the way a man turns to a woman every time she begins to speak. but on that score i have no fears. i know that you not only must have the high principles of the women of your race, but that you are too much a woman-of-the-world to enter upon a _liaison_, which would mean constant lying, fear, blackmail by servants, and general wretchedness. and i have perfect faith in him. even a scoundrel will hesitate a long while before he makes himself responsible for the future of a girl in your position, and mr. north is not a scoundrel but an honourable gentleman. moreover he knows that a scandal would ruin him in his puritanical state; and he adores his sons, who are prouder of him than if he were ten presidents. but the world can talk and continue to talk, and to act as viciously about an imprudent friendship as about a _liaison_, for it has no means of proving anything and likes to believe the worst. now, i shan't say any more. you are capable of doing your own thinking. only do think--please." betty nodded to her mother, and went to her boudoir and sat there for hours. nothing could have put the ugly practical side of her romance so precisely before her as her mother's black and white statement, full of the little colloquial phrases with which an un-ambitious world expresses itself. even for him, betty reflected, she could not endure vulgar gossip, and wondered how any high-bred woman could for any man. "for what else does civilization mean," she thought, "if those of us that have its highest advantages are not wiser and more fastidious than the mob? and unless a woman is ready to go and live in a cave, she cannot be happy in the loss of the world's regard, for it can make her uncomfortable in quite a thousand little ways. expediency is the root of all morality. it is stupid to be unmoral, and that is the long and the short of it. i would marry him to-morrow if i had to cook for him, if he were dishonoured by his country, if he were smitten suddenly with ill-health and never could walk again. i am willing to go through life alone for his sake, even without seeing him, and after he is dead and gone. i love him absolutely, and if there is another world i must meet him there. but i am not willing to become a social pariah on his account." she never had permitted her mind to linger on the practical aspect of a different relationship, to admit that such a chapter was possible outside of her imagination, but she did so now, deliberately. she knew that what her mother had intimated was true, that the happiness to be got out of it would amount to very little, and that the day would come when she would say that it was not worth the price. there were many times when she was not capable of reasoning coldly on this question, but she had been listening for two hours to senator french on the restriction of immigration, and felt all intellect. her mind turned to harriet. there was a creature foredoomed to destruction by the forces within her, struggling in vain, assisted and guarded in vain. should she, with her inheritance of kindly forces within and without, deliberately readjust her manifest lines into a likeness of harriet walker's? and she knew that even if she hoodwinked the world, the miserable deception of it all, the nervous terrors, not only would wear love down, but shatter her ideals of herself and him. she would be infinitely more miserable than now. it relieved her to have thought that phase out, and she put it aside. but the other? must she give him up? what pleasure could she find in sitting here with him if her mother's apprehensive mind did not leave the room for a moment? what pleasure if a vulgar world were whispering? she reflected with some bitterness that one danger was receding. he had not entered this room since the day of her return. although he had called several times, he had come in the evening, when she always sat with her mother, or in the morning, when mrs. madison again was sure to be present. she knew that he dared not come here, and that it was more than likely he never would call at the old hour again. she realized these two facts suddenly and vividly; her mind worked with a brutal frankness at times. she began to cry heavily, the tears raining on her intellectual mood and obliterating it. if she were not to see him alone again, she might as well ask him to come to the house on thursday evenings only, and to show her no attention in public; if she could not have the old hours again, she wanted nothing less. and she wanted them passionately; those hours came back to her with a poignancy of happiness in memory that the present had not revealed, and the thought that they had gone for ever filled her with a suffocating anguish that was as complete as it was sudden. she implored him under her breath to come to her, then prayed that he would not.... she became conscious that she was in a mood to take any step, were he here, rather than lose him; and the mood terrified her. would the time come when this intolerable pain would kill every inheritance in her brain, its empire the more absolute because it made passion itself insignificant in the more terrible want of the heart? if it did, she would marry burleigh. she made up her mind instantly. she would fight as long as she could, for she passionately desired to live her life alone with the idea of this man; but if she were not strong enough, she would marry and bury herself in the west. nothing but an irrevocable step would affect a permanent mental attitude, and burleigh would give her little time for thought. vii betty went very often to the senate gallery in these days, for it was the only place where one might have relief from the eternal subject of cuba. although the house broke loose under cover of the diplomatic and consular appropriation bill when it was in the committee of the whole and free of the speaker's iron hand, and raged for two days with the vehemence of long-repressed passion, the senate permitted only an occasional spurt from its warlike members, and pursued its even way with the important bills before it. but at teas, dinners, luncheons, and receptions people chattered with amiability or in suavity about the hostile demonstrations at havana against americans, the spanish minister's letter, spain's demand for the recall of consul-general lee, the dying reconcentrados, the exploits of the insurgents, and the general possibilities of war. the old madison house, which had ignored politics for half a century, vibrated with polite excitement on thursday evenings. about a hundred people came to these receptions, which finished with a supper, and it was understood that the free expression of opinion should be the rule; consequently several repressed members of both houses delivered impromptu speeches, in the guise of toasts, before that select audience; much to the amusement of senator north and the speaker of the house. burleigh's was really impassioned and brilliant; and armstrong's, if woolly in its phrasing and populistic in its length, was sufficiently entertaining. as for mrs. madison, she became imbued with the fear that war would be declared in her house. two cabinet ministers had been added to the _salon_, and what they in conjunction with the colossal speaker and senators north and ward might accomplish if they cared to try, was appalling to contemplate. she begged betty to adjourn the _salon_ till peace had come again. but to this betty would not hearken. it was the sun of her week, through whose heavy clouds flickered the pale stars of distractions for which she was beginning to care little. one of life's compensations is that there is always something ahead, some trifling event of interest or pleasure upon which one may fix one's eye and endeavour to forget the dreary tissue of monotony and commonplace between. betty found herself acquiring the habit of casting her eye over the day as soon as she awoke in the morning, and if nothing distracting presented itself, she planned for something as well as she could. she endeavoured to introduce the pleasant english custom of asking a few congenial spirits to come for a cup of afternoon tea. these little informal reunions are among the most delightful episodes of london life, and if established as a custom in washington would be like the greenest of oases in the whirling breathless sandstorms of that social sahara. but even betty madison, strong as she was both in position and personality, met with but a moderate success. when women have from six to twenty-five calls to pay every afternoon of the season, with at least one tea a day besides, they have little time or inclination for pleasant informalities. doubtless miss madison's friends felt that they should be relieved of the additional tax. even the women of the fashionable set, which includes some of the old washingtonians and many newer comers of equally high degree, and which ignores the official set, preserve the same ridiculous fashion of calling in person six days in the week instead of merely leaving cards as in older and more civilized communities. in london, society has learned to combine the maximum of pleasure with the minimum of work. washington society is its antithesis; and although many of the most brilliant men in america are in its official set, and the brightest and most charming women in its fashionable as well as political set, they are, through the exigencies of the old social structure, of little use to each other. betty occasionally managed to capture three or four people who talked delightfully when they felt they had time to indulge in consecutive sentences, but as a rule people came on her reception day only, and many of them walked in at one door of her drawing-room and out at the other. the debate in the senate on the payment of bonds interested her deeply, for she knew that it meant days of uneasiness for senator north, who rarely was absent from his seat. his brief speech on the subject was the finest she had heard him make, and although it was bitter and sarcastic while he was arraigning the adherents of the resolution to pay the government debt in silver, he became impersonal and almost impassioned as he argued in behalf of national honesty. betty never had seen him so close to excitement, and she wondered if he found it a relief to speak out on any subject. but if he ever thought of her down there he made no sign, for he neither raised his eyes to the gallery nor did he pay her a second visit in her select but conspicuous precinct. the resolution passed the senate, and on that evening senator north called at the madison house. it was two weeks since he had called before, and although he had come to her evenings and they had met at several dinners, they had not attempted conversation. the montgomery's and carters had dined at the house, and all were in the parlour when he arrived. after a few minutes he was able to talk apart with betty. they moved gradually toward the end of the room and sat down on a small sofa. "i am glad you came to-night," she said. "it was my impulse to go to you when i heard how the vote had gone." "i knew it," he replied, "and if i could have come straight up here to the old room, i should have hung up the vote with my overcoat in the hall." he looked harassed, and his eyes, while they had lost nothing of their magnetic power, were less calmly penetrating than usual. they looked as if their fires had been unloosed more than once of late and were under indifferent control. "you will not come to that room again!" "no. and i soon shall cease to come here at all except on thursdays." "you almost have done that now. i think i get more satisfaction watching you from the gallery than anything else. you look very calm and senatorial, and you always are standing some one in a corner who is trying to make a speech." "i am relieved to know that i do not inspire the amazement of my colleagues. it is a long while since i have felt calm and senatorial, however. but these are days for alertness of mind, and even the most distracting of women must be shut up in her cupboard and forgotten for a few hours every day." "i think i rather like that." "of course you do. a woman always likes a strong lover. and you have plenty of revenge, if you did but know." "i know," she said; and as she raised her eyes and looked at him steadily, he believed her. "tell me at least that you miss coming to that room--i want to hear you say it." "good god!" betty caught her breath. but when women feel fire between their fingers and are reckless before the swift approach of a greater wretchedness than that possessing them, they are merciless to themselves and the man. "can you stay away?" she whispered. "can you?" "it is the one thing i can do." "do you realize what you are saying?--that you have put me aside for ever? are you willing to admit that it is all over? how am i to live on and on and on? can you fancy me alone next summer in the adirondacks--" "hush! hush! do you wish me to come? answer me honestly, without any feminine subterfuge." "no, i do not." "and i should not come if you did, for i know the price we both should pay better than you do, and only complete happiness could justify such a step. you and i could find happiness in marriage only--we both demand too much! but i also know that the higher faculties of the mind do not always prevail, and i shall not see you alone again." she pushed him further. "you take this philosophically because you have loved before and recovered. you feel sure that no love lasts." "when a man loves as i love you, he has no past. there are no experiences alive in his memory to help him to philosophy. with the entire world the last love is the only love. as for myself, i shall not love again and i shall not recover." "i wore white because i knew you would come tonight," she said softly. "yes, and you would torment me if i went down on my knees and begged for mercy." "senator," said montgomery, approaching them. "i suppose it is some satisfaction to you to know that that resolution cannot pass the house." "i hope you will make a speech on the subject that will look well in the record," said north, with some sarcasm. montgomery laughed. "that is a good suggestion. i wonder if some of our orators ever read themselves over in cold blood. the back numbers of the record ought to be a solemn warning." "unfortunately most people don't know when they have made fools of themselves; that is one reason the world grows wise so slowly. i don't doubt your speech will look well. you've been remarkably sane for a young man of enthusiasms. reserve some of your logic, however, for the greater conflict that is coming. the pressure on the president is becoming very severe, and the worst of it is that a great part of it comes from congressmen of his own party." "one of our populists has christened these 'kickers' 'the reconcentrados;' which is not bad, as there is said to be a kickers' caucus in process of organization. but if the pressure on the president is severe, it is equally so on us, and i suppose the 'kickers' are those who have one knob too few in their backbones. some, however, have got the war bee inside their skulls instead of in their hats, and will be fit subjects for a lunatic asylum if the thing doesn't end soon, one way or another. and they reiterate and reiterate that they don't want war, when they know that any determined step we can take is bound to lead to it. i have no patience with them. they either are fools or are trying to keep on both sides of the fence at once." "politics are very complicated," said senator north, dryly. "how do you and mary manage to live in the same house?" asked betty. "she is all for war." "oh, i think she rather likes the opportunity to argue. and she is so divided between the desire for me to be a good american and the desire that england shall have an excuse to hug us that she could not get into a temper over it if she tried. she has made no attempt to influence my course. heaven knows how much money i've been made to disburse in behalf of the reconcentrados, but i like women to be tender-hearted and would not harden them for the sake of a few dollars, even were they dumped in havana harbor--by the way, i wonder if the _maine_ is all right down there? she has the city under her guns, and they know it--" "oh, for heaven's sake, don't suggest any new horrors," said senator north, rising. "besides, the spaniards are not in the final stages of idiocy. it would be like the new york _journal_ to blow up the _maine_, as it seems to have reached that stage of hysteria which betokens desperation; but the ship is safe as far as the spaniards are concerned." lady mary rose to go; and betty, who was informal with her friends, went out into the hall with her instead of ringing for a servant. senator north remained in the parlor for a few moments to say good-night to mrs. madison and the carters, and betty, although the montgomerys did not linger, waited for him to come out. there was nothing to reflect the light in the dark walls of the large square hall, and it always was shadowy, and provocative to lovers at any time. when he entered it, he looked at her for a moment without speaking, and did not approach her. "you might be the ghost of another betty madison--in that white gown," he said. "was there not a famous one in the days of , and did she not love a british officer--or something of that sort?" "they parted here in this hall--and she lived on and died of old age. such is life. i sleep in her bed, where, i suppose, she suffered much as i do." she came forward and pushed her hand into his. "i am not a ghost," she said. he too believed it to be their last meeting alone, and he raised her hand to his lips and held it there. "i wish we could have stayed on and on in the adirondacks," she said unsteadily. "everything seemed to go well with us there." "people in mid-ocean usually are happy and irresponsible. they would not be if it were anything but an intermediate state. but it is enough to know that on land our troubles are waiting for us." she shivered and drew closer to him. the dangerous fire in her eyes faded. "mine are becoming very great," she said. "all i can do is to distract my mind, to fill up my time." "and i can do nothing to help you! that is the tragedy of a love like ours: the more a man loves a woman he cannot marry the more he must make her suffer--either way; it is simply a choice of methods, and if he really loves her he chooses the least complicated." "it is bad enough." her eyes filled for the first time in his presence since the morning of harriet's death, but her mental temper was very different, and she looked at him steadily through her tears. "_i_ cannot help _you_," she said. "that is the hardest part. you are harassed in many ways, and you are dreading the bitterness of a greater defeat than today. i could be so much to you--so much. and i can be nothing. by that time you will have ceased to come here. i know that you mean not to come again after to-night, except when the house is full of company." he began to answer, but stopped. she felt his heart against her arm, and his lips burnt her hand, his eyes her own. "listen," she said rapidly, "if war should be declared i shall be in the gallery to hear it. i will come straight home and shut myself up in my boudoir--for hours--to be with you in a way--shall i? will--would it mean anything to you?" "of course it would!" his face was fully unmasked, and she moved abruptly to it as to a magnet. in another moment they were in the more certain seclusion of the vestibule, and she was in his arms. they clung together with a passion which despair with ironic compensation made perfect, and their first kiss which was to be their last expressed for a moment the longing of the year of their love and of the years that were to come. that such a moment ever could end was so incredible that when betty suddenly found herself alone she looked about in every direction for him, and then the blood rushed through her in a tide of impotent fury. it was this blind rage that enabled her to go back to the parlor and keep up until the carters went home a few moments later, and her mother had gone to bed. then she went to her boudoir and locked herself in. how she got through that night without sending him an imperious summons she never knew, unless it were that she found some measure of relief in a letter she wrote to him. if she could not see him, he was still her lover, her only intimate friend, and her confessor. she promised not to write again, but she demanded what help he could give her. she sent the letter in the morning, and he replied at once:-- i know. do you think it was necessary to tell me? do you suppose my mind left you for a moment last night, and that i know and love you so little that i failed to imagine and understand in a single particular? if i were less of a man and more of a god, i should go to you and give you the help you need, but i am only strong enough to keep away from you. not in thought, however,--if that is any help. we shall meet in public and speak together. i have no desire to forget you nor that you should forget me. we neither of us shall forget, but we shall live and endure, as the strongest of us always do. you tell me that you are tormented by the thought that you have added to my trials. remember that all other trials sink into insignificance beside this, and yet that this greatest that has come to me in a long life is glorified by the fact of its existence. and if it is almost a relief to know that i shall not see you alone again, it is a satisfaction and a joy to remember that i have kissed you. r.n. viii for a few days betty was almost happy again. she had come so close to the nucleus of love that it had warmed her veins and intoxicated her brain. imagination for a brief moment had given place to reality, and if she felt wiser and older still than after her five months of meditation on the events of the summer, she felt less sober. one great desire of the past year had been fulfilled, and its memory sparkled in her brain, and her heart was lighter. it had been hours before she had ceased to feel the pressure of his arms. she wondered how she could have been so weak as to think of marrying burleigh in self-defence, and she punished him by an indifference of manner which approached frigidity; until one of the evening journals copied a bitter attack upon him from the leading newspaper of his state, when she relented and permitted him to console himself in her presence. and although, as the weeks passed and she saw senator north from the gallery of the senate only, or for a few impersonal moments in the crowd, and the elixir in her veins lost its strength, still she felt that life was sufferable once more. she had endeavoured to put mrs. north from her mind, but more than once she caught herself wishing that some one would mention her name. nobody did in those excited days, and betty had no means of learning whether her sudden good health had been final or temporary. sally carter did not allude to her again. when she and betty met, it was to wrangle on the cuban question, for miss carter was all for war. and then one day the newsboys shrieked in the streets that the _maine_ had been blown up in havana harbor. for a few days congress held its peace, and the country showed a praiseworthy attempt to believe in the theory of accident or to wait for full proof of spanish treachery. the _maine_ was blown up on tuesday, and on thursday night at the madisons' the subject almost was avoided; it was the most peaceful _salon_ betty had held. but it was merely the calm before the storm. the fever was still in the country's blood, which began to flow freely to the brain again as soon as the shock was over. the press could not let pass the most glorious opportunity in its history for head-lines; there were more mass meetings than even the press could grapple with, and all the latent oratorical ability in the country burst into flower. it seemed to betty when she rose in the night and leaned out of her window that she could hear the roar of the great national storm. and it rose and swelled and left the old landmarks behind it. the memory of the gales of the past year, with the intervals of doubt and rest, was insignificant beside this volume of fury pouring out of every state, to concentrate at last, fierce, unreasoning, and irresistible, about the white house and capitol hill. it was not long before the great quiet village on the potomac seemed to epitomize the terrible mood of the country it represented, and the country had made up its mind long before the report of the maine court of inquiry came in. the cry no longer was for the suffering cuban, but for revenge. the senate held down its "kickers" with an iron hand, but one or two of the inferior men managed to shout across the chamber to their constituents. senator north scarcely left his seat. burleigh told betty that he should not allude to the subject in the senate until after the court of inquiry's report, but then, whatever the result, he should speak and ask for war. betty argued with him by the hour, and although he discussed the matter from every side, it was evident that he did it merely for the pleasure of talking to her and that she could not shake his resolution for a moment. it was time for the united states to put an end to the barbarous state of affairs a few miles from her shores, and that was the end of it. he admitted the patriotism of senator north's attitude, but contended that the united states would be more dishonoured if she disregarded this terrible appeal to her humanity. when betty accused him of short-sightedness, he replied that a foretold result required a straight line of succession, and that when great events thickened the line of succession was anything but straight; therefore ultimates could not be foretold. he admitted that senator north had proved himself possessed of the faculty of what herbert spencer calls representativeness more than once, but men as wise and calm in their judgment had been mistaken before. but he and others of his standing were preserving the dignity of the senate, and that was something. ix "if you have this war," said lady mary montgomery to betty, who had come to receive with her on one of her tuesdays, "it will be strictly constitutional if you look at it in the right way. this is a government of the people, by the people, and for the people, and as the people are practically a unit in their howl for war, they have a right to it, and the responsibility is on their shoulders, not on your few statesmen." "that is a real gem of feminine logic, but not only is one wise man of more account than ten thousand fools, but a unit is a unit and has no comparative state. the serious men from one end of the country to the other are doing all they can to quell the excitement; so are the few decent newspapers that we possess. but they are dealing with a mob; an excited mob is always mad, and in this case the keepers are not numerous enough for the lunatics. but no one will question that the intelligent keepers are right and the mob wrong. the average intelligence is always shallow, and in electric climates very excitable. we are dealing to-day no less with a huge mob, even if it is not massed and marching, than were the few sane men of the french revolution. an exciting idea is like a venomous microbe; it bites into the brain, and if circumstances do not occur to expel it, it produces a form of mania. that is the only way i can account for burleigh's attitude; he is one of the few exceptions. there are thousands of men in the united states whose brains could stand any strain, but there are hundreds of thousands who were born to swell a mob. as for 'government by the people,' that phrase should be translated to-day into 'tyranny of the people.' england under a constitutional monarchy is far freer than we are." "well, i am suppressed and will say no more. i suppose i shall have a mob to-day. if anything, people are paying more calls than ever, for they can't stay indoors for twenty-five minutes with no one to talk to. it is getting monotonous. i wish that the president and the senate would begin to play, but they look as impassive as the statues in the parks." the rooms filled quickly. by five o'clock the usual crowd was there, and if it had its dowdy battalion as ever, there was no evidence that the more fortunate had lost their interest in dress, despite the warlike state of their nerves. not that all were for war, by any means. many were clinging to a forlorn hope, but they could talk of nothing else. betty had just listened to the twenty-eighth theory of the cause of the maine's destruction when she turned in response to a familiar drawl. "why, howdy, miss madison, i'm real glad to run across you at last." betty was so taken aback that she mechanically surrendered her hand to the limp pressure of her former housekeeper. but she was not long recovering herself. "miss trumbull, is it not? i was not aware that you were an acquaintance of lady mary montgomery's." "well, i can't say as i know her real intimate yet, but i guess i shall in time, as we're both wives of congressmen." "ah? you are married?" betty experienced a fleeting desire to see the man who had been captivated by miss trumbull. "ye--as. i went out west to visit my sister after i left you and was married before i knew it--to mr. george washington mudd. he's real nice, and smart--my! i expect to be in the white house before i die." "it is among the possibilities, of course. i hope you are happy, and that meanwhile he is able to take care of you comfortably." mrs. mudd glistened with black silk and jet, but the cut of her gown was of the middle west. "well, i guess! he's a lawyer and can make two hundred dollars a month any day. of course i can't set up a house in washington, but i live at the ellsmere, and three or four of us congressional ladies receive together and share carriages. i'll be happy to have you call--the first and third tuesdays; but we always put it in the post." "i have little time for calling. i am very busy in many ways." "well, i'm sorry. you don't look as well as you did up in the mountains; you look real tired, come to examine you. but your dresses are always so swell one sees those first. i always did think you had just the prettiest dresses i ever saw." betty did not turn her back upon the woman; it was a relief to talk on any subject that stood aloof from war. mrs. mudd rambled on. "i suppose you're engaged to senator burleigh by this time? he's our senator, you know, but i don't know as he's likely to be, long. we want silver, and i guess we've got to have it." "i suppose you take quite an interest in politics now," said betty, looking at the woman's large self-satisfied face. so far, matrimony had not been a chastening influence. mrs. mudd looked more conceited than ever. "well, i guess i always knew as much about them as anybody; and now i'm in politics, i guess the president couldn't give me many points. if he don't declare war soon, i'll go up to the white house and tell him what i think of him." "suppose you make a speech from the house gallery. it is congress that declares war, not the president." mrs. mudd's face turned the dull red which betty well remembered. "i guess i know what i'm talking' about. it's the president--" but betty's back was upon her, and betty was listening to the agitated comments of one of the year's debutantes upon the destruction of the maine. "was night ever so welcome before?" thought betty, as she settled herself between the four posts of her great-aunt's bed, a few hours later. "here, at least, not an echo of war can penetrate, and if i think of other things that scald my pillow, it is almost a relief." x on the following evening she went with the montgomerys to the army and navy reception at the white house. lady mary had but to express a wish for a card to any function in washington; and her popularity had much to do with her love for her adopted country. it was the first time betty ever had entered the historic mansion, and as she waited for twenty minutes in the crush of people on the front porch, she reflected that probably it was the last. but when she was in the great east room, which was hung with flags and glittered with uniforms, and was filled with the strains of martial music, she thrilled again with the historical sense, and almost wished there was a prospect of a war which would compel her to patriotic excitement. they remained in the east room for some time before going to shake hands with the president, that the long queue of people patiently crawling to the blue room might have time to wear itself down to a point. as betty stood there eagerly watching the scene, and talking to first one and then another of the army men who came up to speak to her, she became deeply impressed with the fact that this was the calmest function she had attended in washington during the winter. there was no excitement on the faces of these men in uniform, and they said little and hardly mentioned the subject of war. they looked stern and thoughtful; and betty felt proud of them, and wished they were doing themselves honour in a better cause. she went down the long central corridor after a time, past the crowd wedged before the central door, gaping at the receiving party, to a room where she and the montgomerys joined the diminished queue extending from a side entrance to the blue room. she was not surprised to see mrs. mudd in front of her, for although the representative's wife should have received a card for another evening, she was quite capable of forcing her way in without one; as doubtless a good many others had done to-night. she wore her black silk gown and her bonnet, and although most of the women present were in brilliant evening dress, mrs. mudd had several to keep her in countenance. she glanced wearily over her shoulder during the slow progress of the queue, and caught sight of betty. her place was precious, but she left it at once and came down the line. "i'll go in along with you," she said. "george couldn't come and i've felt kinder lonesome ever sense i got here. and we've been three quarters of an hour getting this far. it's terrible tiresome, but as i've found you i guess i can stand the rest of it." betty detected the flicker of malice in her former housekeeper's voice. they were on equal ground for once, and miss madison and mrs. mudd would shake hands with their president within consecutive moments. she smiled with some cynicism, but was too good-natured to snub the native ambition where it could do no harm. "i saw senator north to-day," observed mrs. mudd, "and he looked crosser 'n two sticks. he's mad because they'll have war in spite of him. i call him right down unpatriotic, and so do lots of others." "that disturbs him a great deal. he is much more concerned about the country making a fool of itself." "this country's all right, and we couldn't go wrong if we tried. them that sets themselves up to be so terrible superior are just bad americans, that's the long and the short of it, and they'll find it out at the next elections. if senator north should take a trip out west just now, they'd tar and feather him, and i'd like to be there to see it done. they can't say what they think of his setting on patriotic senators loud enough. and as for the president--" "well, don't criticise the president while you are under his roof. it is bad manners. here we are. will you go in first?" "well, i don't see why i shouldn't. i'll hurry on so they can see your dress; it's just too lovely for anything." betty wore a white embroidered chiffon over green; she shook out the train, which had been over her arm ever since she entered the house. her name was announced in a loud tone, and she entered the pretty flowery blue room with its charmingly dressed receiving party standing before a large group of favoured and critical friends, and facing the inquisitive eyes in the central doorway. the president grasped her hand and said, "how do you do, miss madison?" in so pleased and so cordial a tone that betty for a fleeting moment wondered where she could have met him before. then she smiled, made a comprehensive bow to his wife and the women of the cabinet, and passed on. mrs. mudd, who had shaken hands relentlessly with every weary member of the receiving party, reached the door of exit after her and clutched her by the arm. "say!" she exclaimed with excitement, although her drawl was but half conquered. "where _do_ you s'pose i could have met the president before? i know by the way he said 'mrs. mudd,' he remembered me, but i just can't think, to save my life. my! ain't he fascinating?" betty had laughed aloud. "i am sorry to hurt your vanity," she replied, "but the president is said to have the best manners of any man who has occupied the white house within living memory." "what d'you mean?" cried mrs. mudd, sharply. "d' you mean he didn't know me? i just know he did, so there! and he can pack his clothes in my trunk as soon as he likes." "good heaven!" "oh, that's slang. i forgot you were so terrible superior. but you've got good cause to know i'm virtuous. lands sakes! i guess nobody ever said i warn't." "i don't fancy anybody ever did." they were in the east room again, with the stars and stripes, the moving glitter of gold, the loud hum mingled with the distant strains of martial music. "it's really inspiring," said lady mary. "i wish i could write a war poem." "i hope there is nothing coming to inspire war doggerel; the prospect of a new crop of war stories and war plays is too painful. we were all brought up on the civil war and are resigned to its literature. but life is too short to get used to a new variety." "betty dear, ennui has embittered you, and i must confess that i am a trifle weary of the war before it has begun, myself. randolph, i think i prefer you should vote for peace." "i'm afraid we'll have no peace till we've had war first," said mr. montgomery, grimly. "oh, we're goin' to have war," drawled mrs. mudd. "just don't you worry about that. now don't blush," she said in betty's ear. "senator north's makin' straight for you. i suspicion you like him better 'n burleigh--" betty had turned upon her at last, and the woman tittered nervously and fell back in the crowd. senator north and miss madison shook hands with that absence of emotion which is one of the conditions of a crowded environment, and lady mary suggested they should all go to the conservatory, where it was cooler. betty told senator north of the impression the army and navy men had made on her, and he laughed. "of course they are not excited and say little," he said. "they will do the acting and leave the talking to the private citizens. the only argument in favour of the war and the large standing army which might be its consequence is that several hundred thousand more men would have disciplined brains inside their skulls." "that dreadful housekeeper i had in the adirondacks is here, married to a representative named george washington mudd." "i never heard of him, but i am sorry she has come here to remind you of what i should like to have you forget for a time. i do believe a specimen of every queer fish in the country comes to this pond." they passed one of the bands, and conversation was impossible until they entered the great conservatory with its wide cool walks among the green. it was not crowded, and although there was no seclusion in it at any time, its lights were few and it had a sequestered atmosphere. betty and senator north involuntarily drew closer together. "in a way i am happy now," she said. "it is something to be with you and close to you. i will not think of how much this may lack until i am alone again and there is no limit to my wants." "i feel the reverse of depressed," he said, smiling. "are you quite well? you look a little tired." "i am tired with much thinking; but that is inevitable. one cannot love hopelessly and look one's best. i always despised the heroines of romance who went into a decline, but nature demands some tribute in spite of the strongest will." he held her arm more closely, but he set his lips and did not answer. she spoke again after a moment. "since that night i have not been nearly so unhappy, however. i even feel gay sometimes, and my sense of humour has come back. it would be quite dreadful to go through life without that, but i thought i had lost it." he had turned his eyes and was regarding her intently; but much as she loved them she felt as helpless as ever before their depths. they could pierce and burn, but they never were limpid for a moment. "you do not misunderstand that?" she asked hurriedly. "it does not mean that i love you less, but more, if anything. and i am not resigned! only, i feel as if in some way i had received a little help, as if--i cannot express it." "i understand you perfectly. we are a little closer than we were, and life is not quite so grey." "that is it. and i would supplement your bare statement of the fact, if i dared." "if you do, i certainly shall kiss you right here in the crowd," he said, and they smiled into each other's eyes. there was little need of explanations between them. "that would form a brief diversion for washington. and as for mrs. mudd--by the way, i hope i am not going off. you are the second person who has told me that i am not looking well." "you are improved as far as i am concerned. and if you ever faded, happiness would restore you at once. if happiness never came, perhaps you would not care--would you?" she shrugged her beautiful shoulders and smiled quizzically. "i don't know. _je suis femme_. i think i might always find some measure of consolation in the mirror if it behaved properly." "your sincerity is one of your charms. so walk and eat and live in the world, and think as little as you can." "this conservatory is fearfully draughty," remarked lady mary, close to betty's shoulder. "i don't want to stay all night, do you?" "i am ready," said betty; but she sighed, for she had been almost happy for the hour. xi if the reception at the white house had been calm, betty's _salon_ on the following evening was not. on tuesday the house, after duly relieving its feelings by an hour and a half of war talk, flaming with every variety of patriotism, passed the bill appropriating $ , , for the national defence. on wednesday the bill passed the senate without a word beyond the "ayes" of its members. on the morrow the war department would begin the mobilization of the army; and although the _maine_ court of inquiry had not completed its labours, the new york world, in the interest of curious humanity, had instituted a submarine inquiry of its own and given the result to the country. even senator north regarded war as almost inevitable, although the controvertible proof of explosion from without only involved the spanish by inference. the women who were privileged to attend the now famous _salon_ wore their freshest and most becoming gowns, and most of the senators would have been glad to have frivoled away the evening in compliments, so refreshing was the sight of an attractive face after a long and anxious day. but the eyes of the women sparkled with patriotic fire only. one burst into tears and others threatened hysterics, but got through the evening comfortably. mrs. madison sat on a sofa and fanned herself nervously; senator maxwell and senator north at her request kept close to her side. "they were not so excited during the civil war," she exclaimed, as a shrill voice smote her ear. "i suppose we have developed more nerves or something." "the mind was possessed by the grim fact during the civil war," said senator maxwell. "this is a second-rate thing that appeals to the nerves and not to the soul." betty, who understood the patient longing of her statesmen for variety, had imported for the evening several members of the troupe singing at the metropolitan opera house. conversation consequently was interrupted six or seven times, but it burst forth with increased vigour at the end of every song; and when the polish tenor with mistaken affability sang "the star spangled banner," the women and some of the younger men took it up with such vehemence that mrs. madison put her fingers to her ears. when one girl jumped on a chair and waved her handkerchief, which she had painted red, white, and blue, the unwilling hostess asked senator north if he thought betty would be able to keep her head till the end of the evening, or would be excited to some extraordinary antic. "there is not the least danger," he replied soothingly. "miss madison could manage to look impassive if a cyclone were raging within her. it is a long while since the americans have had a chance to be excited. you must make allowances." betty for some time had suppressed her populist with difficulty. he was one of those americans to whom a keen thin face and a fair education give the superficial appearance of refinement. in a country as democratic as the united states and where schooling and intelligence are so widespread, it is possible for many half-bred men to create a good impression when in an equable frame of mind. but excitement tears their thin coat of gentility in twain, and betty already regretted having invited armstrong to her salon. he had not missed a thursday evening, for he not only appreciated the social advantage of a footing in such a house, but his clever mind enjoyed the conversation there, and the frankly expressed opinions of well-bred people who argued without acerbity and never called each other names. with his slender well-dressed figure and bright fair sharply cut face, he by no means looked an alien, and if he could have corrected the habit of contradicting people up and down--to say nothing of his occasional indulgence in the congressional snort--his manners would have passed muster in any gathering. he was a good specimen of the ambitious american of obscure birth and clever but shallow brain, quick to seize every opportunity for advancement. but politics were his strongest instinct, and exciting crises stifled every other. he was very much excited to-night, for he had, during the afternoon, tried three times to bring in a war resolution, and thrice been extinguished by the speaker. when the tenor started "the star-spangled banner," he braced himself against the wall and sang at the top of his lungs; and the performance seemed to lash his temper rather than relieve it. he twice raised his voice to unburden his mind, and was distracted by betty, who kept him close beside her. finally she attempted to change the subject by chatting of personal matters. "i went to the white house last night," she said, "and was delighted to find that the president had the most charming manners--" "what's a manner?" interrupted armstrong, roughly. "you women are all alike. i suppose you'd turn up your nose at william j. bryan because he ain't what you call a gentleman. but if he were in the white house instead of that milk-and-water puppet of wall street, we'd be shooting those murderers down in cuba as we ought to be. the president and the whole republican party," he shouted, "are a lot of hogs who've chawed so much gold their digestion won't work and their brains are torpid; and there's nothing to do but to kick them into this war--the whole greedy, white-livered, trust-owned, thieving lot of them, including that great immaculate joss up at the white house with his manners. damn his manners! they come too high--" "armstrong," said burleigh soothingly, but with a glint in his eye, "i have an important communication to make to you. will you come out into the hall a moment?" he passed his arm through the populist's, and led him unresistingly away. betty glanced at her mother. mrs. madison was fanning herself with an air of profound satisfaction. as she met her daughter's eyes, she raised her brows, and her whole being breathed the content of the successful prophetess. senator north looked grimly amused. betty turned away hastily. she felt much like laughing, herself. burleigh returned alone. "i took the liberty of telling him to go and not to come again," he said. "that sort of man never apologizes, so you are rid of him." betty smiled and thanked him; then she frowned a little, for she saw several people glance significantly at each other. she knew that washington took it for granted she would marry burleigh. they went in to supper a few moments later, and in that admirable meal the weary statesmen found the solace that woman denied him. and the flowers were fragrant; the candlelight was grateful to tired eyes, and the champagne unrivalled. until the toasts--which in this agitated time had become a necessary feature of the _salon_--the conversation, under the tactful management of betty and several of her friends, and the diverting influence of the great singers, was but a subdued hum about nothing in particular. when at the end of an hour burleigh rose impulsively and proposed the health of the president, even the democrats responded with as much warmth as courtesy. "you manage your belligerents very well," said senator north, when he shook her hand awhile later. "yours has probably been the only amiable supper-room in washington to-night." xii "now!" exclaimed sally carter, who was sobbing hysterically, "i hope they will impeach the president if he delays any longer with the _maine_ report and if he doesn't send a warlike message on top of it. after that speech i don't see why congress should wait for him at all." it was the seventeenth of march, and she and betty were driving home from the capitol after listening to the senator from vermont on the situation in cuba,--to that cold, bare, sober statement of the result of personal investigation, which produced a far deeper and more historical impression than all the impassioned rhetoric which had rent the air since the agitation began. he appeared to have no feeling on the matter, no personal bias; he told what he had seen, and he had seen misery, starvation, and wholesale death. he blamed the spaniards no more than the insurgents, but two hundred thousand people were the victims of both; and the bold yet careful etching he made of the cuban drama burnt itself into the brains of the forty-six senators present and of the eight hundred people in the galleries. "i cannot bring myself to think that death is the worst of all evils," said betty, "and i do not think that we have any right to go to war with spain, no matter what she chooses to do with her own. besides, she is thoroughly frightened now, and i believe would rectify her mistakes in an even greater measure than she has already tried to do, if the president were given time to handle her with tact and diplomacy. if the country would give him a chance to save her pride, war could be averted." "you are heartless! don't argue with me. i hate argument when my emotions feel as if they had dynamite in them. i could sit down on the floor of the senate and scream until war was declared. i hate senator north. he never moved a muscle of his face during that entire terrible recital. he hardly looked interested. he is a heartless brute." "he is not heartless. he fears everlasting complications if we go to war with spain, the expenditure of hundreds of millions, as one result of those complications, and danger to the constitution. the statesman thinks of his own country first--" "i won't listen! i won't! i won't! oh, i never thought i could get so excited about anything. i believe i'm going to have nervous prostration and i sha'n't see you again till war is declared. so there!" the carriage stopped at her house, and she jumped out and ran up the steps. she kept her word, and it was weeks before betty saw her to speak to again. "if intelligent people get into that condition," thought betty, "what can be expected of the fools? and the fools are more dangerous in the united states than elsewhere, because they are just bright enough to think that they know more than the almighty ever knew in his best days." a few days later she was crossing statuary hall on her way back from the house gallery; whither she had gone during an executive session of the senate, when she met senator north. his face illuminated as he saw her, and they both turned spontaneously and went to a bench behind the immortal ones of the republic, who in dust and marble were happier than their inheritors to-day. "i am thinking of coming down here to live, renting a committee room," said betty. "it is the only place where i do not have my opinion asked and where i do not quarrel with my friends. molly is sure i shall be taken for a lobbyist, and if people were not too absorbed to notice me, i think i should engage a companion; but as it is, i believe i am safe enough. i have had this simple brown serge made, on purpose." "there is not the least danger of your motives being misconstrued, and the capitol is swarming with women, all the time. they seem to regard it as a sort of national theatre, where the most exciting denouement may take place any minute. i fancy they have come from all over the country for the satisfaction of being able to say, for the rest of their lives, that they were in at the death. the poor capitol has become a sort of asylum for wandering lunatics." betty laughed. "i feel calmer here than anywhere else, especially now that molly has gone over to the cubans since the publication of that speech. i suspect it has made a good many other converts. i didn't think the tide of excitement in the country could rise any higher, but it appears to have needed that last straw. have you any hope left?" "none whatever. the politicians in both parties are rushing the president off his feet and inflaming the country at the same time. sincere sympathizers with cuba, like burleigh, are holding their peace until the president shall have declared himself, but there is very little patriotism amongst politicians desirous of re-election. if spain was a quick-thinking nation and was not stultified by a mulish obstinacy for which the word 'pride' is a euphemism, or if the president could hypnotize the country for six months, all would be well, but i do not look for a miracle. i have done all i can. i have persuaded my own state to keep quiet, and that has lessened the pressure a little; and i have persuaded no less than eight of our bellicose members to say nothing on the floor of the senate until the president has sent in his message,--that delay is necessary if we are to meet war with any sort of preparation. that is all i can do, for i don't care to speak on the subject again, to bring it up in the senate until it no longer can be held down. but i have said a good deal in the lobby." "i suspect you have! do you mind all the talk about your being unpatriotic, and that sort of thing? i cried for an hour the other day over an article in a new york paper, headed 'a traitor,' and saying the most hideous things about you." "i didn't read it. and don't spoil your eyes over anything sensational american newspapers may say of anybody; let them alone and read the few decent ones. for a public man to worry over such assaults would be a stupid waste of his mental energy; for if he is in the right he consoles himself with the reflection that the traitor of to-day is the patriot of to-morrow. but let politics go to the winds for a little. tell me something about yourself. i have started no less than four times to go to see you--at half-past six in the afternoon--and turned back." "i go there and sit almost every afternoon. this excitement has been a godsend. if the world had been pursuing its even way during the last two months, i don't know what would have happened to me. what am i to do when it is over?" she broke out, for they were almost secluded. "the more i think of the future the more hopeless it seems. if there is war, i'll go as a nurse--" "you will do nothing of the sort. promise me that--instantly. there will be trained nurses without end, and you would run the risk of fever for nothing. promise me." "but i _must_ do something. i have hours that you cannot imagine. ordinarily i keep up very well, for i have character enough to make the best of life, whatever happens; but one can control one's heart with one's will just so long and no longer. when the world is quiet and i am alone at night, if i don't go to sleep at once--it is terrible! do you think i should be afraid of death? if i have got to go through life with this terrible ache in my heart, in my whole body--for when i cry my very fingers cramp--i'd a thousand times rather go to cuba and have done with it." for a moment he only stared at her. then he parted his lips as if to speak, but closed them again so firmly that betty wondered what he was holding back. but his eyes, although they had flashed for a moment and burned still, told her nothing. he did not speak for fully a minute. then he said,-- "death can be met with fortitude by any strong brain, but not a lifetime of miserable invalidism. if you contracted fever down there, you might get rid of it in several years and you might not. meanwhile," he added, smiling, "you would become yellow and wrinkled. so promise me at once that you will not go." "i swear it!" she said with an attempt at gayety. "not even for you will i get yellow and wrinkled--and i adore you! tell me," she went on rapidly and with little further attempt at self-control; "what shall i do next? shall i go abroad? there is no distraction in castles and cathedrals and crooked streets; they must be enjoyed when one is idle and tranquil. i'm tired of pictures. i suppose i've seen about twenty miles of them in my life. as for the old masters they give me nightmares. there is nothing left but society, and i don't like foreigners and should find little novelty in england--and many reminders! the future appalls me. i cannot face it. am i inconsiderate to talk like this when you are so worried? sometimes i feel that i have no right to be even sensible of my individuality when a whole nation is convulsed; it seems almost absurd that there are hundreds of thousands of tragedies within the great one--but there are! there are! and the war will bring oblivion to only those to whom it brings death." she stopped, panting, after the torrent of words. his hand had closed about her arm, and he was bending close above her. his face had flushed deeply, and once more he opened his lips as if to speak, but did not. betty shook suddenly. was the word he would not utter "wait"? there could be no doubt that a word struggled for utterance, and that he held it back. if he did not, betty felt that her love would turn cold. for a great love may be killed by a sudden blow, and there is always some one thing that will kill the greatest. but she wished that his brain would flash its message to hers. the silence between them became so intense and the strain on her eyes so intolerable that she dropped her head and fumbled with her muff. she dared not speak, dared not divert his mind. he was too much the master of his own fate. "don't ever hesitate to speak out through consideration for me, my dear," he said. "the only relief we both have is to speak our thoughts occasionally. and you can tell me nothing of yourself that i do not know already. i never forget that you are tormented. but time will help you. the future which looms with a few dull and insupportable facts is crowded with small details which consume both time and thought, and it is full of little unexpected pleasures. war is very diverting. one's attitude to a war after the first few shocks is as to a great military drama. if by a miracle ours should be averted, then go to england, where you will have men at least to talk to. when plans for the future are futile, live in the present and be careful to make no mistake. it is the only philosophy for those who are not in the favour of circumstance. i am going now. bend your ear closer. i have had so little opportunity to be tender with you, and i have thought of that as much as of anything else." betty inclined her head eagerly, and he whispered to her for a moment, then left her. for a few moments she did not move. the buoyancy of her nature was still considerable, and his last words had thrilled her and made her almost as happy as if he would return in an hour. she rose finally and walked across the hall, her inclination divided between the senate gallery where she might look at him, and her boudoir where she might fling herself on her divan and think of him. as she was moving along slowly, seeing no one, her arm was caught by a bony hand, and a familiar drawl smote her ear. "laws, miss madison, have you gone blind all of a sudden? but you look as if you had two stars in your eyes." "how do you do, mrs. mudd? these are times to make anybody absent-minded." "well, i guess! we're gettin' there and no mistake. now look quick, miss madison--there's my husband, the one that's just got up off that bench. he's been talkin' to a constituent." betty glanced across the hall with some interest: she occasionally had doubted the reality of george washington mudd. a tall stout man in a loose black overcoat, a black slouch hat, and a big cotton umbrella under his arm, was stalking across the hall with his head in the air, as if to sniff at the marble effigies of the great. betty felt young again and gave a delighted laugh. "why, i didn't know there really was anything like that!" she cried. "i thought--" "well, i guess i'd like to know what you mean," exclaimed an infuriate voice; and betty, turning to mrs. mudd's dark red face, recovered herself instantly. "i mean that your husband belongs to a type that our dramatists have thought worthy of preservation and of exercising their finest art upon. i often give writers credit for more creative ability than they possess, for i always am seeing some one in real life whose entire type i had supposed had come straight out of their genius. take yourself, for instance. if i had not met you outside of a book, i should have thought you a triumph of imagination." "well--thanks," drawled mrs. mudd, mollified though doubtful. "i don't claim that george is handsome, but he's the smartest man in our district and he'll make the house sit up yet." she giggled and rolled her eyes. "he was downright jealous because i came home from the reception and raved over the president," she announced. "oh, my!" "perhaps he's a populist," suggested betty. "not much he ain't. he's a good democrat with silver principles." "well, i'm glad you're happy. good-afternoon." "i love the greatest man in america and she loves george washington mudd," thought betty, as she walked down the corridor. "mortals die, but love is imperishable. a half-century hence and where will the love that dwells in every fibre of me now, have gone? will it be dust with my dust, or vigorous with eternal youth in some poor girl who never heard my name?" and then she went home to her boudoir. xiii betty, who had come justly to the conclusion that she knew something of politics after a year's application to the science and several object lessons, made in the following weeks her first acquaintance with the intricacies which sometimes may involve political motives. the president was not given time to exhaust diplomacy with spain, although in his war message he was obliged to state that he had done so. to deal successfully with a proud and mediaeval country required months, not days, and as spain had grudgingly but surely yielded all along the line to the demands of the united states, it is safe to assume that she would have withdrawn peacefully her forces from cuba if her pride could have been saved. sagasta was working in the interests of peace; but a bigoted old country, too indolent to read history, and puzzled at a youthful nation's industry in the cause of humanity, would move so fast and no faster. the president was rushed off his feet and his hand was forced. an honest but delirious country was threatening impeachment and clamouring for war. its representatives were hammering on the doors of the white house and shrieking in congress. a dishonest press was inflaming it and injuring it in the eyes of the world by assaulting the integrity of the executive and of the leading men in both houses; and unscrupulous politicians were extracting every possible party advantage, until it looked as if the democratic party, rent asunder by mr. bryan and his doctrines, would be unified once more. the house, after the president's calm and impersonal message on the _maine_ report, acted like a mutinous school of bad boys who had not been taught the first principles of breeding and dignity; the few gentlemen in it hardly tried to make themselves heard, and even the speaker was powerless to quell a couple of hundred tempers all rampant at once. every conceivable insult was heaped upon the head of the president as he delayed his war message from day to day, hoping against hope, and gaining what time he could to strengthen the navy. it became necessary therefore for the high-class men in the senate, particularly the republicans, to present an unbroken front. whatever the conclusions of the president, they must stand by him. it was their duty as americans first and republicans after; for they had elected him to the high and representative office he filled, they were responsible for him, he had done nothing to forfeit their confidence, and everything, by his wise and conservative course, to win their approval. and it was their duty to their party to uphold him, for internal dissensions in this great crisis would weaken their forces and play them into the hands of the democrats. therefore, senator north and others, who had strenuously and consistently opposed war from any cause, until it became evident that the president had been elbowed into the position of a puppet by his people instead of being permitted to guide them, withdrew their opposition, and when his message finally was forced from his hand, let it be known that they should support it against the powerful faction in the senate which demanded the recognition of cuba as a republic. the message meant war, but a war that no longer could be averted, and there was nothing left for any high-minded statesman and loyal party man to do but to defend the president from those who would usurp his authority and tie his hands, to demonstrate to the world their belief in a statesmanship which was being attacked at every point by those whom his message had disappointed, and to provide against one future embarrassment the more. when betty had trodden the maze this far, she realized the unenviable position of the conservative faction in the senate. north's position was particularly unpleasant. he had stood to the country as the embodiment of its conservative spirit, the spirit which was opposed uncompromisingly to this war. several days before the speech of the senator from vermont exploded the inflamed nervous system of the country, he had made an address which had been copied in every state in the union and been hopefully commented on abroad. in this speech, which was a passionless, impersonal, and judicial argument against interference in the domestic affairs of a friendly nation seeking to put down an insurgent population whose record for butchery and crime equalled her own, as well as a brilliant forecast of the evils, foreign and domestic, which must follow such a war, he demonstrated that if war was declared at this period it would be unjustifiable because it would be the direct result of the accident to the _maine_, which, as the explosion could not be traced to the spanish officials, was not a _casus belli_. prior to that accident no important or considerable number of the american people had clamoured for war, only for according belligerent rights to the cubans, which measure they were not wise enough to see would lead to war. therefore, had the _maine_ incident not occurred, the president would have been given the necessary time for successful diplomacy, despite the frantic efforts of the press and the loud-voiced minority; and it could not be claimed that the present clamour, dating from the fifteenth of february, was honestly in behalf of the suffering cuban. it was for revenge, and it was an utterly unreasonable demand for revenge, as no sane man believed that spain had seized the first opportunity to cut her throat; and until it could be proved that she had done so, it was a case for indemnity, not for war. therefore, if war came at the present juncture it was because the people of the united states had made up their minds they wanted a fight, they would have a fight, they didn't care whether they had an excuse or not. the speech made a profound impression even in the agitated state of the public mind, for bitterly as north might be denounced he always was listened to. the press lashed itself into a fury and wrote head-lines which would have ridden its editors into prison had the country possessed libel laws adequate to protect a noble provision of the constitution. the temperate men in the country had been with north from the beginning, but the excited millions excoriated him the more loudly. he was denounced at public banquets and accused by excited citizens all over the union, except in his own state, of every depravity, from holding an unimaginable number of spanish bonds to taking a ferocious pleasure in the sufferings of the reconcentrados. and in the face of this he must cast his vote for war. a weaker man would have held stubbornly to his position, made notorious by his personality, and a less patriotic have chosen the satisfaction of being consistent to the bitter end and winning some measure of approval from the unthinking. but north was a statesman, and although betty did not see him to speak to for many weeks after the message went to congress, she doubted if he had hesitated a moment in choosing his course. he was a man who made a problem of nothing, who thought and acted promptly on all questions great and small. it was his manifest duty to support his president, who was also the head of his party, and to do what he could to win the sympathy of europe for his country by making its course appear the right and inevitable one. north's position was the logical result of the deliberations and decisions of the year . hamilton, the greatest creative and constructive genius of his century, never so signally proved his far-sighted statesmanship as when he pleaded for an aristocratic republic with a strong centralized government. as he was capable of anything, he doubtless foresaw the tyranny of the people into which ill-considered liberty would degenerate, just as he foresaw the many strong, wise, and even great men who would be born to rule the country wisely if given the necessary power. if the educated men of the country knew that its destinies were wholly in their hands, and that they alone could achieve the highest honours, there is not one of them who would not train himself in the science of government. such men, ruling a country in which liberty did not mean a heterogeneous monarchy, would make the lot of the masses far easier than it is to-day. the fifteen million irish plebeians with which the country is cursed would be harmlessly raising pigs in the country. hamilton, in one of his letters, speaks of democracy as a poison. some twenty years ago an eminent englishman bottled and labelled the poison in its infinite variety, as a warning to the extreme liberals in his own country. we attempted one ideal, and we almost have forgotten what the ideal was. hamilton's could not have fared worse, and there is good reason to believe that educated and thinking men, unhampered by those who talk bad grammar and think not, would have raised our standards far higher than they are, even with men like north patiently and dauntlessly striving to counteract the poison below. at all events, there would be no question of a president's hand being forced. nor would such a class of rulers put a man in the white house whose hand could be forced. although betty knew north would disregard the sneers of the press and of ambitious orators who would declaim while cannon thundered, she also knew that his impassive exterior hid a sense of humiliating defeat, and that the moment in which he was obliged to utter his aye for war would be the bitterest of his life. she fancied that he forgot her in these days, but she was willing to have it so. the intense breathless excitement of that time, when scarcely a senator left his seat from ten in the morning till some late hour of the night, except to snatch a meal; the psychological effect of the silent excited crowds in the galleries and corridors of the capitol and on its lawns and the immensity of its steps; the solemnity and incalculable significance of the approaching crisis, and the complete gravity of the man who possessed her mind, carried her out of herself and merged her personality for a brief while into the great personality of the nation. xiv it was half-past one o'clock in the morning of the nineteenth of april. a thousand people, weary and breathless but intensely silent, were crowded together in the galleries of the senate. they had been there all night, some of them since early afternoon, a few since twelve o'clock. outside, the corridors were so packed with humanity that it was a wonder the six acres of building did not sway. for the first time in hours they were silent and motionless, although they could hear nothing. on the floor of the senate almost every chair was occupied, and every senator was singularly erect; no one was lounging, or whispering, or writing to-night. all faced the vice-president, alone on his dais, much as an army faces its general. every foot of the wide semicircle between the last curve of chairs and the wall was occupied by members of the house of representatives, who stood in a dignified silence with which they had been little acquainted of late. the senate no longer looked like a club. it recalled the description of bryce: "the place seems consecrated to great affairs." the secretary was about to call the roll for the vote which would decide the fate of cuba and alter for ever the position of the united states in the family of nations. betty had been in the gallery all night and a part of the preceding day. when the senate took a recess at half-past six in the evening, she and mary montgomery, while mrs. shattuc guarded their seats, had forced their way down to the restaurant, but had been obliged to content themselves with a few sandwiches bought at the counter. but betty was conscious of neither hunger nor fatigue, although the strain during the last eight hours had been almost insupportable: the brief sharp debates, the prosing of bores, interrupted by angry cries of "vote! vote!" the reiterated announcement of the chairman of the committee on foreign relations that the conferees could not agree, the perpetual nagging of two democrats and one populist, the long trying intervals of debate on matters irrelevant to the great question torturing every mind, during which there was much confusion on the floor: the senators talked constantly in groups except when the chairman of the committee on foreign relations brought in his amended bill;--all this had made up a day trying to the stoutest nerves, and more than one person had fainted and been carried from the galleries. the blood throbbed in betty madison's head from repressed excitement and the long strain on her nerves. but the solemnity of the scene affected her so powerfully that her ego seemed dead, she only was conscious of looking down upon history. it seemed to her that for the first time she fully realized the tremendous issues involved in the calling of that roll of names. the attitude of the american people which she had deprecated and scorned was dignified by the attitude of that historical body below her. even senator north did not interest her. the senate for the time was a unit. it seemed to her an interminable interval between the last echo of the rumbling voice of the clerk who had read the resolution amended by the report of the conferees, and the first raucous exasperated note of the secretary's clerk, after a brief colloquy between senators. this clerk calls the roll of the senate at all times as if he hated every member of it, and to-night he was nervous. betty felt the blood throb in her ears as she counted the sharp decisive "ayes" and "nos," although burleigh, whom she had seen during the recess, had told her there was no doubt of the issue. as the clerk entered the m's, she came to herself with a shock, and simultaneously was possessed by a desire to get out of the gallery before senator north's time came to say "aye." she had heard the roll called many times, she knew there were fourteen m's, and that she would have time to get out of the gallery if she were quick about it. she made so violent an effort to control the excitement raging within her that her brain ached as if a wedge had been driven through it. she whispered hurriedly to mary montgomery, who was leaning breathlessly over the rail and did not hear her, then made her way up to the door as rapidly as she could; even the steps were set thick with people. as she was passed out of the gallery by the doorkeeper, and found herself precipitated upon that pale trembling hollow-eyed crowd wedged together like atoms in a rock, her knees trembled and her courage almost failed her. several caught her by the arms, and asked her how the vote was going; but she only shrugged her shoulders with the instinct of self-defence and pushed her way toward a big policeman. he knew her and put out his hand, thrusting one or two people aside. "this has been too much for you, miss, i reckon," he said. "i'll get you downstairs. keep close behind me." he forced a way through the crowd to the elevator. to attempt to part the compact mass on the staircase would invite disaster. the elevator boy had deserted his post that he might hear the news the sooner, but the policeman pushed betty into the car, and manipulated the ropes himself. on the lower floor was another dense crowd; but he got her to the east door after rescuing her twice, called her carriage and returned to his post, well pleased with his bill. for many moments betty, bruised from elbows, breathless from her passage through that crush in the stagnant air, could not think connectedly. she vaguely recalled mrs. mudd's large face and black silk dress in the diplomats' gallery, which even a cabinet minister might not enter without a permit from a member of the corps. doubtless the doorkeepers had been flung to and fro more than once to-night, like little skiffs in an angry sea. she wondered how she had had sufficient presence of mind to fee the policeman, and hoped she had not given him silver instead of the large bill which had seemed to spring to her fingers at the end of that frightful journey. she leaned out of the open window, wishing it were winter, that the blood might be driven from her head; but there was only the slight chill of a delicious april morning in the air, and the young leaves fluttered gently in the trees. in the afternoon hundreds of boys had sold violets in the streets, and the perfume lingered, floating above the heavier scent of the magnolias in the parks. betty's weary mind pictured washington as it would be a few weeks hence, a great forest of brilliant living green amidst which one had almost to look for the houses and the heroes in the squares. every street was an avenue whose tall trees seemed to cut the sky into blue banners--the word started the rearrangement of her scattered senses; in a few weeks the dust would be flying up to the green from thousands of marching feet. she burst into tears, and they gave her some relief. the carriage stopped at the house a moment later, and she went directly to her boudoir. she took off her hat and pulled down her hair, rubbing her fingers against her burning head. senator north took possession of her mind at once. the senate was no longer a unit to her excited imagination; it seemed to dissolve away and leave one figure standing there beaten and alone. she forgot the passionate efforts of other senators in behalf of peace; to her the fine conservative strength of the senate was personified in one man. and if there were others as pure and unselfish in their ideals, his at least was the master intellect. she wondered if he remembered in this hour of bitter defeat that she had promised to come to this room and give him what she could of herself. that was weeks and weeks ago, and she had not repeated her intention, as she should have done. but he loved her, and was not likely to forget anything she said to him. or would he care if he did remember? must not personal matters seem of small account to-night? or was he too weary to care for anything but sleep? perhaps he had flung himself down on a sofa in the cloak-room, or in his committee room, and forgotten the national disaster while she watched. she had been walking rapidly up and down the room. her thoughts were not yet coherent, and instinct prompted her to get the blood out of her head if she could. a vague sense of danger possessed her, but she was not capable of defining it. suddenly she stopped and held her breath. she had become aware of a recurring footstep on the sidewalk. her window abutted some thirty feet away. she craned her head forward, listening so intently that the blood pounded in her ears. she expected to hear the gate open, the footsteps to grow softer on the path. but they continued to pace the stone flags of the sidewalk. she opened her door, ran down the hall and into the parlor. without an instant's hesitation she flung open a window and leaned out. the light from the street lamp fell full upon her. he could not fail to see her were he there. but he was not. the man pacing up and down before the house was the night watchman. betty closed the window hurriedly and stumbled back into the dark room. the disappointment and reaction were intolerable. she felt the same blind rage with circumstance which had attacked her the night he had kissed and left her. in such crises conventions are non-existent; she might have been primeval woman for all she recalled in that hour of the teachings of the centuries. had he been there, she would have called him in. he was hers, whatever stood between them, and she alone had the right to console him. her mind turned suddenly to his house. he was there, of course; it was absurd to imagine that his cool deliberation would ever forsake him. the moment the senate adjourned he would have put on his hat, walked down to the east door, called a cab and gone home. and he was in his library. why she felt so positive that he was there and not in bed she could not have told, but she saw the light in the long wing. she put her hands to her face suddenly, and moved to the door. she stumbled over a chair, and then noticed the intense darkness of the room. but beyond she saw distinctly the big red brick house of senator north, with the light burning in the wing. was she going to him? she wondered vaguely, for her will seemed to be at the bottom of a pile of struggling thoughts and to have nothing to say in the matter. surely she must. he was a man who stood alone and scorned sympathy or help, but he would be glad of hers because it was hers; there was no possible doubt of that. and in spite of his record he must for the hour feel a bitter and absolute failure. a pebble would bring him to the window. he would come out, and come back here with her. she opened her arms suddenly. the room was so dark she almost could fancy him beside her. would that he were! she had no adequate conception of a morrow. the future was drab and formless. his trouble drew her like a magnet. she trembled at the mere thought of being able to make him forget. and he? if he came out and saw her standing there, he would be more than a man if he resisted the impulse to return with her here and take her in his arms. and he too must be in a state of mind in which to-day dwarfed and blotted out to-morrow. for the moment she stood motionless, almost breathless, realizing so vividly the procession of bitter and apprehensive thoughts in the mind which for so long had possessed and controlled hers that she forgot her intention, even her desire to go to him. it was this moment of insight and abstraction from self that saved her. her own mind seemed to awake suddenly. it was as if her thinking faculty had descended to her heart during the last hours and been made dizzy and dull by the wild hot whirl of emotions there. it climbed suddenly to where it belonged, and set the rested machinery of her brain to work. doubtless his impulse had been to come to her, to the room where he knew she was alone and would receive him if he demanded admittance. he had put the temptation aside, as he had put aside many others; and it had been in her mind, was in her mind still, to make the temptation irresistible. and if he felt a failure to-night, she had it in her power to wreck his life utterly. it was more than possible that in the remaining years of his vigour dwelt his tardy opportunities for historical fame. the great republic had sailed out of her summer sea into foreign waters, stormy, unfriendly, bristling with unimaginable dangers. once more she would need great statesmen, not merely able legislators, and there could be no doubt in the mind of any student of the senate that she would discover them swiftly. north was the greatest of these; and the record of his future, brilliant, glorious perhaps, seemed to unroll itself suddenly in the dark room. betty drew a long hard breath. her cheeks were cool at last, and she wondered if her heart were dead, it felt so cold. what mad impulse nearly had driven her to him to-night, independently of her will; which had slept, worn out, like other faculties, by a day of hunger, excitement, fatigue, and physical pain? the impulse had risen unhindered and uncriticised from her heart, and if it had risen once it could rise again. the days to come would be full of excitement. she fancied that she already heard the roar of cannon, the beating of drums, the sobs of women. and below the racket and its sad accompaniment was always the low indignant mutter of a triumphant people at those who had dared to set themselves above the popular clamour and ask for sanity. the intolerable longing that had become her constant companion would be fed by every device of unpropitious circumstance. again and again she would experience this impulse to go to him, and some night the blood would not recede from her brain in time. she groped her way out of the dark parlor and down the hall, grateful for an excuse to walk slowly. her boudoir was brilliant, and the struggle of the last few moments seemed the more terrible and significant by contrast with the dainty luxurious room. she wondered if she ever should dare to enter the parlor again, and if it always would not look dark to her. she sat down at her desk and wrote a letter. it ran:--dear mr. burleigh,--i will marry you if you still wish it. will you dine with us to-night? betty madison. she was too tired for emotion, but she knew what would come later. nevertheless, she went to the front door and asked the watchman to post the letter. then she went to bed. xv the senate adjourned a few moments after betty left the gallery. there was little conversation in the cloak-room. the senators were very tired, and it surely was a brain of bubbles that could indulge in comment upon the climax of the great finished chapter of the old republic. north put on his hat and overcoat at once and left the capitol. after the close confinement in heated and vitiated air for sixteen hours, the thought of a cab was intolerable: he shook his head at the old darky who owned him and whom he never had been able to dodge during his twenty years' service in washington, plunged his hands into his overcoat pockets, and strode off with an air of aggressive determination which amused him as a fitting anti-climax. the darky grinned and drove home without looking for another fare. his senator not only had paid him by the month for several years, but had supported his family for the last ten. north inhaled the pure cool air, the delicious perfume of violet and magnolia, as betty had done. once he paused and looked up at the wooded heights surrounding the city, then down at the potomac and the great expanse of roofs and leaves. the washington monument, the purest, coldest, most impersonal monument on earth, looked as gray as the sky, but its outlines were as sharp as at noonday. north often watched it from the window of his committee room; he had seen it rosy with the mists of sunset, as dark as granite under stormy skies, as waxen as death. normally, it was white and pure and inspiring, never companionable, but helpful in its cold and lofty beauty. "it _is_ a monument," he thought, to-night, "and to more than washington." he turned into massachusetts avenue and strolled along, in no hurry to find himself between walls again. he was not conscious of physical fatigue, and experienced no longing for bed, but his brain was tired and he enjoyed the absence of enforced companionship and continued alertness, the cool air, the quiet morning in her last sleep. betty, like all brilliant women who love passionately, had over-imagined, in her solitude and excitement. it is true that north had felt the bitterness of defeat, that his mind had dwelt upon the miserable and blasting thought that after years of unquestioned statesmanship and leadership, of hard work and unremitting devotion, his will had had no weight against hysteria and delirium. but both bitterness and the sense of failure had been dismissed in the moment when he had, once for all, accepted the situation; and that had been several days before. since then, he had shoved aside the past, and had given his undivided thought to the present and the future. he had uttered his "aye" almost indifferently; it had been given to the president days since. nevertheless, his brain, tired as it was, did not wander from the great climax in his country's history. to that country at large this climax meant simply a brief and arrogant chastisement of a cruel little nation; the generals would have been quite justified in sending their dress clothes and golf sticks on to havana; but north knew that this officious "police duty" was the noisy prologue to a new united states, possibly to the birth of a new constitution. "is this the grand finale of the people's rule?" he thought. "they have screamed for the moon as they never screamed before, and this time they have got it fairly between their teeth. well, it is a dead old planet; will its decay vitiate their own blood and leave them the half-willing prey of a circumstance they do not dream of now? dewey will take the philippines, of course. he would be an inefficient fool if he did not, and he is the reverse. the spanish in cuba will crumble almost before the world realizes that the war has begun. the united states will find itself sitting open-mouthed with two huge prizes in its lap. it may, in a fit of virtue which would convulse history, give them back, present them, with much good advice and more rhetoric, to their rightful owners. and it may not. these prizes are crusted with gold; and the stars and stripes will look so well in the breeze above that the pride of patriotism may decide they must remain there. and if it does--if it does... the extremists in the senate will grow twenty years in one... with the bit between their teeth and the arrogance of triumph in their blood--" he found himself in front of his own house. he turned slowly and looked intently for a moment toward i street. his face softened, then he jerked out his latchkey, let himself in and went directly to the library. he still had no desire for bed, and threw himself into an easy-chair before the andirons. but it was the first time in several days that he had sat in a luxurious chair, and the room was full of soft warmth. he fell asleep, and although he seemed to awaken immediately, he could only conclude, when the experience which followed was over, that he had been dreaming. he suddenly became aware that a chair beside him was occupied, and he wheeled about sharply. his sense of companionship was justified; a man sat there. north stared at him, more puzzled than surprised, endeavouring to fit the familiar face to some name on his long list of acquaintances, and wondering who in washington could have given a fancy-dress ball that night. his visitor wore his hair in a queue and powdered, a stock of soft lawn, and a dress-coat of plum-coloured cloth cut as in the days of the founders of the republic. although it was some moments before north recognized his visitor, his resentment at this unseasonable intrusion passed quickly; the personality in the chair was so charming, so magnetic, so genial. he was a young man, between thirty and forty, with a long nose, a mobile mouth, dark gray-blue eyes full of fire and humour, and a massive head. it was a face of extraordinary power and intellect, but lit up by a spirit so audacious and impulsive and triumphant that it was like a leaping flame of dazzling brilliancy in some forbidding fortress. he was smiling with a delighted expression of good fellowship; but north experienced a profound conviction that the man was weighing and analyzing him, that he would weigh and analyze everybody with whom he came in contact, and make few mistakes. "who the deuce can he be?" he thought, "and why doesn't he speak?" and then it occurred to him that he had not spoken, himself. he was about to inquire with somewhat perfunctory courtesy in what manner he could serve his visitor, when his glance fell on the man's hands. he sat erect with a slight exclamation and experienced a stiffening at the roots of his hair. the hands under the lace ruffles were the most beautiful that ever had been given to a man, even to as small a man as this. they were white and strong and delicate, with pointed fingers wide apart, and filbert nails. north knew them well, for they were the hands of the man whom he admired above all men in the history of his country. but until to-night he had seen them on canvas only, in the treasury department of the united states. his feeling of terror passed, and he sat forward eagerly. "the little lion," he said caressingly, for the man before him might have been his son, although he had been in his tomb with a bullet in his heart for nearly a century. but he looked so young, so restless, so indomitable, that the years slipped out of the century, and hamilton once more was the most brilliant ornament of a country which had never ceased to need him. "yes," he said brightly, "here i am, sir, and you see me at last. this is that one moment in the lifetime of the few when the spirit burns through the flesh and recognizes another spirit who has lost that dear and necessary medium. i have been with you a great deal in your life, but you never have been able to see me until to-night." he gave his head an impatient toss. "how i have wished i were alive during the last three or four months!" he exclaimed. "not that i could have accomplished what you could not, sir, but it would have been such a satisfaction to have been able to make the effort, and then, when i failed, to tell democracy what i thought of it." north smiled. all sense of the supernatural had left him. his soul and hamilton's were face to face; that was the one glorified fact. "i have been tempted several times lately to wish that we had your aristocratic republic," he said, "and that i were the head and centre of it. i have felt a strong desire to wring the neck of that many-headed nuisance called 'the people,' and proceed as if it were where the god of nations intended those incapable of governing should be and remain without protest." "oh, yes, you are an aristocrat. that is the reason i have enjoyed the society of your mind all these years. you were so like me in many ways when you were my age, and since then i seem to have grown older with you. i died so young. but in you, in the last twenty years, i seem to have lived on. you have built an iron wall all round those terrible fires of your youth, and roofed it over. it is only now and then that a panel melts and the flame leaps out; and the panel is so quickly replaced! i too should have conquered myself like that and made fewer and fewer mistakes." "god knows what i might not have been able to do for my country. i have been mad to leap into the arena often enough." "you are not dead. no man is, whose inspiration lives on. more than one of us would be of shorter stature and shorter gait if we never had had your accomplishment to ponder over. and as to what the nation would have been without you--" "yes!" cried hamilton. "yes! how can any man of ability submit to death without protest, shrug his shoulders cynically, and say that no man's disappearance causes more than a whirl of bubbles on the surface, that the world goes on its old gait undisturbed, and does as well with the new as the old? look at great britain. she hasn't a single great man in all her eleven million square miles to lead her. that is answer enough to a theory which some men are sincere enough in believing. this country always has needed great leaders, and sometimes she has had them and sometimes not. the time is coming when she will need them as she has not done since the days when three or four of us set her on her feet." north stood up suddenly and looked down on hamilton. "what are we coming to?" he asked abruptly. "monarchy?" the guest tapped the toe of his little slipper with the tips of his beautiful fingers. he laughed gayly. "i can see only a little farther ahead than your own far-penetrating brain, sir. what do you think?" "as i walked home tonight, the situation possessed my mind, which by some process of its own seemed to develop link after link in coming events. it seemed to me that i saw a thoroughly disorganized people, unthinkingly but ruthlessly thrusting aside all ideals, and--consequently--in time--ready for anything." hamilton nodded, "if they had begun with my ideal, they would have remained there. now they will leap far behind that--when there is a strong enough man down there in the white house. certain radical changes, departures from their traditions and those of their fathers, will school them for greater changes still. in some great critical moment when a dictator seems necessary they will shrug their shoulders and say, 'why not?'" "i believe you are right, but i doubt if it comes in my time." hamilton shook his head. "every state in europe has its upper lip curled back above its teeth, and who knows, when the leashes snap, what our fate will be, now that we have practically abandoned our policy of non-interference in the affairs of the eastern hemisphere? if all europe is at somebody's throat in the next five years, we shall not escape; be sure of that. then will be the great man's opportunity. you always have despised the office of president. work for it from this day. the reaction from this madness will help you. democrats as well as republicans will turn to you as the one man worthy of the confidence of the entire country." "not if they guessed that i meditated treason, sir. nor should i. i agree with you that your ideal was the best, but there is nothing for me to do but to make the best of the one i've inherited. if i am aristocratic in my preferences, i am also a pretty thoroughgoing american." "yes, yes, i know, sir. you never will meditate what, if premeditated, would be treason. but when the great moment comes, when your patriotism and your statesmanship force you to admit that if the country is to be saved it must be rescued from the people, and that you alone can rescue it, then you will tear the constitution down its middle. this country is past amendments. it must begin over again. and the whole great change must come from one man. the people never could be got to vote for an aristocratic republic. they must be stunned into accepting a monarchy. after the monarchy, then the real, the great republic." the two men looked long into each other's eyes. then north said,-- "i repeat that i never should work nor scheme for the position that such a change might bring me. nevertheless, believing, as i do, that we are on the threshold of a new and entirely different era in this country, if the time should come when i felt that i, as its most highly trained servant, could best serve the united states by taking her destinies entirely into my own hands, i should do so without an instant's hesitation. i have done all i could to preserve the old order for them, and they have called me traitor and gone their own way. now let them take the consequences." hamilton set his mobile lips in a hard line. his eyes looked like steel. "yes," he said harshly, "let them take the consequences. they had their day, they have gone mad with democracy, let them now die of their own poison. the greatest republic the world ever will have known is only in the ante-room of its real history." he stood up suddenly and held out his hand. "good-bye, sir," he said. "we may or may not meet again before you too are forced to abandon your work. but i often shall be close to you, and i believe, i firmly believe, that you will do exactly as i should do if i stood on solid ground to-day." north took the exquisite hand that had written the greatest state papers of the century, and looked wonderingly at its white beauty. it suddenly gave him the grip of an iron vise. north returned the pressure. then the strong hand melted from his, and he stood alone. exactly in what the transition from sleep to waking consisted, north was not able to define. there was a brief sense of change, including a lifting of heavy eyelids. technically he awoke. but he was standing on the hearthrug. and his right hand ached. he shrugged his shoulders. "what difference does it make whether he appeared to my waking eyes or passed through my sleeping brain and sat down with my soul?" he plunged his hands into his pockets and stood thinking for many minutes. he said, half aloud, finally,-- "not in my time, perhaps. but it will come, it will come." xvi when betty awoke at four o'clock in the afternoon, she discovered with some surprise that she had slept soundly for eleven hours. her head was a trifle heavy, but after her bath she felt so fresh again that the previous day and night seemed like a very long and very ugly dream. she reflected that if she had not written to burleigh before she went to bed she certainly should do so now. he still seemed the one safeguard for the future; she had convinced herself that with her capacity for violent emotion and nervous exaltation, her head was not to be trusted. she felt calm enough this afternoon, and she opened with no enthusiasm the note which had arrived from burleigh. she might have drawn some from its superabundant amount, but she frowned and threw it in the fire. then she went to her mother's room and announced her engagement. "my dear!" exclaimed mrs. madison. "well!--i am delighted." then she looked keenly at betty and withheld her congratulations. but she asked no questions, although the edge suddenly left her pleasure and she began to wonder if burleigh were to be congratulated. "he is coming to dinner," betty continued, "and i want you to promise me that you will not leave us alone for a moment, and that you will go with me to new york to-morrow." "i will do anything you like, of course, and i always enjoy new york." "i want to get away from washington, and i want to shop more than anything in life. i hate the thought of everything serious,--the country, the war, everybody and everything, and i feel that if i could spend two weeks with shops and dressmakers i'd be quite happy--almost my old self again." "i wish you were," said mrs. madison, with a sigh. "i wish this country never had had any politics." the instinct of coquetry was deeply rooted in betty madison, but that evening she selected her most unbecoming gown. she was one of those women who never look well in black, and look their worst in it when their complexion shows the tear of secret trouble and broken rest. she had a demi-toilette of black chiffon trimmed with jet and relieved about the neck with pink roses. she cut off the roses; and when arrayed had the satisfaction of seeing herself look thirty-five. for a moment she wavered, and leontine, with tears, begged to be allowed to remove the gown; but betty set her teeth and went downstairs. she had the further satisfaction of seeing a brief flash of surprise and disappointment in burleigh's eyes as he came forward to greet her; and, indeed, the gown seemed to depress the company for the entire evening. betty tried to rattle on gayly, but the painful certainty that she looked thirty-five (perhaps more), and that burleigh saw it, and her mother (who was visibly depressed) saw it, and the butler and the footman (both of whom, she knew through leontine, admired her extravagantly) saw it, dashed her spirits to zero, and she fell into an unreasoning rage with senator north. "i am going to new york to-morrow, and you are not to follow me," she said with a final effort at playfulness. "i have been at such a nervous strain over this wretched war that i must be frivolous and feminine for two whole weeks--and what so serious as being engaged?" burleigh sighed. his spirits were unaccountably low. he had forgotten his country for an entire day, and rushed up to the house ten minutes before the appointed hour, his spirits as high as a boy's on his way to the cricket field. but his apple had turned to ashes in a funereal gown, and there seemed no colour about it anywhere. "of course you want a change," he said, "but i hope you will write to me." "i'll write you a little note every day," she said with sudden contrition. "i know i'll feel--and look ever so much better in a few days." "there!" she thought with a sigh, "i've made this wretched sacrifice for nothing, and i'll never forget how i'm looking at the present moment, to my dying day. i know i'll wear my most distracting gown the next time he comes. well, what difference? i've got to marry him, anyhow." she shook hands cordially with him when he rose to go, an hour later, but she did not leave her mother's side. he did not attempt to smile, but shook hands silently with both and left the room as rapidly as dignity would permit. mrs. madison put her handkerchief to her eyes and burst into tears. "poor dear man!" she exclaimed. "i felt exactly as if we were having our last dinner together before he went off to the war to get killed. i never spent such a dismal evening in my life. and what on earth made you put on that horrid gown? you look a fright--you almost look older than he does." "don't turn the knife round, please. i'm rather sorry, to tell the truth, but i didn't want him to be too overjoyed. i couldn't have stood it." "are you sorry that you have engaged yourself to him?" "no, i am glad--very glad." but she said it without enthusiasm. when she went up to her room, she presented the black gown to leontine and sent her to bed. then she put on a peignoir of pink silk and lace and examined herself in the mirror. she looked fifteen years younger and wholly charming; there was no doubt of it. xvii the next day, before starting for new york, she wrote a note to senator north:-- i am going to marry robert burleigh. on tuesday morning i almost went to your house--to bring you back with me here. i came to my senses in time; but i might not again. i want you to understand. i wish he were not on the winning side. but he is the only man i can even think of marrying. i do not think this much is disloyal to him. but i will not say other things. b. m. burleigh came to the train to see her off, and betty looked so charming in her rich brown travelling frock and little turban, and smiled so gayly upon him, that his heavy spirit lifted its wings and he begged to be allowed to go to new york on saturday. but to this she would not listen, and he was forced to content himself with making elaborate preparations for her comfort in the little drawing-room, and buying a copy of every paper and magazine the newsboy had on sale. "i am sure he will make an ideal husband," said mrs. madison, as she waved her hand to him from the window. "he certainly is very much of a man," admitted betty, "but what on earth are we to do with all these papers? i haven't room to turn round." the excitement in washington, great as it was, had been mostly within doors; in new york it appeared to be entirely in the streets, if one excepted the corridors of the hotels. the population, still pale and nervously talkative, surged up and down the sidewalks. on the morrow the city put forth her hundred thousand flags. the very air seemed to turn to stars and stripes. the madisons went to the waldorf-astoria, and in its refreshing solitudes felt for the first time in months that they must go in search of excitement if they wanted it; none would reach them here. "now that the war is declared, i am sorry;" admitted mrs. madison, "for so many americans will be killed." "instead of cubans. i've done with the war. i won't even regret." for three days betty shopped furiously, or held long consultations with her dressmaker. on sunday, after church, she read to her mother, but refused to discuss her engagement, and on monday she resumed her shopping. she wrote to burleigh immediately after breakfast every morning, then dismissed him from her mind for twenty-four hours. the beautiful spring fabrics were in the shops, and she bought so many things she did not want, even for a trousseau, that she wondered if mrs. mudd would accept a trunk full of "things." she envied mrs. mudd, and would find a contradictory pleasure in making her happy. miss trumbull never had manifested any false pride, and matrimony had altered her little in other ways. at night she slept very well, and if she did not think of burleigh, neither would she think of senator north. she did not open a newspaper. what the country did now had no interest for her; it was marching to its drums, and nothing could stop it. and she would have her fill of politics for the rest of her natural life. as mrs. madison always was content with a novel, she made no complaint at the absence of newspapers, particularly as the fighting had not begun. moreover, betty took her to the theatre every evening, a dissipation which her invalidism endured without a protest. it was on wednesday afternoon that betty, returning to her rooms, met sally carter in a corridor of the hotel. the two girls kissed as if no war had come between them, and miss carter announced that she was going to cuba to nurse the american soldier. "i almost feel conscience-stricken," she remarked, "now that we actually are in for it. i don't think i believed it ever really could happen. it was more like a great drama that was about to take place somewhere on the horizon. but if the american boys have to be shot, i'm going to be there to do what i can." they entered the parlor of mrs. madison's suite, and that good lady, who had read until her eyes ached, welcomed sally with effusion and demanded news of washington. "we haven't seen a paper or a soul," she said. "we have our meals up here, and i feel as if i were a catholic in retreat. it's been a relief in a way, especially after the _salon_, but i should like to know if washington has burned down, or anything." "washington is still there and still excited," said miss carter, dropping into a chair and taking off her hat, which she ran the pin through and flung on the floor. "how it keeps it up is beyond the comprehension of one poor set of nerves. i am now dead to all emotion and longing for work. i'm even sorry i painted my best french handkerchiefs red, white, and blue. if you haven't seen the papers i suppose you don't know that mrs. north is dead. she died suddenly of paralysis on the twenty-second. the strength she got in the adirondacks soon began to leave her by degrees; the doctor--who is mine, you know--told me the other day that it meant nothing but a temporary improvement at any time; but he had hoped that she would live for several years yet. betty, what on earth do you find so interesting in fifth avenue? i hate it, with its sixty different architectures." "but it looks so beautiful with all the flags," said betty, "and the one opposite is really magnificent." it was a half-hour before sally ceased from chattering and went in search of her father. betty had managed to control both her face and her knees, and listened as politely as a person may who longs to strangle the intruder and achieve solitude. the moment sally had gone betty went straight to her room, avoiding her mother's eyes, which turned themselves intently upon her. she did not reappear for dinner, as her mother was made cheerful by the society of the carters; but as sally passed her room on her way to bed, she called her in, and the two girls had a few moments' conversation. xviii "molly," said betty, the next morning, "i should like to go up to the adirondacks alone for a few weeks. would you mind staying here with the colonel and sally for another ten days and then returning with them? sally says she will move into my room and that she and the colonel will take you to the theatre and do everything they can to make you happy. you know the colonel delights to be with you." "i understand, of course, that you are going," said mrs. madison. "i shall not be bored, if that is what you mean. i hope you will telegraph at once, so that the house will be warmed at least a day before you arrive. i suppose you have got to a point in your affairs where you must have solitude, but i wish you had not, and i wish you would go where it is warmer." "oh, i shall be comfortable enough." she added in a moment, "don't think i do not appreciate your consideration, for i do." then she sat down at the desk and wrote a note to burleigh. it was a brief epistle, but she was a long while writing it. her previous notes had been dashed off in ten minutes, and usually related to the play of the previous evening. his replies had been a curious mingling of half-offended pride and a passion which was only restrained by the fear that the lady was not yet ready for it. finally betty concocted the missive to the satisfaction of her mind's diplomatic condition. she had not yet brought herself to begin any of her notes to him formally. "dear robert" was as yet unnatural, and "dear mr. burleigh" absurd; so she ignored the convention. "i suddenly have made up my mind to go to the adirondacks for a month, _quite alone,_" she wrote. "when one is going to take a tremendous step, one needs solitude that one may do a great deal of hard thinking. i don't wonder that some catholic women go into retreat. at all events, washington, 'the world,' even my mother, even you, who always are so kind and considerate, seem impossible to me at present; and if i am to live with some one else for the rest of my life, i must have one uninterrupted month of solitary myself. doubtless that will do me till the end of my time! so would you mind if i asked you not even to write to me? i have enjoyed your notes so much, but i want to feel absolutely alone. don't think this is petty egoism. it goes far deeper than that! if we ever are to understand each other i am sure i need not explain myself further. b. m." "it has a rather heartless ring," she thought with a sigh, "but it will intrigue him, and--who knows? as heaven is my witness, i do not. but i do know this, that unless i get away from them all and fairly inside of myself, whatever i do will seem the wrong thing and i might end by making a dramatic fool of myself." xix the ice was on the lake this time, although it was melting rapidly, but the sun shone all day. she had to wear her furs in the woods, but the greens had never looked so vivid and fresh, and save for an occasional woodchopper and her own servants, there was not a soul to be met in that high solitude. the hotel across the lake would not open for a month. even the birds still lingered in the south. after she had been alone for two days she wondered why, when in trouble before, she had not turned instinctively to solitude in the forest. it is only the shallow mind that dislikes and fears the lonely places of nature: the intellect, no matter what vapours may be sent up from the heart, finds not only solace in retirement, but another form of that companionship of the ego which the deeply religious find in retreat. the intellectual may lack the supreme self-satisfaction of the religious, but they find a keen pleasure in being able to make the very most of the results of years of consistent effort. betty, whether alone by a roaring fire of pine cones in the living-room, or wandering along the edge of the lake in the cold brilliant sunshine, or in the more mysterious depths of the forest, listening to the silence or watching the drops of light fall through the matted treetops, felt more at peace with the world than she had done since her fatal embarkation on the political sea. she put the memory of harriet walker, insistent at first, impatiently aside, and in a day or two that shadow crept back to its grave. for a few days her mind, in its grateful repose, hesitated to grapple with the question which had sent her to the mountains; and on one of them, while thinking idly on the great political questions which had magnetized so much of her thought during the past year, the inspiration for which she had so often longed shot up from the concentrated results of thinking and experience, and revealed in what manner she could be of service to her country. this was, whatever her personal life, to gather about her, once a week, as many bright boys of her own condition as she could find, and interest and educate them in the principles of patriotic statesmanship. with her own burning interest in the subject and her personal fascination, she could accomplish far more than any weary professor could do. she had come up to these fastnesses to decide the future happiness of one or two of three people, and she felt sober enough; but for almost a week she wished that she could live here alone for the rest of her life: she believed that in time she would be serenely content. she had the largest capacity for human happiness, but she guessed that the imagination could be so trained that when far from worldly conditions it could create a world of its own, and would shrink more and more from the practical realities. for imagination has the instinct of a nun in its depths and loves the cloister of a picturesque solitude. it is a fool's paradise, but not inferior to the one which mortals are at liberty to enter and ruin. but betty could not live here alone, she could not ignore her responsibilities in any such primitive fashion; and so long as her heart was alive it would make battle for real and tangible happiness. she had a question to decide which involved not only the heart but the mind: if she made a mistake now, she would be at odds with her higher faculties for the rest of her life. she dreaded the sophistry which sat on either side of the subject; and it was a question whether the very strength of her impulse toward the man she had loved for a year was not the strongest argument in its favour. but she had given her word to another man, and she had the high and almost fanatical sense of honour of the southern race. on the other hand, she had a practical modern brain, and during the last year she had been living in close contact with much hard common-sense. she had imagination, and she knew that she already had made burleigh suffer deeply, and had it in her power to raise that suffering to acuteness; and if that buoyant nature were soured, a useful career might be seriously impaired. on the other hand, she had made a greater man more miserable still, and while he was finding life black enough she had rushed into the camp of the enemy; and his capacity for suffering was far deeper and more enduring than that of the younger man. she tried to put herself as much aside from the question as possible, but she had her rights and they made themselves heard. she knew, had known at once, that she had outraged all she held most dear, in engaging herself to one man when she loved another, and she had begun to wonder--in irresistible flashes--before the news had come which sent her to the mountains, if she should falter at the last moment. but breeding has carried many a woman over the ploughshares of life, and her mind was probably strong enough to go on to the inevitable without theatric climax. at the same time the idea of marriage with one man when she loved another was abhorrent; that it was particularly so since marriage with the other had become possible, she understood perfectly. and although she continued to reason and to argue, she had a lurking suspicion that while she might be strong enough to conquer a desire she might not be able to conquer a physical revolt, and that it would rout her standards and decide the issue. she had made up her mind that she would hesitate for a month and no longer, and she also had determined that she would decide the question for herself and throw none of the responsibility on senator north; she felt the impulse to write to him impersonally more than once. (perhaps her sense of humour also restrained her.) she wondered if it were one year or twenty years since she had gone to him for advice; and she knew that whichever way she decided, the desire for his good opinion would have something to do with it. there are only a certain number of arguments in any brain, and after they have been reiterated a sufficient number of times they pall. from argument betty lapsed naturally into meditation, and the subject of these meditations, tender, regretful, and impassioned, was one man only; and burleigh had no place in them. occasionally she forced him into her mind, but he seemed as anxious to get out as she was to drive him; and after the ice melted and she was able to spend hours on the lake, and rest under spreading oaks, where she had only to shut her eyes to imagine herself companioned, she felt herself unfaithful if she cast a solitary thought to burleigh. at the end of the month she was not tired of solitude, but she was tired of her intellectual attitude. she was human first and mental afterward; and she wanted nothing on earth but to be the wife of the man whom she had loved for a lifetime in a year. the moment she formulated this wish, hesitation fled and she could not wind up her engagement with burleigh rapidly enough. her letter, however, was very sweet and apologetic, and it was also very honest. she knew that unless she told him she loved another man and intended to marry him, he would take the next train for the adirondacks and plead his cause in person. his reply was characteristic. "very well," it ran. "i do not pretend to say i was not prepared after your last letter from new york. and although i could not guess your motive in accepting me, i knew that you did not love me. but if i am not overwhelmed with surprise, the pain is no easier on that account, and will not be until the grass has had time to grow over it a little. and at least it is a relief to know the worst. of course i forgive you. i doubt if any man could feel bitterly toward you. you compel too much love for that. "don't worry about me. i have work enough to do--a state to talk sense into and a nation to which to devote my poor energies. my brain such as it is will be constantly occupied, which is the next best good a man can have." robert burleigh. betty wrote him four pages of enthusiastic friendliness in reply, and paid him the compliment of postponing her letter to senator north until the following day. but on that day she rose with the feeling that the sun never would set. she was as brief as possible, for she knew that he hated long letters. nevertheless, she conveyed an exact impression of her weeks of deliberation and analysis. "i want you to understand," she went on, "that my only wish when i came here for solitary thought was to do the right thing, irrespective of my own wishes in the matter. but it seems to me there is exactly as much to be said on one side as on the other, and it all comes to this: right or wrong, i have decided for you because i love you; and if you no longer can admire me, if you think that i have violated my sense of honour, then at least i shall marry no one else. b. m." and as her imagination was strong she did allow herself to be tortured by doubts during the three days that elapsed before she heard from him. she had hoped he would telegraph, but he did not, and her imagination and her common-sense had a long and indecisive argument which threatened ultimate depression. on the third night, however, a messenger from the hotel opposite brought her a note from senator north. "i don't know that your mental exercise has done you any harm," he had written, "but it certainly was thrown away. you have too much common-sense and too thorough a capacity for loving to do anything so foolish or so outrageous as to marry the wrong man. if you had followed a romantic impulse--induced by nervous excitement--and married him the day you learned that your word might be put to too severe a test, you would have been miserable, and so would burleigh. a mistaken sense of duty has been the cause of quite one fourth of the unhappiness of mankind, and few have been so bigoted as not to acknowledge this when too late. and a broken engagement is a small injustice to a man compared to a lifetime with an unloving wife. burleigh is unhappy now, but it is no lack of admiration which prompts me to say that if he had married you he would have been unhappier still. you could do nothing by halves. "formalities with us would be an affectation unworthy of either, and i have come to you at once. i knew that you would send for me, but i preferred to wait until you wrote that your engagement was broken. what i felt when i received your note announcing it, i leave to your imagination, and i forgot it as quickly as possible. i understood perfectly, but you exaggerated the dangers; for my love for you is so great and so absorbing, so complete in all its parts, that nothing but marriage would satisfy me. i should have preferred a memory to a failure. "if your mother were with you, i should go over to-night. but i shall wait for you at five to-morrow morning where you were in the habit of letting me board your boat. and the day will not be long enough! r. n." betty slept little that night, but felt no lack of freshness the next morning when she rose shortly after four. a broken night meant little to her now, and happiness would have stimulated every faculty if she had not slept for a week. she rowed swiftly across the lake. it was almost june now, and the warmth of summer was in the air, the paler greens among the grim old trees of the forest. the birds had come from the south and were singing to the accompaniment of the pines, the roar of distant cataracts; and yet the world seemed still. the stars were white and faint; the moon was tangled in a treetop on the highest peak. he might have been the only man awake as he stood with the forest behind him, and she recalled her fancy that although her horizon was thick with flying mist his figure stood there, immovable, always. he looked as if he had not moved since he stood there last, but the mist was gone. as he stepped into the boat, she moved back that he might take the oars. "i have on a white frock, and a blue ribbon in my hair," she said nervously, but smiling, "else i could not have forgotten that a year has come and gone." he too was smiling. "i think it is the only year we ever shall want to forget," he said. and he rowed up the lake. the end. transcriber's note: inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have been preserved. obvious typographical errors have been corrected. italic text is denoted by _underscores_. on page , "race ruffles" should possibly be "lace ruffles". by the same author. a little girl in old new york. hannah ann: a sequel. a little girl in old boston. a little girl in old philadelphia. a little girl in old washington. _sherburne stories._ sherburne house. lyndell sherburne. sherburne cousins. a sherburne romance. the mistress of sherburne. the children at sherburne house. sherburne girls. the heir of sherburne. a little girl in old washington by amanda m. douglas author of "a little girl in old new york," "sherburne stories," etc., etc. new york dodd, mead and company copyright, , by dodd, mead and company. the mershon company press, rahway, n. j. jaqueline baker beall: to you, whose ancestors made worthy efforts in the earlier history of the south, and lived romances, this little story is affectionately inscribed. amanda m. douglas. newark, n. j. contents. chapter page i. a new home, ii. the pineries, iii. apples of discord, iv. a new president, v. roger carrington, vi. a touch of nature, vii. the beginning of a love story, viii. an angry father, ix. the weaker vessel, x. a christmas augury, xi. the thorns that beset love, xii. a talk of weddings, xiii. lovers and lovers, xiv. jaqueline, xv. a small hero, xvi. in old washington, xvii. the flag of victory, xviii. of many things, xix. in the midst of war, xx. the old story ever new, xxi. annis, a little girl in old washington. chapter i. a new home. "but you will have to take sides," declared jaqueline mason, "and it would be ungrateful if you did not take our side. you are going to live here; you really belong to us, you know. your mother was own cousin to our dear mother, and patty was named after her----" "i don't see why i should be called patty when you've given up jack and make such a fuss!" interrupted a slim, unformed girl, who was nearly as tall as the first speaker. "well, miss patty, i am sixteen and in long gowns; and next winter i expect to go to balls and parties, and be presented at the white house. oh, i wish it was a court!" a young fellow, astride the low window seat, laughed with a teasing, bantering sound in his voice, and his deep eyes were alight with mirth. "you think you are a great patriot, jacky, but you hanker after the fleshpots of egypt and royalty, when we have fought for our freedom and gained our independence and set a noble example to the downtrodden nations of europe. sighing for a king and a court!" "i'm not sighing. one can think of a thing without wishing it----" "and he called you jacky!" cried patty, with a certain triumph ringing in her tone. "father said you were not to." jaqueline mason raised her head with dignity. "i used to think it rather funny when i was romping round, and it teased aunt catharine; but i hate it now, and i've given up romping. there is a great difference." "and cousin annis is eager to hear about _her_ side. you hardly know which side you are on yourself." she gave him a withering look, and turned to the little girl who stood in a shrinking attitude, and whose eyes had a certain lustrousness, as if tears were in their limpid depths. "i wish you wouldn't interrupt, louis mason! i am trying to explain. grandfather floyd isn't our very own grandfather--he married grandmother--and he believes we shouldn't really have separated from england, or at least we should have modeled our government upon hers and had a king. he thought washington ought to have stood up for some grandeur and state, and he is afraid now we shall all go to ruin. he never did like president jefferson. but you are too little to understand politics, annis, and i was going to explain--father and aunt catharine are _own_ brother and sister; then there are five floyd children, uncle and aunt's too. you really are not related to them. you are on our mother's side." "jaqueline, you will be qualified to write the genealogy of virginia," and louis laughed mockingly. the girl colored with vexation. "well, everybody is married to almost everybody else; and now your mother has married our father, and that in a way makes us sisters." the little girl standing by the window, where the sunshine sifted flecks of gold through the green clustering vines, looked up wistfully. she had wished out in kentucky that she had a sister, and now that three had welcomed her and taken possession of her, she was not sure that she wanted sisters. she had slept with varina, who was about her own age, but who had not taken to her very cordially. there was a still younger child, a boy, curled upon the next window ledge, poring over an old copy of froissart, dog-eared and well worn. varina was petting two doves, who arched their necks and strutted about. "yes, people get queerly married, up or down or crosswise. i mean to marry someone quite new and strange. but we were glad that father chose a cousin of our own dear mother's, and i am sure we shall all like her. what do you suppose they are about! why don't they come to breakfast?" this was the great dining room. four windows faced the east, two the south, shaded by the wide porch roof and the vines. there was a massive sideboard and a china closet with glass doors, wherein were many family heirlooms. the antlers and head of a great buck were suspended over the mantel, which was graced by a pair of silver candlesticks with several branches and a snuffers and tray. there was a large, roomy sofa and some high-backed chairs, quite stiff enough for the dames of early eighteen hundred. the floor was bare, but laid with various-colored woods. it had a hospitable air, altogether, in spite of its massive furnishing. the table was set for breakfast, and a tall silver coffee urn graced one end of it. there was a stir in the hall, and the sound of servants' voices mingling with a mellow masculine greeting. the little girl made a rush for her own dear mother, and ran into chloe, but her new father rescued her from harm, since the woman was carrying a dish of savory fried fish, followed by other servants with numerous viands. he lifted her in his arms and kissed her, and her mother bent over to give her another caress. then he stood her down, and she almost buried her face in her mother's gown and impeded her progress. "well, chicken," and the round, cheery voice sounded as if a laugh was at the back of it, ready for the slightest provocation, "how does it seem with all these brothers and sisters? for that's what you are to be. children, here is your new mother, by daylight. take a good look at her and love her, though she will be more like a big sister than a mother. i could have been her father. for when i first saw her she was no older than you, patty." the children thronged about her. second marriages were quite common occurrences, and the children of those days were expected to accept and make the best of them. miss catharine mason had taken excellent care of her brother's household, and now gone to williamsburg to take charge of the rev. william conway's rectory and be a mother to the three children. there had been a governess, a certain miss betts, from farther north, who somehow could not easily adapt herself to southern ways, and a rather turbulent household. there had been numerous complaints, and at the summer vacation she had resigned. miss jaqueline had in a measure taken the head of the house, with maum chloe and mammy phil, who had brought up the younger part of the flock and comforted the elders in times of difficulty and trouble. the new mother held out her arms. jaqueline and patty gave her a warm embrace. louis shook hands with the grace of a gentleman, and smiled out of fine soft-brown eyes. a very good-looking young fellow of eighteen, home from his first college year. "oh, children, i hope you will all love me, for i have had a sad, lonely time for the last five years. it seems so good to get to a real home, and have a corner in your father's big heart. and we will all try to make each other happy." she was rather tall and slim, this new mrs. mason, with light-brown hair and blue eyes, and a sweet, wistful smile. nine years before this, she and her husband and baby had gone out to kentucky with a colony, and though the valley was extraordinarily beautiful and fertile they had known many hardships and more than one indian skirmish. still, they were young and happy and prospering when death came to philip françois bouvier, and for five years she had been full of perplexity and sorrow, when the coming of her dead cousin's husband had brought a glimpse of rest and the proffer of a haven of delight. "and this little one." she reached out her hand to varina. "you and annis cannot be far apart in age, and will be excellent friends, i trust. was there not----" glancing around. "charles, put up your book and come and speak to your new mother. and then to breakfast. i shouldn't blame chloe if she put us on short commons this morning, we are shamefully late. your mother and i had several points to discuss. we will do better to-morrow, chloe. i hope you have not allowed these marauders to tear down the house nor tear up the garden. ah, good-morning, homer." homer was the tall, stately major-domo. the indian blood in his veins showed in his erect stature, his straight nose, and his hair, which, though quite frosty and curly, was not kinky. and homer felt as proud of his blood as any of the rolfe descendants. they were all settled about the table presently--a household to be proud of. mrs. mason took her place at the urn; annis had a seat beside her. varina was on one side of her father, charles on the other. a fine-appearing flock, truly; jaqueline and patricia giving promise of much beauty. louis was tall and manly, though one could see he had been bitten with the follies of early youth by a certain aspect of finery that young men affected. the meal was long and entertaining to the partakers. there was so much to tell. many things had happened in the six weeks' absence of the head of the house, and everybody running wild. true, the overseer was a man of judgment and foresight, and of wide experience, and the estate had not suffered. chloe had managed to keep what she called the "whip hand" of the house servants. it was the children who had suffered most. indeed, if aunt catharine could have looked upon them now she would have thought them demoralized beyond redemption. but squire mason was an easy-going man, and had a feeling that most things come out right if you give them a chance. prosperity is apt to make one buoyant and cheerful. and though the country was in a bad way and the rulers in high places were disputing as to whether it could hold together, and there were no end of sinister predictions even among those who had borne the strain and burden of making a country. but crops had been excellent, and on the large estates everything needful was raised, so there was no stint. the virginia planter, with his broad acres, had a kingdom in virtue of this plenteousness. mrs. mason watched the two chattering girls, the little varina, who held whispered confidences with her father, the abstracted boy charles, surprising herself with a sort of desultory conversation with the young man who was explaining the many changes in men and events and places in nine years. "and we have brought the capitol to washington," he said, with the dignity of his eighteen years. "you know there was a tremendous attempt to locate it at baltimore." "yes. baltimore is dear to me. all my young life was passed there." "i suppose there were some good reasons, but we southerners made a grand fight. we had mr. jefferson on our side. i think virginia never had full credit for her brave share of the war. at all events we had the crowning victory, the surrender of cornwallis." "i have quite a desire to see washington." "it is so hard to get grants to go on with the buildings and improvements. the country ought to have more enthusiasm. but the eastern states are not over-cordial yet. why, there could have been next to nothing done when you went away!" "there had been some trouble with major l'enfant, i believe. and everybody was counting on a fortune for the ground." "as they are yet," and the young man laughed. "father has a tract of swamp and elder bushes. when the streets reach out to us and the population increases, we may go in. at least some of us younger ones. i don't suppose anything would induce father to give up the estate here?" "you are right there, louis. this old randolph place will last my time out," said his father, who had caught the last of the sentence. "we are near enough, and can get over to see the shows, while we keep out of the quarrels. some day it will be a fine town, and the country at large may be proud of it. but there must be no end of money sunk in the bogs. we will go over and inspect it." "i hope mrs. madison finds more for her comfort than mrs. adams did," said mrs. mason, with a smile. "i can appreciate pioneer life." "mrs. madison isn't lady of the white house absolutely, but she is sent for to receive everybody. and she entertains delightfully herself. you know," jaqueline said this to her new mother, "that aunt jane lives in the city----" "she has not yet made aunt jane's acquaintance, or, if she did, it was when aunt jane was a mere child. you were here on a visit--when, patricia?" "just before i was married, fifteen years ago, or nearly. and jaqueline was a little yellow-haired baby." "oh, how queer!" cried patty. "you see, mother was a widow some years, and her second family is still quite young. yes, jane has married very well, a surveyor and civil engineer. but it will not do for us to sit over the breakfast table all day if we are going to mother's," and the squire rose, pulling himself together with a sort of shake. "must we go to-day?" mrs. mason's voice was beseeching. "oh, mother would consider it an unpardonable slight! she is a great stickler for deference and attention, and all that. yes, and it is a good long drive. we can return home by moonlight, however." he was coming around to his wife's side. "we must take this little one and show her to her grandparents. rene, do you not want to go along?" varina looked undecided. she was not quite sure she wanted a new sister so near her own age. she had been the pet and the plaything of the household, and last night mammy phillis went over to the newcomer, who had gone to bed for the first time in her life without being cuddled by her own dear mother. the squire pinched his new little girl's cheek softly. she leaned it gently down in the hollow of his hand in a mute caress. he was very fond of children. there was the confusion of everyone rising, and all of them talking at once, it seemed. after her good night's sleep and her week of happiness mrs. patricia mason looked both young and pretty, though now she was not much past two-and-thirty. "i want to ride over," declared jaqueline; "i have not been in ever so long. and marion is to have a party on her birthday, early in september. what a pity louis will be gone! she's desperately sweet on louis." the young man flushed scarlet. "you can't marry your aunt any more than you can marry your grandmother," said his father in a teasing tone. "jack is always thinking about marrying," flung out the brother. "it's a nasty way girls have." "there! there! no disputing, or the new mother will think she has fallen into a hornets' nest. go and get ready. i'll take a glance at the stables and see dixon for a moment," and he turned away. but louis caught his arm and kept step with him. "well, what is it?" he asked rather impatiently. "money again? you young people think the well is exhaustless." "no, it isn't money." his tone was a little husky. "jerry is lame. i rode him rather hard one day----" the squire smothered an oath. he had promised his young wife he would not swear at everything. it _was_ a bad habit, a bad example to his boys. "how did that come about? i told you jerry was not to be taken on tramps. you young fellows have no sense." "i was over to kenyon's one day. they bet her against kenyon's mare. i tried to get out of it----" "and you were beaten! served you right! my poor jerry!" with a touch of desperate anger in the tone. "no, i won!" there was a ring of elation in the young voice. "he came in five seconds ahead. there was a great time, you may be sure, and kenyon was for trying it again. he thinks nothing can beat the mare. i think jerry trod on something. his foot and leg have been swollen. cato has him almost well, though." "i meant to keep shady and enter him next year. i do believe if you hadn't beat i should just take it out of your hide," and the squire laughed. "now it will go abroad that i have a crack horse. well--and what did cato say?" "he was lame the next morning, but cato thought it wouldn't be much, and when he grew worse cato worked over him faithfully. he is sure he will be all right." "you are beginning early, young man. next time you let my especial horse alone. well, i'm glad it's no worse. but i won't have you turning out a horse jockey." they had reached the stables, where two or three old men and half a dozen negro boys were making a pretense of being busy, but they rushed to welcome the squire. cato and jerry were both interviewed, and when the master emerged with a pleasant face and scattered a handful of coppers for the small fry to chase about, louis felt quite relieved, for, truth to tell, he had had several rather wretched days about his father's favorite. the squire ordered up the carriage, and julius came down with missy's commands. annis had followed her mother up the broad staircase to the large, light room where a slim young colored girl was putting away various articles in drawers and closets. the small wardrobe had been increased during the brief time spent in baltimore, but was not very extensive yet. when randolph mason had gone to baltimore to settle the estate of one of his wife's cousins, as he had been named executor, he found patricia bouvier mentioned among the heirs. he recalled the pretty, attractive girl his wife had taken such an interest in, who had married an enthusiastic young french huguenot, and some time after joined a colony of emigrants to the "new countries," as the middle west was then called. "she was left a widow some years ago," said one of the relatives. "she did write about coming back, but it is a long journey for a woman and a little child. latterly we have not heard. i dare say she is married again." there was a company going out to settle some boundary question and make surveys, and on the spur of the moment the squire's adventurous blood was roused and he joined them. they had magnificent summer weather, and his enjoyment was intense. he found the little settlement and mrs. bouvier, who had known varying fortunes since her husband's death. she had been kindly cared for, and more than one man would gladly have married her, but her heart yearned for her own people. to take the journey alone seemed too venturesome, and she well knew the perils of frontier travel. so she had waited with a longing soul for some deliverance. she would go back gladly. there was no difficulty in disposing of her claim in the settlement. she bade good-by to the grave it had been a sad, sweet pleasure to tend, and with her little girl and her delightful guide and convoy set out on the journey. before they reached baltimore a new tie had sprung up between them. true, squire mason had thought occasionally during the last year of marrying again. his sister catharine had said to him before her departure: "the best thing you can do, randolph, is to marry soon. the girls will need someone to supervise them and see that they make proper marriages. mrs. keen would be admirable, as she has no children. and there are the stormont girls; any of them would be suitable, since even anne is not young. i wish i had taken this in hand before." "i wish you were not going away, catharine. my girls ought to be nearer to you than mr. conway's," he said ruefully. "i will still do what i can for them. there is excellent society at williamsburg, and i can give them pleasant visits. but i never saw a man more in need of a wife than mr. conway. it's a good thing clergymen wear a surplice, for i am sure he never could tell whether he was decent or not. surely it is a plain duty." "and you leave me in the lurch?" "but, you see, a clergyman needs a person well fitted for the position, which, i must say, every woman is not," with an air of complacency. "and you think anyone will do for me!" "how foolish you are, brother! i think no such thing. you certainly have sense enough to make a wise choice." but he had not chosen, and now he thought he should like this sweet, sorrowful, tender patricia. how bright he could make her life! he was so strong, so sincere and cheerful. he made friends with shy annis, who sat on his knee and was intensely interested in his girls--he always called them little. and before they reached baltimore he had asked patricia to marry him, and annis had consented to be his little girl. mrs. bouvier's small patrimony was to be settled on the child. but, then, she could not have imagined mr. mason being mercenary. word had been sent to the household of the marriage. they had not thought of objecting. in the great drawing room there was a portrait of their mother in a white satin gown, with pearls about her neck. it had been painted during a visit to london. they all went and looked at it, and wondered if the cousin patricia would be anything like that! "i don't believe she is as beautiful," declared jaqueline. there had been several delays on the latter part of the journey, and it was evening when the travelers reached home. the welcome had been a hearty one, and when supper was over annis was nodding. it was past varina's bedtime. charles had already stolen off. "take the children to bed, phillis," said the master. "they're to be sisters, so they may as well begin by sharing the same room. you won't feel lonesome, little annis?" "i'll go with her," said the mother in her soft voice. "nay." randolph mason put his hand on his wife's arm and kept her a prisoner. "phillie is the best of mammies. and you belong in part to me. you have had a hard time, and now there is someone to wait upon you and ease you up. good-night, little ones." he kissed both children. annis wanted to cling to her mother, for even through these three days of her married life her mother had heard her little prayer and put her to bed, so she had not felt really separated. but when philly took her hand it came with a sudden wrench. she dared not cry out in the face of them all. but, oh, was her own dear mother not hers any more? did she truly belong to father mason? and all these large children? had she given herself away when father mason had put a ring on her finger and called her his wife? she was out in the hall--being led upstairs, and phillis' hand was as soft as a crumpled rose leaf. her voice was soft and sweet too. there were two small white-covered beds, and when they were undressed and within them phillis crooned a low melody, and the little girl, being very tired and sleepy, forgot her sorrows. then in the morning phillis came and dressed them both and curled annis' soft, light hair. jaqueline seized on her the moment she entered the breakfast room. "i hardly had a look at you last night," she began. "i do hope you won't feel strange and that you will like us all. and there are ever so many other relations. did you never have any brothers or sisters?" "no," answered annis, with a kind of wistful regret, raising her eyes shyly. "we have another lot out at the pineries. it's queer, but we don't call them uncles and aunts, except aunt jane, because she is married and the oldest. and we always dispute--it's very funny and queer. grandfather is a federal--well, a sort of tory, too--and father's a republican. people who live in a republic ought to be republicans. that's what we fought for." annis stared. "out home--there," indicating the west with her head, "they fought the indians." "well--it is all about the same thing, only there are not many indians around here. and we don't _fight_ each other." "i don't know about that!" and the young man who was toying with the ears of an english hound laughed. then had come the puzzling question, and annis bouvier wondered what side she must take and was sadly mystified. chapter ii. the pineries. annis ran and threw her arms around her mother's neck and kissed her fervently. "are you glad to come here and do you like them all?" she asked when she found her breath. "and it is so queer, with all the black people and the great house and--and everything!" "it is a little strange. you will like it better by and by," glancing tenderly down in her child's eyes. "and you--must you be mother to _all_ the children? am i never to have you any more?" "you have me now. yes, you will always have me. don't you remember you used to wish for a sister like sallie reed? her mother loved all the children." "but she had them when they were cunning little babies," was the decisive reply. "dear,"--her mother knelt down and put her arms around the child,--"it is this way. we have come to this lovely home which is to be ours, and all the pleasant things a good friend can give--a kindly, generous friend. i used to feel anxious and worried about your future. there was no good school. the life was very narrow. and if i had been taken away----" "but they never would let the indians take you. oh, mother dear!" with a fervent embrace. she had not meant that, but she would not give the other explanation. "and all these children are going to share their father's love with you. he will give you this beautiful home, clothe you, educate you, and he puts me in the place of their dear mother who is dead. he is going to care for me and keep me from toil and sorrows and perplexities. when you are older you will understand better. i hope you will try to love them all, and this good dear friend who will be a father to you." "but i shall love you the best." "yes, dear," with a proud certainty. "and you will love me better than anyone else?" and annis clasped her mother with a child's unreasoning exclusiveness. "yes, dear." a merry voice went lilting through the hall. jaqueline paused a moment at the door. she was in her pretty green riding habit, and her straw hat had a bunch of iridescent cock's-plumes. she held her riding whip in one gloved hand, and she really was a picture good to look at. "oh, are you ready?" mrs. mason asked. "yes, and the carriage has come, but father is still down at the stables. rene doesn't want to go, from some queer freak, and patty does. i don't believe father would mind--would you?" "why, of course not," in a cordial tone. "rene is queer sometimes." jaqueline studied annis, and smiled in an odd fashion, for varina had just declared she "wouldn't go anywhere with that new girl, and that she did not mean to like her, for after all she was not a real sister, and they had done very well without any mother, and she just wished father had not brought her home." "it's the big carriage," said patty, "and i could go if rene did not want to. i hate to stay home all alone." jaqueline understood that this would be the easiest way of settling the matter, for varina had a streak of obstinacy that was conquered soonest by "giving her her head," as phillis said. "never mind about the box," as one of the men had come in with hatchet and hammer. "i won't unpack it this morning," began mrs. mason. "is patricia getting ready?" she tied annis' hat in a big bow under her chin, and then putting on her own they walked downstairs while jaqueline went for patty. varina was nowhere to be seen. mrs. mason had hardly noted her new home in the dusk of the evening, except to be aware that it was very large. the broad veranda was like a hall. four fluted columns ran up to the second-story windows, with vines trained on trelliswork in between. the house had but two stories, and an extensive observatory on the top that really was a delightful room during the spring and autumn. a lawn filled with clumps of shrubbery and well-grown trees stretched down to the road, the drive winding around in a half-curve. from the front there was nothing to mar the handsome outlook where the ground lay in a line of curves to the potomac. the stables, the workshops, and the negro quarters were cut off by a tall, thick hedge. mr. mason came around the corner of the house. jaqueline was feeding hero lumps of sugar, to the amazement of annis. patty flew across the veranda in a whirl, and her father merely nodded to her explanations as they were put on the back seat. jaqueline waved her hand, and hero started off at a sharp canter. patty could not keep still very long, and began to question annis as to what the kentucky home was like, and if she was glad or sorry to leave it. there had been only seth bowers, who worked the farm, and an indian woman to help about the house, but just across a little yard space the browns had lived, and beyond were the stockade and the blockhouse. then the log houses were ranged around. "but were you not afraid?" asked patty. "suppose the indians had come?" "all the indians about were friendly. we were not afraid of them." "but what did you spend your time at--if you didn't go to school?" "mother taught me. sally brown came in when she wasn't too busy, and we studied. mrs. brown spun and knit, and adam dodge had a loom where he wove cloth. oh, there were a great many things!" "a hard life it was for you," and mr. mason glanced at his wife's countenance, which had fallen into thoughtful lines. "there have been many pioneers," she returned with a half-smile. "virginia is full of their graves. and the northern coasts. our people were wiser. they chose a less rigorous clime." "true. the story north and south is full of romance. but, then, what country is not? the old romans colonized, sometimes very cruelly, tearing people from their homes. we came of our free will, except such as were redemptioners." "and slaves," in a low tone. "that is a serious question," and the squire's rugged brows knit. "that they are better off is beyond cavil. in their own land they fight and destroy each other, make slaves, and many tribes are no doubt cannibals. the president has always considered it bad for the country. but we have needed labor. and in bible times men were permitted to enslave other nations. the dominant race gets the upper hand, and it is right that knowledge and improvement should have a chance against ignorance and degeneracy. but this is a somber talk for such a fair day. look! over yonder is the capital." she saw the gleam of the white buildings, and here and there an imposing mansion. it was in truth a magnificent day; the balmy breath of forests and the coolness of the river tempering the heat. in and out by dainty edges fringed with grasses, some standing sentinel-like, some dallying coquettishly with the breeze, flowed the broad river. there were innumerable little islets of rank greenness looking as if they were set asail on its bosom, and here and there a spike of blossom. all this great marsh the hand of man and the wit of his brain were to transform into one of the great cities of the world before the century ended. long, straight barren places were to be beautiful streets, but now they were gray and dreary in the sunshine. she liked the woods better, the winding road that now was in a dense shade from the overarching trees, and now came out to broad spaces of sunshine. squirrels chattered and ran about, whisking their feathery tails like a fan; bird notes, clear and sweet, dying to most exquisite softness, made melody in the air; bees hummed and crooned, secure of their hidden sweets. patricia mason drank it all in with a great feeling of gladness. it was so unlike the primeval solitudes where the few clung together, when the darkness fell, with a nameless terror, or listened to the great shivering woods, wondering if an enemy lay in ambush. god had watched over her and her child and raised up kindly friends, and had now given her home and rest--and, yes, love. how could she do otherwise than love this large-hearted, generous man! and she must train annis to pay him something more than mere respect. the pretty young rider put her horse through his various paces. now and then she was lost to sight by some turn in the road, then she waited with a laughing face and paced demurely alongside of the carriage, chatting gayly with her father or patricia. she was not quite at home yet with her new mother. the day grew warmer. they drew up in a densely shaded place. "let us get out and rest," said the squire. "there are some fruit and a little luncheon, for we shall be late at the pineries. it is too warm to drive fast. but it will be delightful coming back after sundown." jaqueline slipped off her horse. patricia sprang out with the litheness of a kitten. but the squire took annis in his arms and as he stood her down, kissed her, which brought a quick blush to her cheek. they found a fallen tree and a great flat rock that looked as if nature had set her table for travelers coming by. they spread out their lunch. the girls had the ready hunger of youth. annis went round by her mother. it was all so new and strange. she could not feel afraid of this second father, and yet she did grudge his claim upon her mother a little, the mother who was now in a rather gay conversation with the two young girls. jaqueline _was_ amusing in her descriptions of the pineries, and though her father checked her rattling tongue now and then, she did not greatly heed it. aunt catharine had been rather free in her strictures on people and events, and the family at the pineries had not escaped. then they resumed their journey, and the road grew wilder. washington and georgetown were left behind, the houses were less frequent, but the river still ran along by their sides, and now and then a boat of some kind passed them. then they came to a clearing and a great stretch of tobacco plantations, a winding drive through giant pines that rustled like a river hurrying over a rocky bed. in the midst of a woods, it seemed, so close were the trees, with a fine open space in the front, stood the mansion. on the wide porch sat an elderly man with flowing silvery hair, inclined to curl at the ends, but not fastened in the fashion of the day. his frame was large, but one could see there had been a gradual shrinking of the flesh, for his face and his long thin hands were much wrinkled. still, there was a tint of pink in his cheeks, and his eyes were very blue, rather piercing. "randolph mason!" he exclaimed, standing his big volume down on the porch floor and taking the flight of steps deliberately. "this is indeed a surprise! you have been a great truant, and i hope your quest was satisfactory. when did you return? we have heard nothing for at least a fortnight. your mother was wondering----" "last night. i spent a few days in baltimore. and i have brought home a new wife, so we came at once to pay our respects to my mother." "jack, summon madam and marian. allow me to give you congratulation," and he held out his hand to mrs. mason with impressive dignity. "you will have a good husband, madam, though we have for some time considered him proof against woman's charms. but we all succumb sooner or later. i was quite a bachelor when mrs. mason conquered me. jaqueline, how do you do? and, patricia? why----" he stared at annis. "this is my new little daughter annis bouvier. we have not had time to change her name yet. i found mrs. bouvier without much difficulty, and persuaded her to return to her relatives at baltimore, and to the small fortune awaiting her. there i suddenly was seized with a new mind and persuaded her to marry me." squire mason laughed with a kind of boyish gayety. mr. floyd looked scrutinizingly at the two girls, as if wondering how they had taken this unexpected new mother. but the brilliant faces showed no disapprobation. they had reached the porch, and the master rang his bell loudly for some servants and began to berate them all for a lazy, worthless lot, pushing chairs hither and thither and inviting the guests to be seated, and in the midst of the confusion a dignified woman crossed the room and came out to them. even now madam floyd, halfway between sixty and seventy, was a fine, imposing woman, stately and rather stout. her petticoat of embroidered satin was displayed by the skirt of her gown being drawn aside and edged with lace that made cascades of the creamy stuff as she walked. her sleeves came to the elbows and her round arms were white and plump, and the bit of neck left by the stomacher of lace showed scarcely any sign of age. on her head was a large turban-like cap of fine sheer muslin much affected by the elderly woman of that time. she was of course surprised at her son's marriage, and said rather sharply that "it might have been done with less haste," but to the new wife--"you will find men have not over-much consideration. and i suppose it was a matter of satisfaction to leave that wild land behind you and return to the home of your childhood? but you found many changes, doubtless. you were of the moore branch, i believe, kin to my son's first wife?" jaqueline and patty had gone to hunt up marian. dolly had gone off in the mountains visiting. so madam had the guest to herself, and between them they picked out all the descent of the family from the coming of lord de la ware down to the present time. even the huguenot bouvier was not wanting in good birth, so that matter was satisfactorily settled. then madam bethought herself that the travelers must have gone without dinner, and ordered a table set out on the porch, with cold chicken, tempting slices of fresh bread, and wine, and gave charges for a high tea at an early hour, since the guests had not come to stay. mr. floyd and his stepson were already deep in politics and growing quite heated. the country was all astir, as in the autumn there would be a presidential election. "there will be no chance for the federals," said the elder man sharply. "the president will have things all his own way and put in his man, who, if he shilly-shallies, as they have been doing, will give england another chance. she beats us out of everything, you may as well admit. and this embargo hasn't hurt her, and it will not. there will be no french to call upon this time for help. and you mark my words, we shall go back like whipped hounds! i knew the colonies never could hang together. the east wants one thing, the middle states another; and they demand the freedom of coming in and regulating our affairs. no, there will never be a settled peace until england has really conquered us and put us back in our proper place." squire mason laughed. "that will never be. we have had too long a taste of freedom, of ruling ourselves. and if we could not be conquered before, it would be the wildest folly to attempt it now. besides, she has her hands full." "she and the other nations will join to finish that upstart napoleon. and the country will be foolish enough to just throw itself at her, and she won't take that! two kings can't govern a country, and we have a dozen different kings, with their panaceas, and they have brought the country to the verge of ruin. washington had some wisdom, i will admit, and adams some sense, but since then, with this half-infidel who believes in every man having his own religion, and no state church to rally about, and considers that one man has just as much rights as another, and that drivel that all men are born free and equal! they are not, i tell you. and i believe in a state church and the power to make it respected." "don't get so excited, father," admonished his wife. "come, randolph, have a bite of something and a glass of wine. you must be half famished, mrs. patricia--the name come in very handy, you see. and the little girl. annis is quite out of the family lines. i don't remember hearing it. it has a puritan sound. i think myself it is a shame the world should be so mixed up on religion. there is but one bible, and there should be but one way, and the scoffers and unbelievers be set by themselves." "where are the girls?" asked their father. "they have looked up marian, i dare say; and she has sukey martin and two of the maids taking apart gowns and fashioning them over in modern style. a friend sent jane some patterns from philadelphia, and she passed them on. did you see much that was new in baltimore, madam patricia? though this flightiness of dressing is much to be deprecated, and fills the minds of young people with vanity. but jane has insisted that marian shall come and make her a long visit this winter. they are to get in their new house in september. i do hope son jettson is not going on too fast." "he may as well make the money as anyone," subjoined grandfather. "the quicker they build up the quagmire the better it will be for the permanency of the capital. and if some time those canting puritans want a separate government of their own, they can take new york or philadelphia for their center." "they are improving rapidly," said the squire. "it will be a fine city. daniel carroll's mansion is an ornament, and the van ness house is planned for much gayety and large companies. and there are many others in process of erection." annis sat beside her mother and thought of the talk with which the day began. if she had to take sides it would be that of her new father, who was smiling and good-humored and did not bring his fist down on the table or the edge of the chair with such a thump that it frightened you. she did not like the grandfather, she decided. yet he was a handsome old man, with his ruffled shirt front, his flowered waistcoat, his velvet smallclothes, with silver buckles in a bow just below his knee and others set with brilliants on his shoes. the ladies discussed the bringing up and the education of girls. they were to be good housewives, trained in all useful arts, and their chief business in life was to make good marriages. and madam floyd admitted that she had sent dolly away because there was an undesirable in the neighborhood, a young mr. sears who had been abroad and who played high and drank more than was seemly--a degenerate son of a good family. dolly was very light and trifling. "catharine was a very good, steady girl, but her lover, a most worthy young man, died, and she lost all heart for gayety. and when i married mr. floyd"--she bent her head over and spoke in a lower tone--"i thought he had some feeling--men are given to jealousy, you know, and as catharine was fond of staying with her brother, and the new family increased so rapidly that somehow we were weaned away. i was almost struck dumb when she came and told me about her marriage--a settled old maid such as she was! however, i hope it is for the best, and that really made it necessary for randolph to marry." the men had gone at politics again. "marian and dolly were too young to go and look after such a family, even if their father would have spared them. and i think my son has made a wise choice, though i can't tell you how surprised i was, with no notice beforehand." "it was very sudden. i could not have done it with--with a stranger," and patricia colored. "i had been very fond of my cousin. and mr. mason was so kind, so thoughtful----" "he and catharine hardly seem like my children," and their mother gave a faint smile. "i have been mr. floyd's wife twenty-five years." mrs. floyd summoned a servant presently and said she would show her new daughter the house, so they left the men to their pipes and their disputes. the old house had been built long ago and had many rare belongings, for one ancestor had been a seafaring man and brought home no end of curiosities. the wide hall went straight through the middle, but the kitchens were not detached. there were a great storeroom and linen press and bedding chests crowded to the brim. drawers were sweet with napery laid in lavender and rose leaves. the very air was delicious with old-time fragrance. "in the new countries one has little time to lay up stores," madam said, "and i suppose there are no instructed maids. it is the story of jamestown and the eastern colonies over again. but we have been civilized this many a year, and kept in touch with the mother country as well, though i am not so sure that we would be better off under her government. my forebears made a brave struggle, and i would not have it go for nothing. but one finds it idle work contradicting one's husband," and she smiled faintly. "there are ways to get along more peaceably. though it seems as if we may all go to pieces yet." she opened the next door, where three slaves were spinning piles of carded wool for winter wear, and the hum of the wheels had the rush of water over gentle descents. then they went up another broad staircase to the sleeping chambers. "my daughters will have a good outfit," she said proudly. "jane is a notable housekeeper and the others are being trained. a woman needs to know all suitable things." the sound of girls' voices and merry laughs reached them, and madam floyd frowned sharply. they inspected the sleeping chambers, where most of the furniture was massive and dark with age, in vivid contrast to white hangings and blue-and-white spreads. when they went down to the drawing room madam floyd sent a servant rather sharply for her daughter. a young girl of nineteen or so entered with a somewhat demure aspect. "you seem to have forgotten your duty to your brother's wife, marian! i am ashamed of you, since you knew she was here! your head is so filled up with finery there is no room for manners," the mother exclaimed shortly. "i am sorry. i thought you and my father would want them both a while." she held out her hand to patricia and gave her a welcome and good-wishes. "and now order the tea at once. randolph thinks he cannot remain all night, and it is a long ride home. but it will be much pleasanter than the journey hither." when they went out on the porch--where most of the time was spent in the warm weather--they found the men had gone to inspect the crops and the stock. "you will find randolph rather easy-going," madam floyd said to her new daughter. "and the children have grown quite lawless this year, though i cannot say catharine kept them with a firm hand. those two have their father's ways in a great measure. i hope you will not find it too hard, mistress patricia, and in any perplexity i will try to give you good counsel. i hope we shall be the best of friends." "i am thankful for your kindliness toward me," returned the daughter-in-law. "i feel quite alone in the world. so many of the baltimore cousins are dead. and i lost my own mother when i was so young." "the little girl seems a nice quiet child," the elder said presently. "girls are more manageable when they are small, but troublesome enough when the time of lovers begins." annis sat on the step watching the great peacock strutting about and the meek peahens seemingly lost in admiration of their lord's grandeur. then there was a bountiful supper and a fine ride home in the moonlight and the deliciously fragrant air. annis leaned down on her new sister's shoulder and fell asleep. chapter iii. apples of discord. it was very hard for annis bouvier to give up so much of her mother. her new father teased her a little, but when he saw she was really pained and the tears came into her eyes he would stop and give her a caress and a kiss. he was a very kindly master, and the overseer grumbled a little at times and made up by undue severity. then he certainly was an indulgent father. patricia despaired at times of establishing any authority. the house was so large, the servants so numerous, the confusion so great after the quiet life she had led in the far-away settlement. and at first not a day passed without some visitors, who came to pay their respects to the new mistress. jaqueline ordered her pony and rode off with a mere announcement to anyone standing near. she seemed to have no end of girl friends and was mostly a law unto herself. she and her sister had numerous squabbles that never degenerated into quarrels. annis liked patricia very much, but she and varina looked askance at each other, with considerable jealousy at the bottom. mrs. jettson came over with her nurse and two babies, and annis was delighted with them. "but they are not yours in any way," said varina. "they belong to us and grandma floyd." "that is being a selfish little girl, rene," said aunt jane. "annis is to be like a sister to you." "but i don't want her for a sister. i have enough sisters. she shall not ride on my pony nor feed my pigeons nor have any of my books." annis' heart swelled within her. "i don't want any of them," she made answer. "and i wish mamma and i could go away. she belongs to me and--and a little to your father, but most to me. but i wish she didn't belong to any of you!" and the soft, deep eyes overflowed with tears. "oh, annis! what is this all about?" patricia flew in and clasped the little girl in her arms in spite of a protest. "i'm beginning to love your mother very much. you see, she _does_ belong to us, and now you can't take her away. and we are glad to have you----" "i'm not glad." varina stretched up every inch of her size. "i'm sure we were well enough before." "it's mostly rene's dispute," began aunt jane. "annis was enjoying the babies. come here, dear." annis rushed out of the room sobbing. where was her mother? "rene, you naughty little girl!" and patricia gave her a shake. "why, jane, we have all been getting along in the very nicest manner. and _she's_ just lovely. we couldn't quite resolve at first whether we would call her mother; but father wanted us to, and now it seems natural enough. louis likes her ever so much. and jack says she's like a big sister. she's nicer than aunt catharine was at the last, she fretted at us so. i hope her little girls are pretty bad, and then she won't think we are the worst." aunt jane laughed. "i dare say aunt catharine will have some trials. that is a funny wish. rene, you must learn to like this little girl. i think her very nice and sweet. i shall ask her to come over and visit me." "then i won't come." varina's eyes flashed. "but why do you not like her?" "she sits on father's knee, and--and charles read to her yesterday and showed her pictures in his book and said she understood better than i did. and mammy said her hair was beautiful." varina began to cry. "so her hair is beautiful," said aunt jane decisively. "and perhaps she _is_ smart. you are dull at your book, varina, and if you are going to be cross and jealous your father will not like you. fie, for shame!" "if you are going to roar like the bull of bashan you will have to go upstairs by yourself. and i must find little annis," declared patricia. annis had seen her mother walk down the path under the mulberry trees, and she ran swiftly, sobbing as if her heart would break with a strange, yearning homesickness for the home in the forest and her mother all to herself once more. then she caught her foot in the root of a tree that had pushed up out of the ground, but two friendly arms clasped her, and sitting down on the bole of a tree that had been sawed off to thin the dense shrubbery, he held her tenderly. "what is it, little annis? what has happened to you?" "i want my dear mother," the child sobbed. "i want her to go away and take me. i can't stay here. i'd rather have sally brown to play with, and the great woods. i think i shouldn't even mind indians, nor dark nights." "has charles been cross to you?" "no, i like charles. let me go find mamma." "you can't have her just now," said louis in a soothing tone. "father has to have her on a little matter of business." "you _all_ have her!" resentfully. "that is because she is so charming and sweet." annis looked up into the face that was smiling and sympathetic. "tell me the trouble. surely patty or jacky have not been scolding you? for you couldn't have done anything bad. you are such a shy, quiet little thing." "i was playing with the babies----" "surely it wasn't aunt jane?" "no." she had stopped sobbing and raised her sweet eyes, the tears still beading the lashes. "why do you want to go away, then?" there was no answer. did she really want to go? the arm about her was very friendly. she had felt almost afraid of this big brother, but his voice went to her heart. "i think we cannot spare you. i know we cannot spare your mother." "annis! annis!" called the clear girl's voice. "here, patty," answered her brother, and the young girl ran down to them. she smiled at annis. "what happened?" louis asked. "it was that little cat rene! she didn't scratch, though. rene has been spoiled by everybody, and she believes now that no one has any rights but herself." "and we'll stand by annis. come--you do like us a little, do you not?" he put both hands on her shoulders and smiled in a very winsome manner. "of course she does." patty stooped and kissed her. "you must not mind rene when she gets in a temper. see, there's jacky and i, two girls on your side, and louis and charles, i am quite sure. don't you know jack told you we were always taking sides?" "but--what will--rene do?" the tone was so half-reluctant, pity fighting against inclination, that louis could not forbear smiling while he hugged her to his heart. "rene must be punished. it isn't the first time she has been snappy, louis. she quarreled with charles the other day because----" patty finished the sentence with raising her brows and making very big eyes. "because," said annis in a low tone, "he was reading to me and would not leave his book to go and play." annis looked very pretty with her downcast eyes and the softened truth in her tone. "charles was a gentleman. all virginia boys should be. and now, little annis, isn't it all made up? you will not want to go away?" "i like you both," annis said simply. "come back and see the babies," and patricia held out her hand. louis bent down and kissed her. of course no one would ever grudge her any love, not even rene when she understood. it was a mere childish ebullition. jaqueline had come in and heard the story, and, as she was quite accustomed to authority, rene had been handed over to mammy phillis with strict injunction to keep her a prisoner for the next two hours. jane had come out on the lawn and little floyd was rolling over the short turf in the care of a laughing darkey boy, while arthur lay on his back crowing and chewing his fat fists for an interlude. there was her mother with some needlework in her hand, and annis flew to her, hiding her face in the little hollow between neck and shoulder, with a great heart-throb of thankfulness. no one remarked on rene's absence at the dinner table. it was a jolly family gathering, and there was a great deal of talk about what was going on in the city and the coming election and the return of louis to college. jaqueline would go with him and pay aunt catharine her first visit, that she was very urgent about. she missed the young people sadly, she admitted. they also discussed a tutor for the younger children. although education had not taken a very wide range for girls as yet, the necessity was beginning to be felt. ministers appointed abroad would want intelligent wives, and even now, in washington, foreigners appeared in society, and it was considered an accomplishment to talk french and to be entertaining. the elders went to take an afternoon nap, a favorite habit with the squire when he could. "come," charles said to annis, "let us go down under the pines and read," and she was nothing loath. the old heroes of froissart were like fairyland to the children. then there were marvelous pictures, the roughest kind of woodcuts, but they picked out their heroes with great satisfaction. annis had seen few books. there were some old french volumes belonging to her father, and patricia had begun to teach the little girl as a solace for her long and often weary hours. this was a garden of delight, even if charles did puzzle over the long words and miscall them. jane took varina home with her, which was a great source of elation after the enforced seclusion of the day. she gave annis an indifferent nod as she stepped into the carriage. "you must be a good little girl and mind aunt jane," said her father. "children's tiffs are natural," he remarked to his wife. "varina has been the baby so long she cannot tolerate a rival. years ago she crowded charles out of his place." he was not quite sure but the winsome little annis, with her shy sweet ways and ready interest, was the more companionable. yet he must not be disloyal to his own. were they all on her side? annis wondered. and would she need to take sides anywhere? she was very happy and content. louis took her out riding on varina's pony. she demurred at first, but the squire promised to look up a suitable one for her in a day or two. the new wife soon became settled in her agreeable surroundings. she had not an aggressive nature, and the house servants soon learned that her rule was not as severe as miss catharine's, while quite as wise. she really desired to win the affection of her husband's children. neighbors were near enough for pleasant rides and drives. there was much hearty sociability among these virginian people. there had grown up a certain ease and carelessness since the strenuous days of the war. though finances had been troublesome and grave questions, as well as bitter disputes, had come to the forefront of the young republic--in spite of all there had been a certain degree of prosperity on the large estates, where nearly everything was raised and much made for home consumption. georgetown was rather a thriving and fashionable place. bladensburg was quite a summer resort, on account of a mineral spring many thought efficacious for numerous diseases. vessels laden with tobacco still sailed from its wharves down the anacostia. there was the noted dueling-ground also, where proud-spirited men went to satisfy their "honor." around, in many directions, were handsome colonial mansions with picturesque grounds. washington was slowly emerging from the chaos of unfinished streets and buildings, but had not yet outgrown the flings of the envious and disappointed. the capitol shone in its white glory. the president's mansion was imposing and habitable, though, through the administration, it had been graced largely by mrs. madison, the charming wife of the secretary of state, and one of her sisters. when annis bouvier went over with her mother and stepfather to bring home rene, who had tired of the babies and was longing for her pony and the larger liberty, and, perhaps, her disputes with charles and the teasing of louis, as well as the merriment of her sisters, the child stared at the stately row of buildings that quite met her idea of a palace. the long and wide avenues running off into unfinished spaces, the trees already beginning to make a brave show, the handsome dwellings here and there were a fair augury of things to come, and seemed wonderful to her. out in the settlement it had been vaguely speculated upon. was it not a dream? they drove about in some of the most passable streets. people were out for an airing this pleasant afternoon; numbers of men stood in groups in eager discussion, some gesticulating quite as fiercely as grandfather floyd had done. there were pretty young women on horseback, with their attendant cavaliers, laughing and jesting, and a few boys running about. the broad river, with its curves, receiving in its bosom the springs and rivulets and edged with swaying grasses topping into feathery fronds, while multitudes of wild flowers sprinkled the verdure that, from its moisture, still kept the greenness and fresh aspect of spring. "now you can take a good look at everything," said the squire, leaning over to annis. "we hurried through so, and it was nearly dark when we came from baltimore. it is the palace of our republic." annis was to see it under various phases and to spend a night of terror in it, then to watch it arise from the ashes of destruction. but she could always recall this lovely afternoon and the birds flashing hither and thither in flame-color and gold--the maryland yellow-throat, the redbird, with his high cockade and his bold, soldier-like air. child as she was, the beauty of all things touched her deeply, and she hardly heard varina's chatter about what she had done and where she had been, and the spinet at aunt jane's house, "which i do think more refined than a fiddle," declared the little miss disdainfully. "a lady can play on it. of course fiddling is the right thing to dance by, and it seems proper enough for the slaves. and some of the real elegant people come to aunt jane's. your mother hasn't any gown half as pretty as they wear." "no," returned annis, without a touch of envy. "jaqueline is to have some new gowns to go to williamsburg. oh, i just wish i was a big girl and could have fine things! i hate being little! you get sent out of the room when the ladies are talking, and you have to go to bed early, and you can't come to the table when there is company. i am going to try my very best to grow and grow." annis wondered whether she would like being a young lady. jacky was nice, to be sure. jaqueline seemed to enjoy it very much. the new tutor, who was a mr. evans, a young man, was to take charge of the girls' studies, as well as those of charles. patricia quite envied her sister, and declared french was the greatest nuisance that had ever been invented. "you don't invent a language," corrected charles. "it grows by slow degrees and is improved upon and perfected----" "it was just sent upon the world at the tower of babel," interrupted patricia. "after all," laughing--and a laugh always came to end patty's spurts of temper--"it must have been very funny. think of a man asking for--what were they building the tower out of? bricks, wasn't it? and water, and the other man not understanding. and i suppose bread had a dozen new queer names, and everything! what a jabber it was! and that's where the languages came in, master charles," with a note of triumph in her clear, breezy voice. "just wait until you study latin and greek!" "girls don't have to, thank fortune! the french will destroy my constitution, and, unlike the united states, i haven't any by-laws, so i shall be finished out." "there have been some learned women and wonderful queens." "i can't be a queen. i don't want to. think of poor marie antoinette!" and patty shivered. "i _might_ marry someone who would be president, but it is doubtful. no, like jacky, i shall go in for the good time." charles thought there was not much comfort talking to girls, except annis, who listened with attentive eyes, and asked such sensible questions--as if she really wanted to know things. the very first day the boy warmed to his tutor, and mr. evans was quite delighted with this small scholar. but, as the trend of the day was then, he also had no very exalted opinion of girls, and considered their highest honor that at the head of the household. the great trunk in the storeroom that aunt catharine went through religiously once a year, to see that no corrupting influences, such as moth or rust, should gain surreptitious entrance, was to be opened now, and jaqueline's portion of her dead mother's treasures bestowed upon her. aunt catharine had divided them as equally as possible, and done them up in separate parcels for each girl. in her early married life mrs. mason had made a visit to paris, while franklin was still abroad. there had been a sojourn in london as well, and she had brought home enough to last her brief life and to descend to her children. mrs. conway specified which gowns should be refashioned a little for her niece and what of her mother's jewels it would be proper for her to wear. jaqueline would fain have confiscated all. "do as your aunt advises," said her father, with a sound of authority in his tone not to be gainsaid. "she was always a woman of good sense until she took up with those ultra views of religion, and conway. she was so settled in her ways, too, that no one would have dreamed it, either; but there's no telling what a woman will do until she's past doing. and it's natural for them to marry. but catharine could have had her pick in her youth. she held her head mighty high then." there was no little confusion getting the two young people ready. louis brushed up some studies with mr. evans, for his summer had been one of careless fun and good-fellowship with the neighboring young men. still, he was ambitious to stand well and not drop behind his last year's record. then they had to go up and bid grandmother good-by, and there were neighborhood gatherings quite as important as if these young people were going to the unexplored wilds of africa. their departure made a sudden hiatus. with so many people in the house and on the plantation, it did not seem as if two could be so sincerely regretted. every slave, from homer down to the rollicking pickaninnies, bemoaned "mas'r louis"; and mammy phil, who had nursed every one of the "chillens," had a double dose of sorrow, and so many reminiscences that patricia was provoked. "as if there were never any children in the world but louis and jaqueline!" she flung out with some vexation. "mammy, you wouldn't make as much fuss if i was going to be buried." "'fore de lord, chile, dat would break mammy's heart cl'ar in two! you can't 'member how de joy went roun' in all de cabins when young mas'r had a son born to be de heir. why de 'clar' o' peace wan't nuffin to it!" "i shouldn't think i could remember that!" said the girl, with great dignity and a withering accent, "seeing as i was not in the rejoicing. you are getting old and doted, mammy!" the old slave woman wiped her eyes. but to her comfort she had found a delightful listener in little annis, who never wearied of the family legends, and who studied the portraits in the great drawing room with a mysterious sort of awe. there was a cavalier of the times of the first charles, with his slashed doublet, his vandyke collar and cuffs of what had been snowy linen and elegant lace, and his picturesque hat with its long plume: a sharp-featured, handsome face in spite of a certain languid indifference. there was another in a suit of green camlet, richly laced, and the great periwig of close-curled rings. the hand, almost covered with costly lace ruffles, rested lightly on the jeweled hilt of the rapier that hung at his side. there were two plainer men: one suggestive of puritan times; one, round, rosy, quite modern in the half-continental costume, that one would easily guess was the squire in his youth. beside it was mistress mason in her wedding gown of satin trimmed with a perfect cloud of venice point, a stomacher set with precious stones, and a brocaded petticoat. like a soft mist a veil floated about her exquisite shoulders, fastened at the top with a diamond clasp. there was the beauty of the verneys and the carringtons in her face. "that is our own mother," said varina as she was showing annis the ancestors of the house. "she is a great deal handsomer than your mother, and yours has no such fine gowns. this has been laid away, and we shall all wear it as a wedding gown when our turn comes. aunt catharine said once there was a fortune in the lace. has your mother nothing?" "she has a string of pearls and some beautiful rings, but i have never seen any gowns." "and she is not handsome," declared the young miss with a decisive air. "she is beautiful to me, and sweet and kind, and loves me," replied annis with a swelling heart. "well--our mother loved us. it was very cruel in god to take her away. i would a hundred times rather have her than your mother." "i am sorry she is gone. everybody must love her own mother the best." the tone was sweet at the beginning and confident at the end, yet it hardly suited the daughter of the house. "you would not have been here, then," triumphantly. "no. but we should have left the settlement and come to baltimore. i liked it there. and there was a kindly old lady who begged mother to leave me with her, but your father said 'nay' quite sharply. and at first she would not consent to the marriage." there had been some jesting discussion at the carringtons'. annis had not clearly understood it. "but she would have had to. father makes people do his way. he is the master of everything." annis was silent. she did not yet clearly understand the mystery, but she sometimes thought she would be glad to go back to the settlement and have her mother all to herself. something seemed to come between continually. there were numerous cares for the housewife on so large a plantation, with children and servants, visitors and a rather exigent husband. there were many beautiful articles and curiosities in the great drawing room. but annis liked charles better as a guide. they never jarred upon each other, and he had no jealousy. then, he really liked his new mother. varina cared little for books. besides the worn froissart there was a copy of captain john smith's adventures, which were wonderful to both children, and here annis could supply many queries about the indians, who were rapidly disappearing from this vicinity. gentle and quiet as charles was, he had a great desire for adventure, and a soldier's life appeared very heroic to him. but the war of the revolution seemed ages ago to the younger people, though the slaves often gathered about the brushwood fires and related stirring scenes almost as if they had been eyewitnesses. christmas was a great festival. at nearly every plantation there was a gathering of neighbors and friends, and in some houses visits of days, when extra guests were invited to dinner and a dance given for the young people. and though the exchange of gifts had none of the costly features of the present day, there was much real affection and generosity. annis thought it delightful. there was an influx of cousins, with some little girls who were very merry and who found annis quite charming. it had been planned for jaqueline to return, but no reliable acquaintance seemed ready to undertake the journey. truth to tell, jaqueline was tasting the sweets of incipient bellehood, and was quite a prize to the young collegians. his parish duties not being very onerous, the reverend conway added to them a professorship in the college, and the rectory was quite a center of society. what with frequent guests and the care of two small girls, mrs. conway found her hands quite full, and unable to restrict her nieces' pleasures to her own ideas of what was advisable. then, she was glad to have the gay, lively girl, who was ready to sing at anyone's bidding, and had a gracious way with the elders as well as the young. she had often longed for the children of this first motherhood, though she accepted her new duties in a satisfactory manner. chapter iv. a new president. the inaugurations at new york and philadelphia had been marked with a certain degree of pomp and stateliness. the first one in washington had been simple almost to indifference. there had preceded it a bitter campaign, and the federalists kept the peace with a silent dignity that was chilling in the extreme. mr. adams left washington at once. and the city then was in a dismal stage, with few improvements perfected. there was really no accommodation for visitors, and many still believed the capital would be removed. they delighted to call it "the wilderness city," "capital of miserable huts," and "a mudhole almost equal to the great serbonian bog." mrs. abigail adams had not been charmed with the white house nor the city. the great marsh stretched out in a most forbidding and discouraging manner. piles of rubbish and heaps of stone, with unsightly masses of timber, gave the place anything but a homelike aspect. there was no accommodation for the wives of congressmen if they had chosen to come. gay new york and charming philadelphia disdained washington. eight years had changed much of this. true, georgetown was more attractive and growing faster, but streets were beginning to be cleared up, mudholes filled in, walks laid, and handsome houses erected. the wife of the secretary of state, charming dolly madison, had healed many differences, and mrs. madison's drawing room was a favorite resort for senators, ministers, and diplomats. she was often asked to preside at the white house. mrs. randolph, the president's daughter, on her very first visit had been delighted with her, and the two became lifelong friends. her bright and vivacious sister, anna payne, had added no little zest to social life, and her marriage had been quite an event in the slowly growing city. the van ness mansion was also the scene of much gayety. old virginia belles came up for a few weeks, and there were balls and parties at georgetown, and no end of tea drinkings. the young women found plenty of cavaliers, and when riding was possible gay parties sallied out, stopping at some country inn for midday refreshments. and though there were many grave questions pending, this promised to be a day of unwonted satisfaction. for the first time great preparations were made. washington and georgetown people invited friends, as in those days people were given to hospitality. mrs. jettson had kept her sister marian a large part of the winter, much to dolly's discomfiture, but mr. floyd had sent for marian and refused them both the anticipated pleasure of the inauguration. jaqueline had come home an undeniable young lady, with her hair done high on her head and sundry touches in her attire that made her very attractive and coquettish. there was great rejoicing, from least to greatest, much envying on patricia's part, much delight on varina's and charles', and a pretty, shy, winsome admiration from annis. there was of course the duty visit to the pineries. then jaqueline came down to her aunt jane's. "i'd planned such a delightful time!" declared mrs. jettson, between satisfaction and vexation. "there is to be a gay season, with balls and parties and dinners. and, really, the young men are getting to be quite factors in society. i wanted both the girls and you; and, jaqueline, you've grown monstrously pretty, and your manners have improved so much that you might be fresh from london or paris. there have been so many fine people here the last two or three years, and building is going on at a rapid rate. philadelphia and new york will not be able to look down on us much longer. i meant to give you young people a dance and supper, and father won't let the girls come. marian was mad as a hornet, and poor dolly stamped around. father grows queerer about them. but _i_ wanted the company as well. i'm not an old woman, if i have two babies. and i'm quite sure it will be a success if you will come." "of course i shall be delighted. why, it's just charming!" and the pretty face was alight with smiles. "i shall ask all the folks up for the grand event. you see, brother randolph is a true madison man. and, do you know, i like your new mother wonderfully. she is quite like an elder sister, and you'll have a fine time. you'll be just spoiled," laughingly. "but you're not to call me aunt jane any more. i won't have it from a tall girl like you, who will no doubt be married herself next winter. how many disconsolates did you leave at williamsburg?" "none, i think, so deeply smitten but that a course of greek and latin will restore them. i did have a splendid time, though aunt catharine would persist in considering me about twelve. it was positively funny. but i had louis to manage for me. oh, jane, i'm awfully sorry about the girls! they cried with disappointment. and they did not know about the party!" "no, i hadn't the cruelty to speak of that. but i'll whisper to you, jaqueline, and you must not breathe it. somebody here has taken a tremendous fancy to marian. he is well connected, a young civil engineer, and a militia lieutenant; but we are afraid father will blaze out and perhaps refuse to listen. he has quite set his heart on marian marrying their next neighbor, that mr. greaves who lost his wife last summer and has no one to look after his four children but the slave mammy. and marian just hates him. the idea! oh, jaqueline, it is just comforting to have someone to talk to, a young person that you can say anything to!" "marian told me. of course there is the fine estate and the slaves. i do suppose old people think a great deal of that," and there was a touch of regretful wisdom that sat oddly upon the young girl. "and four children! i wouldn't want 'em." "a young girl has no business with another woman's children. i want you to see this young man. and i want to get your father interested. i think after a little i'll bring it about." "mr. greaves doesn't seem very"--jaqueline knit her pretty brows, thinking of the fervent tones and impassioned glances that had marked her victorious sway--"very deeply smitten. he and grandfather talked politics and war all the evening." "but he means business. he has asked for her. he thinks it only respectful to wait a year before beginning his new addresses. so we have until july." "i wouldn't marry him," declared jaqueline with much vigor. "i dare say your father will be easy enough about lovers if they are of the right kind. don't be in a hurry. have a good time first. you are so young." mrs. jettson had insisted upon taking in the whole family, and they came the evening before, being comfortably stowed away, although some of mrs. mason's relatives who had lately come to washington insisted upon sharing the honors. annis and charles had been much interested, and questioned mr. evans in every conceivable manner as to what it was for, and why america did not have a king or an emperor. patricia was bubbling over with delight. fortunately the day was fair, and everything seemed auspicious. salutes of cannon were fired from the navy yard at dawn, and responded to from fort warburton. the militia from alexandria and georgetown, in fine array, marched into the city to escort the new president to the capitol. thousands of people gathered along the way, and there was a great hurrahing, emphasized by the waving of hats and handkerchiefs. mr. mason and his wife and the two younger children were in a carriage, while the two girls went with mr. and mrs. jettson. annis looked out curiously at the scene. there was the tall form of mr. jefferson, quite in contrast with the smaller one of his friend, who bore himself with becoming dignity. at twelve mr. madison reverently took the oath of office and made his inaugural address, when the cheers and enthusiasm became deafening. it was the first really grand ceremony of the kind that washington had witnessed. and now the new president reviewed the array of soldiers, and eager interest marked every step. it was indeed a gala day. many people were driving around in their carriages, enjoying the sunshine and the crowd. then the president, with most of the officers and senators, returned to his home, where mrs. madison had prepared tables of refreshments for all who chose to call and pay their respects to the new magistrate. a fine young fellow in continental uniform paused at the carriage of the jettsons, and greeted them cordially. "this is something like," he said. "simplicity may be very good in its way, when one cannot help himself, but the nation ought to honor its ruler. i am proud to be in it." mrs. jettson turned and introduced mr. ralston to the girls, who smilingly acknowledged his presence. "then you could not persuade miss floyd?" and he glanced up wistfully. "father is not quite in accord with the administration, and he would not consent to her return." "i am desperately sorry. i managed at the eleventh hour, which was early this morning, to get a ticket to the ball. some dear friends of mine would have been delighted to chaperone miss floyd, if she could have consented to so short a notice. and there will be so many festivities!" "i regret it deeply," returned mrs. jettson. "what a shame!" she said to her husband when mr. ralston had left them. "at long's there could be only a given number accommodated. and to have missed such a fine array of people! i should like to be there myself." the ball was considered quite a sumptuous affair. a host of beautiful women in their most elegant attire, military men who had not laid aside their trappings "in the piping times of peace," and the brilliant uniforms of the different legations, made a picture quite worthy of the young capital. mrs. madison, in her robe of yellow velvet, her paris turban with its bird-of-paradise plume, her neck and arms adorned with pearls, dispensed her smiles and greetings with the wonderful tact and sweetness which were never to desert her; jest and repartee ran round the circle; and mr. jefferson shone in his genial cordiality. someone remarked upon his gayety, and the gravity of the new incumbent. "can you wonder at it?" he asked. "my shoulders have just been freed from a burden of cares; he is just beginning to assume them." yet he gave his friend a glance of sympathy and tenderness that indicated a continuance of the lifelong friendship. some glowing accounts of the ball found their way to different papers, and it seemed as if washington was suddenly looming into conspicuousness. the children were tired with the day's pleasures and ready to go bed. but the next morning they were eager to inspect the capitol. mrs. adams' plaint about it still held good in many respects. the wings alone had a finished aspect. there were the senate chamber and house of representatives, the nuclei of many things to come. but to charles and annis, who looked at it through the romantic eyes of childhood, enlarged by their rather narrow reading, it was grand. the two elder girls were more interested in jane's party. there were some of the younger representatives, not averse to dancing with pretty girls and having a merry time while they were off duty. if philadelphia and new york rather disdained the social pleasures of the newer city, it was a great favorite with the more southern states; and virginia did all honor to her fine line of presidents. for, after all, the provincialism was not so marked. there were people who dared the voyage to europe with as much complacency as the steam traveler of to-day, and who studied the best europe had to offer. young men were sent abroad for education; not a few young women had a year or two of finishing abroad. there were noted foreigners, too, who left an impress on society: albert gallatin and his charming wife, the learned swiss scholar and the american girl who had grafted some delightful foreign ways on a very thorough foundation of patriotic culture. mrs. monroe was a famous new york beauty who had lost her heart to virginia, and the vice president was from the northern state that was slowly accepting the new city. there were foreign ministers and their wives who accepted the republican methods and the dignified simplicity, if it did lack the stately elements of the courts abroad. mr. arthur jettson was one of the enthusiasts, and already saw great possibilities for the infant city. on the staff of engineers and largely interested in building, he laid the plans of the future before new acquaintances and had the good fortune to interest many. old david burns had already made a great fortune in shrewd land speculations. and although the presidential mansion was toward the eastward, there were many who argued that the trend would be more westward. there was georgetown, a really thriving place, whose gravity did not depend on congress in session. he had already persuaded mr. mason to make some investments, though the elder man shook his head rather ruefully at the unpromising aspect as they drove around. jaqueline and patricia were much more interested in the invitations to the party. but the day after the inauguration lieutenant ralston came in, though now in citizen's attire, with an eager manner and sparkling eyes. "i wonder if you could be induced to take the young ladies to a reception to-morrow evening?" he inquired. "it will be rather informal and a crush, to be sure, but they will be able to see both presidents, though not the white house. that will come later on. next week the madisons will no doubt be domiciled there. if you would prefer waiting----" "oh, no!" replied mrs. jettson. "the crowd will be well worth seeing. i do not despise crowds," laughingly. "did you go to the ball?" "yes, with some brother officers, and wishing all the while your sister could have been there. it was an elegant scene, i assure you. i am proud of the beauty of my countrywomen. mrs. madison has been accustomed to honors, to be sure, but this was in a new rôle, as chief lady in her own right. and she graced the occasion. she is charming. we shall have a brilliant administration in spite of the perplexities. well--you will go, then?" "we cannot afford to miss it. mr. mason talks of returning in a day or two." "i have hardly seen the young ladies. can you not lay an embargo on them?" "i shall try, for my own sake," she returned laughingly. "thanks for your trouble." "it is a pleasure to me." the party had gone out for views of washington and an inspection of the capitol. when they returned jaqueline ran up to jane's room, her face beaming with interest, since she had been introduced to several representatives. mrs. jettson looked up from a pile of finery. "you suggest a hollyhock in brilliant array," said jaqueline mirthfully. "are you going to hold an auction?" jane gave a half-amused sigh. "you have had an invitation out, and there is very little time to prepare. i am trying to think what can be altered. there is my pink paduasoy with the race ruffles. i cannot get into the waist any more, but you are so slim. just try it on. anything will do for a child like patty." "but where to in such fine feather?" "to the madisons'. not a regular levee--something much more informal. lieutenant ralston has it in hand. i have my new brocade and the embroidered petticoat. we can take this gown over to mrs. walker's, and coax her to make it more youthful. i haven't worn it since floyd was a baby." jaqueline hurried off her woolen frock and slipped into the pretty silken garment. the skirt answered, but the bodice needed considerable alteration. "and i thought i was slim; jack, you have an elegant figure. now we must go at once to mrs. walker's, or it may be too late. it's just down pennsylvania avenue. scipio will take it for us, and we will go over and do the marketing. you will like the pink, won't you? it's very becoming." "oh, how good you are! yes, i just adore it. do you really mean me to have it? how can i thank you?" jaqueline patted and caressed it with her soft fingers. "i did mean it for dolly, but father is so queer about things--and gowns. he and mother keep in the same little round, with the same friends, and think that it is all-sufficient for the girls. and i'm so afraid marian will give in to the constant dropping that is said to wear away the stone. jacky dear," in an almost plaintive tone, "won't you be--that is--i mean--i can't think just how to put it--only you won't try to win away lieutenant ralston, will you, dear? i've set my heart on his making a match with marian. _you're_ so pretty and coquettish!" the color came and went in mrs. jettson's face, and her voice dropped to a pleading cadence. "why, no! but what has he to do with----" "oh, he brought the invitation! he knows just how to bring about everything. and the ralstons are delightful people--well-to-do and all that. marian would be so happy! it is a shame she isn't here. but we must not dawdle. get into your coat and hat again." scipio, the butler and upper servant, came with his best bow and put the parcel carefully into the big basket, covering the delicate stuff with a napkin. then he trotted along behind the two ladies, looking as if weighty matters devolved upon him. mrs. walker kept three rooms upstairs. in the front one she displayed her goods: silks, velvets and laces, flowers and feathers. she had laid in a new and extensive stock. two or three women were chaffering. but mrs. walker left them presently, and when she heard the errand summoned them into the adjoining room. jaqueline hated to leave the beautiful show on which her eyes had feasted. and though women were fond enough of gay attire shipped from london and paris, and belgium frippery and laces when they could get them, they were beginning to think it was not always necessary to send to philadelphia or to new york. and to her stock of materials mrs. walker had added a workroom, not so much for the making of garments as the altering and refurbishing of party gowns, caps, and turbans. jaqueline was put in the pink gown again, and when mrs. walker looked her over she decided upon the sort of bodice there must be for a young girl, and promised to have it done the next afternoon. scipio would come for it. center market was the only place of account to household purveyors. they went thither followed by the slave, meeting other ladies with an obsequious attendant. marketing was one of the duties of a good housewife. some had come in their carriages. there was an exchange of friendliness, as is often the case in the infancy of towns, and some bits of family gossip, some references to the ball at long's hotel. all the others had come in when they returned. charles had his brain full of marvels. varina was tired and cross. "i shall have to send you back home," declared her father. "indeed, perhaps we had all better go to-morrow. we are to take supper to-night with the carringtons, over at georgetown. jaqueline and patty, you must go with us--that was madam carrington's orders. she has not seen you in a long while." annis crept around to her mother and took her hand, looking up wistfully. it seemed as if everyone wanted her mother. "no, you can't go to-morrow," said mrs. jettson. "at least, the girls cannot. they have a state invitation, and i have been to get a proper gown for jaqueline," and she laughed mischievously. "jane!" said the squire sharply; "what nonsense! jaqueline has gowns and frocks and fal-lals enough. you will make her vainer than a peacock. what is this invitation, pray?" "to pay our respects to mr. and mrs. madison. dear me, randolph, think how father would rail at such republican crowds as have haunted the place to see plain mr. president! they are to move to the white house early next week, when mr. jefferson goes to monticello; and then, no doubt, there will be more state. but the madisons have always kept such an open, hospitable house, and welcomed guests so charmingly." "jane, you are getting to be an astute politician. no doubt arthur has his eye on some street or creek or stream for improvement, and is engineering a grant through the house. not but what washington needs it badly enough. there's muddy old tiber, and lanes full of pitfalls, and last year's weeds like battalions of an army. well, i must not grumble, for i have a finger in the pie. virginia avenue, for all its high-sounding name, is a disgrace to the state standing sponsor for it; and i am quite sure my money is buried in bogs. so you and arthur try your best with the new administration. i'm too old a dog to be apt at new tricks." "but it isn't arthur's doings. lieutenant ralston is to convoy us thither," returned jane. "well, go and get ready, girls. we will start soon after dinner and return early. lucky the fandango wasn't to-night, or the brave lieutenant would have to content himself with jane." annis kept close to her mother. after dinner she followed her to her dressing room. "i suppose, mamma, i couldn't go with you?" she asked wistfully, as her mother was making great puffs out of her abundant hair. "my dear--there will be all grown people, and nothing to interest a little girl," was the soft reply. "but i don't mind interest. i could sit very still and watch the rest of you. i----" the child's voice faltered. her mother bent over and kissed her, endangering the structure of hair she was piling up. "oh, my dear, to-morrow perhaps we will go home and you will have me altogether. it will be only a little while. you see, people do not ask little girls out to tea." "but you always took me before. oh, mamma, i can't like all these people, there are too many of them! i do not want anyone but you." the child clung convulsively to her mother. patricia mason's heart was torn between the two loves. for each day she was learning to love her generous, large-hearted husband with a deeper affection, and taking a warmer interest in the children. the hurt and jealous feeling of annis was very natural; she could hardly blame her little daughter. indeed, it would have pained her sorely if the child had been easily won away. yet scenes like this smote the very depths of her soul. as annis grew older she would understand that nothing could change a mother's love, though circumstances might appear to divide it. patricia kissed her tenderly, unclasped her arms, and went on with her preparations. the slow tears coursed each other down the soft cheek in the grave quiet harder to bear than sobs. "patty! patty!" called the good-humored voice up the stairs, "don't prink all the afternoon, or you will outshine your old husband and put him out of temper. girls, come! the horses are tired of waiting." a quick footfall sounded on the stair, and jaqueline's voice was heard laughing gayly. then patty the younger, peered into the room. "oh, i thought i was the last! can i do anything for you? here is your cloak. we are not in summer yet. it really is warmer at home; but i'm glad to be here, all the same. why, madam mother, you look so pretty and young father will have to introduce us as sisters--the three graces. here are your gloves. good-by, little annis. charles will look after you." mrs. mason kissed her little girl. "will you not come downstairs?" she whispered. annis shook her head. she heard the merry voices, and presently the sound of the wheels. then she leaned her head down on a chair, and felt more solitary than in the kentucky forests. chapter v. roger carrington. "wasn't it queer that lieutenant ralston should happen in!" exclaimed jaqueline at the breakfast table. "we were just going in to supper, and madam carrington would have him join us. she is a charming old lady, and mrs. carrington, the daughter-in-law, is bright and entertaining. they're some way back connections of our own mother's, of both mothers," with a bright blush, nodding over at patricia. "and there are two sons, fine young men--one is private secretary to colonel monroe. we shall see him to-night. only what do you think? he advises us to wait until mrs. madison is in the white house. and mr. ralston said, see her in her own house." "jack," said her father, using the detested cognomen, "your tongue is hung in the middle and swings both ways. jane, mrs. carrington sent her regards to you, and would like very much to meet you, since both of her grandsons are acquainted with arthur. the relationship seems to puzzle most people, and they take you for my daughter. do i really look old enough for a grandfather?" mrs. jettson laughed at that. it was rather confusing at times. "and they begged us to come over and make a visit. both ladies are so fond of girls. madam carrington said they tried to keep someone with them all the time. and, annis, they were so much interested in hearing about you, and wished you had been brought along." annis raised her eyes to her mother with a soft reproach in them. "but i am the oldest," said varina with jealous dignity. "when next i go out to supper i shall have to take a caravan," declared mr. mason humorously. "jane, _do_ you think you can manage these girls for a few days and keep them out of the clutches of the young men? you will have your hands full. but i am needed at home, and i feel that we must go. so after breakfast we will gather up the small fry. charles, have you seen enough of washington?" "not half enough, but i'll come back some time. and i think i'll be a senator." "what--not president!" "i should have to be vice president first," he returned gravely, at which they all laughed. "i do not see why you should hurry!" exclaimed jane. "the house is large enough for you all." "there's a storm brewing, for one thing, and it's a busy season. then we do not desire to drive you into insanity." "my brains are on a more solid foundation than that would imply," retorted jane. there was quite a confusion when they rose. the squire was always in a hurry when any arrangement was settled upon. and since jane was like an elder sister to the girls---- "you will have to keep them over to next week," he began. "i shall not be able to get away before--well, the very last. you might let them spend a day or two with the carringtons." "oh, we shall get along all right, never fear!" "they're only children, you know," and the squire knit his brow over a phase of fatherhood he could not make plain to himself, much less explain to another. "i had an idea catharine would sober jaqueline down a little, being a clergyman's wife and all that, but she's just as much of a child as ever." "oh, you need not feel worried about jaqueline. and it will be very nice for them both to see the president and mr. jefferson, who is sure to be there. everybody is rushing to do them honor. i wish you could stay." "i've seen them both many a time, jane, and every other president. your father is right in one thing, washington _was_ a grand man. there--do not let the girls run wild." annis scarcely let her mother out of her sight. mrs. jettson kissed her and said she was a nice little thing and must come again. charles was enthusiastic over his good time, and had much to talk about on the homeward journey. "you have used your eyes to some purpose," said his mother with smiling commendation. mr. evans thought so, as well. he was very proud of his pupil. annis enjoyed the great world out of doors more than she did her lessons. when they were over she and charles rambled about the beautiful country-sides, gathering armfuls of flowers, listening to the singing birds that filled the woods. the whole plantation was astir with life. corn and tobacco, wheat and oats, were the great staples, but there was much besides in fruit and vegetables, in flocks and herds. slaves were busy from morning to night; it seemed as if the place was dotted with them. randolph mason was an easy master. mrs. mason found the care of so large a household no light thing. it was truly a colony of people depending upon them for advice and training of all sorts, for comfort in sorrow or death, for a willing ear in all troubles. it was a full fortnight before mr. mason could find time to go for his girls. jaqueline had sipped pleasure continually. the reception had indeed been a crush and an informal affair, a mere calling upon the head of the nation in a congratulatory way. yet there were beautifully gowned women, and famous men, and mrs. madison was cordial and affable. in the dining room the table was replenished continually, and the smiling waiters seemed at everyone's elbow. after that mr. jefferson had gone to his beloved monticello, although there was no wife to welcome him, and only one daughter now. and the new president was established at the white house. first there was a state dinner to the ministers and the official family, and then a levee. jaqueline and patricia were surprised by a call from mrs. carrington, who had driven over with her son to give her invitation in person and take them back with her to georgetown. a quaint old house full of nooks and corners, and a garden laid out with curious winding walks, full of old-fashioned flowers and shrubs, some having been brought from the royal gardens of paris, and one queer space with clipped yews and a great tulip bed, so sheltered from the wind and with such a sunny exposure that it was showing color in the buds already. patricia, with her girlish eagerness, went to the heart of madam at once. she was so frank and chatty, and laughed with such an inspiriting sound, that it gave the quiet house ripples of gayety. jaqueline and mrs. carrington fraternized in a delightful manner. she was a rather small, fair woman, whose education abroad and whose family had been her chief virtues in the eyes of her mother-in-law, who was a great stickler for birth. she had made a good wife and mother, though it must be confessed that when madam carrington lost her son she took complete possession of her grandsons. in spite of strong patriotism roger had been sent to oxford for three years, and had taken his degree at law in baltimore. ralph was quite a bookworm, but extremely fond of agriculture. the longing of both women had been for a daughter. though they seldom compared notes on the subject, roger's wife was a matter of much speculation to them. early marriages were the rule rather than the exception; and though they were ready to invite relatives and friends for visits and select admirable girls, roger was single at twenty-four, an admirer of the sex and quite fond of pleasure, and ever ready to make himself agreeable. squire mason had insisted that his girls were but children, but jaqueline was assuming the graces of womanhood rapidly. mrs. carrington admired her slim, lithe figure, her pretty face with its fine complexion and laughing eyes that often twinkled from an overflow of mirth. there was in the young people of that day a very charming deference to elders, and with all jaqueline's wildness and love of fun there was the innate touch of good breeding, the debt it was considered one positively owed to society. mr. ralph had gathered quite a menagerie of small pet animals; and, as no one was allowed to disturb the birds, the garden and strip of woods still remaining were filled with their melody. there was a summerhouse that, while it looked light and was overrun with blossoming vines, was secure from rain and had one furnished room which was a great favorite with the young man. the little eminence gave a fine view of rock creek and the wilder country to the northward. when improvements begin, as is often the case, an estate not large enough for a farm becomes unprofitable. the town was growing rapidly; indeed, it had been a refuge when the first congress met in washington, as there were so few houses in the capital. the patrician resort, where men of note had mingled and discussed the interests of the country over their choice madeira and before the blazing fire of their host, was suter's tavern, which kept its old reputation, being one of the historic places while history was yet so new. and the convent of the visitation was still a favorite with those who did not want to send their daughters away from home, or were of the same faith. maryland had been settled largely by roman catholics, and virginia was the first state to insist on equal rights for all denominations, while her people were generally stanch churchmen. there was a cordial, attractive, and refined element in georgetown, and much gayety among the young people. it was quite a common thing for foreigners to sneer at the lack of courtly usage in the colonies, and the want of fine distinctions one found in foreign life, which were the outgrowth of years of training and experience, and where common people were held in awe by the "divinity that doth hedge a king." but the men who had fought side by side, slept on the ground, endured all kinds of hardships for the sake of a free country, were imbued with that sense of equality quite different from the mushroom adjustment of the french revolution. there was a more generous culture of the soul, and much more intelligence than the period is credited with. when one looks back at the long line of statesmen, all more or less identified with the great struggle and the pioneer mode of life, one finds a galaxy of noble men that few lands can equal, and who built an enduring name for themselves in building their country. many of the young people had been educated abroad, but harvard, king's college, nassau hall, and william and mary were even now taking a high stand in educational matters. and both boston and philadelphia had some finishing schools, while the moravian seminary was already quite celebrated for the repose and refinement of manner young girls acquired within its nun-like seclusion. but the ideal training of women had not gone far beyond what was considered the strictly feminine boundary: to be graceful and attractive, with a certain freshness of repartee, to dance well, to entertain, and to order a household. for in the higher circles one might have to receive a count or a traveling lord or a french marquis, or be sent abroad as the wife of some minister. georgetown had the advantage of more stability than washington, and had grown up around home centers. representatives came and went, often not considering it worth while to bring their families. senators were still largely interested in the welfare of their own states, rather than that of the distant capital. thus it came to pass that georgetown was really attractive and rapidly improving. streets had a more finished look. gardens were large and well kept, as there was no need of crowding. the carrington young men had seen the progress of advancement and yielded to it with a sense of foresight. the outlying land had been cut up into squares--some places sold, some rented. roger had many excellent business traits. enough was left for beauty and a boundary of fine forest trees on two sides, a third a prettily diversified space sloping down to the creek, the other commanding a fine view of the town. "you ride, of course?" roger had said the next morning after their arrival. "what virginia girl does not?" jaqueline returned with a gay smile. "it bids fair to be a pleasant, sunny day, mother. what is that despondent song you sing so much? "'many a bright and sunshiny morning turns dismal'-- and he paused---- "'turns to be a dark and dismal day.' "well, don't sing it to-day, and i will come home early if i can get away, and take miss jaqueline out. ralph, you might invite patricia. we will go up the creek road. the birds are out in force already; the shore larks and the thrush are making melody that would rejoice the heart of robin hood." "but--i have no habit," replied jaqueline, her bright face shadowed with disappointment. "oh, mother can look you up something. we have attire that came over with my lord de la ware's ships. why shouldn't we be as proud as of old _mayflower_ tables and cups and cloaks that the new englanders dote on?" "i can find something, i am sure," was the motherly reply. "come out and take a breath of this delicious air." that was meant for jaqueline, who followed the young man out on the porch, down the steps, and then they loitered through the garden walk. the old white-haired gardener was clearing up the garden beds. "mornin', massa and young missy," he said, with a touch of his hand to his head, that looked like a wig of crinkly wool. roger paused and gave some orders. then he gathered a few wild violets and gave them to the girl with a graceful gesture. his mother was watching. "if he only would come to care for someone!" she mused. he was a general admirer of the sex, as the young men of that day were wont to be. "and the masons are a fine family. i would like nothing better." how many times she had given anticipatory consent! jaqueline sent him off with a pretty smile that he forgot all about when ajax whinnied and thrust his nose into his master's hand. he had been waiting the last fifteen minutes for the well-known voice. "fine old fellow!" his master said, with a caressing touch of the hand. "and now we must be off, or the colonel will be in a fume." "i'll go up in the storeroom," began mrs. carrington, glancing the young girl over. "mother, i do believe that green velvet jacket would fit miss jaqueline. you wouldn't believe that i was once quite as slim as you?" to the young girl. "i'm sure you're not to be called stout now," said the madam, who despised a superabundance of flesh and yet hated leanness. she was a fine, perfectly proportioned woman, straight as an arrow, in spite of her more than seventy years. "but it always was tight in the shoulders. you see, my dear, when things are ordered abroad there's not an inch to alter them with--and then i went in mourning. would you like to come upstairs with me?" patricia had gone off to look at the guineas and peacocks who had stoutly insisted upon early broods. madam had gone over to the open window with some fine needlework. jaqueline followed her hostess up the broad stairway, through the spacious hall lighted by the cupola above, and into an ell where the main storeroom was snugly hidden. what big old chests, with brass and iron clamps and binding and hinges! a row of deep drawers that held the best family linen and napery, some of it saved from destruction thirty years ago in the war that was already half forgotten. there was a sweet scent about the room, made by bunches of lavender, rosemary, and a sweet clover, much cultivated in gardens, and the fragrance of dried rose leaves. "there have been so many things laid by. we hoped there would be girls to take them," and mrs. carrington gave a soft sigh. "what a merry household you must be! there are younger girls----" "yes, varina, our own sister, and annis, mother's little girl." "i am much interested in your new mother. she seems a very kindly, amiable person. back some distance she was connected with the carringtons, you know." "and she was our own mother's cousin. oh, we are all in love with her, i assure you. and it is quite delightful for father to have someone to consider him first of all. it's funny what marriage does to a woman," and jaqueline gave a light laugh. "i suppose we _did_ try aunt catharine, but she used to nag at father until sometimes he would lose his temper. and now she is always quoting and admiring mr. conway, and runs around after him as if he was a child. i am sure father is much more delightful to live with, he is so merry and full of fun. not but what mr. conway is a gentleman and kind of heart." "but your aunt was no longer a young girl." "and falling in love is a queer happening. love is writ blind," and jaqueline laughed daintily. "the little girl of your mother's?--i was sorry not to see her. is she like her mother?" "she is a shy, dainty little thing, with a sweet temper and a kind of homesick way now and then, as if she longed to fly away somewhere with her mother. of course we all like her, and father has taken her to his heart. charles thinks her a nonesuch, since she is never weary of hearing him read aloud. and though charles is the youngest, varina has always been the baby, and i think she is jealous. it is very amusing at times." "i am glad you get along so well together. it must be a great pleasure to your father to have a companion of his very own. and you girls will presently marry." "i mean to have a good, merry time first. what a pity the winter is gone just as we have a new president! congress will soon be adjourned, and jane says washington is dismal in the summer." she opened a box, where the garment had lain many a year, being taken out at the annual cleaning, brushed carefully, and laid away again. it had a high collar and lapels worked with veritable gold thread that had not tarnished. "yes--many people do go away. the town has not improved as we all hoped it would. but there is an old adage that rome was not built in a day. and we are a comparatively new country. oh, here is the jacket!" "oh, how lovely!" cried jaqueline. "the buttons want rubbing up. we will take it to betty, who can tell if it needs altering. i keep the sleeves stuffed out with cotton so it will not wrinkle or mat. a london tailor made it, yet it looks fresh as if it had just been sent over." they found betty, who was supervising some of the sewing girls. most of the ordinary wearing clothes of the family and the servants' belongings were made in the house. there was fine mending and darning, and much drawn work done by some of the better-class house slaves. jaqueline tried on the pretty jacket, and there was not much alteration to be made in it. the young girl felt curiously gratified as she studied her slim figure in the mirror. she had never owned anything so fine, and certainly it was most becoming. "then, betty, alter the band of my black cloth skirt. that is the best we can do just now." "oh, you are most kind!" and jaqueline took both hands in a warm clasp, while the glancing eyes were suffused with delight. "and now if you both like we will go out for an airing, as i have some errands to do." jaqueline was ready for any diversion. ralph proposed to drive them, as he had a little business to attend to. there were several attractive shops in georgetown, and the hairdressing seemed to be brisk, judging from numerous signs. in one window were wigs of various colors from fair to dark. indeed, there had been a great era of wigs for both men and women, and especially among the fair sex, who thought even two wigs much cheaper than the continual bills of the hairdresser, when they were crisped into curls, pinned up in puffs, and a great crown laid on top of the head, built up in the artifices known to fashion, to be surmounted by feathers. the wide hoop was diminishing as well, and graceful figures were likely to be once more the style. the dinner-hour in most society families was at two, and at the carringtons' it was quite a stately meal, with often an unexpected guest, made just as welcome as if by invitation. and to-day a mr. and mrs. hudson had driven up from alexandria--old friends who had many things to inquire about after a winter of seclusion, and most eager to learn how the new president had been received, and whether there would really be war. no one was in a hurry. people truly lived then. patricia thought it rather stupid, as no one referred to her with any question or comment; even mr. ralph, who had proved so entertaining all the morning, scarcely noticed her, as he had to play the host. but jaqueline quite shone. when mrs. hudson heard she had been at the reception, she must describe not only the ladies and their gowns, but whether mr. jefferson was as ready to lay down the cares of state as most people said, and if mrs. madison had not aged by the continual demands that had been made upon her. "for she is coming quite to middle life," said mrs. hudson. "and could discount fully ten years," returned ralph. "they all paint and powder, i have heard. so much dissipation cannot be good for women. but, then, she has no children to look after. her son is at school. it does make a difference if one brings up half a dozen children and has to think of getting them settled in life." she had had her share, good mistress hudson. three daughters to marry, which she had done well; one son to bury; one rambling off, whether dead or alive no one knew; and one still left, a prop for declining years, but his mother was as anxious to keep him single as mrs. carrington was that her sons should marry. they had risen from the table, and the horses had been ordered when mr. carrington came in. he saw how jaqueline's face lighted up. "the days are a little longer, and we will have our ride yet," he said in a whispered aside. but there was still some talking to do. jaqueline made her adieus and went to put on her habit. standing in the hall above, she waited until patience was a lost virtue. then roger carrington called to her. "i thought they would never go, they prosed and prosed so!" "we shall be old ourselves some day," he returned with a smile, "and perhaps prose while young people are waiting." then he turned her around with gentlemanly grace, admiration in his eyes. "is it the jackdaw that appears in borrowed plumes--some bird i have heard tell of. why birds should borrow plumes--i am shamefully ignorant, am i not?" raising her eyes with a spice of mischief. "let us go and ask ralph," he said with assumed gravity. "it will not take him long to run through two or three tomes." "and ride by moonlight?" "there is no moon." "does she not look well, roger? a tailor could not have fitted the habit better. do not go very far, for the air might grow chilly again." "we will go up the creek a short distance." then he mounted her upon the pretty mare, his brother's favorite, for ralph had not cared to ride. patricia looked on a little disappointed, yet she did not really wish to go, for madam carrington had been telling her a curious love story about a little maid who had been sent over with a number of redemptioners, as those who were bound for a number of years were called. she had attracted the pity of a kindly man, who had purchased her years of service for his wife. then the son had fallen in love with her, which had roused the mother's anger, when she sent her son to england to be educated and perhaps fall in love with a cousin. the little maid was rather hardly treated, when someone came to the colony in search of her, and it turned out that she was well born and heiress to a grand estate, held by a relative who had formed a villainous plot against her and reported her dead. now that he was dying without heirs, he was desirous of making tardy reparation. there were few story books to fall into girls' hands in those days. swift and sterne and smollett were kept out of reach. miss burney was hardly considered proper, and miss austen had not been heard of in the colonies. patricia was fond of old legends and ghost stories, with which the plantation was rife, and which had grown up about old houses. unhappy lovers had a weird, fascinating interest for young girls, even if the lives of the day were the reverse of sentimental. all through the dinner she had been wondering if the little maid met her lover again; but that she came back to america, she knew, for her portrait hung in the hall among the carrington ladies. ajax and daphne rubbed noses, flung up their heads, and started off. tame enough now is the winding creek, which was rough and rapid then, and which traveled from the upper edge of maryland, gathering in many a little stream, rushing along in some places over great stones, winding about placidly in others, and then joining the potomac. chapter vi. a touch of nature. there had been a breath of spring in the air for a day or two, and all nature welcomed the softness, with the numerous sounds of awakening life. wild bees were out foraging. the catkins of the alders had swelled to bursting, the maples were showing red, tufts of grass were assuming the peculiar hazy, suggestive green through the furzy deadness of winter, while here and there a field of grain displayed the brilliance of a velvet carpet. the trees had that dreamy purplish tint of springtime, and waved their leafless branches with wooing softness. the road ran alongside of the brook and was in fair order for the time of the year. now and then some bird flung out a note of rejoicing. they went by degrees down a valley until they struck a wild gorge with overhanging rocks, where a multitude of crows were holding council, and suddenly wheeled off, making a dark shadow over the path. "a month later it will be beautiful," roger carrington said. "but i suppose you have a surfeit over the potomac?" nodding his head to the southward. "or perhaps you would have liked it better about georgetown. i fancied my mother had shown you everything worth seeing. few people know how fine the road is up this way." he looked a little doubtfully at his companion. perhaps she was too young to appreciate it. "i have never been this way before. we were out on the potomac last summer when we were visiting my sister, the first time we came to washington. regulation philosophy considers home the best place for children," and she smiled archly. "i like large families. you can't think how your father interested us in the description of you all. how many are there?" "five of us and the sister of adoption." "mrs. mason quite charmed us. she has had a rather eventful life. there is a brother----" "we begin and end with boys. charles would delight your brother ralph. louis is in college. he has some aspirations for the law or political life, but his present desire runs the way of pleasure and fun. the college boys are quite adepts at mischief." "you were down there?" "my aunt married and went to williamsburg, you know. and uncle conway is connected with the college. yes, i had a good, gay time. and i like--fun." she looked it, with the sparkle in her eye and the changing color on her cheek. she was very pretty, but an eager child. "and if we had some girls to make merry! real girls, i mean, like patty, who is charming to have about. suppose we keep her for the next year or two?" "you will have to settle that with patty and father. and patty has a way of breaking out of bounds that might startle you. she is on her best behavior now." "and we cannot always keep up to the mark--is that what you mean me to infer?" "i couldn't, i am sure, if the mark was set high," and she laughed. "it is, up to grandmamma's. and dolly, who really is my aunt, you know, is not much older than i am. we have royal times when she comes to the plantation. but grandpapa is very strict and of the old--there's a french word i ought to use," and she blushed. "my french will not always come to the front; and so, you see, i cannot put on grand airs." carrington laughed. her frankness was so piquant. "_régime_--that i think is the word you want." "yes. a man who believes we have had no manners since the days of washington and mr. john adams. oh, do you truly think the country will go to ruin and split up into fragments?" "no, i really do not. young countries, like young people, make mistakes. well, older countries do likewise. there have been many changes in the policies of all governments, many rulers. i've quite decided this will last my time out." "i don't understand about the non-intercourse act and all that. father thinks it would be good for the women not to get so much finery from abroad. but, then, if we sell tobacco and other things to england and france--why, it seems to me it is a good thing, a sort of give and take. and grandpapa thinks mr. madison will finish what mr. jefferson began, and that england will get hold of us again. are you to go to the levee?" "oh, yes." "i am so glad! i am to make a real bow to mrs. madison. oh, no; i suppose it is a courtesy. i like to see people dressed up in pretty clothes, and i have not been to the white house yet. and to see all the grand men nearby, not simply in a jostling crowd. don't you sometimes feel a little afraid of them?" there was a charming half-curiosity in her eyes, and a pretty smile quivered about her red lips. what a child she was! if he was to ask her to marry him both mother and grandmother would be quite content. as for him--well, he had no drawing toward matrimony, but that innate chivalry and admiration for all women so common in the men of that day, who were trained to pay the highest respect to their mothers. "i find myself wishing i was as wise and as experienced, and had the clear insight that some of our best men have had, nay, have to-day. but that comes with age and profound knowledge." "oh, don't get any older! i like the young men. and as for wisdom----" she paused and colored, turning her face half away, but the roundness of the young cheek and the graceful curve where it softly lost itself in the white neck were truly lovely. "we will dismiss wisdom and age," laughingly. "oh, where are we going!" she reigned her horse in sudden alarm. "this is the last of the ravine. i wanted you to see the picture beyond. nay, there is nothing to fear." the frowning rocks and overhanging trees on both sides almost shut out the daylight. it did quite in summer when the foliage was thick. then it lightened, and the clear whistle of a bird rang out as if heralding the end. the break was almost a level. the creek broadened out here. the westward sun struck it and made beautiful reflections on the undulating stretches of land. the leafless trees showed golden and brown-red tints through the dun haze, the birches wore a rosy silver light. back of it the hills rose with the mysterious suggestiveness of coming spring, full of quivering lights as the wind made perceptible waves in the air. "it is wonderful!" she said softly. "it is like those emotions one can never describe, that penetrate every nerve, that make you feel half awed. oh, the world is beautiful!" the eager, yet chastened, expression of her face moved him. she sat her horse finely, girl as she was, her head proudly erect, her shoulders in the velvet coat shaped exquisitely, the sleeve showing the arm's perfect roundness at the top and the slope down to the slender waist. he had meant to call her attention to this scene, but her quickness of vision gratified him. "it is my favorite prospect," he said. "i have watched it many a time just at this hour in the afternoon. from early spring to midwinter the sun makes a picture of it. we are rich in beautiful scenery, and when we are done fighting and quarreling we should be a nation of artists. so far we have only been inspired to portraits." "it would be curious to be able to paint a picture. i never thought of it before." "that is genius, i suppose. now, here is a nice clear bit of road. let us have a sharp canter out to that bend in the creek and back, then we must hasten home before the evening dampness sets in." daphne threw up her head at the touch of the whip, and was off like a flash. roger carrington allowed her to reach the bend first, to the discomfiture of ajax. jaqueline turned her bright, rosy face, full of smiling triumph. "i accept," nodding with gallantry. "we should have been timed to a second. you are an excellent rider." "seeing that i have been trained from babyhood it would be disgraceful if i were not. oh, what crazy things we have done--louis and i! and then we would bind ourselves by a solemn promise not to betray each other. children must have charmed lives!" "you are hardly out of childhood yet." "wait until you see me in the gorgeousness of a train and a top-knot. you will wonder at my dignity. perhaps you will not recognize me. the gown is pink. that may be some help." "pink. the pink roses are the sweetest, i believe." she nodded with a spice of coquetry. "and now are we to crawl through this dismal glade? think of indians lying in ambush!" "nay, do not spoil a pleasant ride by such a grewsome suggestion." he led the way, and they soon emerged to the open again. the capital loomed up; the scattered houses made quite a show, after all. that evening roger and she were partners at whist against his mother and grandmother, and the ladies won. the next day the girls went over to washington. "i wish your visit could have been longer," mrs. carrington said. "i should have enjoyed asking in the young people about here and having a dance." patricia was very sorry. she had been on the extreme confines of young-ladyhood. "it was just delightful!" jaqueline explained to mrs. jettson. "both ladies are lovely, but madam is grand and holds you in a little awe. she looks like some old picture stepped out of a frame. and they are just crazy over girls--no, you cannot imagine such stately ladies being crazy over anything. they made so much of patty that she put on airs." "i'm almost as tall as you, miss jaqueline!" "but you would look ridiculous with a train and your hair done up high, and a mincing step----" "i didn't think that you minced very much!" interrupted the younger. "i saw you run down the garden walk, and mr. ralph said----" making a sudden halt. "well, _what_ did he say?" patty paused, for she recalled the fact that mr. ralph's comment had been distinctly complimentary. "don't dispute, girls. patty, you are nothing but a child, if you are tall, and you know you wouldn't like to give up racing and climbing and dancing to old sam's fiddle. you girls do have the best of everything, while poor dolly and marian----" "i'm glad grandpapa isn't any real relation to me!" exclaimed patricia. "i like father a million times better." "that comes of being a bachelor when you are married. i'm sure an old maid couldn't be any queerer. but then mr. madison is said to be very indulgent to his wife, and i'm sure he treats her like a prince. and father seems to be just as bitter against him as he was against mr. jefferson. it seems to me the world goes around just the same, no matter who is president. mr. ralston came in this morning and begged me to send for marian. i couldn't tell him exactly _why_; and i'm sure i wish mrs. greaves was back again, and there wouldn't be any look for marian." "lieutenant ralston was over to the carringtons' a while last evening," said jaqueline, and somehow she flushed in a quick manner that surprised herself, then added--"mr. carrington will be at the levee." "oh, of course. it will be a fine affair. and congress will adjourn so soon, i doubt if there will be another. there are to be state dinners to the cabinet and the diplomats, but next winter there will no doubt be many gayeties. jaqueline, you must run to bed and get your beauty sleep, there is no knowing how late we will be up to-morrow night." "i think jane might feel a little sorry that i can't go," said patty lugubriously, as they were preparing for bed. "it's marian all the time." "you don't understand, patty----" "yes i do. that handsome young mr. ralston is in love with her, and grandpapa is going to make her marry that old mr. greaves because he has a big farm next to his. i'd marry the man i liked." "nonsense! i'm not thinking about marrying." "jaqueline, would you marry mr. roger?" "i've understood that it was good manners to wait until you were asked," turning to hide a blush. "i mean to marry someone," answered the younger. "sleep on it first, patty." the next afternoon the hairdresser came and added much state to mrs. jettson's appearance. there was pearl powder, a luxury to be indulged in only on great occasions. and though rouge was used, mrs. jettson had enough color of her own, and jaqueline was resplendent with youth and health. this affair was in the state drawing room, which had grown rather shabby. congress was considering an appropriation of five thousand dollars for refurnishing. the sofas were stiff, faded, and worn threadbare, and the window hangings were limp and had lost their color. but the light from the numerous candles softened and relieved the impairment of time. mrs. madison was in the yellow velvet; new gowns were not considered necessary for every occasion. her beautiful neck and arms, which still kept the roundness of early womanhood, were adorned with strings of pearls, the short puffed sleeves rendered still prettier by a fall of exquisite lace. the skirt was drawn aside and displayed a white satin petticoat embroidered with gold thread, and her slippers were adorned with buckles that almost covered her dainty feet. about her were arranged the members of the official family, the ladies on one side, the gentlemen on the other. it was quite a little court. most of the senators and the wives who were brave enough to give up home comforts to spend a winter in washington had already met mrs. madison; indeed, by this time there were not many among the strangers who had not been presented. and so miss jaqueline mason made her bow to the first lady of the land and glancing up with a quick rift of color caught the cordial smile that came with a warm clasp of the hand. "you have a good old virginian name," she said. "many of us are proud to call it home. it is my second home, the first in my affection now," and she gave the child another sweet smile. jaqueline was more abashed than she had thought possible. she stepped aside in a little confusion. "ah, here is mr. carrington. shall i commend this young lady to your care? there are some places she might like to see and some curiosities. you are so much at home here." roger carrington bowed. mrs. jettson had found a friend in the wife of one of the more recent senators, and they were having a little chat, as it was that lady's first visit to washington to attend the inauguration. so roger slipped the fair hand within his arm, and they began a tour of the still unfurnished white house, though much nearer completion and in a better state than abigail adams had found it in her brief sojourn. mrs. madison's tact and grace had brought about a more congenial state of affairs even while wife of the secretary of state. there was in the conduct of both men and women a trifle of formality verging to a certain grandeur, yet gracious and truly courteous. there was no mad rush then for the first places. presently the company broke up into chatty little groups. jaqueline found herself quite a center in the midst of other centers. here were two or three elderly men who had known her father. she saw a young neighbor in the throng whose eyes expressed so much amazement that she could not help smiling. lieutenant ralston had come in his soldier trappings, and there was quite a sprinkling of military men, with others in the continental costume that gave such a picturesque aspect. jaqueline had a fresh, girlish charm, and to-night she certainly looked lovely. women and girls, when they were admitted to society, were expected to make themselves agreeable. no abstruse learning was required, and though they might have strong political preferences they were delicately veiled. mrs. madison had gone through four years of unusual stress, and the few enemies she had made were only those who envied her popularity. she had been discretion itself outwardly, and her opinions, her conferences, and her advice had been lodged only in her husband's bosom. jaqueline had no care, no experience to conceal, and she had already tried her prentice hand on the students at williamsburg. and that natural art of making men pleased with themselves, that charming deference, so great a factor in that day, was hers in an eminent degree. roger carrington watched her as she caught up the merry badinage and returned it with gay sparkles, and the pretty air that was half girlish demureness, the other half the indefinable charm of budding womanhood. lieutenant ralston took her in to the refreshment table set in the large dining room. "i wonder when you will see miss floyd?" he began in a low tone. "i hoped to the last moment that mrs. jettson could persuade her parents to let her sister come for a few days. you go to the pineries quite often?" "why, yes--some of us. father has a truly fervent regard for grandmamma, and the girls come down frequently. they like better to come to us, i think. there is no real fun in staying at the pineries. of course when we were children we went dutifully." she gave a soft, light laugh. ralston was considering. "mrs. jettson would be likely to know--of a visit?" hesitatingly. "she might--if we sent her the word." "i wonder if you will ever feel friendly enough to invite me? i like your father extremely. i was very glad to have the opportunity of meeting him. and your mother. you know we are all interested in kentucky just now." "i think my parents would give you a very pleasant visit," jaqueline said with a grave yet encouraging smile. the sort of conspiracy interested her. it was quite tempting to be able to hold out a hand of encouragement to marian, who hated the dull life at the pineries and did so enjoy amusement. then, a real love affair thrilled jaqueline with a delightful sensation. he was considering how to obtain the invitation honorably, when she furnished the key. "i think you would like my brother louis," she remarked with a becoming shade of diffidence that went to his heart, it wore such a charming air of innocence. "he will be home in the early summer, and he always comes up to mrs. jettson's at once. arthur takes a great interest in him. he is to study law and the science of government, if there is such a science. father has an eye to the presidency for him, i think." they both laughed at that. "the summer is a long way off," he commented rather despondingly. "the robins are singing and violets are in bloom. at home, no doubt, i shall find trailing arbutus." "they are spring indications." "you are hard to satisfy." "am i? well, i would rather have that reputation than one of being pleased with trifles." "sometimes the trifles prove very agreeable." mr. and mrs. cutts, mrs. madison's favorite sister, came sauntering slowly down with a bevy of friends, greeting many of the guests. she paused and glanced at jaqueline. there was some of the charming affability about her that characterized the wife of the president. indeed, she had been trained on the same lines. "i should like to be certain of this young lady's name. i did not quite catch it when she was introduced," mrs. cutts said in a tone that was complimentary in itself. lieutenant ralston presented his companion, who in turn was presented to several other notables. "mason," she repeated. "yes, i should guess you were a virginian. my sister, you know, adores her home at montpellier. are you anywhere in her vicinity? that is, when she is in her true home? though we have both become endeared to this ugly, unfinished washington that we all have to look at by the eye of faith, and not only that, but make our friends see through the same lenses. lieutenant ralston, shall we ever have a capital worthy of the nation?" "that knowledge is not quite in my line," he returned laughingly. "if war should come it will be my business to fight for it. and you can recall the old adage that rome was not built in a day. is it a historical fact or a shaksperean apothegm? if the fact, we can take courage and go on." "why, of course it took centuries to build imperial rome," and mrs. cutts' eyes twinkled with amusement. "but they were always tearing down, you remember. every emperor demolished so much that his predecessor had done. there must have been a good deal to start with." "and we started with nothing. i wonder anyone had the courage to leave lovely, refined, and gay philadelphia for this desert! now, if the tent had even been pitched in baltimore it would have been more appropriate." "but, you see, when we built a country we wanted to try our hand at building a capital to match. it will be fine enough when it is done, in a dozen years or so. and it unites the warring factions. one city cannot be jealous of another." "miss mason, this young man bewilders me and leads me astray. see what it is to be a soldier and a patriot. now i am going to carry you off and introduce you to some girls. are you going to stay long enough to go to a ball? every virginia girl dances." she was so bright and pretty that mrs. cutts was oddly interested in her. "oh, i adore dancing and riding! but i am afraid--my father is to send for me in a few days. if he were coming himself i might beg off. your suggestion is so tempting." "perhaps you can. now, here are some young people you must know," and turning away from the elders she introduced jaqueline to a merry group. "miss mason and i are old friends," declared roger carrington with a smile. "she has been visiting with us and left us inconsolable." "quite a compliment to your charms." jaqueline blushed. "or to the delightful hospitality of madam and mrs. carrington. my sister was with me, and she was quite melancholy. we did have a charming visit. i am afraid we shall be so spoiled that our virginia wilds will prove desert wastes." "mr. carrington, you must manage to keep miss mason over. the dearborns are to give the young people a ball. we want it to be the event of the season, and that will soon be ended, alas! and we must gather the beauty and the chivalry." there was quite a gay little whirl for some moments and more merry badinage. more than one envious eye was cast upon the young girl, for roger carrington was considered one of the prizes in the matrimonial market. sir augustus foster, who was secretary of the english legation some years before, had said there was no lack of handsome women, and that he never saw prettier girls anywhere, and that the city was one of the most marrying places on the whole continent. "we missed you so very much," roger began, when he had detached her a little from the group. "i had half a mind to come and confiscate one of you." "patty would have been glad enough." "but _you_ were full of pleasure! perhaps we seemed dull to you? we are rather quiet folk." he uttered the pronoun quite decisively, so much so that it brought the color to her cheek. "oh, no, it was not dull! i enjoyed it extremely." "and if you stay for the ball will you not come over again? mother liked you both so much. you will find it delightful at the dearborns'. and i shall claim some dances." "you will hardly be crowded out, in that happy event," she returned brightly. then there were some other introductions to noted people. colonel monroe was standing by, and shared them. mrs. madison came presently, leaning on mr. clinton's arm. "i hope you have had a pleasant time," the lady said graciously; "and that we shall see you frequently. i am very fond of young people." "i felt as if i ought to kiss her hand," jaqueline whispered, with a scarlet face, to her companion. "that is the obeisance people are expected to pay to a queen." "not in a republic. and every lady is a queen to a man at some period of her life." "oh, mr. carrington! no one would suspect you of such a pretty speech." "wouldn't they? do i look as if i had no courteous speeches at my command?" he looked very handsome and winning at that moment. the company was breaking up. people came and went early on these occasions. mrs. jettson hunted up her charge. "i declare, jaqueline, you have been one of the belles of the evening. such a mere chit, too! and you looked very grand parading around with ralston and mr. carrington. poor marian! it is a shame she couldn't have been here. and, jaqueline, please don't forget that lieutenant ralston in a way belongs to her." the tone was rather sharp, but jaqueline was too happy to resent it. other young men had noticed her, as well. "he does not forget it. he was very sorry she was not here," jaqueline replied after a moment. the well-trained maid helped them on with their wraps, and the footman found their carriage. yes, jaqueline was a pretty girl, jane ruminated; but so much attention would soon turn her head. she was proud of her, and yet a little jealous for her sister's sake, who could enjoy pleasure quite as well. and lieutenant ralston was in the way of promotion, if he was not rich. the very next day a message came from mr. mason. a friend would be in washington on monday, and tuesday morning they must be ready to start home with him. it was too late to get word back, and jane took it for granted that they must go. jaqueline gave a sigh and was minded to shed a few tears, but on saturday mrs. carrington drove over for the girls to spend the sunday with them. "try and not be too coquettish, jaqueline. it makes a young girl seem very forward," mrs. jettson advised. "jane is growing unpleasant," jaqueline thought to herself. "she wants marian in everything." however, after the ball and one more levee there was not much gayety in the city. congress adjourned, senators and representatives went home to consider at their leisure the grave questions pending. mrs. madison was much engrossed in the judicious use of the grant congress had made. there were some new mirrors set, some dining-room furniture and china, new curtains and hangings, and upholstery done in gorgeous brocaded yellow satin. still further, there was added a pianoforte; and the president ordered a chariot in philadelphia for his wife, and the two horses were increased to four. the white house was to make a character for itself. chapter vii. the beginning of a love story. "why, you can just ask him down as you do any other friend," said jaqueline with an air of innocence. "i half promised he should have the invitation. you will like him ever so much. _i_ like him," laughingly. "but polly is coming----" "don't ever let grandfather hear that 'polly,' or he won't even leave you enough to buy a mourning ring. he thinks so highly of old english customs. what a chum he would have been for sir charles grandison! are people born too late or too early! what are you smiling at?" "the way you leap from one thing to another." "which shows a variety of wit and knowledge, young collegian. didn't shakspere call it nimble wit? i have learned a great many things since i saw you last." "in an hour?" incredulously, and louis raised his fine brows. "one might learn many things in an hour. and now, mr. tender conscience, don't worry about polly, as you have taken to calling her. she may come, and she may not. and if she comes she may be sent for the very next day. the fairfaxes are sure to come; they have accepted. i warn you that betty is a dreadful coquette. and georgie baker, and the carringtons--at least roger. and he is great friends with mr. ralston." "but we must not get in a row with grandfather. and a girl who hasn't spunk enough to stand up for the man she loves----" "perhaps she isn't really in love with him. that ought to give any girl courage--to run some risks." "well--i'm off. a long and sad farewell," and the young man assumed a tragic air. "very good," she returned gravely. "does a young man appreciate his inestimable privileges when he has a sister on whom he can practice?" he laughed and kissed her. jaqueline went to her room and wrote a very properly worded letter to marian. maum chloe had two new pudding recipes that were delicious. she had the latest sleeve pattern, and madam weare had been to spend the day, and wore such a lovely cap that she was quite sure grandmamma would like it. they had concocted one out of some old mull, the torn breadth of a gown, and marian could take it home. then elizabeth fairfax was making some of the prettiest darned lace, a vandyke cape that was just coming in, and she would be here for a few days next week. if marian could come down, even if she could only stay one night. the week afterward there would be an influx of company. it would be just delightful to have her and dolly then--perhaps they _might_ be able to come--but marian had better come and stay over. they would not want to be poking over lace-making and all that when there was lots of fun going on. shrewd as grandmother floyd was she fell into the trap so adroitly set by this flighty young person. "madam weare is very genteel in her tastes and is not given to foolish things because they are new. i hardly know anyone who dresses so suitably. i do think louis or jaqueline might have ridden up. and i do not see what patricia is about, or your uncle either, to let jaqueline have her head so much. she ought to be learning something useful. the fairfaxes are well enough, a nice family, and elizabeth is a very well-behaved girl--industrious, too. but i'd like to see the lace jaqueline will make!" with a strong touch of scorn in her voice, and a slight lifting of the nose to make it more emphatic. "the vandyke capes are very pretty and graceful. mrs. lee brought one from paris, and it cost a fortune," remarked marian. "and darned net----" "i think i know what it is. of course it is the pattern and the amount of work that makes it valuable. you might do one through the course of the summer, marian." "if i knew how"--and the girl gave a little sigh. "let me see the letter." marian had been reading it aloud. "i don't know but you _might_ go, but i don't care to have you in the rabble of the week after. it would be a grand thing if that young carrington would fancy jaqueline and she would have sense enough to accept him. but such girls go through the woods and take a crooked stick at last." nothing more was said for a day or two. marian found an old engraving of a vandyke collar and cuffs, only they were done in point lace. what kind of net was used, she wondered. and then her mother decided she would go down for the day and leave marian for a night or two. but grandfather had a poorly spell, and she thought it best not to leave him. marian rode her horse down, attended by old cato, who had to go to alexandria on some business and would escort her home on the third day. "oh, good gracious!" cried jaqueline; "if she _had_ come! for the rabble is here already, and someone _you_ will like to see. they've gone off fishing. betty and hester fairfax and georgie baker are out on the west porch. we're in for a good time. mr. ralston and roger carrington came down with louis, and to-night we are going to have a little dance." "mother approves of elizabeth fairfax. and i _do_ want to know about the vandyke cape and the cap pattern. oh, jacky!" marian clasped her arms about her cousin, and the obnoxious name was forgiven. for the warm pressure was full of gratitude. "you are so wise about things, jaqueline. of course mother sees all our letters----" "as if i didn't know that," laughed jaqueline. "but i wonder--oh, jaqueline, do you suppose i will have to marry mr. greaves? you see, father has set his heart upon it. and i should be so near them, and so----" "the idea! a man double your age, and four children! you don't even like him. what is youth for but a time to be merry and glad and to have good times? and it was a shame you could not come to washington! lieutenant ralston would have taken you everywhere, and jane was up to white heat about it. it was all splendid. you're not engaged--you can't have been so foolish!" "oh, jaqueline! i wish i had your----" "spunk!" jaqueline exclaimed with a laugh, while marian was considering. "you see, no one really governs you. your father is so indulgent." "oh, i don't have quite everything my own way, i assure you! but what have _you_ done in this matter?" "why, mr. greaves has explained to father and mother. of course he will not say anything to me until the year is up. he is very punctilious, and i am so glad he believes in the year. he comes over and we have a game of whist, which i hate, and get out of when there is other company. but father expects me to stay in the room. occasionally he questions me about something--household affairs generally. mrs. greaves was an excellent housekeeper--much superior to his sister, he thinks." "oh, marian! i should die if i had to marry such a man. come, let us go down to the girls and forget all about him. cassy will put away your things." marian lingered. "well--what else?" impatiently. "you don't really want to tell me that you have a fancy for this wretched old fellow?" "oh, no, no! but, jaqueline--of course i did not know mr. ralston would be here, yet i had a sort of presentiment that you had planned something. and is it quite fair, do you think? i mean honest to--to enjoy it all? i am afraid he likes me." "i am quite sure he does. but i wasn't sure of his coming. louis met him at jane's, and likes him immensely. there are other girls here--it isn't at all as if you were the only guest. don't worry, but let matters take their course. come and see the lace-making." the three girls welcomed marian warmly. elizabeth fairfax was nearly her own age, hester younger, and georgie jaqueline's compeer and near neighbor. elizabeth had a sweet madonna face, with large, downcast eyes and a soft, deferential voice, but the eyes did ready execution on the hearts of the young men. she was always busy about something, and it was a study to watch her hands, they were so shapely and beautiful. georgie was recounting amusing episodes, and in a few moments they were all laughing and talking. a table near by was loaded with fruit and cake, and a pitcher of homemade "shrub" gave them a delectable nectar. betty had attended the inauguration, and as marian listened her heart grew hot and rebellious that she should have been kept from the pleasure. she and her sister had been trained to a sharp obedience, kept in bonds like very children. mr. floyd had never cordially approved of his son-in-law. he considered it almost a crime to have been born north of baltimore, and mr. jettson had grown up in northern new york, and to some extent made his own fortune. jane had gone to philadelphia for a year's schooling with an old friend of mrs. floyd's and come home engaged. mr. jettson had a business proffer in washington, and somehow the marriage was pushed through in haste. mr. floyd had an objection to new people, to business people, to the manner in which things were being conducted at washington, and to the jefferson party generally. but he was fond of his daughter, and though he would not have confessed it he did admire her style, her knowledge of the city, and the fact that she was in the best society. but, after all, a large landed estate gave a man true dignity. mr. greaves agreed with him in politics, was of good old stock, and had aristocratic tastes, while arthur jettson really was plebeian. since there was an opportunity marian should marry to his liking. "i've been telling about your cape, betty, and marian wants to know how to do it. spread it out. there, isn't that lovely?" the brussels net was fine, and the flowers were made in outline and filled in with stitches that seemed a little raised, they were so close together, and had a satin-like effect. the shape was very graceful, with the points at the shoulders and in front. fine needlework and lace-making were much esteemed. for years imported articles had been very high, besides the difficulty of getting them unless one went abroad. beautiful specimens have come down to us, and one wonders at the patience and taste, when there were so many cares to life. occasionally a slave woman evinced a peculiar genius for this delicate work, and the family considered her quite a treasure. "it is exquisite!" declared marian, who was no mean needlewoman herself. indeed, the work rather bewitched her. "oh, i really must have one! but it will take a great deal of time." "why, you see i have mine three-quarters done, and i take it up at odd spells and when i go visiting. and it is very easy when you once get started. you see, you follow the pattern in outlining. then, some of my leaves and flowers are not wholly filled, and it has a very pretty effect, making a variety and less work. jaqueline, can't you find a bit of lace; and marian may outline this end of the pattern, and i can show her some of the stitches before the boys come home. we are going to ride then, i believe, and dance in the evening. we improve all our time when we are over here." "i shall be delighted," returned marian. jaqueline found some lace, and marian went at the work eagerly. they spiced the employment with merry gossip and laughter and bits of teasing. the squire and mrs. mason came home from a business drive to a neighboring town. they had taken the two little girls for to-day; varina had been in a most amiable mood. then the fishermen returned, rather disgusted with their want of luck. "you know we did not want you to go," and elizabeth raised her soft, reproving eyes. mr. ralston came around to marian's side. "this is a pleasant surprise. i was hoping all the time. only miss mason is such a torment. she was quite sure you wouldn't come. we almost quarreled about it this morning. and yet she is a charming girl. this house is the very embodiment of comfort and delight. i suppose you know i met the masons at the inauguration? oh, you can't think how disappointed i was! i had counted so on seeing you." marian floyd glanced in the speaker's eyes and hers fell, while a fluttering color crept up her face and her whole body seemed to thrill as at the touch of some subtle magnetism. she suddenly wished he would go away; he seemed to take the strength out of her. "are you glad to see me?" in a breathless sort of way that seemed to demand an affirmative. "yes." she did not mean to say it. the word came of its own accord. it was almost as if she had answered it to another question. "come, fellows," began louis, "let us drop our plebeian garb, with its ancient, fishlike smell." "that's good, considering there wasn't fish enough to make any sort of smell. keep truth on your side." "and misquoting shakspere, when it has been presented to us all winter in every aspect! williamsburg has had a feast or a surfeit from college exercises to strolling players--some very good ones, too. jaqueline, have you ordered the horses?" "why, no!" "then go at once, while we make ourselves beautiful. we shall not have too much time." mr. carrington had gone immediately to his room, and came down as jaqueline was going through the hall. "the fishing was not much of a success. i would rather have sat under the trees and talked to you. ah, here is your father." when they had greeted each other jaqueline explained her errand. "let us all go out together!" exclaimed mr. carrington. "my poor fellow will be glad to see me." "marian must have a fresh horse; she rode hers all the way down. oh, there are the johnsons! just in time for the fray," and she nodded over to two young men sauntering up the avenue. "jaqueline, you ride the mare and give marian your pony. i will go out and see to things." jaqueline turned back, and the two young men gallantly dismounted, escorting her to the porch, where soon the five girls assembled in equestrian array, and the five cavaliers were at their service. "do not stay out too late," admonished the squire. marian hesitated. louis led off with elizabeth, who was much amused at the young collegian's aplomb. hester was supposed to have a more than friendly interest in the elder johnson brother. mr. carrington kept close to jaqueline, and ralston wheeled his horse around to marian's side. "i wonder if there is a little fate in that?" and the squire nodded to the last couple. "father has other plans for marian." "you don't mean that he is in real earnest about that widower and the houseful of children?" inquired mrs. mason. "and you did not hesitate at five!" smiling humorously. "i _did_ hesitate. i think you can never know how much. but i was older and more experienced, and a good deal in love with the father of the children," flushing girlishly, "while marian shrinks from mr. greaves. i do not think he would attract any young girl. jane feels dreadfully about it. i like lieutenant ralston very much myself." "he is a fine fellow, but not really abounding in this world's goods, and that goes a great way with father." "suppose it were jaqueline?" "i had rather it would be carrington." "but if she loved him?" "i do not think marian is in love with anybody. i suppose i am too lax, but father floyd is too rigid. and mother upholds him. the girls have been trained to obey. what will you do when jaqueline refuses some nice, suitable, prosperous young man and sets her heart on a spendthrift--a ne'er-do-well?" "turn her over to her father." mr. mason shrugged his shoulders, and his eyes twinkled. "and annis?" "that is going a long way off." "but it isn't wisdom to throw marian in temptation's way when it can only bring about trouble." "if marian really fell in love that would solve the difficulty. youth ought to mate with youth. then both have the springtime of love. did not you find it sweet? answer truly." he smiled, and was silent a moment. then he bent over and kissed her. "the summer has a richness as well. a cold, untoward spring never makes a fruitful summer." then mrs. mason turned away to household cares. charles was walking under the larches with his arm about annis' waist. he was suddenly shooting up--a mason trick--and was taller than the little girl and very devoted to her. varina was upstairs trying on three different newly ironed white frocks. patricia had gone to visit aunt catharine. "chloe, have you made preparations for a host at supper, and a hungry host again about nine o'clock? i should call it a party." "supper's all right. dere's biskit 'nuff for a regimen'. and cake by de bushel. chloe see company afore in dis ole house. de ham pink as a rose and de col' chicken 'nuff to make yer mouf water. an' cream an' jells an' fruit. de young folks no need to go to bed hungry." the mistress smiled. "jest take a peep at de table." the snowy cloth, ironed to perfection, the quaint old silver service, the sparkling glass and china of various dates, and the great bowls of flowers made a picture. through the open windows came the soft low caroling of birds calling each other home, and the tranquil noises of a country evening were like wafts of music. how delightful to be amongst it all, and at home! yes, love was the great evangel of human life. the ride was most delightful. gay young people seize every salient point of enjoyment. they were a little late to supper, which was a mirthful meal; then sam and darius began to tune their fiddles on the porch, and some young neighbors were added; and as no night was ever too warm to dance, they had a merry time. there was another long day of enjoyment to marian floyd. they went down to the bank of the potomac on a picnic, with loads of provisions. they rambled about; they had a lazy, drifting sail adown the shadiest bank; they sang and jested, and went home gay, tired, happy, full of the gladness of youth. marian was sharing jaqueline's room from choice. the latter had grown into young-ladyhood so rapidly that it hardly seemed as if there was much difference in their ages, even though marian was so much more sedate, and latterly had become rather timid. "i have had such a good time!" she said with a sigh. "i don't know when i have enjoyed anything so much. there are so few young people around the pineries. mother will be just delighted with that pudding, but she will think i ought to have done more lacework. i wonder if i will have time to finish that flower in the morning?" "you can get up early," suggested jaqueline. "very early--for we are going for a canter before breakfast." "well--cato can't get here before ten, i think. that will be after breakfast." "then you can come to bed with a clear conscience. i think i am asleep everywhere but the tip of my tongue and a little spot in my brain." "and--i wanted to talk to you." jaqueline tumbled into bed and squeezed up her pillow. "talk fast," she said good-humoredly. marian sat down on the side of the bed, combing her hair and twisting it up in two soft coils. then she put on her nightcap, a dainty bit of lawn and ruffling, and looked pretty enough to charm anyone. "i don't know what to do! oh, jacky, i am the happiest girl and the most miserable girl alive!" jaqueline raised on her elbow, quite wide awake at the admission. "did you guess that lieutenant ralston cared? it is so--so wonderful to have a real lover, who can put his meaning in his eyes and in the clasp of his hand, and make you feel it all about you, just that way your father loves your mother. all day to-day i have been in that curious tremble; i wanted to look and i did not dare, and then i looked in spite of myself. and this evening----" "yes--i managed that you should go off by yourselves. and now, polly, you won't marry that mr. greaves?" "oh, what can i do? you see, father is set upon it. and mr. ralston wants to come up and ask father, and i didn't dare tell him about it, and don't know what to do." "why, let him come up. and if grandpapa won't give in, i'd run away, that's all. oh, polly, i am so glad! it must be just lovely! though i do not want to be engaged just yet. i like fun. and there are so many fine gentlemen in washington who say such pretty complimentary things and dance so beautifully, and mrs. carrington expects me to make her a long visit next winter. i'd rather have a dozen lovers than just one. but it is different with you, and you are older; and at home grandmamma treats you like a little child. yes, i'd let him come and have it over." "but it would be awful. i never could get the courage to tell; and if father was taken by surprise----" "why, i should say that a friend was coming----" "but he knows that mr. ralston paid me a good deal of attention when i was at jane's, and that was why he would not let me go to the inauguration. and if i were to say he had been here two days, and i had ridden and walked with him, and he had said--he did not ask me to be engaged of course, until he had seen father." "and what did you say? you couldn't refuse altogether?" "i am afraid i said too much--that is, i let things go. i love him and i don't dare to, all in the same breath. and i know father will never let me marry him." "but jane married the man of her choice." "there wasn't anyone else just then. and he thinks jane might have done much better. you see, mr. greaves is there on the spot. and july will soon be here. oh, dear!" marian leaned down on jaqueline's shoulder and cried softly. "oh, i should be spunky! you are very sweet, marian, and you give up too easily. you haven't any fight in you. they cannot force you to marry mr. greaves. fathers might have done that years ago; and if you are firm and say you won't----" "jaqueline, don't talk all night," said an admonishing voice. marian was very shy and reserved the next morning during the ride, but more deliciously sweet to her lover, as the men of those days expected to really win their sweethearts. after breakfast she packed up her recipes and the cap pattern, and sewed industriously at her lacework. louis drove georgie home, and then was to do an errand for his father. the two young men were to go to washington presently. roger carrington planned for the visit his mother was to make, and then they were to return it and bring annis. he had taken a great fancy to the child. there was only time for a brief farewell when cato came. "shall i write to your father, or come?" the lover inquired in a decisive tone. "oh, wait--i will tell you!" marian answered hurriedly, frightened at the thought of the future, yet deliciously happy. chapter viii. an angry father. jaqueline was very busy paying visits and having a good time. they had been up to the pineries twice without her. truth to tell, she was a little afraid of her own counsel, and hoping marian would have spirit enough to assert herself. one day she was very much surprised by the advent of mr. ralston. "yes, honey; he jes' done ask to see you, not yer mar ner ennyone! and he looks jes laik a lover comin' to de house," announced julia, one of the waiting-maids. jaqueline went down with a deeper flush on her cheek and a beating heart. there was a courteous greeting, and then a touch of embarrassment. ralston was first to surmount it. "miss mason," he began abruptly, "when have you seen miss floyd?" "not since she was here. i have been away from home. papa and part of the family were up last week." "will you read this note?" it was from marian--very brief and cold. she had considered the matter, and felt that it would be impossible to keep up the acquaintance. it would be useless either to come or to write. "if miss floyd was merely amusing herself, of course that is the end of it. do you know whether she has a lover? there was some mystery about her i could not quite fathom. i may have been misled, but i thought she cared for me. indeed," he added, flushing a little and softening his tone, "it seemed a case of mutual attraction at first sight. we became such friends while she was at her sister's." jaqueline considered a moment. then she said: "i had better tell you the whole story. and if you knew grandpapa--he is as arbitrary as a king. he looks like one too." she recapitulated the advances of mr. greaves, and admitted that marian was yielding and stood in awe of her father. "but i am quite certain she loves you," declared the incautious girl. "i felt rather certain," with a satisfied half-smile. "and i can understand that mr. greaves is a rival not to be despised. i have no broad acres nor ancestral home, but youth and ambition and a good profession. surely when mr. floyd comes to understand, he cannot force his daughter's inclinations! i will devote my whole life to her, my best energies. i am sure i shall succeed." "marian never could resist him if she saw him now," jaqueline thought, he looked so proud and so in earnest. but grandpapa floyd! "you give me hope. you are young to advise anyone in a love affair," and he laughed in a genial, amused fashion. "i came here because you knew about those two days, and i thought you might be more in miss floyd's confidence than her sister, though i can count on mrs. jettson's influence and approval, i am certain. do you think miss floyd may have told her father?" "oh, no; i am sure she has not. only i do think some influence has been brought to bear upon her, and she has felt afraid----" jaqueline looked very pretty and spirited, standing up straight and slim, her dark eyes aglow with earnestness and eager interest. she would not be afraid to stand up for her lover. "shall i go or write?" "oh, i am afraid to advise!" she turned pale then. "and it is unmanly to ask it." "perhaps papa could tell better." "i wonder if i might see him?" "oh, yes. will you amuse yourself while i find him? louis is away, and the children are having a picnic down in the grove." mr. mason was ensconced in a willow easy-chair, with a high back and a cushion, while his wife was reading aloud from the pages of oliver goldsmith. he glanced up, and jaqueline suddenly realized the gravity of the matter in hand. "mr. ralston is here, and would like to see you, papa!" she exclaimed persuasively. "ah--can't you bring him out here?" "it is quite important and----" hesitatingly. "yes, i'll come." he reached for his coat, and sighed at the added warmth. jaqueline slipped her hand through his arm. "it's about--marian." "i was afraid there would be trouble. jack, was their meeting here pure accident? tell me the truth. or did you have mischief in your mind?" "it wasn't _quite_ that. but marian did not know. and i did not really promise mr. ralston." "i wish you had kept out of it, my girl." "but marian _does_ love him. and surely grandpapa will never make her marry that stupid old mr. greaves!" "take care. i am getting old." "but you will never be stupid." she reached up and kissed him. "you know grandfather is very fond of having his own way. mr. greaves isn't so bad, when all is said." "you wouldn't make me marry him?" "i am afraid i would have a tough job," and he laughed. "now i shall leave you to your own wisdom." the squire nodded. the young lover presented his case in a very straightforward, honorable fashion. mr. mason's heart went out to him, but he understood his stepfather's obstinacy and his dislike to be meddled with or thwarted. his mother was in favor of the marriage also, which would make it harder for marian. "if you write to mr. floyd you will receive a polite but decided dismissal. if you see him i am afraid the result will be the same, and less pleasant to remember." "do you suppose i am coward enough to relinquish the woman i love in such an emergency as this? if i heard from her own lips that she did not care for me, that would influence my conduct. but i am certain she does care, and i want her to know that i am ready to take any step for her happiness. i am too much of a soldier to give up without an effort, even if i have seen only fair-weather service. what would you have done in your youth?" "made a good fight," smiling at the other's eagerness. "then i shall go. to be merely dismissed would be mortifying. and any woman would despise such a tame lover! thank you for your cordial reception. in any event i shall count on your friendship." he shook mr. mason's hand warmly. "but you will stay and have some supper with us? and why not accept our hospitality for the night?" "thank you. i have some important matters on hand to-morrow morning. i am truly sorry not to have a delightful evening with you, and i am indebted to you for this kindly attention on a troublesome subject. i sincerely trust that some day i shall stand in a nearer relation. you can wish me success--i hope?" the truth and honor in the lines of the face appealed to the elder man. he had found so many charms in his new wife, so much sweetness in the daily love, that he could be generous in his wishes. "yes, i hope you will succeed," and the squire said it from the depth of his heart, although his latent judgment was not so hopeful. "he will go to the pineries," he said as he rejoined his wife and daughter. "it will not do any good, and i am afraid we are in for a family fracas. marian may refuse to marry mr. greaves, but her father will not accept ralston. i am sorry. they would make a nice, happy young couple." "but she might wait a year or two." "it isn't easy waiting when there is no real hope, and the influence is all on the other side. you see, grandfather floyd has trained his children to habits of obedience. he isn't turned about with every wind of doctrine, as i am. not a child stands in awe of me. and when i pick out my future son-in-law, miss jaqueline, i expect you will turn up your pretty nose and utterly refuse him." "i shall if he has four children belonging to another woman." her father raised his brows. the young girl turned scarlet and clasped her arms about mrs. mason's neck. "mother dear, forgive that awkward speech. we are all glad to have you, as you must be aware by this time, and since you are such a comfort and pleasure to papa it would be the height of jealous unamiability not to love you. but if _you_ had left four children you wouldn't want me for their stepmother, would you, now? confess the truth." she looked very arch and pretty, and her voice had a persuasive cadence that amused her father. "they might fare worse, my dear girl," returned mrs. mason. "i should trust annis anywhere with you. and marian would make a charming mother, but i do think she is entitled to some young, sweet life of her own. i cannot help thinking how one extreme begets another. your grandparents are very authoritative----" "domineering is better," interposed the squire laughingly. "you are great for picking out the softer words, patty. mr. floyd is of the old school, and his beliefs intensify with age. his children were put in the world to honor and obey him. brandon married an heiress with an estate and no end of slaves. jane slipped through with the man of her choice, but you can notice that he is rather captious about arthur, who is doing very well and will be a rich man if he doesn't blunder in the washington bogs. i think myself marian and dolly are kept in very narrow bounds. dolly has a way of slipping out, but marian is rather timid." "the system has made her so, but i should think she would have inherited a good deal of spirit and force of character." "i think i shall turn over a new leaf myself," declared the squire, with a twinkle of humor in his eye. "in the future, miss jaqueline, i wish you to consult me about your goings-out and comings-in. you are to say 'sir' to me in the most respectful fashion. perhaps your mother would like you to address her as 'madam.' you are to take no hand in the affairs of foolish young lovers. you are not to go careering about the plantation on horseback, but to be sober, discreet, and industrious with your needle. perhaps it would be well for you to keep a journal. is there anything else? i must consult aunt catharine. your mother is quite too easy." there was a laugh in every dimple and line in the young girl's face. any pretense of austerity sat oddly enough on the squire's round, humorous countenance. there was a sudden interruption of the three younger children racing up the patch in a breathless fashion. annis went straight to her mother's arms, charles halted at his father's side and snatched his hand. "is annis my sister truly, papa?" "but it's just the same," interrupted varina, whose tone indicated that she had been in a warm discussion. "and, papa, can he marry her?" "more family difficulties!" declared the squire. "is the world going crazy? and, varina, marriages do not begin with the babies of the family." "i'm not a baby." charles straightened himself up to his tallest. "i said when i was a grown man i should marry annis. i am going to study hard and go to congress; perhaps i shall be sent abroad on some mission." "and isn't the husband always the oldest, papa? charles is almost two years younger than annis." "one year and eight months," corrected charles. "i don't see what difference it can make. i shall be the tallest and earn the money. and she isn't my own sister. she isn't any real relation. but if she was my cousin i could marry her." the squire laughed heartily, which rather disconcerted varina. "truly," he said, "love seems to have broken out as a distemper. and so you want annis for a sweetheart, charles? what does annis say to all this?" annis was caressing her mother's hand. "she likes me better than anybody except her mother." "oh, little annis, have you thrown me over? and after the pony, too!" the squire's voice was whimsically upbraiding, and his glance touched her tender heart. she flew over to him. "oh, i do love you!" she cried. "but you have mamma, and i know i can never get back all of her." "do you want all of her back? would you take her away?" "i wouldn't have any home to take her to. and she likes it here and all the children and you, and i like it too now. i don't mind giving part of her away." "and next she likes me." charles went around and stood by her side in his manliest pose. they made a pretty picture. "i thought you loved _me_ a good deal," interposed jaqueline. "oh, i love you all!" said the child, though she glanced doubtfully at varina. "but, then, girls don't marry ever, no matter how much they love each other," said the young admirer. "and she _is_ our sister," persisted varina. "not in that sense, my little girl. and the age makes no difference. so she can be charles' sweetheart until he goes to college and gets another one." "but i do not mean ever to get another one. and we were playing keep house under the big hemlock. dinah had made us some cookies. and rene was the company----" "i shall not be company any more," returned the child, with a toss of the head. "if you want annis, take her then." "there, children, no quarreling. aren't the cookies good enough to be peacemakers?" "but we've eaten them all up." varina marched off in a huff. jaqueline was laughing. mrs. mason looked annoyed. the stepfather kissed annis tenderly. "there," he said, "run off and finish your play. be the best of friends, and have the best times you can. the world will look different to you a dozen years hence, and love will settle perplexities." jaqueline had followed her sister, though she knew varina was generally the marplot in their play. "oh, randolph, how could you!" exclaimed mrs. mason, with a touch of upbraiding. "such matters are too grave and serious for children's plays." "yet i suppose we have all taken a hand in it. when i was a boy of nine or ten i was very much in love with a young relative who used to visit us. she taught me to dance, and i remember i wrote some verses to her. she must have been at least fifteen, for two years later she married, and i was so surprised and hurt that i think i always hated her husband until i was nearly grown and fell in love again. and after that i met your cousin." mrs. mason still looked unconvinced. "it won't hurt charles. i like to see boys chivalrous and devoted, and annis is such a darling. it would delight me if they were old enough to have it all in sober earnest. there, do not look so grave over a little childish nonsense. let us rather be fortifying ourselves for the avalanche that is to descend on our devoted heads. one can hardly blame jaqueline, but i am afraid poor marian will have a hard time. presently _we_ shall begin to be plagued with lovers." mrs. mason gave a little sigh. it had been quite a task at first to induce annis to be really friendly with the children; now she and charles were inseparable. at first varina had tormented them with childish jealousy, though there were not many of their enjoyments she wanted to share. boisterous games and frolics were more to her fancy than books, but annis could have listened forever. they were both extravagantly fond of flowers and rambling about. mrs. mason had so many duties to the household and the slaves, that she was often relieved when the little girl found amusement elsewhere. and charles was an admirable companion, with his even temper, his heroic romances, his innate love for whatever was noble and true, his courtesy and kindliness. in the earlier years varina had quite tyrannized over him, but as their tastes began to differ he quietly emancipated himself with the rare art born in some people. the tutor had given him a dignity of position. annis appreciated this quiet side of his nature, though she enjoyed the songs and dances and frolics of the pickaninnies, and often joined in a game of romps. just now the mother had a half-jealous feeling that her child should find satisfaction elsewhere. there were so many years between her and womanhood that it was foolish to pay heed to the child's play, she knew. from various causes they had not made their usual weekly visit to the pineries. jaqueline half wished patricia would insist upon going, but she did not. as for herself, she hardly dared venture, lest some untoward questions might be asked. and so one day the old-fashioned yellow coach with driver and footman turned up the avenue. there had been a recent rain, and the air was cool and fragrant. mr. and mrs. mason were out on the wide porch at the northern end. dinner was over, and the squire had tilted back his chair where he could lean against the great square column, and prepared for his siesta. mrs. mason was sewing. the girls were in the big swing under some great sycamore trees, and louis was lounging on the grass. "randolph, your mother and mr. floyd," said his wife, startled. mr. mason rose, but the footman had helped out mr. floyd, who sat nearest, and mr. mason clasped his mother's hand after she had alighted. "this is a great surprise and pleasure, but the air is magnificent, just the day for driving. i was over to the courthouse most of the morning. i've had that bother of the chaffee estate on my hands, but we are getting it into shape. it has taken a good deal of my time." "we had looked for you up," returned his mother, with a touch of asperity in her tone. "scipio, see that the horses are put out----" "the horses have been attended to. we stopped at rhoby's and had a little rest and a bite of something." "but you will have dinner----" "no, no!" mr. floyd waved his long white hand impressively. "we have not come to stay, and will drive back presently." mrs. mason had come forward and greeted her guests. but she felt the storm in the air, and caught the perplexity in her husband's eye. "shall we go within?" "no; it is so much pleasanter here. there is enough time in winter to be shut up in rooms. give me the great world out of doors, when it is neither too hot nor too cold." "all are well, i suppose?" asked mrs. mason. "brandon's little son is quite ill--the second child. we only heard last evening. some kind of a fever. i hope it will not be severe. they are fine boys," declared their grandmother with pride. "we have escaped wonderfully on the plantation. very little sickness so far," mr. mason remarked, and there was an ominous pause. "mr. mason," began the old gentleman, clearing his voice, "i had a visitor a few days ago, who, i understood, had your countenance in a very impertinent matter. i was amazed that you should for a moment entertain the thought that anything he might say would be acceptable to me--to us," glancing at his wife. randolph mason met the issue squarely. "you mean lieutenant ralston?" "that ill-bred puppy who, if he wants to do his country any service, had better go out against the indians and protect the border people from their depredations instead of flirting around after women. i wonder that you sent him on such a fool's errand. you knew my plans concerning my daughter marian?" "i advised him to write to you, but he was very much in earnest and thought he could plead his cause better." "the fellow is a silly, insufferable idiot! yes--i know," waving his hand authoritatively, "the kind of people jane consorts with, and i might have been certain the society there would do the girls no good. but that you should not only aid and abet him, but allow your home to be made the scene of an intrigue, is treating your mother and myself shamefully, and exposing your young sister to the machinations of an unprincipled fellow! if you choose to allow your daughters to consort with such cattle----" "hold, mr. floyd! i will not have an honorable young man accused in that manner, neither will i allow you to traduce my household. there was no intrigue, but an accidental meeting here----" mr. floyd rose in a passion, his eyes sparkling, his face flushed. "do you dare to tell me there was no underhand plan in all this? jaqueline's adroitly worded note, that might have aroused suspicion if we had not considered you above such a scheme. it was atrocious, sir! we had refused to have her visit her sister on that account. she had met the young man there. and how was it _he_ should come at this particular juncture?" "my son brought him down from washington. he is in the habit of asking his friends. another friend was coming, mr. roger carrington." "where is louis? let me see him. let him deny his part of the plan, if he can, with truth." "mr. floyd, do common justice to the young man. he is a fine, highly esteemed person, in a good position, and numbers his friends among the best. his attentions would be no insult to any woman. that a pretty young girl should be admired is no uncommon thing; that more than one man should want to marry her is nothing derogatory. you may not care to accept him for a son-in-law----" "she should not marry him if she never married at all!" thundered the irascible old man. "i had other and better plans for her. some months ago one of our most estimable neighbors, a man of large property and unsullied reputation, asked for her hand. being a widower, he would make no advances until the year of mourning had expired, which certainly evinced a delicacy worthy of all commendation. marian knew she was as good as betrothed. ha! louis!" as the young man crossed the porch. "tell me the truth, sir? did you not bring that scheming adventurer down here to meet marian?" "i have no idea to whom you refer. i have no such person on my list of acquaintances," declared louis haughtily. "that beggarly lieutenant! don't tell me he wouldn't be glad enough to marry a girl with a good dower." "i certainly asked lieutenant ralston to come with mr. carrington. i knew the fairfax girls were to be here, but marian was a surprise to me." "you are not telling the truth, young man." "very well. believe as you like." louis turned on his heel and walked off indignantly. "father," said mrs. floyd reprovingly, "jaqueline must have known. it was her letter that made all the trouble. i dare say louis was not in the plot." mrs. floyd was proud of her fine-looking grandson. he had always been a favorite. "yes; where is that deceitful girl? i warn you, randolph mason, that you will have trouble with one so headstrong and lawless." "you forget you are speaking of my daughter." "i don't care whose daughter she is!" the old man roared in his anger. "i want to tell her that her schemes have fallen through, that she has only made marian a miserable, disobedient girl in encouraging this wicked fancy when she was on the eve of an engagement with her parents' approval and sanction." jaqueline walked across the path and up the steps with her head held haughtily erect. "i am here to answer for any crime i may have committed," she said in a clear, cutting tone. "papa allows us some liberty in choosing our friends, and certainly as guests in the house they are under his supervision. the fairfaxes were old neighbors. the carringtons were old friends of my own mother and her dear cousin. mr. ralston is held in high esteem in washington. i was not at all sure marian would come when i wrote, but i thought it a good opportunity----" "for that fellow to turn her head with his wretched nonsense, to make her silly and disobedient and full of romantic notions. but it will do no good, i tell you! she has been proposed to in due form by mr. greaves, and you may notify your friend that she is engaged. and, miss jaqueline, i warn you not to write her any letters upholding your views, which are certainly most pernicious and shocking for a young girl. until she is married you are not to meet again. i call you a dangerous girl." "that will do," said randolph mason, coming and taking his daughter's hand in his. "i think you quite forget yourself, mr. floyd. if marian had not cared for this young man there would not have been any trouble. beware how you compel her to marry one man while her heart is another's!" "my daughter has been trained to habits of obedience and respect for her parents' opinions," returned the old gentleman loftily. "you will find that you have made a great mistake in the rearing of yours. but, on the other hand, they have been bereft of a mother's wisdom and care, such as _your_ mother has given to mine," and he bowed in a courtly fashion to mrs. floyd. "i am afraid that you, madam," turning to mrs. mason, "will find your way a thorny one indeed, if you have any regard for the probity and welfare of these children you have undertaken to train." "we will not go into a discussion of methods," returned mr. mason with a sort of dry austerity. "i am sorry that marian's meeting lieutenant ralston here should have led to such an unpleasant culmination. young people of to-day do have more liberty than the older generation, yet i should have taken it very hard if jaqueline verney's father had compelled her to marry a man she did not like when she loved me. so we cannot blame the young man for trying----" "that was a suitable, sensible match," interrupted mr. floyd. "this is a foolish, sentimental affair. and i have to say if it receives any more encouragement from this house, it will make a lasting breach. if marian should dare to leave her home and throw herself on this fellow's protection we should cast her out altogether, and she would be no daughter of ours." "father, father!" entreated mrs. floyd, placing her hand upon his arm. "i mean it. this is my warning. i will not be interfered with." mr. mason had been standing beside his wife's chair. now he advanced toward his stepfather. "i have made my apology. i am sorry such a thing should have happened here, though i cannot find it in my heart to blame the young people. and now let us heal the difference. have a glass of wine and some refreshments." "we must return at once. it is a long ride. but i wanted you to know what your daughter's meddling had led to, and my unalterable determination. come, elizabeth," holding out his hand to his wife. "we shall be glad to see you and mrs. patricia, but for the present i insist there shall be no communication with the young people." he glared at the group and turned away. mr. mason offered no further entreaty, but went around to his mother's side. "twice you have married the man of your choice," he said in a low tone. "i suppose you have been very happy. try and deal gently with marian and persuade rather than force." "you will understand when your girls want to make unsuitable and willful marriages. you had better look sharply after jaqueline. when marian is left alone she will soon recover her tranquil frame of mind. jane is interdicted as well. jane has grown very frivolous since she has had so much washington society. and mrs. madison is extremely worldly and vain, and not to be compared with mrs. adams or mrs. washington." mrs. mason rose and bade her guests a formal adieu. mr. mason walked down the broad steps and saw them seated in the coach. when it had turned into the winding part of the avenue jaqueline made a rush and flung her arms around her father's neck. "oh, papa, dear!--i never supposed it would make any trouble. and i wasn't sure mr. ralston would come, or marian either, for that matter, and i never said a word to marian. jane is so much interested in the matter, and both she and mr. jettson like mr. ralston so very much. but grandpapa grows more and more arbitrary----" "of course he was very much vexed. i am afraid i am a foolish fellow and let you children run over me. you don't even seem to stand in awe of your stepmother. i shall have to get my backbone stiffened by some process." chapter ix. the weaker vessel. they came up the steps with their arms about each other. mrs. mason stood there, annis clinging to her skirt, patricia and varina looking on in curious expectancy. louis ventured out of his retreat. "we don't want papa changed any, do we?" placing her other arm over her mother's shoulder, and glancing fondly into her eyes. "i wouldn't live with grandpapa for all the world!" began patricia. "there, children!" exclaimed their father; "we will not discuss the matter. mr. floyd feels sure he is right, and i am very sorry it should have happened, though i can't see that any of you were out of the way----" "i knew ralston cared a great deal for marian," said louis, "and i never imagined that old mr. greaves would stand in the way. do you suppose he would if he knew it? and i admire ralston bearding the lion in his den. it's a shame that poor polly should have to suffer, but i hope she will be spunky and not give in." "do you mean to make us marry whoever you like?" patty edged up to her father and raised a saucy face with laughing eyes. "you will find me terrible when you reach that period," declared their father. "at present there are enough things for you to consider and learn about without taking up marriage." "do you suppose grandpapa is in real earnest? he looked very resolute, didn't he? i've seen him angry with the slaves, and i shouldn't like to belong to him, i really shouldn't. and do you think he actually doesn't want any of us to come up----" "not at present. i trust the matter will blow over. marian will give in after a while and, no doubt, be very comfortable. ask your mother if she is sorry. i know little annis wants to go back to kentucky," and he pinched the child's cheek. "you'll have to go alone," declared louis. "but i can't go alone; i should get lost. and i don't want to go away from you all." mrs. mason flushed and smiled at the raillery. "but, you see, we are old enough to appreciate mamma," began jaqueline. "and those greaves children are all little, and they are very plain too. one of the boys has a squint eye. it looks so queer, as if he always saw two ways. and poor marian will have to settle to playing whist, and she does love so to dance. she had such a good time here, and in washington with jane." dixon, the overseer, came up the path. mr. mason was wanted to settle some matter. patty and jaqueline sat down on the step by their mother and annis leaned against her knee, while varina hung over patty's shoulder, rather to her sister's discomfort. and, in spite of their father's request, they went on talking of marian. their mother said they were too young to know what was really best in such matters; but they thought they did, and she could not lead them to other subjects. they were very happy, and not difficult to get along with, if they were rather lawless. to be sure, jaqueline did evince a tendency to admiration, and often gave dangerous glances out of eyes that could look languishing as well as laughing. louis did not hesitate to express his indignation to both of his sisters. "grandpapa is an old tyrant!" he declared; "and i dare say we'll never hear. it's like someone taking off your book when you are at the most interesting part." "do you suppose we'll be asked to the wedding?" wondered patty; "and what a farce congratulations would be? 'i hope you will be very happy.' 'i wish you much joy.'" patty pirouetted round, shaking an imaginary hand and using a most affected tone, at which they all laughed. but marian surprised them all with a letter, written the day her parents were away. how she sent it was a mystery. it excited them all beyond measure. "it was dreadful," she wrote. "oh, jaqueline! if i could have known lieutenant ralston was there i should have rushed into the room and told him that i loved him, and that i should never, never marry anyone else, if father shut me up in a dungeon and kept me on bread and water! but i did not know until he was sent away, and i can't know all that father said to him, but i do know he was very fierce and unreasonable. and i was so frightened when father went at me that i had to confess about those two delicious days. he was sure it was a plot on your part, and he taxed me with having known all about it. i didn't dream of such a thing at first, but i am afraid it was so. "i never saw anyone so angry. at first i was dreadfully frightened. but when he accused me of duplicity and forwardness, and said i had run after mr. ralston, it roused me, and i said i loved him and i never would marry anyone else. i know he would wait years for me. and when mr. greaves asks me i shall tell him plain out how i feel about it, and i am quite sure he will not want to marry me. i hate the prosy old fellow! i wish mr. ralston could know how much i care for him. i expect you are having a terrible time to-day with father. oh, i wish he could be like brother randolph! oh, jaqueline, do you know how delightful it is! and your mother is so sweet, just like another girl. such old people as father and mother forget they ever were young." there was much more youthful and romantic protest and resolve. "i really didn't think marian had so much force of character," said louis. "i do wonder if it would be wrong to give ralston an inkling of how the case stands? it seems as if she almost expected us to do it." "i think papa ought to see the letter," returned jaqueline soberly. "and i almost know he will not want us to stir further in the matter. marian must have someone she can trust, or she would not have dared to write the letter. oh, i hope she will be true and brave, and some time it may come out right!" "mis' jettson's come," said julia. "and your pa and ma have gone over to middle creek." "oh, jane!" they all made a rush to the great front piazza, jaqueline with her letter in hand. "oh, girls!" cried jane, "did you have a dreadful time when father was down here? he wrote me a letter. but lieutenant ralston had been in, and he told me of his call at the pineries. you see, he thought they were as good as engaged; only he meant to begin honorably, and ask father's sanction to his addresses. but father was--yes, really outrageous--if he is my father! i've always felt he would be a gentleman under any circumstances, but this was insulting, abusive; and lieutenant ralston is well bred and well connected, and is in the way of getting a fine position. and, in any event, there was nothing derogatory to marian in his falling in love with her. why, he is invited almost everywhere, and the girls are pulling straws for him. then father writes me a very cross and irritating note, and says for the present marian is to hold no communication with me--my own sister, too!--and that i am not to mention nor in any way refer to mr. ralston, but that any letter of mine will be read by him first. why, we might as well go back to the dark ages, or be puritans at once! i believe those old puritan fathers compelled their daughters to marry to their liking. if i _could_ only know how marian feels! why do you all look so queer? jaqueline, who is your letter from?" "from marian," said the girl, with rising color. "oh, i _must_ see it." she took it from jaqueline's hand. "oh, poor, dear marian! if she loves him it will be all right. and she does. i think father won't have such an easy time persuading her to marry mr. greaves. why, he could have been her father; he's old enough! and none of us can write to her. it is too cruel! now tell me what was said the day they were down here." the scene lost nothing by repetition. they all agreed about the injustice. then jane decided she would return at once. the baby was teething and rather fretful. they were to go to bladensburg for a fortnight. "and, jaqueline, i wish you could come. it is really quite gay there, and the water is said to be so good. arthur is too busy to leave, and often has to spend his evenings drafting and making plans. patty might come too, if she liked." so the word of encouragement went its way to the lover, and was a great comfort and delight. "i hope you will all respect grandfather's wishes," said mr. mason, when he read his young sister's letter. "i shall trust you not to hold any communication with marian." "but if jane does?" commented louis. "that is not strictly our affair. and, louis, do not be too ready to give young ralston the encouragement of this letter, even. mr. floyd is very tenacious and----" "oh, you might as well call it obstinate," laughed louis. "perhaps marian may inherit some of the same characteristics, when it comes to the point. and i fancy we are all on her side. it is as you once said, jack, we _do_ have to take sides!" "and i'm going to be on marian's side," said varina proudly. "i don't like grandpapa very much. annis, what will you do?" "i like marian," she replied a little timidly. "now we must go and see what side charles will take. the old knights fought for the ladies." "i see you are all arrayed in rebellion," and the squire shook his head. "i am afraid i have not brought you up properly." jaqueline and patty went to bladensburg, which was quite a resort. louis joined a party who were going down the chesapeake in a sailing vessel, and the three young ones played and disputed and made up friends. the elders essayed several duty visits to the pineries, but they saw the girls only in the presence of their parents, so marian had no opportunity of explaining how matters were going with her; but she was thinner and heavy-eyed, and had lost her spirits. mr. and mrs. floyd held their heads high and were rather captious. what had happened when mr. greaves' year of mourning had expired was that he went over to the pineries one afternoon dressed in a new suit and gotten up quite in the style of the day. after marian entered the room he made a formal proposal for her hand and asked her father's consent. "you have mine, most cordially," said mr. floyd in his grandest manner. "it is my wish that my daughter should accept you as her future husband. it is natural and womanly that she should have some misgivings on the subject, as it is a grave one and full of responsibility. but we have reared her to do her duty in that state of life to which it shall please god to call her. and her mother and i hope to see her fill this place in your home and your affections, and become a happy wife at the proper time. we are in no hurry to part with her, but until that time you will be a most welcome guest." marian shivered, but her tongue clung to the roof of her mouth when she would have spoken. it seemed to her as if she should scream if he touched her hand, but he contented himself with making a rather elaborate speech to her mother, and pressing the elder's hand to his lips. there was some wine and cake brought in, and healths were drunk. after some desultory conversation supper was announced, a very high tea befitting a festive occasion. there was the inevitable game of whist afterward. this was thursday, and sunday mr. greaves walked over to the floyds' pew, and down the aisle with miss marian, mrs. floyd having taken dolly under her wing. and the matter seemed to be settled without any voice from marian either way. "but it is dreadful! i never, never will marry him!" sobbed the girl on dolly's neck in the quiet of their own chamber. "if i _could_ run away! and if i only knew about mr. ralston!" "if we could only hear from jane! you will have to let things go on and hope for some way out of it. i wonder who will come along for me? and we might be having such a delightful time with jane! i sometimes wish mr. ralston had not come to hand and spoiled it all." "but you can't think, dolly, how deliciously sweet those two days were! a whole lifetime of that!" sighingly. "but men only love that way a little while. then it gets to be an old story and is merely respect," returned the wise younger sister. "i am sure arthur is fond of jane and proud enough of her too, and look at brother randolph! oh, i just envy jaqueline! what a nice time she will have!" dolly had said so many times, "it's just awful, marian," that she had nothing more left to say. then, it was hard to be watched and questioned and not allowed any liberty on marian's account. she didn't see how marian could run away, for she was never trusted to go anywhere alone. and no well-bred girl would throw herself at her lover without a very urgent invitation. the clergyman and his wife came in to tea, and found mr. greaves there, and congratulated them both. then the neighbors took it up as a settled thing, and poor marian felt the net closing about her. there had been a vague half-expectation that lieutenant ralston would make some effort to assure her of his constancy. or if some word could come from jane! louis went back to williamsburg, and patricia was sent for some educational advantages. there was a new little girl at the jettsons', and jaqueline was to be one of the godmothers. afterward jane pleaded so hard for her to remain. she could go on with her french and her singing, as she had a very pretty voice and singing was one of the accomplishments of the day. then, too, the carringtons were very glad to have her. indeed, jaqueline was a great favorite for her vivacity and her charming manner, which was so pretty and deferential to her elders, so bright and winsome to her compeers. mrs. mason took up the education of the two little girls with charles' help. he went over to the house of the clergyman every morning, who was a graduate of oxford and quite ready to piece out his salary with a class of five small boys in the neighborhood. charles was a born student, delighted with all kinds of knowledge. annis was always interested as well. "you will make the child a regular bookworm," declared the squire. and then he would take her and varina off for a canter over the hills. "i don't see why girls and women shouldn't love to learn," charles said to his mother. "but they can't be doctors, nor ministers, nor judges, nor politicians," smilingly. "they could help their husbands if they knew how." "but they help them by keeping the house in good order, and watching the servants, and sewing, and making their husbands comfortable and happy." "i want annis to learn a great many other things, for you know i am to marry her when we are grown up," said the little boy gravely. mrs. mason smiled at his earnestness. a messenger had been sent down from the pineries early in december to invite all the family to a christmas dinner. mrs. floyd had not been in her usual health for some weeks back, and now that the cause of disagreement had been removed she was anxious to receive all the family that could come together. she had hoped to have mr. and mrs. conway, but he could not leave his parish at such an important time. so, if they would waive their own family gathering and join her she would be most grateful. she realized that she and mr. floyd were getting to be old people, and they could not tell how much longer they might be spared. "then it is all settled that marian will marry mr. greaves," said mr. mason. his wife gave a little sigh. jaqueline came home to hear the verdict and vent her indignation. jane had received a letter from her father announcing that marian had accepted the husband selected for her and given up her rebellious attitude. so the family, he hoped, would meet in amity once more. mrs. floyd had not been well of late, and was desirous of seeing her new little granddaughter. "marian can't have given up so easily! and all this time mr. ralston has been so confident! what an awful disappointment it will be to him! he has gone up to philadelphia to consult with some engineers. oh, papa, can't something be done? jane is almost wild about it." "my dear girl, if marian is satisfied----" "but i cannot think she is. she did love mr. ralston so!" "a girl's fancy. how many lovers have you had? see how indulgent i am to trust you to jane, who really hasn't much more sense than you." "why, i haven't any real lover. and i do not want one for ever so long." yet she flushed and dropped her eyes. perhaps he would not have trusted his daughter in the giddy whirl of society if he had not known of someone every way worthy and acceptable, who was watching her and waiting for the right moment to speak. when she had taken her fling of gayety, she would be the more ready to listen. and he would not mar what he really desired by seeming to bias her inclinations. she was not a girl to be forced into a step or have her patience worn out, as he suspected was the case with his young sister marian. "of course jane means to join the family party?" "oh, yes. jane has been almost heartbroken over the matter. she is very fond of marian and dolly. oh, papa, i hope you won't get cross and queer as you grow older!" he laughed and patted her shoulder. "grandfather thinks you will all come to grief from over-indulgence." "we are all going to come out magnificently in the end, just to prove him a false prophet and you the very dearest of fathers." "you are a sad flatterer, jack. i'm afraid you learn too much of it in the gay circles. but you must be on your best behavior at the pineries, and not stir up any disaffection. family differences are very disagreeable things; and, after all, age is entitled to a certain indulgence and respect. i shouldn't wonder if you were a queer, arbitrary old lady yourself." "oh, papa!" reproachfully. patricia thought it very hard that she could not come home for christmas, which was the great holiday of all the year. but louis was not coming; he had some arrears to make up, and was also very much interested in one of a certain household of girls, and was to attend their christmas-eve ball. patty grumbled a good deal. aunt catharine treated her like one of the children. she was not allowed to go to parties, and she had to learn all kinds of fancywork and cooking, and making sauces and everything. "and i've made up my mind if keeping a house is so much work i shall never get married," declared the much-tried girl. "and i think aunt was much nicer as an old maid than a married woman. though she's a great personage now, and everybody comes to her for advice and patterns and stitches in lace-making and recipes for everything. if i ever did marry, i wouldn't be a clergyman's wife." mrs. conway wrote a rather stilted, but very affectionate, letter to her mother and marian. she congratulated the latter warmly. gray court was certainly a fine old place. four children were a great responsibility; she found her three a continual care, but mr. conway was so devoted to his study, his classes, and his sermons she could have no help from him. as they wanted certainly to come to the marriage in the spring, it was better to wait until then, as it was quite impossible to get away now. she sent marian a piece of fine old lace that she had bought from a parishioner in very reduced circumstances, and who was the last of her line. the pineries wore a welcome aspect for the guests. great fires were kept blazing in the wide chimneys, and the franklin stove in the hall sent out pleasant cheer. brandon the son, his wife, and three children were among the first guests. the masons added six, and mrs. jettson came with her three babies, but her husband was not to join them until christmas morning, on account of some engagements. there was staying at the house a young mr. floyd, a distant relative from south carolina. it was plain to be seen that he was very sweet on dolly, and grandfather was highly elated. mr. greaves had certainly thawed a little. he was quite lover-like in a courtly and formal fashion, and made himself very much a son of the house. in arranging for the guests mrs. floyd had brought her two daughters next to her own room so there should be no chance for nightly gossips or confidences over dressing. marian had begun to think a home of her own desirable. with the unreason of womankind she felt that mr. ralston ought to make some effort to learn her true sentiments. as he had not, as also her mother persisted that young society men of that class thought it entertainment to make love to every woman they met, she had yielded reluctantly. then, too, gray court was a fine old place. it had not suffered much during the revolution, though the treasures of plate and fine china had been buried out of harm's way. marian found that she was the envy of the elder spinsters, and even the younger girls thought her lucky. so she had given in on condition that the marriage should not take place until may. "honey, dat's an awful onlucky month!" said her old nurse. "then it shall be june," returned the prospective bride. "and suppose i should be married at the same time! this is preston floyd's second visit, and he and father hit off wonderfully well. they agree in politics, and i wonder why it is such a pleasure to have the country go to ruin. however, i don't think it will; it has stood many storms. and charleston must be an agreeable city to live in, if all be true that is said about it. i would like philadelphia or new york, but i see no prospect of getting there. so if preston asks me to marry him i shall accept. i don't suppose father would ever trust us to visit jane again. and when you are gone it will be dismal. marriage seems the right and proper thing. i wonder if jaqueline has a lover!" a modern girl would have complained that jaqueline made "big eyes" at preston floyd. before she had been an hour in the house there was a different atmosphere. she was not aggressive, and her rather hoydenish ways were toned down to a certain fearless elegance. she was bright and vivacious and had bits of merry wit at her tongue's end, yet it was not so much what she said as her manner of saying it. "i can't get a word alone with marian," complained jane to the young girl. "but i must say that mr. greaves acquitted himself wonderfully well last evening. only mr. ralston is so sure marian will be faithful through everything. he gave me so many messages for her, and mother makes a great point of not mentioning his name. what shall i do?" "it's horrid! i do believe marian has ceased to care for him. and now that everything is settled it would seem dreadful to stir it all up again. papa insisted that i should let the matter entirely alone." "but mr. ralston will be so dreadfully disappointed. he was so proud of his new position for her sake. and marian really puzzles me. she _seems_ content. oh, did you see that exquisite lace aunt catharine sent her? of course it _is_ all settled, and if marian is satisfied--oh, jaqueline, i hope you will really fall in love! i adore lovers, even if i am the mother of three children. i mean that my little girl shall have a delightful time when she is grown up." the children were having a gay time. varina was the leader, and annis, with her soft ways, the peacemaker, when anything went wrong. the two jettson boys adored her. charles roamed over the old house, and pleased grandfather by his interest in family legends and the history of various articles of furniture and plate. it was grandfather's boast that there wasn't a stick of yankee furniture in the house. charles longed to have annis with him, but though grandfather said "she was a nice little thing," he did not take very fervently to little girls, and had more than once regretted that jane and marian had not been boys. "i don't see what you find interesting about those babies," charles said rather disdainfully. "they're always wanting to tumble over you and make a noise, and they're never as funny as the little slave children, who _can_ amuse you if you want that sort of fun. i wish you'd come and hear grandfather talk about the indians and when the settlers first came to virginia." "i don't think he quite likes me," annis said hesitatingly, with a nervous little laugh. "as well as he likes any child girls. i think he likes them better when they are big enough to play whist. but you could listen, all the same." "i get tired of just listening. i like the children because they are alive and can laugh and talk. the other people who have been dead so long----" "but you liked captain john smith, and the froissart men who were so brave. and king arthur----" "but grandfather floyd said there never was any such king arthur, nor merlin, nor ever so many other people." "grandfather is wrong about some things. and it isn't polite to contradict him, because he is an old man. oh, do come!" "annis! annis!" called two or three eager baby voices. "oh, yes, i would rather be with them. and when we get home you may tell me all these things. they'll sound so much better than in grandpapa's voice. it sometimes gets shaky and seems cold, while yours is soft and sweet and fine when you come to the grand places." that mollified the boy, who certainly had become grandfather's favorite, and was pronounced sensible. chapter x. a christmas augury. the slaves at the pineries were kept with a rather strict hand. very few were sold off the plantation, and then for the gravest misconduct, when whipping had ceased to be efficacious. but they had increased largely, and were often hired out, those for the year at christmas or the beginning of the year. christmas eve there was a general gathering, and they were allowed a sort of ball in the great kitchen, where most of the rough work was done. there were music and song singing, charms were tried, and they ended with dancing. all the autumn it was looked forward to eagerly. the supper in the main house was early, and the smaller children were put to bed. the three masons and young archibald floyd, who had his grandfather's name, were to be allowed at the "grand occasion." there were a number of guests, and seats around the outside were prepared for them. "and we used to open the dancing," said jane. "how proud they were about young missy! and we tried some of the charms. looking for your future husband in a pail of water with a mirror at the bottom. and jumping over the candles--do you remember that, polly? what fun we used to have with the girls! why, it is three or four years since i have been here at christmastide." "oh, will they jump over the candles?" cried jaqueline. "they did it at the fairfaxes' last year, and betty put the very first one out." "why, betty must be two and twenty," said jane. "it would be queer if the sign came true." "it doesn't really," laughed jaqueline. "it is like tipping your chair over and tumbling up stairs." "i want to try it," declared dolly. "if you go over the whole seven you are going to be married soon. the others count for years. and if you put the first one out you will surely be an old maid." some of the songs were very pretty, some ridiculously funny, several embellished by pantomime. then the charms began. the first few were rather simple, and caused an immense amount of giggling among the young phillises. the shadow faces were pursued with a certain awe, as if they really were something uncanny. dolly, jaqueline, and a young lady guest were the only ones of the "quality" who cared to look. "it is as much your own shadow as anything," declared jaqueline, "and it quivers so that you can hardly make it out." the candles were lighted and placed in a row at even distances. the young lads tried them first. there were no skirts in the way, and they went over them triumphantly. "but men can get mah'ied when they like," said rose, marian's pretty young maid, in her soft half-lisping tone, "but girls can't always." "try, rose!" exclaimed jaqueline. "i doan know anyone i want. an' i'm promised to go over to gray court with miss mayan." "you'll find someone there, perhaps." bathsheba, tall and supple, with the figure of a greek sculpture, went over the seven triumphantly. sam caught her by the hand, and a shout went up, echoing in a laughing chorus. others tried it with varying luck, evident mortification, and disappointment. there were some who had been practicing in secret the whole week, and were well prepared. "now i am going to try," said dolly; and there was a general applauding among the slaves. the space was made a little larger, though eyes were eager and necks were craned; and broad smiles illuminated black and brown faces. "way for miss dolly now. she goin' ober de whole row. whoop, now!" and jep gave his knee a resounding slap. dolly gathered up her skirts. the first jump was a success, the candle only flaring a little. the second--then some clapping began. the third dainty leap brought more applause, then on and on until she had cleared the mystical number. shouts and laughter almost shook the roof. "i knew you could do it, miss dolly," said rose, in exultation. "and miss mayan can, too." "now you will see my luck," and jaqueline stepped out on the floor. "one--two." out went the third candle, but jaqueline kept on and put out the fourth. she had half a mind to be angry. "well, two years isn't long to wait," remarked dolly consolingly. "it isn't the waiting. i don't see how i could have been so stupid, for i can jump almost anything." miss marshall was a little timid, but went through the ordeal successfully, amid bravos. "marian, try your luck," said dolly, as preston floyd squeezed her hand so hard it brought a flush to her cheek. "ought she not, cousin preston? she's the only remaining single girl here." "yes, she must," insisted jaqueline. "you'll all have time to get good and ready for my wedding." jaqueline had recovered her spirits, and caught marian's arm, laughing gayly. "yes. why it's rare fun! come, marian. then i'll try. i shall go the whole seven," declared preston. marian hung back, but they all persisted. if mr. greaves had been there, or her mother, but the elders had settled to whist, there being enough for two tables. some sudden spirit roused her. she had done it times before. she would be young and gay just for five minutes. "come." preston was leading her out, to jane's utter surprise. marian had been so dignified for the last twenty-four hours; ten years older, it seemed, than last winter. and how girlish then! "marian!" preston laughed. "now, cousin marian. the whole seven, for the honor of the house of floyd." there were two graceful, successful leaps. her hand trembled, half a yard of skirt dropped, and out went the third candle. there was a general cry of disappointment. "that was an accident," declared preston. "light the candle. marian, you shall have another chance." "no, no, no!" she caught jane's arm. "it was very silly," but her voice had a strained, broken sound, and she looked frightened. "take your turn, cousin preston, then let them go to dancing. the fiddlers are tuning up." jane drew her sister a little aside, while preston floyd won the acclaim of the crowd. "are you happy and satisfied, marian, or miserable?" she asked in a rapid tone, just under her breath. "you are so queer and changed." "don't," marian entreated. "of course i shall marry mr. greaves. that was girlish foolishness, you know. and the candles really didn't mean anything. jaqueline," as the girl had come up to her, "we were both in the same boat for awkwardness. i think i must be growing old, but you did not have so good an excuse. do you want to stay for the dancing? had we not better all return to the drawing room?" the younger group demurred. "then jane will stay and play propriety." marian turned swiftly, and was gone before jane could utter a word. but she paused in the hall and leaned up against the door jamb that was almost like a column. her breath came quick and hard. "it is too late," she said breathlessly, to herself. "and he doesn't care. i have passed my word, and to break it would call down a judgment upon myself. then--i couldn't," and she shuddered. "i am not daring like jaqueline, or even dolly. but dolly thinks it best." when she entered the room her mother glanced up with sharp inquiry that softened as she motioned her to her side. "did you get tired of the nonsense?" she asked, in an approving tone. "my hand is most played out, and you shall take my place." mr. greaves sat over opposite. he raised his serious, self-complacent face. she could recall another,--eager, warm with rushing emotions,--and it stood back of this one like a shadow. but, somehow, it did not beckon her. she was only a commonplace girl, rather straitly and strictly reared, with obedience impressed upon her from babyhood. her father and mother always kept their promises, and she must do the same. the fun was fast and furious out in the great kitchen. but at ten the mistress appeared and made them a little speech. they were to go to their cabins in an orderly manner, and any disturbance would be reported. to-morrow morning they would come for their gifts, and the week would be one of holidays. "t'ankee, missus; t'ankee, missus!" came from voices still full of jollity; and woolly heads bobbed in a tumultuous manner. christmas day was made festive by a grand dinner, to which all the gentry round were invited. the children had theirs in a smaller room, with quite ornate serving, and afterward there were games until dark, when the visitors were sent home in the different carriages. everybody was tired from the festivities, and the day had certainly been a success. "i suppose the lieutenant is quite crowded out of it all?" inquired mr. jettson of his wife. "really, mr. greaves isn't so bad. but ralston will take it mightily hard. he'd wait seven years for a woman. and marian seems, somehow, years older, and is beginning to have some of your mother's dignity." "it is all settled, certainly. as a topic it is interdicted, and one doesn't get a chance at marian. mother and father are elated, only that isn't quite the word to apply to them. and there is the floyd cousin, very much smitten with dolly, and i suppose that will be a match. i feel as if i had lost both of the girls. i had planned to do so much for marian, and keep her near to me." mrs. jettson sighed plaintively. "you poor girl! then you will have to comfort yourself with jaqueline." "it's queer," continued jane retrospectively, "but randolph's family seem nearer to me since they are growing up than my own sisters and brother. brandon is so bitter against the administration, and such a tremendous aristocrat, while randolph is always jolly and good-humored, if he can't quite approve of what is done. and jaqueline is so diverting and attractive, while mrs. patricia is charming. if dolly should go away----" "preston floyd is an agreeable young fellow. of course the family is all right, and the money, i suppose. your father will look out for that." "i know marian isn't happy----" "it's a sad piece of business, but it is too late to move in it now." jane felt this was true. could her father have made _her_ give up her lover? certainly he was not as arbitrary then. or was it her salvation that no rich lover came to hand? there was another day of festivity, and a dinner to some who could not come on christmas day. miss greaves was present with the two elder children, who were stiff and proper. she did not altogether approve of the young wife, when there were more suitable women ready to take her brother. the masons gathered up their flock and drove home immediately afterward, mr. jettson going with them, and the others were to follow the next day. "there wasn't much fun at grandpapa's, except on christmas eve," declared varina. "archie floyd thinks he owns the whole world. if grandpapa should die they will come there to live, and uncle brandon own the slaves and everything." "children must not discuss such matters," said her father rather peremptorily. "but archie said----" "no matter about archie." varina frowned and twitched her shoulders. "papa," said charles after a pause, "shall you leave the plantation and everything to louis because he is the oldest?" "my son, i warn you that i shall live a long, long while. you will all have a chance to make your own fortunes and marry and have homes of your own. so don't trouble about any such foolishness. and you are all too young to consider the point." "but people do in england." "we are not in england," commented his father dryly. "what a mess of nonsense has been talked at the pineries!" he said to his wife with some vexation afterward. "mr. floyd has grown very grasping, and thinks so much of money. and that boy puts on airs enough for three grown-up fellows. let children be children, say i, and not bother their heads about the affairs of older people. i'm sorry for marian. anyone can see that her heart is not in this marriage. she's changed beyond everything. but it is set for the spring. dolly will be more like to have her own way, as the fates have sent her an acceptable lover." jaqueline was all in a flurry to go to washington, and started at the first opportunity. the carringtons had begged for a week, as some cousins were coming, and they were to give the young people a ball. "you are a sad gadabout," sighed her father. "but you keep the house astir here with your coming and going. it is time you began to learn something useful. i shall look up a nice steady-going man of forty or thereabouts, and marry you out of hand some day." "let me see--is there anyone near here that answers the requirements?" and she laughed saucily as she put her soft arms around her father's neck. "he must have an estate, of course,--it will not do for me to fall behind-hand in family dignity,--and a long pedigree. do you know whether the masons, like the old scotch woman's ancestors, had a boat of their own at the time of the flood?" "i am pretty sure there must have been masons," he replied gravely. mrs. jettson received her with open arms. "jaqueline, have you any idea of how fortunate you are? congress is in session, and i have never known washington so gay. and the white house is fine in its new array, while mrs. madison is as charming as ever. and mrs. van ness is giving the most elegant entertainments. roger carrington was in here last evening to see if you really were coming." "mrs. carrington gives a ball next tuesday evening for some young visitors. and i am invited over to georgetown for a week. so i just coaxed to come up here a few days, for you would know about suitable gowns. i don't suppose you have heard from marian?" "not a word. but arthur told lieutenant ralston. really, my dear, he had half a mind to go up there and tear her out of the family bosom by main force. he couldn't believe it at first. he wrote a letter to marian, but i am certain no one could get it to her, although he sent by a special messenger. i have given up. and dolly's engagement is announced. mr. floyd spoke before he went away. i had such a complacent letter from mother. it made me angry, it really did. well, her whole duty is done, unless she lives to marry off her granddaughters." "i suppose dolly is really in love?" jaqueline had not considered her very enthusiastic. she had a girl's romantic ideal of love, fostered by the attention and affection her father gave her stepmother. had he loved her own mother in that fashion? "dolly is a little ninny!" declared the elder sister in disdain. "they all thought she was going wild over that young chase, but she seemed to drop him easy enough. he is going to the bad as fast as possible, though i don't believe in a woman wrecking her whole life to save a man, for, after all, she rarely does it. and i'm sorry to have dolly go so far away. oh, i _do_ wonder if i shall ever be glad to have baby jaqueline marry and go out of my sight! yet i suppose having old maids on your hands is rather mortifying. there are some new shops on pennsylvania avenue, with such pretty things, although there is so much talk about the difficulty of getting goods from abroad. and everybody complains of money being scarce, but there seems a good deal to spend, some way." washington was certainly looking up. handsome houses were being built, and famous men were to be seen in the streets and at the different entertainments. there were weekly dinner parties at the white house, managed with such tact that no one was affronted, those left out knowing their turn would come next. jane and mr. jettson had an engagement that evening--"a dinner where they are going to talk improvements and the best way of getting a grant from congress; no dancing and no nice young men to flatter a lady," declared mr. jettson. "jane thinks them tiresome, but she can put in a word now and then, since it is our bread and butter." "oh, i'd rather stay at home! there is that 'lay of the last minstrel' to read. who is this wonderful new poet? aunt catharine made me read 'the course of time' when i paid her my visit; aloud, too, so i couldn't skip much, but it was dreadfully tiresome. this goes along with a rush." so jaqueline settled herself in the easiest chair she could find, and put her feet on the rounds of another. the candles gave a softened light; but in spite of interest she was getting drowsy when there was a hasty knock and a discussion in the hall. then sam opened the door and ushered in lieutenant ralston. "i hope you won't think me a nuisance," as jaqueline was straightening herself up in some confusion, and feeling if the knot of abundant hair was on the top of her head or pushed over one side. "i'm sorry mrs. jettson is out, and i recall the fact now that she had an engagement. but i am very glad to see you, selfishly glad. do i interrupt anything important?" "oh, no!" she held out her hand cordially. "you were up to the pineries," he began abruptly. "did marian seem----" "we didn't think her real happy." jaqueline hesitated. how much ought she to admit? "i wrote her a letter. i wanted to know the truth. you see, i have been perfectly honorable. i told her i would wait seven years or twice seven years, and she promised to do the same. i couldn't believe she accepted this man of her own free will. and then i wrote, taking precautions to have it reach her. it has been opened and returned to me without a word. here it is. that is not miss floyd's handwriting." "it is grandpapa's." "do you suppose she gave the letter to him?" "i am afraid she must have. you see, the engagement has been announced everywhere, and they sit together in church. the neighbors give little companies for them, and mr. greaves acts as if he had full right to her." ralston dashed the letter to the floor. "then she is weak and false!" he cried in a passion. "i could wait with very little encouragement, so long as it _was_ waiting. we are both young, and i have my fortune to make. but when she engages herself to another, when--mrs. jettson said there was talk of a marriage in the spring! even if she had written to explain--i think i could have stood being given up by her if she had said it was a mistake, and she had found she was over-hasty. it was sudden--done in those two days; but then i had seen her frequently during her visit to mrs. jettson, and i was sure she cared for me. she had a kind of shy way--looking back and forth; do you remember it? but perhaps the glances are only meant for a lover's eyes," smiling faintly in spite of the anger. "either she loved me or she was a coquette." "she is not a coquette!" exclaimed jaqueline decisively. "and she never had a real lover until----" then the girl stopped and flushed. "what i can't understand is her accepting this man if she loved me, taking his caresses and his plans for a life together----" "oh, he isn't the caressing sort!" interrupted jaqueline. "and yet i don't see how she could, if she loved you. i wouldn't have been forced to accept him. i wouldn't have promised anybody. i would just have waited. but grandfather floyd is very arbitrary, and when he makes up his mind, there is no relenting. oh, i am afraid you can't understand! you don't know him." "the time is past when a woman is compelled to marry a man she doesn't want," he said with an angry sneer. "i know the old adage says that a continual dropping will wear away a stone. but this has been such a little while. there may be shaly natures that the dropping disintegrates rapidly. and you girls never talked with her about it, which seems strange to me." "we scarcely saw her alone. and we were strictly forbidden to speak of it." "then he must have felt afraid of your influence." ralston looked eagerly at the girl, as if he was searching for some ground of hope. "it can't be changed any way, i think. marian has accepted it, and the whole neighborhood has congratulated her. the wedding has been put down as a certainty." "if i pity her i shall keep on loving her and thinking something _may_ happen. and if i believe her weak and false i shall despise her and get over it. one couldn't respect such a weak woman!" jaqueline wanted to make a protest. it was very hard to be despised, and she thought marian hardly deserved that. "i suppose this wouldn't have happened if i had been the rich man," and there were lines of scorn about his mouth. jaqueline knew it wouldn't. did not money measure most of the things in this life? and lieutenant ralston was young, energetic, very good-looking, and delightful; mr. greaves was thin, with a large nose, and high, narrow forehead, his hair sprinkled with gray at the temples. he was gentlemanly, but rather pompous; and there was nothing entertaining about him, unless it was to old mr. floyd. marian had always seemed so young. "if i knew who returned that letter! if i knew _she_ had seen it!" he was walking back and forth, and just touched it with the toe of his boot. it would have a curious sacredness if it had been in her hands; her father's hands and eyes made it a thing to be despised. had he sneered over it? "i am quite sure she never saw it," returned jaqueline decisively. he picked it up and threw it into the fire. "you see," he began apologetically, "that i have come to you and mrs. jettson because you were near to her and knew her best. i dare say i have made myself quite ridiculous, prating of love----" "oh, no, not that!" she interrupted quickly. "and i am so sorry it has come out this way. i was so interested in it all, and even papa liked you so much." that was comforting. he would be proud of the esteem of such a man as randolph mason. other men had failed to win their first loves. even mr. madison, as the story went, had been positively engaged to a charming young woman who had changed her mind and married another. and where would one find a more devoted couple than the president and his wife, who had had her youthful love and misfortunes and sorrows? "when a man resolves to put a thing out of his mind he can do it if he has any force of character." ralston held his head up very erect now, though he still kept pacing the floor. "that would be best," advised jaqueline. "oh, yes; there is no use going about the world crying for the moon, when the sun shines as much again, and there is a good deal to do. so i shall not be a lovelorn swain, but go on with an earnest effort, for i have some ambitions, and though the times may seem tame by contrast with the stirring events of our fathers', there are still grave questions to study. it is not all froth and amusement. i hope you are going to remain a while. you're like a sister to mrs. jettson." "i am invited to georgetown for a week. and i think i shall stay quite a while. it's so delightful here, and rather dull at home. i do miss patricia very much." "and there is a ball at the carringtons'. i am glad you are to be there. roger and i are fast friends. and now have i not bored you enough? i will try to make amends in the future. will you tell mrs. jettson the result of my letter? she warned me. your father warned me; but i suppose willful youth will have its own way. good-night. let me see--there is a levee to-morrow evening, and you have not seen the new plenishings yet. we are very grand in yellow satin and damask. if mrs. jettson is not engaged you must go." "poor marian!" jaqueline sighed, in relating the interview to jane and contrasting the lovers. "i don't believe grandpapa could compel me, and she is so much older, too. and when she sees dolly's delight and happiness!" "i have given her up," confessed mrs. jettson. "she may be comfortable, and perhaps happier than at home. oh, jaqueline, be thankful that your father doesn't belong to the floyd branch! for brandon will be his father right over again. there must be a sort of puritan strand in them. when you find me so stiff and strenuous you had better banish me at once." jaqueline met some people at the levee who remembered her, which was quite flattering to the young girl. she hardly knew which of her cavaliers she admired most, the fine-looking lieutenant or mr. carrington. both were made much of by the ladies, and cordially recognized by the men of the period who were to be the heroes of succeeding generations. the ball was quite delightful. though it was given for the young people, there were mothers and aunts, and not a few fathers who dropped in later in the evening. young people were not left to themselves, and the elders enjoyed seeing the pretty triumphs of their daughters and telling little anecdotes of their own youth and their conquests. it was true that lieutenant ralston did not wear the willow outwardly. yet as time went on and his love for marian having nothing to feed upon chilled the warm exultation of hope, he grew a trifle bitter at heart, and indulged in some cynical reflections that had stings of wit. indeed, wit and repartee were largely cultivated then. there were few books to talk about, except among the learned men, who still affected classic lore. and it was not considered a womanly accomplishment for the fair sex to be versed in politics. it seems strange to us now that there should have been so much talk in letters and journals about finery and fashion, and who was paying his addresses to this or that young damsel, and the furnishing of someone's new house. perhaps the women of that time were more discreet. for mrs. madison must have been close in her husband's confidence all those trying years, and known how to leave a good deal unsaid. but general society then was for the entertainment of all, and each one was expected to do his or her share. good-breeding was a virtue. jaqueline was gay enough. virginian girls had a charm and attractiveness besides mere beauty of feature. so week by week her return home was put off, until a visit from dolly floyd was announced. mr. floyd was quite ailing, and his wife could not leave him. mrs. mason was asked to consult with mrs. jettson and see what was proper, and have the wedding trousseau prepared, since dolly was to go away, and there was hardly time to send abroad. mr. floyd had insisted upon a wedding just after easter, as he was to go to new york to attend to some business for his father, and he would be delighted to have dolly bear him company. "but marian?" exclaimed mrs. mason, when dolly had unfolded her budget. "marian insists that she won't be married until june. and mother has given her that beautiful pearl-satin gown in which she was married to papa, and after that she grew so stout she could never wear it. but mother prefers that she shall be married in white. marian has grown to be quite an old woman already; you can't think how queer she is!" mrs. mason's heart went out with sympathy to her young sister-in-law, who was trying in such a rigid fashion to fit herself for her new life. mrs. jettson felt rather hurt at first that the matter was not delegated wholly to her, since the shopping and the work must be done in washington. "but, you see, i am to get some things in new york afterward, and mrs. marshall brought over some patterns that her sister sent from paris, and she is to send us her mantua-maker. you know she had sarah trained, when they were over, to make frocks and caps and mantles. she is to sew for marian." "and is marian as happy as you?" asked mrs. jettson, studying the young girl. dolly shrugged her shoulders. she was a flippant little thing, occupied mostly with herself. her own pleasure came first. "i don't see how she can be, with that stick of a lover. i'm sure you can't compare him with preston. but if he suits her--and she's trying to take an interest in the children. i think they're hideous. oh, jane, it is a great shame the lieutenant hadn't been better off! he's such a delightful fellow. there was a dreadful time about him. but, good gracious! i was not to say a word," and dolly turned pale. "do you know whether marian had a letter from him soon after the holidays?" "did he write? why, that was romantic! no--i do not believe it reached her. and if it had, it couldn't have altered anything. mr. greaves is very much in earnest, and marian will have one of the finest houses in the county. then he talks of going to england and leaving the two older children for their education. some cousin or uncle or relative died a while ago; and if someone else should die he would come in for a title and a fine estate. father is quite elated over that. father should have been born an english aristocrat," and dolly laughed. "but if i wasn't so in love with preston i might be captured by the young soldier or some of the beaus with which washington abounds. oh, dear! if we could have come to the inauguration! i'm glad to go away, for it's wretchedly dull all about the pineries. and charleston is quite gay, preston writes." the shopping was done, and the gowns and coats and pelisses left at mrs. sweeny's, who was quite celebrated for her taste. then dolly was suddenly summoned home. her father had a poorly spell, and mr. greaves had met with an accident. as he was going to mount his horse one morning to ride over to the pineries, an owl that had been nesting in a tree near the house made a flight across the lawn, at which the horse shied and knocked down his master, whose head struck the stepping-stone, and he had lain unconscious ever since, but no bones were broken. they had a hope that it would not prove serious, since mr. greaves had an excellent constitution and had never been ill a day in his life. chapter xi. the thorns that beset love. the spring was late this year, but when it came everything burst into bloom and beauty as if by magic. even the marshy ends of the streets in washington were covered with verdure and the curious delicate bloom of the different sedge growths. congress kept on. there were many perplexing questions, and war loomed in the distance. the festivities at the pineries were quite interrupted. when mr. greaves recovered consciousness it was found that his right side had been partially paralyzed. his speech was affected, and the doctor spoke doubtfully of his mind. consequently all thoughts of marian's marriage must be given up for the present. but dolly's went on, and the last week in april the impatient lover presented himself, and the family relatives and friends were gathered to celebrate the occasion. it was considered most proper for louis mason to attend marian, who was to be the first bridesmaid. jaqueline was next in order, and there were three others. weddings were quite sumptuous affairs in those days. there was a great supper and dancing; one of the bride-cakes held a ring, put in by the hand of the bride-elect, and great was the interest to see who would get it. this fell to jaqueline. and when the bride was escorted upstairs by her bevy of maidens she paused on the landing and scattered her half-dozen roses which had been sent from washington, and cost extravagantly. the first one did not go far, and caught in jaqueline's shoulder-knot. there was a general laughing exclamation. "and i haven't even a lover!" cried the girl with dainty mock regret. there was a grand breakfast the next morning--a real breakfast, not a noon luncheon. many of the guests had remained all night. mirth and jollity reigned, good-wishes were given, healths were drunk, and at noon the young couple started on their long stage-coach journey. tours were hardly considered then, though the bride often journeyed to the house of her husband's nearest relatives. but to take in baltimore and philadelphia was enough to set one up for life, and dolly was very much elated. the return trip would be made by water, so she would be quite a traveled bride. marian had been the sedate elder sister. she was not old, but she had grown much older and lost the aspect of girlhood that she had kept her three-and-twenty years. there was much kindly sympathy expressed for her. mr. greaves grew more helpless instead of improving, and his mind had never been quite clear. but no one suggested an interrupted engagement except among the slaves, who recalled that she had put out her candle on christmas eve, and the ring in the cake had not come to her, nor a single rose. "looks laik she cut out fer 'n ole maid," declared a gray-haired mammy. "en she mought 'a' bin a gret lady, goin' ober to de ole country. but young missy goin' to be happy as de day is long. de house'll never seem de same." "grandfather floyd has begun to break," said mr. mason when they had started on their homeward journey. "one can hardly decide whether to be glad or sorry about marian. anyway, it is hard on the poor girl." "and you can't decide whether she is sorry or not. i never saw anyone change so. she has grown curiously close about herself," declared jaqueline. the interrupted intimacy between the two families was taken up again. even jane and her three children were invited to the pineries for a hot month in the summer. grandfather was quite deaf, which made him more irritable, and marian played piquet with him for hours together. mrs. floyd managed the plantation, though she had always taken her share of that. patricia came home a slim, pretty, and piquant young woman, refined and finished, and louis was an attractive young collegian. the house was filled with guests, and there was much merriment, until one day the word came that surprised them all. grandfather had been found dead in his chair on the porch where he took his usual afternoon nap. family funerals were almost as grand occasions as marriages at this period. the great house was filled with guests, and there was no unseemly haste to bury the dead out of their sight. the funeral procession might have been that of a famous man. when they returned the relatives were gathered in the darkened parlor where the candles stood lighted on a table, and archibald floyd's will was read in a dry, decorous tone by the little old lawyer who had made wills for half a century. as was expected, the pineries and slaves and appurtenances of all kinds went to brandon, who was the only son. the girls had an equal money portion. the widow was provided with a home; certain rooms were set apart for her, certain slaves were bequeathed to her with the bed and table linen and some of the furnishings that she had brought with her; and brandon was to pay her a regular income out of the estate, which was to cease at her death. a very fair and just will, it was agreed on every side. meanwhile there had been no perceptible change in mr. greaves. he did not suffer much; he was fed and cared for like a child. some days he brightened and talked with encouraging coherence, but it was mostly about his early life, and he now and then mistook his sister for his dead wife. and though marian had gone over several times, he had not seemed to recall her specially. miss greaves was in her element. she had not taken kindly to the prospect of being deposed, though the training of women in her day led them to accept the inevitable without complaining. she was rather proud, too, that her brother had won a young woman; and marian's sudden gravity after her engagement had given her considerable satisfaction. "the doctor holds out very little hope of perfect recovery," she said to the younger woman at one call. "he thinks brother's mind will never be quite right again. he has a good appetite now and sleeps well, but it is very sad to be stricken down in the very prime of life. on our mother's side we are a long-lived race. i had an aunt who lay paralyzed for seven years, and was eighty when she died." marian shuddered. her father's failing health had demanded most of her attention. was she in any way relieved? she tried not to think of it. no one referred to the marriage, except now and then some of the slaves, who counted up all the bad signs in an awesome fashion. dolly had enjoyed everything to the uttermost, and was delighted with her new home and her new relatives. communication between even the most important cities was tardy at that time, and often sent by private messenger. yet the political interest of the states was kept up keenly, almost to rivalry. new england, whose commerce had been injured the most, complained loudly. the states were between two fires. england was bringing all her power to bear upon the emperor napoleon. neither country paid any attention to the rights of neutrals. there was the old romantic remembrance of france coming to our assistance in our mighty struggle with the mother country; but there were a hundred relationships with england where there was one with france, and napoleon's ruthlessness had alienated the noblest sense of the community. yet living went on in the lavish, cordial virginian fashion at the old plantation, if it was not quite so full of gayety. there were two attractive young women now, and the young men were haunting the house, planning riding parties and a day's outing to some grove or wood, a sail down or up the potomac, and a three-days' visit to some neighbor who rather regretfully gave up dancing on account of the recent death. louis had been putting in law with his other studies, and was not to graduate for another year. roger carrington was now a steady visitor, and all the household knew he was young missy's lover. her father's assent had been cordially given. her own was still in abeyance. jaqueline had a willful streak in her nature. if someone had opposed, she would have sided at once with her lover. but everybody agreed. mrs. carrington treated her as a daughter already, and longed to have the engagement announced. roger pleaded. "i want to be quite sure that i love you better than anybody," she would say with a kind of dainty sweetness. "if one _should_ make a mistake!" "but we are such friends already. we have been for a long time. surely if you disliked me you would have found it out before this." "but i don't dislike you. i like you very much. only it seems that things which come so easy----" she let her lovely eyes droop, and the color came and went in her face. how exquisite her rose-leaf cheeks were! he wished he had the right to kiss them fifty times an hour. a husband would have. but there was a fine courtesy between lovers of that day. and there was always some curling tendril of shadowy hair clustering about her fair temples. her ear, too, was like a bit of sculpture, and the lines that went down her neck and lost themselves in the roundness of her shoulders changed with every motion, each one prettier than the last, and were distractingly tempting. "i'm sure it doesn't come easy to me," he said in a rather curt tone. "oh, doesn't it? i thought there really was no mistaking the grand passion on a man's part--that he was convinced in the flash of an eye." "it is when he wishes to convince that his doubt arises. if i could persuade you----" longingly. "i am always afraid i shall be too easily persuaded," she returned plaintively. "i sometimes wonder if i really have a good strong mind of my own. do you know, i should like to be one of the heroic women; then in case war should come--there are such talks about it, you know--and i _had_ to send you away----" she looked so utterly bewitching that he had much ado not to clasp her to his heart. "you are heroic enough. and you are tormenting to the last degree. i wonder sometimes if you even like me!" "oh, you know i like you," carelessly. "if you would once say 'i love you.' you like so many people--young men, i mean." "why, when you have been brought up with them, so to speak----" and she looked up out of large, innocent eyes. "there are the bakers, you know. georgie, rob, teddy, and i have played together always. would you have me turn haughty now?" "i don't mind the bakers, and teddy is as good as engaged to hester fairfax, who really does adore him." "yes, i think she does," gravely. "he is always describing her perfections and her sweetnesses, as if we hadn't quarreled and declared we wouldn't speak to each other and done little spiteful tricks that girls always do, and--and gotten over it, and know all about each other." "i don't believe you were ever very spiteful. that takes a small nature." she looked furtively from under her long lashes, as if considering. "well--patty and i quarrel. you must know that i haven't the most amiable temper in the world when i am roused." "yes." she could be very tormenting. "and i like to have my own way. papa generally gives in. and sometimes i feel self-condemned that mamma is so good to me." "then you have a conscience?" "i don't believe my own mother would have been so easy. and there's grandmamma----" "who would have led you to find out your mind in short order," he commented quickly. "_her_ mind, you mean. and if she had resolved that i shouldn't marry you, you would have been sent to the right-about at once. and that reminds me--lieutenant ralston is coming down next week. but i suppose you are not afraid of him, since his heart is--oh, can you tell where it is? sometimes i think he still cares for marian, and then he is so bitter and sharp. she won't ever marry mr. greaves now." she looked so eager and earnest, as if this was the main question of her life. he turned away with a pang at his heart. was she anything but a volatile, teasing girl, with no deep feelings? "you shan't! i say you shan't! annis belongs to me. you shan't take her away. we're going to row round the pond----" louis laughed with a soft sound of triumph. "but you promised to ride with me, didn't you, annis? and i don't see how annis belongs to you especially. you're too old for that boyish foolishness. why, you couldn't marry her in years and years, and then she'd be an old woman, queer and cross. hillo!" in a surprised tone. they faced mr. carrington and jaqueline. "oh, louis, why do you tease the children so?" exclaimed jaqueline in disapprobation. "i'm not teasing you, annis, am i? we were to go for a ride, and her pony is all ready, when charles flew into a passion." "i told you scipio was getting the boat ready----" "but i didn't think you meant to-day. you said it leaked and had to be repaired, and this morning----" she glanced up at louis entreatingly. "this morning i told her we would go down to the creek and see the great flock of ducks julius has been raising. annis belongs as much to me as to you. she belongs to us all. and how do you know but that i'll marry her myself? i'm very fond of annis. and i'm grown up. in a few years i may be a judge, or be sent abroad to smooth out some quarrel or make a treaty, while you will be in school studying your cicero. annis will be a big girl, old enough to marry. and you like me, don't you, annis?" he had his arm around the child. he had been very sweet to her of late, partly to tease varina, and partly because she interested him curiously. she said such quaint things; she could seem to understand almost everything. and when he declaimed a fine latin poem with vigor and loftiness, her eyes would follow him, her face would glow and change with emotion and appreciation. then he had been teaching her some pretty songs. "i like you both," she returned in a tender, entreating voice, as if begging each one to be content with the regard. yet she made no motion to leave him, and both slim hands were clasped around the young man's arm. "but you must like me the best," and now he put his arm about her, drawing her closer to his side. "it's this way. first your mother--always; then father, who is very fond of you, little annis; then me, then jaqueline, and you see charles stands way down at the bottom of the line. of course you can't love him quite so much; it wouldn't be fair to the rest of us." annis looked perplexed with the reasoning. she glanced at charles, then hid her face in the elder brother's coat. he made a rush at her, but louis caught him and held him off at arm's length. "you're a mean--mean skunk, that's what you are!" the boy's face was scarlet with passion, and his voice choked. "she won't love you best, will you, annis? for he likes all the girls, the big ladies, and i don't care for anyone but just you." "louis, do stop! you ought to be ashamed. charles----" but louis let go of his little brother's arm, who ran a few steps with the impetus and then tumbled over. louis caught the little girl in both arms,--she was slim and light,--and ran swiftly with her. jaqueline picked up charles, who was crying now in a passion of anger, exclaiming between the sobs: "i just hate him, i do! he shan't take away annis. she belongs to me." "charles, don't be so foolish. you can't have annis every hour in the day, and if you go on this way she'll just hate you. why, i am ashamed of you! and here is mr. carrington." "i don't care. i made scip mend the boat, 'n' he said dixon would be awful mad and maybe have him flogged. where's father? i'll go and tell him how it was, and scip may tear the old boat to pieces, but he shan't be flogged. louis thinks he's great shakes because he's older and bigger----" "but he will be married before you and annis are grown up, so don't worry. he loves to tease you. now go and find father." "he is taking love early and hard," said mr. carrington. "it's such ridiculous nonsense! mamma doesn't like it a bit, but father thinks it a good joke. it makes charles appear silly. but he will go away to school and have new interests. and in a few years annis won't want to be claimed in that masterful fashion." they walked along silently. mr. mason sat out under a great tree, smoking his pipe and listening to charles. "let them finish their confidence. i'll take the hammock, and you may read to me." she did not want to discuss love any more just now. annis was borne triumphantly to her pony. louis placed her in the saddle. "you do love me, little annis, do you not?" and he kissed her tenderly. he had a very sweet way that you could not gainsay when it was turned upon you, and a child certainly could not resist. "now we will have a nice gallop, and then a rest down by the creek where it is shady, ever so much nicer than the sunny pond and the old boat. you know i asked you first." "i didn't think charles meant this very afternoon," she said regretfully. "and i'm so sorry he----" "never mind about a boy's temper. look at that fire bird--isn't he gorgeous? there's where the lightning struck that great pine tree the other night and split it in two." "oh, poor tree! do you suppose it hurt very much! and the half stands up as if nothing could ever make it afraid. there are the branches all withering on the ground. were you very much frightened? it kills people sometimes, doesn't it?" "very seldom. and a great many things kill them. accidents and falls, and sickness, so the few struck by lightning are hardly to be taken into account." "oh, look at the great field of corn! it is like a sea." the tassels had turned yellow, and the wind stirred them, making golden waves. "what do you know about the sea?" "why, when we went down the potomac. you were not home." "i've been down there though, and out on the ocean." "would you be afraid to go to england?" "not of the ocean, but i might be of the privateers. and i should not want to be caught and impressed, and made to fight. but i mustn't fill my little lady-love with frightful subjects." the child's cheek warmed with a dainty color. could anyone be a lady-love to two persons? that was what charles called her. squirrels were scurrying here and there. the goldenrod was nodding on tall stalks, and some asters starred the wayside. afar was a broad stretch of tobacco fields in their peculiar deep-green luxuriance. birds were calling to each other, insects were droning, the monotony broken by a shrill chirr as a grasshopper leaped up from the path or a locust predicted a hot to-morrow from his leafy covert. they crossed broad sunny patches that looked like a dried-up sea, they lingered under fragrant pines and great oaks and maples that shaded the road, and annis laughed at her companion's comments and the merry stories he told. she had been used to standing somewhat in awe of him, but this summer he had quite overcome her shyness. sometimes she did get a little tired of the knowledge charles poured into her ears. latin orations had not much charm for her, in their unknown tongue, and only the inflections of the boy's musical voice rendered them tolerable. she liked the deeds of heroes rather than what they said, and their loves rather than their fighting or their harangues. at home charles had thrown himself on the half-dried turf and given way to another burst of passion such as seldom moved him. that louis should take annis away from him, his chosen friend and companion, and that she should go without a protest! was she really liking louis, who was grown up and who could have his pick of the pretty young women always coming to the house. why should he want annis? it was the boy's first experience with a rival, and as he had never dreamed of such an untoward event, he could not understand the pain. it was like a storm that had been threatening in the southeast while the west was still clear, and now had suddenly blown up and enveloped the whole sky. though he was not much given to tears, or anger, for that matter, the tempest surged over him now, and as it was furious it was the shorter lived. presently a laugh stung him, and he raised his head, but he knew the sound of the voice. "do go away, varina!" he exclaimed sharply. "can't i walk where i like? when you get a house and a plantation of your own, you may order me off. or you may even set the dogs on me." "don't be so silly, so hateful." he was shocked at her last remark, and sprang up, brushing off the twigs and bits of dried grass. "it is you who are silly, making a dunce of yourself over annis. of course she cares for you when there is no one else by. that's just the way with girls. look at jaqueline. when mr. tayloe or mr. bedford are here she's sweet to them, then comes the lieutenant and she sends the others to the right-about-face, then he goes and it's all mr. carrington. when he is gone she will take up with mr. bedford. i like him. he's so funny and sings such splendid songs." charles was standing up very straight. indeed, he seemed to stretch out his slim figure, and the gravity of his face had scarcely a boyish line in it. "do you mean that jaqueline doesn't care for any of them? patty said she was as good as engaged to mr. carrington, and that we could have a nicer wedding than dolly floyd's." varina shrugged her shoulders. there was always an eerie flavor about the child's strictures. "she cares for them all when they are here. oh, gracious! suppose they should all come together!" and she laughed. "but she'd rather take them one by one, and have a good time. that's the way i mean to do. you have more good times." "annis isn't a bit like you!" the boy flung out hotly. he could not understand; it had not come time for analysis or fine gradations; he only suffered, without the power of reasoning. "annis is a girl; and girls are all alike. and there's mr. carrington alone. i wonder if jacky's been cross to him. i shall go and walk with him." she ran down the little side path. mr. carrington had started with the intention of finding charles and comforting him, for it had been with him as varina surmised, but the talk between them had arrested him. was it true that a girl found pleasure in variety rather than constancy? he was amused at varina's wisdom, and yet it had in it a savor of sad truth. annis' little winsome face as louis caught her came back to him. "the sabine women learned to love their husbands," he mused, when varina called to him. he had to exercise some ingenuity to parry the child's curiosity, since he was by far too gentlemanly to take advantage of it. charles was a little sullen that evening, and took no notice of the timid little olive branch annis held out. presently, warm as the night was, he went off to his books. "louis, you tease him too much," said his father. "it's high time someone took him in hand. he is getting to be a regular little prig! you ought to send him away to school." "he doesn't seem quite the boy for that. we'll see as he gets older. but i won't have any quarreling about annis. annis belongs to me, don't you, little girl? and we'll marry off all the rest of them, and you and i and mother will live together the remainder of our lives," kissing her with tenderness. when they all went away--and she loved them all--how lonesome it would be! chapter xii. a talk of weddings. "you must decide and answer me, jaqueline. you know i love you. the marriage would be pleasing to both sides of the family. my holiday is over, and i must rejoin my chief. i want the matter settled. if you are not convinced that you can love me, i shall take it as a sign that there is very little hope for me--none at all, in fact--and go my way." there was something rather stern in the tone, and the pretty girl's humor protested. she liked the tender wooing, the graceful compliments, the sort of uncertainty when she could salve her conscience by saying she was not really engaged and feel compelled to hold herself aloof from certain attentions. for whatever coquetries a virginia girl might indulge in, an engagement was sacred. "i do wonder if you really love me?" she longed to temporize. there was always something happening, and now there was to be a week's party at annapolis and a ball and several sailing excursions. business would interfere with his going. if she could keep free until after that! he looked at her steadily. "if you doubt it after my year of devotion, i hardly know how to convince you. words will not do it. you _must_ believe it." "for it would be a sad thing for either of us to make a mistake," she returned plaintively. "you asked for three months to consider. and yet you admitted that you cared for me even then. if your love has not increased any in that time it certainly argues ill for me. and now it must be a plain answer, yes or no. it is foolish to trifle this way. which is it, jaqueline?" he took both her hands in his and impelled her to meet his eyes. her face was scarlet, her eyes drooped, her expression was so beseeching that it almost conquered him as it had times before. but he was going away with mr. monroe, and it would be a month before he saw her again. "yes or no!" "you are cruel." her eyes filled with tears. she felt his hands tremble, strong as they were. "then it must be no, if you cannot say yes. jaqueline, i am more than sorry. you are the first girl that ever roused in me the sweet desire to have her for my very own. i may never find another to whom i can give the same regard. but i want no unwilling bride." he dropped the hands reluctantly. he half turned, as if that was final. "roger----" she so often evaded his name. what an entrancing sound it had! and it softened him. "you are so masterful," and her voice had a little break in it. "i am afraid i could not be a meek, silly wife with no mind of her own, but a mocking-bird echo of her husband's. when i feel quite sure i love you----" "is there any such blessed moment?" he took her in his arms. "i have sometimes felt in my inmost soul there was, and this certainly pays for hours of doubt. i do not care to have you meek; and silly women i abhor. i only want this one point settled. after that you will find me devoted to your slightest whims." "then i suppose i must----" with a fascinating reluctance. "there is no compulsion. you either give me your sweet, fresh girl's soul to bloom in the garden of manhood's unalterable love, freely and rejoicingly, or i go my solitary way." "do not go. i could not spare you. are you quite sure you will not prove a tyrant?" for answer he kissed her, then held her in a gentle yet strong embrace. "and you love me?" "oh, how hard you are to satisfy!" "still, you will say it?" "i love you. will that satisfy your lordship? now if i were a princess you could not be so hard to satisfy. a nod would answer." "you are _my_ princess. now let us go and find your father. i am afraid he has had a rather low opinion of my powers of persuasion." they were under the great plane tree. annis was taking a lesson in hemstitching at her mother's knee. "we have come for your blessing," began the happy lover. "which i give gladly. i could not have chosen better for jaqueline if i had gone half over the world, or at least a son-in-law more acceptable to myself. if i wish you as much happiness as i have had, your cup will be full." mrs. mason rose and kissed the girl with fervent affection. "we all like him so," she whispered to jaqueline. "your father will be as happy as your lover." "come and give us joy, little annis. i hope charles won't protest at your having a new brother." "but he likes you so," answered the child simply. "and you never tease him." "charles must learn not to be such a ninny," declared his father. the supper was almost a betrothal feast. for a wonder, there were no guests. but before bedtime every slave on the plantation knew it, and great was the rejoicing. and the next morning numerous little gifts were brought for jaqueline's acceptance. and now roger hated to go away. how could he be content with this one brief sup of happiness? "we must go up to the pineries," mr. mason said. "your grandmother would feel hurt if she were not informed at once. and--are you going next week?" "oh, of course. i even asked mr. carrington. was not that dutiful?" her father laughed. "jaqueline, you need a strong hand. you have had your way too much." "i don't know why everyone thinks i ought to be ruled like a baby," she pouted. "jack, you are going to have one of the best husbands. remember that." it was not until afternoon that they started, and were to remain all night. as there was room for one more, annis went with them. it hardly seemed like the same place, jaqueline thought, and she decided she liked grandpapa much better than uncle brandon. he insisted upon the relationship having the right name, and was quite as great a stickler for attention as his father had been; but where mr. floyd's was really a fine old-fashioned dignity, brandon's seemed more pretentious. his wife was one of the ordinary women of that day, whose duty under all circumstances was to her husband. master archie put on many consequential airs. "i am glad you are going to do so well," said grandmother. "the carringtons are a good family, and their father left a nice property, which must be very valuable. i must look among my treasures and see what i can spare for you. dolly had my rubies--they were her choice; and my pearls were for marian. that was a sad and sore disappointment to us all. there seems very little hope of amendment in the case." jaqueline and marian walked up and down in the fragrant twilight. "you don't mean that you still consider yourself engaged?" queried the young girl in surprise. "but nothing has been said, and i don't know what can be said now. you see, papa made his will quite a long while ago, and when there was the talk about lieutenant ralston he said if i encouraged him--if i married against his wishes--he would not leave me anything, and everybody should know it was because i had been a disobedient, ungrateful child. think of having it read out before all the relatives! and you know he did not alter the will. he gave jane less because he had given her part of her portion on her wedding day. jane had it very easy, i think, considering that mr. jettson had no fortune to speak of except those washington marshes. but jane's had a nice time and plenty of friends. only, you see, now i feel bound by the will. papa trusted me. he had a feeling that mr. greaves might recover--he was so strong, and had always been well. but we never talked it over, for no one really was thinking of papa's death." "do you know, marian, i consider you a very foolish girl--superstitious, as well? no one can expect you to marry mr. greaves," said jaqueline emphatically. "of course not now. but if he should have his mind a little while and give me up, i should feel quite free, you know." "and you mean to wait for that?" indignantly. "i am not _waiting_. papa has been dead such a little while that it would be indecent to traverse his wishes at once. and mr. greaves loved me, he really did; you need not look so incredulous! not like--a younger man, perhaps," making a little halt. "he planned so many things for my pleasure. we were to go to england. he and papa agreed so well on politics." "and you are an american girl! please don't forget that grandmother's father was at the surrender of cornwallis, and we are all proud of it! he is your ancestor, too. and the masons were all on the side of liberty and a country for ourselves." "i think women are not much concerned in politics," she replied evasively. "but it _is_ pleasanter to have all your people of one belief. it does seem as if the church should have something to do with the government. i don't understand it, but it appears christian and proper." "after all, it is the people who make the country, and the church too. and it ought to be what the people want, the majority of them." jaqueline's tone carried a penetrating conviction, yet marian steeled her heart against it. the people certainly were an aggregate of individuals; and if everyone insisted upon having his own way, anarchy must ensue. but she could not reason on the subject, even in jaqueline's girlish fashion. argument was reprehensible in women. "then you just mean to wait!" there was an accent of disappointment in jaqueline's tone. "there is nothing else to do. i certainly must respect papa's wishes." "you've changed so, marian." "remember, jaqueline, i am years older than you," she replied with dignity. "and now i have to be mother's companion. she misses father very much. i'm glad to have you happy, and everyone is pleased with your engagement. it is a very excellent one." "the excellence wouldn't go very far if it did not please me," returned the younger girl. "my happiness and pleasure are a personal affair, not simply the satisfaction of others." "i hope you will be very happy," reiterated marian. "dolly is. mother thinks her letters are quite frivolous; they are all about dinners and visits and parties. she doesn't go to the very gay ones, but she writes about them. charleston must be quite as fashionable as washington, to judge from the gowns and entertainments. but dolly is not keeping house, though she has her rooms and her maid." then the two girls lapsed into silence as they walked up and down. jaqueline was thinking that next week lieutenant ralston would be her cavalier, and she had ardently wished to reawaken hope in his breast, in the place of the disesteem in which he held marian--indeed, nearly all women; though he occasionally said: "i can't imagine you or mrs. jettson doing such a thing!" that was really flattering. of course she should tell him of _her_ engagement, and they would still be friends. louis was to be of the party, and they started off in high spirits. "jaqueline ought to sober down a little," said her father. "and there is no need of a long engagement. the carringtons will be anxious for the marriage--well," laughingly, "more anxious than we. but i think most men are pleased when their daughters marry well. and we have four." "we need not think of the younger ones for several years," mrs. mason said with a smile. "varina ought to go to school somewhere, or to aunt catharine. patty improved wonderfully. and charles----" "i think charles is doing very well. louis admits that he studies beyond his years. and he seems to me not over-robust. i would certainly wait another year." jaqueline begged her brother to say nothing about the engagement. it was so recent, and she would not be married in some time. "you'll be flirting with everybody." "oh, don't grudge me a week's pleasure! after that i will be as staid as any grandmother." "carrington isn't the fellow to stand much nonsense when the rights are all on his side. i advise you to be careful." "why, i am going to be, even now. of course mr. ralston is different from the others. we have been friends so long." ralston was safe enough, louis thought. and one couldn't quite blame jaqueline. she did not flirt openly like betty fairfax; and now betty was devotion itself to her lover, and she was to be married in the early autumn. in fact, louis had not felt satisfied to be so entirely crowded out when he had been one of betty's favorites. girls were queer, he mused. then he threw himself into the round of pleasures, which in those days were really made for enjoyment. no one thought of being bored. the world was fresh and young, and had not been traversed by theories and sciences and experiences of tired generations. everyone felt he or she had a right to at least one draught of the nectar of youth. lieutenant ralston had come with the hope that jaqueline would bring him some message to light the future. of course if marian had been married that would have been the end of all things. he had too fine a sense of honor to covet another man's wife. but it seemed as if providence had intervened. mr. floyd was dead and mr. greaves out of the lists by a stroke of fate. and since marian was free, he was at liberty to give his fancy unlimited play once more. jaqueline was indignant that marian had not gladly grasped her liberty, but still hugged the chain of another's selecting. perhaps her feelings colored her words, although she strove to be fair and make allowance for the superstitious reverence in which the girl seemed to hold her father. or was it really fear? "i thought i had not hoped any, but circumstances coming out this way seemed an interposition in my behalf," admitted mr. ralston. "and i found it very easy to go back to that delightful experience. even now that you have a lover, miss jaqueline, i think you hardly understand how a man loves and how willing he is to pick up the faintest shred of hope and dream that it may blossom anew, or rather that the bud, having been crushed by another's ruthlessness, has still in it strength enough to unfold in fragrance when nursed carefully by the man who thinks no other bloom could ever be so sweet. perhaps i was a fool for this second dream. i tried to shut it out, but it stole in unawares. she hasn't been worth it all, nor any of it, i see that plainly now." "poor marian!" the love moved the girl with infinite pity for the woman who had lost it and was trying to feed on husks. "no, don't pity her; she isn't worth it," and his tone was bitterly resentful. "i could have overlooked the weakness that made her yield to her tyrannical father; but now when she could be free, when she knows there awaits her the sacred welcome of love, it is plain that she does not care. perhaps she is still counting on a fortune coming to her as if by a miracle, for she has no great deal of her own." "no, no; it is not that," protestingly. "it looks mightily like it." "marian has a queer conscience. you don't know----" did she really know marian herself? "well, we will dismiss her now. perhaps she has a high order of constancy that will keep her faithful to someone who is helpless and cannot appreciate it. she may be a too superior person for me. that is the end of it. i shall never mention her again. you have been very good to find so many excuses for her, and to keep alive my regard. but i cannot afford to lose your friendship. carrington won't grudge me that, i know." jaqueline smiled. she was rather proud that he asked her friendship. there were belles who were eager to gain his attention. jaqueline resolved to keep the best of her friend to herself, and smiled a little at the curiously obedient manner in which he returned to her when she had sent him to dance with someone. she liked the pretty ordering about of her admirers, the sense of power at once fascinating and dangerous. "i shall try to get off for a few days and pay you a visit," ralston said. "louis will be going back to college, and next year we shall have him in washington. and you will be up often this winter? mrs. jettson seems deserted by both of her sisters. she is so fond of young people." "oh, yes; i shall be up a good deal." "and the visit?" tentatively. "we shall be delighted to see you. you will have an admiring audience from father down." "thank you. you can never know what a comfort you have been to me. and these few days have quite restored me to myself. have i been a very foolish, love-stricken swain?" "oh, i do not think you have been foolish at all! i was afraid you would grow hard and cynical, and i don't like people who are classing everybody in the same category and looking on the worst side." she was very young, but she had a charm that touched his heart. did he half envy roger carrington? but, then, he would be madly jealous of anyone who lavished her smiles in that fashion. one or two choice friends might be admissible. he was safe, for he would never be so easily caught again by any woman. friendship was all he desired, and in the years to come she would resemble mrs. jettson, no doubt, who was very proud of her husband, and fond of him too. he liked women who were proud of their husbands. for wifely devotion had not gone out of fashion. there was a gay and busy autumn for jaqueline. betty fairfax had a great wedding that befitted the old mansion where she had reigned a queen for more years than usually fell to the lot of a handsome virginian girl. she had seen two younger sisters married and made much merriment over it, and now she was going to be the wife of the newly elected governor of one of the more southern states. consequently there was a grand time all through the county, and there were six bridesmaids to wait upon my lady, one of them being jaqueline. so there was a week to be spent with betty, miss elizabeth fairfax, as she was called now. "and what a shame your cousin's affairs should have come to naught!" betty declared. "to give up a fine young soldier, and then to have her second lover come to grief. it is a case of the two stools, and one coming to the floor. if i had not heard of your engagement, jaqueline, i should have asked him to stand with you. if i had known him better i should have invited him, anyhow. there are several guests coming from washington." "if i had only known you cared!" cried jaqueline. "you see, i want to make as brave a show as possible," and betty laughed. "i desire to let my liege-lord see that i have been accustomed to the best, and a good deal of it, so he won't consider me an ignoramus when he is inaugurated governor later on." "then let us have mr. ralston!" jaqueline's eyes were alight with eagerness and amusement. "i will write to mr. carrington, and you shall inclose an invitation. i'll send a few lines too, so that he can see it is really meant." "that's quite delightful of you. maybe he will find some balm to mend his broken heart among the pretty girls." "he is not heartbroken now, although he took it very hard at first. grandpapa was bitterly opposed to it, you know. and marian is in mourning and goes nowhere, because grandmamma thinks she ought not to be left alone." "but mr. greaves will never recover. doctor leets said so." "oh, no! no one expects it, i think." "well, i suppose the devotion to a lost cause looks very pretty and constant. only she will not be a widow, more's the pity, for widows soon pick up husbands. now about the invitation." it was so prettily worded that lieutenant ralston accepted it at the first reading; and the two journeyed together to the grand festivity. old people and young attended, in fashions of various kinds, from the continental to more modern date. the governor of virginia honored betty's nuptials, and several of the washington grandees. the _gazette_ had a brilliant account of it, and it was the boast of the county for many a year afterward. the next morning the newly wedded pair started in a coach drawn by six white horses, ornamented with wedding favors. and there was, as usual, much merry-making afterwards, as there was still one daughter to lead in the gayety. "and when are you coming up to georgetown?" carrington asked of his sweetheart. "oh, there is another wedding on the carpet! and then a birthday ball at the lees'. then patty is to have a birthday celebration. she thinks thus far all the festivities have been for me, and this time the invitations are to go out in her name." "and then christmas, i suppose," in a rather disappointed tone. "to get my share of you i shall have to marry you, jaqueline. come, think about that. when is it to be?" "in a year. that will give me time to fulfill my engagements and get ready." "a year!" in dismay. "you ought not grudge me that when you think of the years and years we shall have to live together." "shall have to!" he re-echoed. "that i believe is customary when one is married," she said with teasing archness. "unless one happens to have the emperor of the french for a brother." "wifehood is a woman's highest prerogative----" "not to be entered into hastily or unadvisedly," she interrupted with a mischievous smile. she was a pretty, fascinating torment! his mother had said: "one wedding follows another among the bridesmaids. i hope you will come home with your day set." "i am going to learn to cook and to keep house this winter," she began gravely. "and it takes a long time to make wedding clothes." "nonsense! there are cooks enough in the world. as for housekeeping, that is a woman's birthright. and at first you know we need not keep house. you will be in washington with me, and then we can go over home--for i shall hardly let you out of my sight. yes, let it be soon after christmas." "i can't be hurried in that fashion," she returned petulantly. "and i should get tired of you if you were such a jailer as never to let me out of your sight." "you do not love me as i love you!" "but you know i told you i was not quite sure i loved you enough. love grows with some people, and with some it comes in a moment of time. would you not rather have it grow year after year, and get richer and truer----" her voice fell to an exquisite softness, and touched him deeply. "there can be only one truth to love," he said solemnly. then he took her in his arms and pressed a kiss upon her forehead in a reverent manner. "i must go away and leave you here," he said presently. "i am always leaving you to some scene of gayety." "but you take the two most tempting young men, the lieutenant and dr. collaston. why, he will add quite a grace and interest to washington. and the goodly company will be scattered, leaving behind the old people, who are always talking of their young days. i promised betty i would stay a whole week with her sister. there--i think they are calling you." "carriage ready, sah. jes' time to meet de stage," said the black servant, who still wore his wedding favor proudly. were most girls reluctant to marry? roger carrington wondered. miss fairfax had gone away joyfully. chapter xiii. lovers and lovers. jaqueline found herself very much engrossed. there was another young lady to attract visitors, and patricia soon became a favorite. she was vivacious and ready to take her part in any amusement, could dance like a fairy, and sing like a bird. "you'll have to look to your laurels, miss jaqueline," said old mr. manners, their next neighbor. "patty will carry off all the lovers in no time. i hope you have made sure of yours." jaqueline blushed and tossed her head. "he would marry me to-morrow," she returned. "i'm in no haste to be married." at the next wedding she had another attendant, the brother of the bride. roger was too busy to come for the mere pleasure. when the birthday ball was at the lees' mr. monroe had sent him to philadelphia on some important business. so lieutenant ralston was cavalier for both girls; and certainly patty was one of the belles of the evening, and could have danced with two partners every time. after that came patty's birthday, and a grand affair it was. mrs. jettson ran down to look on and help a little, as she said, but not to take an active part. ralston begged that dr. collaston might be invited. he had graduated from the philadelphia school, but was a marylander by birth; and, having a private fortune, had decided to spend the winter in washington. a bright, fine-looking young fellow who played the flute delightfully and sang all the songs of the day, and, what was of still more importance to social life, could dance with zest and elegance. jaqueline was in some degree the hostess, and distributed her favors impartially, so roger had very little of her. varina and annis felt as if they were in fairyland, and were entranced with delight. mrs. jettson insisted that after christmas she should have her turn with the girls. "there are to be some famous visitors, i hear, and washington is getting to be quite a notable place. not quite st. james; but mrs. madison is our queen, and it is like a little court, as philadelphia used to be in mrs. washington's time. the debates will be worth hearing, or rather seeing, for the famous speakers who will take part. dolly writes about mr. calhoun, and there is a mr. henry clay, who is very eloquent. i can't give regular parties, but you girls can go out, and patty must attend a levee and be presented to mrs. madison." patricia was very much elated. "why, it will be something like the english stories,"--there were a few novels even then that girls were allowed to read,--"going up to london or to bath with a trunk full of finery. i don't suppose you ever will take us to london, papa?" "i'm getting too old. you will have to get a husband to take you to london." "'where the streets were so wide and the lanes were so narrow?'" sang patty. "but i won't have a wheelbarrow. i'll have a coach, or nothing." "i wish you were not going away," annis sighed. "it's so bright and merry when you are here, and so many ladies come in their pretty frocks, and they laugh and talk. i can hear you upstairs when i am in my bed. and the fiddles sound so gay, and then i know you are dancing. oh, i wish christmas and birthdays could come oftener!" "the birthdays might do for little people who are anxious to grow old fast," said jaqueline, patting the child's shoulder. "but the rest of us wouldn't want two or three in a year. and it won't be very long before you'll be going to washington to see the queen, pussy cat." "but i want you, not the queen. it will be so lonesome when you are gone!" "you are a little sweet!" jaqueline bent over and kissed her. "i hope you'll stay just sweet, nothing else. everybody will love you." "i'm afraid i don't want quite everybody," she returned in a hesitating tone. "yes, one can even have too much of love," laughed the elder sister. she thought she sometimes had too much of it. she was proud of roger carrington, and she was quite sure she did not care for anyone else in the way of wishing that some other person stood in his place. why, then, was she not ready to step into his life and make it glad with a supreme touch of happiness? annis glanced up wistfully to the beautiful face bent over her, which was more engrossed with its own perplexities than considering her little sister. then suddenly she laughed, a low musical sound with much amusement in it, and annis smiled too. "you are having love troubles early, annis dear," she said gayly. charles' _penchant_ increased rather than diminished, and annis found it somewhat exacting and troublesome. when there were other young visitors varina appropriated them, much to charles' satisfaction, and he invariably turned the cold shoulder to other little girls. "but charles is going to school presently, and he will get interested in boys and plans for the future, so you may stand a chance of being forgotten; how will you like that?" "why, i shall have mamma always. jaqueline," hesitatingly, "does anyone love you too much? is it mr. ralston? and doesn't he love marian any more?" "my dear, when marian was engaged mr. ralston gave her up, which was right and honorable. little girls can't understand all about such matters." "i like mr. ralston very much," annis remarked gravely. "varina thinks patty will marry him." "what nonsense! varina is quite too ready with her tongue. come, don't you want a little ride with me before i go to town?" the child was delighted, and ran off for her hat and coat. her father had suggested a little caution in regard to mr. ralston. they were simply friends. he had never uttered a word that could be wrongly construed. she had a kind of safe feeling with him. was there any real danger? but he was roger's friend as well? there were already some invitations awaiting the two girls when they arrived at mrs. jettson's. patricia was much elated with her first levee. certainly there was a group of distinguished women entertaining--mrs. cutts and mrs. lucy washington, now a charming young widow; mrs gallatin, and the still handsome mrs. monroe, who had been an acknowledged new york beauty; and among the men the very agreeable young washington irving, who was to leave a lasting mark on american literature. "but you feel almost afraid of the wisdom and genius and power," said patricia to dr. collaston. "now, there is mr. clay, with his sharp eyes under the overhanging eyebrows that look as if they might dart out at you and somehow set you in a blaze. i am to go hear one of his speeches, my brother insists. and my cousin dolly is wild about mr. calhoun. don't you think they might both have been made handsomer without any great detriment to the world? and mrs. calhoun is charming. she knew some of the floyds and heard about dolly's marriage." "patrick henry wasn't a handsome man, if accounts are reliable. genius and good looks do not always go together," and collaston smiled. "there is mr. irving. he talks delightfully. and it is a pleasure to look at him." "call no man happy until he is dead. i mean it is not safe to predict how much fame one will win until----" "until he has won it. but it is a kind of cruel thing to wait until you are dead, when you can't know anything about it. i mean to take my delight as i go along. but, then, women are not expected to be addicted to longing for fame." "still they may be famous for beauty. i think there have been a number of famous women. queen elizabeth----" "don't instance the empress catherine nor catherine de medicis. if you do, i shall never forgive you. nor joan of arc--i can't remember any more." "nor the pilgrim mothers! they deserved a good deal of credit to set up housekeeping on bleak plymouth rock. why doesn't someone talk about them! housekeeping is a womanly grace or virtue or acquirement--which do you call it?" "i suppose it is an acquirement when you work hard to obtain it, a grace when it comes natural. do you imagine they kindled the fire on the rocks and boiled the kettle as we do when we go off in the woods for a day's pleasure?" "they wouldn't let you do it now. plymouth rock has become----" "the palladium of liberty! isn't that rather choice and fit and elegant? it is a pity that i can't take the credit of inventing it. and what a shame we haven't a few rocks about here! i have a dreadful feeling that the capital may sink down in the slough some day and disappear. every street ends in a marsh." "you see, this is rightly called the new world--it is not finished yet." "dr. collaston, we can't allow you to monopolize the beauties of the evening. here are some guests anxious to meet miss mason," and thereupon patricia was turned slightly around to face a group of young people. but it was not all gayety or compliments, though men were gallant enough then, and ready with florid encomiums. there was the dreaded topic of war, which was touched upon with bated breath; there were muttered anathemas concerning the impressment of sailors; there were fears of france and a misgiving that we were not strong enough to cope with england while our resources were still slender. and already there were undercurrents forming for the presidential election more than six months hence. but the younger people chatted nonsense, laughed at trifles, and made engagements for pleasure as well as for life; or the more coquettish ones teased their lovers with vain pretenses. mrs. van ness entertained with ease and brilliance, and was as fond of gathering the younger people about her as those more serious companies where the responsible party men met and in a veiled way touched upon the graver questions. at mrs. gallatin's one met the more intellectual or scientific people. there was a feeling in the air that the country ought to consider an advancement in literature. boston was already pluming herself upon a certain intellectual standing. there were harvard and a law club, and a kind of literary center that had issued a magazine, and there were several papers. new york had some poets, and there had been a few novels written. but what could anyone say about such a new country? there were no famous ruins, though there were battlefields that were to be historic ground when men could look at them from a distance. many a brave story lurked in the fastnesses of virginia, and old james river held a romance in almost every curve of its banks. but people were busy about the currency and the debts, and the laws the young nation must have for her safety, and the respect she must demand from other nations. for this is one of the things nations give grudgingly; perhaps individuals do it, as well. even now mr. adams' administration was criticised, and mr. benjamin franklin was accused of spending his time flirting with french women, who were great flatterers, all the world knew. and some people were still berating the jefferson policy, and sneered at little jemmy madison. washington had not really taken hold of the hearts of the people. gouverneur morris had said wittily that "it only lacked cellars and houses and decently paved streets and a steady population, and that it was a fine city for future residences." georgetown was more settled and prosperous, and there was much going back and forth, if coaches did now and then get stuck in the mud; and young gentlemen not infrequently adopted the philadelphia custom of drawing on long leggings when they went on horseback to keep their handsome stockings and their velvet smallclothes from being injured. the south was well represented in these early days. newspaper letters found their way to other cities, with enthusiastic descriptions of the principal beauties, their charms and fascinations. mrs. madison and her two sisters perhaps set the pace for delightful hospitality, and that still more engaging and agreeable quality of giving guests a pleasant time and a lasting remembrance to take away with them. but it was not all pleasure. there were housewifely duties; and more than one visitor saw the first lady of the land in her morning gown of gray stuff and a big white apron, for servants were not always equal to the state dinners. there were some charities too, when the younger people met to sew, and gossip about new fashions and new admirers. and the first real work of benevolence was undertaken about that time by some of the more notable women. this was the city orphan asylum, for already there were homeless waifs at the capital. they met once a week to cut out clothing, or cut over garments sent in. mrs. van ness kept up her interest in it through a long life, after mrs. madison retired to her virginian home to nurse her husband's invalid mother, and finally devote herself to the years of dependence that befell the husband of her love. certainly the record of her later life reads like a charming romance. but the young people were not interested in policies, and could not believe in war, except indian skirmishes and among the european nations hungering for power. patricia was eager for fun and delight, and dearly loved a dance. and, like more modern girls, she had a desire to be settled in life, to have a home of her own. to her that seemed the chief business to be undertaken through these early years. she liked ralph carrington very much. "but perhaps one in a family ought to suffice," she remarked to jane. "then he is so grave and bookish, and his wife will be expected to come home. i dare say jack and i would always dispute about husbands. ralph has the best temper. roger is dreadfully jealous. i can't see how jack dares to go on so." "she'll go too far some day," and jane gave her head a slow, ominous shake. "and she'll be very foolish! you mark my words, roger carrington will be sent abroad before he dies of old age. it's a great honor, i suppose, but i'd rather go on living here." "i really don't think i'll take ralph," after some consideration. "do you suppose this gold-thread embroidery will look like that imported stuff?" holding up her work, as if that was more important. "well, it's pretty enough for a queen. there's that new york judge, patty----" "i'd rather have someone first-hand. i can't take another woman's children to my palpitating bosom and have it palpitate as sweetly as marian's did. but, la! there's a talk that mrs. washington smiles on judge todd, who is her shadow! but he's in the supreme court." "and ever so much older." "well, so was mr. madison." "i like young men best." "peyton lee is over here half his time." "but, then, i've known him always. and he is too easy. why, i could run right over him! because a man cares for a girl he shouldn't be wishy-washy," and patty tossed her dainty head. jane laughed. "and the doctor?" "oh, i dare say he will want to go back to philadelphia and turn quaker. i couldn't wear those hideous straight gowns and horrid scoop hats without a bow!" "he has been investing in washington property. he talks of building several houses to rent for the winter. it would be quite a scheme, if they were furnished. senator macy would have brought his family if he could have found a comfortable place for them to live. there ought to be some decent hotels and boarding-houses. men can manage to squeeze in, but it gives permanency to a city to have homes and wives and children. and washington is kind of shifty. look how prosperous georgetown is!" patty nodded. the doctor had discussed this property scheme with her. she was seriously considering him in her own mind. he had not quite asked her to marry him, but he was keeping a very watchful eye over her. they went up to arlington for a three-days' visit and a dance. there was a week at bladensburg and a sleigh-ride, a rather infrequent occurrence, which made no end of fun and frolic. by this time the doctor had laid his case before mr. mason. he had decided to cast in his lot with the new city, to set up a home, and desired permission to address charming miss patricia on the subject. he presented his worldly prospects to the elder gentleman in a very frank manner, and referred him to some well-known residents of the quaker city. patty had been engrossed a good deal with her own affairs, although she had laughed and danced with the gayest. jane had been much interested in watching the outcome of the adventure. she had an elder-sisterly feeling for these girls, who had been so much nearer since marian's defection. she should be rather proud of their both doing so well under her supervision. so jaqueline had been going her own gait pretty well, and developed an inordinate fondness for pleasure and flattery. she was too wise to believe all the pretty speeches, all the earnest speeches even. but they had a rosy fragrance, and perhaps the good thing about some of them was that they faded. she was not an inborn coquette, hungry for lasting power over men's hearts, but the present moment satisfied her. the variety fascinated her. roger carrington, watching this, was at first rather amused, then a little hurt, and finally, when he began to ask himself seriously how much true regard jaqueline had for him, grew passionately jealous. if she had said, "i have made a sad mistake; i find that i have a deeper regard for lieutenant ralston than i imagined; will you give me back my freedom?" he would have been manly to the heart's core, and released her, though it had wrenched away the beautiful dream of his life. but she affected to treat this merely as a friendship. could she not see? when other attentions became troublesome she sheltered herself behind ralston. he was engrossed in the affairs of the country. he had a feeling at times that he was only playing a part in life, that instead of being merely an ornamental soldier he should go out on the frontier and take an active part in the struggles. he was not meant for a statesman, though he listened, fascinated, to marshall and randolph and clay and calhoun, and envied them their power of moving the multitude. then, it did not seem very heroic to be getting the level of a street and calculating the filling in, to consider tiber creek and darby marsh, to superintend rows of trees and dikes and blind ditches. but when he confessed his dissatisfactions to jaqueline, she said with a wise, earnest, sisterly air: "oh, do not go away! there will be an election in the coming autumn, and how do you know but we may be plunged into war and need you for our own defense? arthur thinks so much of your advice and counsel." that was very true. the thing was to build up washington. other cities had grown by slow accretion, and been a hundred and more years about it. congress had ordered a city on a slender purse. there had been magnificent plans and a half-finished capitol, a presidential residence that mrs. adams had not inaptly termed a "great castle"; there were scattered beautiful houses, and though more than a dozen years had passed it was not yet a city of homes; but there was a new _amour propre_ awakening. the poverty of those days can scarcely be understood in these times of lavishness. so energetic young men like arthur jettson and dr. collaston found scope for all their energies, and were warmly welcomed. the latter had hardly decided where to make his home until he met patricia mason. and now he adopted his nation's capital at once. his answer was favorable, and he hurried to his sweetheart with all impatience, though he had been cool enough before. and she accepted him, as any sensible girl with a strong liking for a young man every way worthy of her regard was likely to do. jane was called in presently to rejoice with them. "oh, patty!" she exclaimed afterward, kissing her enthusiastically, "it's just a splendid marriage! i'm so glad to keep you in washington! you and jaqueline and i will have such good times--we think alike on so many subjects. i am happy for you, my dear. and i do wonder if you'll want to spin out your engagement----" "he won't," returned patty, her pretty face red as a rose, and her eyes suffused with a kind of prideful love. "why, he spoke of it and thought a month would do! the idea! and all the wedding clothes to get and make! and he never once suggested that we should go to new york, as preston floyd did!" patty drew her face in comical lines, as if indicating disappointment; but the laugh spoiled it all, and the waves of joy dancing in the lines were fascinating. "i do wonder what grandmamma will give me? the pearls and the rubies are bespoke, and she has a diamond cross that has been in the family--how long?" "and the diamond ring father mason gave her. you know aunt catharine claims that. i ought to have the cross, being the oldest girl, though it did come from the verney side." "jaqueline is to have our own mother's pearls. there's a beautiful string of them, and eardrops. but i think the doctor has some diamonds belonging to his mother. oh, i wish there were some brothers and sisters! i shall not gain any new relations! father wrote him a delightful letter; i wish i had kept it to show you. and he says jaqueline and i must come home soon. perhaps he will be up next week." so they chatted, and when mr. jettson came in to dinner it was all gone over again. if girls did not exactly "thank heaven fasting" for a good husband, they were glad and proud of their great success. they were not ashamed of loving and being loved; there was a kind of sacredness to most women about this best gift of life. for in those days it was for life. if it did not begin with the maddening fervor of some later loves, it kept gathering sweetness as the years went on. patty was still at her needlework when mr. carrington came in. "mother has just sent a servant over to say that i am to bring you and jaqueline to tea and to spend the night. some baltimore relatives have come, and she is anxious you shall meet. they go to alexandria to-morrow, and then to stafford, which accounts for the short notice." "oh, jaqueline went over to the bradfords' this morning. they're going to have a little play, and want her to take part. she can do that so splendidly, you know. lieutenant ralston came for her, and said she was to stay to dinner." carrington frowned and bit his lip. "i think i'll send over to the bradfords'. i can't go myself," as if he were considering. "i'm sorry, roger, but perhaps _i_ ought not go. and i hate to disappoint your mother when she has been so kind to us. but dr. collaston is coming in this evening----" there was a flood of scarlet leaping to her face as she gave a half-embarrassed laugh. "oh, patty! you don't mean--i mistrusted he was in love with you, but it doesn't always follow that a girl is in love. shall i give you my best, my most heartfelt wishes? for i know your father will approve. he is a fine fellow, and a fortune is no detriment." he took her hand in a tender clasp and then pressed it to his lips. "yes, the approval was sought beforehand. he heard from papa this morning, and came at once. and i'm not good at secrets," with a joyous laugh. "and you are very happy? i need not ask it of such eyes as those." their great gladness gave him a pang. "it was so sudden. you see, i wasn't quite sure," the color fluttering up and down her sweet face. "i kept saying to myself, 'there are plenty of others,' and now i know there was just one, and i could never be so glad about any other. i am a silly girl, am i not, but you are almost a brother----" "i wish i were quite, in the way that marriage gives you a brother. i shall shake hands most cordially with the doctor. perhaps we might go as a party--would you mind?" "oh, no! if you could find jaqueline." "i'll see at once, and send you word. and get word to the doctor also." "oh, thank you!" roger carrington dispatched a messenger to the bradfords. the party had just gone to mount pleasant on horseback. it was doubtful if they would be home before supper. they were not sure, and there was a beautiful full moon. then carrington was angry. she thought nothing of going off with ralston, and she might at least have consulted him about the play. that she had not known of it last evening did not at that moment occur to him. all the grievances and irritations of the past few weeks suddenly accumulated, accentuated by the joyous face he had left behind. did jaqueline really love him? had she not put off the marriage on one pretext and another? she had taken admiration very freely, quite as if she were not an engaged girl. it had annoyed him, but he did not want to play the tyrant, and she had so many pretty excuses. how sweet and coaxing the tones of her voice were! her smiling eyes had ever persuaded him; and when tears gathered in them they were irresistible and swept away judgment. he had been too easy. after all, a man was to be the head. he did not find the doctor either, but sent word to patricia that he was most sorry to take such a disappointment to his mother. they would all go some other time. and he went home rather out of temper inwardly, but courteous to his mother's guests outwardly. they were quite disappointed at not seeing roger's betrothed. all the next day and evening he was so closely engaged that he could not even run down to the jettsons' until after nine; and then they were all out. that did not improve the white heat of his indignation, and convinced him that jaqueline cared more for her own pleasure than for him. then when he called the day following she was over at the bradfords' practicing. "it's too bad!" cried patricia. "they never came home from their ride until after ten. jaqueline looked for you yesterday. the play is to be on monday night, and father is coming up on wednesday, though now jaqueline is in it she will have to stay. it is to be quite an event. and a dance afterward." occasionally a theatrical company strayed into washington, but private plays were a treat to the actors as well as to the invited guests. the bradfords' house was commodious, and the tickets were to be sold for the benefit of the orphan asylum, so there was no difficulty in disposing of them. chapter xiv. jaqueline. "i thought i should never see you again." it was almost dusk of the short day, as it had been cloudy and was threatening a storm. roger had overtaken jaqueline on her homeward way. "how many days has it been?" turning a smiling face to him. "i have sold all my tickets, and i had meant to keep two for you. come home to supper with me. of course you know what has happened! patty acts as if no girl ever had a lover before. it is amusing." her light tone angered him. "walk a little ways with me. i have something to say to you." he drew her hand through his arm and strode on. she braced herself for a storm. "what--down to the marsh? the frost is coming out of the ground, and we shall be swamped." that was true enough. he turned suddenly. "let us go home. it looks like rain. i believe i felt a drop on my face," she began. "not until i have said my say," in a resolute tone of voice. "jaqueline, i cannot have this manner of going on. it is very unjust to me, and you will not be the more respected by parading lieutenant ralston's devotion to you when you have an acknowledged lover." "his devotion to me? why, everybody knows--at least, we all know----" "that figment is only a cover for flirting." "but--he is your friend." her tone was quite resentful, and her temper was rising. "_was!_" with emphasis. "but this shall no longer be a cover for you. you choose between us. if you like him so much better----" "roger, he has never uttered a word of love to me." she stopped short in indignation. "oh, no! he has some lingering remnant of honor. but you will see how soon he will ask you to marry him when i have given you up." given her up! there was a white line about her mouth, and her eyes seemed to hold the depth of midnight. he had not meant to utter the words, though they had been in his mind for days. at the first inception of such a suspicion he had said he would never give her her liberty and see her married to another man, and then as he had seen her dispensing her smiles to a group of young men and bending her dainty head first to one and then to another, as if what the present speaker was saying was of the utmost moment, a curious revulsion of feeling swept over him. yes, let ralston take her, with all her love for the admiration of everybody! perhaps he did not care for one supreme love. she was silent from sheer amazement. that any man who was her real lover should talk of such a possibility stung her to the quick. "jaqueline, i cannot go on this way," and his voice dropped to a softer key. "i want all the tenderness of the woman i love, and some of the attention, i must confess. if she cares for me i do not see how she can be continually occupied with others. you give me just the fragments. you make engagements, you go out without the least thought that i might have something in view; you have put off our marriage from time to time, and now you must decide. if you love me well enough to marry me----" "out of hand!" she gave a scornful little laugh. "i thought it was a girl's prerogative to appoint her own wedding-day. i will not be hurried and ordered about as if i had no mind of my own. i will be no one's slave! i will not be watched and suspected and lectured, and shut up for fear someone will see me!" "jaqueline!" she was very angry now, and it seemed to her as if she had a curiously clear conscience. she had not expected to stay at the bradfords' until just after dinner, but there were still some points to settle, then someone proposed the ride. ralston had not remained to dinner, and had not gone out to mount pleasant with them, but a servant had been sent in with several invitations for gentlemen. impromptu parties were of no infrequent occurrence among young people. jaqueline did not know of the invitations until after the messenger had been sent; and from some oversight no one had mentioned mr. carrington. she could have explained this. but when she glanced at the erect figure, the steady eyes, the set lip, he looked so masterful. she was used to her father's easy-going ways, and ralston's persistence in the matter of marian had a heroic aspect to her. if roger was so arbitrary beforehand, what would he be as a husband! she forgot how many times she had persuaded him from the very desire of his heart. "it is just this, jaqueline--i am tired of trifling. if you do not care to marry me, say so. i sometimes think you do not, that you care for lovers only, admirers who hover about continually, glad of a crumb from a pretty girl. i am not one of them. you take me and let my attentions suffice, or you leave me----" she had an ideal of what a lover should be, and he looked most unlike it in this determined mood. why, he was almost as arbitrary as grandfather! "suppose i do not care to be hurried by a fit of anger on your part? if you had asked an explanation like a gentleman----" "i do not want explanations. you take me or leave me. i have danced attendance on you long enough to no purpose." "i certainly shall not take you in this dreadful temper!" "very well." he turned slowly. if he really cared for her he would not go. she stood dignified and haughty. of course he would come around, for if he truly loved her he could not face the future without her. but the door shut between them. it was very ungenerous for him to be jealous of ralston, and foolish of him not to like her part in the little play. she was not the heroine who had two lovers adoring her, but a pretty maid who had made her election and was pestered by someone she did not care for, and the story turned on her quick wit in extricating her mistress from a dilemma. ralston was the lover to whom her sympathies went, and the one her mistress secretly favored. mrs. carrington came over that day to take the girls out for a drive and to try to persuade them to come over for a sunday visit. she congratulated patricia warmly on her prospects. "perhaps we shall have a double wedding," with a soft, motherly smile. "oh, don't plan for that!" ejaculated the elder girl with a shiver. "grandmamma did, you know, and such misfortunes happened." "but it would be lovely!" patricia exclaimed longingly, wondering at her sister's vehemence. "and you think you cannot come?" mrs. carrington said as they drove back to mrs. jettson's. "it would be such a great pleasure to us all!" "we have a saturday-night engagement at the hamiltons'," patricia replied. "and sunday there are to be some guests to dinner." "and the play monday evening," added jaqueline in a voice she tried to keep steady. "i don't wonder you two girls have delightful times and are full of engagements," said the elder woman with a smile of admiration. "but my turn will come presently. good-by, my dears." jaqueline felt confident she should meet her lover at the hamiltons', but she did not. sunday passed without him. "whatever is the matter?" inquired patty. "a little lovers' tiff," and jaqueline gave an airy toss of the head, with a rather disdainful smile. "you never do mean to quarrel with roger carrington!" exclaimed patty in surprise. "it was of his own making." "jack, now that i have a lover of my very own, i don't see how you can be so fond of--of other men. you haven't treated roger at all well." "i won't be called that detestable _jack_! and i am not man-crazy!" "no, they are crazy about you. i shouldn't think roger would like it. no lover would stand it." jaqueline made no reply. monday there was a rehearsal, and jaqueline remained to tea. there was a very enthusiastic audience, and the play was charmingly acted. of course roger was there, and chatted with patricia and the doctor. jaqueline in her heart acted for him alone. she was so eager and interested in furthering margaret bradford's love for lieutenant ralston that she thought he must see how frankly and freely she could relinquish him. but roger, knowing that margaret bradford had a real lover, looked at it from a different point of view. "will you give my congratulations to your sister?" he said to patricia, rising, as the curtain fell for the last time. "there is some important business at mr. monroe's, and i am to be there at ten." "are you not going to stay to the supper?" patty cried in surprise. "i know jaqueline expects you." if she had sent ever such a little note to bid him come! but she had made no sign. then jaqueline mason was very angry. she would not believe any man actually in love could so hold aloof. it was an insult! and while her passion was at white heat the next morning she penned a sharp note of dismissal. he should not plume himself upon having given her up. mr. mason came to washington according to agreement, and was very well satisfied with his prospective son-in-law. "but do not go on too fast," he advised. "matters look squally ahead. and if we should have war----" "it will hardly invade us, when there are more important cities open to attack. and i cannot really think it. as the capital of the nation we must plan and build for the future. l'enfant planned magnificently; it is for us to carry it out. and we younger men, who have not had our tempers so tried with all the disputes, will continue it with greater enthusiasm. it must be the grandest place in the whole country." mr. mason smiled thoughtfully. "i hope it may be. we had a hard fight for it in the beginning. i want the wisdom of our choice apparent." "it will be the city of my adoption, and i shall bend all my energies, and whatever money i can spare, to its advancement. having won my wife here, it will always keep a charm for me. i should like to be married as soon as is convenient. patricia will be very happy here, i am sure." patricia was a fortunate girl, her father thought. fathers had their daughters' interests at heart in those days, when there was time to live. "what is this?" he asked of jaqueline on the morning of their departure, holding a brief note before her eyes. "you don't mean that you have dismissed mr. carrington?" jaqueline flushed deeply, then turned pale. for a moment it seemed as if her tongue was numb with terror. had he really accepted her desire without a protest? was it her desire? "there was--oh, i cannot tell you now! wait until we get home," she pleaded. "but he says--it is your wish! jaqueline, my child, you never could have been so foolish as to throw over a man like that!" "oh, papa--don't, don't! when you hear all----" and she clasped her arms about his neck. "i can't imagine him doing an ungentlemanly act. and if you have learned anything to his detriment--there are malicious tongues, you know. yet i cannot bear to think you were to blame." the girl was silent, and swallowed hard over the lump of condemnation in her throat. for she had thought he would offer her some opportunity to rehabilitate herself. she could not believe she had given such bitter offense. it seemed to her that she would have forgiven almost anything to roger. suppose he had wanted to take part in a play with a girl she had not liked? but, then, he and ralston had been warm friends. roger went to places where she was not acquainted, at the houses of some of the senators. the monroes invited him. yes, he met some very charming women at dinners. but she knew she held his inmost heart, as far as other women were concerned. and why could he not have the same trust in her? dr. collaston treated it as a mere lovers' tiff. "they will make up again," he said to patricia. "and no doubt we'll be married at the same time. carrington is a fine fellow." for the first day patricia's affairs occupied everybody, to the farthest slave cabin. big and little wanted a peep at miss patty's lover. comparisons were drawn between him and mr. carrington, and a doctor was looked upon as something rather uncanny. but he soon made himself a favorite. mrs. mason was consulted about the wedding. "what are jaqueline's plans?" she asked. "i must get to the bottom of that matter," the father remarked with a sigh. "something has happened between them." "and we all like roger so much." it was a fine day in early spring, with the breath of new growing things making the air fragrant. jaqueline was walking with annis and telling over the pretty ways and whims of the jettson baby, and how fond the boys were of their little sister. "jaqueline!" called her father. "no, don't come with me, dear. i'll be back in a few moments." annis sat down on a flat stone where a bit of trailing moss dropped from a tree, swinging to and fro. she amused herself trying to catch it. and then she heard a voice raised in tones that were not pleasant. without exactly meaning to make it harder for her sister, patricia had admitted that roger had some cause to find fault. jacky had been very much admired, and she had not paid due attention to roger. there had been something about the play, but she didn't think jaqueline cared any more for ralston than for half a dozen others. from it all mr. mason gathered that his daughter had not been blameless. to break an engagement without excellent reasons was considered very reprehensible. a girl might have lovers by the score; and though she might lay herself open to the accusation of flirting--this was easily forgiven. but when one's word had once been passed, it was the sacred honor of womanhood, and to break it left a stigma not easily overcome. to mr. mason, with his strict sense of justice, this was a severe blow. he had been proud of jaqueline going back into the carrington family, and her warm welcome from both ladies. dr. collaston had a much larger fortune and was of good family, but the carringtons had some of the proudest maryland and virginian blood in their veins, heroes who had made their mark, women both brave and beautiful. and there was no doubt but that roger would make some sort of a high record and be called upon to fill an important position. "you have been a foolish and wicked girl!" he said angrily to his daughter. "you have disgraced yourself and us, and broken up a lifelong friendship just to gratify a silly vanity and a spirit of contumacy that is despicable in a woman! i am sure roger had some rights in the case. if he had come to me i should have appointed a wedding-day at once. and now you will be the laughing-stock of the county." that was the mortifying point. patricia would be married before her, with a great flourish of trumpets. she felt almost as if she would make some effort to recall roger. but that brief note to her father, explaining that he had given her her liberty because she wished it, being quite convinced it was better for them to separate, seemed to cut off every avenue of promise. "father is awful mad at jaqueline," said varina to annis. "he's scolded her like fun! and she isn't going to marry roger. the slaves say when the eldest lets her sister get married first that she will have to go and dance in the pigpen. do you suppose she will?" "no, she won't!" exclaimed annis indignantly. "and i'm sorry. poor jaqueline!" "oh, you needn't be sorry! jack can get ever so many lovers. but i'd like them both to be married. they're always saying, 'run away, rene,' or 'go get this and that,' when they know you can't find it. and patty is going to live in a beautiful big house in washington, ever so much bigger than aunt jane's, and she will give balls and parties and go to mrs. madison's every day. i mean to coax papa to let me live with her." that was all very grand. annis liked dr. collaston, too. patty had grown curiously sweet, and everybody was coming to wish her happiness. jaqueline was evidently in disgrace. even grandmother, who came down to spend a few days and hear the plans, read her a severe lecture. mrs. mason was sorry, for she felt in her heart that jaqueline cared more for roger than she admitted. but the sympathy from little annis was the sweetest. she had a way of patting jaqueline's hand and pressing it to her soft cheek, of glancing up with such tender eyes that it moved the elder's heart inexpressibly. there was a world of excitement on the old plantation. madam floyd had been married there in grand state and dignity, but "miss cassy" had missed a wedding in her youth, and now that one of the household, born under the roof-tree and reared among them all, one of the true "chillen at de big house," was to be wedded with a gay bevy of bridesmaids and an evening of dancing to bridal music, the whole place was astir. dr. collaston would wait no later than june. "after all," declared patty, "much of the work can be done afterward. the house will not be finished until august; meanwhile we shall stay wherever we can, and spend a month at bladensburg. so there need be no hurry about anything but gowns." the doctor had ordered some things abroad, for, although duties were high and the risks great, vessels came and went in comparative safety. immediately upon the adjournment of congress mr. monroe decided upon a visit to new york, ostensibly on his wife's account, who had been the famous miss kortwright of that city. political matters were kept in the background. it was known that there was an undercurrent at work for de witt clinton as the next occupant of the presidential chair. mr. monroe determined to visit several of the larger cities, and roger carrington was glad of the opportunity to go away. ralston had been sent with a corps of engineers to examine the defenses of several important points. jaqueline was relieved, and yet strangely disappointed. did ralston know that he had been considered a sort of marplot? yet when carrington went carefully over the ground, he thought if there was any fault between them it really was jaqueline's appropriation of the young man. mrs. carrington had been deeply disappointed; but, mother-like, she blamed jaqueline for the trouble. the answer to patricia's wedding invitation had been a brief note in which madam and ralph joined her in congratulations. the elder lady was now quite an invalid, so it would not be possible for them to leave home. jaqueline felt curiously bewildered in those days. at times she decided that she really hated roger for his jealous, overbearing disposition, and was thankful she was not to be his wife. then a wave of the old love and longing would sweep over her. would a line from her bring him back? but he was quite wrong about ralston. so there was a grand wedding, and young and old were invited, with numerous guests from washington. annis and varina brought up the rear of the bridesmaids, with charles and a neighboring lad, dressed in the pretty french-court style. "you are more beautiful than the bride," said charles gallantly. "when you are married you must be dressed just that way." it was a summer of gayety, and there were times when everyone allowed jaqueline to forget her naughtiness, and she almost forgot it herself. louis came home crowned with honors and very proud of his success, and pleased patricia by his admiration of her husband. "how tall and pretty annis is growing!" he said to her mother. "but try to keep her a little girl, and let rene have full swing first and marry off. though i shall rather pity her husband, her temper is so capricious. annis is sweetness itself. she seems to be the peacemaker always." "don't flatter her too extravagantly. i think you all torment varina so much that it makes her irritable." "varina and charles bicker constantly. charles must go to school next year and get the nonsense shaken out of him. varina ought to try it too. there is a very excellent girls' school at williamsburg, and a little of aunt catharine's discipline would do her good. we are a rather lawless set, and you have been very kind to us." "i have not found any of you troublesome," and the stepmother smiled upon her tall son. "charles is anxious to go away now." "he is a smart, queer chap, and will be a professor of some kind. at present he is simply omnivorous; it makes little difference what, so long as he learns. and i really did not like to study." "you have given your father a great deal of pleasure by your perseverance," she said sweetly. varina was jealous that both brothers should haunt annis so continually and be so ready to plan pleasures for her. she quite decided now that annis might marry charles. "and if no one marries me i shall go and keep house for louis in washington," she announced. there was a houseful of grown people one afternoon, when annis took her sewing and went down to the creek to a shady spot the children were very fond of. louis had made a kind of swinging seat with a wild grapevine, and it was a favorite haunt of hers, though when she found varina in it she never disturbed her or disputed her claim. charles often sat and read to her. "do, rene, go away or find something to do!" exclaimed jaqueline presently, when the younger had been especially tormenting. "you are worse than a gadfly!" "there's no one to amuse me. i don't care for those folks on the porch talking politics." "then go down to the quarters and set the darkies to dancing or order up hornet." "i don't want to ride alone. it was mean in charles to go off without saying a word." "papa sent him over to the crears' on an errand." "i wouldn't have spoiled the errand." "i am going down to listen to the politics, and learn who will be next president." "then i'll hunt up annis." jaqueline hoped annis had gone wandering in the woods. but varina went straight to the retreat. yes, there was annis swinging in her shady nook with a very slow movement that did not hinder her from sewing on her strip of gay embroidery. and charles sat on his horse in his delicate, high-bred manner. they all said he resembled the old courtier in the parlor. the little creek purled over the stones, crooning its way along. the air was sweet with innumerable fragrances, the sunshine veiled with a soft haze that deepened the shadows all about. charles enjoyed the brooding atmosphere and the picture annis made. his horse had taken a few steps in the creek and quenched his thirst, and now seemed enjoying the fine prospect. varina made her complaint at once. "i didn't want you to go with me," he answered. "papa had nothing to do with it." "oh, you might have made me jack at a pinch, if annis could not go." "i didn't ask annis. and i didn't want any pinches," laughingly. varina roamed up and down, interrupting the talk. charles had stumbled over his brother's copy of shakspere, that had opened a new world to him. louis laughed a little at his enthusiasm, but annis never laughed. "i mean some day to go and see all these places," he was saying. "you know, they are real places, and some of the people were real people. perhaps they all were. varina, don't you splash the water over annis." varina had picked up a slender dead branch, and was beating up waves in the little creek. the spray went quite a distance. "no matter," said annis. "a little water doesn't hurt. but tell me, did they really put out prince arthur's eyes? how could they be so cruel?" "i don't see how you can take an interest in such people. you're always talking about wars and all manner of terrible things." varina brought her stick down with emphasis. sam had been stepping softly about the edge of the creek, the cool water laving his hoofs. he had not minded the sprinkling on his sides, but this gave him a drench in the face. he threw up his head and turned to walk out. charles had dropped the bridle rein, but sam was gentle enough. as he reached the edge he stepped on a rolling stone, stumbled, tried to regain his poise, but both horse and boy went over. sam righted himself in a moment, but charles lay quite still. "oh, if you have killed him!" cried annis. varina was white with an awful fear, too much alarmed to make a sound. it was annis who flew to his side. she bathed his face and head with her handkerchief. sam came and looked on with a human expression in his eyes. charles stirred and sighed. "oh, he isn't dead!" cried annis joyfully. "no, i'm not dead." charles sat up, wincing a little. "what happened?" varina pushed annis aside and knelt down with her arms around him. "i'm so sorry!" she began. "but that little douse didn't make sam stumble. what can i do? shall i run up to the house for anything?" "just help me up. no, i haven't any broken bones. be thankful for that, rene," and the boy tried every limb. there were twinges in his back and a queer, half-dizzy feeling in his head. "i'll be all right in a moment." sam seemed to feel reassured, and went to cropping the sedgy grass. "there, don't cry, rene. it wasn't all your fault. sam trod on something that rolled--a stone, i think." "and i do love you so--ever so much more than you love me! and it gives me a heartache to see you all take in annis and crowd me out." varina began to sob. "i don't mean to crowd anyone out," declared annis in a tone that sounded as if it came over tears. "and you all have a part of my own mamma." "annis is so good and sweet, and ready to give up any point, and you want always to take things whether or no. perhaps you'll grow up like jaqueline or patty, and patty's awful sweet to everybody since she's had a husband. there, don't cry any more; i'm not killed. i'll sit here and rest a little. and, rene, if you would only give over tormenting people when they tell you to stop!" varina was still a good deal alarmed. she could see charles' white face without a bit of color in the lips as he lay on the ground. he was pale still, as he leaned back in the swing. "and, rene, you will never, never get a husband unless you do change. you'll be a cross and queer old maid, and not one of us will be willing to have you about. and you can be real nice." "oh, don't scold her so!" annis went and clasped her arms about varina's neck. "she is going to be sweet and good because nothing dreadful did happen. god, you know, kept it from happening. and when one is very grateful one tries hard to do one's best. sometimes i think you don't love rene enough, and it makes her hurt and sore." then the children made resolves all around, and charles walked between the girls up to the house. if the making up could only last! "don't say a word about it," he cautioned them. "father would make a fuss." then he turned and kissed varina, a caress he seldom offered her. "i'm going to try, i really am. but it is so hard not to be loved." "but we do love you," declared both in a breath. the trouble was they loved each other as well. and she wanted to be loved best. chapter xv. a small hero. dr. collaston and his wife opened their new house early in september with quite a grand gathering of friends. it was really very handsome for the times, and the young wife was considered quite an acquisition to society, which was rather fluctuating. louis mason esteemed himself very fortunate to obtain a place in the office of judge todd of the supreme court. charles and varina went to williamsburg to school, and annis had her mother all to herself once more, for jaqueline was in great demand at her sister's. she was not long in meeting roger carrington, but they might have been the merest acquaintances. and as if to help the family get over the disappointment, ralph married a daughter of one of the neighbors, an amiable, home-loving girl, an excellent housekeeper, and quite up in the demands of the society of the day. she came home to live, and mrs. carrington had her coveted daughter, who was entirely satisfied with her position. "we were all very sorry when the difference happened between you and roger," mrs. carrington said gently to jaqueline the first time they met. "but it was better to learn then that you could not agree than to have to live unhappy afterward. still, i hope we shall remain friends, and i want a visit from your parents very much." jaqueline thanked her gracefully. truly, it seemed to make little difference. roger looked older and more dignified, and was in great demand with the inner circle of both men and women. there were many pressing questions, both in the city and country. the napoleonic conquests had shaken europe to its very center, and the first disaster to the man regarded as invincible produced a thrilling sensation. mr. barlow, author of some quite important pamphlets, was sent to france to observe affairs, which were in a rather critical state. the party clamoring for war with england made itself heard more loudly. the right of search, the interference of trade, the insolent and overbearing manner of england roused the whole country. through all the turmoil mrs. madison moved serenely, and if her heart quaked with forebodings, it was not allowed to disturb her efforts at making washington a social center. then her pretty widowed sister, mrs. washington, married judge todd, and so became permanently settled in the city. every year saw a little improvement made in the capitol and the president's mansion. streets began to have a more finished appearance. jaqueline was not less a belle than she had been the previous winter. arthur jettson was prospering, and jane was bright and gay in spite of three babies; so between the two homes and the outside world she was kept full of engagements. she was rather surprised when lieutenant ralston made her a proposal of marriage. the friendly feeling had been so strong, and on her part so unlike love, that there could be but one answer. he did not seem deeply disappointed, but begged that they might remain friends. only a few days after she received a note from her mother. they had been up to the pineries, for grandmother was quite poorly and went downstairs only to her dinner. "she misses the stir and activity of being mistress of the house, and her son's ideas are different in many respects from hers. but there comes a time when the old must give way and step aside for the young. marian is devoted to her. i do not know now what your grandmother would do without her. did you hear that poor mr. greaves is dead at last? but it has been a living death for six months or more; indeed, he has never had his mind and memory clearly since the first stroke, and now for weeks he has been barely conscious. he must have had an iron constitution. i think your grandmother is very thankful that this happened before the marriage rather than afterward. miss greaves wants to close the house, dispose of the slaves by hire or leasing, and go to england to educate the children. brandon is as bitterly opposed to war as ever his father could have been. marian is sweet and kindly, but has fallen into an apathetic state. dolly is prospering, and from all accounts very gay. she has written repeatedly to marian. i wish the poor girl could make the visit. it is sad to see her youth fading away." "poor marian! oh, patty, do you remember our first visit here? it seems ages ago, doesn't it? and so much has happened. what girls we were!" "and mr. madison was inaugurated! you went to a levee. how i did envy you! now i curtsey to mrs. madison every day or two, and gossip with mrs. cutts, and am asked to meet this one and that one. well, we're the virginian part of the capital," laughing. "and how you schemed for marian! jaqueline, you don't mean to marry lieutenant ralston yourself, after all? jane was so afraid you might attract him." "oh, no! he seems just like a brother." but she did not confess she had answered the momentous question. she gave a great throb of thankfulness. true, he insisted that marian had never really loved him, and a man would be foolish enough to go mooning about such a woman. it was june of that year, after a stormy session of congress, that the word spread like wildfire through every state, first announced in the _national intelligencer_, that war had been declared against great britain. and on june the strongest naval force the country could muster, a squadron of four warships, was fitting out at norfolk. charleston was astir; new york, boston, and salem were busy transforming merchant vessels that had lain idly at the wharves into fighting ships. young men hurried to annapolis and placed themselves in training, for the war must be largely fought out on the seas. the efforts of england to harass and break up the commerce between the united states and other countries, notably france, had exasperated the pride and sense of justice of the country. the war-cry was taken up: "free trade and the rights of sailors. america must protect her own." and although times had been hard and trade poor, out of it had grown a knowledge of the young country's power and possibilities. now the nation was compact and had a centralized government. there had been many improvements since old revolutionary times, and the population had nearly doubled. not that the country was a unit on this subject. the federalists were extremely bitter, and denounced the war as unnecessary and suicidal. england, out of one war, was ready with her ripened experience to sweep us from the seas. and what then? on the frontier the campaign opened badly. at the disgraceful surrender of hull at detroit not only was the commander blamed for treachery and cowardice, but the cabinet and the president held up to execration. as an offset, naval victories suddenly roused the waning enthusiasm: the _wasp_ and the _frolic_, the _hornet_ and the _peacock_, and the _constitution's_ splendid escape from the _guerrière_, that was to drive the "insolent rag of bunting" from the seas, the chase from new york to boston, the brief fight of an hour and a half, when the bunting was left to wave over the wreck, and captain dacres and the part of his crew not in a watery grave made prisoners. no wonder boston had a day of rejoicing! this was followed by other victories. the country began to draw a free breath, and the conquest on the lakes crowned it with new courage and rejoicing. but in the capital a fierce battle was raging. whether madison should again be the candidate and succeed himself was a hotly disputed question. but if the president came in for so much animadversion, it was admitted that mrs. madison bore herself with steady courage and cheerfulness. there was no distinction made between parties at her receptions. no one was treated with coolness because he had reviled the administration. perhaps it was the charming courtesy that upheld mr. madison through the stress of the times. then jaqueline and dr. collaston were summoned suddenly to cedar grove. charles had been brought home in a rather alarming condition. there had been spells of fainting and headaches that were thought to come from overstudy, and at last uncle conway was seriously alarmed, and sent the boy home in the care of a trusty slave and an old mammy. he was very much exhausted by the journey, and dr. collaston saw at once that it was something more serious than overwork. "but i'll be sure to get well, won't i?" he asked wistfully. "there is so much going on, and so much to do and to learn in this big world. how grand it is! and if we should beat england again, wouldn't it be magnificent? do you feel sure that we will?" "never mind the war. tell me when the headaches began. and the pain in your back. you used to be such a bright, healthy little lad. did you take enough exercise?" there was a faint flush creeping over the pale face, and the eyes looked out on the distance as if taxing his memory, but instead he was trying to elude a curious consciousness. "the headaches? oh, i used to have them sometimes at home. they're girlish things, and it doesn't seem as if boys ought to fret over them," with a touch of disdain. "and you haven't been trying your strength leaping over five-barred gates or jumping ditches, or perhaps riding too much?" "i had my pony, you know, but i didn't ride very much. and latterly it seemed to take away my strength. aunt catharine was sure it hurt me, and then i didn't ride at all. so i left it for the children and varina. aunt catharine was wonderfully kind, but she isn't quite like mamma, and father is so good and strong. i'm going to get well now. i think i was homesick too, and that's babyish for a great boy. how louis would laugh at me!" but no one laughed. everybody spoke hopefully, to be sure, and treated the matter lightly. annis read to him, but he sometimes stopped her and said: "tell me about your visit to patty. doesn't it seem funny to have patty among the big people and going to the white house to dinner? why do you suppose jacky didn't marry mr. carrington? i like him so much." then it was the old froissart, with the queer pictures, or the war news. the young people around came in, the boys ruddy, laughing, and sunburned. the little darkies did their funniest tricks and sang songs for young mas'r; but though he seemed a little stronger, he did not get well. it had not been altogether the hard study. "you are quite sure you can't remember any fall down there at williamsburg?" the doctor queried. "oh, i might have had little tumbles; boys often do," he said with an air of indifference. "but nothing to hurt." he caught a look on the face of annis, who was standing by the window idly drumming with her fingers on the sill, and frowned. "what was that for?" the doctor intercepted the glance, and looked from one to the other. "please don't drum, annis," he said gently. "did i frown?" to the doctor. dr. collaston studied him sharply. "if you young people have any secret that bears on the case, you'd better reveal it. working in the dark isn't always advisable. annis, why do you change color?" annis flushed deeply now, and her eyelids quivered as if tears were not far away. "let annis alone," said the boy in as gruff a tone as so gentle a voice could assume. "i suppose we _did_ both think of one thing when you so insisted upon a fall. it was a long while ago, before i went to school. we were down by the creek. i was on sam, who had been drinking and wading in the stream. he turned to step out, and a stone rolled and he stumbled. i went over his head, as i didn't have the rein in my hand. it knocked the breath out of me for a moment. but i had been tumbled off before, when i was learning to ride, and that really didn't--wasn't of much account, only annis was so frightened. now shall i go further back and tell you of all the downfalls i have had? i wasn't very daring--annis, wasn't i something of a babyish boy?" "no, you were not." annis smiled a little then. "how did he fall?" annis could not recall that. "after a little i walked home. no, i wasn't much hurt. i had a lame thumb, i remember; but afterward there used to come what phillis calls a 'misery' in my back. the headaches did not come until in the winter." the doctor nodded. "but i'm bound to get well," added the boy. "i don't want to die. i should have to be dead such a long, long while." the doctor laughed. "no, we're not going to have you die. that is the least of the trouble. but you may be an invalid quite a while." "i shouldn't even mind that, if i could study some. i hate to fall behind. and, you see, father is so proud of louis that i couldn't bear people saying about me 'poor charles!' in a pitying way." "we won't even have them saying that," was the confident answer, as he went out to add a note to the memoranda he had made of the case. charles held out his hand to annis, who came over and gave it a little convulsive clasp. "girls are queer," he said in a soft, slow tone that had no reproach in it. "and dr. collaston turned you inside out. i do suppose doctors know pretty generally what is going on inside of your body, and sometimes they guess what is in your brain, or your mind, or whatever thinks. i was so afraid he'd get it all out of you!" "oh, do you think it was _that_?" annis' eyes overflowed, and he could feel the quiver of her fingers. "there--don't cry. it wasn't your fault. it wasn't even varina's fault. sam would have turned and gone out, anyhow. and you can't think how nice varina is growing--pretty, too. i am sure it vexed her a good deal to think she was not as pretty as the older girls, or even you. you're so fair and sweet, with your clouds of light hair and your skin that looks like transparent pearl. you know she was very sorry." "oh, we both thought you were dead!" annis tried hard not to sob. "boys take a good deal of killing. you see, i wasn't anywhere near dead. but i did give my back a hard wrench, and i felt it for a week or two, then it all went away; and it was somewhere about the holidays--we were getting greens for the church, and i fainted dead away. after that the ache came back. it's dull and aggravating, not a sharp pain that makes you feel as if you could get up and fight, but sometimes you are wild to run away, to the very ends of the earth! then it would creep up to my head like some stealthy thing you couldn't put your finger on. aunt catharine was good, but she fussed so much, and she's always saying, 'now, don't you think you ought to do this, or give up doing that? i'm sure it hurts you.' and wanting to find out the cause of everything and settle it on some particular point. it's queer that rene should get along so well; you know she has a fractious temper! but the little girls just adore her, and at home she was teased a good deal." he leaned back on the pillow, and his face was very white. "oh, you are so tired!" cried annis. "yes. i have just a little bit to say, then you may read to me. i don't want anything said about varina. she would be almost killed if she thought she was to blame for it. and she wasn't, you know. that little splash in sam's face wasn't anything. he enjoyed having a bucket of water thrown over him. he's almost a water dog," laughing. annis tried to be convinced. if varina had not persisted when charles asked her to stop! but, then, sam _had_ stepped on a rolling stone. "that's just a little bit between ourselves, not to be talked about, for it can't do any good, and would make rene so very unhappy, now when she's growing sweeter. i've thought i ought to tell the doctor, but i didn't want to believe the fall had anything to do with it. whatever happens, you will always love me, annis?" "yes," bending over to kiss the white forehead, her heart full of sympathy and dread for an unknown future. "and jack's so lovely! only i'm awful sorry she didn't marry mr. carrington. patty and her husband are so happy, so are mother and father. there, i am tired. get a book and read. that about uncle toby, who had such a big, sweet, foolish heart." the children had a great way of picking out parts they liked and skipping the rest. then dr. collaston had to go up to washington for a week or two, and sent for jaqueline also. for patty had a little baby girl, and they all laughed merrily about being uncles and aunts. what was happening to the country was a minor consideration. when the doctor came down again he had a well-digested plan. "if it wasn't for running the risk on the ocean i should say take the boy over to london at once and have the best medical skill there. but there are some excellent physicians in philadelphia and new york. old dr. rush does little in practicing now, but he is still ready and generous with advice. you know, i am young in the profession, and as yet we cannot boast much medical talent in our young city. let mrs. mason stay with him three months or so, and have the best treatment. i think it quite a serious matter." mr. mason was aghast at first. "he is so young now, and the injury may not be as bad as i anticipated; but it will need excellent skill to take him through without leaving permanent marks and much suffering. so it had better be attended to at once." jaqueline was alarmed at the seriousness of the case. if she could go---- "no; it must be some person of experience, and one whom charles loves and trusts and would obey. he will make a good patient, for he is anxious to get well; and though he does not whisper such a thing, he has an awful fear of deformity----" "oh, you do not think----" in a tremulous tone. "hush! i have mentioned it to no one but your parents. it is not to be discussed. it is a spinal trouble, and that covers the ground. and he must have immediate care. you and annis will come with us, for it would be too lonely to have you here on the plantation, even if your father is back and forth." mrs. mason discussed the plans with jaqueline at once, and the girl was full of the warmest sympathy. "if we could take annis! but the doctor thinks it would be bad for the child, and an added care." "oh, mamma, you may trust her with me! i am not as gay and volatile as i was a year ago, nor so frivolous." "she ought to go to school! perhaps in the fall----" "mamma, that suggests something. a madame badeau, a very charming french refugee, has started a school for children and young ladies just a short distance from the doctor's. she is trying to get scholars enough to insure her support. and she teaches the pianoforte. it is quite coming into vogue since mrs. madison makes so much of the grand one at the white house, where ladies are often asked to play. annis is such a little home girl that she would be very unhappy away. we all love her so dearly. and i will look after her clothes, and the doctor after her health, and patty and the baby will be so much entertainment. patty is making a very charming woman, and much admired," said the elder sister heartily. "that is an admirable plan, and you are kind to take so much interest in the child. it relieves me of considerable anxiety, and she has run wild long enough, though she has picked up an odd conglomeration of knowledge from charles. i know your father will be glad and thankful." "to let you go quite away--to stay!" ejaculated annis, when she heard of the plan. "mamma, i have given up part of you a good many times, but i can't give up all," and the soft lips quivered. "why can i not go? i will be very good, and not make any trouble. and i could help you with charles, and read to him. he is so fond of me." "it would not be possible to take you, dear," she replied tenderly. "you would add to my care. the doctor thinks this plan the best, the only one." annis clung to her mother. "philadelphia is ever so much farther than baltimore!" she cried despairingly. "and--you are _my_ mother!" "but, if charles should be ill a long while! and think how lonesome he would be with just a nurse! you can write quite well, and you can send me letters about everything. jaqueline knows of a delightful school you can go to. it is time you were learning something, as well as varina. there, dear, don't make it harder for me." annis was crying on her mother's shoulder. she had thought a three- or four-days' separation very hard--how would she stand weeks and months? to be sure, they all loved her mother, and charles was especially fond of her; but, after all, she was _her_ mother. then mr. mason came in, but for once she would not sit on his knee nor listen to his bright predictions. at first charles refused utterly to go without annis. he was sure she couldn't be in the way. he loved mamma very much, but he had found it lonely at school without annis to tell things over to. she was different from the other girls--and, then, they were grown women, except varina; and he could not stand it without her. "i want to get well and grow up to manhood, and then none of you shall take her away from me!" he cried. mrs. mason gave a soft sigh, hoping he would have no greater heartache in the days to come. dr. collaston finally persuaded him that this would be the best arrangement, as quiet and a darkened room might be necessary. "and it would be like keeping her a prisoner," he said. "her mother could not take her out, and she could not go about a strange city alone, so it would be rather selfish to ask so much of her." "and i don't mean to be selfish. if you all think so, it must be right; but i am sorry, all the same." "you may get home by christmas," the doctor said hopefully. chapter xvi. in old washington. there were many arrangements to make. only mr. and mrs. mason knew how really serious the case might be, and mrs. mason felt that she could not accept the responsibility alone. dixon, the overseer, was a good manager and a trusty man, and his wife a very efficient woman. indeed, the older house slaves could have run the place without supervision, but it was well to have a responsible head. louis would come down now and then and inspect the financial affairs, and bring jaqueline occasionally. it would not be quite like going to london, and mr. mason might return if really needed. so they packed up and put things in order, and went up to washington to settle annis. charles seemed really stronger, but the doctor knew it was only excitement. patty's house was so pretty and the office so handy, the boy did not see why he could not remain with her. the house was quite fine for the times. land was abundant, and houses did not have to crowd. there were spacious rooms, for people were hospitably inclined. southern women made charming hostesses. in an ell part the doctor had an office, for he was quite ambitious in his profession, if he had one eye on the advancement of the city. he had rented one of his houses, and another was likely to be sold. there were people who shook their heads dubiously and feared an invasion; others reasoned there was so little prospect of booty in washington compared to the commercial cities, there could be no possible danger. jaqueline had a pretty corner room. opening into it was a smaller one devoted to annis, with its dainty bed curtained with white muslin and fringe that nodded in the slightest breeze. the floor was painted, and a rug made by the slaves at home lay at the bedside. grandmother had sent patty the mahogany furnishing of one room that she had brought from the mason house when she was married, and it was quite an heirloom. this was in jaqueline's room. the baby went far toward reconciling annis. a pretty, plump little thing, with great dark eyes and a fringe of dark hair over a white forehead, she looked like a picture. judy, one of the slaves from home, was her nurse. yet the parting was very hard for annis. the doctor had taken charles in his own carriage. they were to go to baltimore and rest a day or two and visit some of the connections. annis felt at first as if she must be visiting. "and do you remember we came up to mr. madison's inauguration and went to the capitol? it seems as if it must have been years and years ago, so many things have happened since then. and everybody seems grown up except charles and i." "you were a tiny little girl then. i hope you will not be very homesick; there are so many things to see. and when the horses are sent up we can take beautiful rides." annis swallowed over a lump in her throat. "the baby will grow and be very cunning. and every week you are to write to mamma." "and to charles. i am not to mind not getting answers from him; it makes his head ache to write." "and, then, there are the children at aunt jane's. her baby talks everything in the funniest crooked fashion. to-morrow we will call on madame badeau. i hope you will like school. it is only in the morning." "i am fond of learning things if they are not too hard." "some of us have to learn quite hard lessons," and jaqueline sighed. madame badeau lived in a rather shabby-looking rough stone house, quite small in the front, but plenty large enough for her and a serving-man and maid, and running back to a pretty garden, where she cultivated all manner of beautiful flowers, and such roses that lovers of them were always begging a slip or piece of root. there was a parlor in the front filled with the relics of better days, and draped with faded oriental fabrics that were the envy of some richer people. there was always a curiously fragrant perfume in it. next was the schoolroom, entered by a side door, where there were small tables in lieu of desks, wooden chairs, and a painted floor that the maid mopped up freshly every afternoon when the children were gone. back of this were the living room and a very tiny kitchen, while upstairs were two rooms under the peaked roof, where madame and bathsheba slept. madame was small, with a fair skin full of fine wrinkles. she wore a row of curls across her forehead, a loosely wound, soft white turban that gave her a curious dignity, and very high heels that made a little click as she went around. she was quite delicate, and had exquisite hands, and wore several curious rings. her voice was so finely modulated that it was like a strain of music, and she still used a good many french words. she had been at the french court and seen the great franklin and many other notables, and had to fly in the reign of terror, with the loss of friends and most of her fortune. bathsheba, the maid, was nearly six feet tall, and proud of some indian blood that gave her straight hair and an almost grecian nose. she was proud of her mistress too, and was in herself a bodyguard when madame went out. the old man who kept the garden clean and did outside work was a slave too old for severe labor, and was hired out for a trifle. at night he went home to sleep at the cabin of a grandchild. annis was attracted at once by the soft voice that ended a sentence with a sort of caressing cadence. and when jaqueline wrote her name in full madame said: "bouvier. that is french. your mamma's maiden name, perhaps?" "no," returned annis, with a little color. "it was my own papa, who is dead. and he could read and talk french. i knew a little, but i was so young when he died." "and our father married mrs. bouvier some years ago," said jaqueline, "so annis and five of us mason children constitute the family. mrs. bouvier was cousin to our own mother." "i shall take great pleasure in teaching you french. poor france has had much to suffer. and now that detestable corsican is on the throne, with no drop of royal blood in his veins! but you can tell what he thinks of it when he divorces a good and honorable woman that his son may inherit his rank. but my nation did not take kindly to a republic. they are not like you," shaking her turbaned head. the distance to school was not great, so in fair weather it was a nice walk. now the place is all squares and circles and rows of beautiful houses, but then people almost wondered at the venturesomeness of dr. collaston and mr. jettson building houses in country ways; for although streets were laid out and named, there was little paving. the mason tract was on virginia avenue, but the others had gone back of the executive mansion, on high ground, and had a fine view of the whole country; and georgetown being already attractive, it seemed possible the space between would soon be in great demand. out beyond them were some fine old mansions belonging to the time of plantations and country settlements. the very last of the preceding century the convent of the visitation had been erected, for so many of the maryland gentry were roman catholics. there was a school for girls here, mostly boarding scholars. then rock creek stretched way up on the heights, threading its path in and out of plantations where fields were dotted with slaves at their work, often singing songs with the soft monotonous refrain that suggested the rhythm of the distant ocean. occasionally you met a silvery lake that bosomed waving shadows; then stretches of gigantic oaks, somber pines, and hemlocks; and now and then a little nest of indian wigwams whose inhabitants preferred quasi-civilization. to the southeast, on the anacostia river, was the navy yard, active enough now. and there was duddington manor, with its high wall and stately trees overtopping it, built by charles carroll, to be for a long while a famous landmark in solitary grandeur. but the van ness mansion, nearer the potomac, was always alight, and often strains of music floated out on the night air to the enjoyment of the passer-by. annis had been living in a kind of old world, peopled with the heroes of homer, the knights of arthur, and the pilgrims of chaucer, as well as spenser's "faërie queene." she had a confused idea that pope's garden was in some of these enchanted countries, and that ben jonson and shakspere were among the pilgrims who sang songs and told tales as they traveled on, or stopped at the roadside and acted a play. charles had learned where to place his heroes and who of them all were real. annis left the realm of imagination and fancy and came down to actual study. at first she did not like it. "but you must know something about modern events," declared jaqueline, "to read well and write a nice letter; and to understand the history of our own country, which is all real. and to keep accounts--every housekeeper ought to be able to do that. grandmamma had to look after the big plantation until papa came of age; and women have to do a good many different things." "i think i shall like learning them, or most of them," and annis' eyes shone. "there is dancing, too; you must go in a class next winter. you can embroider nicely, so you needn't bother about that. and i have been in a painting class where there were some quite small girls. some ladies paint fans and flower pieces beautifully. and patty thinks she will have a pianoforte, which would be delightful. singing classes are in vogue, too." "oh, dear, can one learn so much?" and the child looked perplexed. "you do not have to learn it all at once," returned the elder with a smile. very few people had any thought of vacations then. true, washington had a dull spell when congress was not in session, and some of the people retired to country places or went to the eastern shore of maryland, or to bladensburg to drink medicated waters. but madame badeau kept her school going from eight to twelve for the children's classes. they were all composed of girls, for while madame admired well-bred young men very much, she could not tolerate growing boys. the afternoons were devoted to what were called fancy branches. young women came to learn embroidery and lace-making, the duties on foreign goods were so high, and now the risk of importing was so great. there began to be a different feeling about education. intelligent women were coming to the fore. to be sure, science was considered unwomanly, but handsome and well-bred mrs. gallatin knew enough on many subjects to entertain her husband's guests charmingly. everybody would have been horrified at the thought of a woman's college, and if a woman's convention had been announced it would have created more indignation than the war was raising. yet women with but few early advantages went to madame badeau to be trained in conversation and the art of writing polite notes, and some who had a facility for verse-making to learn how an acrostic was put together, or an anagram, and the proper fashion for congratulatory verses. a few women poets had appeared, but the french "blue stockings" were quoted in derision. still, it had occurred to other women beside mrs. adams that the mothers of sons trained for perilous times needed to be intelligent, at least. for the first time annis was thrown with a variety of girls near her own age. none of them were like varina--but, then, they were not like each other. how strange there should be so many different kinds of people in the world! it amazed her. jaqueline was much interested in her unfolding. there was a delicious quaintness about her that contact with madame badeau brought out. she had some very clear ideas too, and there was so much to write about. "i shall have to send a letter to mamma one week and to charles the next," she said sagely. "then i shall not tell the same things over." "that is an excellent idea. you are a bright little girl," returned jaqueline with a smile. "and it will save my own time. jaqueline, can't we go to washington some time and really see it? one of the girls called me a country lass because i did not know about the streets and the way everything ran. and how queer they should be named after the letters and numbers! what will they do when the letters are exhausted?--and there are but twenty-six." "there are the numbers, you know." "but the numbers run criss-cross. do you suppose they will go on as we work a sampler, make little letters and then old-english text? one girl has the most beautiful old-english alphabet worked in red silk, but it is very hard to tell the letters." jaqueline laughed. "no! i think they will take names then." "they make up parties and go to analostan island. and, do you know, there are beautiful falls up the potomac, ever so far!" "yes; they are beautiful, indeed; and we will get the doctor to take us up some time." "everything is so"--glancing around for a word--"so interesting. and there are so many people. i like it very much. only if we could have mamma and charles and papa! then, it would be mean to crowd out varina." "we'll have the whole household at christmas." louis was very much interested in the surprise and pleasure over everything, and he found annis quite a delightful companion for walks. she was so eager to hear about the founding of the city. "it has only come of age," said louis. "for the cornerstone was laid in ." "and there are cities in europe over a thousand years old! oh, what an old world it must be!" "but we are a new country altogether. then, we have much older cities." "after all," she said reflectively, "the ground was here. and some of the houses and the people." they were still working on the capitol. stonecutters and marble-dressers in their little sheds were a common sight. a great many people went to christ church, which had been erected soon after the laying out of the city. then there was old st. paul's, that had stood nearly a century, built, as many other places were, of brick brought from england. since that day many a secret had been learned, and during the last three years the united states had manufactured largely, though many people sighed for foreign goods. there were two weeks in august when madame badeau went away for a little rest and change of air. mrs. collaston decided to spend a fortnight at bladensburg, and though aunt jane cheerfully offered to keep annis, jaqueline insisted upon adding her to the party. little elizabeth patricia, commonly called bessie, and by her father queen bess, was thriving wonderfully. jaqueline had changed a good deal, but she was a greater favorite than ever, it seemed, and had no end of admirers. one of them, a very popular and well-to-do gentleman, made her an offer of marriage. "are you really going to stay single forever?" exclaimed her sister. "i wouldn't take roger carrington now if he asked me again. a man who cannot overlook a little tiff--though you did flirt shamefully, jaqueline! but it doesn't much matter. i observe the men are just as ready to be flirted with again. only don't wait too long, and don't pass by the good chances." having made an excellent marriage herself, she considered that her counsel and advice were worth a good deal to her unmarried friends. roger carrington seemed to have passed out of jaqueline's radius, whether purposely or not. ralston spent much of his time out of washington, inspecting and planning fortifications. jaqueline kept up a friendly, occasional correspondence with him, and he had been strongly interested about charles' mishap. she was much too proud to allow herself to think she still cared for roger, yet she admitted in her secret heart she had seen no one to put in his place, though there might be men quite as worthy. dr. collaston went up to philadelphia for a few days, and learned that his worst fears in regard to charles had been realized. the most celebrated surgeon at that time, who bade fair to do quite as much for the advancement of medicine as dr. benjamin rush had done in his day, a dr. physic, had been noting the case carefully, and decided that only an operation could prevent a settled deformity. charles was growing stronger in some respects, and when the weather became cooler this would be undertaken. he told the elders, but they kept annis in ignorance. she went back to school; and, though she had been small for her age, seemed suddenly to shoot up and outgrow everything. "and i shall not be little annis any longer. i suppose everybody does grow taller and older. and now i am past thirteen. when shall i be old enough to curtsey to mrs. madison?" "oh, you can do that at any time. and since varina has gone to charleston to visit dolly floyd, you ought to have some indulgence. she has been to a reception at the governor's." the election of madison for a second term had been largely the result of the victories that had thrilled the nation. the navy was springing into existence as if by magic. some fine english ships had been captured and graced by the stars and stripes, and were doing brilliant work under their new colors. the _constellation_ came up the potomac, gayly decorated with flags and bunting, and captain stewart gave a grand dinner, at which the president and his wife and mrs. madison's son, then a handsome and elegantly bred young man, were among the most distinguished guests. louis had obtained cards for himself and lady through judge todd. "you look pretty enough to be married," said annis when she saw jaqueline in her pretty pink gauze gown, the lace on it run with silver threads, and her dainty slippers with silver buckles set with brilliants that certainly did twinkle. the dinner was spread with every luxury the season afforded, and enhanced by the brilliant lights and profusion of cut-glass with its sparkling points. while the elders sat on the quarterdeck surrounded by some of the chief men of the nation, beneath an awning of red, white, and blue danced the belles and beaus. lieutenant ralston had come late, but he was in time for the dancing. when he caught sight of jaqueline he made his way over to her. "it has been so long since i have seen you!" he exclaimed. "and i really had not thought of meeting you to-night, but i shall be in washington for a fortnight or more. and gay, pretty patty has settled into a pattern wife and mother! does she read you lectures?" "sometimes," returned jaqueline, smiling. "tell me about all the others. it seems an age since i have heard of any of you." "then if you make such a little account of my letters i shall not write you any more." "nay, do not be so cruel. you can hardly call them letters, they are so brief. still, i am glad to get them, and feel anxious about the poor little boy. you think he will recover?" "dr. physic holds out hopes of a successful termination. but it will be very slow." "and that dainty little annis? you are mothering her? do you know, your charming solicitude made me smile. was she much homesick after her mother?" "only a little at first. she goes to school and is wonderfully interested." "and varina? our little wasp?" laughingly. "varina is spending the winter with dolly. you know she married a floyd connection. he has been elected a member of the state legislature this winter. varina is quite a young lady. we masons have a trick of growing up soon." "and your grandmother? how fares it with her?" jaqueline smiled inwardly at this mark of respect, and retailed the little happenings at the pineries. he listened attentively when marian's name was mentioned, and made no bitter comment. was it utter indifference? "this is our dance," he said, offering his hand; and they glided down the polished deck. then someone else came for her, and she saw very little more of him until he marched up to bid her good-by and assure her he should call speedily. "what a fine fellow ralston has made!" louis said as they were returning home. "he has half a mind to go in the navy, he tells me. they are winning all the glory. but he is very eager about the defenses of washington. i do wonder if there is any real danger?" "oh, i hope not!" anxiously. "no; we do not want the war brought to our door." "new york or boston will offer greater attractions. the enemy is raging over the loss of the _guerrière_, and threatens desperate revenge. oh, we are safe enough!" annis was eager to hear all about the ball. was it prettier because it was on a ship? and wasn't jaqueline glad to see lieutenant ralston again? did anyone have a more beautiful frock? "oh, yes!" laughed jaqueline. "but no one was any prettier, i am sure," she said confidently. the enthusiasm over the victories was running high. the news came of commodore decatur's famous victory off the canary islands, when he captured the _macedonian_ after an hour and a half of terrific fighting, with the loss of only five men killed and seven wounded. the _united states_ brought her prize into new york amid great rejoicing. the news was hailed in washington with the utmost enthusiasm. it so happened that the evening had been selected for a brilliant naval ball, to celebrate the two other victories, and as a compliment to captain stewart. ralston had been in a few days before with invitations for the collaston household. "i almost wish i was grown up," said annis wistfully. "can't little girls ever see anything?" "why, she ought to go," declared ralston. "there may not be such another event until peace is declared, and if we go on this way, it must be, ere long. but it will be a great thing to remember in years to come. think of the old ladies who saw our beloved washington and the heroes of the revolution, how glad they are to talk it all over! oh, annis must go, by all means!" "but such a mere child!" said patty. "well, she has eyes and ears. i will take her myself. mistress annis mason, may i have the pleasure of escorting you to the grand naval ball? it will give me a great deal of pleasure, i assure you. i am a bachelor, fancy free, so no one's heart will be broken." he rose as he said this, and crossed the room to where annis was sitting, leaning her arm on jaqueline's knee. the child colored and glanced up in a puzzled manner. "well--why do you not answer?" said patty in amusement. "madame badeau ought to train you in polite deportment." "can i say just what i should like?" a little timidly, glancing from one sister to the other. "yes," answered patty laughingly. "yes," said jaqueline a little more gravely. annis rose and made a formal little courtesy, holding the side of her skirt with charming grace. "it will afford me the greatest pleasure to accept your invitation, lieutenant ralston," she said in a stately and dignified manner. "thank you! that is very handsomely done. after this show of proper and ceremonious behavior you cannot refuse her permission?" turning to the elders. "we are vanquished, certainly," admitted patty. "now you may be good enough, perhaps, to tell us what she must wear." he glanced her over. "some simple white frock," he said. "then you might tie a red ribbon in her hair, and put on her a blue sash, and she will be the national colors." "luckily her hair isn't golden or red or black, so we shall not startle anyone." "now, remember there is no white feather to be shown," said the lieutenant. "you may be a soldier's wife some day." annis blushed. later, when she was alone with jaqueline, she put her arms about the elder's neck. "dear jaqueline," she said with a tender accent, "do you think you will like my going to the ball? if it isn't quite right i will stay at home. and are you sure the lieutenant was in earnest?" "there is no reason why you should not go, except that children are not generally taken to balls. and it will be a grand thing for you to remember." annis kissed her, much relieved. "i do so want to go," she returned after a little pause. and that morning the news was announced by an extra from the office of the _national intelligencer_. people went about in high spirits. as soon as the twilight appeared illuminations sprang up at many important points. private houses were aglow from every window, and more than one flag waved. washington was full of gayety and rejoicing. and some who did not go to the ball had strains of patriotic music to cheer the passer-by. entertainments began early. tomlinson's hotel was soon filled with guests, the beauty and fashion of the city. the captured flags of the _alert_ and _guerrière_ were arranged over a sort of dais where mrs. madison and the cabinet ladies sat, while the secretaries stood about them. there was a host of military and naval men. gold lace and epaulettes and swords gleamed with every movement, while women were lovely in satins and velvets and laces. mrs. madison wore a handsome gray velvet, trimmed with yellow satin and lace, and on her head a filmy sort of turban with some short white plumes. a neckerchief of fine soft lace rested lightly on her shoulders, but displayed the still beautiful throat and neck. the little curls across her forehead were still jet-black, and though women powdered and rouged, she was one of the few who "wore a natural complexion," said a newspaper correspondent. one and another made a bow to her and passed on. dr. collaston and his wife, jaqueline and a handsome young naval officer, and then lieutenant ralston and his young charge. annis was a little bewildered. she had seen mrs. madison in the carriage, and at times walking about the grounds at the white house; but this really awed her, and a rush of color came to her fair face. mrs. madison held out her hand, and gave her a kindly greeting. "what a pretty child!" she said to one of the ladies. "the american colors, too. how proud the lieutenant was of her! i remember now that miss jaqueline mason is quite a belle. perhaps it is her sister." "that was beautifully done, annis," whispered the lieutenant. "now there is a friend of mine, a young midshipman, that you must meet. will it be out of order for you to dance, i wonder? and there is captain hull. you must see all the heroes, so you can tell the story over your grandchildren." it seemed to annis that everyone must be a hero. there was the young middy, a mr. yardley, who did not look over sixteen, and who was going out on his first cruise next week. "has miss mason any relatives in the war?" how queer "miss mason" sounded! she looked about to see who was meant. the young man complimented her on her colors. he had a brother, a lieutenant on the _constitution_, and two cousins in the army on the frontier. we should gain the victory again, as we did in the revolution. as a boy he used to be sorry he had not lived then, but this made amends. only, nothing could compensate for not having seen washington, the hero of them all. presently the dancing began. mrs. collaston and jaqueline were both engaged, but jaqueline put annis in charge of a charming middle-aged woman whose daughters were dancing, and who, being a virginian and residing at yorktown, could recall all the particulars of the surrender of lord cornwallis. then annis had her promised dance with the lieutenant. it was like a bit of fairyland. she thought cinderella could not have been any happier with the prince. afterward mr. yardley came, though by this time the floor was pretty well crowded. he was about to lead her back to jaqueline, who was talking with mrs. todd, when she stopped suddenly and put out her hand. "oh!" she cried, then turned rosy-red. "is it--why, it is little annis bouvier! child, how you have grown! do they let you go to balls as young as this?" "i wanted to so much. and it is beautiful! they are all here----" there was a sudden commotion. half a dozen gentlemen cut off their retreat. then a whisper went round the room, growing louder and louder, and cheers sounded in the hallway. "ensign hamilton with the captured flag!" secretary hamilton rose, and the throng made way for him. just at the doorway they met, the son with dispatches from commodore decatur and the captured colors of the _macedonian_. a cheer almost rent the room. and as he advanced his mother met him with a clasp of wordless joy. the president had been detained on some important business. but the procession made its way to the dais where the ladies were sitting, and the trophy of victory was unfurled amid loud acclamations. the band played "hail, columbia!" and when it ceased the young man modestly made a brief speech. the dispatches were for the president; the flag he laid at mrs. madison's feet--the flag that was next of kin to that of the _guerrière_. the enthusiasm was so great that the dancing stopped. the flag was raised to a place beside that of the other two trophies. old veterans wiped their eyes, the ladies waved their handkerchiefs, and more than one voice had a break in it. annis stood breathless. mr. carrington towered above her, and he could barely see; but he had heard the story in the hall, and was repeating it. the clasp of her soft hand touched him. "if you want to go nearer," he said to mr. yardley, "i will take care of miss annis. i am an old friend of the family." "it would be hopeless to think of getting her to her sister's just now. yes--i should like to see young hamilton." "that is excuse enough for anyone," and carrington smiled, bowing a polite dismissal. "i am so glad to find you!" annis said with childlike simplicity. "we have missed you so much. where have you been all this long time?" "we? who?" he bowed his head a little. "charles and i. and do you know charles is ill and in the doctor's hands at philadelphia?" "no; i have been away three months--up on the northern frontier and in boston. poor charles! is he likely to recover?" "he was to come home at christmas, but he can't now," and she sighed a little. "and papa too," irrelevantly thinking of his earlier question. "we were all sorry." "i don't think everybody could have been," after a little pause. she raised her soft, beseeching eyes. "are you still angry with jaqueline?" she asked. "i am sure she is sorry. patty teases her and says she will be an old maid because----" then annis hung her pretty head. "what makes you think she was sorry?" he looked down into the eyes with an infinite persuasion, and his voice had an accent hard to resist. "oh!--because--she was sometimes so sad and sweet, and used to go walking by herself in the twilight. occasionally she would let me come. i can't quite tell--there are some things you feel. and it isn't right to keep angry forever." the child's tone was more assured. she was on firmer moral ground. "then you think i have been angry long enough?" it had seemed years to him. "papa was very angry and scolded jaqueline, but didn't keep angry. charles and i have been so sorry! oh, you will make up friends?" "you love charles as much as ever, then? happy charles! when you have love you have all the best of life." "then why don't you ask jaqueline to love you again? oh, i am sure she would!" there was a sweet seriousness in the face and the tone, the innocence of the child. "and why didn't you go to philadelphia?" he asked presently. "i wanted to. don't you think it hard for a little girl to be giving up her mother continually? but if it is best----they could not take me, and jaqueline said she would be like mamma, and love me and care for me. she is ever so sweet. and patty and the baby are delightful. i like dr. collaston too. and i am going to school to a queer, delightful little french woman, madame badeau. and the french i used to know out in kentucky all comes back to me." "yes," smilingly. "i have seen madame badeau." the throng was beginning to move. "suppose we go up and have a look at this wonderful flag? i think war terrible; but it is good to be on the winning side, and certainly our poor sailors have suffered long enough. when we are a terror to our enemies they will learn to respect us. but, thank heaven, you know nothing about the terrible side here! may god keep you safely!" she raised her eyes with a grave half-smile as if to thank him for his benison. the president had come in now. the band was playing patriotic tunes, several inspiriting scotch pieces, for just now no one seemed anxious to dance. ensign hamilton was one of the heroes of the occasion, and the pretty women were saying all manner of complimentary things to him. there in the throng stood lieutenant ralston and midshipman yardley, and, yes, there were dr. and mrs. collaston. jaqueline was out of the group, listening to a vivid account of the taking of the _guerrière_ and the gala time there had been in old boston town. patricia turned and espied annis, who held her head up proudly and looked as if she were used to going to balls every week of her life. "oh, mr. carrington!" reaching over a cordial hand. "what a stranger you are! i felt i ought to go in search of annis, but i knew she was in good hands. thank you for your care of her. wasn't it all grand? are you not proud of your country?" "we have worked wonders on the sea, considering how unprepared we were and the strength of the enemy. i am no croaker, but we are not through yet. heaven grant that we may be successful to the end! after all, we are a young nation; and we have fought in almost a new cause, the enlightenment of the people, not the glory or gain of kings." "annis, come and curtsey to some of these heroes. she is over-young for such a place as this, but it will be a proud thing to remember." the throng shifted again. ralston stepped aside and encountered mr. carrington. "roger, old fellow,"--and though his tone was low it had a cordial heartiness,--"in this time of gratulation private feuds ought to be buried. you were wrong in your surmise, as i told you then. between myself and miss mason there has never been anything but the sincerest friendliness. still, i asked her to marry me and she declined. hearts are not so easily caught in the rebound, after all. and though she has many admirers she has not been won. let us be friends again in her honor, for her sake." "for our own sake, ralston. if we are ever to make a grand country we must be united man to man. there is need enough of it. a scene like this will go far toward healing many dissensions, public and private. and i beg you to pardon what i said out of a sore and desperate heart." "friends!" repeated ralston joyously. chapter xvii. the flag of victory. it was true that the victories did go far toward healing dissensions. while the indignation against england had run high, there was a bitter opposition in some quarters to every act of the administration. there was jarring in the cabinet as well as outside. the larger cities had never cordially approved of the capital at washington. they had had rejoicing over successes, and now it was the turn of the newer city. mrs. madison's drawing room always presented a gay and beautiful aspect. many strangers came to the city. washington irving paid a second visit, and was most graciously received and became a great favorite. society took on a finer aspect. poets appeared, mostly patriotic ones; and though to-day we may smile over them, their sincerity moved the hearts of their readers and won applause, inspired enthusiasm. jaqueline mason had taken another ramble around the room when she saw roger carrington talking to her sister. the band played a grand march, and everybody fell into line, as this seemed to befit the occasion. then some of the guests began to disperse, as the president, who looked very weary, and his smiling, affable wife, with so many more years of youth on her side, set the example. carrington loitered with the collaston party, debating whether he should meet jaqueline. it would break the ice, perhaps. patty had been so cordial. she had taken on so many pretty married airs that were charming. she talked about her house and her lovely baby, how annis had grown, and how sweet it was of her to be content without her mother, and how sad it was about charles. louis joined them, full of enthusiasm. and at last jaqueline and her escort came up. "we thought we should have to go home without you," patty said gayly. "come; it is late. the carriage has been here waiting ever so long." jaqueline bowed to her old lover. major day, in his military trappings, was quite an imposing figure, and how beautiful she was! she had been a pretty young girl when he first met her; she was young still, in that early dawn of womanhood before the bud had quite unfolded. had he expected to see her faded and worn in this brief period? they all wished each other good-night. why did he not "ask jaqueline to love him again"? he was not as sure as annis had been. and now everything was different. patty was already quite a figure in society, and jaqueline could have her choice of lovers, husbands. annis longed to tell over her little episode of the meeting, but there seemed no time. jaqueline was always going out and having company. louis teased annis when he saw her. "two conquests in one night for a little girl!" he exclaimed. "oh, i saw you dancing with the young midshipman, and then on high parade with mr. carrington, who looked grave and grand, as if he was escorting about a lady of high degree. i am afraid madame badeau will make a woman of you too fast. do you not think it would be better to send her over to the convent to steady her, patty?" "oh, i don't want to be shut up! i should run away. and i like the girls so much. the convent looks dreary. and they can walk only in that high-walled garden. i want the whole big outside world." louis laughed and pinched her cheek. if mr. carrington wouldn't come and ask jaqueline again, no one could do anything. annis sighed in her tender heart, and felt that it was better not to retail the confidence. mrs. madison's dinners were quite the events of the winter, and her levees were delightful entertainments. all parties began to harmonize more warmly; perhaps it was the gracious tact and affability of the hostess. the _national intelligencer_ espoused the cause of the madisons enthusiastically, and congratulated the nation on his re-election. roger carrington began to haunt the entertainments he had so long shunned, or at the utmost merely devoted a few moments to them. of course he met jaqueline, who was simply indifferent, a much harder condition to overcome than if she had shown hauteur or resentment. and, then--in a worldly point of view she could do better. for washington, in a certain way, was prospering in spite of the war and privations. there was a feeling of permanence, as if the capital really would be great some day. houses were springing up, streets lengthening out, mudholes being filled up, pavements placed, and every year a little was added to the home of the nation. the time ran gayly around. the winter had seemed unusually brief. march came in again, and with it the second inauguration of james madison, when the capitol grounds were thronged as never before. the president was paler and thinner, and though it had been a triumph for his party, he sighed often for the quiet and rest of montpellier. mrs. madison, in rose-colored satin and ermine, looked "every inch a queen," said the papers of the day. and happier than some of the queens off or on european thrones, even if she had carried a great burden the last two years. and the ladies of the republican court certainly were not lacking in beauty or grace. the foreign ministers and their wives, in all their brave array, hardly excelled them; and the army and navy were in force. annis went to the levee. it was quite a crush, but a pleasure to the child to see the brilliant throng. louis was her escort, and he was proud of her refined and lady-like manners. the french grace in her nature had been assiduously cultivated by the woman who still thought there was no place like france. "we will go home early," patty said. "jaqueline is to stay and help entertain. she's getting to be such a grand lady that i suppose she will be marrying a senator or a secretary next, and perhaps be mrs. president herself. she and mrs. seaton are hand and glove." mrs. seaton was the pretty wife of the editor of the _national intelligencer_. "but i am tired, and the doctor will be out all night, so we will get some beauty sleep." she sent the servant for the carriage. one of the guests escorted them through the spacious hall and out on the portico. a merry party were coming up, and annis, turning aside for them, slipped, landing in a little heap on the stone pavement. patty uttered a cry. a gentleman at the foot of the steps picked her up before patty or mr. fenton could reach her. "oh, mr. carrington!" cried patty; and now the other guests ran down to see what injury they had done, quite alarmed at the incident. annis drew a long sigh and flung her arms about her rescuer's neck, quite ignorant who it might be, but still frightened. "no, i do not think i am hurt," in a shaken voice. "take her to the carriage, please," entreated patty. "and, mr. fenton, do not mention it to my sister nor my brother, if you see them. good-night, and thanks." mr. carrington carried her to the edge of the walk and then put her down. "i feel shaky," she began, with a tremulous laugh. "but i am quite sure i have not broken any bones." patty stepped in first. mr. carrington assisted annis, and then studied the pale face. "do you not think i had better accompany you?" he asked solicitously. "but you were just going in to pay your respects to mrs. madison----" declared patty. "i shall have four years more to do it in," he returned. "where is the doctor? yes, i had better be sure of your safety." "he is out on business. really, he is getting to be quite hard-worked. and if you would not mind. i should take it as a favor. then we can see if annis is really injured." he sprang in, and the coachman closed the door. "it was very funny to take that flying leap, as if i were a bird," and annis could not forbear laughing. "what did i look like, dropping at your feet? i was so bundled up that i couldn't save myself. there is a bump swelling up on my forehead." "lucky if there is nothing worse," responded patty. annis was carried up the steps and deposited on the drawing-room sofa. patty took off her wraps, and made her stand up and try all her limbs. she began to feel quite natural and over her fright. there was a lump on her forehead, but her hood had protected the skin. "i am delighted to think it is no worse," the gentleman said. "and it is a pity to have disturbed you. but the doctor being out, i felt nervous; and a friend is so good at such a time. i am sure we are much indebted for your kindness." annis put out her hand and clasped his. "i am glad it was you," she said with simple thankfulness. then they talked of charles. he had been put in a plaster jacket. dr. collaston was quite sure the best was being done, but it would be spring before he could be brought home. patty was very cordial at the parting, and invited him to call. "and see what happens to me next," said annis. "you may be sure i shall want to know." he did not go back to the levee. jaqueline was there, being admired and flattered. now and then he heard complimentary things said about her, and young men sent her verses, quite an ordinary event at that time. she had forgotten, and he remembered only too well. annis must have been wrong, yet he had hugged the child's innocent prattle to his heart. he knew now he had not ceased to love her, yet he had thought in his pride that if she could love ralston he would not stand in the way. his jealousy had been of the larger, finer type. with all these opportunities she had accepted no lover. her attractions were of a more refined kind than when she had made her first plunge into gayety. was there something----no, he hardly dared believe it. he had been imperious and arbitrary. he had not the courage to go the next day and inquire after annis. he knew it was a polite duty. he walked down past madame badeau's little gray house when school was being dismissed. there was no annis among the girls. what if she had been injured more than they thought! he would stop and inquire at the office. there were several men talking eagerly with the doctor, so he strolled around the corner. yes, that was jaqueline sitting with her face turned from the window, chatting to someone. the proud poise of the head, the shining dark curls just shadowing her white neck, the pink ear like a pearly sea shell, and then her slim white hand held up in some gesticulation, and the smile that made a dainty dimple. no, he would not interrupt her; so he walked on. if she had turned her head--but she did not. he was very busy the next day. when he left the office a carriage full of young girls passed him. some of them nodded; he was not quite sure whether _she_ did or not. now was his opportunity. the day had been rather raw, with a fitful sunshine, but now it was clouding over. he walked briskly, and held his head erect, although he felt rather cowardly at heart. why should he not put his fate to the touch, like a man, or dismiss her from his mind? he sauntered up the stoop and touched the knocker lightly--so lightly, indeed, that julius, amid the clatter of dinah's pots and pans, did not hear it. the carriage stopped. it was rather dusky now, and a tree hid the figure at the door until jaqueline was coming up the steps. his heart beat furiously. he turned, and they faced each other. her hat, with the great bow on the top, was tied under her chin with rose-colored ribbons. a satin collar edged with swan's down stood up around her throat and almost touched the pink cheeks. the great soft, dark eyes glanced out in surprise--they could flame in anger too, he knew that. he had thought more than once how gradually he would lead up to that old time, and learn if she still loved him. and she had resolved upon a becoming humility on his part. he should admit that he had misjudged her, that he had been selfish, arbitrary, suspicious, jealous, and--oh, how many faults she had counted upon her white fingers! "jaqueline," he said almost under his breath--"jaqueline!"--and it seemed as if his voice had never been so sweet, a fragrant shower falling on a long-parched heart. he was trying to find her hand; did it come out of the great muff quite as broad as her slim figure, all soft and warm, to be pressed to his lips? "are you very angry still?" she inquired in the dearest, most beseeching tone. "angry?" he had forgotten all about it. he had been fatuous, senseless, to think of such a thing! "because--" in a fascinating cadence of pardon. "i have not had a happy moment." his voice was husky with emotion, with the love that he had told himself a hundred times was dead, and a hundred times had disbelieved. "i had given you up. not that i had ceased--to care. and that night of the ball, when the flags came, i was quite sure you loved me no longer." "i shall love you always. i was mad, foolish, jealous----" "and i did flirt. oh, i was such a vain little thing then! i am better now. i do not think it so fine to have a host of men making love to you. only you were wrong about----" "ralston? yes." "but you must know, he _did_ ask me to marry him. i do not think it was for love." "i am glad it was not. i told him he owed you an offer of marriage." "but he did not. there had never been any foolish softness between us. a virginian girl may flirt, but she doesn't give away the sweetness that only a lover is entitled to. and what if i _had_ loved him?" "if you had loved him i should have wished you godspeed, after a while." "but you couldn't have done it at first?" "no, i couldn't." the hearty tone was convincing. it was quite dark now. he put his arm about her and drew her nearer, nearer, and ceased to kiss her hand. "oh, my darling; here i am keeping you out in the cold! are you almost frozen? and i came to hear about annis. i have been wondering if i should ever meet you where i could say a word----" "annis is your very good friend. so was charles. and papa was fearfully angry at my folly. they were all on your side." "and now you are on my side?" "yes," with a soft, happy little laugh. then he knocked again. this time julius heard, and answered. annis was sitting on the floor, playing with the baby, who was laughing and cooing. "i thought you wouldn't come--ever!" she said vehemently. "i had a headache yesterday, and patty wouldn't let me go to school, but the doctor said it didn't amount to anything. it was funny, though. jaqueline, where did you find him?" "on the stoop," and jaqueline gave a queer little laugh. how soft and shining her eyes were, and her cheeks were like pink roses just in bloom. annis felt something mysterious stirring in the air. then jaqueline ran away. "did you ask her?" annis raised her clear eyes with a sweet, solemn light. "yes. annis, you are to be my little sister." "i shall grow big, more's the pity," she said sententiously. "and i hate to be big!" he laughed at that. the doctor had taken his wife over to arlington, for he disliked to ride alone except when he was in great haste; and just as dinah had begun to fume about supper they came in. mr. carrington had a warm welcome from them, and they all laughed over annis' mishap. but when jaqueline entered the story was told, as love stories always are; and they kept roger to tea. no one came, for a cold, drizzling rain set in, and he had jaqueline to himself. "still, she might have done a great deal better," said dr. collaston. "jaqueline ought to go to some foreign court as the wife of a minister, she is so elegant. or the wife of a secretary of state." he had his desire years afterward, when jaqueline and her husband went to the french court. napoleon had been swept away by the hand of fate, and royalty sat on the throne. roger said they must go over and tell his mother the joyful news. ralph's wife was a sweet home body, and she had a thriving son that was his great-grandmother's pride. but the mother's heart was strongly centered in her firstborn, and she had suffered keenly in his sorrows, though they had never talked them over. they had been too deep, too sacred. "only love him, my dear," she said to jaqueline. "there are some people who think you can love a person too much; but when they have gone beyond your ken you are most glad of the times you gave them overflowing measure." the young girl knew then she was forgiven. jaqueline was not less a favorite in society because she was an engaged young lady, but she was more circumspect; and certainly now roger had nothing to complain of. only life seemed too short ever to make up the lost months. annis was as happy as the lovers themselves. she was very companionable and never in the way. there was a curious ingrained delicacy about her. dr. collaston declared he was jealous. he and little bessy ought to outweigh the regard for mr. carrington. "but i knew him first. it's the longest friendship," glancing up archly. "i have taken you to my heart and home--doesn't that count? and mr. carrington has no home." annis was not prepared for that argument. she could not seem ungrateful. spring came on apace. what a lovely season it was! beautiful wild flowers sprang up at the roadsides, the trees and shrubbery put on infinite tints of green. the river, really majestic then, making a broad lake after its confluence with the eastern branch; the marshy shores, dotted with curious aquatic plants that had leave to grow undisturbed and bloom in countless varieties, if not so beautiful; the heights of arlington, with the massive pines, hemlocks, and oaks, and flowering trees that shook great branches of bloom out on the air like flocks of flying birds, and filled every nook and corner with fragrance. and as the season advanced the apricot, pear, and peach came out, some of them still in a comparatively wild state, finer as to bloom than fruit. there lay pretty alexandria, with the leisurely aspect all towns wore at that day. great cultivated fields stretched out as far as the eye could see. diversified reaches in hill and woodland broke the surface into a series of beguiling pictures, as if one could wander on for ever and ever. and then, at the bend of the river, mount vernon in its peaceful silence; a place for pilgrimages even at that time, and destined, like arlington, to become more famous as the years rolled on. but while the former was shrouded in reverent quiet, arlington was the scene of many a gay gathering. if mrs. madison sometimes wearied of the whirl of pleasure so different from her quaker girlhood and early married life, the ease with which she laid down the trappings and ceremonies of state and adapted herself to the retirement of montpellier showed that she had not been wedded to the glitter and adulation, and that the ease and comfort of country life were not distasteful to her. while not a strongly intellectual woman, nor the mother of heroes, there is something exquisitely touching in her devotion to her husband's mother in her old age, and then to her husband through the years of invalidism. it seems a fitting end to a well-used life that in her last years she should come back to the dear friends of middle-life, still ready to pay her homage, and to the new city that had run through one brief career, to be as great a favorite as ever. and now, when balls and assemblies began to pall on the pleasure-seekers,--and one wonders, in the stress of the war, how so much money could have been spent on pleasure and fine-dressing,--excursions up the potomac to the falls, so beautiful at that time, were greatly in vogue. carriages and equestrians thronged the road, followed by great clumsy covered wagons and a regiment of slaves, who built fires and cooked viands that were best hot, or made delicious drinks, hot and cold. about fifteen miles above were the great falls. in the early season, when spring freshets gathered strength and power in the mountain range of the alleghanies, the river swelled by the affluents in its course, and bursting through the blue mountains at harper's ferry, swept onward with resistless force until it came to this natural gorge, where it fell over a declivity of some thirty to forty feet. indeed, this was one of the great natural curiosities of the time, and foreigners made the pilgrimage with perhaps as much admiration as niagara elicits from more jaded senses. nearer the city, and convenient for an afternoon drive, were the cascades, some five or six miles above georgetown--a series of rushing streams divided by rocks, tumbling, leaping, quivering in the sunshine, and sending out showers of spray full of iridescent gleams and bits of rainbows that danced around like fays in gorgeous robes. here merry parties laughed and chatted, ate, and drank each other's healths, and tripped lightly to the inspiriting music of black fiddlers, who threw their very souls as well as their swaying bodies into the gay tunes. others, lovers most frequently, rambled about in the shady dells and exchanged vows--gave promises that were much oftener kept than broken, to their credit be it said. though at that time there was much merry badinage and keen encounters of wits. reading was not so greatly in vogue; women spent no time at clubs or over learned essays. "a new-fashioned skirt of emerald-green sarcenet faced with flutings of white satin with pipings of green, and a fine white mull tunic trimmed with fringes of british silk, with green satin half-boots and long white gloves stitched with green," filled many souls with envy at one of the assemblies, says an old journal. patterns were borrowed, and poor maids sometimes were at their wits' ends to copy them. most households had two or three women who were deft with the needle, and who were kept pretty busy attending to their mistresses' wardrobes. occasionally a happy blunder brought in a new style. privateers sometimes captured cargoes of finery and smuggled them into some unguarded port, and already manufacturers were beginning to copy foreign goods with tolerable success. as for the living, there was an abundance of everything in the more southern provinces. fruits of all kinds seemed to grow spontaneously, crops were simply magnificent, poultry, game, fish, and oysters were used without stint. they were wise, these people who had not drifted to the bleak new england shores, where the living was wrested from the soil and consciences were not yet sufficiently free to unite happiness with goodness. chapter xviii. of many things. "oh, where is mamma?" cried annis, as she was clasped in mr. mason's arms one morning. "can't you give me mamma's welcome also?" inquired the kindly voice. "why, annis, what a large girl you are! it seems as if we must have been away an age for you to change so." "am i changed?" she laughed cheerfully. "isn't it time i grew? varina said in her last letter that she was five feet four inches. and i am not five feet yet. and rene has been to assemblies, in long gowns. i went to two balls, and that of the flags was--magnificent." "i shall have to look after my flock more sharply. you will all run wild." "but mamma?" then he told her that although the operations had been a success, and there was now no danger of charles growing crooked, he was still in a very delicate state of health, and the doctor had ordered him a cool climate for the summer. they were to go farther north and travel about a bit. a sea voyage was supposed to be the best, but that was quite impossible in the present state of affairs and the dangers of the ocean. "oh, i thought you were sure to come home!" she exclaimed disappointedly. "we are sure of nothing, it seems. are you very homesick?" a quick rift of color flashed up in her face. "i'm not homesick at all. i like washington so much. there are so many beautiful places, and the sails on the rivers and queer nooks where the indians used to live, and the capitol and the senate where the great men talk, and so many lovely people in fine clothes, and the officers, and the french minister's carriage that spins along like a great butterfly, and handsome mrs. madison and the grand ladies----" "you will hardly want to go back to the plantation." "jaqueline is going to live in washington," she said, evading the question. "i am afraid you are getting off with the old love," half reproachfully. "not mamma, not--oh, i love you all just the same!" clasping his arm vehemently. her cheeks were very bright. she experienced a curious feeling about charles. perhaps it was because she had seen these grown lovers so much, and she herself was growing out of childish things. mr. mason was on his way to the plantation, and then to the pineries. his mother had missed his visits very much through the winter, and she was becoming more feeble. they all felt disappointed that charles was not really well. "it is probably the best thing you can do," said dr. collaston. "he needs bracing up after this trying ordeal. i was afraid he would sink under it." "the doctors consider it quite wonderful. when i think how narrow his escape has been from lifelong deformity----" the father's voice broke a little. not an hour ago he had been talking to louis, straight, tall, vigorous, with clear eyes and skin pink with the rich blood coursing through his veins; and the contrast between him and the poor pale lad had been great indeed. "it will be all right. surgery is making rapid strides. so is everything. i am glad not to be any older, and i hope to live to see a great and grand country. why, i may reasonably count on fifty years!" laughing light-heartedly. yet he would have been shocked if he could have looked at washington fifty years from then--with a gift of prescience. mr. mason was gratified to meet roger carrington again in the relationship to which he had once so cordially welcomed him. jaqueline was sweet and tender and very happy. but what a fine young woman she had become! and patty was as matronly and motherly as if she had been married half a century. but randolph mason gave a little sigh as he thought how children grow up and out of the old home nest. the plantation was in good shape. there had been some unimportant deaths, a number of marriages, and many births. virginia slaves were a prolific race, and added to the wealth of the master. they were all overjoyed to see him, and full of regret that "missus" wasn't with him. "'pears laik everybody been daid and buried but mas'r louis," said old chloe. at the pineries nothing seemed changed. brandon floyd was beginning to look like his father, and was taking on the same important airs. he was very bitter about "madison's war, that no doubt would last as long as the other war, by the looks of things, and leave us in the same plight." when mr. mason thought of his own blooming girls his heart really ached for marian. after all, there was nothing like a home of her own and a love of her own for a woman. he was glad jaqueline had come back to hers. but it brought about a rather perplexing point, not so easily settled, it would seem. mr. carrington importuned for an early marriage. jaqueline had bidden him wait until her father came. the lover pleaded his cause so well that the father could hardly say him nay. "what do you most desire?" to jaqueline. "we may not be back until quite in the autumn. i have been seized with a strong inclination to see a little of our own big land," laughingly. "we are proud of our share in the old war, but other states had a hand in it as well. it makes a man feel more a citizen of the whole country--and a grand place it is. so we shall not hurry." he gave her a wistful glance, as if to read her wish in the matter. "i would quite as lief wait. everything would have to be so different. but," blushing, "it was the rock on which we went to pieces before." her father nodded. "there would be great disappointment on the old place. but you might go down and stay a week or so. varina is so in love with dolly and charleston that we settled she should remain until autumn, when dolly and her husband are coming up for a visit. that young floyd seems to be quite somebody. i always thought dolly flighty, but she appears to have some common sense, after all." "and varina is quite a woman. i hope she won't be utterly spoiled. of course," tentatively, "it would be a quiet wedding. i think i would like it in church." then, she had really considered it. "why not?" said patty. "so many of the girls around home are married and gone, and unless you could have a crowd it would be dismal. then, you have so many friends in washington. to be sure, it would be queer for a girl to be married without all her family about her. mamma and charles and varina! well, we've one more than half of them. jaqueline, if you hadn't made that fuss before----" "yes," returned jaqueline meekly. mrs. jettson added her voice in favor of the marriage. it had to be so speedily arranged. there were friends ready enough to be bridesmaids; indeed, the subject was taken up in such earnest that jaqueline was likely to be married out of hand. all that was really needed was a wedding gown and an appearing-out dress; all the rest could be done afterward, and there was her mother's bridal gown waiting for her. when it came to the point, instead of a simple wedding it was a very grand one. one of the cabinet ladies sent her a veil to wear because it was luck to be married in something borrowed, and the veil had been worn at the coronation of king george. mrs. sweeny worked night and day altering over the wedding gown, which was a mass of satin, sheer gauze, and lace, with a train carried by a daintily attired page. annis held her prayer book and her glove when the ring was put on her finger. christ church was crowded with the _élite_ of washington, said a journal of the day. mrs. madison graced the scene, and mrs. cutts, with whom jaqueline was a great favorite, while judge and mrs. todd were warm in congratulations. it was really quite an event, and roger felt almost as if he had married a princess of the blood royal. such parties and dinners as were showered upon the young couple, and such compliments as the handsome bride received, were almost enough to turn one's head. annis was kept busy writing journal-like letters to mamma and charles. and what treasures the old journals and letters are to-day! how mrs. carrington went to christ church sunday morning in "a violet satin gown trimmed with fine silk ruffles edged with lace, and a white satin petticoat with embroideries in violet silk and gold thread. a fine-wrought lace scarf that her own mother had brought from paris, white satin boots with gold lacings, long white silk gloves embroidered in lavender, and a white neapolitan hat with a wide fluted rim, trimmed with a drawn silk lining and rows of piping, and a great cluster of lilies and violets and ostrich plumes." the wedding veil was returned. annis was to wear the wedding gown later on, and at a very modern entertainment quite late in the century jaqueline's grand-daughter won no end of admiration in it. so when randolph mason had given his eldest daughter away, and kissed her good-by with a thousand tender wishes, he went back to the pale little son and his dear nurse, as if he had had some sort of a gala dream mixed up with a whirlwind. "i wish jacky had waited," said charles with a sigh. "i should like to have seen it." "it wouldn't have been half so grand at home. washington is a fine place for such a thing." "finer than philadelphia?" "oh, no!" mr. mason smiled, remembering the simple church. there were grander ones here. and, except the capitol, the white house, and parts of several public buildings, there was nothing so very grand. but the concourse of people could hardly have been matched. "didn't annis want to come with you?" "she did at first. then the wedding drove all other desires out of her mind. i was afraid she would make a time when i started. but everything was in such a bustle!" "couldn't she have come here for a week or two, before we start?" "how would we have sent her back?" "we wouldn't have sent her back then," said the boy triumphantly. his father smiled. "she has grown so, and changed some way. her hair is not quite so light. and she can chatter in french like a native. patty thinks her very smart." "and i have not grown any!" he subjoined in a disconsolate tone. "i am not allowed to study. she will get way ahead of me. but she doesn't know latin, and she can't go to college." and perhaps he could marry her. he was not so sure of that now. perhaps he would never marry anyone. but he was glad roger carrington had jaqueline. annis tried very hard to be sorry at not seeing her mother. she was frightened because she did not want to cry over it as she had at first. she had given up mamma to charles, and to be sorry and want her back was selfish. then there were so many things to do, and so many pleasures. there was not time enough to run over to aunt jane's every day, yet the children were so fond of her. she knew some girls, too, who were asking her to supper every few days, or to join some party to the woods, or to sail up or down the river. it was such a lovely thing to be alive and well! when that came into her mind her very heart melted in pity for charles. then, it was queer, but louis had taken to calling her his little girl. he teased her sometimes, but he came to take her riding when she had any spare hours. she could hardly decide which was the handsomer, louis or mr. carrington, and she thought it rather disloyal. jaqueline said roger was, by far. and then came the plans for housekeeping. roger and she inspected some houses. it would be more convenient in washington, but georgetown was much prettier. and there were suburban districts. "but think of the winter nights in the rain and the mud, and sometimes sleet, and the time wasted going back and forth. isn't it a bit of patriotism to want to build up one's own city? we are a small people as yet, compared to some other places. if we don't increase and multiply and spread out, and fill up our vacant squares, our honor may be taken from us." "after so noble an argument i shall have to agree with you that it is our bounden duty to remain," replied jaqueline with an arch smile. "mother would like us at georgetown, but she has ralph and his wife." "oh, do stay!" cried annis. "i like washington so much!" "the casting vote. we remain. annis, you are to come with us. we couldn't give you up now." "until mamma comes home. of course i belong to her." they went down to the old plantation, and the house slaves made a big feast; the field hands had an illumination of lanterns and big pine knots. but annis thought the great house lonely. then she recalled what her father once said--when all the children were married she would stay there with her mother and him. jaqueline and patty and varina would have husbands and children, and annis shivered at a strange consciousness of solitude. jaqueline had been instructed to take her outfit, and anything she wanted, her father said. chloe knew all about the bed and table linen: didn't she bleach it up every spring in may dew? such a packing, such a rejoicing time over missy's husband "that she got at last," which meant nothing derogatory nor that she had made a great effort; only most of the slaves had great faith in first loves for white folks, and a happy ending to an engagement. there was the house to put in order and the "house-warming" to give, a grand dinner for married friends and a dance for the young people, when louis was master of ceremonies, and bright eyes grew still brighter with pleasure at his notice. almost before one had noted, there were cool nights and ripening foliage, house-cleaning, and preparation for winter. ah, how lovely the banks of the potomac were, and rock creek! jaqueline begged that they should take their first ride over again. there were various first things to do. the mother over at georgetown claimed them frequently. ralph's wife was very nice and sweet, but jaqueline brought a curious stir and dazzle in the house, and an atmosphere as of a spring morning. charles had improved wonderfully. there were some remarkable springs up the hudson that had wonderful health-giving properties. and when they came back to new york he was so taken with the advantages that he begged to remain. the doctor in whose charge he had been, promised to watch over him and not allow him to study too severely, and a nice boarding place had been found for him with a charming motherly woman. "oh, annis!" cried her mother, holding her off after the first fond embrace, "let me look at you. i have lost my little girl!" "mamma, i couldn't stay little always. but the part that loves and thinks doesn't change, and i have tried very hard sometimes not to want you when i knew charles needed you. i am so glad to get you back! oh, you _do_ believe that? but there is a queer thing i don't understand. when we first came to virginia it was very hard to try to love the others when they took so much attention." she was studying her mother with large, earnest, lustrous eyes. "yes," said mrs. mason, with a fond embrace. "and now i love them all so much. i'm not quite sure about varina--i have not seen her in so long. but i love you the best." the mother kissed her fondly. no one, not even her husband, who was so grateful for the sacrifice she had made, knew how hard a trial it had been to her. just as they were considering whether they could leave annis at school and do without her, word came from the pineries. mrs. floyd had a sudden stroke, not so very severe, but at her time of life a serious matter. young mrs. floyd and her husband and varina came north a few days after this. there was a month of slow wasting away. mrs. brandon floyd had a new baby, marian was almost worn out, and mrs. mason found herself the comforter again, and much needed. then grandmamma slipped out of life, and was laid by the side of mr. floyd; and mr. mason, seconded warmly by his wife, insisted that marian should spend the winter with them and rest, perhaps make it her future home. varina was a tall, rather distinguished-looking girl who had blossomed somewhat prematurely into womanhood. annis was still a little girl beside her. she was gay and bright, and full of her own good times. jaqueline's marriage was delightful; they had enjoyed the account in the paper. charles was well again, but what a sad time it had been for him! as for herself, she and dolly were the dearest of sisters, and had had the best of times. she should coax papa to let her return to charleston. she knew so many people there, and it would be just horrid to go back to the old plantation. there were all the others, and surely papa could spare her. dolly was very exigent as well. mr. mason realized that it would be dull for a young girl, with the household in mourning, and marian half an invalid and dispirited. but he insisted upon a family gathering at christmas, as charles was to come home. mrs. carrington would fain have had roger and his wife, and mr. brandon floyd sent a formal invitation for jane and her family at the pineries, but she chose the masons instead. marian was pale and grave, but improving under the fostering care of mrs. mason, who was the kindest of sisters. bessy collaston had a new little brother; and, with dolly's one and mrs. jettson's four, there was quite an array of children. but the most joyous of all was the welcome to charles. now he showed his real improvement. he had some color in his cheeks and his eyes were bright and lustrous; his voice rang with a clear sound. curiously enough, he seemed almost a stranger to annis, and not the little boy with whom she had poured over froissart. she had outgrown him; and as for varina, she patronized him in a most uncomfortable fashion. they were all so glad to see him well once more that no one thought of teasing him, even when he aired his new-found knowledge unduly. perhaps he was most flattered by the friendliness of his big brother-in-law roger. then followed the dispersion. it was best that annis should stay at school the coming year, and jaqueline declared she could not do without her. truth to tell, what with her school friends and her various amusements, annis began to feel as if washington was her real home, and the plantation a place to visit. her mother had so many long-neglected duties to take up, and marian to nurse back to health and better spirits. she had done without her little girl so long, and clearly this was to the child's advantage. meanwhile the war had gone on with varying fortunes, but the navy of the country had gained various accessions by capture from the british and alterations from the merchant vessels. none of the coast cities had been attacked. boston, new york, and philadelphia had been making their defenses more secure. there was a fine fort at baltimore. but washington made no advances. congress wrangled over a hundred points. the country at large was losing faith in the administration. there was a growing party in favor of suing for peace on the best terms we could get; another clique were quite certain we would wear out england, as, after all, she had made no real gains, and we had become quite formidable on the high seas. general armstrong, secretary of war, was confident washington would not be attacked; and though he admitted that defenses should be strengthened, very little was done. the downfall of napoleon and his abdication, and the peace with france, had released the flower of the british army, and many warships. it was supposed bermuda was their objective point, but they were ready to harass the coast line from florida to maine, and filled many of the towns with apprehension. chapter xix. in the midst of war. the summer of was destined to rouse the legislators at washington from their supineness. some fishermen discovered a large fleet of sail sweeping in between the royal capes and settling at anchor, as if undetermined what course to pursue. they gave the alarm; and as the ships sailed up the chesapeake, baltimore was believed to be the objective point. commodore barney's little fleet was chased up the patuxent. general armstrong's orders were to burn it if there was danger of its falling into the hands of the enemy. then with his men he was to join general winder for the defense of washington. the vessels were fired without a single blow, and the men made a forced march across the peninsula. there were no forts for protection, and only a few hundred regulars and several militia companies. with fatuous obstinacy it was still believed baltimore would take the brunt of the attack, giving time to rally the troops to the defense of bladensburg if there should be an inland march. all the adverse opinions and counsel delayed what might have been done for the protection of the city. but that august night, when the intentions of the enemy were beyond all doubt, a courier spurred post-haste over the heavy, sandy roads and through long stretches of somber pines and giant oaks, a very prophet of evil. at the little post-towns of nottingham and marlborough the stentorian tones roused the people from their sleep. "the british have landed at benedict and are marching inland. to arms! to arms!" at bladensburg he stopped at the ancient tavern, and the quiet town was thrown into a panic. everybody was called out for defense. then on to washington, and the startled rulers looked into each other's faces in dismay. and then colonel monroe admitted that though there were no great treasures in washington, the moral effect of capturing the enemy's capital would be equivalent to a greater victory. there were state papers that must be at once sent to a place of safety, and those who had valuables had better fly with them. general armstrong still believed no large army would march forty miles from its base of supplies and run the risk of being cut off, since admiral cockburn could not know how well able the city was to defend itself. all was wildest panic. everything in the shape of cart or wagon was loaded with cherished possessions, and the road to georgetown looked like a universal moving day. it was decided to meet the enemy at bladensburg and oppose the march into washington, if that was their object. everybody--a motley throng, indeed--was hurried to the front, the women and children left to the care of servants. the carrington household had for days been in the deepest anxiety. a fortnight before jaqueline's little son had been born, to the great joy of them all. mrs. mason and marian had come up to the city--the first time marian had visited the place since her joyous girlish winter and its ill-fated consequences. all had gone on well, when a sudden and utterly unexpected turn had filled them with alarm. a fever had set in, and for several days it had been a fierce fight between disease and skill, but there had grown up a faint hope in the night, to be met with tidings of such terrible import. mrs. jettson had come, wild with affright. "we are going at once," she said. "what can the wretched little army do against four thousand trained british soldiers? and admiral cockburn, it is said, has sworn to be revenged for the treatment of the english minister, and that he will compel mrs. madison to entertain him and his staff at the white house. can jaqueline be moved?" "only at the risk of her life," said dr. collaston. "all the news has been kept from her, though she could not have taken it in. i have sent patty and the children and some valuables over to arlington. we must stay here." "but marian and--annis--can they not join us?" entreated jane. "annis will not leave her mother. marian may be of great service. she is a most excellent nurse. even the servants are panic-stricken, and cannot be depended on." "where is roger?" "at the capital. we men may be needed to defend our homes. admiral cockburn is said to be ruthless. general winder has started for bladensburg. heaven grant the battle may be decided there! but you had better go at once, for the children's sake." "oh, poor dear jaqueline!" "we can only trust the very slender reed," and the doctor's voice was husky with emotion. "if i could do anything----" "no, you cannot. thank you for all your kindness in the past." mrs. madison has been handed down by history as the one serene figure in the turmoil and danger. she moved quietly to and fro, securing valuables and state papers and sending them away by trusty servants. the president and several members of the cabinet had started for the scene of action. mrs. mason and marian watched by the bedside with minutest instructions, while the doctor went out on some pressing business. "a soger gemmen say he must see miss annis," announced the new butler, who had been but a month in his place. "i jus' done fergit de name. dar's flustration in de berry air." "to see me?" asked the child in surprise. "he want de doctor awful much. den he say send miss annis." annis held out her hand to marian. "come with me!" she exclaimed. "we will not disturb mamma." they went down together. the man in the hall was covered with dust and grime, and purple-red with the heat. a soldier, sure enough; but the first moment annis drew back. "oh, little annis, don't be afraid!" and she knew the voice. "marian----" and so the two met who had just touched their lips to the cup of joy in the spring of youth. a grave woman half a dozen years older, a man whose life might be ended this very day. all these years he had been bitter and resentful, but if he were dying---- "can you not fly at once? the battle has been disgraceful, but what could such an army do against overwhelming odds. the whole thing has been a piece of shameful imbecility in our rulers. the british are marching into washington." "then you have not heard----" something in marian's tremulous voice awed him. he wiped the sweat and grime from his face. "i have not been in washington for three months." "mrs. carrington is lying at the point of death." annis began to cry, and caught his hand. "then heaven help you! no one can tell what the end will be. now i must away to warn all who can fly, and then do the best we can to protect those who remain. if possible, i will send a guard. little annis, good-by, if i should never see you again." she threw her arms about his neck with a convulsive sob. he held out his hand to marian, but neither spoke. then he rushed away. there was not a moment to lose. he strode over to the white house, where all was still uncertain, and mrs. madison had given orders for the dinner. to procure wagons was a labor of love and infinite persuasion, to say nothing of money. then the messenger came shouting that general armstrong had ordered a retreat. daniel carroll had sent his carriage, but mrs. madison refused to go until the president arrived. "it will not do for you to fall into the hands of the british," declared an officer. "that would crown the triumph." pale and weary from his fruitless journey, the president and his wife stepped into the carriage to be driven across to georgetown, where further difficulties awaited them. the opposition journals made merry over the undignified flight, yet there is no doubt but that it was the aim of both the admiral and general ross to crown their victory by the capture of the most conspicuous figures of the capital. the british marched steadily on the heels of the flying foe, leaving their dead and wounded exposed to the pitiless sun, and proceeded at once to the capitol, which they ransacked and then set on fire, striking down anyone who dared to raise a voice in its behalf. then they marched along pennsylvania avenue to the white house, chagrined to discover only a few servants left, but gratified to find a banquet awaiting them. there had been covers laid for forty guests. dishes of all kinds were ready in the kitchen to be served. wines were in the cooler, handsome cut-glass and silver trays of delicious fruit stood on the sideboard. the hungry officers and men, scorning ceremony, feasted until the place became the scene of the wildest orgie. the wine cellar was broken open and its contents passed around, rooms were ransacked and combustibles piled up; and as they found little worth carrying off, the match was applied, and the house that had been the scene of so many joyous occasions was soon in flames. from thence to the treasury department, and then to the office of the _national intelligencer_, whose editor had denounced cockburn unsparingly for his acts of vandalism on the coast and among defenseless towns; and the houses of some of the more noted citizens were added to the conflagration. women flying for refuge were insulted, wagons stopped and despoiled of their goods. the few regiments could make no stand against the wanton destruction. suddenly there came a strange darkness over the city. from the far-off hills the wind began to roar like another ravening army. there were sullen mutterings of thunder. the order was given to retreat, and by the lurid light the ranks re-formed, though many, wearied out, straggled behind. the red blaze was made visible a moment by the lightning, when the town seemed in a molten glow, and then dense smoky blackness. as if this was not enough, a frightful tornado seemed hurled from the hills on the doomed city. the roar of the elements was terrific. trees were uprooted and houses blown from their foundations, crashing down in the general ruin. all day they had watched between hope and fear. jaqueline's fever had abated, and she lay half unconscious. after the soldiers marched into the city, and he had seen mrs. madison started on her perilous journey, roger felt he could be of no farther service. the enemy would wreak his vengeance unopposed. he found there was a guard in citizens' clothes keeping watch over his house in an inconspicuous manner. but when the flames started at the capitol his anxiety was harrowing. what if they should continue their work of devastation in this direction? "oh, do you think we shall all be burned up?" cried annis in terror, dreading the sight and yet running from window to window. no one could guess the power or purpose of the enemy. and no one could measure nature's devastation. dr. collaston was in and out. jaqueline lay, unheeding the tumult and danger. "she does not really lose," he said. "ross has gone over to the white house. oh, the poor doomed city! and relief is needed for the wounded at bladensburg. half the women are crazy at their husbands being sent to the front. and all this might have been avoided!" indeed, it transpired afterward that mrs. madison had been refused shelter by a shrieking virago because her husband had been enrolled for the defense of the city. "they are going to the white house. perhaps they may not molest us, after all." this proved true. the ravages were continued over eastward. they watched one building after another. the public rope-walk was devoted to the flames. the dockyards and arsenal and naval stores, powder magazine, and a fine frigate just ready to be launched were fed to the devouring element that roared in devastating hunger. but that seemed nothing to the tornado. annis flew to her mother's arms, and could not be pacified. marian and mrs. mason would not go to bed, and annis drowsed with her head on her mother's shoulder, asking now and then if morning had come. it dawned presently over the ruined city. rock creek was a rushing torrent. the potomac had overflowed its banks. tiber creek was swollen out of bounds. cellars were submerged, boxes and bales and furniture floated out. the british left their wounded behind, and when they reached bladensburg there were more than could be cared for. heartlessly trusting them to the mercy of the beaten enemy, they marched on, striking terror to the smaller towns through which they passed, and then attacking baltimore, the heroic defense of which is a matter of history. general ross was killed in the first skirmish, and admiral cockburn forced to withdraw, and was condemned even by his own government for his ruthless vandalism, which had won nothing. but the attack on fort mchenry gave us one of our most beautiful and deathless songs, and indeed seemed the turning-point of misfortunes in a campaign that had been conducted with so little foresight and sagacity. but even this disaster may have been needed to bring the warring factions together, and convince them that to keep a country intact the strength of all is the salvation of each one, of every home. dr. collaston could hardly call it hope in the morning, but jaqueline had not lost anything through the terrible night. roger was nearly worn out with anxiety and the work that had devolved upon him. wounded men were lying in the streets, and had been brought in from bladensburg. "i must get a message over to patty," the doctor said. "the end of the bridge is burned, but there are some boats. something must be done for the relief of our poor men who turned out so bravely for the defense of our homes." certainly it was a ruined city. twenty years of labor and interest and expenditure laid waste, many of the inhabitants homeless, some lying wounded, not a few dead. a deserted place, indeed; and it was not until the british were before baltimore that the panic really subsided. the president and mrs. madison were among the earliest to return. mrs. cutts opened her house, for the white house was a charred and blackened ruin. everybody vied with attentions. the tayloe mansion, called the octagon, on new york avenue, and built in the latter part of the preceding century, by a wealthy planter of mount airy, was chosen for the present home. indeed, mrs. madison was never to go back to the white house as its mistress, but she made a not less notable center elsewhere. slowly people returned with their goods and stores. the inhabitants of the adjacent towns were generous with assistance. for a month or more washington had a continual moving-day. meanwhile the victories at plattsburg and the surrender of the fleet on lake champlain, as well as the signal victory at fort bowyer, put heart into the americans, and england seemed not indisposed to discuss terms of peace, convinced perhaps a second time that here was an indomitable people, whose friendship was possible, but whose conquest could never be achieved. slowly jaqueline carrington came back to life. the intense heat had given way to cooling breezes, the sun was often veiled by drifting clouds. for a week there were alternations, then a steady improvement. temporary hospitals had been secured. some of the wounded had found shelter within their own homes or those of friends. louis came in one morning. he had been among the volunteers so hastily enrolled, taken prisoner, and then allowed to go, as general ross did not want to be hampered. "collaston, has anything been heard of ralston? he came into washington the morning of the battle. now that things are cleared up a little, he is reported missing. the british did not stop to bury their dead, and he certainly would have been noted." "i thought it strange we did not hear. we must make inquiries at once. we have been most fortunate, except for pecuniary losses, and since jaqueline is likely to be restored to us we have no right to complain. i must set out to find ralston, though. the country has need of such men." it was true that arthur jettson and the doctor were likely to be considerable losers by the misfortunes that had overtaken washington. but they were young, and could recover. patty and the two babies returned, and she declared the losses were really not worth thinking of, since everybody had been spared. when jaqueline was well enough to sit up a little, she insisted on being taken to her favorite window, which commanded a fine view of the city. "while you have had one trouble, you have escaped another," said her husband gravely. "our beautiful washington--for it had grown beautiful to us, partly by the eye of faith, i suppose--is no more. we have had war and devastation of the elements, and must begin over again. we can tell our children about old washington, if she was not ancient in years; but a new one must arise on its ruins." "war!" jaqueline cried in amazement. and then she glanced at the destruction, bursting into tears. "never mind, my darling wife. we have you and the boy, thanks to your mother and marian and dr. collaston's skill. he was faithfulness itself through all that trying time. when you are stronger you shall hear the whole story." "and louis--is everybody safe?" "louis shouldered a musket and marched like a trained soldier. oh, we have some brave men left, i assure you! the enemy came; and what we were unable to do the storm did--forced them to retreat before we had been laid quite in ruins." "it is terrible!" said annis. "i have been driving about with the doctor. the beautiful white house is gone, and ever so many places. and the storm was terrific. oh, dear! what a horrible time it was! i sat up all night long with mamma and marian." "dear marian! how good you have been to me! you and mother have taken such excellent care of my baby." marian glanced up with a grave smile. "and no dear ones are lost? i suppose lieutenant ralston was in the thick of the fight?" "yes," answered her husband, "like many another brave man. i think we owe him something also." everything was so changed. marian often mused over it. she felt like quite an old woman. she was hardly likely to marry now. she had put her candle out, she remembered. but her heart gave a quick gasp when she thought of ralston. "evangeline" had not yet been written, but daily she felt moved to enact the romance, to go in search of him. somehow she felt sure she could find him. and if he was among the dead she would have a right to cherish his memory, and that happy episode, the one brief romance of her life. dr. collaston came in. yes, his patient was doing nicely. when she could be moved with safety, the air of the old plantation, with its rich autumnal fragrance and ripeness, would do her good. patty should go with her for a holiday. annis was hanging to the doctor's arm. "won't you take me out with you?" she said coaxingly. "i like so to go with you, there are so many things to see." "i am going to take roger out on a little business, if everybody can spare him. your turn may come to-morrow." she nodded good-humoredly. carrington followed his friend downstairs. "we have news about ralston," the doctor said. "there is a messenger here with tidings. there is no time to lose. you can hear the story as we go along." a pale, large-eyed young fellow with an anxious face was awaiting them; and as they were driving over the old road that had been traversed many a time in pleasure, and was to be historic, carrington listened to the young man's tale. a british soldier, he had been wounded and left on the field, and someone had paused to give him a drink of water, when the stranger had been struck by a stray shot and wounded in the leg. they had made their way slowly to a deserted negro hut, where he had fainted. his new friend had dressed his wound, which was more painful than serious, but both were weak from exhaustion and loss of blood. the storm coming on, they had been glad of shelter. the next day his new-found friend could not walk, and his leg was terribly swollen. they waited in the hope that someone would find them out. but on the third day the american was ill and delirious. a negro woman had discovered them, and visited them daily with food, and had attended to both their wounds as well as she knew how. now his companion had come to his right mind, and he was a lieutenant ralston. he had begged him, eustace stafford, to find his way into the city and hunt up a certain dr. collaston and tell him the story. "he is still very ill," declared stafford. "and he must be taken out of that wretched hole at once. still, we have been very glad of the shelter." "you look ill yourself----" "you should have seen this young fellow half an hour ago," declared the doctor. "you would have thought him a ghost. he has a bad wound in his shoulder that has not been properly treated, and healed up on the outside too soon. i have a carriage here at the door. when patty heard the story she insisted that i should bring ralston home at once. we have plenty of room, and, after all, have not been so hard hit." young stafford, they found, had a cousin who was a major in the english army. he had been quite enamored of a soldier's life, had been attached to the staff, and was a sort of private secretary to his cousin. but the romance of war had been driven from his youthful brain by his first battle, that of bladensburg. "but you must have better soldiers than those raw recruits," he exclaimed, "when you have done such wonderful things! still, everything is so strange----" he glanced furtively at the two men, not knowing how far it was safe to confess one's feelings. the ruin at washington had filled him with shame and dismay, and he did not wonder that people on every hand were execrating the british. even the old negro woman had denounced them bitterly. "most of our real soldiers were elsewhere. there is a great stretch of country to protect. we have the indians for enemies, the french occasionally, but we shall come out victorious in the end," said the doctor confidently. "where are the admiral and general ross?" asked stafford. "at baltimore now, where there is a prospect of their being defeated. we were not prepared as we should have been, to our shame be it said." then they lapsed into silence. "i am afraid i have forgotten my way," the youth admitted as they passed a partly overgrown branch road, used mostly for the convenience of farmers. "i tried to mark it by some sign. there was a tree that had been struck by lightning. and a clump of oaks." "there is a clump of oaks farther on." "you see, that day--it was horrible with the groans of the wounded and dying. and the awful heat! i tried to crawl to a little stream, but fainted. and this soldier came along presently, when i begged him for a drink." "these are the oaks, i think," said the doctor, who knew the road well. "then it is a little further on." they turned into a cart-path. in a sort of opening stood a blackened pine that had been grand in its day. after several curves they left this road and soon found the hut. lieutenant ralston was in a bad condition, indeed--emaciated to a degree, his eyes sunken, his voice tremulous, his whole physique so reduced that he could not stand up. stafford had made a bed of fir and hemlock branches, and the little place was fragrant, if otherwise dreary. "we will not stop for explanations!" exclaimed the doctor briskly. "the best thing is to get you to some civilized place and attend to you." "and the lad, too. i should have died without him and poor old judy. she will think the wolves have eaten us, only she won't find any bones." he was lifted carefully into the carriage, and they journeyed homeward as rapidly as circumstances would permit. patty had cleared the sitting room on the lower floor, and a cot had been spread for ralston. they laid the fainting man upon it, and the doctor proceeded to examine his injuries. the bone in the leg had been splintered, and a jagged wound made. judy's simples had kept it from becoming necessarily fatal, but the fever and the days that had elapsed rendered it very critical. "i only hope he won't have to lose his leg," said roger. "that would be terrible to him." "we will try our utmost." it was a painful operation, but at last it was over. then stafford's shoulder was looked after, and had to be probed. roger proved an invaluable assistant. "we may as well have a hospital ward, and let the enemy and the patriot lie side by side. they can't fight, and i do not believe either of them has the vigor for a quarrel." so another cot was brought in. patty was quite important, and full of sympathy for ralston. it was mid-afternoon when carrington returned, and they were all anxious to hear the story. for jaqueline's sake he made as light of it as possible, dwelling considerably upon the heroism of both men, "although the english lad is a mere boy, not twenty yet. what distorted ideas they get over the water!" nodding his head. "as if we had not been of one race in the beginning, equally courageous, equally proud and resolute, and animated by the same love of liberty. think how they have waged war with tyrants and wrested rights from kings!" marian waylaid him in the hall. "i was listening inwardly to what you did not say," she began tremulously. "does the doctor think he _will_ recover?" "he is in a bad way, of course. but the leg is the worst feature. oh, let us all hope! things have gone so well with us that i am filled with gratitude, and cannot despair." marian's eyes were downcast, her face pink to the very roots of her hair; and her lips quivered. that evening roger was sitting beside his wife alone, caressing the thin hand that returned the fond pressure. "marian is in love with philip ralston," he began abruptly. "jaqueline, can't you think of the magic touch that will bring these two together? you found it easy enough before." "and bungled and made no end of trouble," she returned with a sad smile. "it was old mr. floyd who made the trouble. why couldn't he have given his daughter to the young fellow who loved her? what i am afraid of now is that he has ceased to care. still, he has been a favorite with women, and no one has captured him. an attractive man has to quite run the gauntlet. and when he thinks a woman's love has failed----" "do you speak from experience?" inquired jaqueline archly, her eyes in a tender glow. "yes." there was a rising color and a half-smile hovering over his face. "it _is_ true that hearts are caught in the rebound." "but no one caught you." "because, month after month, i waited. i said at first, 'she will marry ralston.' then there were other admirers--you know there were a host of them more attractive than i, but i could have forgiven you for marrying ralston. if it had been someone else i should have turned bitter, and that would have been the danger-point. i might have wanted to convince you "that, miss jacky mason, i care as little as ye care for me," paraphrasing an old ballad and substituting her own name, while she glanced up laughingly. "since we found the making-up process so delightful," returned jaqueline, "we are anxious to pass it around. you see, now, marian has no interest in life but to play the part of maiden aunt. jane will absorb a good deal of her with the most generous intentions. she is a lovely nurse, and i think grandpa's and mr. greaves' influence has mostly died out. they were both so narrow and dogmatic about women that they reduced her to a sort of slavery. mamma has brought her out to a sense of freedom. single women may be heroic, yet, as i remember, the revolutionary heroines were married and mothers, most of them, and it is the wife and mother who has the most exquisite happiness." "what a long speech! we will try and get ralston well, and then trust good-fortune. there will be no one to interfere this time." while ralston lay tossing on a bed of pain, his leg in splints and bandages, events moved on rapidly. the bold exploits and undying courage that had won such brilliant successes on the seas had settled the question of sailors' rights. england virtually admitted this while still haggling with commissioners. and from having no position among nations, from being considered feeble and disunited, and possessing no innate right to establish a commerce of her own, the united states had won the respect of the countries abroad, and to a great degree harmonized the jarring factions at home. the crowning battle of the war was that of new orleans, with jackson's brilliant victory, though some of the preliminaries had been settled before this. and one day a messenger came rushing into town, swinging his three-cornered hat in one hand and holding the bridle-rein in the other, and cried out in stentorian tones, "peace! peace! peace has been declared! mr. carroll, american messenger, has arrived with the treaty of peace!" in spite of blackened ruins and heaps of débris, there was a great time in old washington. for, indeed, it seemed old now, since it could boast of ruins. flags were hung out. neighbors called to one another. then a coach came thundering along the avenue, another and yet another, and stopped at the octagon house. congress presented themselves, at least all who could be gathered on a short notice, to take the news to the president, who had suffered considerably from the exposure and fatigue, and perhaps from the mortification of having been a fugitive flying from the enemy. the circular vestibule, the white winding stairway that was open to the top, and the drawing room to the right were crowded with guests, felicitating their chief and one another. animosity, coldness, and blame were forgotten. peace! peace! like the refrain of some sweet music, went floating around all the space, and mrs. madison was much moved with emotion. strong men thanked god with softened hearts. the conflict was over, and now they knew the bitterness of war. for this year young daniel webster was in the house, and clay and calhoun and men who were to have much to do with the nation's destinies later on. houses were illuminated, tar barrels were burned, and the streets seemed fairly alive with people. voices rang with joy. true, the treaty was to be discussed and signed, the british troops were to go home, the news to be carried about on the high seas. ports were to be opened, and "madison's nightcaps"--barrels that had been hung to protect the rigging of ships--were removed with shouts of joy. there was a lull in europe. prussia drew a long breath. russia plumed herself on giving the famous corsican his first blow, while the battle of waterloo was the last. france had a king of royal blood again. spain was repairing her fortunes; while england was counting up her losses and gains, and preparing to shake hands in amity with the young country across the ocean and grow into friendship with it. chapter xx. the old story ever new. jaqueline carrington's heart ached the first time she was taken out to drive, when destruction met her on every side. there was another sorrowful aspect. men were getting about on crutches, sitting on the capitol steps sunning themselves. there was an empty coat-sleeve, some scarred faces, others pale and wan. yes, they had all escaped marvelously. she thought herself the happiest woman in the world. no one, she was quite sure, had such a tender and devoted husband or splendid baby. mother carrington found her affections quite divided, and the days when jaqueline came over to georgetown were gala days. true, preston floyd had been already talked of as a member of the house of representatives. roger carrington had been appointed to an excellent position in the treasury department, though he was still a great favorite with mr. monroe, and jaqueline was not jealous. arthur jettson had come to be consulting architect, and had still greater plans for the new city. annis had resumed her school, but she was quite an important little body, and sometimes her mother felt almost as if she had lost her. lieutenant ralston found himself an admired hero. he had been cool and level-headed through those days of the panic; and it was admitted that many of his plans for the defense of the city would have been excellent. a new commission was made out, bearing the name of captain ralston; and a position was ready for him, when he could fill it, where his genius would have full scope. there were many anxious days over his leg. one of the doctors said the wound would never heal, and that presently it would be amputation or his life, and considered the delay a great risk. "oh, collaston," he begged, "don't have me going around on a wooden stump! if i was an admiral, now, i shouldn't mind it, as it would add to the glory. but a poor fellow who can't retire on his fortune----" "we'll fight to the very last, phil. if you could have been found sooner!" "and some poor fellows were found altogether too late. well, the country has learned a lesson, and perhaps with paul jones we have taught other nations a lesson, not to tread on us! do your very best." the doctor did it in fear and trembling. for if he cost his patient his life, he knew it would be a great blow to his reputation. as for the young lad, he soon began to improve. he seemed quite stranded, for his cousin's regiment had re-embarked and was coasting southward. no inquiries had been made about him--indeed, he knew afterward that the cousin had written home that he had been killed at the battle of bladensburg and buried on the field. he was a stranger in a strange land. ralston had grown very fond of him, and he proved himself an excellent companion. he was one of quite a large household, and his father was a baronet, sir morton stafford. one brother was in the army at home, one in the church, two sisters were married, and there were four younger than himself to provide for. as soon as he could use his arm he wrote to his father, and dr. collaston said cordially, "consider my house your home until you hear." "you are very good to take in a stranger this way," he returned with emotion. marian remained with jaqueline when mrs. mason went home. "i have been such a gadabout of late years," mrs. mason said, "that father hardly knows whether he has a wife and a home. i must think a little of him." "i wish you _could_ stay, mamma!" pleaded annis. "why can't you move up to washington? i like it ever so much better. there is so much to see and to do, and we are all together here." "there is charles. and varina." "but patty and jaqueline and the babies seem like a great many more. and the rides and drives----" "but you have your pony. and papa would take you any time with him." "i like the crowds of people, and the pretty ladies in their carriages, and the foreign ministers are so fine, and to hear the men when they talk in the house, and the girls give little parties. oh, mamma, i love you, and i want you here, but----" her mother smiled. yes, life on the plantation was dull. and the jealous little girl was being weaned away. "we are losing our children fast," she said to her husband. marian and jaqueline by slow degrees slipped into the interchange of thought that real friendship uses. it had not the girlish giddiness of youth; both had learned more of the realities of life. "but did you ever love mr. greaves, marian?" jaqueline ventured one afternoon, as she sat with her baby on her lap. he was so lovely that she envied the cradle when she put him in it, and liked to feel his soft warm body on her knees. "i didn't at first. oh, jaqueline, brother randolph is so different from father! we never begged or teased or coaxed things out of him as you children used to. and mother expected us to obey the instant we were spoken to. then--i did not know that lieutenant ralston had been up until some time afterward. dolly found out that he had been insultingly dismissed. papa questioned me about the acquaintance and my visit to brother's, and was awfully angry. jack, _did_ you plan it?" "i put things in train, simply. i did not know how they would come out." "papa accepted mr. greaves for me. i meant to tell him the story and decline his hand. but it was quite impossible. i could never talk freely to him. he did not ask me if i loved him. he had certain ideas about wives. but he was gentlemanly and kind, and i had no liberty at home. i began to think it would be nice to be free, to go out without watching, to write a letter, to have some time of my very own. i had said to papa that i would never marry him, and he replied that i should never marry anybody, then. suddenly i gave in. i begged papa's pardon for all the dreadful things i had said, and accepted mr. greaves as my future husband. but i felt as if i had been turned into stone, as if it was not really my own self. that self seemed dead. i went round as usual, and tried to take an interest in everything, but nothing really mattered. did you think me queer and strange that christmas?" "you certainly were cold, apathetical." "that is just the word. papa was formal and dogmatic and arbitrary,--poor papa! it is unfilial to say these things about him,--but mamma always seemed to get along. mr. greaves was more gentle, and used to ask what i would like; and i do believe he loved me; pitied me; and i couldn't help feeling grateful. then when he had the first stroke papa said it would be dishonorable to withdraw, and he should be very angry if i contemplated such a thing. dolly's marriage was on the carpet. she seemed so young, so--yes, silly," and marian half hid her blushing face. "could i ever have been so silly, jaqueline?" "we all go through the rose-path of sweetness when we are in love," returned jaqueline. "i'm silly myself at times. marian, did you know that mr. ralston wrote again?" "wrote again--then he did not forget?" she raised her soft eyes, suffused with exquisite surprise. "he wrote when he thought you were free again. i always felt sure you did not get the letter. he took some precautions, and was confident you must have had it, though grandpa returned it without a word!" "i never heard from him. jane said when your engagement was broken----" marian paused and flushed. "that he would marry _me_." marian nodded. it had given her a heartache, she remembered. so long as he married no one he did not seem so completely cut off that she must cast him utterly out of her life. "well, you see he did not. i think now i could not have married anyone but roger, if i had waited ten years." "then, you know, came mr. greaves' death and father's, and mother's failing health. i feel quite like an old woman." "at five-and-twenty! nonsense! see how young mamma is!" "she is lovely, jaqueline!" with enthusiasm. "i don't know what papa would do without her." what a beautiful thing it was to be so dear to anyone that he or she could not do without you! "you saw ralston that dreadful morning?" "yes." marian buried her face in her hands. some feeling of unknown power connected with her youth shook her, thrilled her; yet she strove to put it aside. "i prayed i might not go back to that time," and her voice was tremulous; "then when we all thought him dead i--i let myself go. it is shameful for a woman when a man has forgotten her." "he has made tremendous efforts to forget--i know that," and the sound like a smile in her voice made marian's face crimson again. "but i am sure he has not succeeded any better than roger did. and if he should be unfortunate for life----" "then i should want to go to him. no one has any right to order my life now. would it be very unwomanly?" "no. and you must go to patty's. she thinks it so queer, but i said you hated to leave me. marian, if it comes a second time you will not refuse?" "i think i hadn't the courage to really refuse the first time," and she smiled. jaqueline had more delicacy than to repeat what annis had said, and had forbidden her to carry anything like gossip, "for a little girl who gossips will surely be an old maid. and you will want a nice husband, i am certain." "oh, yes!" cried annis. "and a lot of pretty babies." "then never carry tales." "but he is always asking me about marian, and why she doesn't come?" so they sent word they might be expected on a certain day, and baby and nurse and annis, as soon as school closed. how many times, lying here, philip ralston had lived over that sweet, foolish, incomprehensible love episode--the obstinate regard, the indignation that had followed it, the hard thrusts with which he had pushed her out of his memory. she had gone only momentarily. her sweet youth had been spent in devotion to her self-indulgent, inexorable father,--he knew how acrimonious mr. floyd could be,--and, then, her stern, rigid mother. had they taken all her sweetness? he had half looked for some sign when she had finished all her duties. mrs. jettson had outlived the romance of it, and lost patience with marian. besides, she was absorbed with her own family. there were so many pretty girls, and marian was getting to be quite an old maid, in the days when girls married so young. and when he had met her that eventful morning he had probable death before him, and was tongue-tied. did she think he had forgotten all? they trooped in together, patty leading the procession; jaqueline, still a little pale, but lovelier than ever, with her boy in her arms, and marian with the lost youth back of her. she was too sincere to affect astonishment; and he had improved--was neither so gaunt nor so ghastly as when he first came. she took his hand--did she make a confession in the pressure? he felt suddenly self-condemned, as if he had misjudged her some way, and humble, as if he had nothing good enough to offer her. but he glanced up in the soft eyes--her life had not been very joyous, she was by no means a rich woman, and if she cared most for home and happiness---- she did not hear what they were saying at first. there was a sound as of rushing water in her ears. "oh, yes!" he answered, with an hysterical laugh, "i am to keep my own two legs to go upon. i owe it all to collaston, who stood between me and surgeons' knives, and brandished his war club until they retreated. i shall lie here in supreme content until he bids me arise and walk." what was it went over marian's face. not disappointment, but an inexplicable tenderness, as if she could have taken up the burden cheerfully, as if she were almost casting about for some other burden. "poor girl!" he said to himself; "she has devoted her sweetest years to others, and someone ought to pay her back in love's own coin." stafford had improved greatly and gained flesh. he had a fair, rather ruddy english complexion and light hair, with the unusual accompaniment of dark-brown eyes; and, though rather unformed, had a fine physique, which was as yet largely in the bone, but would some day have muscle and flesh. the loss and ruin of washington had been news to ralston, though he had known the march of the vandals was inevitable. annis interested and amused him in her talk. she was a very pronounced patriot in these days. eustace stafford seemed quite bewitched with her. he came over every afternoon to bring word of ralston, and perhaps to have an encounter of words with annis. this day, while there were so many to entertain his friend, he stole off to school to walk home with her, though there was not a cloud in the sky that could give him a shadow of excuse. she was going to walk some distance with one of her mates. "perhaps it would tire you," she said mischievously. "i have been in the house all the morning," was the reply. "did they bring the baby? it's the most beautiful baby in the world, isn't it?" "i haven't seen all the babies in the world----" a little awkwardly. "but he ought to be able to tell whether one is pretty or not, oughtn't he, eliza?" eliza, thus appealed to, hung her head and said, "perhaps----" frightened and yet delighted to comment on a young man's taste. "perhaps british babies are different," was annis' rather teasing comment. "i think babies are a good deal alike----" "no, they are not," and she put on a pretty show of indignation. "i think you are not capable of judging." "i am sure i am not," he said with alacrity. "they're kept in a nursery at home, you know, and have a playground out of the way somewheres." "i am very glad i am not an english child, aren't you, eliza? poor things! to be stuck out in a back yard!" "my aunt and cousin are going to england as soon as traveling is safe," said eliza, with a benevolent intention of pouring oil upon the troubled waters. "he is going to some college." "there are fine colleges in england. there are very few here." "we haven't so many people. charles--that's my brother--went through harvard, which is splendid, when he was spending some time in boston. and he may go to columbia. that's in new york, where he is at school." "new york is a large city. the english held it in the revolutionary war." "but they had to march out of it," said the patriot. "and they had to march away from baltimore. and now they will have to march away from the whole united states, after they have done all the harm they could and killed off the people and almost murdered poor lieutenant ralston." "but that is war. i'm sorry there should ever be war. i wouldn't have it if i was a king. but your people declared war," remembering that. "how could we help it, when our poor sailors were snatched from their own vessels and made to fight against us or be beaten to death? do you suppose we can stand _everything_? we were altogether in the right, weren't we, eliza?" eliza glanced furtively at the very good-looking face, scarlet with anger and mortification, and wondered how annis could get in such a temper with him. "i don't know about the causes of war," she said hesitatingly. "some people blame mr. madison----" "there are tories always. i've heard papa tell how many there were in the revolutionary war. but, you see, we wouldn't have won if we had not had right on our side," she added triumphantly. "but napoleon won in a great many battles," stafford ventured. "perhaps he was right _then_," with emphasis. this casuistry nonplussed the english boy. if annis wasn't so sweet and pretty---- eliza had to say good-by reluctantly. "let us go this way," proposed annis. "this way" brought them to the defaced and injured capitol. annis' scarlet lip curled. "it is a shame," he acknowledged. "and--if it will do you any good, i'm awfully sorry that i came over to fight. but, you see, we don't understand. so many people think that after all england did for the colonies, they had no right to rebel, and that she still has some claims----" "all she did!" exclaimed the fiery censor. "she persecuted the puritans, and they came over to a horrid wilderness. she took new york away from the dutch. and she sent shiploads of convicts over to virginia to be a great trouble to the nice people who had grants of land. and she said we shouldn't trade anywhere----" "if the heads of government could understand; or if the people could see how fine and heroic and noble the americans are, i think they would refuse to come over and fight them. i am glad they are going away. and when i get home i shall tell everybody how brave they are, and of the splendid homes they have made. and perhaps if captain ralston hadn't stopped to give me a drink and bandage my wound he might have found a better place of refuge. i know _my_ father will be grateful, for i think he saved my life, and came mighty near losing his own. i shall always be glad i didn't really fight. i was struck before i fired my musket. and dr. collaston is just like a brother. i like you all so. i shall hate to go away." the words poured out with confused rapidity. "i hope you will have the courage to tell the truth," she replied severely. "i have heard that some of the english think we are black, like the slaves they brought over to us. and, do you know, they have been stealing them again and carrying them off to the bermudas. or they believe we have turned into wild indians." "they don't know," he said again weakly. "wasn't mr. adams over there a long while--and the great mr. benjamin franklin, and mr. jay, and ever so many others? we send a minister to them--not a real preacher," in a gracious, explanatory way that made her more fascinating than ever, "but to discuss affairs; so they ought to know whether we are black or white." "oh, they do at court! if i could make you understand----" his boyish face full of perplexity. "i think i _do_ understand when i see washington in ruins. and i shall be glad when every englishman goes back. we don't go over to england and burn and destroy." he had a vague idea there was something to be said for his side, but he did not just know what. it seemed rather ungrateful, too, as he was a pensioner on the hospitality of her brother-in-law. it was extremely mortifying, since his cousin had been intrusted with money for him. so he was silent, but that did not suit the little lady, who enjoyed the warfare like a born soldier. she was always "saving up" disgraceful incidents she heard, to tell him. "you are pretty hard on the young fellow," roger said to her one day. "we must forgive him a good deal for his devotion to ralston." "but think how you and doctor brother went out and gathered up the wounded, and there were some british among them as well. _he_ ought to be very grateful." "i think he is. and he is a nice lad." their skirmishes were very amusing to the family. patty really admired the young fellow, he seemed such a big, innocent-hearted boy; but she enjoyed posting annis as to her side of the argument. "are you going?" captain ralston said to marian as they were making preparations for departure. "you--you do not need me," she murmured as, holding her hand, he drew her down nearer the pillow. "i suppose everybody else does," he declared pettishly. "you never considered me. you did not really care----" there were tears in her eyes as she tried to turn away. "perhaps when the others are all dead and gone, and i am an old man, you may remember what you confessed those two blessed days. or you may recall it over my grave." "i deserve it all," she returned meekly. "i tried--oh, yes, i did; but i _was_ weak----" "is it too late to go back?" "come, polly!" cried jaqueline. sukey, the general factotum at the carringtons', called marian "miss polly." "can't be boddered wid no sech outlandish name as miss ma'yan--dat kinks my tongue up like a bit a 'yalum,'" she declared. "polly--you will come to-morrow?" "yes--yes," with a scarlet face. "if you want me." "i want you. i have a great deal to say to you." but it took many to-morrows to get it all said. there were rough places and doubts, intensified by the experiences ralston had gone through, and the nervous strain of not only the long illness, but the almost certainty there had been at one time of his losing his leg. that danger was really over, but a great deal of carefulness had to be observed. and few indeed can bring back the sparkle to the cup of youth, when the freshness is no longer there. marian grew more girlish, as if the hands of time were running the other way. the force that had impelled her to middle life was removed. she had gained a certain experience, quite different from the man who had been mixing with the world. but what mattered when they came back to the level of love? congress held its session at blodgett's hotel. it is true there were heated discussions on the terms of peace, contradictions, and dogmatic assertions. perhaps the meetings at the octagon house, and the sweet, affable mistress had much to do with softening asperities. everybody, it seemed, came, and it was conceded that we had gained a good deal in the respect of foreign nations. commerce took on a brisk aspect. war vessels came into port, and though they did not lay aside all their defenses,--for the high seas were still infested with privateers,--they took on the cargoes of industry instead of munitions of war. it was found now that we had made strides in manufacturing ordinary goods, though women were delighted with the thought of once more procuring silks, satins, velvets, and lace without extraordinary risks. eustace stafford spent much of his time exploring washington, taking long walks and numerous drives with the doctor. the beautiful potomac, the towns along its edge, the falls that in a cold spell had just enough ice to make them wonderful and fairy-like, port tobacco that had once been a thriving place, the inlets and creeks and the fine and varied virginia shore, and the magnificent chesapeake dotted with islands. and there was annapolis, destined to grow more famous as years went on. he had not half explored the country when word came from his father, inclosing a draft to bring him home and reimburse the friends who had sheltered him with such cordiality. "i am sorry enough to leave you," he said with deep emotion. "i feel like becoming an out-and-out american, but i shall never be a soldier." "not in case of necessity?" said patty with charming archness. "of course if i had a home here i should defend it to the last drop of blood in my veins--yes, even against my own kindred," and he blushed with a feeling akin to ardent patriotism that surprised himself. "i think we only need to understand each other's governments better to be good friends. there is something grand here. it may be the largeness of everything, and the aspirations, the sense of freedom, and--well, that certain equality. you are not bound about by rigid limits." mr. carrington said stafford must go to one levee, though that there were such throngs now that it was hardly comfortable. ralston insisted that he also must pay his respects to mrs. madison, for now he could get about on crutches, but it was not considered safe to bear any great weight upon his injured limb as yet. it was quite a fine scene, stafford admitted. there was a great variety in dress, the older men keeping to the continental style largely, with flowing frills to their shirt fronts and lace ruffles at their wrists, velvet smallclothes and silk stockings, and hair tied with a black ribbon or fastened in a small silk bag. some of the younger men wore their hair curling over their shoulders. there were gorgeous waistcoats, the upper part flowered satin, and then a finishing of scarlet that came halfway to the knee, the coats turned back and faced with bright colors. mrs. madison was resplendent in her red turban, with nodding ostrich plumes, and the row of short black curls across her white forehead, and her gown of cream satin, of so deep a tint as to be almost yellow, with its abundant trimming of scarlet velvet. ralston was quite a hero for his misfortunes and his counsels, which had averted some disaster and would have saved much more if they had been followed. everybody could see the blunders and the supineness that had really invited such a catastrophe. but peace had softened many of the animadversions, and the charming sweetness of the first lady of the land healed many differences. it was true that the two later years of the administration went far toward redeeming the mistakes of the earlier part. annis had plead hard to go, but jaqueline had not thought it best. "you and mr. stafford will be sure to get in a quarrel," she said laughingly. "there will be plenty of levees for you to attend when you are older. and the octagon house has not the room of the poor burned mansion. it is always crowded." then eustace stafford said good-by with great grief to the people he had come to fight, and found among them the warmest of friends. he had not been alone in his experience. before congress adjourned a bomb was thrown into the camp. since washington was a heap of ruins and would have to be rebuilt, why not remove it to some more advantageous location? chapter xxi. annis. how near the capital city came to be handed down in history as old washington its denizens of to-day will never know. there were many cogent reasons for changing it. it had grown so slowly; it would require an immense amount of money to rebuild it; the place had never taken root in the affections of the whole country. but, then, it was the city of washington and the old worthies who had made the country. there was florida for the southern point, as well as maine for the north-eastern; there were the great mississippi and louisiana, as well as the lake countries. was it not nearly the center? men like arthur jettson set about retrieving their fortunes and showing their faith in the place. mrs. madison made it as agreeable as possible to foreign ministers and their wives, and guests from the more important cities. colonel and mrs. monroe added to the attractions. the capitol was repaired slowly, but it was two years before the white house was undertaken. the scars were all healed long ago. the broad avenues stretch out with handsome residences, and the streets that little annis thought so funny because they were "like the a b c of the spelling book one way, and the first lesson in the arithmetic the other way," have filled up the vacant spaces with rows of houses. tiber creek is no more, and rock creek, which rushed and brawled and overflowed its banks in a freshet, is a dull little meandering stream. where the lees and custises held sway and entertained in a princely manner there is a grave, decorous silence and a city of heroes, who, having done their duty for liberty and country, sleep well under the green turf. georgetown has enlarged her borders, and is beautiful. mount vernon, with its two hundred years of history, is the nation's heritage. old washington is almost forgotten, with here and there a relic and a few old maps one can pore over in the grand congressional library. and now it is indeed the city of the nation, with its many treasures, even if they are modern, its handsome legations, its beautiful circles to commemorate the heroes of later times. and dolly madison lived to see many of the improvements, and to be the historic link between the old and the new. as for annis mason, she found it undeniably dull when eustace stafford had gone. even knowledge seemed to lose its charm, and the babies grew commonplace. but, then, in the spring miss polly and her lover were married and set up a cozy little home of their own, and really wanted annis in it. then varina came home--a tall, slim girl, quite vivacious and ever so much better tempered than in her youth; and really rather patronized annis, who was not a year younger, but quite a little girl, not come to trains nor a great pile of hair on the top of her head, and a cascade of puffs in front, and a comb so big it had to be carried in a bag when you went out of an evening. then she had a lover, too--a fine young south carolinian, who had an immense plantation and no end of slaves, and was going into the new industry of raising cotton. there was a very general demur. varina was so young, if she was tall. but, then, southern girls grew up soon, and many of them were wives at fifteen. "there must be a year's engagement," her father said. varina must learn how to manage a household; and girls had a good deal of instruction in housewifely arts in those days, even if there was a regiment of slaves to do everything. "i'll coax off six months," varina declared to her lover, and he went away with that comfort. she was surprised and amused at annis' book-learning, and teased her considerably. did she mean to be a schoolmistress? charles returned in capital health and spirits and full of ambitious plans. he had not _quite_ decided what he would be, either a chief justice or a minister abroad. he was not sure now that he wanted to be president. "for people do say such dreadful things about you. and you don't seem to suit anyone. i don't wonder mr. madison looks old and thin and careworn." "do you remember," said varina laughingly, "that i used to oppose a marriage between you and annis? i wasn't going to let her have everything. i used to consider that you belonged to me." "you had a great way of appropriating everybody." "what a ridiculous thing i was! and now i have made up my mind that you are just suited to each other. you can still sit on the window ledge and pore over the same book." "annis is well enough, but i am sure she wouldn't find latin and greek interesting. and by the time i want to marry, annis will be--well, quite an old woman." "if you don't marry until you are forty-nine she will have turned the half-century. that would be rather old. i shall be a grandmother before that time." "all you girls think about is getting married," returned the youth disdainfully. "we think to some purpose, too, don't we? i wouldn't be an old maid for a fortune!" annis was not sure she liked the defection on charles' part. he assumed a rather lofty air. louis said he was still a prig, that all the nonsense had not been knocked out of him. but he was a very nice boy, for all that--gentlemanly, refined, and extravagantly fond of his stepmother. there were times when annis felt inclined to jealousy. he was going to enter college at williamsburg. "it ought to make me proud of my own state, as well as the whole country," he explained impressively to annis. "and then i shall go to oxford maybe, or some of the old english places that have the years of antiquity back of them, and stand for all that is highest in knowledge, that have romance and story and grandeur woven into their very stones. cloistered shades! think how beautiful they must be. and all the riches of europe at one's command!" "if you like that kind of riches," disdainfully. "wars and bloodshed, rapine and cruelty, grasping and persecution----" annis paused, out of breath from indignation. "that's like a girl! you can't distinguish between physical and intellectual progress. all nations have begun on the low round. it is the capability of ascending in the scale that gives them the real grandeur." "i think they have not ascended very much in the scale," returned annis rather haughtily, the blackened ruins of the beloved washington and the day and night of terror before her eyes. "you are not capable of judging. it is what nations have done in the aggregate. a thousand years have witnessed marvels." "still, we haven't gone back to 'solomon in all his glory.' and job, you know, had the names of the stars, and understood almost everything." she had been reading the book of job aloud to her stepfather, who was always interested in the historical parts of the bible. "no one has really settled as to who job was," said the youth with calm superiority. "well, the knowledge is all there," returned annis. "some day, thousands of years hence, someone may express doubts about columbus and john smith and washington, but the country will be here." girls were not made for argument, and if you went on forever they would have the last word, no matter how inane it might be. charles thought annis much changed for the worse, just like other girls, because she no longer hung on his words and paid him a loving deference. her worship had been something new to the boy, for varina claimed by force, and was the superior power herself. the others simply petted him. annis understood and appreciated. but he had outgrown the boyish fervor, and she no longer paid homage to him. he was too young to know that it was simply lack of admiration, and vanity crying out with the wound. annis had quaffed the sweets of admiration herself. a nature less fine and wholesome would have been spoiled by the warm and fond approval of her brothers-in-law, and the preference of others she had met. she was coming to have the dawning self-appropriation of womanhood, and no longer offered her choicest gifts, but felt they must be sought with a certain humility. and there was no humility at all about charles at that period. they were both too near parallel lines. yet it was a busy, happy, engrossing time. varina took possession of louis, who was developing much of his father's easy-going nature, but with the ambitions of the new generation and the times; then, his associations had been cast on different lines. it was whispered, too, that a friend of patty's with whom annis was a great favorite had cast a glamour over the young lawyer. annis solaced herself with the thought that varina would marry and go away, but all the others would be left, and her dearly beloved washington. roger said she would do for an archæologist, she was so fond of exploring ruins. she insisted that marian and captain ralston should make pilgrimages to the little old hut where he had so nearly died, and they found many marks of the battle, that if it had been an ignominious rout, still had in it the better part of valor, when the enemy were overwhelming. baltimore was glorying in her splendid defense of fort mchenry, and a girl who could not sing "the star-spangled banner" was considered half a tory. though annis was so young, hardly fifteen, she and varina had so many invitations to washington that mr. mason suggested they should engage board by the month. varina was making the best of her time, for she had "coaxed off" six months of the engagement, and her lover was to come soon after christmas. in the spring louis was to set up a home of his own. varina's marriage was in the old home, which was crowded with relatives and guests. her mother's wedding gown did duty again, and then it went to jaqueline as an heirloom. mr. woodford was tall and really fine-looking, with a good deal of character in his face, and of good family, ten years older than varina, which brought him to the prime of young manhood. "really!" exclaimed patty, "i do not see what remarkable grace or virtue in varina captured so substantial and devoted a lover--though she _has_ improved in temper, and is better-looking; but she will never have the verney beauty--hardly the mason. well, one can't explain half the queer happenings in this world." besides the cotton, mr. woodford had extensive rice fields. long ago rice had been brought from madagascar. in both the carolinas many industries had been established. seventy years before, general oglethorpe had carried to england from georgia eight pounds of silk to be made into a dress for the queen. it was no wonder england hated to lose her promising colonies. varina's marriage was extremely satisfactory. patricia's had been just a little shadowed by jaqueline's broken engagement, and the half-superstitious feeling that it brought the best luck to the house for the eldest girl to be married first. but miss jaqueline had her own true lover after all, and was happy as a queen. so varina took her portion and the family blessing, even that of aunt catharine, who was growing stout and felt that she had the burden of half the world on her shoulders, and william and mary college thrown in. she didn't see how anything could go on without her. perhaps to feel of use is one of the great incentives to earnest living. "and you are to come and make me a long visit, annis," varina said cordially. "i shall be sorry for you, left all alone here; and i'll write and tell you everything. and there's dolly, too, who has the gayest of gay times! they are quite certain to nominate cousin preston for representative next year. you see we are getting to be rather famous people." it was very lonely when they all went away. and now annis had her mother all to herself. no, _not_ all--that could never be again. for now that there were no children whose future must be considered, and charles had planned out his own, randolph mason, who had always been easy-going, dropped into the softened and indolent ways of prosperous elderly life, and became his wife's shadow. true, his heart was large enough to take in annis at every step. but he had grown stout, and was not such an enthusiastic horseman, though the yearly races inspired all virginians to keep some fine horses. he liked the carriage better, with his wife beside him; and then annis was alone on the back seat. of course he had the best right, annis recognized that. she sewed and did drawn work and made lace, worked embroidery in gold and silver thread, and helped with her "fitting out." "but if i should never marry?" she said to her mother. "girls do, mostly," was the mother's quiet reply. "and your father insists you shall have as much as the other girls." so there was spinning, and weaving in the loom room, and bleaching to be considered in the spring, as may dew was esteemed a wonderful whitener of linens and cottons, though they were mostly woven in the eastern towns. now and then came gossipy notes from varina. charles wrote dutiful letters to his mother, and sent love to annis. but the washington households were begging for annis continually. "yes, i would go," said her mother. "it is dull for one girl alone here on the plantation." "mamma--don't _you_ want me?" there was a lustrousness like tears in her eyes. "my dear!" her mother kissed her fondly. "of course i want you. but i have so many cares and occupations, and father takes a good deal of my time, and you have so few amusements. it is the difference, dear, between young people and old people. i want your young life to be pleasant." "i wish we lived in washington. why can't papa build on virginia avenue, and have a nice garden, and keep horses, and----" what else was there for him to do? "he has become settled in this life. he was born and reared here, and has his friends and neighbors about him. it would make him unhappy to go away. the slaves are all fond of him, and it is his pride to be a good master. no; he couldn't leave everything. it is the young people who go out and settle in new homes. and that is the way the lord has ordered it. 'for this cause'--that is, love--'shall a man leave father and mother, and cleave unto his wife.' and the wife does the same thing." "mamma," with a faint tint of color, "i do not think i shall ever be married." her mother gave a soft little smile. "you know varina was always planning, and patty used to say 'when i am married,' but i feel curious, and--alone. perhaps i shall stay with you and father always," and she gave a tender little sigh. "would you want an old maid?" "perhaps i shall need you to take care of me, as grandma did marian." "but i don't want you to die." she clasped her arms about her mother's neck convulsively. "dear, that would give us thirty-odd years. and grandmother was not a very old woman. a great many things may happen in that time. i think you are a little out of spirits and lonesome. you had better go up to jaqueline's to-morrow. cato and jim are going up with a load. cato can escort you, and they can take a portmanteau in the wagon. captain ralston complains that you have quite deserted him." "and desert you!" half reproachfully. "i shall have papa. yes, little girlie, you must go and have a nice time. i shall think of all the pleasure you are enjoying. and we may come up for a few days." "oh, mamma--if you will! it would be strange to love anyone better than one's own mother." but such things had been heard of in the history of womankind. annis went up to her beloved washington. three homes opened their hospitable doors, and louis took her to see his new house, just above the ruined pile that was full of storied incident already. "they are sure to rebuild it," he said. "there is a grant being considered. we have had to fight against considerable odds, but we shall keep our own washington. forty or fifty years from this i shall be telling my grandchildren how men flew to arms in her defense, whether they were soldiers or not. and though the treaty has omitted some things, we shall take them and keep them. france is our good ally again. and john quincy adams has gone to st. petersburg to make friends of the russians." "oh, that's the man charles talks about, who went abroad with his father when he was such a little lad, and had such a hard time, and studied and studied, and went to holland and everywhere." "and is a fine diplomat. for a young country we have raised a magnificent crop of men! i hope to be chief justice myself some day." "and not president?" "i'll leave that for charles. a chief justice is appointed for life, and stands on his good behavior. do you think they will be likely to discharge me, annis?" "oh, i know they won't!" laughingly. the house was being built only to half of the plan. the rest of the ground was to remain a garden until louis had increased in wealth. but it was very nice, with spacious rooms. miss marcia ellicot was something of an heiress. annis found a difficulty in dividing herself around. "there ought to be two or three of me," she said. "and you are not to give me the cold shoulder," declared mrs. jettson. "i do believe i was the first one to take a real fancy to you; and do you remember how rene quarreled with you about the babies? arthur and floyd are such big boys now." a new boy had been added to the household. babies were warmly welcomed in those days. she liked marian's quiet home. captain ralston was very fond of her. he had discarded his crutches, but still used a cane. "and what do you think, annis?" he said, his eyes alight with amusement. "i've had a letter from someone--just guess!" "you know so many people," returned annis with a curious heat in her cheeks. "someone you know, too. your old enemy. my good nurse and friend." "oh, that--young englishman who came over here to fight us," she answered with an indifferent air, though she had been certain in her mind when he first told her to guess. "yes; stafford. he is coming over here to settle. he was converted at the battle of bladensburg, and is a ranting, tearing, out-and-out american. why, you never knew a more ardent patriot! he is going to take the oath of allegiance at once, and find something to do, and do it bravely, earnestly. that is the kind of citizens we want. i think he has had something of a time to convince his people, but his father has given him a small sum of money to start him in life--nothing to what it would cost his father if he stayed at home, he says. strange how these men keep their sons at home, thinking trade disgraceful, when england would swoop up all the commerce of the earth, forgetting what manner of men make commerce possible." annis was silent, yet there was a little heart-beat of exultation. why she could not have told. "well--will you bid him welcome and godspeed?" "why, it is nothing to me," with a pretty air of indifference. she did not see the dainty flush on marian's cheek, that came in moments of embarrassment, as if she were still sixteen. "but, then, you have your country's good at heart?" "i wish the country well," and she made a pretentious courtesy, drawing up her brows. marian had read all the letter. it was proud and manly, but a pretty girl had inspired a part of the resolve. "i shall take him in hand. he is ready for work--if he has a long line of ancestors with titles." "yes." annis gave a provoking laugh. "you know he does not like fighting." there was pleasure enough to make her forget all about him, but now and then she caught herself wondering. jaqueline was quite restored to health and beauty, and was a favorite with society. roger was certainly a rising man. the undercurrent of political feeling was that mr. monroe would succeed his chief, who would be quite as glad to resign his honors and the flood of criticisms as mr. jefferson had been. and though the conduct of the war was caviled at, it was admitted on all sides that it had raised the country in the rank of nations. so annis flitted back and forth like a dainty bird, that did not forget the home nest. she did her hair high on her head and had a fringe of fascinating little curls; she wore french heels to her slippers, and a train on grand occasions. she was not handsome, as the elder mason girls had been, not tall or stately, but sweet and pretty, with just enough of the coquette to make her arch and winsome. one night at an assembly, where naval men were out in force, someone caught her hand in the change of partners. a young officer, a first lieutenant, she saw by his insignia of rank. "oh!" he cried, "you have forgotten me, but i remember you. i saw you across the room, but i was engaged for this dance. i was coming immediately after. it was at the naval ball when ensign hamilton came in with the flag. what a night it was! and i was midshipman yardley, going out on my first cruise. there--the next figure is waiting." he handed her gallantly to her new partner. she went back to jaqueline. "oh, roger!" she cried, "do you remember the young midshipman at the naval ball when there was such an excitement? he is here to-night. i have just been dancing with him. there he is, coming hither." the smiling young fellow was glad to see mr. and mrs. carrington. annis excused herself from her next partner, she was so eager to hear him talk. perhaps he would not have lent dignity to the position of an admiral, for he was not tall nor imposing, but bright and eager and full of spirit and ambition. "after all, it has been a glorious war," he declared. he had been in a number of victories, and quite distinguished himself, they heard afterward; and one sad defeat, when he had been taken prisoner with some other men and made a daring escape, landing on the coast of france, and worked and begged his way home. now he was stationed at annapolis for some time. annis had to go and dance in the middle of the story, and then he begged the honor. was she staying with her sister? he should be in town a few days. could he not call on her? jaqueline gave him the invitation. captain ralston was eager to see him, as well. there were so many things to talk over. such wonderful victories, some such sad defeats, many brave men who had given their lives and left imperishable names behind them. how proud the young fellow was of his country! and they had to tell the story of washington with the _verve_ that people do who have lived through an event. they looked at the ruins, they rode up the potomac, they went again to bladensburg. everything was so near, so vivid. lieutenant yardley decided that annis was the most charming young girl he had ever met. "i am a little afraid of most women," he admitted. "you can't always tell just what to say, and sometimes when they praise you you feel silly all over. and some women never rouse to patriotism. but _we_ find so much to say to each other. oh, i wish i were going to stay in washington a month! won't you make some of your relatives bring you over to annapolis? you have such a splendid lot. only, do you know, i like your own name, annis bouvier, better than i do annis mason. it just suits you." she blushed a little. what a pretty way he had of saying annis! but alas! the delight came to an end, and for several days annis thought washington as dull as the plantation. "i am afraid my poor fellow won't stand any chance," said ralston, with a slow shake of the head. "the lieutenant is delightful, certainly quite dangerous enough to turn any girl's brain." the "poor fellow" reached washington one morning, having landed at new york, and spent half a lifetime on the post-roads, he declared. they were all a little startled. it seemed as if he must have grown, he was so tall and manly and fine-looking, and so overjoyed to see them again, so happy at the thought of being an american citizen. "it is as i said when i was here before--the people do not understand each other. when they come to a time that they can work side by side in anything, you will see something grand accomplished. there is a fine, free air over here that inspirits one. you can begin without being hampered by a thousand petty restrictions. and i am going to prove myself a man." dr. collaston and patty gave him the warmest welcome, quite as cordial as that of ralston. but it was queer that when he went there annis had gone to jaqueline's; and finally ralston asked her boldly to come to tea and give eustace stafford a word of welcome. "there isn't anything left for me to say," and the rosy lips pouted as if offended. "you have all been so--so extravagant--or is it exuberant?--in your demonstrations, that i shall seem tame. and why should i be so desperately glad? he would have killed you, philip, or anyone else, if he hadn't been wounded at once. i'd like you to go and thank the soldier who did it." "you are a briery little body where he is concerned, annis. why, peace would never have been signed if both parties had held out as you do! i think it fine in him to come out so frankly and own he was on the wrong side. even if you have no indian blood in your veins, you might come and smoke a figurative pipe of peace--that is, drink a cup of tea and wish him well." "you know i don't like tea. i should think they would have wanted to throw it overboard. another of england's tyrannies!" "i thought you had a tender place in your heart for marian and me." "oh, i can come!" she said pettishly. "i am not afraid of your englishman." "i began to think you were," teasingly. and so she came. but when she greeted mr. stafford, who had nothing of the boy left about him, but who met her eyes steadily until hers fell, and whose voice had lost the old deprecating, beseeching tone, a sudden half-terror took possession of her, an indefinable fear that made her angry and yet disarmed her. oh, she was sure she liked lieutenant yardley a hundred times better! afterward she said she was tired of all the gayeties, and wanted to go home. the plantation was at its loveliest, and there would be such rides with papa, and she was sure her mother was longing to see her. but when bees once get a taste for the sweetest honey flowers, they haunt the spot. and annis bouvier was no longer a little girl. she felt the strange solemn capabilities within her. sometimes she clung to her mother, as if not daring to meet them. the mother knew what it meant, and gave her the wordless comfort mothers can give, in a kiss or a clasp of the hand, as one crosses the bridge to womanhood. neighboring young men began to haunt the house. the mason girls had always been favorites. and then down came the young englishman, who resolved not to lose the prize if earnest wooing could avail. they were both so young. true, he had his fortune to make, but some of the noblest virginian families had sprung from penniless young sons who had come to the new countries and won not only wealth, but fame. captain ralston had found a place for him, and he should live in fair sight of everybody. if he did not make the sort of man they could approve, he should never blame them for refusing him their treasure. all he asked for was time and a fair field. "he has the making of a man in him," the father conceded to himself, but aloud he said--a little weakly: "annis is too young to decide. in the end it will be as she desires." "and i can come now and then as a friend?" "it may make trouble for annis later on, but i could not refuse," he said to his wife afterward. annis came and sat on his knee in the soft virginian twilight, dusky sooner than that farther north. the whip-poor-wills called to each other, the mocking bird flung out a note now and then as if he said saucily, "_did_ you think i was asleep?" and the frogs in the marsh were far enough off to send a strain of quivering music. she put her arms about his neck, and her soft warm cheek touched his. "were you very cross and stern, papa?" in the most coaxing of tones. "no, dear. he is a fine fellow." "but he came to fight against us." "yes. it was a great crime." "he was sent, and he didn't know any better. some day we shall know a good deal more about each other." "annis, do you love him? child, don't make a mistake! and don't trifle with him." "no, i don't _love_ him. we quarreled dreadfully at first. i can't help liking and admiring him. he is so strong and earnest. there are a good many grand men in the world, are there not? and some of them have been poor and have had hard times. i didn't want him to think it was because he was poor." "no, dear," as she waited for some reply. "and you know i can't help meeting him at marian's, and patty likes him so much, too. it would be very disagreeable to be bad friends?" "yes," assented the elder. "so we are going to be _just_ friends until--well, until i am twenty, perhaps." "yes--if you will wait until then." annis kissed him. but that was not the end of love affairs. lieutenant yardley insisted upon telling his story. he had carried about with him a child's sweet face, and resolved that if he should survive the deadly strife he would come home and find her. he thought his claim far the best. had he not fought for the country, _her_ country? she liked him too. it was hard to decide. and then the lieutenant, being rather fiery, went at his rival in a fierce manner. dueling was still in vogue. annis was alarmed. she sent for the big englishman. it was curious, but she knew she could make him obey her slightest behest, big and strong as he was. "you are not to quarrel about me," she began with wonderful dignity. "i do not think i shall marry either of you, or anybody. but if there _was_ a dispute, and you did anything reprehensible, i should never, _never_ see you or speak to you again. lieutenant yardley is one of the country's heroes, and you----" how should she put it? "i am here on sufferance, until i earn the right. yes, i understand." she flushed scarlet. "you are bound over to keep the peace." "here is my hand in token of it. i shall never do anything to make you sorry or ashamed of me." "papa," she said in a plaintive tone a day or two after stafford's visit, "should you be very sorry if i--were to--stay single--always?" "why, no, dear," and he smiled. "don't you remember, when louis and charles used to dispute about you, i said we would marry off the others, and you should stay here with mother and me?" "i must be very naughty, to have people disputing about me," and she sighed in a delicious sort of manner. "but i have quite resolved that i will not marry anybody." they all went up to washington to attend the wedding of the eldest son. there was only one lover present, and annis was sincerely glad. there was much going back and forth, as there always is when families branch out and set up new homes. and presently charles came home, quite a tall boy, but still delicate-looking, and so much improved that annis insensibly went back to her old regard for him. he was broader-minded, and took a livelier interest in everything. he soon found that annis was a great favorite with all the young people. she wasn't as handsome as jaqueline, nor as bright and overflowing with fun as patty; indeed, he could not decide what the charm was. he heard about the two real lovers, and met them both. secretly he favored stafford and felt sorry for the lieutenant. one day they were lounging in the old nook by the creek. he was telling over his plans. he was not anxious now to be president, or even a minister abroad, but he was eager for all the knowledge he could grasp, for all the discoveries that were looming up on the horizon. uncle conway had advised him to enter an english university after the coming year. she was in the low swing, which was a tangle of vines now, and he was curled up in the grass at her feet, as they talked over the past and the future. then there was a long, sweet silence, such as comes nowhere but in country nooks. "annis," he exclaimed regretfully, resignedly, "i do not suppose you ever could marry me?" she started in surprise. "oh, charles!" she cried in pain, "i thought that foolishness was at an end." "has it been foolishness? annis, i don't believe you could understand that boyish passion. i don't understand it myself. you fitted into my life. you liked my old heroes. you never laughed or teased me about them. they were my life then. that was the country i always lived in. and it was very sweet to have you. how jealous i was of louis! some of the great intellectual heroes have had just such a love. last summer i was half ashamed of it; i was growing out of childhood. and now i have gone back to it again." "oh, charles, i am so sorry!" there was anguish in her tone. "you see, i am older, and you will have four or five years abroad, and grow and develop as men do----" "yes. i couldn't ask so much of you. and maybe, then, we wouldn't suit. don't you know how the old slave women put pieces of gowns in their best quilts and cherish them because this was young missy's, and this someone else's? and i'd like to be the piece that you'd go back to in memory, and think how sweet the old times were, even when you have a husband, proud and strong, and that you loved devotedly. and how you bade me hope through all that trying time, and gave me your mother when you loved her so, and kept my little secret, for we never can think it was varina's fault." she bent over. their arms were about each other's necks, and both were crying--tender, loving tears. the ensuing winter in washington was one long talked about. the president removed to a place forming part of the notable "seven buildings," which had been fitted up for its greater spaciousness. it was the last winter of mrs. madison's reign, as in march colonel monroe was to be inaugurated. there was a great stir and intellectual activity, a broadening of political life; and as we look back it seems as if there were giants in those days. thither came the hero of the battle of new orleans, general jackson, with his wife, and many another worthy; even curious visitors from abroad, who acknowledged the grace of mrs. madison's brilliant hospitality. thenceforward it was to be a new washington, more truly american perhaps, crystallizing around the points that gave strength and dignity, and proving false many an evil prophecy. a few, very few, of the old places are left. but the capitol is the nucleus of a great nation, and the white house reared on the old superstructure holds many memories the country will always cherish. i suppose i hardly need tell you that after a while annis broke her resolve and married the man of her choice, living a long and happy life in the newer washington. that when her sons were grown there was nothing they enjoyed more than visiting the commander at fortress monroe and listening to the stirring events of . he thought there never could be such battles and victories again. but the girls were most fond of their delightful bachelor uncle charles, whose pen was making a name and fame in the intellectual world. the end. note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h.zip) peggy stewart at school by gabrielle e. jackson author of "peggy stewart at home," "silver heels," "three graces" series, "capt. polly" series, etc. the goldsmith publishing co. new york n. y. made in u.s.a. copyright, by barse & hopkins contents chapter page i. the barometer falling ii. reconstruction iii. hostilities suspended iv. hostilities resumed v. ructions! vi. a new order of things vii. columbia heights school viii. a riding lesson ix. common sense and horse sense x. tzaritza as disciplinarian xi. behind scenes xii. christmas at severndale xiii. yuletide xiv. at severndale xv. in spring term xvi. a midnight sensation xvii. a send-off with fireworks chapter i the barometer falling the september morning was warmer and more enervating than september mornings in maryland usually are, though the month is generally conceded to be a trying one. even at beautiful severndale where, if at any point along the river, a refreshing breeze could almost always be counted upon, the air seemed heavy and lifeless, as though the intense heat of the summer had taken from it every particle of its revivifying qualities. in the pretty breakfast room the long french windows, giving upon the broad piazza, stood wide open; the leaves upon the great beeches and maples which graced the extensive lawn beyond, hung limp and motionless; the sunlight even at that early hour beat scorchingly upon the dry grass, for there had been little rain during august and the vegetation had suffered severely; every growing thing was coated like a dusty miller. but within doors all looked most inviting. the room was scrupulous; its appointments indicated refined taste and constant care; the breakfast table, laid for two, was dainty and faultless in its appointments; our old friend, jerome, moved about noiselessly, giving last lingering touches, lest any trifle be omitted which might add to the comfort and sense of harmony which seemed so much a part of his young mistress's life. as he straightened a fruit knife here, or set right a fold of the snowy breakfast cloth, he kept up a low-murmured monologue after the manner of his race. very little escaped old jerome's sharp eyes and keen ears, and within the past forty-eight hours they had found plenty to see or hear, for a guest had come to severndale. yes, a most unusual type of guest, too. as a rule severndale's guests brought unalloyed pleasure to its young hostess and her servants, or to her sailor father if he happened to be enjoying one of his rare leaves, for captain stewart had been on sea-duty for many successive years, preferring it to land duty since his wife's death when peggy, his only child, was but six years of age. severndale had held only sad memories for him since that day, nearly ten years ago, in spite of the little girl growing up there, cared for by the old housekeeper and the servants, some of whom had been on the estate as long as neil stewart could remember. but nine years had slipped away since peggy's mother's death, and the little child had changed into a very lovely young girl, with whom the father was in reality just becoming acquainted. he had spent more time with her during the year just passed than he had ever spent in any one of the preceding nine years, and those weeks had held many startling revelations for him. when he left her to resume command of his ship, his mind was in a more or less chaotic state trying to grasp an entirely new order of things, for this time he was leaving behind him a young lady of fifteen who, so it seemed to the perplexed man, had jumped over at least five years as easily as an athlete springs across a hurdle, leaving the little girl upon the other side forever. when neil stewart awakened to this fact he was first dazed, and then overwhelmed by the sense of his obligations overlooked for so long, and, being possessed of a lively sense of duty, he strove to correct the oversight. had he not been in such deadly earnest his efforts to make reparation for what he considered his inexcusable short-sightedness and neglect, would have been funny, for, like most men when confronted by some problem involving femininity, he was utterly at a loss how to set about "his job" as he termed it. as a matter of fact, a kind fate had taken "his job" in hand for him some time before, and was in a fair way to turn out a pretty good one too. but neil stewart made up his mind to boost old lady fate along a little, and his attempts at so doing came pretty near upsetting her equilibrium; she was not inclined to be hustled, and neil stewart was nothing if not a hustler, once he got under way. and so, alack! by one little move he completely changed peggy's future and for a time rendered the present a veritable storm center, as will be seen. but we will let events tell their own story. old jerome moved about the sunny breakfast-room; at least it would have been sunny had not soft-tinted awnings and east-indian screens, shut out the sun's glare and suffused the room in a restful coolness and calm, in marked contrast to the vivid light beyond the windows. jerome himself was refreshing to look upon. the old colored man was quite seventy years of age, but still an erect and dignified major-domo. from his white, wool-fringed old head, to the toes of his white canvas shoes, he was immaculate. no linen could have been more faultlessly laundered than jerome's; no serviette more neatly folded. all was in harmony excepting the old man's face; that was troubled. a perplexed pucker contracted his forehead as he spoke softly to himself. "'taint going to do _no_ how! it sure ain't. she ain't got de right bran', no she ain't, and yo' cyant mate up no common stock wid a tho'oughbred and git any sort of a span. no siree, yo' cyant. my lawd, what done possess massa neil fer ter 'vite her down hyer? _she_ cyant 'struct an' guide _our_ yo'ng mist'ess. sho! she ain' know de very fust _rudimints_ ob de qualities' ways an' doin's. miss peggy could show her mo' in five minutes dan she ever is know in five years. she ain't,--she ain't,--well i ain't jist 'zackly know how i'se gwine speechify it, but she ain't like _we_ all," and jerome wagged his head in deprecation and forced his tongue against his teeth in a sound indicating annoyance and distaste, as he moved his mistress' chair a trifle. just then mammy lucy stuck her white-turbaned head in at the door to ask: "whar dat chile at? ain't she done come in fer her breckfus yit? it's nine o'clock and sis cynthia's a-stewin' an' a steamin' like her own taters." "she say she wait fer her aunt, an' her aunt say she cyant breckfus befo' half-pas' nine, no how," answered jerome. "huh, huh! an' ma chile gotter wait a hull hour pas' her breckfus time jist kase madam fussa-ma-fiddle ain't choose fer ter git up? i bait yo' she git up when she ter home, and i bait yo' she ain't gitting somebody ter dress her, an' wait on her han' an' foot like mandy done been a-doin' sense yistiddy; ner she ain' been keepin' better folks a-waiting fer dey meals. i'se pintedly put out wid de way things is been gwine in dis hyer 'stablishmint fer de past two days, an' 's fur 's _i_ kin see dey ain' gwine mend none neider. no, not fer a considerbul spell lessen we has one grand, hifalutin' tornader. yo' hyar me!" "i sho' does hyar yo' mis' lucy, an' i sho' 'grees wid yo' ter de very top notch. dere's gwine ter be de very dibble--'scuse me please, ma'am, 'scuse me, but ma feelin's done got de better of ma breedin'--ter pay ef things go on as dey've begun since de madam--_an' dat dawg_--invest deyselves 'pon severndale. but yonder comin' our yo'ng mistiss," he concluded as a clear, sweet voice was heard singing just beyond the windows, and quick decisive footsteps came across the broad piazza, and peggy stewart, only daughter and heiress of beautiful "severndale," entered the room. by her side tzaritza, her snowy russian wolfhound, paced with stately mien; a thoroughbred pair indeed. "oh, jerome, i am just starved. that breakfast table is irresistible. mammy, is aunt katherine ready?" "i make haste fer ter inquire, baby," answered the old nurse, hurrying from the room. "i trus' she is," was jerome's comment, adding: "sis cynthia done make de sallylun jist ter de perfection pint, an' she know dat pint too." peggy made no comment upon the implied reproach of her guest's tardiness, but crossing the room to a big chair, whither tzaritza had already preceded her to rub noses with a magnificent white persian cat, she stooped to stroke sultana, who graciously condescended to purr and nestle her beautiful head against peggy's hand. sultana had only been a member of the severndale household since july, mr. harold having sent her to peggy as "a semi-annual birthday gift," he said. she had adapted herself to her new surroundings with unusual promptitude and been adopted by the other four-footed members of the estate as "a friend and equal." the trio formed a picturesque group as they stood there. the dark-haired, dark-eyed young girl of fifteen, with her rich, clear coloring, her cheeks softly tinted from her brisk walk in the morning sunshine was very lovely. she wore a white duck skirt, a soft nainsook blouse open at the throat, the sailor collar knotted with a red silk scarf. her heavy braids were coiled about her shapely head and held in place with large shell pins, soft little locks curling about her forehead. the past year had wrought wonderful changes in peggy stewart. the little girl had vanished forever, giving place to the charming young girl nearing her sixteenth milestone. the contact with the outer world which the past three months had given, when she had made so many new friends and seen so much of the service and social world, had done a great deal towards developing her. always exceptionally well poised and sure of herself, the summer at navy bungalow in new london, at newport, boston, and at other points at which the summer practice squadron had touched, had broadened her outlook, and helped her gauge things from a different and wider viewpoint than severndale or annapolis afforded. though entirely unaware of the fact, peggy had few rivals in the world of young girls. presently a step sounded upon the polished floor of the broad hall and mrs. peyton stewart, peggy's aunt by marriage, stood in the doorway. under one arm she carried her french poodle. stooping she placed it upon the floor with the care which suggested a degree of fragility entirely belied by the bad-tempered little beast's first move, for as peggy advanced with extended hand to greet her aunt, toinette made a wild dash for the persian cat, which onset was met by one dignified slap of the sultana's paw, which left its red imprint upon the poodle's nose and promptly toppled the pampered thing heels-over-head. tzaritza stood watching the entire procedure with dignified surprise, and when the yelping little beast rolled to her feet, she calmly gathered her into her huge jaws and stalking across the room held her up to peggy, as though asking: "what shall i do with this bad-mannered bit of dogdom? turn her over to your discipline, or crush her with one snap of my jaws?" "oh you horrible, savage beast! you great brute! drop her! drop her! drop her instantly! my precious toinette. my darling!" shrieked toinette's doting mistress. "peggy, how _can_ you have such a savage creature near you? she has crushed every bone in my pet's body. go away! go away!" the scorn in tzaritza's eyes was almost human. with a low growl, she dropped the thoroughly cowed poodle at peggy's feet and then turned and stalked from the room, the very picture of scornful dignity. mrs. stewart snatched the poodle to her breast. there was not a scratch upon it save the one inflicted by sultana, and richly deserved, as the tuft of the handsome cat's fur lying upon the floor testified. "i hardly think you will find her injured, aunt katherine. tzaritza never harms any creature smaller than herself unless bidden to. she brought toinette here as much for the little dog's protection as for sultana's." "sultana's! as though she needed protection from _this_ fairy creature. horrible, vicious cat! look at poor toinette's nose." "and at poor sultana's fur," added peggy, pointing to the tuft upon the floor and slightly shrugging her shoulders. "she deserved it for scratching toinette's nose." "i'm afraid the scratch was the second move in the onslaught." "we will not argue the point, but in future keep that great hound outside of the house, and the cat elsewhere than in the dining-room, i beg of you--i can't have toinette's life endangered, or my nerves shocked in this manner again." for a moment peggy looked at her aunt in amazement. keep tzaritza out of the house and relegate the sultana to the servant's quarters? what had become of the lady of smiles and compliments whom she had known at new london, and who had been at such infinite pains to ingratiate herself with neil stewart that she had been invited to spend september at severndale? and, little as peggy suspected it, with the full determination of spending the remainder of her days there could she contrive to do so. madam stewart had blocked out her campaign most completely, only "the best laid plans," etc., and madam had quite forgotten to take mrs. glenn harold, peggy's stanchest champion and ally, into consideration. mrs. harold had been peggy's "guide, philosopher and friend" for one round year, and mrs. harold's niece, polly howland, was peggy's chum and crony. mrs. stewart felt a peculiar sensation pass over her as she met the girl's clear, steady gaze. very much the sensation that one experiences upon looking into a clear pool whose depth it is impossible to guess from merely looking, though one feels instinctively that it is much deeper, and may prove more dangerous than a casual glance would lead one to believe. peggy's reply was: "of course if you wish it, aunt katherine, tzaritza shall not come into the house during your visit here. i do not wish you to be annoyed, but on the contrary, quite happy, and, jerome, please see that sultana is taken to mammy, and ask her to keep her in her quarters while mrs. stewart remains at severndale. are you ready for your breakfast, aunt katherine?" "quite ready," answered mrs. stewart, taking her seat at the table. peggy waited until she had settled herself with the injured poodle in her lap, then took her own seat. jerome had summoned one of the maids and given sultana into her charge, while tzaritza was bidden "guard" upon the piazza. never in all her royal life had tzaritza been elsewhere than upon the rug before the fireplace while her mistress' breakfast was being served, and it seemed as though the splendid wolfhound, with a pedigree unrivalled in the world, stood as the very incarnation of outraged dignity, and a protest against insult. perhaps some vague sense of having overstepped the bounds of good judgment, if not good breeding, was beginning to impress itself upon mrs. peyton stewart. certainly she had not so thoroughly ingratiated herself in the favor of her niece, or her niece's friends during that visit in new london the previous summer, as to feel entirely sure of a cordial welcome at severndale, and to make a false start at the very outset of her carefully formed plans was a far cry from diplomatic, to say the least. during those weeks at new london, when a kind fate had brought her again in touch with her brother-in-law after so many years, mrs. stewart had done a vast deal of thinking and planning. there was beautiful severndale without a mistress excepting peggy, a mere child, who, in madam's estimation, did not count. neil stewart was a widower in the very prime of life and, from all madam had observed, sorely in need of someone to look after him and keep him from making some foolish marriage which might end in--well, in _not_ keeping severndale in the family; "the family" being strongly in evidence in mrs. peyton. her first step had been to secure an invitation to visit there. that done, the next was to remain there indefinitely once she arrived upon the scene. to do this she must make herself not only desirable but indispensable. certainly, the preceding two days had not promised much for the fulfillment of her plan. so being by no means a fool, but on the contrary, a very clever woman in her own peculiar line of cleverness, she at once set about dispelling the cloud which hung over the horizon, congratulating herself that she had had sufficient experience to know how to deal with a girl of peggy's age. so to that end she now smiled sweetly upon her niece and remarked: "i am afraid, dear, i almost lost control of myself. i am so attached to toinette that i am quite overcome if any harm threatens her. you know she has been my inseparable companion in my loneliness, and when one is so utterly desolate as i have been for so many years even the devotion of a dumb animal is valued. i have been very, very lonely since your uncle's death, peggy, dear, and you can hardly understand what a paradise seems opening to me in this month to be spent with you. i know we are going to be everything to each other, and i am sure i can relieve you of a thousand burdens which must be a great tax upon a girl of your years. i do not see _how_ you have carried them so wonderfully, or why you are not old before your time. it has been most unnatural. but now we must change all that. young people were not born to assume heavy responsibilities, whereas older ones accept them as a matter of course. and that's just what _i_ have come way down here to try to do for my sweet niece," ended mrs. stewart smiling with would-be fascinating coyness. the smile would have been somewhat less complacent could she have heard old jerome's comment as he placed upon the pantry shelf the fingerbowls which he had just removed from the table. "yas, yas, dat's it. yo' needn't 'nounce it. we knows pintedly what yo's aimin' ter do, an' may de lawd have mussy 'pon us if yo' _suc_ceeds. but dere's shorely gwine be ructions 'fore yo' does, er my name ain't jerome randolph lee stewart." chapter ii reconstruction "i have to ride into annapolis, this morning, aunt katherine. would you like to drive in?" asked peggy, when the unpleasant breakfast was ended. "i should be delighted to, dear," answered mrs. stewart sweetly, striving to recover lost ground, for she felt that a good bit had been lost. "at what time do you start?" "immediately. i will order the surrey." she left the room, her aunt's eyes following her with a half-mystified, half-baffled expression: was the girl deeper than she had given her credit for being? had she miscalculated the depth of the pool after all? all through the breakfast hour peggy had been a sweet and gracious young hostess, anticipating every want, looking to every detail of the service, ordering with a degree of self-possession which secretly astonished mrs. stewart, who felt that it would have been difficult for her, even with her advantage of years, to have equaled the girl's unassuming self-assurance and dignity, or have rivaled her perfect ability to sit at the head of her father's table. a moment later mrs. stewart went to her room to dress for the drive into town, her breakfast toilet having been a most elaborate silk negligee. twenty minutes later the surrey stood at the door, but, contrary to mrs. stewart's expectations, her niece was not in it: she was mounted upon her beautiful black horse shashai, at whose feet tzaritza lay, her nose between her paws, but her ears a-quiver for the very first note of the low whistle which meant, "full speed ahead." on either side of shashai, a superb bodyguard, stood silver star, polly howland's saddle horse, though he was still quartered at severndale, and roy, the colt that peggy had raised from tiny babyhood, and which had followed her as he would have followed his dam, ever since the accident that had made him an orphan. perhaps the reader of "peggy stewart" will recall mrs. stewart's horror upon being met at the railway station by "the wild west show," as she stigmatized her niece's riding and her horses, for rarely did peggy stewart ride unless accompanied by her two beautiful horses and the wolfhound, and her riding was a source of marvel to more than one, her instructor having been shelby, the veteran horse-trainer, who had been employed at severndale ever since peggy could remember, and whose early days had been spent upon a ranch in the far west where a man had to ride anything which possessed locomotive powers. at the present moment a more appreciative observer would have thrilled at the sight, for rarely is it given to mortal eyes to look upon a prettier picture than peggy stewart and her escort presented at that moment. given as a background a beautiful, carefully preserved estate, which for generations has been the pride of its owners, a superb old mansion of the most perfect colonial type, a sunny september morning, and as the figures upon that background a charming young girl in a white linen riding-skirt, her rich coloring at its best, her eyes shining, her seat in her saddle so perfect that she seemed a part of her mount, and you have something to look upon. to this add three thoroughbred horses and a snowy dog, an old colored servitor, for jerome had come out with a message from harrison, and it is a picture to be appreciated. had the tall woman standing upon the broad piazza been able to do so, many things which happened later might never have happened at all. mrs. stewart was elaborately gowned in a costume better suited for a drive in newport than annapolis, especially annapolis in september. it was a striking creation of pale blue linen and irish point lace, with a large lace hat, heavy with nodding plumes and a voluminous white lace veil floating out about it. she was a handsome woman in a certain conspicuous way, and certainly knew how to purchase her apparel, though, not above criticism in her selection of the toilet for the occasion, as the present instance evinced. she now walked to the piazza steps, and had anyone possessing a sense of humor been a witness of it, the transformation which passed over the lady's face en transit would have well nigh convulsed him, for the smile which had illumined her countenance at the door had gradually faded as she advanced until, when the steps were reached, it had been transformed into a most disapproving frown. to peggy the reason was a mystery, for she had not overheard her aunt's comments upon the occasion of the drive from the railway station three days before. of course jess had, and they had been freely circulated and keenly resented in the servants' quarters, but no whisper of them had been carried to the young mistress. nevertheless, peggy was beginning to discover that a good many of her actions, and also the order of things at severndale, had brought a cloud to her aunt's brow, and a little sigh escaped her lips as she wondered what the latest development would prove. it seemed so easy for things to go amiss nowadays, when heretofore nearly everything had seemed, as a matter of course, to go right. then the self-elected dictator spoke: "peggy, dear, are you not to drive with me?" "thank you, aunt katherine, but i always ride, and i have several errands to do which i can better attend to if i am mounted." "well, it can hardly be necessary for you to have _three_ saddle horses at once. it seems to me unnecessarily conspicuous, and in very bad taste for a young girl to go tearing about the country, and especially into annapolis--the capital city of the state--in the guise of a traveling circus." a slight smile curved peggy's lips as she answered: "annapolis is _not_ new york, aunt katherine. what might be out of place in such a city would be regarded as a matter of course in a little town where everybody knows everybody else, and they all know me, and the severndale horses. nobody ever gives us a thought. why should they? i'm nothing but a girl riding into town on an errand." "you are extremely modest, i must say. is it quite native or well--we'll dismiss the question, but i must ask you to do me the favor of leaving your bodyguard behind today; it may not seem conspicuous for you to play in a wild west show, but i must decline to be an actor. you are growing too old for such mad pranks, and are far too handsome a girl to invite observation." peggy turned crimson. "why, aunt katherine, i never regarded it as a prank in the least. i have ridden this way all my life and no one has ever commented upon it. daddy neil knows of it--he has ridden with me hundreds of times himself--and never said one word against it. and you surely do not think i do it to invite observation? why, there isn't anything to _observe_. i am certainly no better looking than hundreds of other girls; at least, you are the only one who has ever commented upon my personal appearance. but i beg your pardon; you are my guest. i am sorry. bud, please call shelby to take star and roy back; i don't dare trust them to you." the little negro boy who had brought shashai to the doorstep, and who had been staring popeyed during the conversation, dashed away toward the paddock, to rush upon shelby with a wild tale of "dat lady f'om de norf was a-sassin' missie peggy jist scan'lous and orderin' shelby fer to come quick ter holp her." "what you a-talking about, you little fool nigger?" demanded shelby. then gathering that something was amiss with the little mistress whom all upon the estate adored, he hastened to the house, his face somewhat troubled, for hints of the doings up there had penetrated even to his quarters. "shelby, please take star and roy back to the paddock and be sure to fasten them in." "ain't they a-goin' with you, miss peggy?" "not this morning, shelby." the man looked from the girl to the lady now settling herself in the carriage. toinette still stood upon the piazza waiting to be lifted up to her mistress, too fat and too foolish to even go down the steps alone. as shelby stepped toward the horses mrs. stewart waved her hand toward the dog and said to him: "lift toinette into the surrey." shelby paid no more attention to her than he paid to the quarreling jays in the holly trees, and the order was sharply repeated. "oh, are you a-speakin' to me, ma'am?" he then said. "certainly. i wish my dog handed to me." shelby looked at the pampered poodle and then at its mistress. then with a guileless smile remarked: "now you don't sesso? well, when i git back to the paddock with these here horses what can't go 'long with miss peggy, i'll send a little nigger boy up here for ter boost your dog up to you, but _i_ tend _horses_ on this here place." the man's dark skin grew several shades darker owing to the blood which flooded his cheeks, and his eyes narrowed as he looked for one second straight into mrs. stewart's. what possessed the woman to antagonize everyone with whom she came in touch? shelby had never laid eyes upon her until that moment, but that moment had confirmed his dislike conceived from the reports which had come to him. he now went up to the horses. knowing that neither of them had halters on, he had brought two with him and now slipped them over his charges' heads, saying as he did so: "you've got to come 'long back with me and keep company manners, do you know that, you disrepu'ble gad-abouts? you ain't never had no proper eddicatin' an' now it's a-goin' to begin for fa'r. you-all are goin' ter be larnt citified manners hot off the bat. so come 'long back to the paddock an' git your fust lesson." the horses toyed and played with him like a couple of children, but went pacing away beside him, now and again pulling at his sleeve, poking at him with their soft muzzles or mumbling at his cheeks with their velvety lips, a pair of petted, peerless creatures and as beautiful as any god had ever created. now and again they stopped short to neigh a peremptory call, as though asking the reason of this surprising conduct. "are you ready, aunt katherine?" asked peggy. "as soon as jerome takes your hound in charge. i don't care to have toinette driven frantic with fear by the sight of her. she will grow so excited that i shall be unable to hold her." now the past two hours had held a good many annoyances for peggy stewart to whom annoyances had been almost unknown. perhaps they constitute the discipline of life, but thus far peggy stewart had apparently gotten on pretty well without any radical chastening processes. her life had been simply, but well, ordered, and her naturally sunny soul had grown sweet and wholesome in her little world. if correction had been necessary mammy's loving old heart had known how to order it during peggy's babyhood; harrison had carefully watched her childhood, and her young girlhood had been most beautifully developed by her guardian, good dr. llewellyn, who loved her as a grand-daughter. then had come mrs. harold, who had done so much for the young girl. why could it not have gone on? perhaps the ordering of peggy's life had been too smooth to develop the best in her character, so kismet, or whatever it is which shapes the odd happenings of our lives, had stepped in to lay a hurdle or two to test her ability to meet obstacles. since seven-thirty that morning she had met little else in one form or another, and had taken them rather gracefully, all things considered. her breakfast had been delayed an hour; the breakfast itself had been far from the pleasant meal it usually proved; she had been needlessly criticised for her habit of riding with her beloved horses; and now poor tzaritza, after being banished the house, was to be debarred from following her young mistress; something unheard of, since the hound had acted as peggy's protectress ever since she could follow her. the blood flooded into the girl's face, as turning to her aunt she said very quietly, but with a dignity which mrs. stewart dared not encroach upon: "i am very sorry to seem in any way discourteous or disobliging, aunt katherine, but daddy neil and compadre, have always wished tzaritza to accompany me when i ride. i have never felt any fear but they feel differently, as there are, of course, some undesirable characters between severndale and annapolis, and they consider tzaritza a great protection against any possible annoyance. we will ride on ahead, since it is likely to annoy you, but i must go into annapolis this morning. another time i shall drive with you, but i can't ask you to drive where i must ride today. when you see some of the annapolitan streets you will understand why. they have not been re paved since the first pavements were laid generations ago, and you would be most uncomfortable. be careful where you drive, jess. i will meet you at the bank." there was a graceful bow to mrs. stewart, a slight pressure of the knee against shashai, a low whistle to tzaritza and she had whirled and was away like the wind. madam stewart drew a quick breath and compressed her thin lips until they formed barely a line, and during that drive into annapolis did some rapid thinking. evidently she had made another mistake. as peggy rode along the highway which led to annapolis, the usual merry, lilting songs, to which shashai's hoofbeats kept time, were silenced, and the girl rode in deep thought. shashai tossed his head impatiently as though trying to attract her attention, and now and again tzaritza bounded up to her with a deep, questioning bark. peggy smiled a little abstractedly and said: "your missie is doing some hard thinking, my beauties and doesn't feel songful this morning." then after a moment she resumed: "o shashai, what _is_ the matter with everything? am _i_ all wrong, or is aunt katherine different from everybody else? i have never met anyone just like her before, and i feel just exactly as though someone had drawn a file across my teeth, and i dare say that's all wrong too. if the little mother and polly were only here they'd know how to make me see things differently, but i seem to get in wrong at every turn. aunt katherine has been here only two days, but what days they have been! and ten times more to follow before the month ends!" shashai had gradually slowed down until he was walking with his own inimitably dainty step, his hoofs falling upon the leaf-strewn road with the lightness of a deer's. presently they came to a pretty wood-road leading almost at angles to the highway, but peggy was again too occupied to notice that tzaritza had turned into it and that shashai, as a matter of course, had followed her. annapolis could be reached by this less frequented way but it made a wide detour, leading past nelly bolivar's home. as they struck the refreshing coolness of the byway shashai broke into what peggy called his "rocking-chair gait," though she was so much a part of him that she was hardly aware of the more rapid motion. her first clear intimation that her route had changed occurred when a cheerful voice called out: "and she wandered away and away into the land o' dreams, my princess." peggy raised her head quickly and the old light flashed back into her eyes, the old smile curved her lips as she cried: "why, nelly bolivar! how under the sun came i here?" "in the usual way, i reckon, miss peggy. i don't often see you come in any other. but this time you sure enough look as though you had been dreaming," laughed nelly, coming close to shashai, who instantly remembered his manners and neighed his greeting, while tzaritza thrust her head into the girl's arms with the gentlest insinuation. nelly held the big head close, rested her face against it a second, then took shashai's soft muzzle in both hands and planted a kiss just where it was most velvety, saying softly: "i can't imagine you three separated. the picture would not be complete. but what is wrong, miss peggy? you look so sober you make me feel queer," for the smile had gone from the girl's face and nelly was quick to feel the seriousness of her expression. "perhaps i'm cross and cranky, nelly. at any rate i've no business to be here this minute. i started for annapolis, but my wits got wool-gathering, i reckon, and i let shashai turn in here without noticing where he was going. aunt katherine will reach annapolis before i do and--then--" and peggy stopped and wagged her head as though pursuit of the subject would better be dropped. nelly's face clouded. it had not required the two days of mrs. stewart's visit to circulate a good many reports concerning her. indeed both jerome and old mammy had described her at length, and the description had lost nothing upon their african tongues, nor had the experiences of the three months spent up north: madam stewart had figured rather conspicuously in their pictures of the "doin's up yander." had she suspected how accurately the old colored people had gauged her, or how great an influence their gauging was likely to have upon the plans she had so carefully laid, she might have been a little more circumspect in her conduct toward them. but to her they were "just black servants" and she was entirely incapable of weighing their influence in the domestic economy, or of understanding their shrewd judgment as to the best interests of the young girl whom each, in common with all the other old servants upon the estate, loved with a devotion absolutely incomprehensible to most northern-born people. and another potent fact, entirely absent from the characteristics of the northern negro, is the fact that the southern negro servants' "kinnery" instantly adopts and maintains the viewpoint of those "nearest the throne." it is a survival of the old feudal system, unknown in the cosmopolitan north, but which even in this day, so remote from the days of slavery, makes itself very distinctly felt in many parts of the south. and many of the servants upon the severndale estate had been there for three generations. hence peggy was their "chile," and her joys or sorrows, happiness or unhappiness, were theirs, and all their kin's, to be talked over, remedied if possible, but shared if not, or made a part of their own delight in living, as the case might demand. and the ramifications of their kinship were amazing. no wonder the report that "an aunt-in-law ob de yo'ng mistress yonder at severndale, had done come down an' ondertuck fer ter run de hull shebang _an'_ miss peggy inter de bargain, what is never been run by nobody," had circulated throughout the whole community, and met with a resolute, though carefully concealed opposition--subtle, intangible, but sure to prove overwhelming in the end--the undertow, so hidden but so irresistible. all this had stolen from one pair of lips to another and, of course, been related with indignant emphasis to jim bolivar, nelly's father, one of the tenants of severndale's large estate. and he, in turn, had discussed it with nelly, who worshipped the very ground peggy chose to stand upon, for to peggy stewart nelly owed restored health, her home rescued when ruin seemed about to claim everything her father owned, and all the happiness which had come into her lonely life. no wonder she now looked up to the deep brown eyes with her own blue ones troubled and distressed. chapter iii hostilities suspended during her drive into annapolis madam stewart did more deep thinking than it was generally given to her shallow brain to compass. like most of her type, she possessed a certain shrewdness, which closely touched upon cunning when she wished to gain her ends, but she had very little real cleverness, and practically no power of logical deduction. today, however, she had felt antagonism enveloping her as a fog, and would have been not a little surprised to realize that its most potent force lay in peggy's humble servitors rather than in peggy herself. from the old darkey driving her, so deferentially replying to her questions, and at such pains to point out everything of interest along the way, she felt it radiate with almost tangible scorn and hostility, and yet to have saved her life she could not have said: "he is remiss in this or that." they drove into annapolis by the bridge which crosses the severn just above the naval hospital, and from which the whole academy is seen at its best, with the wide sweep of the beautiful chesapeake beyond. jess pointed out everything most carefully. then on they went across college creek bridge, up college avenue, by historic old st. ann's and drew up at the bank to meet peggy. mrs. stewart looked about her in undisguised disappointment and asked: "is _this_ the capital city of the state of maryland? _this_ little town?" jess' mouth hardened. he loved the quaint old town and all its traditions. so did his young mistress. it had always meant home to her, and to many, many generations of her family before her. the old "peggy stewart" house famous in history, though no longer occupied by her own family, still stood, a landmark, in the heart of the town and was pointed to with pride by all. "dis sho' is de capital city ob de state, ma'am. yonder de guv'nor's mansion, jist over dar stan' de co't house, an' yonder de cap'tal an' all de yether 'ministrashum buildin's, an' we'all's powerful proud ob 'em." mrs. stewart smiled a superior smile as she replied: "i have heard that the south is not progressive and is perfectly apathetic to conditions. it _must_ be. heavens! look at these streets! they are perfectly disgusting, and the odor is horrible. i shall be glad to drive home." "de town done been pave all mos' all new," bridled jess. "dis hyar pavement de bes' ob brick. miss peggy done tole me ter be keerful whar i drive yo' at, an' i tecken yo' on de very be's." "and what, may i inquire, is your very worst then? have you no street cleaning department in your illustrious city?" "we suttenly _has_! dey got six men a-sweeping de hull endurin' time." "what an overwhelming force!" and mrs. stewart gave way to mirth. it was fortunate that peggy should have arrived at that opportune moment, for there is no telling what might have occurred: jess's patience was at the snapping-point. but peggy's talk with nelly bolivar had served to restore her mental equilibrium to a certain degree--and her swift ride into annapolis had completed the process. it was a sunny, smiling face which drew up to the surrey and greeted mrs. stewart. peggy had made up her mind that she would not let little things annoy her, and was already reproaching herself for having done so. she had resolved to keep her temper during her aunt's visit if a whole legion of tormenting imps were let loose upon her. three weeks of mrs. stewart's visit passed. upon her part, three weeks of striving to establish a firmer foothold in the home of her brother-in-law; to obtain the place in it she so ardently coveted--that of mistress and absolute dictator. but each day proved to her that she was striving against some vaguely comprehended opposition. it did not lie in peggy, that she had the grace to concede, for peggy had complied with every wish, which she had graciously or otherwise, expressed, except the one debarring tzaritza from following shashai when she rode abroad, and be it said to peggy's credit that she had held to her resolution in spite of endless aggravations, for madam was a past mistress of criticism either spoken or implied. never before in all her sunny young life had peggy been forced to live in such an atmosphere. little by little during those weeks mrs. stewart had pre-empted peggy's position as mistress of the household; a position held by every claim of right, justice and natural development, for peggy had grown into it, and its honors and privileges rested upon her young shoulders by right of inheritance. she had not rushed there, or forced her claim to it, hence had it been gradually given into her hands by old mammy, her nurse, harrison, the trusty housekeeper, and at length, as she had more and more clearly demonstrated her ability to hold it, by dr. llewellyn, her guardian, who regarded it as an essential part of a southern gentlewoman's education. then had come mrs. harold, whose tact and affection seemed to supply just the little touch which the young girl required to round out her life, and fit her to ultimately assume the entire control of her father's home. but all this was entirely beyond mrs. stewart's comprehension. her own early life had been passed in a small new jersey village in very humble surroundings. she had been educated in the little grammar school, going later to an adjoining town for a year at high-school. in her home, domestic help of any sort had been unknown, she and her mother, an earnest, hard-working woman, having performed all the household work. there were no traditions connected with that simple home; it was just an everyday round of commonplace duties, accepted as a matter of course. then mrs. stewart, at that time "pretty kitty snyder," went as a sort of "mother's helper" to a lady residing in elizabeth, whose brother was in a new jersey college. upon one of his visits to his sister he had brought peyton stewart home for a visit: peyton, the happy-go-lucky, irresponsible madcap. kitty snyder's buxom beauty had turned all that was left to be turned of his shallow head and she had become mrs. peyton stewart within a month. the rest has been told elsewhere. for a good many years she had "just lived around" as she expressed it, her income from her husband's share of the very comfortable little fortune left him by his father, being a vast deal more than she had ever dreamed of in her youthful days. she felt very affluent. all things considered, it was quite as well that peyton had quit this earthly scene after two years of married life for "kitty" had rapidly developed extravagant tastes and there were many "scenes." her old associates saw her no more, and later the new ones often wondered why the dashing young widow did not marry again. they did not suspect how often her plans laid to that end had misscarried, for her ambitions were entirely out of proportion to her qualifications. now, however, chance had brought her once more in touch with her husband's family, and she was resolved to make hay while the sun shone. if neil stewart had not been an odd mixture of manly strength and child-like simplicity, exceptional executive ability and credulity, kindliness and quick temper, he would never in the wide world have become responsible for the state of affairs at present turning his old home topsy-turvy, and in a fair way to undo all the good works of others, and certainly make peggy extremely unhappy. but he had "made a confounded mess of the whole job," he decided upon receiving a letter from peggy. perhaps it would be more accurate to say upon reading between the lines, because it was not so much what peggy had _said_ as that which she left unsaid, which puzzled him, and to which puzzle harrison supplied the key in her funny monthly report. never in all the ten years of her stewardship had she failed to send her monthly letter. harrison was a most conscientious old body if somewhat below par in educational advantages. nevertheless, she had filled her position as nurse, maid and housekeeper to peggy's mother for over thirty years, and to peggy for ten more and her idea of duty was "peggy first, martha harrison second." her letter to neil stewart, which he read while his ship was being overhauled in the boston navy yard, set him thinking. it ran: severndale, maryland. september , -- captain neil stewart, u. s. n. respected sir:-- as has been my habit these many years, i take my pen in hand to make my monthly report concerning the happenings and the events of the past month. most times there isn't many of either outside the regular accounts which, praises be, ain't never got snarled up none since i've had the handling of them. as to the past three weeks considerable has took place in this quiet, peaceful (most times, at least) home, and i ain't quite sure where i stand at, or am likely to. things seem sort of stirred round. like enough we-all are old-fashioned and considerable sot in our ways and can't rightly get used to new-fangled ones. then, too, we--i speak for everybody--find it kinder hard to take our orders from anybody but miss peggy, who has got the right to give them, which we can't just see that anybody else _has got_. howsoever, some folks seem to think they have, and what i am trying to get at is, _have they_? if i have got to take them from other folks, why, of course i have got to, but it has got to be _you_ that tells me i must. up to the present time i seem to have been pretty capable of running things down here, though i am free to confess i was right glad when mrs. harold come along as she done, to give me a hint or two where miss peggy was concerned, for that child had taken to growing up in a way that was fair taking the breath out of my body, and was a-getting clear beyond _me_ though, praises be, she didn't suspicion the fact. if she had a-done it _my_ time would a-come for sure. but the good lord sent mrs. harold to us long about that time and she was a powerful help and comfort to us all. _he_ don't make no mistakes as a rule and i reckon we would a done well to let well enough alone and not go trying to improve on his plans for us. when we do that the _other one_ is just as likely as not for to take a hand in the job and if he ain't a-kinder stirring round on these premises right this very minute i'm missing my guess and sooner or later there is going to be ructions. cording to the way _we_-all think down here miss peggy's mighty close to the angels, but maybe we are blinded by the light o'love, so to speak. howsoever and nevertheless, we have got along pretty comfortable till _lately_ when we have begun to discover that our educasyons has been terribl neglected and we have all got to be took in hand. _and we are being took powerful strong, let me tell you!_ it is some like a spanish fly blister: it may do good in the end but the means thereto is some harrowing to the flesh and the spirit. i don't suppose there is no hope of your a-visiting your home before the ship is ordered south for the fall target practice, more is the pity. tain't for me to name nothing but i wish to the lord mrs. harold was here. she is a lady--amen. your most humble and obedient housekeeper, martha harrison. the day after this letter was written dr. llewellyn 'phoned to peggy that he would return at the end of the week and if quite agreeable would like to pass a few days at severndale with her, as his own housekeeper had not yet returned from her holiday. peggy was in an ecstasy of joy. to have compadre under her own roof from saturday to monday would be too delightful. brimful of her pleasurable anticipations, and more like the natural, joyous girl of former days than she had been since leaving mrs. harold and polly, she flew to the piazza where her aunt, arrayed in a filmy lingerie gown, reclined in one of the big east india chairs. for a moment she forgot that she did not hold her aunt's sympathies as she held mrs. harold's, and cried: "oh, aunt katherine, compadre will be here on friday evening and will remain until monday! isn't that too good to believe?" "do you mean dr. llewellyn?" asked mrs. stewart, coldly. "yes, aunt katherine, you had no chance to know him before he went away, but you will just love him." "shall i?" asked mrs. stewart with a smile which acted like a wet blanket upon poor peggy. "but why do you call him by that absurd name? why not call him dr. llewellyn?" "call him dr. llewellyn?" echoed peggy. "why, i have never called him anything else since he taught me to call him by that dear name when i was a wee little thing." "and do you expect to cling to childish habits all your days, peggy dear? isn't it about time you began to think about growing up? sit here upon this cushion beside me. i wish to have a serious talk with you and this seems a most opportune moment. i have felt the necessity of it ever since my arrival, but have refrained from speaking because i feared i might be misjudged and do harm rather than good. sit down, dear." mrs. stewart strove to bring into her voice an element of deep interest, affection was beyond her,--and peggy was sufficiently intuitive to feel it. nevertheless, if anything could have appealed to this self-centered woman's affection it ought surely to have been the young girl who obediently dropped upon the big turkish cushion, and clasping her hands upon the broad arm of the chair, looked up into the steely, calculating eyes with a pair so soft, so brown, so trustful yet so perplexed, that an ordinary woman would have gathered her right into her arms and claimed all the richness and loyalty of affection so eager to find an outlet. if it could only have been mrs. harold, or polly's mother, how quick either would have been to comprehend the loving nature of the girl and reap the reward of it. mrs. stewart merely smiled into the wild-rose face in a way which she fondly believed to accentuate her own charms, and tapping the pretty brown hands with her fan, said: "i am growing extremely proud of my lovely niece. she is going to be a great credit to me, and, also, i foresee, a great responsibility." "a responsibility, aunt katherine?" asked peggy, a perplexed pucker upon her forehead. "have i been a responsibility to you since you came here? i am sorry if i have. of course i know my life down here in the old home is quite different from most girls' lives. i didn't realize that until i met mrs. harold and polly and then, later, went up to new london and saw more of other girls and the way they live. but i have been very happy here, aunt katherine, and since i have known mrs. harold and polly a good many things have been made pleasanter for me. i can never repay them for their kindness to me." peggy paused and a wonderfully sweet light filled her eyes, for her love for her absent friends was very true and deep, and speaking of them seemed to bring them back to the familiar surroundings which she knew they had grown to love so well, and where she and polly had passed so many happy hours. mrs. stewart was not noted for her capacity for deep feeling and was more amused than otherwise affected by peggy's earnest speech, classifying it as "a girl's sentimentality." finer qualities were wasted upon that lady. so she now smiled indulgently and said: "of course i can understand your appreciation of what you consider mrs. harold's and her niece's kindness to you, but, have you ever looked upon the other side of the question? have you not done a great deal for them? it seems to me you have quite cancelled any obligation to them. it must have been some advantage to them to have such a lovely place as this to visit at will, and, if i can draw deductions correctly, to practically have the run of. it seems to me there was considerable advantage upon _their_ side of the arrangement. you, naturally, can not see this, but i'll venture to say mrs. harold was not so unsophisticated," and a pat upon peggy's hand playfully emphasized the lady's charitable view. peggy felt bewildered and her hands fell from the arm of the chair to her lap, though her big soft eyes never changed their gaze, which proved somewhat disconcerting to the older woman who had the grace to color slightly. peggy then rallied her forces and answered: "aunt katherine, i am sure neither mrs. harold nor polly ever had the faintest idea of any advantage to themselves in being nice to me. why in this world should they? they have ten times more than _i_ could ever give to them. why think of how extensively mrs. harold has traveled and what hosts of friends she has! and polly too. goodness, they let me see and enjoy a hundred things i never could have seen or enjoyed otherwise." mrs. stewart laughed a low, incredulous laugh, then queried: "and you the daughter of neil stewart and a little navy girl? really, peggy, you are deliciously _ingenue_. well, never mind. it is of more intimate matters i wish to speak, for with each passing day i recognize the importance of a radical reconstruction in your mode of living. that is what i meant when i said i foresaw greater responsibilities ahead. you are no longer a child, peggy, to run wild over the estate, but--well, i must not make you vain. in a year or two at most, you will make your _début_ and someone must provide against that day and be prepared to fill properly the position of chaperone to you. meantime, you must have proper training and as near as i can ascertain you have never had the slightest. but it can not be deferred a moment longer. it is absolutely providential that i, the only relative you have in this world, should have met you as i did, though i can hardly understand how your father overlooked the need so long. perhaps it was from motives of unselfishness, though he must have known that i stood ready to make any sacrifice for my dear dead peyton's brother." just here mrs. peyton's feelings almost overcame her and a delicate handkerchief was pressed to her eyes for a moment. ordinarily tender and sympathetic to the last degree, peggy could not account for her strange indifference to her aunt's distress. she simply sat with hands clasped about her knees and waited for her to resume the conversation. presently madam emerged from her temporary eclipse and said: "forgive me, dear, my feelings quite overcame me for a moment. to resume: i know dear neil would never ask it of me, but i have been thinking very seriously upon the subject and have decided to forget self, and my many interests in new york, and devote my time to you. i shall remain with you and relieve you of all responsibility in this great household, a responsibility out of all proportion to your years. indeed, i can not understand how you have retained one spark of girlish spontaneity under such unnatural conditions. such cares were meant for older, more experienced heads than your pretty one, dear. it will be a joy to me to relieve you of them and i can not begin too soon. we will start at once. i shall write to your father to count upon me for everything and, if he feels so disposed, to place everything in my hands. furthermore, i shall suggest that he send you to a fine school where you will have the finishing your birth and fortune entitle you to. you know absolutely nothing of association, with other girls,--no, please let me finish," as peggy rose to her feet and stood regarding her aunt with undisguised consternation, "i know of a most excellent school in new york, indeed, it is conducted by a very dear friend of mine, where you would meet only girls of the wealthiest families" (mrs. stewart did not add that the majority had little beside their wealth to stand as a bulwark for them; they were the daughters of new york city's newly rich whose ancestry would hardly court inspection) "and even during your school days you would get a taste of new york's social advantages; a thing utterly impossible in this dull--ahem!--this remote place. i shall strongly advise dear neal to consider this. you simply cannot remain buried here. _i shall_, of course, since i feel it my duty to do so, but i can have someone pass the winter with me, and can make frequent trips to washington." mrs. stewart paused for breath. peggy did not speak one word, but with a final dazed look at her aunt, turned and entered the house. chapter iv hostilities resumed as peggy left the piazza her aunt's eyes followed her with an expression which held little promise for the girl's future happiness should it be given into mrs. stewart's keeping. a more calculating, triumphant one, or one more devoid of any vestige of affection for peggy it would have been hard to picture. as her niece disappeared mrs. stewart's lips formed just two words, "little fool," but never had she so utterly miscalculated. she was sadly lacking in a discrimination of values. peggy had chosen one of two evils; that of losing her temper and saying something which would have outraged her conception of the obligations of a hostess, or of getting away by herself without a moment's delay. she felt as though she were strangling, or that some horrible calamity threatened her. hurrying to her own room she flung herself upon her couch and did that which peggy stewart was rarely known to do: buried her head in the cushions and sobbed. not the sobs of a thwarted, peevish girl, but the deeper grief of one who feels hopeless, lonely and wretched. never in her life had she felt like this. what was the meaning of it? those who were older and more experienced, would have answered at once: here is a girl, not yet sixteen years of age, who has led a lonely life upon a great estate, remote from companions of her own age, though adored by the servants who have been upon it as long as she can remember. she has been regarded as their mistress whose word must be law because her mother's was. her education has been conducted along those lines by an old gentleman who believes that the southern gentlewoman must be the absolute head of her home. about this time there enters her little world a woman whose every impulse stands for motherhood at its sweetest and best, and who has helped all that is best and truest in the young girl to develop, guiding her by the beautiful power of affection. all has been peace and harmony, and peggy is rapidly qualifying in ability to assume absolute control in her father's home. then, with scarcely a moment's warning, there is dropped into her home and daily life a person with whom she cannot have anything in common, from whom she intuitively shrinks and cannot trust. under such circumstances the present climax is not surprising. peggy's whole life had in some respects been a contradiction and a cry for a girl's natural heritage--a mother's all-comprehending love. the love that does not wait to be told of the loved one's needs and happiness, but which lives only to foresee what is best for her and to bring it to pass, never mind at what sacrifice to self. peggy had missed _that_ love in her life and not all the other forms combined had compensated. until the previous year she had never felt this; nor could she have put it into words even at the present moment. she only knew that in polly's companionship she had been very, very happy and that she was terribly lonely without her. that in mrs. harold she had found a friend whom she had learned to love devotedly and trust implicitly, and that in the brief time mrs. howland, polly's mother, had been in annapolis and at new london, she had caught a glimpse of a little world before undreamed of; a world peculiarly polly's and her mother's and which no other human being invaded. mrs. howland had just such a little world for each of her daughters and for the son-in-law whom she loved so tenderly. it was a world sacred to the individual who dwelt therein with her. there was a common world in which all met in mutual interests, but she possessed the peculiar power of holding for each of her children their own "inner shrine" which was truly "the holy of holies." although peggy had known and loved mrs. harold longest, there was something in mrs. howland's gentle unobtrusive sweetness, in her hidden strength, which drew peggy as a magnet and for the first time in her life she longed for the one thing denied her: such a love as polly claimed. but it seemed an impossibility, and her nearest approach to it lay in mrs. harold's affection for her. peggy was not ungrateful, but what had befallen the usual order of things? was this aunt, with whom, try as she would, she could not feel anything in common, about to establish herself in the home, every turn and corner of which was so dear to her, and utterly disrupt it? for this peggy felt pretty sure she would do if left a free hand. already she had most of the old servants in a state of ferment, if not open hostility. they plainly regarded her as an interloper, resented her assumption of rule and her interference in the innumerable little details of the household economy. her very evident lack of the qualities which, according to their standards, stood for "de true an' endurin' quality raisin'," made them distrust her. now the "time was certainly out of joint" and poor little peggy began to wonder if she had to complete the quotation. all that has been written had passed like a whirlwind through peggy's harassed brain in much less time than it has taken to put it on paper. it was all a jumble to poor peggy; vague, yet very real; understood yet baffling. the only real evidences of her unhappiness and doubt were the tears and sobs, and these soon called, by some telepathic message of love and a life's devotion, the faithful old nurse who had been the comforter of her childish woes. for days mammy had been "as res'less an' onsettled as a yo'ng tuckey long 'bout thanksgivin' time," as she expressed it, and had found it difficult to settle down to her ordinary routine of work during the preceding two weeks. she prowled about the house and the premises "fer all de 'roun worl' like yo' huntin' speerits," declared aunt cynthia, the cook. "huh!" retorted mammy, "i on'y wisht i could feel dat dey was frien'ly ones, but i has a percolation dat dey's comin' from _below_ stidder _above_." so perhaps this explains why she went up to peggy's room at an hour which she usually spent in her own quarters mending. long before she reached the room she became aware of sounds which acted upon her as a spark to a powder magazine, for mammy's loving old ears lay very close to her heart. with a pious "ma lawd-god-amighty, what done happen?" she flew down the broad hall and, being a privileged character, entered the room without knocking. the next second she was holding peggy in her arms and almost sobbing herself as she besought her to tell "who done hurt ma baby? tell mammy what brecken' yo' heart, honey-chile." for a few moments peggy could not reply, and mammy was upon the point of rushing off for harrison when peggy laid a detaining hand upon her and commanded: "stop, mammy! you must not call harrison or anyone else. there is really nothing the matter. i'm just a silly girl to act like this and i'm thoroughly ashamed of myself." then she wiped her eyes and strove to check a rebellious sob. "quit triflin'! kingdom-come, is yo' think i'se come ter ma dotage? when is i see you a cryin' like dis befo'? not sense yo' was kitin' roun' de lot an' fall down an' crack yo' haid. yo' ain' been de yellin', squallin' kind, an' when yo' begins at dis hyar day an' age fer ter shed tears dar's somethin' pintedly wrong, an' yo' needn' tell me dar ain't. now out wid it." mammy was usually fiercest when she felt most deeply and now she was stirred to the very depth of her soul. "why, mammy, i don't believe i could tell you what i'm crying for if i tried," and peggy smiled as she rested her head upon the shoulder which had never failed her. "well, den, tell me what yo' _ain't_ cryin' fo', kase ef yo' ain't cryin' fer somethin' yo' _want_ yo' shore mus' be a-crying fo' somethin' yo' _don't_ want," was mammy's bewildering argument. "an' i bait yo' i ain't gotter go far fer ter ketch de thing yo' _don'_ want neither," and the old woman looked ready to deal with that same cause once it came within her grasp. peggy straightened up. this order of things would never do. if she acted like a spoiled child simply because someone to whom she had taken an instinctive dislike had come into her home, she would presently have the whole household demoralized. "mammy, listen to me." instinctively the blood of generations of servitude responded to peggy's tone. "i have been terribly rude to a guest. i lost my temper and i'm ashamed of myself." "what did you say to her, baby?" "i didn't say anything, i just acted outrageously." "an' what _she_ been a-sayin' ter yo'?" peggy only colored. mammy nodded her bead significantly. "ain't i _know_ dat! yo' cyant tell _me_ nothin' 'bout de stewart blood. no-siree! i know it from alphy to omegy; backards an' forrards. now we-all kin look out fer trouble ahead. but i'se got dis fer ter say: some fools jist nachelly go a-prancin' an' a-cavortin' inter places whar de angils outen heaven dassent no mo'n peek. if yo' tells me i must keep ma mouf shet, i'se gotter keep it shet, but massa neil is allers a projectin' 'bout ma safety-valve, an' don' yo' tie it down too tight, honey, er somethin' gwine bus' wide open 'fore long. now come 'long an' wash yo' purty face. i ain' like fer ter see no tears-stains on _yo'_ baby. no, i don'. den yo' go git on shashai an' call yo' body-gyard and 'z'ritza an' yo' ride ten good miles fo' yo' come back hyer. by _dat_ time yo' git yo' min' settle down an' yo' stummic ready fo' de lunch wha' sis' cynthia gwine fix fo' yo'. i seen de perjections ob it an' it fair mak' ma mouf run water lak' a dawg's. run 'long, honey," and mammy led the way down the side stairs, and watched peggy as she took a side path to the paddock. as she was in and out of her saddle a dozen times a day she wore a divided skirt more than half the time--another of mrs. stewart's grievances--and upon reaching the paddock her whistle soon brought her pets tearing across it to her. their greeting was warm enough to banish a legion of blue imps, and a joyous little laugh bubbled to her lips as she opened the paddock gate and let the trio file through. then in the old way she sprang upon shashai's back and with a gay laugh cried: "four bells for the harness house." away they swept, as peggy's voice and knees directed shashai, tzaritza, who had joined peggy as she stepped from the side porch, bounding on ahead with joyous barks. peggy called for a bridle, which shelby himself brought, saying as he slipped the light snaffle into shashai's sensitive mouth and the headstall over his ears: "so you've bruck trainin', miss peggy, an' are a-going for a real old-time warm-up? well, i reckon it's about time, an' the best thing you can do, for you look sort o' pinin' an' down-in-the-mouth. light out, little girl, an' come back lookin' like you uster; the purtiest sight god ever created for a man, woman or child ter clap eyes on. take good care of her, shashai, and you too, tzaritza, cause you won't get another like her very soon." shelby's eyes were quick to discern the traces of peggy's little storm, and he was by no means slow in drawing deductions. peggy blushed, but said: "i guess daddy was right when he said i'd better go to school this year. you-all will spoil me if i stay here. good-by, dear old shelby, i love everyone on the place even if they do spoil me," and away she swept, as bonny a little bareback rider as ever sat a horse. meanwhile, up at the house events were shaping with the rapidity of a moving picture show. when peggy left her so abruptly madam stewart sat still for a few moments, pondering her next step. she had arrived at some very definite conclusions and intended carrying them out without loss of time. her first move in that direction led her into the library where she wrote a letter to her brother-in-law. it was while she was thus occupied that mammy had found peggy and sent her for her ride. then mammy sought harrison. ordinarily, mammy would have died before consulting harrison about anything concerning peggy, but here was a common issue, and if mammy did not know that a house divided against itself must fall, she certainly felt the force of that argument. in harrison she found a sympathetic listener, for the old housekeeper had been made to feel mrs. stewart's presence in the house in hundreds of irritating little ways. mammy told of finding peggy in tears, though she could not, of course, tell their cause. but harrison needed no cause: the tears in themselves were all the cause she required to know. their conversation took place in the pantry and at the height of harrison's protest against the new order of things a footfall was heard in the dining-room beyond. thinking it jerome's and quite ready to add one more to their league of defenders of peggy's cause, harrison pushed open the swinging door and stepped into the dining-room with all of her new england-woman's nervous activity. mrs. stewart stood in the room surveying with a critical, calculating eye, every detail of its stately, chaste appointments, for nothing had ever been changed. mrs. stewart looked up as harrison bounced in. "o harrison, you are exactly the person i wished to speak with," she said. "there are to be a few changes made in mr. stewart's domestic arrangements. in future i shall assume control of his home and relieve miss peggy of all responsibility. you may come to me for all orders." she paused, and for the moment harrison was too dumbfounded to reply, while mammy in the pantry, having overheard every word, was noiselessly clapping her old hands together and murmuring: "ma lawd! ma lawd! _now_ i knows de sou'ce ob dat chile's tears." before harrison could recover herself mrs. stewart continued: "dr. llewellyn will be here tomorrow for the weekend, and as i am to be mistress of the household it is more seemly that i preside at the head of the table. tell jerome that i shall sit there in future. and now i wish you to take me through the house that i may know more of its appointments than i have thus far been able to learn." without a word harrison led the way into the hall, and up the beautiful old colonial stairway. peggy's sitting-room and bed-room were situated at the south-east corner of the house overlooking the bay. back of her bath and dressing-rooms were two guest rooms. a broad hall ran the length of the second story and upon the opposite side of it had been mrs. neil stewart's pretty sitting-room, which corresponded with peggy's and her bed-room separated from her husband's by the daintiest of dressing and bath-rooms. neil stewart's "den" was at the rear. beyond were lavatories, linen-room, house-maid's room and every requirement of a well-ordered home. mrs. peyton began by entering peggy's sitting-room, a liberty she had not hitherto taken, but she felt pretty sure peggy was not in the house. at any rate she had made her plunge and did not mean to be diverted from her object now. martha harrison was simply boiling with wrath at the intrusion. "you are a wonderfully capable woman, martha. i see i shall have very light duties," was mrs. peyton's patronizing comment. "_harrison_, if you please, ma'am," emphasized that person. "oh, indeed? as you prefer. now let me see the rooms on the opposite side of the hall." perhaps had mrs. peyton asked harrison to lead her into the little mausoleum, built generations ago in the whispering white pine grove upon the hill back of the house, it could not have been a greater liberty or sacrilege. not so great, possibly. in all the nine years nothing had been changed. they were sacred to the entire household and especially sacred to harrison who had held it her especial privilege to keep them immaculate. in the bed-room the toilet and dressing tables held the same articles mrs. neil had used; her work-table stood in the same sunny window. in the sitting-room the books she loved and had read again and again were in the case, or lying upon the tables where she had left them. it seemed as though she might have stepped from the room barely ten minutes before. there was nothing depressing about it. on the contrary, it impressed upon the observer the near presence of a sweet, cultivated personality. the sitting-room was a shrine for both peggy and her father, and it was his wish that it be kept exactly as he had known and loved it during the ideal hours he had spent in it with wife and child. he and peggy had spent many a precious one there since its radiant, gracious mistress had slept in the pine grove. harrison crossed the hall and opened the door, still mute as an oyster. mrs. stewart swept in, toinette, who had followed her, tearing across the room ahead of her and darting into every nook and corner. at that moment the obnoxious poodle came nearer her doom than she had ever come in all her useless life, for harrison was a-quiver to hurl her through the open window. "what charming rooms," exclaimed madam, trailing languidly from one to the other, touching a book here, some exquisite curio there, the carved ivory toilet articles on the dresser. the morning sunlight, tempered by the green and white awnings at the great bowed-windows filled the tastefully decorated rooms with a restful glow. they were beautiful rooms in every sense of the word. "very charming indeed and very useless apparently. they seem not to have been occupied in months. they are far more desirable than those assigned to me at the north side of the house. the view of the bay is perfect. as i am to be here indefinitely, instead of one month only, you may have my things moved over to this suite, harrison. i shall occupy it in future." "occupy _this_ suite?" harrison almost gasped the words. "certainly. why not? you need not look as though i had ordered you to build a fire in the middle of the floor," and mrs. peyton laughed half scornfully. "excuse me, ma'am, but when _mr. neil_ gives the order to move your things into this suite, i'll move them here. these was his wife's rooms and his orders to me was never to change 'em and i never shall 'till _he_ tells me to. there's some things in this world that can't be tampered with. please call your dog, ma'am; she's scratchin' that couch cover to ribbons." the enemy's guns were silenced for the time being. she picked up her poodle and swept from the room. harrison paused only long enough to close all the doors, lock them and place the keys in her little hand bag. then she departed to her own quarters to give vent to her pent-up wrath. mrs. stewart retired to her own room. the next evening dr. llewellyn arrived and when he took his seat at the table his gentle face was troubled: mrs. peyton had usurped peggy's place at the head. peggy sat opposite to him. she had accepted the situation gracefully, not one word of protest passing her lips and she did her best to entertain her guests. but poor old jerome's soul was so outraged that for the first time in his life he was completely demoralized. only one person in the entire household seemed absolutely and entirely satisfied and that was harrison, and her self-satisfaction so irritated mammy that the good old creature sputtered out: "kingdom come, is yo' gittin' ter de pint when yo' kin see sich gwines-on an' not r'ar right spang up an' _sass_ dat 'oman?" "just wait!" was harrison's cryptic reply. chapter v ructions! jerome had just passed a silver platter to madam stewart, his hands trembling so perceptibly as to provoke from her the words: "have you a chill, jerome?" as she conveyed to her plate some of cynthia's delicately fried chicken. jerome made no answer, but started toward peggy's chair. he never reached it, for at that moment a deep voice boomed in from the hall: "peggy stewart, ahoy!" with the joyous, ringing cry of: "daddy neil! oh, daddy neil!" peggy sprang from the table to fling herself into her father's arms, and to startle him beyond words by bursting into tears. never in all of his going to and fro, however long his absences from his home, had he met with such a reception as this. invariably a smiling peggy had greeted him and the present outbreak struck to the very depth of his soul, and did more in one minute to reveal to him the force of harrison's letter than a dozen complaints. the tears betrayed a nervous tension of which even peggy herself had been entirely unaware, and for peggy to have reached a mental condition where nerves could assert themselves was an indication that chaos was imminent. for a moment she could only sob hysterically, while her father held her close in his arms and said in a tone which she had never yet heard: "why, peggy! my little girl, my little girl, have you needed daddy neil as much as this?" peggy made a gallant rally of her self-control and cried: "oh, daddy, and everybody, please forgive me, but i am so surprised and startled and delighted that i don't know what i'm doing, and i'm so ashamed of myself," and smiling through her tears she strove to draw away from her father that he might greet the others, but he kept her close within his circling left arm, as he extended his hand in response to the effusive greeting of his sister-in-law. with what she hoped would be an apologetic smile for peggy's untoward demonstration, mrs. stewart had risen to welcome him. "we must make allowances for peggy, dear neil. you came so very unexpectedly, you know. i hardly thought my letter would be productive of anything so delightful for us all." "i fear it was not wholly, katherine. i had several others also. how are you, doctor? i see you haven't quite abandoned the ship. well, i'm glad of that; i need my executive officer and my navigator also." at the concluding words mrs. peyton smiled complacently. who but she could fill that office? but captain stewart's next words dissipated that smile as the removal of a lantern slide causes the scene thrown upon the screen to vanish. "yes, indeed, my navigator must get busy. she's had a long leave, but i need her now and she's never failed me in heavy weather. she'll report for duty on the thirtieth, thank the powers which be. hello, jerome! what's rattled you like this? next time i set my course for home i'd better send a wireless, or i'll demoralize the whole personnel," and neil stewart's hearty laugh brought a sympathetic smile to dr. llewellyn's and peggy's lips. and well it might, for in the background the minor characters in the little drama had filled a rôle all their own. in the doorway stood harrison, bound to witness the outcome of her master-stroke and experiencing no small triumph in it. behind her mammy, with characteristic african emotion, was doing a veritable camp-meeting song of praise, though it was a _voiceless_ song, only her motions indicating that her lips were forming the words, "praise de lawd! praise him!" as she swayed and clasped her hands. but jerome outdid them all: at his first glimpse of the master he was so flustered that he nearly collapsed where he stood, and his platter had a perilous moment. then, crying, "glory be!" he beat a hasty retreat intending to place it upon his serving table, but growing bewildered in his joy, inadvertently set it upon a large claw-foot sofa which stood at the end of the dining-room, where toinette, ever upon the alert, and _not_ banished from the dining-room as poor tzaritza had been, promptly pounced upon the contents, and in the confusion of the ensuing ten minutes laid the foundation for her early demise from apoplexy. "brace up, jerome, i'm too substantial to be a ghost, and nothing short of one should bowl you over like this," were captain stewart's hearty words to the old man as he shook his hand. "asks yo' pardon, massa neil! i sho' does ask yo' pardon fer lettin' mysef git so flustrated, but we-all's so powerful pleased fer ter see yo', an' has been a-wanting yo' so pintedly, that--that--that--but, ma lawd, i--i--i'se cla'r los' ma senses an', an--hi! look yonder at dat cusséd dawg _an'_ ma fried chicken!" for once in her useless life toinette had created a pleasing diversion. with a justifiable cry of wrath jerome pounced upon her and plucked her from the platter, in which for vantage she had placed her fore feet. flinging her upon the floor, he snatched up his dish and fled to the pantry, neil stewart's roars of laughter following him. toinette rolled over and over and then fled yelping into her mistress' lap to spread further havoc by ruining a delicate silk gown with her gravy-smeared feet. tzaritza, who had followed her master into the room, looked upon the performance with a superior surprise. neil stewart laid a caressing hand upon the beautiful head and said laughingly: "you'd blush for that little snippin-frizzle if you could, wouldn't you, old girl? well, it's up to you to teach her better manners. she's young and flighty. the next time she starts in on any such rampage, just pick her up and carry her out, as any naughty child should be carried. understand?" "woof-woof," answered tzaritza, deep down in her throat. "she's wise all right. after this you can leave that midget of yours in her care, katherine. but now let's get busy. i'm upon the point of famishing. come, peggy, honey; rally your forces and serve your old daddy." peggy turned toward her aunt. not until that moment had her father been aware of the change made at his table. then it came to him in a flash, and mrs. peyton was hardly prepared for the change which overspread his countenance as he asked: "peggy, why have you allowed your aunt to assume the obligations of hostess? have you lost your ability to sit at the head of my table, daughter?" poor peggy! it was well she understood or she would have been nearly heartbroken at the rebuke. mrs. peyton answered for her: "little peggy had far too much upon her young shoulders, dear neil. so i have volunteered to relieve her of some of her duties. i am happy to be able to do so." "indeed, katherine, we are all under deep obligation to you, i am sure, but peggy hardly seems overborne by her burdens, and it is my wish that my daughter shall preside in her mother's place at my table. jerome, mrs. stewart is to be relieved of this obligation after this meal. you are to be quite free of all responsibility during your visit with us, katherine. and now, little girl, let me look at you. july, august, and, let me see, twenty-five days of september since i left you? nearly three months. you manage to do remarkable things in a brief time, little daughter. but i fancy by the time i get back here again they will be more remarkable. great plans are simmering for you; great plans," and her father nodded significantly across at her. peggy was too happy to even ask what they were. she could only smile and nod back again. meanwhile mrs. stewart had used her napkin to scrub off her besmirched poodle's feet and had then surreptitiously thumped her down upon her lap where the table-cloth would conceal her. at captain stewart's concluding words she felt her hopes revive a trifle. she was a fair actress when it served her turn. so now smiling across the table she said: "so you have decided to consider my suggestion, neil?" "in one respect, yes, katherine. i see plainly that things can no longer go on as they have been going. llewellyn concurs in that." he glanced toward the doctor, who nodded gravely. "i do most fully. our halcyon days must end, i fear, as all such days do eventually, and we must meet the more prosaic side of life. let us hope it will assume a pleasing form. i am loth to hand in my resignation as dominie exactus, however," he ended with a smile for peggy. peggy looked puzzled, and glanced inquiringly from one to the other. her father stretched forth a hand and laid it over hers which rested upon the edge of the table: "smooth out the kinks in your forehead, honey. nothing distressing is to happen." "hardly," agreed mrs. stewart. "on the contrary, if your father acts upon my suggestion something very delightful will be the outcome, i am sure. i feel intuitively that you approve of my plan regarding the school, neil." peggy started slightly, and looked at her father. he nodded and smiled reassuringly, then turning toward his sister-in-law, replied: "your letter, katherine, only served to convince me that peggy must now have a broader horizon than severndale, or even annapolis affords. dr. llewellyn and i talked it over when i was home over a year ago, and again last june. when we first discussed it we were about as much at sea as the 'three wise men of gotham' who launched forth in a tub. we needed a better craft and a pilot, and we needed them badly, i tell you, and at that time we hadn't sighted either. then the 'sky pilot' took the job out of our hands and he's got it yet, i reckon. at any rate, indications seem to point that way, for on my way down here he ran me alongside my navigator and it didn't take her long to give me my bearings. she got on board the limited at newark, n. j., and we rode as far as philly together. she had three of her convoys along and they're all to the good, let me tell you." "oh, daddy, did you really meet mrs. harold and polly, and who was with them?" broke in peggy eagerly. "i surely did, little girl; mrs. harold, polly, ralph and durand. she was on her way for a week's visit with some relatives just out of philly--in devon, i believe, a sort of house-party, she's chaperoning--and a whole bunch of the old friends are to be there. well, i got the 'little mother' all to myself from newark to philly and we went a twenty-knot clip, i tell you, for big as i am, i was just bursting to unload my worries upon someone, and that little woman seems born to carry the major portion of all creation's. she gets them, any way, and they don't seem to feaze her a particle. she bobs up serene and smiling after ever comber. but i've yet to see the proposition she wouldn't try to tackle. oh, we talked for fair, let me tell you, and in those two hours she put more ideas into this wooden old block of mine than it's held in as many months. did your ears burn this afternoon, peggy? you are pretty solid in _that_ direction, little girl, and you'll never have a better friend in all your born days, and don't you ever forget _that_ fact. well, the upshot is, that next friday, one week from today, middie's haven will have its tenant back and, meantime, she is to write some letters and lay a train for _your_ welfare, honey. that school plan is an excellent plan, katherine, but not a new york school: new york is too far away from home _and_ mrs. harold. peggy will go to washington this winter. hampton roads is not far from washington and the ---- will put in there a number of times this winter. that gives _me_ a chance to visit my girl oftener and also gives peggy a chance to visit mrs. harold, and run out here now and again if she wishes, though the place will be practically closed up for the winter. it was very good of you to offer to remain here but i couldn't possibly accept that sacrifice; for all your interests lie in new york, as you stated in your letter to me. you still have your apartments there, you tell me, and to let you bury yourself down here in this lonely place would be simply outrageous. even peggy has been here too long, without companions." neil stewart paused to take some nuts from the dish which jerome, now recovered and beaming, held for him. mrs. stewart could have screamed with baffled rage, for, now that it was too late, she saw that she had quite overshot the mark, and given her brother-in-law a complete advantage over her designs. "and that hateful, designing cat!" as she stigmatized mrs. harold "had completed her defeat." she had gauged her brother-in-law as "a perfect simpleton where a woman was concerned," and never had she so miscalculated. he _was_ easygoing when at home on leave, or off on one of his outings, as he had been when she met him in new london. why not? when he worked he worked with every particle of energy he possessed, but when he "loafed," as he expressed it, he cast all care to the winds and was like an emancipated school-boy. it was the school-boy side of his nature she had gauged. she knew nothing of neil stewart the naval officer and man; hadn't the very faintest conception of his latent force once it was stirred. and she little guessed how she _had_ stirred it by her letter written the morning she had made peggy so unhappy. it was the one touch needed to bring the climax and it had brought it with a rush which mrs. peyton had little anticipated. what the outcome might have been had neil stewart not met mrs. harold on that train is impossible to surmise further than that he had fully decided to free himself of all connection with peyton's widow. he had always disliked and distrusted her, but now he detested her. peggy's letters had revealed far more than she guessed, though they had not held one intended criticism. she had written just as she had written ever since she promised him when he visited her the previous year, to send "a report of each day, accurate as a ship's log." but she could not write of the daily happenings without giving him a pretty graphic picture of mrs. stewart's gradual usurpation, and harrison had felt no compunction in expressing _her_ views. and so the "best laid plans o' mice and (wo)men" had "gone agley" in a demoralizing manner, and neil stewart had come down to severndale "under full headway," and wasted no time in "laying hold of the helm." that talk upon the train had been what he termed "one real old heart-to-hearty," for mrs. harold had foreseen just such a crisis and felt under no obligation to refrain from speaking her mind where mrs. stewart was concerned. she had seen just such women before. captain stewart had asked her to read the letters sent to him. she nearly had hysterics over harrison's, but peggy's brought tears to her eyes, for she loved the girl very dearly and understood her well. mrs. stewart's letter made her eyes snap and her mouth set firmly, as she said: "captain stewart, you have asked my advice and i shall give it exactly as though peggy were my daughter, for i could hardly love her and polly more dearly if they were my own children. i am under every obligation of affection to peggy but not the slightest to mrs. stewart, and from all i observed in new london she is by no means the woman to have control over a girl like peggy. she is one of the most lovable girls i have ever known, but at the same time has one of the most distinct personalities and the strongest wills. she can be easily guided by combined wisdom and affection, but she would be ruined by association with a calculating, unrefined, or capricious nature, and, pardon my frankness, i consider mrs. peyton stewart all of these. peggy needs association with other girls--that is only natural--and we must secure it at once for her." neil stewart laid her words to heart, and the ensuing week brought to pass some radical changes. on the thirtieth of september the whole brigade of midshipmen came pouring back to annapolis, the academic year beginning on october first. on the thirtieth also came mrs. glenn harold and her niece polly howland, brown, happy and refreshed by their summer's outing, and polly eager to meet her old friends at the academy and her chum peggy. october first falling upon sunday that year the work at the academy would not begin until monday, and, although the midshipmen had to report on september thirtieth, sunday was to a certain extent a holiday for them and on that afternoon a rare treat was planned for some of them by captain stewart. on sunday morning neil stewart, with mrs. stewart and peggy drove into annapolis to attend service at the naval academy chapel where their entrance very nearly demoralized polly howland, no hint of their intention having been given her. they were a little late in arriving and the service had already begun. as polly was rising from her knees after the first prayer peggy was ushered into the pew, and polly, _polly_ under all circumstances, cried impulsively: "oh, lovely!" her voice distinctly audible in the chancel. whether the chaplain felt himself lauded for the manner in which he had read the prayer, or was quick to guess the cause of that unusual response, it is not necessary to decide. certain, however, were two or three distinct snickers from some pews under the gallery, and polly nearly dove under the pew in front of her. there was no chance for the thousand and one topics of vital importance to be even touched upon while the service was in progress, but once the recessional rolled forth peggy's and polly's tongues were loosened and went a-galloping. "oh, daddy has a plan for the afternoon which is the dearest ever," announced peggy, the old light back in her eyes, and the old enthusiasm in her voice. "tell it right off then. captain stewart's plans are the most wonderful ever. i'll never forget new london," cried polly. "why, he wants you and the little mother and durand and ralph and jean and gordon--" "gordon?" echoed polly, a question in her eyes. peggy nodded an emphatic little nod, her lips closing in a half-defiant, half who-dares-dispute-his-judgment little way, then the smile returned to the pretty mouth and she continued, "yes, gordon powers and his room-mate, great, big douglas porter, and durand's new room-mate, bert taylor, he comes from snap's old home, so daddy learned, to come out to severndale this afternoon for a real frolic." she got no further for they had reached the terrace in front of the chapel by that time where greetings were being exchanged between many mutual friends and the two girls, so widely known to all connected with the academy were eagerly welcomed back. meanwhile, out on the main walk the brigade had broken ranks and the midshipmen were hurrying up to greet their friends. captain stewart was a favorite with all, and one of the very few officers who could recall how the world looked to him when _he_ was a midshipman. consequently, he was able to enter into the spirit and viewpoint of the lads and was always greeted with an enthusiasm rare in the intercourse between the midshipmen and the officers. mrs. harold was their "little mother," as she had been for the past five years, and peggy and polly the best and jolliest of companions and chums, their "co-ed cronies," as they called them. mrs. stewart they had met in new london, but there was a very perceptible difference in their greeting to that lady: it was the formal, perfunctory bow and handclasp of the superficially known midshipman; not the hearty, spontaneous one of the boy who has learned to trust and love someone as mrs. harold's boys loved and trusted her. the crowd which had poured out of the chapel was soon dispersed, as everybody had something to call him elsewhere. our group sauntered slowly toward the superintendent's home where captain stewart left them and went in to make his request for the afternoon's frolic. it was promptly granted and orders were given to have a launch placed at his disposal at two-thirty p.m. such a treat, when least expected, sent the boys into an ecstatic frame of mind, and when the bugle sounded for dinner formation they rushed away to their places upon old bancroft's terrace as full of enthusiasm as though averaging eight and ten instead of eighteen and twenty years of age. chapter vi a new order of things that sunday afternoon of october first, -- was vital with portent for the future of most of the people in this little story. it took but a short time to run out to severndale, and once there neil stewart made sure of a free hour or two by ordering up the horses and sending the young people off for a gallop "over the hills and far away." shashai, silver star, pepper and salt for peggy, polly, durand and ralph, who were all experienced riders, and four other horses for douglas, gordon, jean and bert, of whose prowess he knew little. he need not have worried, however, for bert taylor came straight from a south dakota ranch, gordon powers had ridden since early childhood and douglas porter had left behind him in his southern home two hunters which had been the joy of his life. but jean paul nicholas, ralph's little pepper-pot of a room-mate, had never ridden a horse in his life, and the running he would come in for at the hands of his fellow midshipmen if they suspected that fact might have made almost any other lad hesitate before taking his initial spin in the company of experts. not so little jean paul with his broad shoulders, the brace of an admiral and his five-feet-six-inches; a veritable little bantam-cock, and game to the finish. as the happy cavalcade set off, waving merry farewells to the older people gathered upon the piazza, tzaritza bounding on ahead, their route led them past the paddock where shelby and old jess, with several others connected with the estate, stood watching them. shelby as an old hand and privileged character, took off his hat and waved it hilariously, as he called out: "well _that_ is one sight worth while, miss peggy. we've got our _own_ girl back again, praises be!" while old jess echoed his enthusiasm by shouting: "praise de lawd we _has_, an' we got de boss yander, too!" "sure thing, shelby!" answered durand. "he's all right, shelby!" cried ralph. "nicest daddy-neil in the world," was polly's merry reply, then added, "oh, peggy, look at roy! he's crazy to come with us," for roy, the little colt peggy had raised, was now a splendid young creature though still too young to put under the saddle. peggy looked toward the paddock where roy was running to and fro in the most excited manner and neighing loudly to his friends. "let him come, shelby, please," she called, and the foreman opened the gate. roy darted through like a flash, giving way to all manner of mad antics, rushing from one four-footed companion to another, with a playful nip at one, a wild highland-fling-of-a-kick at another, a regular rowdy whinny at another, until he had the whole group infected, but funniest of all, jean paul's mount, the staid, well-conducted old robin adair, whose whole fifteen years upon the estate had been one long testimony to exemplary behavior, promptly set about demonstrating that when the usually well-ordered being does "cut loose" he "cuts loose for fair." jean paul was essentially a sailor-laddie, the direct descendant of many sailor-laddies, and he was "built upon nautical lines," so said ralph. on the summer cruise just ended he had demonstrated his claim to be classed among his sire's confrères, for let the ship pitch and toss as it would, his legs never failed him, his stomach never rebelled and his head remained as steady and clear as the ship's guiding planet. but he found navigating upon land about as difficult as a duck usually finds it, and was about as well qualified to bestride and ride a horse as that waddling bird is. consequently, he had "heaved aboard" his mount with many well concealed misgivings, but up to the present moment none of his friends had even suspected his very limited experience as a horseman, but truth to tell, never before in his life had jean paul's legs crossed anything livelier than one of the gymnasium "side horses." now, however, the cat was about to escape from the bag, for robin adair, flinging decorum and heels behind him, set forth on a mad gallop to overhaul roy, who had elected to set the pace for the others. whinnying, prancing, cavorting, away roy tore in the lead, robin adair hot-foot upon him, jean paul striving manfully to keep his pitching seat, which he felt to out-pitch any deck ever designed by man. in about two minutes the pair were a hundred yards in the lead, jean's cap had sailed airily from his head, and after flaunting into silver star's face, had roosted upon a near-by shrub. jean himself promptly decided that reins were a delusion and a snare (robin's mouth _was_ hard) and let them go to grasp the pommel of his mexican saddle. but even that failed to steady him in that outrageous saddle, nor were stirrups the least use in the world; his feet were designed to stick to a pitching deck, not those senseless things. in a trice both were "sailing free" and--so was jean. as robin's hind legs flew up jean pitched forward to bestride the horse's neck; as he bounded forward jean rose in the air to resume his seat where a horse's crupper usually rests. oh it was one electrifying performance and not a single move of it was lost upon his audience which promptly gave way to hoots and yells of diabolical glee, at least the masculine portion of it did, while polly and peggy, though almost reduced to hysterics at the absurd spectacle, implored them to "stop yelling like comanches and _do_ something." "_aren't_ we doing something? aren't we encouraging him and helping on a good show?" "oh, get onto that hike!" "gee whiz, commodore, if you jibe over like that you'll go by the board." "put your tiller hard a-port." "haul in on your jib-sheet," "lash yourself to the main-mast or you'll drop off astern," were some of the encouraging words of advice which rattled about jean's assailed ears, as the space grew momentarily wider between him and his friends, those same friends wilfully holding in their mounts to revel in "the show." but jean's patience and endurance were both failing. he could have slain robin adair, and he was confident that his spine would presently shoot through the crown of his head. so flinging pride to the four winds, he shouted: "hi, come on here one of you yelling chumps, this craft's steering-gear's out of commission! overhaul her and take her in tow. i'd rather pay a million salvage than navigate her another cable's length." "'don't give up the ship!'" "'never say die!'" "belay, man, belay!" were the words hurled back until peggy crying: "you boys are the very limit!" pressed one knee against shashai's side and said softly: "four bells, shashai." robin adair was no match for shashai. robin was as good a hackney as rider ever bestrode, but shashai was a thoroughbred hunter with an arab strain. ten mighty bounds took him to robin's head and for peggy to swing far out of her saddle, grasp the dangling reins, speak the word of command which all her horses knew, loved and obeyed, took less time than it has taken to write of it. "one bell, shashai. robin, halt! steady!" and jean paul's mount came to a standstill with jean paul sitting upon its haunches, and jean paul's eyes snapping, and jean paul's teeth biting his tongue to keep from uttering words "unbecoming an officer and a gentleman;" for "being overhauled by a girl" after he had "made a confounded fool of himself trying a land-lubber's stunt" was not a rôle which seemed in any degree an edifying one to him. to her credit be it said, peggy managed to keep a straight face as she turned to look at her disgruntled guest, which was more than could be said of his companions who came crowding upon him, even polly's self-control being taxed beyond the limit. "why didn't you tell me you'd never ridden?" asked peggy, her lips sober but her eyes dancing. "because it would have knocked the whole show on the head," answered jean, yanking himself forward into the saddle which only a moment before had seemed to be in forty places at once. "so you decided to be the whole show yourself instead! you're a dead game sport, commodore. bully for you!" cried durand, slipping from his mount to examine the "rigging of the commodore's craft." "do you want to try it again?" asked polly. "will a fish swim?" answered jean. "do you think i'm going to let this side-wheeler shipwreck me? not on your life, captain. clear out, the whole bunch of you chumps. if i've got to cross the equator i'll have the escort of ladies, not a bunch of rough-necks. beat it! you let a _girl_ overhaul and slow down this cruiser and now you're all ready to come in for a share of the salvage. get out! clear out! beat it! take 'em away, captain, and leave me the admiral. she can give everyone of you the lead by a mile and then overhaul you on the first tack. get out, for i'm going to take a riding lesson and i'm going to pay extra and have a private one." "yes, do go on ahead, and, polly, call roy. he is responsible for robin's capers but he will behave if you take him in charge." "come on, roy--and all other incorrigibles," laughed polly, unsnapping her second rein and slipping it around roy's silky neck. roy loved and obeyed polly almost as readily as peggy, and cavorted off beside her as gay as a grig. "we'll report heavy weather and a disabled ship, messmate," called ralph. "report and hanged. you'll see us enter port all skee and ship-shape, and don't you fool yourself, my cock sure wife (bancroft hall slang for a room-mate), so so-long. now come on, peggy, and put me wise to navigating this craft, for it has me beat to a standstill." "go on, people; we'll follow presently and when we overhaul you you'll be treated to a demonstration of expert horsemanship," called peggy after the laughing, joking group, her own and jean's laughs merriest of all. "now get busy in earnest," she said to the half-piqued lad, whose face wore an expression of "do or die" as he again mounted his steed. "you can just bet your last nickel i'm going to! great scott, do you think i'm going to let _this_ beat me out, or that yelling mob out yonder see me put out of commission? now fire away. show me how to keep my legs clamped and to sit in the saddle instead of on this beast's left ear." as peggy was a skilled teacher and jean an apt pupil the combination worked to perfection, and when in a half-hour's time they joined the main body of the cavalcade, jean had at least learned where a saddle rests and had trained his legs to "clamp" successfully. meanwhile, back on severndale's broad piazza peggy was the subject of a livelier discussion than she would have believed possible, and the upshot of it was a decision which carried neil stewart, mrs. harold, herself, and polly off to washington early the following morning to visit a school of which mrs. harold knew. mrs. stewart was very courteously asked to accompany the party of four, which was to spend three or four days in the capital, but mrs. stewart was distinctly chagrined at her failure to carry successfully to a finish the scheme which she felt she had so carefully thought out. alas, she could not understand that she sorely lacked the most essential qualities for its success--unselfishness, disinterestedness, the finer feeling of the older woman for the younger, and all that goes to make womanhood and maternal instinct what they should be. she felt that her reign at severndale was ended and nothing remained but to make as graceful a retreat as possible. so she declined the invitation, stating that she was very anxious to visit some friends in baltimore and would take this opportunity to do so, going by a later train. neil stewart did not press his invitation. he wanted mrs. harold and the girls to himself for a time and knowing that it would be his last opportunity to see them for many months, resolved to make the most of it. not by word or act had he expressed disapproval of mrs. stewart's rather extraordinary line of conduct since her arrival at severndale, though evidences of it were to be seen at every turn, and both harrison's and mammy's tongues were fairly quivering to describe in detail the experiences of the past month. harrison was wise enough not to criticise, but she lost no opportunity for asking if she were to carry out this, that, or some other order of mrs. stewart's, until poor neil lost his temper and finally rumbled out: "look here, martha harrison, how long have you been at severndale?" "nigh on to twenty years, sir, and full fifteen years with that blessed child's mother before she ever heard tell of this place. i took care of her, as right well you know, long before she was as old as miss peggy." "and have i ever ordered any changes made in her rules?" "none to my knowledge, sir. they was pretty sensible ones and there didn't seem any reason to change them." "well, you're pretty long-headed, and until you _do_ see reason to change 'em let 'em stand and quit pestering _me_. you're the exec. on this ship until i see fit to appoint a new one and when i think of doing that i'll give you due notice." but mammy would have exploded had she not expressed her views. harrison had chosen the moment when captain stewart had gone to his room just before supper that eventful sunday evening, but mammy spoke when she carried up to him the little jug of mulled cider for which severndale was famous and which, when cider was to be had, she had never failed to carry to "her boy," as neil stewart, in spite of his forty-six years, still seemed to old mammy. tapping at the door of his sitting-room, she entered at his "come in." she found him standing before a large silver-framed photograph of peggy's mother. it had been taken shortly before her death and when such a tragic ending to their ideal life had least been dreamed possible. a fancy-dress ball had been given by the young officers stationed at the academy and mrs. stewart had attended it gowned as "marie stuart," wearing a superb black velvet gown and the widely-known "marie stuart coif and ruff" of exquisite point de venice lace. she had never looked lovelier, or more stately in her life, and that night neil stewart was the proudest man on the ballroom floor. then he had insisted upon a famous washington photographer taking this beautiful picture and--well, it was the last ever taken of the wife he adored, for within another month she had dropped asleep forever. good old mammy's eyes were very tender as she looked at her boy, and instead of saying what she had come to say: "ter jist nachelly an' pintedly 'spress her min'," she went close to his side and looking at the lovely face smiling at her, said: "dar weren't never, an' dar ain' never gwine ter be no sich lady as dat a-one, massa neil, lessen it gwine be miss peggy. she favor her ma mo' an' mo' every day she livin', an' i wisht ter gawd her ma was right hyer dis minit fer ter _see_ it, dat i do." "amen! mammy," was captain stewart's reply. "peggy needs more than we can give her just now, no matter how hard we try. the trouble is she seems to have grown up all in a minute apparently while we have been thinking she was a child." neil stewart placed the photograph back upon the top of the bookshelf and sighed. "no, sir, _dat_ ain't it. deed tain't. she been a-growin' up dis long time, but we's been dozin' like, an' ain't had our eyes open wide 'nough. an' now we's all got shook wide awake by _somebody else_." mammy paused significantly. neil stewart frowned. "just as well maybe. but don't light into me. i'm all frazzled out now. harrison's hints are like eight inch shells; dr. llewellyn's like a highly charged electric battery; jerome fires a blunderbuss every ten minutes and even shelby and jess use pop-guns. good lord, are you going to let drive with a gatling? clear out and let me drink my cider in peace, and quit stewing, for i tell you right now the fire-brand which has kept the kettles boiling is going to be removed." "praise de lawd fo' _dat_ blessin' den. it was jist gwine ter make some of dem pots bile over if it had a-kep' on, yo' hyer me? good-night, massa neil, drink yo' cider an' thank de lawd fo' yo' mercies." "good-night, mammy. you're all right even if i do feel like smacking your head off once in a while. used to do it when i was a kid, you know, and can't drop the habit." the following morning the party of four set off for washington, polly sorely divided in her mind regarding her own wishes. to have peggy elsewhere than at severndale was a possibility which had never entered into her calculations. how would it seem to have no severndale to run out to? no peggy to pop into middie's haven? no boon companion to ride, walk, drive, skate with, or lead the old life which they had both so loved? polly did some serious thinking on the way to the big city, and wore such a sober face as they drew near the end of their journey that captain stewart asked, as he tweaked a stray lock which had escaped bonds: "what's going on inside this red pate? you look as solemn as an ostracized owl." "i'm trying to think how it is going to seem without peggy this winter and i don't like the picture even a little bit," and polly wagged the "red pate" dubiously. "better make up your mind to come along with your running-mate. by jove, that's a brain throb, peggy! how about it? can't you persuade this girl of ours to give up the co-ed plan back yonder in annapolis,--she knows all the seamanship and nav. that's good for her already,--and you'll need a room-mate up here at columbia heights school if we settle upon it," and captain stewart looked at polly half longingly, half teasingly. polly had grown very dear to the bluff, sincere man during her companionship with peggy, and had crept into a corner of his heart he had never felt it possible for anyone but peggy herself to fill. somehow, latterly when thinking and planning for peggy's well-being or pleasure, visions of polly's tawny head invariably rose before him, and polly's happy, sunny face was always beside the one he loved best of all. the two young girls had become inseparable in his thoughts as well as in reality. "oh, polly, will you? will you?" begged peggy, instantly fired with the wildest desire to have polly enter the school which it had been decided she should enter if at closer inspection it proved to be all the catalogues, letters and dozens of pamphlets sent to mrs. harold represented it to be. "if i go to the columbia heights school what will ralph say? and all the others, too? they'll say i've backed down on my co-ed plan and will run me half to death. besides, ralph needs me right there to let him know i'm keeping a lookout." "he doesn't need you half as much as this girl of mine needs you. you just let ralph do a little navigating for himself and learn that it's up to him to make good on his own account. he's man enough to; all he needs now is to find it out. will you let him do so by coming down here with peggy?" chapter vii columbia heights school as captain stewart asked the question which ended the last chapter the w. b. & a. electric car came to a standstill in the heart of washington and as he assisted his charges to descend the steps, polly was the last. as she placed her hand in his she looked straight into his kind eyes and said: "i'm just ready to fly all to bits. i love peggy and want to be with her; i love aunt janet and old crabtown and everything connected with it; i've always kept neck-and-neck with ralph in his work and i hate the thought of dropping out of it, but, oh, i do want to be with peggy." "come along out to the school and see what you think of it before you decide one way or the other; then talk it all over with your aunt and you won't go far amiss if you follow _her_ advice, little girl." "i'll do it," answered polly, with an emphatic wag of her head, and peggy who overheard her words nearly pranced with joy. hailing a taxicab captain stewart directed the chauffeur to drive them to an address in the outskirts of the city and away they sped. it was only a short run in that whirring machine over washington's beautiful streets and when the school was reached both peggy and polly exclaimed over the beauty of its situation, for columbia heights school was in the midst of spacious grounds, the buildings were substantial and attractive, giving the impression of ample space, all the fresh air needed by vigorous, rapidly developing bodies, and the sunshine upon which they thrive. beautiful walks and drives led in every direction and not far off lovely stony brook park lay in all the beauty of its golden october glow. mrs. harold and captain stewart were graciously welcomed by its charming principal who promptly led the way to her study, a great room giving upon a broad piazza, where green wicker furniture, potted plants and palms suggesting a tropical garden. when polly's eyes fell upon it she forgot all else, and cried impulsively: "oh, how lovely! can't we go right out there?" and then colored crimson. mrs. vincent smiled as she slipped an arm across polly's shoulder and asked: "are you to be my newest girl? if so, i think we would find something in common." polly raised her big eyes to the sweet, strong face smiling upon her and answered: "i hadn't even thought of coming until an hour ago. it was all planned for peggy, but, oh, dear, if i _only_ could be twins! how am i ever to be a co-ed in annapolis and a pupil here at the same time? yet i want dreadfully to be both, i'm so fond of peggy." "i fear we cannot solve that problem even in columbia heights school, though we try pretty hard to solve a good many knotty ones. suppose i talk it over with the grown-ups and meantime arrange for your entertainment by two or three of the girls. we think they are rather nice girls too," and mrs. vincent pressed an electric button which promptly brought a neat maid to the door. "hilda, ask miss natalie and miss marjorie to step to my study." within a few moments two girls appeared in the doorway, the taller one asking: "did you wish to see us, mother?" introductions followed, whereupon the principal said: "natalie, please take miss stewart and miss howland for a walk through the grounds. it is recreation period and they will like to meet the other girls and see the buildings also, i think. and remember, you are to picture everything in such glowing colors, and be so entertaining that they will think there is no other place in all the land half so lovely, for i have fully decided that we must have sweet p's in our posy bed. we have a rose, a violet, a lily, myrtle, hazel, marguerites,--oh, a whole flower garden already--but thus far no sweet-peas." "we will, mrs. vincent. please come with us," said marjorie cheerily, no trace of self-consciousness or the indefinable restraint so much oftener the rule than the exception between teacher and pupil. mrs. harold had been observing every word and action as it was a part of her nature to observe--yes, intuitively _feel_--every word and action of the young people with whom she came in touch, and the older ones who were likely to bring any influence to bear upon their lives, and this little scene did more to confirm her in the belief that she had not been amiss when she selected columbia heights school for peggy than anything else could have done. next to her husband, her sister and her nieces, peggy was the dearest thing in the world to her, and the past year had shown her what tremendous possibilities the future held for the young girl if wisely shaped for her. the two ensuing hours were pleasant and profitable for all concerned and when they ended and captain stewart and his party re-entered the taxicab to return to their hotel in washington, it was decided that peggy should come to columbia heights school on october fifteenth, but polly's decision was still in abeyance. she wished to have one of her long, quiet talks with her aunt before "shifting her holding ground," she said, and that could only be up in middie's haven, cuddled upon a hassock beside mrs. harold's easy chair, with the logs lazily flickering upon the brass andirons. so the ensuing two days in washington were given over to sightseeing and "a general blow-out," as captain stewart termed it, insisting that he could not have another for months and meant to make this one "an a- affair." then back they went to severndale where mrs. stewart, to their surprise, had returned the previous day, having failed to find her friend in baltimore. as she had already overstayed the length of time for which her invitation to severndale had been extended, she had no possible excuse for prolonging it, and deciding that her schemes had met with defeat largely owing to her own impolitic precipitation in forcing the situation, she did not mean to make an ignominious retreat. so, with well assumed suavity she told her brother-in-law that some urgent business matters claimed her attention in new york, and asked if he could complete his arrangements for peggy's departure without her aid, as she really ought to go north without delay. if neil stewart was amused by this sudden change in the lady's tactics, to his credit be it said that he did not betray any sign of it. he thanked her for her kind interest in peggy and his home, for all she had done for them, and left nothing lacking for her comfort upon her homeward journey, even shipping to the apartment in new york enough fruit, game and various other good things from severndale to keep her larder well supplied for weeks, and supplementing all these with a gift which would be the envy of all her friends. but when he returned to severndale after bidding the lady farewell at the station, he breathed one mighty sigh of relief. he had escaped a situation of which the outcome was a good deal more than problematical for everyone concerned, and most vital for peggy. then came busy days of preparation for peggy and polly, for the outcome of that fireside powwow had been a decision in favor of columbia heights school for polly also, for that winter at least, and when the fifteenth dawned bright and frosty, mrs. harold accompanied the girls to washington, captain stewart's leave having meantime expired. but he had gone back to his ship in a very different frame of mind from that in which he had returned to it in july, and with a comforting sense of security in the outcome of his present plans for peggy. the longer he knew mrs. harold the greater became his confidence in her judgment, and she had assured him that peggy should be her charge that winter exactly as polly was. moreover, mrs. harold had persuaded mrs. howland to close her house in montgentian for the winter and come to annapolis, bringing gail with her, for constance had decided to follow the _rhode island_ whenever it was possible for her to do so, and this decision left mrs. howland and gail alone in their home. so to wilmot hall came polly's mother and pretty sister, the former to spend a delightfully restful winter with her sister and the latter to take her first taste of the good times possible for a girl of twenty-one at the naval academy. the first breaking away from severndale was harder for peggy than anyone but mrs. harold guessed. somehow intuition supplied to her what actual words could never have conveyed, even had they been spoken, but peggy, once her resolution had been taken to go away to school, was not a girl to bewail her decision. and now she was a duly registered pupil at columbia heights with polly for her room-mate in number , her next-door neighbor natalie vincent, mrs. vincent's daughter, a jolly, honest, happy-go-lucky girl, who looked exactly as her mother must have looked at fifteen. a long line of rooms extended up and down, both sides of the corridor, the end one, no. , with its pretty bay-window overlooking the lawn and stony brook beyond, was occupied by stella drummond, a tall, striking brunette of eighteen. to the hundred-fifty girls in columbia heights school this story can only allude in a brief way but of those who figure most prominently in polly's and peggy's new world we'll let polly give the general "sizing-up." these girls were all about the same age, and, excepting stella, juniors, as were peggy and polly, whose previous work under tutors and in high school had qualified them to enter that grade at columbia heights. it was their first night at the school, and "lights-out" bell had rung at ten o'clock, but a glorious october moon flooded the room with a silvery light, almost as bright as day. peggy in one pretty little white bed and polly in the one beside it were carrying on a lively whispered conversation. "well, we're _here_," was polly's undisputable statement as she snuggled down under her bed-covers, "and now that we are what do you think of it?" "i'm glad we've come. it will seem a lot different, and rather queer to do everything by rules and on time, but, after all, we had to do almost everything by rule up home." "yes, but they were nearly always our _own_ rules; yours, anyway. why, peggy, i don't believe there is a girl in this school who ever had things as much her own way as you have had them." "maybe that's the reason i didn't get along with aunt katherine," answered peggy whimsically. "aunt katherine!" polly's whisper suggested italics. "do you know miss sturgis, the math. teacher, makes me think of her a little. miss sturgis is strong-minded, i'll bet a cookie. did you hear what she said when she was giving out our books on sociology--doesn't it seem funny, peggy, for us to take up sociology?--'she hoped we would become good american citizens and realize woman's true position in the world.' somehow i've thought tanta has always had a pretty clear idea of 'woman's position in the world.' at any rate she seems to have plenty to do in her own quiet way and i've an idea that if anyone ever hinted that she ought to go to the polls and vote she'd feel inclined to spell it pole and use it to 'beat 'em up' with, as ralph and the boys would say. oh, dear, how we are going to miss 'the bunch,' peggy." "we certainly are," was peggy's sympathetic reply, and for a moment there was silence in the moonlit room as the girls' thoughts flew back to annapolis. then peggy asked: "what do you think of the girls? you've been to school all your life, but it is all new to me." polly laughed a low, little laugh, then replied: "they are about like most school-girls, i reckon. let's see, which have we had most to do with since we came here twenty-four hours ago? there's rosalie breeze. she's named all right, sure enough, and if she doesn't turn out a hurricane we'll be lucky. we had one just like her up at high. and lily pearl montgomery. my gracious, what a name to give a girl! she needs stirring up. she's just like a big, fat, spoiled baby. i feel like saying 'goo-goo' to her." "don't you think juno gibson is handsome?" asked peggy. "just as handsome as she can be, but i wish she didn't look so discontented all the time. why, she hasn't smiled once since we came." "i wonder why not?" commented peggy. "maybe we'll find out after we've been here a while. but i tell you one thing, i like her better without any smiles than that silly helen gwendolyn doolittle with her everlasting affected giggling at nothing. she is the kind to do some silly thing and make us all ashamed of her." "how about stella drummond?" "she is a puzzle to me. doesn't she seem an awful lot older than the rest of us? rosalie says she is eighteen and that's not so much older, but she seems about twenty-five. i wonder why?" "maybe she has lived in cities all her life and gone out a lot. you know most of the girls we met up at new london seemed so much older too, yet they really were not. they looked upon us as children, though the little mother said we were years older in common sense while they were years older in worldly experience,--i wonder what she meant?" "tanta meant that we had stayed young girls and could enjoy fun and frolic as much as ever, but those girls were not satisfied with anything but dances and theatres and all sorts of grown-up things. we have our fun with our horses, dogs and the nonsense with the boys up home. we want our skirts short and our hair flying and to romp when we feel like it." "picture helen or lily pearl romping," and peggy dove under the covers to smother her laughter at the thought of the fat, pudgy lily pearl attempting anything of the sort. polly snickered in sympathy and then said in her emphatic way: "i tell you, peggy, which girls i _do_ like and i think they will like us: marjorie terry and natalie vincent. marjorie is awfully sober and quiet, i know, but _i_ believe she's sort of lonely, or homesick or something. natalie seems more like our own kind than any girl in the school and i'll wager my tennis racquet she'll be lots of fun if she is the principal's daughter. but we'd better go to sleep this minute. we've made a sort of hash of seven girls, and if we try to size up the whole school this way it will be broad daylight before we finish. good-night. it's sort of nice to be here after all, and nicer still to have you for a room-mate, old peggoty." an appreciative little laugh was the only answer to this and five minutes later the moon was looking in upon a picture hard to duplicate in this great world: two sweet, unspoiled, beautiful girls in the first flush of untroubled slumber. the following morning being saturday and peggy's and polly's belongings having arrived, the girls set about arranging their room, half a dozen others having volunteered assistance. for convenience in reaching "up aloft" peggy and polly had slipped off their waists and were arrayed in kimonos which aroused the envy of their companions. captain stewart had given them to his "twins" as he now called the girls. peggy's was the richest shade of crimson embroidered in all manner of golden gods and dragons; polly's pale blue with silver chrysanthemums. "oh, _where_ did they come from?" cried natalie. "daddy neil brought them to us," answered peggy, as she stepped toward the door to take an armful of pictures and pillows from old jess who had followed his young mistress to washington to care for shashai and silver star, the horses having been sent on also, for columbia heights school had large stables for the accommodation of riding or driving horses for the use of its pupils, or they could bring their own if they preferred. so shashai and silver star had been ridden down by jess, taking the journey in short, easy stages, and arriving the previous evening. tzaritza, to her astonishment had not been allowed to accompany them, and roy was inconsolable for days. peggy's departure from severndale had left many a grieving heart behind. "what i gwine do wid all dis hyer truck, missie-honey?" asked jess, coming in from the corridor with a second armful: riding-crops, silver bits, a fox's brush, books and what not. "just plump it down anywhere, jess. we'll get round to it all in due time," laughed peggy from her perch upon a small step-ladder where she was fastening up some hat-bands of the _rhode island_, _new hampshire_, _olympia_ and the ships which had comprised the summer practice squadron, the girls all gathered about her asking forty questions to the minute and wild with curiosity and excitement. never before had two "really, truly navy girls" been inmates of columbia heights and it sent a wild flutter through many hearts. what possibilities might lie at the annapolis end of the w. b. & a. railroad! jess's white woolly head was bent down over the armful of books he was placing upon the floor; peggy had returned to her decorating; polly had draped her flag upon the wall and was standing her beloved bugle and a long row of photographs upon book-shelves beneath it, several girls following her with little squeals of rapture, when a pandemonium of shrieks and screams arose down the corridor and the next second a huge creature bounded into the room, tipping jess and his burden heels over head, and flinging itself upon peggy. down came ladder, peggy, and the white mass in a heap, the girls scattering in a shrieking panic to whatever shelter seemed to offer, confident that nothing less than a wolf had invaded the fold. but tzaritza was no wolf even if her beautiful snowy coat was mud-bedraggled and stuck full of burrs, nor was peggy being "devoured alive," as lily pearl, who had actually _run_ for once in her life, was hysterically sobbing into mrs. vincent's arms. no, peggy, rather promiscuous as to ladder, hammer, hat-bands and general paraphernalia, was lying flat upon her back, her arms around tzaritza, half-sobbing, half-laughing her joy into the beautiful creature's silky neck, while tzaritza whimpered and whined for joy and licked and dabbed her mistress with a moist tongue. "it is a wolf! a wolf!" shrieked lily pearl, who had returned to the scene, "and he is killing her." "it is a horrid, dirty dog! why doesn't that man drive him out?" demanded miss sturgis, who had followed tzaritza hot foot, having been in the main hall when the great hound went tearing through and up the stairs, nose and ears having given her the clue to her mistress' whereabouts. "no, it's only a wolf_hound_!" laughed polly, dropping her pictures to fly across the room and fall upon tzaritza. then explanations followed. tzaritza had been left in shelby's care, but finding it impossible to restrain her when jess was about to leave with the horses, he had tied her in the barn. the rope was bitten through as clean as a thread and tzaritza's coat told of the long journey on the horses' trail. after her wild demonstrations of joy had calmed down, tzaritza stood panting in the middle of the wreck which her cyclonic entrance had brought about, her great eyes pleading eloquently for restored favor. polly still clasped her arms about the big shaggy neck, while miss sturgis alternately protested and commanded jess to "remove that dirty creature at once." happily, mrs. vincent entered the room at this juncture and it must have been the god of animals, of which kipling tells us, which inspired tzaritza's act at that moment. or was it something in the fine, strong face which children and animals in common all trust with subtle intuition? at all events, tzaritza looked at mrs. vincent just one moment and then greeted her exactly as at home she would have greeted dr. llewellyn or captain stewart; by rising upon her hind legs, placing her forepaws upon mrs. vincent's shoulders and nestling her magnificent head into the amazed woman's neck as confidingly as a child would have done. a less self-contained woman would have been frightened half to death. miss sturgis came near swooning but mrs. vincent just gathered the great dog into her arms as she would have gathered one of her girls and said: "without the power of human speech you plead your cause most eloquently, you beautiful creature. peggy, has she ever been separated from you before, dear?" "never, mrs. vincent. she has slept at my door since she was a wee puppy." "she shall be appointed guardian of the west wing of columbia heights, and may turn out a guardian for us all. now, jess, take her to the stables and make her presentable to polite society. poor tzaritza, your journey must have been a long, hard, dusty one, for your silken fringes have collected many souvenirs of it." chapter viii a riding lesson in spite of the sturgeon's protests that "it was _most_ impolitic to establish a precedent in the school," tzaritza became a duly enrolled member of the establishment, and from that moment slept at peggy's door, a welcome inmate of columbia heights. welcome at least, to all but one person. miss sturgis loathed all animals. in the ensuing weeks peggy and polly slipped very naturally into their places. in her own class and in the west wing natalie vincent had always been the acknowledged leader, for, even though the daughter of the principal, not the slightest partiality was ever shown her and she was obliged to conform as strictly to the rules as any girl in the school. she was full of fun, eternally in harmless mischief, and, of course, eternally being taken to task for her misdeeds. by the usual order of the attraction of opposites marjorie terry and natalie had formed a warm friendship. marjorie the quiet, reserved, rather shrinking girl from seattle. she never joined in any of natalie's wild pranks, but on the other hand was a safe confidant, and if she could not follow her more spontaneous friend's lead, she certainly never balked or betrayed her. the other girls had christened them positive and negative and they certainly lived up to their names. the girls whom peggy and polly had discussed so frankly the night after their arrival all roomed in the west wing. stella in her own large, handsome room, for her father was manager of an immense railroad system in the middle west. rosalie breeze and oh "cursed spite!" isabel boylston--"_is_-a-bel," as she pronounced it,--roomed together and squabbled incessantly. at least, rosalie did the squabbling, _is_-a-bel affected the superior, self-righteous air which acted upon rosalie's peppery temper as a red rag upon a bull. it was miss sturgis, of course, who had advised placing them together. isabel was a great favorite of miss sturgis, and rosalie was the reverse. mrs. vincent had not entirely approved the arrangement, but the school was unusually crowded this year and two of the girls' parents had insisted upon single rooms for their daughters. juno gibson, from new york, had announced very positively that unless she could have a room to herself in columbia heights school she would pack her three trunks and go elsewhere, and papa gibson was not in the habit of disputing his daughter's will or wishes unless they conflicted with his own. in this matter he didn't care a straw, so miss juno was not compelled to have "a dozen girls eternally under foot and ruining my clothes by crowding the closets full of theirs." lily pearl, "tootsy-wootsy," as her companions had dubbed her, roomed with helen gwendolyn doolittle, "cutie," and a sweet, sentimental pair they made, though helen spent every possible moment with the latest object of her adoration, stella drummond, for whom she had instantly conceived an overwhelming infatuation; a pronounced school-girl "crush." of the other girls in the school only a passing glimpse need be given. saturday afternoons were always perfectly free at columbia heights, and the girls could do practically as they chose. there was one rule, or rather the absence of it, which had appealed very strongly to mrs. harold and gone a long way toward biasing her choice in favor of the school. if the girls wished to go into the city--that is, the girls in the sophomore, junior and senior grades--to do shopping or make calls, they were entirely at liberty to do so unattended by a teacher, though mrs. vincent must, of course, know where they were going. with very rare exceptions this rule had always worked to perfection. the very fact that they might do as they chose, and were put upon their honor to uphold the reputation and dignity of the school, usually acted as an incentive to them to do so, whereas the eternal surveillance and suspicion of the average school acts as a mighty inspiration to circumvent all regulations. another pleasant feature of saturday afternoons were the long riding excursions through the beautiful surrounding country, with a groom accompanying the party and with one of the girls acting as riding mistress. besides peggy and polly, stella was the only girl who had her own horse at columbia heights, the others riding those provided by the school. they were good horses and the riding-master, albert dawson, was supposed to be a good man, conscientious, painstaking, careful. he was conventional to a degree. he taught the english seat, the english rise, the english gait, and his horses were all docked and hogged in the english fashion. dawson would doubtless have taught them to drop their h's as he himself did, had he been able to do so. when shashai and silver star arrived upon the scene, manes and forelocks long and silky as a girl's hair, tails almost sweeping the ground and flowing free, poor dawson nearly died of outraged conventions, though he was forced to admit that the columbia heights stables held no horseflesh to compare with these thoroughbreds. "but oh, my 'eart, look at that mess o' 'air and mind their paces. they lopes along for all the world like them blooming little jackals we used to 'ave bout in hindia when i was in 'is lordship's service. they'd ruin my reputation if they was to be seen in the row," he deplored to jess, who was grooming his pets as carefully as old mammy would have brushed peggy's hair. jess gave a derisive snort. he had lived a good many more years than dawson and his experience with horseflesh was an exceptionally wide one. "well, yo'-all needn't be a troublin' yo' sperrits 'bout de gait ob dese hyer horses. dey kin set de pace fo' all dat truck yonder, an' don' yo' fergit dat fac'. yo's got some fairly-middlin'-good ones hyer," and jess nodded toward the stalls, "but dey's just de onery class, not de quality. no-siree. now, honey, don' yo' go fer ter git perjectin' none cause i'se praisin' yo' to yo' face. tain't good manners fer ter take notice when yo's praised. yo' mistiss 'll tell yo' dat," admonished jess, as shashai reached forward and plucked his cap from his head. "yo' gimme dat cap, yo' hyer me!" but shashai's teeth held it firmly as he tossed it playfully up and down, to jess' secret delight in his pet's cleverness, though he outwardly affected strong disapproval, after the manner of his race. the horses were like playful, fearless children with him, and jess was bursting with pride at the result of his handiwork. and certainly, it was worth looking upon, for no finer specimens of faultlessly groomed horseflesh could have been found in the land. "yes, but think of the figure i'll be cutting when i take my young ladies for a turn in the park or on the havenue," protested dawson. "couldn't ye just knot hup them tails a bit, and mebbe braid that fly-away mane down along the crest? if i'm bordered to take my young ladies into the park or the city this hafternoon, i swear i'll hexpire of mortification with them 'orses." but this was too much for jess. dawson had at last touched the match, and he caught the full force of jess's wrath: "sp-sp-spire ob--ob mortification! shamed ob dese hyer hosses! frettin' cause yo's gotter 'scort a pair of animals what's got pedigrees dat reach back ter noah's ark eanemost! why, dey blood kin make you-all's look lak mullen sap, an' dey manners, even if dey ain' nothin' but hosses, jist natchelly mak' yo' light clean outer sight. sho'! go long, chile! yo' gotter live some. dar, it done struck five bells--_dat_ mean ten-thirty, unerstan'--an' you's gotter git half-a-dozen ob yo' bob-tailed nags ready fo' de ridin' lessons yo' tells me yo' gives de yo'ng ladies at _six_ bells,--_dat's_ eleben o'clock,--sattidy mawnin's. i's pintedly cur'us fer ter see dem lessons, _i_ is. lak 'nough befo' de mawnin's ober _yo'll_ take a lesson yo'-self," and jess ended his tirade by throwing an arm across each silky neck and saying to his charges: "now, come 'long wid ole jess, honeys. yo's gwine enter high sassiety presen'ly, and yo's gotter do severndale credit. yo' hyer me?" poor dawson was decidedly perturbed in his mind. hitherto he had been the autocrat of "form and fashion," the absolute dictator of the proper style. under his ordering, horses had been bought for the school, cropped, docked and trimmed on the most approved lines, until nothing but a hopeless, forlorn stubble indicated that they had once boasted manes or forelocks, and poor little affairs like whisk-brooms served for tails, or rather did not serve, especially in fly-time. but that was a minor consideration. fashion's dictates were obeyed. with the aid of his grooms dawson soon had five horses saddled and bridled, curbs rattling and saddles creaking. there were only two cross saddles. then he turned to jess. "ye'd better be gettin' them hanimals ready, for i dare say i've to give the young ladies their lessons too." "hi-ya!" exploded jess. then added: "come 'long, babies, an' git dressed up. yo' all's gwine git yo' summons up yonder presen'ly." shashai and star obediently walked over to the bar upon which their light headstalls hung, sniffed at them with long audible breaths, then each selecting his own carried it to jess in his teeth. "well, hi'll be blowed!" murmured dawson. jess pretended not to notice, but saying unconcernedly: "dat's all right. now put 'em on lak gentlemen," he held one in each hand toward his pets. they took the bits in their mouths, slipped their heads into the headstalls and then waited for jess to buckle the throat-latches, for that was a trifle beyond them. "now fotch yo' saddles," ordered jess, pleased to the point of foolishness. the horses went to the saddle blocks, selected their saddles, lifted them by the little pommel and carried them to jess like obedient children. no mother was ever more gratified than jess. "now honeys, yo' stan' right whar yo's at twell yo' summons come from over yander. yo's gwine hyar it all right," and with this parting admonition to good behavior, jess went unconcernedly about his business of putting away the articles of his pets' toilets. "they'll be a-boltin' and raisin' the very mischief if you leave them alone," warned dawson. "what dat yo' say? i reckons yo' ain' got _yo'_ horses trained like we-all back yonder got _ours_. paht ob dey eddications must a-been neglected ef dey gotter be tied up ter keep 'em whar yo' wants 'em fer ter _stay_ at. yo' need'n worry 'bout shashai and star. _dey's_ got sense." dawson vouchsafed no reply. one must be tolerant with garrulous old niggers, but he'd keep an "hey on them 'orses" all the same. the riding school used in stormy weather and the circle for fine, were not far from the house. at five minutes before eleven the girls who were to have their saturday morning lessons prior to the ride in the afternoon, went over to the school and an electric bell notified dawson that his young ladies awaited their mounts. with due decorum and self-importance he and henry, the groom, led the horses from the stable, dawson calling over his shoulder: "you'd better come on with your harabs, i can't be waitin' with my lessons." "we-all'll come 'long when we's bid," was jess' cryptic retort. dawson scorned to reply, but mounted on his big dapple-gray horse, duke, body bent forward and elbows out, creaked away. when he reached the big circle where a group of girls stood upon the platform for mounting, peggy and polly, in their trim little divided skirts, looked inquiringly for shashai and silver star. peggy asked: "are our horses ready, dawson?" "yes, miss, i believe so, miss, but your man seemed to think i'd best let you ring, or do--well, i don't rightly know _what_ 'ee hexpected you to do, miss. but 'ee didn't let me bring the 'orses, beggin' your pardon, miss." "oh, that's all right, dawson; jess is just silly about the horses and us. you mustn't mind his little ways. it's only because he loves us all so dearly. besides it isn't necessary for anyone to bring them. i'll call them," and placing a little silver bo's'n's whistle to her lips peggy "piped to quarters." it was instantly answered by two loud neighs and the thud of rapid hoofbeats as shashai and silver star came sweeping up the broad driveway from the stables, heads tossing, manes waving and tails floating out like streamers. the girls with peggy and polly clapped their hands and shrieked with delight. "one bell, shashai! halt, star!" cried peggy and polly in a breath. the splendid animals came straight to them, stopped instantly, dropped to their knees and touched the ground with their soft muzzles in sign of obeisance. the girls all scrambled off the platform as one individual, riding lesson and everything else utterly forgotten; here was a new order of things hitherto utterly undreamed of in the school. it had been a case of "pigs is pigs" or "horses is horses" with them. that the animals they were learning to ride _à la mode_ might be something more than mere delightful machines of transportation had never entered their heads. "oh, how did you make them do it? will you show us? will any horse come if you know how to call him? can they all do that? didn't it take you forever and ever to teach them? aren't they beauties! what are they trying to do now?" were the questions rattling like hail about peggy's and polly's ears. for answer peggy opened a little linen bag which she carried, handing to polly three lumps of sugar and taking three out for her own pet. the horses crunched them with a relish, their light snaffle bits acting as only slight impediments to their mastication. "do you always give them sugar? oh, please give us some for our horses," begged the girls. "young ladies, i don't 'old with givin' the 'orses nothin' while in 'arness and a-mussin' them up. they'll be a-slobberin' themselves a sight," expostulated dawson. "but miss stewart's and miss howland's horses are not slobbered up," argued natalie. "they've not got curb bits. just them snaffles which is as good as none whatever," was dawson's scornful criticism. "well, why must ours have curbs if theirs don't," argued juno gibson, whose habitual frown seemed to have somewhat lessened during the past five minutes. if juno had a single soft spot in her heart it was touched by animals. she did not have a horse of her own, though she insisted upon always having the same mount, to dawson's opposition, for he contended that to become expert horsewomen his pupils must change their mounts and become accustomed to different horses. in the long run the argument was a good one, but miss juno did not yield readily to arguments. therefore she invariably rode lady belle, a light-footed little filly, with a tender mouth and nervous as a witch. her big gentle eyes held a constant look of appeal, she was chafed incessantly by the heavy chain curb, and if anyone approached her suddenly she started back, jerking up her head as though in terror of a blow. but with juno she was tractable as a lamb, and the pretty creature's whole expression changed when the girl was riding her. juno had a light, firm hand upon the bit and in spite of dawson's emphatic orders to "'old 'er curb well in 'and perpetual," she rarely used it, and lady belle obeyed her lightest touch. "our 'orses are 'arnessed as they had orter be, miss gibson, and as the queen 'erself rides them in the hold country. 'hi'm doing my best to teach you young ladies proper, and i can't 'old with some of these loose hamerican 'abits. they wouldn't be 'eld with for a minute in the row." "oh, a fig for your old row, dawson! _we're_ all american girls and there's more snap-to in us in one of your 'minutes' than in all the english girls i've ever seen in my life, and i've seen a good many--_too_ many for my peace of mind. i lived there two years," broke in rosalie breeze. "i'll bet miss howland and miss stewart can show you some stunts in riding which would make your old queen's eyes pop out. why don't you quote helen taft to us instead of queen mary? we don't care a whoop for the queen of england, but helen taft is just a yankee girl like ourselves and we can see her ride almost any day if we want to. she is big enough for us to see, goodness knows. but come on, girls. let's do our stunts," and rosalie scrambled upon the platform once more, ready to mount jack-o'-lantern, the horse she was to ride. meanwhile lady bell sniffing something eatable, had drawn near peggy, half doubtful, half trustful. at that instant peggy turned rather quickly, entirely unaware of the filly's approach. with a frightened snort the pretty creature started back. peggy grasped the situation instantly. she made a step forward, raised her arm, drew the silky neck within her embrace, whispered a few words into the nervously alert ear, and the hour was won. lady belle nestled to her like a sensitive, frightened child. "'ave a care, miss stewart! 'ave a care! she's a snappy one," warned dawson with bristling importance as he turned from settling _is_-a-bel boylston upon a big, white, heavy-footed horse, where she managed to keep her place with all the grace of outline and poise of a meal sack. now peggy had been sizing things up pretty thoroughly during the past fifteen minutes, and her conclusions were not flattering to dawson. there was a cut upon lady belle's sensitive nostril which told its little story to her. jack-o'-lantern's hoofs were varnished most beautifully, but when he lifted them one glimpse told peggy the condition of the frogs. the silver mounting upon "the senator's," isabel's horse's harness were shining, but his bit was rusty and untidy. a dozen little trifles testified to dawson's superficiality, and peggy had been mistress of a big paddock too long to let this popinjay lord it over one whom he sized up as "nothin' but a school girl." consequently, her reply to his warning slightly upset his equanimity. "you need not be alarmed, dawson, but if lady belle turns fractious i'll abide the consequences." "yes, miss, yes, miss, but _'hi'm_ responsible, you understand." "what for? the horse's well-being or mine? i'll relieve you of mine, and give you more time to care for the horses. lady belle's muzzle seems to have suffered slightly. jack-o'-lantern's hoofs need your attention, and at severndale a bit like the senator's would mean a bad quarter of an hour for _some_body. so, you'd have a hard time 'holding down your job' there. that's pure american slang. do you understand it?" and shrugging her shoulders slightly, peggy cried: "come on, girls! we're wasting loads of time. attention, shashai! right dress! right step! front! steady!" as peggy spoke, shashai and silver star sprang side by side, then stood like statues. at "right dress" they turned their heads toward the group of horses. at "right step," they closed up until they stood in perfect line beside them. at "front," "steady" they stood facing the two girls, waiting the next command. "come up to the platform. come up and be ready to mount, young ladies," ordered dawson. "we'll mount when you give the word," answered polly, her hand, like peggy's, upon her horse's withers. "you'll never be able to from the ground, miss." a ringing laugh from the girls, sudden springs and they were in their saddles. "four bells!" they cried and swept away around the ring, their gay laughter flung behind them to where their companion's horses were fidgeting and chafing under dawson's highly conventional restraint, while that disconcerted man whose veneer had so promptly been penetrated by peggy's keen vision, forgot himself so far as to mutter under his breath: "these hamerican girls are the limit, and i'm in for a ---- of a time if i don't mind my hey. and she miss stewart of severndale, and i not hon to that before! 'ere's a go and no mistake." chapter ix common sense and horse sense as has no doubt already been suspected, alfred dawson, riding master at the columbia heights school, was such a complete impostor that he actually imposed upon himself. he is by no means the only one on record. oddly enough we are all more or less impostors, blind to our own pet foibles, deluded as to our own little weaknesses. dawson's methods with his charges, both two-footed and four, were the methods of thousands of others, whether they have the directing of young people, or the training of animal's entrusted to them. like grains of corn--pour them into a hopper and they come out at the other end meal--of some sort--good--bad or indifferent as it happens--that was not _his_ concern; his job was to pour in the grains and he knew of but one way to pour--just as someone else had poured before him. that he might devise new and better methods of pouring never entered his square-shaped head. it was left for a fifteen-year-old girl, and an old darky, whom in his secret heart he regarded as no better than the dirt beneath his feet, to start volcanic eruptions destined to shake the very foundations of his self-complacence. hitherto he had simply been lord of his realm. he had come to columbia heights highly recommended by the father of one of its pupils and had assumed undisputed control. mrs. vincent, like hundreds of other women who own horses, but who know about as much concerning their care and well-being as they know of what is needful for a rajah's herd of elephants, judged wholly by the outward evidences. the horses came to the house in seemingly faultless condition: their coats shone, their harness seemed immaculate; they behaved in a most exemplary manner. nor had anything ever happened to the young ladies while they were in dawson's care. what more could a conscientious school principal ask of her riding master? it had never occurred to her to appear in the stables when least expected; to examine harness, saddles, stalls, feed mangers, bedding; to study the expressions of her horses' faces as she would have studied her girls. how many women ever think of doing so? it never entered her head to argue that there was more reason for it. few of her girls would have hesitated to express their minds had any one misused them, or to insist upon comfortable conditions should uncomfortable ones exist for them. yet mrs. vincent, sweet, strong, kind, and just to everyone, was as blind as a babe to the impositions practiced by the oily-tongued, deferential dawson. true, he did 'get upon her nerves' now and again, but she secretly reproached herself for what she felt to be her american prejudices, and by way of self-discipline overlooked in dawson many little aggravating peculiarities which she would have felt it her duty to instantly correct in the other servants. and no doubt things would have gone on in exactly the same way indefinitely had not a little lassie who loved horses and animals as she loved human beings, and whose understanding of them and their understanding of her was almost uncanny, chosen columbia heights school for her alma mater. that was a red letter hour for dawson. he had a vague feeling that some influence, perhaps his evil genius, was bestirring itself. at all events, he was ill at ease, something of his accustomed self-conceit was lacking and he was, as the result, somewhat irritable, though he dared not manifest open resentment. now it need hardly be stated that peggy had no premeditated intention of antagonizing the man. he meant no more to her than dozens of other grooms, for after all he was merely an upper servant, but her quick eyes had instantly made some discoveries which hurt her as a physical needle prick would have hurt her. peggy had employed too many men at severndale under shelby's wonderful judgment and experience of both men and animals, not to judge pretty accurately, and _most_ intuitively, the type of man mounted upon big, gray "duke." duke's very ears and eyes told peggy and polly a little story which would have made dawson's pale blue eyes open wider than usual could he have translated it. as peggy and polly went cavorting away across the ring, dawson called rather peremptorily: "young ladies, you will be good enough to come back and take your places beside the others. this is a riding lesson, not a circus show, _hif_ you please." polly shot a quick glance at peggy. there was the slightest possible pressure of their knees and shashai and silver star glided back to their places beside the other four horses. "now you will please 'old your reins and your bodies as the other young ladies do," commanded dawson. "never could do it in this world, dawson. i'd have a crick in my back in two minutes. besides, we're not out here for lessons, miss stewart and i, but just as spectators. we'll look on and see the other girls learn the proper caper," laughed polly. "then i can't for the life of me hunderstand why you came hout at all. hit's just a-stirrin' hup and a-fidgeting the other 'orses. they're not used to the goin's hon of 'alf broke hanimals." "half broken! it seems to me, dawson, that most horses are _wholly_ broken but very few wholly _trained_. if we disturb the others, however, we'll go off for a spin by ourselves. come, polly. full speed, tzaritza! four bells, shashai!" and away sped the trio, tzaritza, like the obedient creature she was, bounding from the platform where peggy had bidden her "charge," lest she startle the horses. "i'll hopen the gate for you, miss," dawson hastened to call, a trifle doubtful as to whether he had not been just a little too dictatorial. "no need. this gate is nothing," called peggy and as one, they skimmed over the four-foot iron gate as though it were four inches, hands waving, eyes alight, lips parted in gay laughter. tzaritza's joyful bark mingling with their voices as she rushed away. the girls' cries of admiration or amazement drowned dawson's: "well, 'hi'll be blowed! hi couldn't a done hit like that to save me 'ead," which was quite true, for very few could ride as these young girls rode. meanwhile back in the circle two of dawson's pupils were expressing themselves without reserve. "i mean to learn to ride like _that_," announced rosalie breeze. "the idea of bouncing up and down in a stupid old side-saddle when we could just as well sit as polly and peggy do. why, i never saw anything as graceful as those two girls in my life. can't _you_ show me how, dawson? if you can't you can just make up your mind i am going to find someone who _can_. jack-o'-lantern's sure enough disgusted with _this_ show-down, and i believe that's the reason he has no more spirit than a bossy-cow." "i'm going to speak to mrs. vincent," announced juno. "this may be all very conventional and correct, but all i can do is rise and fall in a trot; i'm petrified if lady belle breaks into a canter, and if she were to leap over that fence, i'd break my neck. yet did you ever _see_ anything so graceful as those two girls and that magnificent dog when they went over? i tell you, girls, we've got something worth while in this school now, believe me. and just you wait!" and with this cryptic ending juno jockeyed ahead of her companions. "i wish mother could have seen and heard it all," whispered natalie. "then why don't you tell her, and ask her to come out and see those girls ride," demanded rosalie. "that's exactly what i mean _to_ do," replied natalie, with an emphatic little nod. "i'm beginning to believe we don't know half we should know about the stables." "i should imagine that mrs. vincent would be a far better judge of what was proper for young ladies than a couple of perfectly lawless girls who have been brought up on a southern ranch or something. _i_ call them perfect hoydens and they would not be countenanced a moment in the back bay," was isabel's superior opinion. "a southern ranch?" echoed rosalie, "you're mixed in your geography, isabel. they have plantations and estates in the south, but the ranches are out west. but i don't wonder you prefer bumping along as you do on the old senator. you match him all right, all right. but just you wait until we leave you behind when we've learned to ride like peggy and polly, for we're going to do it, you can just bet your best hat." "thank you, i never indulge in betting or slang. both are vulgar in the extreme. and as to riding like a circus performer, i have higher aims in life." "going in for the trapeze? they say it's fine to reduce embonpoint." no reply was made to rosalie's gibe and the lesson went on in its usual uneventful manner. meanwhile peggy and polly were having a glorious game of tag, for the columbia heights grounds were very extensive, and drives led in every direction. when pursued and pursuer were in a perfect gale of merriment, and tzaritza giving way to her most joyous cavortings, a sudden turn brought them upon mrs. vincent. she was seated upon a rustic bench in one of the cosy nooks of the grounds and tzaritza, bounding ahead, was the first to see her, and tzaritza never forgot a kindness. the next second she had dropped upon the ground at mrs. vincent's feet, her nose buried in her forepaws--tzaritza's way of manifesting her allegiance and affection. then up she rose, rested her feet upon the bench and for the second time laid her head upon mrs. vincent's shoulder. before that gratified lady had time to do more than place an arm about the big dog's neck, peggy's and polly's chargers had come to a halt in front of her and at word of command stood as still as statues. the girls slipped from the horses' backs, as bonny a pair as ever thrilled an older woman's soul. "oh, mrs. vincent, we've had such a race!" cried polly, smiling into mrs. vincent's face with her irresistible smile. "isn't it good just to be alive on such a day?" smiled peggy, turning to her as she would have turned to mrs. harold, her face alight. aunt katherine had been peggy's only "wet blanket" and, it had not been wrapped about her long enough to destroy her absolute confidence in grown-ups. perhaps miss sturgis would threaten it, but all that lay in the future. "and to be just fifteen with all the world before you, and such animals beside you," answered mrs. vincent, stroking tzaritza and nodding toward the horses. "yes, aren't they just the dearest ever? who could help loving them?" "will they stand like that without being tied?" "oh, yes, they have always obeyed me perfectly. i wish you could see roy and the others. some day you must come out to severndale, mrs. vincent, and see my four-footed children. i've such a lot of them." "tell me something of your home and home-life, dear. we are not very well acquainted, you know, and that is a poor beginning." it was a subject dear to peggy's heart, and she needed no urging. seated beside mrs. vincent, for half an hour she talked of her life at severndale, polly's interjections supplying little side-lights which mrs. vincent was quick to appreciate, though polly did not realize how they emphasized peggy's picture of her home. "and you really raised those splendid horses yourself? i have never seen their equal." "but if you only knew how wonderfully intelligent they are, mrs. vincent! of course, silver star is now polly's horse, but she has learned to understand him so perfectly, and ride so beautifully, that he loves her as well as he loves me and obeys her as well." for a moment or two mrs. vincent's face wore an odd expression. "understand" a horse? to be "loved" by one? did she "understand" those in her stable? did they "love" her? she almost smiled. it was such a new viewpoint. yet, why not? the animals upon her place were certainly entirely dependent upon her for their happiness and comfort. but had she ever given that fact a serious thought? slipping an arm about each girl as they sat beside her she asked: "what do you think of our horses, and of dawson? for a little fifteen-year old lassie you seem to have had a remarkable experience." peggy colored, but polly blurted out: "i think he's a regular old hypocrite and so does peggy. why, shelby would have forty fits if any of our horses' feet were like jack-o'-lantern's, or their bits as dirty as the senator's." "oh, polly, please don't!" begged peggy. but it was too late. "what is this?" asked mrs. vincent quickly. "well, i dare say i've made a mess of the whole thing. i generally do, but peggy and i do love animals so and hate to see them abused." "are _ours_ abused, polly?" "i don't suppose that generally speaking people would say they were. most everybody would say they were mighty well cared for, but that's because people don't stop to think a thing about it. my goodness, _i_ didn't till peggy made me. a horse was just a horse to me--any old horse--if he could pull a wagon or hold somebody on his back. that he could actually _talk_ to me never entered my head. have you ever seen one _do_ it?" asked polly, full of eager enthusiasm. "i can't say that i ever have," smiled mrs. vincent, and polly quickly retorted, though there was no trace of disrespect in her words: "now you are laughing at us. i knew you would. well, no wonder, most people would think us crazy for saying such a thing. but truly, mrs. vincent, we're not. peggy, make shashai and star talk to you. i'd do it, only i'd sort of feel as though i were taking the wind out of your sails. you are the teacher and i'm only your pupil." "do you really wish me to show you something of their intelligence, mrs. vincent? i feel sort of foolish--as though i were trying to show off, you know." "well, you are _not_, and i've an idea that for a few moments we can exchange places to good advantage. it looks as though i had spent a vast deal of my time acquiring a knowledge of higher mathematics and modern languages, at the expense of some understanding of natural history and now i'll take a lesson, please." "of course i don't mean to say that every animal can be taught all the things _our_ horses have learned any more than all children, can be equally taught. you don't expect as much of the child who has been, misused and neglected as you do of the one who has been raised properly and always loved. it depends a whole lot on that. our horses have never known fear and so we can do almost anything with them. shashai, star, come and make love to missie." as one the two beautiful creatures came to the seat and laid their soft muzzles upon peggy's shoulders. then raising their heads ran their velvety lips over her cheeks with as gentle, caressing a touch as a little child's fingers could have given, all the time voicing the soft, bubbling whinney of a trustful, happy horse. peggy reached an arm about each satiny head. after a moment she said: "attention!" back started both horses to stand as rigid as statues. "salute mrs. vincent." up went each splendid head and a clear, joyous neigh was trumpeted from the delicate nostrils. "call shelby!" what an alert expression filled the splendid eyes as the horses, actually a-quiver with excitement, neighed again, and again for the friend whom they loved, and looked inquiringly at peggy when he failed to appear. "where's jess?" eager, impatient snorts replied. peggy rose to her feet and carefully knotting, the reins upon the saddles' pommels to safeguard accidents, said: "go fetch him!" tzaritza was alert in an instant. "no, not you, tzaritza. charge. four bells, shashai,--star!" and away swept the horses. "do you mean to say they understand and will really bring jess here?" asked mrs. vincent incredulously. "oh, yes, indeed. they have done so dozens of times at home." "well, they are wonders!" the rapid hoofbeats were now dying away in the distance. perhaps ten minutes elapsed when their rhythmic beat was again audible, each second growing more distinct, then down the linden-bordered avenue came shashai and star, jess riding shashai. the horses moved as swiftly as birds fly. as they caught sight of peggy they neighed loudly as though asking her approbation. a lump of sugar awaited each obedient animal, and jess asked: "what yo' wantin' ob jess, baby-honey?" "just to prove to mrs. vincent that the horses would bring you here if i told them to." "co'se dey bring me if miss peggy bidden 'em to," answered jess as though surprised that she should ask such a needless question. "but how did you know she wished you?" "how'd i know, mist'ss? why dem hawses done _tol'_ me she want me. yas'm dey did. dey done come t'arin' back yonder ter de stable an' dey cotch holt ob my sleefs wid dey teefs, and dey yank and tug me 'long outen de do'. den dis hyer shashai, he stan' lak a statyer twell i hike me up on his back, den he kite away like de bery debbil--axes yo' pardon, ma'am!--an' hyer we-all _is_. dat's all de _how_ dar is ob it. _dey_ knows what folks 'specs ob 'em. dey's eddicated hawses. dey's been _raised_ right." "i think they have been. peggy, i want to walk back to the stables with you and polly. i'd like to see with my own eyes some of the things you have spoken about." "o mrs. vincent, i am so afraid it will make a whole lot of trouble! dawson knows i criticised him--indeed, i lost my temper and said he couldn't 'hold down a job' at severndale. excuse the slang, please, but he rubbed me the wrong way with all his fuss, when he really doesn't know, or doesn't want to know--i don't know which--one thing about horses." mrs. vincent paused a moment. "perhaps you are right," she said. "at all events, your sense of justice seems to be one of your strong points. go back to the house and let jess take your 'children' to the stables. a little diplomacy can do no harm. and jess, you need not mention seeing me with the young ladies. your little mistress has begun my _horse_ education. i haven't been very wise about them, i fear, but now i am going to make amends." "yas'm. amens does help we-all a powerful lot when we's wrastlin' wid we-all's sperrits. i hopes dey fotch yo' froo yo' doubtin's. i'se done had ter say many an amen in ma day." jess' face was full of solicitude. he had not the remotest idea of the source of mrs. vincent's turmoil of spirit, but if she found it necessary to say "amen," jess instantly concluded that his sympathies were demanded. at all events he was now a part of columbia heights and all within it's precincts came within his kindly solicitude. tradition was strong in old jessekiah. mrs. vincent had much ado to keep her countenance. she had come to washington from a western city and had but slight understanding of the real devotion of the old-time negro to his "white folks." alas! few of the old-time ones are left. it was with a sense of still having considerable to learn that she parted from the girls and jess and made her way toward the stables, reaching there some time after jess had unsaddled his horses and was performing their toilets with as much care as a french maid would bestow upon her mistress, though no french maid would ever have kept up the incessant flow of affectionate talk to the object of her attentions that jess was maintaining. he took no notice of mrs. vincent, but _she_ did not miss one shadow or shade of the absolute understanding existing between jess and his "babies," as he called them. "dar now, honeys," he said, as he carefully blanketed them. "run 'long back yander to yo' boxes. yo' dinner's all a-ready an' a-waitin', lak de hymn chune say, an' yo's ready fo' it. dem children ain' never gwine send yo' back to de stable, so het up, yo' cyant eat er drink fo' an hour. no siree! not _dem_." at that moment dawson and his assistant appeared with the horses the girls had ridden. notwithstanding the cool crispness of the morning, lady belle was in a lather where her harness rested. the senator was blowing like a grampus; jack-o'-lantern's bit was foam-flecked and natalie's pretty little "madam goldie" looked fagged. mrs. vincent instantly contrasted the condition of shashai and star with the others. yet peggy and polly had been riding like valkyrie. as dawson espied the lady of the manor his face underwent a change which would have been amusing had it not been entirely too significant. mrs. vincent made no comments whatever concerning the horses but a veil had certainly fallen from her eyes. she asked dawson how his young ladies were coming on with their riding lessons, how many had arranged to ride in the park that afternoon, and one or two trivial questions. then she returned to the house a much wiser woman than she had left it an hour earlier. chapter x tzaritza as disciplinarian several days had passed since the riding lesson. it was saturday evening and study period, which began at five and lasted until six-thirty, was ended. dinner was served at seven on saturdays and from eight until ten o'clock the girls were perfectly free. a group was gathered in stella drummond's big room and preparations for a fudge party, after the hearty dinner had "somewhat shaken down," were under way. stella's chafing dish was the most up-to-date one in the school, and stella's larder more bountifully supplied than the other girls. indeed, stella never lacked for anything so far as the others could discover and had a more liberal supply of pocket money than is generally allowed. mrs. vincent had expressed doubts as to the wisdom of it when stella's father mentioned the sum she was to have, but he had laughed and answered: "oh, nonsense, my dear madam! at home she would have double if she wished it. she knows how to use it, and remember she is all i have to spend my income upon. don't let that little matter worry you. just give all your attention to polishing her up a bit and teaching her the newest fol-de-rols. living all over the country is not the best thing for a young lady, i have found out. it may be conducive to physical development, but it leaves something to be desired in educational lines." so stella, though eighteen, and supposed to be a senior, was really taking a special course in which junior work predominated. she had selected her own room, it had been furnished exactly as she wished, and it certainly resembled a bridal apartment more than a school-girl's bed-room. a large alcove and private bath opened from it, and a balcony which commanded a beautiful view of stony brook park made it luxurious to a degree. in this room, lighted by softly shaded electric drop lights, a cheery log fire blazing upon the shining brass andirons, the girls had gathered. stella was arranging her electric chafing dish upon its little marble stand. peggy was opening a box of shelled pecan nuts, polly measuring out the chocolate, and the other girls were supplying all needful, or needless, advice concerning the _modus operandi_. tzaritza, now a most privileged creature indeed, had stretched her huge length before the hearth, looking for all the world like a superb white rug, and rosalie breeze was flat upon her stomach, her arms around the dog's neck, her face nestled in the silky hair. juno gibson reclined gracefully in a luxurious wicker chair, its gorgeous pink satin cushions a perfect background for her dark loveliness--which no one understood better than juno herself. helen doolittle (most aptly named) was gazing in simpering adoration upon stella from a pillow-laden couch, and now commented: "oh, stella, what adorable hands you have. how do you keep them so ravishingly white and your nails so absolutely faultless? i could cover them with kisses, sweetheart." stella's laugh held wholesome ridicule of this rhapsody and she replied: "don't waste your emotion upon _my_ hands. just save it until somebody comes along who wished to cover _your_ hands with kisses--i mean some one in masculine attire. for my part, i don't think i'd care to have a girl try that experiment with me." "have you ever had a _boy_ cover your hands with kisses?" asked helen eagerly, starting from her position. stella, raised her head, looked at the simple, inconsequent, little doll-faced blonde and with an odd smile said: "well, i could hardly have called him a boy." "oh, was he a man? a real _man_? did he wear a moustache? just think, girls, of having a man's moustache brush the back of your hand as he covered it with kisses. oh, how terribly thrilling. do tell us all about it, stella! i knew the moment i met you you must have had a romantic history. did your father find it out, and what did he say?" "yes, i told him all about it and he laughed at me," and again stella laughed her mystifying laugh. "oh, i'd just _adore_ having such a ravishing experience as that," said lily pearl montgomery from the window seat, "but how can one have any thrilling experiences in a stupid old school! now there are polly and peggy; think of all they could tell us if they only would. you girls must be fairly bursting with the most wonderful stories if you'd only come down off your pedestals and tell us. _i_ think you're both too tight for words. and all those darling cadets' photographs in your room. you needn't try to make _me_ believe that 'faithfully yours, bubbles' and 'your chum, ralph,' and 'for my pilot, captain polly, wheedles,' and 'for peggy stewart, chatelaine, happy,' don't mean a whole lot more." "what's that?" asked peggy, catching her name and looking up from her occupation. she caught polly's eyes which had begun to snap. polly had also been too busy to pay much attention at first, but she had heard the concluding sentences. she turned and looked at lily with exactly the expression upon her sixteen-year-old face which had overspread it years before when the thirteen-year-old polly had surprised the sentimental "thusan thwingle" exchanging osculatory favors with "one of thothe horrid boyths" in the basement of the high school at montgentian. then she said with repressed vehemence: "i only wish our boys could have heard you say that. if you wouldn't come in for the running of your life my name's not polly howland. you'd suit some of the boys back yonder, but not our bunch. of all the hot air! stella, is your chafing-dish ready?" peggy had colored a rosy pink. she lacked polly's experience with other girls. piqued by polly's superior rebuff, helen came to the inane lily pearl's support in a manner she knew would hit loyal polly's most vulnerable spot: "look at peggy's face! look at peggy's face! which is the particular he, peggy? polly may be able to put up a big bluff, but your face is a dead giveaway." "i don't think you would be able to understand if i told you. middie's haven and the 'bunch' are just a degree too high up for you to reach, i'm afraid, and there's no elevator in wilmot hall," answered peggy quietly. polly laid down the things she was holding for stella, dusted her hands of chocolate crumbs by lightly rubbing her fingers together, and walked quietly over to the couch. helen looked somewhat alarmed and drew back among her pillows. polly, never uttering one word, bent over, swooped up helen, pillows and all and holding her burden as she would have held a struggling baby, walked straight out of the room and down, the corridor to her own room, the shouts, screams and laughs of the girls following her. helen was absolutely speechless at the audacity of the act. bumping her door together by the only available means left her, since both arms were occupied, polly then plumped helen, now almost ready to resort to hysterical tears, upon a wooden shirt-waist box and placing herself in front of her, struck the attitude of a little red-headed goddess of vengeance as she said: "helen doolittle, you may run _me_ all you've a mind to--it doesn't mean a thing to me; i'm used to it; i've been teased all my life and i'm bomb-proof. but peggy stewart's made of different stuff. she hasn't been with girls very much, and never with a _silly_ one before. give her time and she'll understand them a good sight better than they'll ever understand her. and the boys she has known are not the kind who are ever likely to want to know _you_. so there's not much use wasting time explaining things. but i tell you just this, i won't stand for peggy being run even a little bit, and you can circulate that bit of information broadcast. she's the finest ever, and the girl who can call her friend is in luck up to her ears. so understand: let her alone or reckon with me." "do you think we are a lot of crazy schoolboys and expect to settle our disagreements with a regular fist-a-cuff bout? you must come from a very queer place." "where _i_ come from doesn't matter in the least. peggy is the one under discussion and you know where she comes from and who she is. _what_ she is you'll never know." "i don't see why she should be so very hard to understand." "she isn't--for people with enough sense. now just take one good look at those pictures. is there a weak face among them? one of two things will happen to you if you ever happen to meet the originals: they'll either make you feel like a silly little kid or they won't take a bit of notice of you. it will depend upon how you happen to strike them." "oh, are they such, wonders as all that?" "if you ever get an invitation down to annapolis you'll have a chance to find out. peggy and i have about made up our minds to have a house party during the holidays, but we haven't quite made up our minds which girls we are going to like well enough to ask to it. tanta suggested it. she is anxious to know our friends, and we are anxious to have her. she sizes people up pretty quickly and we are always mighty glad to have her opinion." polly spoke rapidly and the effect upon helen was peculiar. from the pugnacious attitude of an outraged canary, ready to do battle, she was transformed into the sweetest, meekest love-bird imaginable. a veritable little preening, posing, oh-do-admire-me creature, and at polly's last words she jumped from the box and clasping her hands, cried: "a house-party! you are planning a house-party? oh, how perfectly adorable. oh, which girls are you going to invite? oh, i'll never, never tease peggy again as long as i live. i'll be perfectly lovely to her and i'll make the other girls be nice too. to think of going up there and meeting all those darling boys. oh please tell me all about it! the girls will be just crazy when i tell them. which of these fellows will be there?" helen had rushed over to polly's dresser upon which in pretty silver frames were photographs of ralph, happy and wheedles. on peggy's dresser shorty and durand looked from their frames straight into her eyes, while several others not yet framed looked down from the top of the bookshelf. silly little helen was in an ecstasy. her mamma had never believed in companions of the opposite sex for her "sweet little daughter" but had kept her in a figurative preserve jar which bore the label "you may look but you must not touch." mamma's instructions to mrs. vincent upon placing helen in the school had been an absolute ban upon any masculine visitors, or visits upon helen's part where such undesirable, though often unavoidable, members of society might congregate. "she is so very innocent and unsophisticated, you know, and so very young," added mamma sweetly. mrs. vincent smiled indulgently, but made no comments: she had encountered such mammas and such sweetly unsophisticated daughters before and she then and there resolved to keep an extra watchful eye upon this innocent one. thus far, however, nothing alarming had occurred, but mrs. vincent knew her material and was prepared for almost anything. she also knew lily pearl and felt pretty sure that if an upheaval ever took place it would turn out that lily pearl or helen had touched off the mine. the foregoing scene gives some hint of the viewpoints of the young ladies in question. during this digression helen had caught up wheedle's picture and was pressing it rapturously to her fluttering bosom and exclaiming: "you're a perfect darling! if i could have just one dance with _you_ i'd be willing to _die_! polly, how old is he!" but polly had left the room and was on her way back to stella's. as she reached it she came face to face with the sturgeon and the sturgeon's eyes held no "lovelight" for her. "miss howland, what was the cause of the wild shrieks which disturbed me a moment since? miss montgomery says you can tell if you will and since none of your companions seem inclined to do so, i will hear your explanation. i was on my way to inform miss stewart that mrs. vincent wished to see her in her study at once when this hideous uproar assailed my ears." polly glanced quickly about the room. sure enough, peggy had left it. some of the girls looked concerned, others quite calm; among the latter were stella and juno. rosalie, with tzaritza's head in her lap, looked defiant. she hated miss sturgis. polly turned and looked squarely into miss sturgis' eyes. "the girls were screaming because i carried helen out of the room," she answered quietly. "it seems to me you must be somewhat in need of exercise. i would advise you to go to the gymnasium to work off your superfluous energy. why did you carry helen from the room? has she become incapable of voluntary locomotion?" "not yet," answered polly, a twinkle coming into a corner of the gray eyes. "_not yet?_" emphasized miss sturgis. "are you apprehensive of her becoming so?" "she needs more exercise than she gets," answered polly, half smiling. that smile acted as salt upon a wound. miss sturgis' temper rose. "please bear in mind that it does not devolve upon _you_ to decide that question." "i did not try to settle that question, miss sturgis. if you wish to know why i carried helen out of the room i did it because she was running--" "doing what? i don't think i understand your boyish slang." "well, teasing peggy, and i won't have peggy teased by anybody if i can stop it. she doesn't understand girls' ways as well as i do because she hasn't been thrown with them. so when helen teased her i picked her up and carried her down to our room and i don't reckon she will tease her any more." "so you have come into the school to set its standards and correct its shortcomings, have you? are you so very superior to your companions--you and your protégée?" polly looked straight into the narrow eyes looking at her, but made no reply. "answer me, instantly." "i have never considered myself superior to anyone, but i _do_ consider peggy stewart superior to any girl i have ever known, and i think you will agree with me when you know her better," asserted polly loyally. "you are insolent." "i do not mean to be. any one who knows her will tell you the same thing." "i repeat you are insolent and you may go to your room." polly made no reply, but started to leave the room. tzaritza sprang to her side. miss sturgis interposed. "leave that dog where she is. go back, you horrible beast," and she raised her hand menacingly. tzaritza was not quite sure whether the menace was intended for polly or herself. in either case it was cause for resentment and a low growl warned against further liberties. "be careful, miss sturgis. tzaritza thinks you are threatening me," said polly. it was said wholly in the interest of the teacher. miss sturgis' early training and forebears had not been of an order to develop either great dignity, or self-control. her ability to teach mathematics was undisputed. hence her position in mrs. vincent's school, though that good lady had more than once had reason to question the wisdom of retaining her, owing to the influence which she exerted over her charges. the grain beneath did not lend itself to a permanent, or high polish, and it took only the slightest scratch to mar it. polly's words seemed to destroy her last remnant of self-control and she turned upon her in a fury of rage. as she seized her by the arm and cried, "silence!" polly whirled from her like a flash crying, "charge, tzaritza!" but it was too late, the 'hound had sprung to polly's defense, only it was polly's protecting arm into which tzaritza's teeth sank. the girl turned white with pain. instantly the beautiful dog relinquished her hold and whining and whimpering like a heartbroken thing began to lick the bruised arm. then arose a hubbub compared to which the screams of which miss sturgis had complained had been infantile plaints. lily pearl promptly went into hysterics. juno shrieked aloud and even the self-contained stella cried out as she ran to catch polly in her arms, for the girl seemed about to faint. but miss sturgis, now thoroughly terrified at the crisis she had brought to pass, called madly for help. helen's screams mingled in the pandemonium, for helen had been brought hack from her romantic air castle with a rush. notwithstanding the fact that mrs. vincent's study was down one flight of stairs and at the other end of the building, she became aware of the uproar and her conversation with peggy came to an abrupt pause. then both hurried into the hall to see the tails of horatio hannibal harrison's coat vanishing up the broad stairway and to hear fräulein hedwig wailing, "oh ze house iss burning up _and_ down i am sure!" meanwhile upon the scene of action polly had been the first to recover her wits. the skin had not been broken, for tzaritza had instantly perceived her error and released her grip almost as soon as it was taken. but miss sturgis would not have escaped so easily, as well she knew, and her hatred for tzaritza increased tenfold. when mrs. vincent and the others arrived upon the scene she broke into a perfect torrent of invective against the dog, but was brought to her senses by the principal's quiet: "miss sturgis, you seem to be a good deal overwrought. i will excuse you. you may retire to your room until you feel calmer." "let me explain! let me tell you what a horrible thing has happened!" cried miss sturgis. "when you are less excited i shall be glad to listen. fräulein, kindly accompany miss sturgis to her room and call the housekeeper. now, polly, what is it?" asked mrs. vincent, for polly was the center of the group of excited girls, though calmer than any of them. "tzaritza made a mistake and caught my arm in her teeth, that is all, mrs. vincent. but she has done no harm. it doesn't hurt much now; she did not mean to do it any way." "what!" cried peggy, aghast, "tzaritza attacked _you_, polly?" polly nodded her head in quick negative, striving to keep peggy from saying more. but tzaritza had crawled to peggy's feet and was literally grovelling there in abject misery. "charge, tzaritza!" the splendid creature lay motionless. "polly, what happened?' demanded peggy, once more the peggy of severndale and entirely forgetful of her present surroundings. mrs. vincent smiled and laying her hand gently upon peggy's arm said: "don't embarrass polly, dear. leave it to me." "oh, i beg your pardon, mrs. vincent. i forgot," answered peggy, blushing deeply. mrs. vincent nodded forgiveness, then turning to stella, asked: "were you here all the time, stella?" "yes, mrs. vincent." "then please tell me exactly what happened." stella told the story clearly and quietly. when she ended there was a moment's hush, broken by rosalie breeze crying: "and tzaritza never, never would have done a single thing if miss sturgis hadn't lost her temper. she is forever scolding us about losing ours, but she'd just better watch out herself. i wish tzaritza had bitten her!" "rosalie!" "well, i do, mrs. vincent. it was every bit her own fault. she hates tzaritza, and i love her," was rosalie's vehement if perplexing conclusion as she cast herself upon the big dog. tzaritza welcomed her with a grateful whine and crept closer, though she never raised her head. she was waiting the word of forgiveness from the one she loved best of all, but peggy was awaiting tzaritza's exoneration. mrs. vincent, who had sent for the resident trained nurse, was examining polly's arm and now said: "it is all very distressing, but i am glad no more serious for polly. the arm is badly bruised and will be very painful for some time, but i can't discover a scratch. miss allen, will you please look after this little girl," she asked, as the sweet-faced trained nurse entered the room, her white uniform snowy and immaculate, her face a benediction in its sweet, calm repose. "go with miss allen, dear, and have your arm dressed." polly paused only long enough to stoop down and kiss tzaritza's head, the caress being acknowledged by a pathetic whine, then followed the nurse from the room. peggy was terribly distressed. "do you think i would better send her back to severndale, mrs. vincent?" she asked. "has she ever attacked anyone before, peggy?" "never in all her life." "i hardly think she will again. she may remain. come here, tzaritza." tzaritza did not stir. "up, tzaritza," commanded peggy, and the affectionate creature's feet were upon her shoulders as she begged forgiveness with almost human eloquence. "oh, my bonny one, how could you?" asked peggy as she caressed the silky head. tzaritza's whimpers reduced some of the girls to tears. "now go to mrs. vincent," ordered peggy, and the hound obediently crossed the room to lay her head in that lady's lap. "poor tzaritza, you did what you believed to be your duty, didn't you? none of us can do more. i wish some of my other problems were as easy to solve as the motives of your act. go on with your fudge party, girls. it will prove a diversion. i must look to other matters now," and mrs. vincent sighed at the prospect of the coming interview with miss sturgis. it was not her first experience by any means. chapter xi behind scenes the girls were hardly in a mood to return to their fudge-making, so stella produced a box of whitman's chocolates and the group settled down to eat them and discuss the events of the past exciting half hour. polly squatted upon the rug and with her uninjured arm hauled about half of tzaritza upon her lap. tzaritza was positively foolish in her ecstatic joy at being restored to favor. "poor tzaritza, you got into trouble because i lost my temper, didn't you? it was a heap more my fault than yours after all." "oh, there's nothing wrong with tzaritza. it's the sturgeon. hateful old thing! i just hope mrs. vincent gives her bally-hack," stormed rosalie. "suppose we did shout and screech? it's saturday night and we have a right to if we like. but what under the sun did mrs. vincent want of you, peggy?" "oh, nothing very serious," answered peggy, smiling in a way which set rosalie's curiosity a-galloping. "yes, what _did_ she want?" demanded polly, turning to look up at peggy. "can't tell anybody _now_. you'll all know after thanksgiving," answered peggy, wagging her head in the negative. "oh, please tell us! ah, do! we won't breathe a living, single word!" cried the chorus. "uh-mh!" murmured peggy in such perfect imitation of old mammy that polly laughed outright. "aren't you even going to tell polly?" asked rosalie, who had arrived at some very definite conclusion regarding these friends, for rosalie was far from slow if at times rather more self-assertive than the average young lady is supposed to be. for answer peggy broke into a little air from a popular comic opera running just then in washington and to which captain stewart had taken his little party only a few weeks before: "and what is right for tweedle-dum is wrong for tweedle-dee," sang peggy in her sweet contralto voice, polly following in her bird-like whistle. the little ruse worked to perfection. the girls forgot all about peggy's "call down," as a summons to mrs. vincent's study was banned, and had a rapture over polly's whistling and peggy's singing, nor were they satisfied until a dozen airs had been given in the girl's very best style. then came the story of the concerts at home, and polly's whistling at the masquerader's show when wharton van nostrand fell ill, and a dozen other vivid little glimpses of the life back in severndale and up in "middie's haven" until their listeners were nearly wild with excitement. "and they are to have a house party there during the holidays, girls. think of that!" cried helen. "honest?" cried lily pearl, leaning forward with clasped hands, while even juno, the superior, became animated and remarked: "really! i dare say you will choose your guests with extreme care as to their appeal to the model young men they are likely to meet at annapolis, for i don't doubt your aunt, mrs. harold, is a most punctilious chaperon." "juno's been eating hunks of the new webster's dictionary, girls. that's how she happens to have all those long words so near the top. they got stuck going down so they come up easy," interjected rosalie. juno merely tossed her head, but vouchsafed no answer. rosalie's western _gaucherie_ was beneath her notice. juno's home was at the hotel astor in new york city. at least as much of "home" as she knew. her mother had lived abroad for the past five years, and was now the princess somebody-or-other. her father kept his suite at the astor but lived almost anywhere else, his only daughter seeing him when he had less enticing companionship. a "chaperon" did duty at the astor when juno was in the city, which was not often. consequently, juno's ideas of domestic felicity were not wholly edifying; her conception of anything pertaining to home life about as hazy as the nebula. "perhaps if you ever know tanta you'll be able to form your own opinion," answered polly quietly, looking steadily at juno with those wonderfully penetrating gray eyes until the girl shrugged and colored. stella laughed a low, odd little laugh and came over to drop upon the rug beside polly, saying as she slipped her arm around her and good-naturedly dragged her down upon her lap: "you are one funny, old-fashioned little kid, do you know that? some times i feel as though i were about twenty years your senior, and then when i catch that size-me-up, read-me-through, look in your eyes, i make up my mind _i'm_ the infant--not you. where did you and peggy catch and bottle up all your worldly wisdom?" "didn't know _i_ had so much," laughed polly, "but peggy was born with hers, i reckon. if i have any it has been bumped into my head partly by mother, partly by aunt janet, and the job finished by the boys juno has been referring to. it doesn't do to try any nonsense with _that_ bunch; they see through you and call your bluff as quick as a flash. we were pretty good chums and i miss them more than i could ever miss a lot of girls, i believe. certainly, more than i missed the montgentian girls when i left them." "nothing like being entirely frank, i'm sure," was juno's superior remark: "that's another thing the boys taught us," replied polly imperturbably. just then the bell rang for "rooms." "there's tattoo!" cried polly. "if i get settled down at taps tonight i'll be doing wonders. miss allen has bandaged up my arm as though tzaritza had bitten half of it off. come on, 'ritza. peggy, you'll have to get me out of my dudds tonight. good-night, girls. sorry we didn't get our fudge made. maybe if i'd let helen alone you would have had it," and with a merry laugh polly ran from the room, all animosity forgotten. "what did she mean by 'tattoo' and 'taps,'" asked natalie of peggy. "the warning call sounded on the bugle for the midshipmen to go to their rooms, and the lights out call which follows. have you never heard them? they are so pretty. polly and i love them so, and you can't think how we miss them here. polly always sounded them on her bugle at home. you've no idea how sweetly she can do it," answered peggy as she walked toward her room beside natalie. "oh, i wish i _could_ hear them. i wonder if mother knows anything about them," cried natalie enthusiastically. "do you know, i think you and polly are perfectly wonderful, you have so many original ideas. i am just crazy to know what mother wanted of you tonight. i'm going to ask her. do you think she will tell me?" "why not? the only reason i did not tell was because i felt i had no right to. if mrs. vincent wants the others to know she will tell them, but you are different. i reckon mothers can't keep anything from their own daughters. at least polly and her mother seem to share everything and i know mrs. harold is just like a mother to me." the girls separated and peggy and polly were soon behind closed doors discussing mrs. vincent's private interview with the former. the following tuesday was hallow e'en and where is your school-girl who does not revel in its privileges? mrs. vincent, contrary to miss sturgis' preconceived ideas of what was possible and proper for a girls' school, though the latter never failed to quote the rigid discipline of the school which had profited by her valuable services prior to her engagement at columbia heights, was given to some departures which often came near reducing miss sturgis to tears of vexation. one of these rules, or rather the lack of them, was the arrangement of the tables in the two dining-rooms. in the dining-room for the little girls under twelve a teacher presided at each table as a matter of course, but in the main dining-hall covers were laid for six at each table, one of the girls presiding as hostess, her tenure of office depending wholly upon her standing in the school, her deportment, ability and general average of work. at the further end of the room mrs. vincent's own table was placed, and the staff of eight resident teachers sat with her. it was a far happier arrangement than the usual one of placing a teacher at each table and having her, whether consciously or unconsciously, arrogate the entire conversation, interests and viewpoint to herself. of course, there are some teachers who can still recall with sufficient vividness their own school-girl life to feel keenly the undercurrent of restraint which an older person almost invariably starts when thrown with a group of younger ones, and who possesses the power and tact to overcome it and enter the girl-world. but these are the exceptions rather than the rule, and none knew this better than mrs. vincent. consequently, she chose her own way of removing all possible danger of impaired digestion, believing that the best possible aid to healthy appetites and perfectly assimilated food were untrammeled spirits and hearty laughs. so she and her staff sat at their own table where they were free to discuss the entire school if they chose to do so, and the girls--for, surely, "turn-about-is-fairplay"--could discuss them. it worked pretty well, too, in spite of miss sturgis' inclination to keep one eye and one ear "batted" toward the other tables, often to mrs. vincent's intense, though carefully concealed amusement. and now came hallow e'en, and with small regard for miss sturgis' prejudices, plump in the middle of the school week! at the end of the last recitation period that afternoon when the whole school of one hundred fifty girls, big and little, had gathered in the chapel, for the working day invariably ended with a few kindly helpful words spoken by mrs. vincent and the reading of the thirty-fourth psalm and singing shelley's beautiful hymn of praise, mrs. vincent paused for a moment before dismissing her pupils. many of the older girls knew what to expect, but the newer ones began to wonder if their sins had found them out. nevertheless, mrs. vincent's expression was not alarming as she moved a step toward them and asked: "which of my girls will be willing to give up her afternoon recreation period and devote that time to the preparation of tomorrow's work!" the effect was amusing. some of the girls gave little gasps of surprise, others, ohs! of protest, others distinct negatives, while a good many seemed delighted at the prospect. these had known mrs. vincent longest. "those of you who are ready to return to the main hall at four o'clock and work until five-thirty may be released from all further obligations for the evening, and the attic, laundry and gymnasium will be placed at your disposal for a hallow e'en frolic and--" but she got no further. rosalie breeze, sans ceremony, made one wild leap from her chair and rushed toward the platform. miss sturgis made a peremptory motion and stepped toward her, but mrs. vincent raised her hand. the next second rosalie had flung herself bodily into mrs. vincent's arms, crying: "oh, if every schoolmarm was just exactly like _you_ i'd never, never do one single bad thing to plague 'em and i'll let you use me for your doormat if you want to!" a less self-contained woman would have been staggered by the sudden onslaught and felt her rule and dignity jeopardized. mrs. vincent was of different fibre. she gathered the little madcap into her arms for one second, then taking the witch-like face in both hands kissed each flushed cheek as she said: "i sometimes think you claim kinship with the pixies,--you are half a witch. so you accept the bargain? good! have all the fun you wish but don't burn the house down." by this time the whole school had gathered around her, asking questions forty to the minute. mrs. vincent looked like a fly-away girl herself in her sympathetic excitement, for her soft, curly chestnut hair had somewhat escaped its combs and pins, and her cheeks were as rosy as the girls. mrs. vincent was only forty, and now looked about half her age. polly and peggy crowded close to her, natalie shared her arms with rosalie, quiet, undemonstrative marjorie's face glowed with affection, while even juno condescended to unbend, and lily pearl and helen gave vent to their emotions by embracing each other. stella, tall, stately and such a contrast to the others, beamed upon the group. but isabel put the finishing stroke by remarking with, a most superior smile: "o mrs. vincent, what a perfect darling you are! don't you perfectly dote on her girls? _i_ fell in love with her years ago when i first met her and i've simply worshiped at her shrine ever since." "rats!" broke out rosalie, and mrs. vincent had just about all she could manage for a moment. her emotions were sadly at odds. polly's laugh saved the day and deflected isabel's scorn. "i really do not see what is amusing you, miss howland; i am sure i am only expressing the sentiments of my better poised schoolmates." "oh, we all agree with you--every single one of us--though we are choosing different ways of showing it, you see. if peggy and i had been down home we'd probably have given the four-n yell. that's _our_ way of expressing our approbation. the boys taught us, and we think its a pretty good way. it works off a whole lot of pent-up steam." "what is it, polly?" asked mrs. vincent. "i'm afraid you would have to hear the boys give it to quite understand it, mrs. vincent, but i tell you it makes one tingle right down to one's very toes--that yell!" "can't you and peggy give it to us on a small scale? just as a sample of what we may hear some day? perhaps if the girls hear it they can fall in. i'd like to hear it myself." polly paused a moment, looking doubtfully at peggy. that old naval academy yell meant a good deal to these two girls. they had heard it under so many thrilling circumstances. "we will give it if you wish it, mrs. vincent, though it will sound funny i'm afraid from just polly and me. maybe though, the girls will try it too after we have given it." with more volume and enthusiasm than would have seemed possible from just two throats, peggy and polly began: "n--n--n--n! a--a--a--a! v--v--v--v! y--y--y--y! navy! navy! navy! navy! mrs. vincent! mrs. vincent! mrs. vincent!" the ending being entirely in the nature of a surprise to that lady who blushed and laughed like a girl. but before she could escape, polly had sprung to the platform and as a cheer leader who would have put wheedler of old to shame was crying: "come on!" the girls caught the spirit and swing with a will and the room rang to their voices. clapping her hands and laughing happily mrs. vincent ran toward the door only pausing long enough to say: "four p. m. sharp! then from seven to ten 'the goblins will get you if you don't watch out!'" "let polly sound 'assembly' at four. please do, mrs. vincent. it will make us come double time," begged peggy, running after her and detaining her by slipping her arm about her waist. "assembly? i don't believe i quite understand." "on her bugle, you know. it's so pretty, and we did that way at home if we wanted to bring the bunch together in a hurry." "well, i'm learning something new every minute, i believe. yes, sound your bugle call, polly, and be sure i shall be on the _qui vive_ to hear it. before we know it we shall have a _girls'_ military school." "oh, wouldn't it be perfectly splendid if we only could and all wear brass buttons!" cried rosalie. "i think some of the discipline would be splendid for all of us, and especially the spirit of the thing," answered stella. "the trouble with most girls lies in the fact that they don't know how to work together. there isn't much class spirit, or coöperation. maybe if we tried some of the methods peggy and polly seem to know so much about we'd come closer together." "team work, i guess you mean," said polly quickly. "it means a whole lot." sharply at four the staccato notes of "assembly" rang across the terrace as polly sounded the call upon her bugle. the girls came hurrying from every direction and the ensuing hour and a half, usually free for recreation, was cheerfully given over to study. dinner was served at six and at seven-thirty the revels began. at peggy's suggestion a part of the afternoon had been devoted to devising costumes out of anything at hand, for a fancy dress party had been hastily decided upon. as a result of this some unique and original hallow e'en sprites, nymphs, dryads or witches foregathered in the big laundry, "cleared for action," polly said, and two or three aroused little cries of admiration. peggy was a dryad. she had rushed away to the woods on shashai to return with her mount buried from sight in autumn leaves. the dark, rich reds of the oaks, the deep yellow of the beeches, the dogwood's and maple's gorgeous variations and the sweet-gums blood red mingled in a bewildering confusion of color. stripping the leaves from the twigs she proceeded to sew them upon a plain linen gown, and the result was exquisite, for not a vestige of the fabric remained visible, and peggy's piquant, rich coloring peeped from a garment of living, burning color. she herself was the only one who did not fully appreciate the picture she presented. polly's costume was a character from one of the children's pages in a sunday newspaper. the entire costume was made of newspapers, with "the yellow kid" much in evidence, polly's tawny hair lending itself well to the color scheme. natalie, who was fair as a lily, had chosen "sunlight," and was a bonny little sun goddess. lily pearl, after a great deal of fuss and fidgeting had elected to go as titania, and helen essayed oberon. juno, who was very musical, made quite a stately sappho. little, sedate marjorie was an alaskan-indian princess, and rosalie rigged up a puck costume which made her irresistible. isabel chose to be portia, though that erudite lady seemed somewhat out of place among the mythological characters. but stella was a startling sibyl, with book, staff, and a little crystal globe (removed from her paper-weight) in which to read horoscopes. the others went in all sorts of guises or disguises. in the laundry they found all properties provided. to tell of all which took place would crowd out too much which must follow. of course apples were bobbed for, a hat pin was run through them to prod the seeds for the true lover's heart, and they were hung upon strings to be caught in one's teeth (the apples, _not_ the hearts) if luckily one did not get one's nose bumped as they swung back. melted lead was poured through a key into cold water to take the mysterious form which would reveal the occupation, or profession, of the future _he_, and lily pearl was thrown into an ecstasy by having _her_ sputtering metal take very distinctly the form of a ship. _and that house party "bid" not even hinted at yet!_ they walked downstairs backward, looking into a mirror to discover the particular masculine face which would fill their live's mirrors, though, unhappily some of the potency of the charm was lost because it could not be done upon the witching stroke of midnight. dumb cakes were made, _his_ initials pricked in the dough, while in perfect silence the cakes were baked on the laundry steam dryer, joy and rapture descending upon the fortunate she if the initials did not vanish in the baking. a ball of twine was thrown out of the kitchen window, but when the thrower hurried out to find the ardent one who had so promptly snatched it up and fled, she discovered horatio hannibal harrison beating a hasty retreat. he had been playing "peeping tom" and the ball had caught him squarely upon his woolly crown. a doubtful conscience did the rest. a dozen other tests followed until the girls' occult knowledge reached the limit. then they danced in the gym to music furnished by mrs. vincent, who ended the prancing by sending in a huge "fate cake," a big basket of nuts, a jug of sweet cider and some of aunt hippy's cookies. cutting the fate cake ended the hallow e'en frolic. lily pearl was thrown into a flutter by finding the ring in her slice. juno turned scornful when a plump raisin fell to her share, helen drew a tiny key from her piece, and the coin dropped into rosalie's lap. "rubbish! i don't want riches. i want a handsome husband," she cried with refreshing frankness. "i hardly think i would noise that fact abroad," was isabel's superior criticism. "no, i wouldn't if i were you, it would be so perfectly preposterous," retorted rosalie. isabel made no reply, but took care that no one else discovered who had found the thimble. chapter xii christmas at severndale by a lucky chance christmas this year fell upon monday, thus giving the midshipmen either liberty, or leave, according to their classes, or conduct grade, from saturday at twelve-thirty to monday at five-thirty, when those enjoying the latter rare privilege had to report for duty in bancroft hall. christmas leave for the first class was an innovation, which only those on first conduct grade might hope to enjoy. that there was the ghost of a chance of any member of the lower classes coming in for such a rare treat not even the most sanguine dreamed. _but_, and that but was written in italics and capitals, when captain stewart made up his mind to do a certain thing it required considerable force of will, stress of circumstances, and concerted opposition to divert him. but the outcome lies in the near future. the excitement incident to the rescue of columbine had barely subsided when a telegram brought peggy the joyful news that captain stewart's ship, which had met with some slight accident to her machinery, was to be dry-docked at norfolk and her father was to have two weeks' leave. the _rhode island_ was to be in port at the new york navy yard, and this meant the forgathering of all who were nearest and dearest to peggy and polly; a rare joy at the holiday season for those connected with the navy. consequently, this year's yuletide was to be a red letter one in every sense, for mrs. howland and gail, who had spent thanksgiving in new york, would return to annapolis for christmas and, joy of joys! constance, snap, and mr. harold would come with them. the telegraph and telephone wires between new york, norfolk, washington and annapolis were in a fair way to become fused. as many of the girls lived at great distances from washington, the christmas recess began on the twenty-second. captain stewart had 'phoned to his party "heavy marching orders, three p. m., friday, dec. , --." a wild flutter ensued. the thanksgiving holiday at mrs. harold's had been widely discussed at columbia heights and had stirred all sorts of emotions to their very centers. at captain stewart's request, mrs. harold had sent unique invitations to each of the girls soon after their return to school. they were couched in the formal wording of an official invitation from a battle ship of the fleet and created a sensation. natalie, stella, nelly, rosalie, juno and marjorie were invited. lily pearl's and helen's attentions to peggy and polly having proved abortive, they contrived ways and means of their own to reach the land o' heart's desire. helen's old bachelor uncle, a queer, dull old gentleman, whose mind was certainly _not_ active, and whom helen could, figuratively speaking, turn and twist about her little finger, was persuaded to pass the holidays at wilmot hall. he knew a number of people in annapolis, so the path to a certain extent was cleared for lily pearl and helen, though they would have given up all the uncles in christendom to have been included in that house party. but half a loaf is certainly better than no bread, and once at annapolis they meant to make the most of that half. so it was with no small degree of triumph that they announced the fact that they, too, would be at the christmas hop. just how they intended to manage it they did not disclose. sufficient unto the hour was to be the triumph thereof. captain stewart arrived on friday morning in time for luncheon and, guileless man that he has already shown himself to be, promptly offered to "convoy the two little cruisers to annapolis." his offer was accepted with so many gushing responses that the poor man looked about as bewildered as a great st. bernard which has inadvertently upset a cage of humming birds, and finds them fluttering all about him. lily and helen were of a different type from the girls he knew best, but he accepted the situation gracefully and enjoyed himself hugely with the others, even marjorie blossoming out wonderfully under his genial kindliness. isabel amused him immensely. isabel was to spend her holiday in boston, _of course_, but was to meet a friend in baltimore who would chaperone the shrinking damsel safely to mamma's protecting arms. captain stewart would escort her to the naval academy junction, from which point it seemed perfectly safe to let her pursue the remaining half hour's journey to baltimore unattended. in the course of the journey from washington to the junction isabel elected to make some delayed notes in her diary, greatly to the secret amusement of captain stewart, who happened to be sitting just behind her. "making a list of all your dances and christmas frolicings, little-er-ahem--, miss?" "boylston, captain stewart. oh, no, i rarely attend dances; there is so much that is instructive to be enjoyed while at home. i am making some notes in my diary." "don't say so. find the outlook inspiring?" captain stewart laughed as he looked out upon the dreary landscape, for the afternoon was lowery, and certainly, the cheerless flat landscape between washington and the junction was far from thrilling. "oh, i am not depending upon my visual sight for my inspiration, captain stewart. don't you think the study of one's fellow beings intensely interesting?' "yes, it's a heap cheerier inside the car than outside on this confoundedly soggy day," answered captain stewart, preparing to withdraw from an even more depressing atmosphere than that beyond the car windows, by turning to rosalie, whose eyes were commencing to dance. but isabel had no idea of foregoing an opportunity to make an impression, little guessing the sort of one she was in reality making. "yes, it is exceedingly damp today, but do you think we ought to allow externals to affect us?" she asked. "eh? what? i'm afraid you're getting beyond my bearings. lead won't touch bottom." isabel smiled indulgently: one must be tolerant with a person forced to spend his life within the limited bounds of a ship. "miss sturgis, our instructor in sociology, advises us to be very observing and to take notes of everything unusual. you know we shall graduate next year and time passes _so_ swiftly. it seems only yesterday that i entered columbia heights school, and here christmas is upon us. i have so little time left in which to accomplish all i feel i should, and i could not graduate after i'd passed seventeen. i'd _die_ of mortification. and, oh, that fact holds a suggestion. pardon me if i make a note of it, and--and--_how_ do you spell accomplished, captain stewart? i really have so little time to give to etymology." for one second captain stewart looked at the girl as though he thought she might possibly be running him. he was more accustomed to the fun-loving, joking girl than to this "cellar-grown turnip" as he mentally stigmatized her. then the little imps in rosalie's eyes proved his undoing: "i'm afraid i'm no good as an english prof. reckon i'd spell it akomplish. sounds as good as any other way. you'll know what it means when you overhaul it anyhow. but here we are at the junction. pipe overside, bo's'n," he cried to peggy. good-bys were hastily spoken and captain stewart soon had his party hurrying across the platform to the annapolis car. as he settled rosalie in her seat he asked: "how many miss boylstons have you got at columbia heights?" "only one, thank the powers!" answered rosalie fervently. it was nearly six when the electric cars rolled up to the rear of wilmot hall and the girls saw mrs. harold, and a number of the midshipmen of the first class lined up and eagerly watching for the particular "she" who would spend the holidays in annapolis. a mob of squabbling boys made a mad rush for the car steps in the hope of securing suitcases to carry into the hotel, and had not the midshipmen swept them aside, further progress for the car's passengers would have been barred. the hoodlums of the town seem to spring from the very ground upon the arrival of a car at wilmot and certainly make life a burden for travelers trying to descend the car steps. there was only time for general greetings just then, as all hurried into wilmot to meet old friends and new ones, mrs. howland, constance, snap, gail and mr. harold having already arrived. pending the departure for severndale, mrs. harold had, at captain stewart's request, engaged three extra rooms, thus practically preempting her entire corridor for her guests, and a jollier party it would have been hard to find than the one escorted down to the big dining-room that evening by "the executive officer," as captain stewart called mrs. harold, who was acting as chaperone for his party. directly dinner ended captain stewart and commander harold left upon some mysterious mission which threw the girls into a wild flutter of curiosity. "oh, what is it all about?" demanded rosalie. "can't tell one single thing until daddy neil says i may," laughed peggy. "does polly know?" asked natalie. peggy nodded. "you'll have to bottle up your impatience for an hour or two. go to your rooms and shake out your pretties for tomorrow night's frolic, for i am going to 'pipe down' early tonight. when you have finished stowing your lockers come back to the sitting-room and we'll have a quiet, cozy time until our commanding officers return. constance, gail and snap must make a call this evening, but i'm not going to let anyone claim my time. it all belongs to my girls," said mrs. harold gaily, as she and mrs. howland seated themselves before the open fire. the girls hurried away to do her bidding, for it had been decided to remain at wilmot until after the christmas hop, all going out to severndale by a special car when the dance was over, harrison, mammy and jerome, under mrs. harold's tactful generalship, having made all preparations for the big house party. in a few moments the girls returned from unpacking their suitcases. the thanksgiving visit had removed all sense of reserve or strangeness with mrs. harold, but they did not know mrs. howland, and for a moment there seemed an ominous lull. then peggy crying: "i want my old place, little mother," nestled softly upon the arm of the big morris-chair in which mrs. harold sat, and rested her head against mrs. harold. the other girls had dropped upon chairs, but mrs. harold was minded to have her charges pro tem at closer range, so releasing herself from peggy's circling arm for a moment, she reached for two plump cushions upon the couch near at hand and flopping them down, one at either knee said: "juno on this one, rosalie on the other; marjorie beside me and natalie, stella and nelly with polly," for polly had already cuddled down upon her mother's chair. before the words had well left her lips, rosalie had sprung to her coign of vantage crying: "oh, mrs. harold, you are the dearest chappie i ever knew, and it's already been ten times lovelier than polly and peggy ever could describe it." with a happy little laugh, natalie promptly seated herself upon the arm of mrs. howland's chair, but juno hesitated a moment, looking doubtfully at the cushion. juno was a very up-to-date young lady as to raiment. how could she flop down as rosalie had done while wearing a skirt which measured no more than a yard around at the hem, and geared up in an undergarment which defied all laws of anatomy by precluding the possibility of bending at the waist line? she looked at mrs. harold and she looked at the cushion. as her boys would have expressed it "the little mother was not slow in catching on." she now laughed outright. juno did not know whether to resent it or join in the laugh too. there was something about the older woman, however, which aroused in girls a sense of camaraderie rather than reserve, though juno had never quite been able to analyze it. she smiled, and by some form of contortion of which necessity and long practice had made her a passed mistress, contrived to get herself settled upon the cushion. "honey," said mrs. harold, patting her shoulder, "if you want to live up to your name you'll discard your coat of mail. your namesake would have scorned its limitations, and your young figure will be far lovelier and more graceful, to say nothing of the benefit to yourself and future generations, if you heave your armor plate overboard." it was all said half-jestingly, half-seriously, but juno gave her head a superior little toss as she answered: "and go looking like a meal sack? to say nothing of flinging away twenty perfectly good dollars just paid to madam malone." "i'm afraid i'm a very old-fashioned old lady, but i have no notion of letting any madam malone, or any other french lady from erin dictate _my_ fashions, or curtail the development and use of my muscles; i have too much use for them. do peggy and polly resemble 'meal sacks?' yet no madam malone has ever had the handling of their floating-ribs, let me tell you. watch out, little girl, for a nervous, semi-invalid womanhood is a high price to pay for a pair of corsets at seventeen. there, my lecture is over and now let's talk of earthquakes." at her aunt's question regarding peggy and herself resembling "meal sacks," polly laughed aloud and being in a position to practically demonstrate the freedom which a sensibly full skirt afforded, cried: "if i couldn't _run_ when i felt like it i'd _die_. i tell you, when i strike heavy weather i want my rigging ship-shape. i'd hate to scud under bare poles." the subject was changed but the words were not forgotten. the other girls had all gathered about the blazing logs upon cushions or hassocks, and a pretty group they formed as they talked eagerly of the coming hop, and tried to guess what captain stewart was planning, mrs. harold and mrs. howland joining enthusiastically in it all. "tanta," asked polly, "do you know that lily pearl montgomery and helen doolittle are here at wilmot with helen's uncle? we have christened him 'foxy grandpa.' just wait till you see him. he looks the character exactly." "are they to go to the hop?" asked mrs. harold, instantly interested, for even though she had heard amusing tales of the two girls, they were still young girls, and she was concerned for their happiness and pleasure. "we don't know and we didn't like to seem inquisitive," replied polly. "yes, they are going, little mother. helen told me so. foxy grandpa knows somebody who knows somebody else, who knows the boys who are to take them, but they didn't tell us their names. i wonder if we know them," was peggy's laughing explanation. "i hope they will have a happy time," said mrs. howland gently as she stroked back polly's silky curls. "you trust them to have the time of their lives, mumsey. but oh, _isn't_ it good to be here!" and polly favored her mother with an ecstatic hug. "what time are we to go to severndale tomorrow, little mother?" asked peggy. "not until after the hop, dear. it will be very late, i know, but christmas is a special day of days. that is the reason i'm going to send you all off early tonight. nine-thirty gunfire will see you started for the land o' nod." "aren't we to wait until daddy neil comes back?" "not unless he gets back before three bells and it looks doubtful, two have already struck. but you'll learn the news the first thing in the morning." but at that moment captain stewart came breezing into the room. peggy and polly flew to him crying: "did he say yes? did he say yes? oh, answer, quick! do!" they begged, each clasping arms about him. "if i answer quick you'll both cast loose but the longer i keep you in suspense the longer you'll lay hold," was his quizzical retort. "we won't stir. we won't budge. tell us." for answer captain stewart drew an official-looking document from his blouse pocket and waved it high above the girls' heads. a series of ecstatic squeals arose from them. opening the carefully folded paper he read its stereotyped phrasing, all of which is too serious to be herein repeated. suffice it to say that it secured for durand leroux, second class herbert taylor, second class ralph wilber, third class jean paul nichols, third class gordon powers, third class douglas porter, third class leave of absence under captain neil stewart's orders from : p. m., december rd, to p. m., december th, --. when the excitement had somewhat subsided, captain stewart said: "now that i'm sure of it, i must go 'phone out to severndale or jerome and harrison will be throwing fits. we'll have to quarter that bunch in the old wing, but lord bless my soul, i reckon they'd be willing to go out to the paddock. but mind, you girls, _not one whisper of it to those boys, until i give the word_, or it will be the brig for every mother's daughter of you," and with this terrifying threat he strode off down the corridor. just then three bells struck in the tower and at the second stroke the nine-thirty gun boomed out its welcome "release." as the sound died away mrs. harold walked over to the big window calling to the girls to join her. "stand here a moment," she said, then going over to the electric switch turned off all the lights. "why? what?" cried all the girls excepting peggy and polly. "look at the windows on the third deck of bancroft, southwest corner," she said, unhooking a drop light from above her desk and crossing the room to the puzzled girls. "those are durand's and bert's rooms. next to them are gordon's and doug's. watch closely." presently from two of the windows lights were flashed three times in rapid succession. then absolute darkness. instantly mrs. harold turned the reflector of her drop light toward the academy in such a way that the light would be cast out across the night, then by turning the key on and off quickly she flashed its rays three times, paused a moment, then repeated the signal. instantly from the rooms mentioned came the answering flashes, which after a brief interval were repeated, mrs. harold again giving her reply. "oh, who does it? what is it for? what do they mean?" asked her visitors. "just our usual good-night message to each other. my boys are all dear to me, but durand and gordon peculiarly so. those rooms are theirs. shall i tell you the message the flashes carry? it is just a little honor code. i want the boys to stand well this term, but, like most boys they are always ready for skylarking, and the work from seven-thirty to nine-thirty is easily side-tracked. so we have agreed to exchange a message at gunfire if 'all is well.' if they have been boning tomorrow's work my flash light is answered; if not--well, i see no answering flash." "do you think they always live up to the agreement?" asked rosalie. "i have faith to believe they do. isn't it always better to believe a person honest until we prove him a thief, than to go the other way about it? besides, they carry the talisman." "what is it--little mother?" asked juno, to the surprise of the others, slipping to mrs. harold's side and placing her arm about her. "would you really like to know, dear? suppose we throw on a fresh log and leave the lights turned off. then we'll have a confidential ten minutes before you go to bed. you can all cuddle down in a pile on the big bearskin." a moment later the flames formed a brilliant background to a pretty picture, and mrs. harold was repeating softly, as the upspringing flames filled the room with, their light and rested lovingly upon the young faces upturned to here: "each night when three bells strike the hour up in the old clock's lofty tower, a flashing beam, a darting ray their message of good faith convey. "those wavering, clear, electric beams, who'll guess how much their message means? or dream the wondrous tale they tell? 'dear little mother, all is well.' "yes, out across the peaceful night, by moon and stars made silvery bright, this message comes in gleaming light: we've kept the faith; good-night! good-night! "our token of a duty done, an effort made, a victory won; the bond on which we claim the right to flash our message, our 'good-night.' "dear little mother. precious name! none sweeter may a woman claim, no greater honor hope to gain than this which three short words contain. "to win and hold a love so pure, a faith so stanch, so strong, so sure-- to gain a confidence so rare-- what honors can with these compare? "no wonder as i flash my ray across the night's dividing way, in deepest reverence i say: god keep you true, dear lads, alway." the girls' good-nights were spoken very tenderly. the message of the lights had carried one to them as well. chapter xiii yuletide "we are one real old-timey family, sure enough," said captain stewart heartily, as he gathered his girls about him in mrs. harold's sitting-room saturday morning. "but, my-oh, my! i wish i were that indian-chinese-jap god, what's his name? who has about a dozen, arms. two are just no account," he added laughingly as he held peggy in one and polly in the other, while all the other girls, gail included, crowded around him, all talking and laughing at once, all demanding to know what would be the very first thing on the day's program. mr. and mrs. harold, mrs. howland, constance and snap were seated about the room, highly amused by the group in the center, for the girls had gathered about captain stewart as honeybees gather about a jar of sweets. "come close! come close, and i'll tell you. can't talk at long range," rumbled the kindly man, flopping his arms over peggy's and polly's shoulders like an amiable sea lion. rosalie flew to snuggle beside polly. natalie by peggy, the other girls drawing as close as possible, stella excepted, who laughed, blushed prettily and said: "i think captain stewart has more than his arms full now, so i'll hover on the outskirts." "i used to be scared to death of him," confessed gail, "but those weeks up in new london scared away my scare." "well, what is it to be this morning?" asked peggy. "suppose we all go over and take a look around the yard. it may be rather slow with just two old fogies like harold and me for escorts, but we'll leave the matrons at home and take snap. that ensign's stripe on his sleeve makes him seem a gay young bachelor even if he is a staid old benedic, and constance can lend him to you girls for a little while, anyway." "i'm game! no telling which one will be responsible for an elopement, connie," cried snap, bending over his pretty young wife to rest his dark hair against hers for a second. she laughed a happy little laugh as she answered: "go along, sir heartbreaker. people down here have not forgotten auld lang syne and i dare say the rocking chair fleet will at once begin to commiserate me. but you girls had better watch out; he is a hopeless flirt. so beware!" nevertheless, the light in her eyes as she raised them to the handsome man whose hand rested upon her shoulders held little of apprehension. ten minutes later the merry group had set forth. mrs. harold, mrs. howland and constance were only too glad to have their lively charges out of the way for an hour or two, for a good bit must be attended to before they could leave for severndale that evening. captain stewart and the girls would not return until twelve o'clock and the boys--who had been invited out for luncheon rather than to dine, former experiences having taught mrs. harold the folly of inviting dinner guests on a hop night--would arrive immediately after formation. at twelve o'clock the girls returned from the yard, and when one bell struck were watching in undisguised eagerness for their luncheon guests. from mrs. harold's windows they could see the steady stream of men rushing from bancroft toward the main gate, and in less time than seemed possible, footsteps were audible--yes, a trifle more than audible--as "the bunch" came piling up wilmot's stairway; for the promptitude with which "the little mother's boys" responded to "a bid" to middies' haven was an unending source of wonder to most people and certainly to her school-girl guests. eight midshipmen, came tramping up the stairs, eager to welcome old friends and ready to meet new ones upon the old ones' recommendations. to peggy, polly and nelly the happy, laughing, joking lot of lads were an old story, but the influx came near turning some of the other girls' heads. juno was sorely divided between douglas porter's splendid figure and durand's irresistible charm, until miss juno began to absorb the full significance of "class rates" and gold lace. the "five-striper" or head of the entire brigade was a well set-up chap and rather good looking, though suffering somewhat from a bad attack of "stripitis," as it was termed in bancroft hall. he was fairly efficient, a "good enough fellow" but not above "greasing," that is, cultivating the officers' favor, or that of their wives and daughters, if thereby ultimate benefits accrued to himself. the three-striper of ralph's, jean's and durand's company whom mrs. harold had asked to escort stella, was an all-round popular man, and a great favorite of mrs. harold's for his irreproachable character, sunny, lovable disposition and unfailing kindness to the underclassmen. the others who crowded the room are old friends. jean paul and rosalie chattered like a pair of magpies. natalie was the happiest thing imaginable as she and bert taylor, who had found the little golden-head most enticing, laughed and ran each other like old chums. peggy was everywhere, and although durand strove to break away from juno in order to "get in a few" with peggy, he was held prisoner with "big doug" until guy bennett the five-striper arrived and promptly appropriated her. then durand got away. gordon powers devoted himself to nelly, while ralph hovered over polly, for they had endless interests in common. "and you made the crew, ralph!" cried polly. "maybe i wasn't tickled nearly to death when you wrote me about it. and you're out for basketball too? how did you come out in math and mech? and who's taken gumshoe's place this year? and you never wrote me a word about class president election, though i guess i've asked you in every letter. what makes you so tight with your news, any way? i write you every little thing about columbia heights. come across with it." ralph turned crimson. polly looked first baffled then suddenly growing wise, jumped at him and shook him by the shoulders just as she used to do in the old days as she cried: "it's _you_! and you never told me! you good-for-nothing boy." "hi! watch out! the captain's clearing for action," cried jean paul. "told you you'd catch it when she found out." "well, tanta might have told me, anyhow," protested polly. "ralph wouldn't let me. kept me honor bound not to. but if you are all ready for your luncheon, come down at once. there are--how many of us? twenty-four? merciful powers!" "no, tanta, only twenty-three. poor gail's minus an escort," cried polly, a shade of regret in her eyes, for gail meant a great deal to this little sister. "why, so she is. now that's too bad of me," but something in her aunt's voice made polly look at her keenly. a moment later she understood. as the merry, laughing, chattering group reached the last landing of the stairs leading down to the assembly hall, a tall, broad-shouldered man who stood at the foot looked eagerly upward. polly gave one wild screech and nearly fell down the remaining steps, to fling herself into the arms outstretched to save her, as a deep voice said: "one bell, captain polly! you'll carry away your landing stage if you come head on at full speed." "oh, shortie! shortie! where did you come from?" cried polly, nearly pumping his arm from its socket, while all the others crowded around to welcome the big fellow whom all had loved or esteemed during his undergraduate days. "ask the little mother. she's responsible, and gail needs looking after among all this bunch, i know. come along, young lady. i've got to see you fed and cared for." and gail seemed perfectly willing to "come along." with such an addition to her family, mrs. harold had made arrangements to have two large round tables reserved for her in the smaller of the two dining-rooms, the older people at one, with gail, stella, juno, shortie, allyn and guy to make the circle, the younger people with peggy and polly as hostesses at the adjoining table. in addition to her own regular waiter, the second head waiter and two assistants had been detailed to serve, but with the christmas rush and the number of people at wilmot for the holidays there was more or less delay between courses. "where is john?" she demanded, as they were waiting for the salad. "over yonder. shall i hail him?" asked durand, from the next table, promptly putting his fingers to his mouth as though to give one of the ear-splitting whistles which seem to carry for miles. "if you dare, you scape-grace, right here in this dining-room!" she warned. "oh, do it!" cried polly. "i want to learn how. show me." "all right; stick out your tongue," directed durand and polly promptly fell into the trap, though unluckily she happened to be looking straight past durand at the moment, and what proved more embarrassing, right at a table occupied by foxy grandpa, helen and lily pearl, whom mrs. harold had not yet met, so, of course, did not recognize. (helen and lily did not mean to lose sight of peggy and polly if they could help it.) there are some situations where explanations only make matters worse. this was one of them. polly was in everlasting disgrace and everyone at the table in shouts of laughter, as well as those at other tables near at hand, whose occupants could not have helped hearing and seeing if they would. but at that moment rosalie diverted attention from polly by trying to clap her hands regardless of the piece of luncheon roll she held, thus promptly launching it over her shoulder, where it went merrily bounding across the polished floor to be gravely rescued by the irreproachable john. but rosalie was in the realms of the gods and far above such mundane matters as a luncheon roll's eccentricities. mrs. harold was no whit behind her girls in their fun, and was so well known to every guest in the hotel that her table was invariably looked upon as a source of amusement for most of the others, and the fun which flowed like an electric current came very near making them forget the good things before them, and the big dining-room full of people found themselves sympathetically affected, each gay bit of laughter, each enthusiastic comment finding an answering smile at some table. as nearly every member of the first class had gone on christmas leave, the few who happened to be in annapolis having remained as the guests of friends, there was a very perceptible thinning out of ranks over in bancroft that afternoon. nevertheless, mrs. harold had announced an informal tea from four to six and "general liberty" enabled all who chose to do so to attend it. and many chose! but in the interval between luncheon and four o 'clock mrs. harold "barred out the masculine population" and carried her girls upstairs to change their gowns for her tea. it was during the "prinking process" that some very characteristic comments were made upon the masculine guests now enjoying their post-prandial cigars, or cigarettes, in the smoking-room, below stairs. mrs. harold was in her element listening to the girls' frank comments. "oh, i know i'm going to have the very time of my life, mrs. harold," exclaimed natalie, giving a little bounce of rapture. "mr. porter is certainly a remarkably handsome man," was juno's complacent comment. "but, mrs. harold, aren't first classmen really--well--don't they come in for greater privileges? rate more? is that what you say down here?" "of course. especially a five-striper, juno. you'd better cultivate guy bennett. it's a great distinction to profit by a five-striper's favors. there are three girls in annapolis who have reduced that sort of cultivation to a science and if you manage to rival them you will have scored a point, sure enough." "how many five-stripers are there?" asked stella. "only one, happily, or the girls to whom i allude would have nervous prostration. but the four and three-stripers save the day for them. nothing below is worth cultivating." "don't polly and peggy 'cultivate' the stripers!" asked rosalie. "that depends," was mrs. harold's cryptic answer as an odd smile caused her lips to twitch. "last year's five-striper and a good many other stripers, were with us constantly, and i miss them more than i like to dwell upon. this year's? well--i shall endeavor to survive their departure." "oh, but don't you just love them all!" cried rosalie. "which, the midshipmen or the stripes?" asked polly. "why, the midshipmen, of course!" "i think a whole lot of some of the boys--yes, of a good many, but there are some whom i wouldn't miss much, i reckon." "oh, i think you are perfectly heartless, polly. they are just the darlingest men i ever met." with what unction the word "men" rolled from rosalie's tongue. "men" had not figured very largely in rosalie's world, and mrs. harold chuckled inwardly at the thought of classing rosalie's particular little jean paul, in the category of grown-ups; anything more essentially boyish, and full to the brim of madcap pranks, than the eighteen-year-old jean paul, it would have been hard to picture. mrs. harold had dispatched notes to helen and lily pearl asking them in peggy's and polly's name to be present at her little tea that afternoon, to meet several of the midshipmen, and, if they cared to do so, to bring with them the men who were taking them to the hop. she did not know who these men were. shortly after four helen and lily pearl arrived in a flutter. mrs. harold had not felt it incumbent upon her to include foxy grandpa, concluding that he could find diversion for an hour or two while his charges were with their school-chums. when helen and lily arrived upon the scene, mrs. harold's face was a study. foxy grandpa was evidently too dull to be critical and columbia heights was at a safe distance. both lily pearl and helen were gotten up regardless. each wore extravagant gowns, each had done up her hair and supplemented it by wonderful creations of false puffs. each wore dangling ear-rings and the complexion of each girl had been "assisted." poor mrs. harold felt as though a couple of chorus girls had invaded her little sanctum, and peggy and polly were furious. but it was too late then to retreat and a few moments later the midshipmen began to pour into the sitting-room, the two who were to take helen and lily being men whom mrs. harold had always avoided, feeling that they were no companions for the frank, unaffected girls she loved so dearly. she resolved to keep her eye piped. it was a merry afternoon. rosalie scintillated, and her scintillation proved infectious for jean paul, upon whom she had made a deep impression at thanksgiving; he instantly appropriated her, greatly to mrs. harold's amusement, for she was never too fully occupied to notice significant signs. quiet, dignified bert taylor had promptly taken bonny natalie under his serene protection. and juno! well she was sorely divided between doug's towering seventy-four inches and gordon's sixty-nine, though she strove to conceal the exaltation which her uniformed gallants stirred in her soul by bringing to bear upon them all the superlative superiority which she had studied as the acme of success in the habitues of the hotel astor. with douglas it worked to a charm. he rose to the corresponding rôle as a trout to a fly, but poor gordon was only too thankful when the companionship and conversation became more general. the superior young lady from the metropolis was beyond his ken. little nelly bolivar's sweetness and quaint humor filled his ideals to far greater satisfaction. he had met nelly first at severndale and several times since with mrs. harold, who had often invited her to spend the weekend at wilmot, where she had looked to the young girl's welfare, knowing how much she must miss peggy this winter. nelly was simply dressed in a gown which had once been peggy's, for most of peggy's garments went to nelly, but were given so sweetly and with such evident love, that not even the most sensitive nature could have been wounded, and they were a real blessing to her. no one ever commented upon the fact and before going to columbia heights, nelly had spent many a busy hour with mrs. harold remodeling and working like a little beaver under that good friend's guidance, for nelly was a skilful little needlewoman. as a result, no girl in the school was more suitably gowned. the only girls who had eyed her critically were lily pearl, helen and juno. the first because she was too shallow to do aught but follow helen's lead, and juno from a naturally critical disposition. juno meant to hold her favor somewhat in reserve. she intended first to see what nelly's standing at severndale proved. she might be polly's and peggy's friend--well and good--but who was she? would she find a welcome among the delacys, the vanderstacks, the dryers and heaven knows which-or-whats of new york's glitterers? juno was hardly in a position to gauge her standards by those who represented the big city's finest and best. she saw the patrons of the great hotels and moved among them, but of new york's sterling worth, she was as ignorant as a babe. its superficial glamour and glitter, as well as its less desirable contingent, which she was not sufficiently experienced in the world's ways to fully understand, made the strongest appeal to her. poor little nelly bolivar would have been a modest, sleek little junco compared with the birds of paradise (?), cockatoos, and pheasants of juno's world, but of all this nelly was quite unaware and too happy in her present surroundings to care. it was a merry afternoon for all, but a diversion was created by polly, shortly before it ended. she was at the tea-table pouring, and talking to ralph like a phonograph, when mrs. harold became aware of a horrible odor, and cried: "what under the sun smells so abominably? why, polly howland, look at my perfectly good teakettle! it is red hot, and--horrors--there isn't one drop of water in it!" true enough, absorbed in her conversation with ralph, polly had completely overlooked the trifling detail of keeping her kettle filled, though the alcohol lamp beneath it was doing its duty most lampfully. damages repaired and the kettle at length filled and singing merrily, the gay little gathering took slight note of time, but soon after four bells struck in the tower clock, mrs. harold began to "round up" her masculine guests, for she had no notion of their being late for formation. "take your places in the 'firing line!'" she ordered. "oh, there's loads of time, little mother!" came in protest from jean paul. "time to burn," from dick allyn, who found stella mighty entertaining. "now, little mother, you're not going to be so hard-hearted as to turn us out early tonight! why, it's weeks since we've had the girls here," wheedled durand. "can't help it. out you all go! there's too much at stake just now to risk any demerits." "at stake? what's at stake, little mother?" were the eager questions. "can't tell you a single thing now. i'm tongue-tied until captain stewart passes the word." "oh, what is it? please come across with it, little mother. when may we know," begged ralph. "at formation tonight perhaps. no use teasing! join the firing line!" and with the command of a general mrs. harold shooed her brood out into the corridor, where overcoats and caps hung. they were used to these sudden dismissals, and so were polly and peggy, who were too familiar with all that which must be crowded into a limited amount of time not to appreciate what it meant to have "the decks cleared" when necessary. but rosalie, natalie, juno, marjorie, stella and the other girls accepted the new order of things with divers emotions. rosalie giggled, natalie's face expressed wonder. juno's was just a shade critical, marjorie and stella smiled. "gee, if we obeyed all orders with as good grace as we obey the little mother's what models we'd be," was jean paul's jerky comment as he struggled into an overcoat, his eyes still fixed upon rosalie's winsome face. meanwhile, doug porter was clawing about among the coats to find his own, but happening to glance at jean paul, shouted: "well, i'll be hanged! say, how is it to get out of my coat, bantam?" true enough, the garment into which the wee man was wriggling trailed upon the carpet, but jean paul was in a realm where overcoats 'never were or e'er had been.' at six-fifteen the lingering good-byes had been said and mrs. harold had dismissed those who constituted the "firing line," the name having been bestowed by wheedles when he first witnessed the promptitude with which mrs. harold sent her boys to the right-about in order to avoid demerits for tardiness. "why must they rush back on the very minute?" asked rosalie, when all were gone, half inclined to resent an order of things which deprived her of her gallant jean sans ceremony. "discipline! discipline! little lady," laughed mrs. harold, coming up behind rosalie and turning the piquant face up to hers. "i should think they'd feel like a lot of school boys to be ordered about so," was juno's rather petulant comment. "better feel 'like a lot of schoolboys' here, than like a lot of simpletons when they 'hit the tree,'" was mrs. harold's merry reply. "you've a whole lot to learn about regulations, my bonny lassie." it was all said so kindly and so merrily that juno could not resent it. "but when will they learn about their leave? and if they are to go out to severndale tonight how will they manage?" asked rosalie eagerly. "trust daddy neil to manage that. when they get back they'll be called to the office and the officer in charge will notify them of what has taken place and give them their orders." "oh, i don't think i can possibly wait to hear what they'll say!" cried polly. "i never, never knew such a lovely thing to happen before." chapter xiv at severndale "my goodness!" cried rosalie, "i thought i knew peggy stewart, but the peggy stewart we know at columbia heights, and the peggy stewart we saw at wilmot, and the peggy stewart we've found here are three different people!" "and if you stay here long enough you'll know still another peggy stewart," nodded polly sagely. "she is a wonder no matter where you find her," said nelly quietly, "and she grows to be more and more of a wonder the longer you know her." "how long have you been observing this wonderful wonder?" asked juno. "i think peggy stewart has held my interest from the first moment we came to live at severndale," was nelly's perfectly truthful, though not wholly enlightening, answer. juno thought the evasion intentional and looked at her rather sharply. she was more than curious to see nelly's home and father, and wondered if the party would be invited there. the christmas hop, which had been a paradise within flag-draped walls for captain stewart's guests, was numbered among delights passed, but so many more were in store and the grand climax of the year, the new year's eve hop, though, alack! it had to be given on the night of december thirtieth instead of the thirty-first, was looked forward to with eagerness. the party had come out to severndale by a special car at twelve-thirty, and a "madder, merrier" group of young people it would have been hard to find. upon their return to bancroft hall after mrs. harold's summary dismissal from "middie's haven" the previous saturday night, ralph, jean paul, durand, bert, gordon and doug had been ordered to report at the office and had it not been for the hint given at the tea, would have gone in trepidation of spirit. but it so happened that the officer in charge was possessed of a flickering memory of his own midshipman days, and his twinkling eyes and cheerful grin were reassuring. the boys all openly adored him, and even though they had dubbed him _hercules_ hugh, would have formed a door mat of their bodies had he hinted a desire for it. when the lucky six finally grasped the fact that captain stewart had actually obtained forty-eight hours liberty for them, and they were to go out to severndale with the house-party, some startling things came very near taking place right in the o c's office. luckily the favored ones restrained themselves until they reached durand's room on the third deck, where a vent promptly presented itself, and is too good a story to leave untold. naturally at christmas, innumerable boxes of "eats" are shipped to the midshipmen from all over the united states, their contents usually governed by the section of the world from which they are forwarded. new england invariably sends its quota of mince pies, roast turkeys and the viands which furnish forth a new england table at yuletide. the south and west send their special dishes. durand's aunt belle never failed him. each holiday found a box at bancroft addressed to the lad who was so dear to her, and it was always regarded as public property by durand's friends, who never hesitated to open it and regale themselves, sure that the generous owner of the "eats" would be only too glad to share with them everything he owned. but like most generous souls, durand was often imposed upon, and this year the imposition went to the very limit. while durand and his friends were over in wilmot hall his box was rifled, but it could hardly have been said to have been done by his friends, several men who had counted upon "bubbles being a good old scout" having made way with practically everything the box contained. when he returned to his room the turkey carcass, picked clean as though buzzards had fallen upon it, rested forlornly upon its back in the middle of his study table. it was well for him that the midshipman on duty in his corridor had been one of the marauders, otherwise he would have been speedily reported for that which followed. when the yelling, shouting bunch rushed into durand's room they stopped short and a few expletives expressed their opinions of the pirates. but durand's wits worked quickly. catching up the denuded bird by its greasy neck and giving the yell of a comanche, he rushed out into the corridor waving his weapon over his head like a war club. the man on duty at the table at the end of the corridor saw him coming and needed no further hint that his nemesis was upon him. regardless of duty or anything else, he bounded from his chair and fled around the corner of the corridor, the turkey carcass speeding after him with unerring aim. had he remained within range he would have received all and more than his share of the bird. unluckily, a divisional officer had chosen that moment to turn into the corridor, and the turkey whizzed over his head, for he was one very tiny man. durand did not wait to make inquiries. he had not removed cap or overcoat, a window was close at hand, the window of the adjoining room was accessible to one as agile as durand, and the next second he was out of one and through the other, leaving his friends to make explanations. why it did not result in durand and all the others losing those precious forty-eight hours of liberty, only their special guardian spirits were in a position to explain, but they kept discreetly silent. the men in durand's room could truthfully declare that they had not had a thing to do with the launching of that extraordinary projectile and also that durand was not in his room. it was not necessary to be too explicit, they felt, and twenty minutes later all were over at middie's haven, guy bennett and richard allyn, to juno's secret disgust, having shifted into civilian clothes as was the privilege of the first classmen "on leave," the difference between "leave" and "liberty" being very great indeed. stella, although admiring the uniforms, was tantalizingly uncritical. the girls could never quite understand stella's lack of enthusiasm over the midshipmen. and so had passed that joyful evening of the christmas hop, the biggest surprise of all awaiting them up at round bay upon the arrival of the car at that station. nearly every horse and vehicle at severndale had been pressed into service to carry its guests from the station, and mounted on shashai and star, jess having brought them home for the holidays, were happy and wheedles. they had been unable to leave their ships as soon as shorty, so taking a later train had gone directly to severndale. their welcome by peggy and polly was a royal one. when the party arrived at severndale another surprise greeted it as a very fat, very much-at-home boston bull-terrier came tumbling down the steps to greet them. to all but polly he was an alien and a stranger. polly paused just one second, then cried as she gathered the little beast into her arms, regardless of the evening wrap she was wearing: "oh, rhody! rhody! who brought you?" as though to answer her question, rhody rolled his pop-eyes toward wheedles. of the happy sunday and happier christmas day space is too limited to tell. at five p. m. durand, ralph, jean paul, bert, gordon and doug were obliged to bid their hostesses adieu and return to annapolis, but each day of christmas week held its afternoon informal dance at the auditorium, to which mrs. harold escorted her party, the mornings being given over to work by the midshipmen, and to all manner of frolicing out at severndale by happy, wheedles, and shortie, who seemed to have returned to their fun-loving, care-free undergraduate days. yet how the boys had changed in their seven months as passed-midshipmen. although full of their fun and pranks, running peggy and polly unmercifully, showing many little courtesies to nelly whom all had grown to love during the old days, and playing the gay gallants to the other girls, there was a marked change from the happy-go-lucky wheedles, the madcap happy, and the quaint, odd shortie of bancroft days. but shortie's interest was unquestionably centered on one golden-haired little lady, and many a long ride did they take through the lovely country about severndale. captain stewart watched proceedings with a wise smile. gail and shortie were prime favorites of his. happy and wheedles had to do duty for many during the morning hours, but the girls' especial escorts were punctual to the minute when the launch from severndale ran up to the maryland avenue float at three-forty-five each afternoon, and they had no cause to complain of a lack of attention, for many beside those who had been invited to severndale were eager for dances with little gypsy rosalie, tall, stately stella, winsome natalie, shy marjorie or the scornful juno, whose superiority was considered a big joke. during their week in annapolis helen and lily pearl had made tremendous strides in a certain way. foxy grandpa had met a gushing, gracious widow, who made wilmot her home. that the lady's hair was of a shade rarely produced by nature, and her complexion as unusual as her innumerable puffs and curls, foxy grandpa was too dull of sight and mind to perceive. he had gone through life somewhat side-tracked by more brilliant, interesting people, and to find someone who flattered him and fluttered about him with the coyness of eighteen years, when three times eighteen would hardly have sufficed to number her milestones, went to the old gentleman's head like wine, and he became mrs. ring's slave to the vast amusement of everyone in wilmot. and mrs. ring promptly took helen and lily pearl under her chaperonage, introduced her son, a midshipman, to them, who in turn introduced his room-mate, and a charming sextet was promptly formed. poor mrs. vincent was likely to have some lively experiences as the result of that christmas holiday, for paul ring and charles purdy were one rare pair of susceptible simpletons, if nothing worse. and so passed the week at severndale for mrs. harold's party, peggy once more the gracious little chatelaine, sure of herself and entertaining her guests like a little queen, a perfect wonder to the other girls. polly was happy as a grig, and all the others equally so. the older people rejoiced in this rare reunion, and captain stewart each day grew more devoted to his "howland bunch" as he called them. the three girls openly adored him, and dainty, quiet little mrs. howland beamed upon everyone, little guessing how often the good captain's eyes rested upon her when she was unaware of it, or how he was learning to esteem the mother of the three young girls whom he pronounced "jewels of the purest water." but that lies in the future. it is once more saturday morning and once more a big dance is pending to which all are going. this time shortie was taking gail, wheedles had asked stella, happy was looking after juno, polly would go with ralph, peggy with durand, rosalie would have cried her eyes out had any one save jean paul been her gay gallant, natalie was bert's charge, marjorie and big doug had become good chums, and, of course, gordon powers had made sure of nelly's company. as this was to be the most magnificent affair of the holiday season, it had been decided to drive into annapolis directly after luncheon, attend a matinee to be given at the one funny little theatre the town boasted, and for which mrs. harold had secured three stalls in order to include "the bunch," then to go to wilmot to dine and dress, mammy, harrison and jerome having been intrusted with the transportation of the suitcases containing the evening finery. all went merry as a marriage bell. when the matinee ended the boys were sent to the right about and the girls hurried to their rooms to make their toilets, for a six-thirty dinner had been ordered and everybody would be present. as the girls, excepting stella and gail, were all under seventeen, and still to make their formal bows to the big social world, their gowns were all of short, dancing length, juno's excepted. juno was a good deal of a law unto herself in the matter of raiment. her father supplied her with all the spending money she asked for, and charge accounts at several of the large new york shops and at a fashionable modiste's, completed her latitude. there would be very little left for juno to arrive at when she made her début. there was no time for comment or correction when the girls emerged from their rooms to accompany the older people to the dining-room, but at sight of juno's gown mrs. harold's color grew deeper, and for a moment her teeth pressed her lower lip as though striving to hold back her words. juno and rosalie shared one room but rosalie had known nothing of the contents of juno's suitcase until it came time for them to dress, then her black eyes had nearly popped out of their sockets, for certainly juno's gown was a startling creation for a school-girl. needless to add, the one which she was supposed to have taken to annapolis had been replaced by the present one at the last moment, and mrs. vincent was not even aware that juno possessed such a gown as the one she was then wearing. it was a beautiful pearl white charmeuse, cut low in front and with a v in the back which clearly testified to the fact that the wearer was _not_ afflicted with spinal curvature. its trimmings were of exquisite lace and crystals sufficiently elaborate for a bride, and the skirt was one of the clinging, narrow, beaver-tailed train affairs which render walking about as graceful as the gait of a hobbled-horse, and dancing an utter impossibility unless the gown is held up. it was a most advanced style, out-parisianing the parisian. when juno prepared to get into it, even rosalie, charming beyond words in a pink chiffon, had cried: "why, juno gibson, it's lucky for you mrs. vincent isn't here. you'd never go to the hop in that dress." "well, she isn't here, so calm yourself." but the climax came as they were crossing wilmot's reception hall on their way up from dinner. mrs. harold was walking just behind her flock, peggy with her, fully conscious of the tension matters had assumed, for modest little peggy had been too closely associated with polly and mrs. harold not to have stored away considerable rational worldly knowledge and some very sane ideas. as they were about to ascend the stairs juno with well affected indifference caught up her train, thereby revealing the latest idiosyncrasy of the feminine toilet. she wore silver slippers and black silk tights and had quite dispensed with petticoats. the stage and the hotel astor had developed juno's knowledge of _la mode en règle_ at a galloping pace. some of the girls gave little gasps, and amused smiles flitted across the faces of the people within range. mrs. harold colored to her forehead. when they reached her corridor she said to juno: "little girl, will you come into my room a moment?' "certainly, if you wish it, mrs. harold," was the reply in a tone which meant that juno had instantly donned her armor of repulsion seating herself upon a low chair, mrs. harold drew a hassock to her side, motioning juno to it. the seat might have been accepted with a better grace. mrs. harold took the lovely, rebellious face in both her hands, pressed her lips to the frowning forehead, and said gently: "honey, smoothe them out, please, and, remember that what i am about to say to you is said because peggy's and polly's friends are mine and i love them. yes, and wish them to learn to love me if possible. nothing is dearer to me than my young people and i long to see all that is best and finest developed in them. you have come to me as a guest, dear, but you have also come to me as my foster-daughter pro tem, and as such, claim my affectionate interest in your well-being. mother and daughter are precious names." there was a slight pause, in which juno gave an impatient toss of her handsome head and asked in a bitterly ironical voice: "are they? i am afraid i'm not very well prepared to judge." mrs. harold looked keenly at the girl, a light beginning to dawn upon her, though she had heard little of juno's history. "dear heart, forgive me if i wounded you. it was unintentional. i know nothing of earlier experiences, you know. you are just polly's friend to me. perhaps some day, if you can learn to love and trust me, you will let me understand why i have wounded. that is for another time and season. just now we have but a few moments in which to 'get near' each other, as my boys would say, and i am going to make a request which may displease you. my little girl, will you accept some suggestions regarding your toilet?" "i dare say you think it is too grown-up for me. i know i'm not supposed to wear a low gown or a train." "i'm afraid i should be tempted to say the gown had been sent to you before it had grown-up enough," smiled mrs. harold. "and certainly some of its accessories must have been overlooked or forgotten altogether." "why, nobody wears anything but tights under a ball gown nowadays. how would it fit with skirts all bunched up under it? as to the neck, it is no lower than one sees at the opera at home. i know a dozen people who wear gowns made in exactly the same way, and madam marie would expire if i did not follow her dictates--why, she would never do a bit more work for me." "then i beg of you, outrage the lady's ideas forthwith, for--" mrs. harold laid her hand upon juno's--"no dressmaker living should have the power to place a refined, modest little girl in a false position, or lower her womanly standards and ideals. not only hers, dear, but what is vastly more far-reaching, the ideals of the boys and men with whom she is thrown. you are too young to fully appreciate this; you could hardly interpret some of the comments which are sure to be made upon the ballroom floor from those who are somewhat lacking in finer feeling; nor can you gauge the influence a truly modest girl--i do not mean an ignorantly prudish one, for a limited knowledge of the facts of life is a dangerous thing--has over such lads as you meet." "you have a beautiful hand, dear," continued mrs. harold, taking juno's tapering, perfectly manicured fingers in hers. "it is faultless. make it as strong as faultless, for remember--nothing has greater power figuratively. you hold more in this pretty hand than equal franchise can ever confer upon you. see that right now you help to make the world purer--your sisters who would have the ballot are using this crying need as their strongest argument--by avoiding in word or deed anything which can dethrone you in the esteem of the other sex, whether young or mature, for you can never know how far-reaching it will prove. you think i am too sweeping in my assertion? that you never have and never could do anything to invite criticism? dear heart, not intentionally, i know, but in the very fact that you are innocent of the influence which--say such a gown as you are now wearing, for an illustration--may have, lies the harm you do. if you fully understand you would sooner go to the hop tonight gowned in sackcloth; of this i am certain." for a moment juno did not speak. this little human craft was battling with conflicting currents and there seemed no pilot in sight. then she turned suddenly and placing her arms about mrs. harold, laid her head upon the shoulder which had comforted so many and began to sob softly. "my little girl! my dear, dear little girl, do not take it so deeply to heart. i did not mean to wound you so cruelly. forgive me, dear." "you haven't wounded me. it isn't that. but i--i--don't seem to know where i'm at. no one has ever spoken to me in this way. i'm often scolded and lectured and stormed at, but no one cares enough to make me understand. please show me how. please tell me. it seems like a glimpse into a different world." "first let me dry the tears i have been the cause of bringing to your eyes--if my boys see traces of them i shall be brought to an account. then we will remedy what might have done harm." as she spoke mrs. harold took a bit of absorbent cotton, soaked it in rose water and bathed the lovely soft, brown eyes. juno smiled up at her, then nestled against her, again. "my new little foster-daughter," said mrs. harold, kissing the velvety cheeks. "'it's beauty, truly blent, whose red and white, nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on.' keep it so--it needs no aid--we shall learn to know each other better. you will come again--yes, often--and where i can help, count upon me--always? and now i'll play maid." ten minutes later when juno entered the living-room, an exquisite bit of venetian lace filled in the v at the back of the bodice; the softest white maline edged the front, and when, she raised her train a lace petticoat which any girl would have pronounced "too sweet for words" floated like sea-foam about her slender ankles. no comments were made and all set forth for the hop. and was the experiment a red letter one? well! chapter xv in spring term "well, we all came back to earth with a thud, didn't we? but, was there ever anything like it while it lasted," ended natalie with a rapturous sigh. "and do you suppose there can ever be anything like it again?" rosalie's tone suggested funeral wreaths and deep mourning, but she continued to brush her hair with peggy's pretty ivory-handled brush, and pose before peggy's mirror. the girls were not supposed to dress in each other's rooms but suppositions frequently prove fallacies in a girl's school and these girls had vast mutual interests past and pending. several weeks had passed since the christmas holidays, but the joys of that memorable house-party were still very vivid memories and recalled almost daily. it was the hour before dinner. the girls were expected to be ready promptly at six-fifteen, but dressing hour might more properly have been termed gossiping hour, since it was more often given over to general discussions, stella's pretty room, or peggy's and polly's, proving as a rule a rendezvous. all of the severndale house party were assembled at the moment, and two or three others beside, among them isabel, helen and lily pearl. "i hope there may be a good many times like it again," said peggy warmly. "it was just lovely to have you all down there and daddy neil was the happiest thing i've ever seen. i wish we could have him at easter, but he will be far away when easter comes." "shall you go home at easter?" asked helen, flickering hopes of an invitation darting across her mind. "i hardly think so. you see it is only two weeks off and the little mother has not said anything about it, has she, polly?" "no, in her last letter she said she thought she'd come down to washington for easter week and stop at the willard, but it is not settled yet. i'd rather be in annapolis at easter and go for some of our long rides. wasn't it fun to have shashai and silver star back there during our visit! i believe they and tzaritza and jess had the very time of their young--and old--lives. and wasn't tzaritza regal with rhody?" "it was the funniest thing i've ever seen," laughed stella. "that dog acted exactly like a royal princess entertaining a happy-go-lucky jackie. rhody's life on board the _rhode island_ since you and ralph rescued him seems to have been one gay and festive experience for a boston bull pup." "it surely has," concurred polly. "snap says he's just wise to everything, and did you ever see anything so absurd as those clown tricks the jackies taught him?" "i think you are all perfectly wonderful people, dogs and horses included," was rosalie's climax of eulogy, if rather peculiar and comprehensive. "well, we had one royal good time and we are not likely to forget it either. peggy, weren't you petrified when you struck 'eight bells' at the hop, for the death of the old year? goodness, when those lights began to go out, and everybody stopped dancing i felt so queer. and when 'taps' sounded little shivery creeps went all up and down my spine, and you struck eight bells so beautifully! but reveille drove me almost crazy. when the lights flashed on again i didn't know whether i wanted to laugh or cry i was so nervous," was natalie's reminiscence. "it was the most solemn thing i ever heard and the most beautiful," said marjorie softly. "it made me homesick, and yet home doesn't mean anything to me; this is the only one i have known since i was eight years old." "eight years in one place and a school at that!" cried juno. "why, i should have done something desperate long before four had passed. girls, think of being in a school eight years." juno's tone implied the horrors of the bastile. "if you had no other, what could you do?" marjorie's question was asked with a smile which was sadder than tears could have been. juno shrugged her shoulders, but polly slipped over to marjorie's side and with one of polly's irresistible little mannerisms, laid her arm across her shoulder, as hundreds of times the boys in bancroft demonstrate their good fellowship for each other. another girl would probably have kissed her. polly was not given to kisses. then she asked: "won't your father come east this spring for commencement? you said you hoped he would. "i've hoped so every spring, but when he writes he says it takes four whole months to reach washington from that awful place in the klondyke. i wish he had never heard of it." "i'm so glad you went to severndale with us. we must never let her be lonely or homesick again, peggy." "not while severndale has a spare hammock," nodded peggy. marjorie was more or less of a mystery to most of the girls, but the greatest of all to mrs. vincent to whom she had come the year the school was opened. mrs. vincent had more than once said to herself: "well, i certainly have four oddities to deal with: _who_ is marjorie? she is one of the sweetest, most lovable girls i've ever met, but i don't really know a single thing about her. she has come to me from the home of a perfectly reliable congregational minister, but even he confesses that he knows nothing beyond the fact that she is the daughter of a man lost to civilization in the remotest regions of the klondyke. he says he believes her mother is dead. heigho! and juno? what is likely to become of _her_, poor child? what does become of all the children of divorced parents in this land of divorces? oh, why can't the parents think of the children they have brought into the world but who did not ask to come? "and rosalie? what is to become of that little pepper pot with all her loving impulses and self-will? i believe her father has visited her for about one hour in each of the four years she has been here, and i also believe his visits do more harm than good, they seem to enrage the child so. of course, it is all wounded pride and affection, but who is to correct it? and this year comes stella, the biggest puzzle of all. her father? well, i dare say it is all right, but he sometimes acts more like--" but at this point mrs. vincent invariably had paused abruptly and turned her attention to other matters. "can't the boys ever get leave to visit their friends?" asked lily pearl. "i think it is perfectly outrageous to keep them stived up in that horrid place year in and year out for four years with only four months to call their own in one-thousand-four-hundred-and-sixty days!" "lily's been doing the multiplication table," cried rosalie. "well, i counted and i think it's awful--simply awful!" lamented lily. "i'd give anything to see charlie purdy and have another of those ravishing dances. i can just feel his arms about me yet, and the way he snuggles your head up against him and nestles his face down in your hair--m--m--m! why, his clothes smell so deliciously of cigarette smoke! i can smell it yet!" a howl of laughter greeted this rhapsody from all but helen, who bridled and protested: "oh, you girls may laugh, but you had to walk a chalk line under the eyes of a half dozen chaperones every minute. lily and i got acquainted with our friends." "well, i hope we did have a chaperone or two," was polly's retort. she had vivid memories of some of the scenes upon which she and ralph had inadvertently blundered during the afternoon informals of christmas week. the auditorium in the academic building where informals are held, has many secluded nooks. upon one occasion she had run upon helen and paul ring, the former languishing in the latter's arms. perhaps mamma would not have been so ready to intrust her dear little daughter to foxy grandpa's protection had she dreamed of the existence of mamma ring and dear paul. at all this sentimental enthusiasm stella had looked on indulgently and now laughed outright, "what silly kids you two are," she said. "well, i don't see that you had such a ravishing time, anyway," cried helen. "why, i'm sure mr. allyn was as attentive as anyone could be. he was on hand every minute to take me wherever i wanted to go." stella's expression was quizzical and made helen furious. "oh, a paid guide could have done as much i don't doubt." "father _is_ a little fussy at times, so perhaps it is just as well. you see i should not have been at severndale at all if he had not been called to mexico on business. so i'd better be thankful for what fun i did get. but there goes the first bell. better get down toward the dining-room, girls," laughed stella good-naturedly, and set the example. a moment later the room was deserted by all but helen who lingered at the mirror. when the others were on their way down stairs she slipped to nelly's room and took from her desk a sheet of the monogram paper and an envelope, which mrs. harold had given her at christmas. as she passed her own room she hid them in her desk for future use. after dinner when the evening mail was delivered, helen received a letter bearing the annapolis postmark. nelly had one from her father. as she read it her face wore a peculiar expression. the letter stated that her father was coming to washington to consult with shelby concerning a matter of business connected with severndale's paddock. as nelly ceased reading she glanced up from her letter to find peggy watching her narrowly. peggy had also received a letter from dr. llewellyn in which he mentioned the fact that bolivar felt it advisable to run down to washington. in an instant the whole situation flashed across peggy's quick comprehension. during the girl's visit at severndale jim bolivar had never come to the house. nelly had many times slipped away for quiet little talks with her father in their own cottage and had asked him more than once why he did not come up to the big house to see her, and his reply had invariably been: "honey, i don't belong there. no, 'tain't no use to argue,--i don't. your mother would have; she come of quality stock, and what in the lord's name she ever saw in me i've been, a-guessin' an' a-guessin' for the last eighteen year." "but dad, peggy stewart has never, never made either you or me feel the least shade of difference in our stations. neither has polly howland. they couldn't be lovelier to me, though i know you have never been at severndale as guests have been there. but it has never seemed to strike me until now. and down at the school the girls are awfully nice to me; at least, most of them are. those who are patronizing are that way because they are so to everybody. but the really nice girls are lovely, and i am sure they'd never think of being rude to you." "little girl, listen to your old dad: there are some things in this world not to be got around. i'm one of 'em. peggy stewart and polly howland are thoroughbreds an' thoroughbreds ain't capable of no low-down snobbishness. they know their places in the world and there's nothing open to discussion. an' they're too fine-grained to scratch other folks the wrong way. but, some of them girls up yonder are cross-breeds--oh, yes, i've been a-watchin' 'em an' i know,--tain't no use to argue. they kin prance an' cavort an' their coats are sleek an' shinin', but don't count on 'em too much when it comes right down to disposition an' endurance, 'cause they'll disappoint you. i ain't never told you honey, that your mother was a bladen. well, she was. some day i'm going to tell you how she fell in love with a good-lookin' young skalawag by the name o' jim bolivar. he comes o' pretty decent stock too, only he hadn't sense enough to stay at st. john's where his dad put him, but had to go rampagin' all over the country till he'd clean forgot any bringin'-up he'd ever had, and landed up as a sort o' bailiff, as they call 'em over in the old country, on an estate down on the eastern shore. then he met helen bladen and 's sure's you live she 'changed the name and not the letter and changed for a heap sight worse 'n the better' when she eloped with me. thank the lord she didn't live long enough to see the worst, and you hardly remember her at all. but that's my pretty history,--a no-count, ne'er do well, and if it weren't for peggy stewart, god bless her! you'd a been lyin' 'long side o' yo' ma out yonder this minute, for all i'd ever a-done to keep you here, i reckon, much less give you the education you're a-gettin' now. no, honey, i won't go up to the great house. if i'd a-done right when i was a boy i'd be sittin' right up there with the rest o' that bunch o' people this minute. but i was bound to have my fling, and sow my wild oats and now i can have the pleasure of harvestin' my crop. it ought to be thistles, for if ever there was a jackass that same was jim bolivar." nelly had listened to the pitiful tale without comment, but when it ended she placed her arms about her father's neck and sobbed softly. she had never mentioned this little talk to anyone, but it was seldom far from her thoughts, and now her father was coming to washington. peggy slipped her arm about her and asked: "what makes you look so sober, nellibus?" "because i'm a silly, over-sensitive goose, i dare say." peggy looked puzzled. nelly handed her her father's letter. peggy read it, then turned to look straight into nelly's eyes, her own growing dark as she raised her head in the proud little poise which made her so like her mother's portrait. "when he comes i think matters will adjust themselves," was all she said. the following friday afternoon jim bolivar was ushered into the pretty little reception room by horatio hannibal, who went in quest of nelly. as she had no idea of the hour her father would arrive, she was preparing to go for a ride with a number of the girls, for the day was a heavenly one; a late march spring day in washington. "miss bol'var, yo' pa in de 'ception room waitin' fo' to see yo', miss," announced horatio. "i'll go right down. sorry i can't go with you, girls." "may we come and see him just a minute before we start!" asked peggy quickly, while polly came eagerly to her side. "of course you may. dad will love to see you," was nelly's warm response. "we won't keep you waiting long, girls," said peggy, "we'll join you at the porte cochere." arrayed in their habits, peggy, polly and nelly hurried away. "wonder what he looks like," said juno idly as she drew on her gauntlets. "bet he's nice if he's anything like nelly," said rosalie. "isn't it funny you girls never saw him while you were at severndale?" said lily pearl. "perhaps he's not the kind nelly bolivar cares to have seen," was helen's amiable remark, accompanied by a shrug and a knowing look. "why, what do you mean, helen?" asked natalie with some spirit. "just what i say. _i_ believe nelly bolivar is as poor as job's turkey and that peggy stewart pays all 'her expenses here. and i know she wears peggy's cast-off clothes. i saw peggy's name in one of her coats. you know peggy has her name and the maker's woven right into the linings. just you wait and see what her father looks like and then see if i'm far wrong." "why, she's nothing better than a charity pupil if that's true," sneered lily pearl, who never failed to follow helen's lead. "if mrs. vincent opens her school to such girls i think it would be well for our parents to investigate the matter," was isabel's superior criticism. "yes, you'd better. mother would be delighted to have an extra room or two; she has so many applicants all the time," flashed natalie, her cheeks blazing. "children, children, don't grow excited. wait until you find out what you're fuming about," said stella in the tone which always made them feel like kids, rosalie insisted. "and come on down. the horses have been waiting twenty minutes already and mrs. vincent will have a word or two to say to us if we don't watch out." as they crossed the hall to the porte cochere, peggy, polly and nelly came from the reception room, mr. bolivar with them. the lively curiosity upon the girls' faces was rather amusing. juno favored him with a well-cultivated fifth avenue stare. helen's nose took a higher tilt if possible. lily pearl giggled as usual. stella smiled at the girls and said: "glad you're coming with us." isabel murmured "horrors!" under her breath and waddled with what she believed to be dignity toward the door. marjorie only smiled, but rosalie and natalie stopped, the former crying impulsively: "introduce your father to us, nelly; we want to know him." the man the girls looked upon had changed a good deal from the despondent jim bolivar whom peggy had seen sitting upon the upturned box in market square so long ago. prosperity and resultant comforts had done a good deal for the despairing man. there were still some traces of the handsome jim bolivar with whom pretty, romantic helen bladen had eloped, though the intermediate years of sorrow and misfortune had changed that dapper young beau into a careless, hopeless pessimist. what the end might have been but for peggy is hard to guess, but the past two years had made him think and think hard too. though still slipshod of speech as the result of associating with his humbler neighbors, he was certainly making good, and few lapses occurred as he shook hands with nelly's friends and then went out to help them mount. in his dark gray suit, alpine hat and his gray gloves, something of the gentleman which was in him became evident. he helped each girl upon her horse, greeted junius augustus, patted shashai, star and tzaritza; deplored poor columbine's shorn glories, smiled an odd smile at isabel's bulky figure upon the more bulky senator, then said: "i'll see you when you come back, honey. i've got to have a talk with shelby. some things is--are--bothering me back yonder. have a fine gallop. it's a prime day for it. good-bye, young ladies," and raising his hat with something of the gallantry of the old bolivar he followed junius toward the stables. that night mrs. vincent asked him to dine with her, but he declined on the score of an engagement with a friend. he and shelby dined in washington and during that meal he made just one allusion to nelly and her surroundings. "it's all very well for a man to make a plumb fool of himself and waste his life if he's a-mind to, but he ain't got any business to drag other folks along with him. if i hadn't a-been a fool among fools i might a-been sittin' beside my little girl this minute, and not be scared to either, shelby. my dad used to say something about 'man being his own star,' i don't recollect it all, but i know it meant he could be one of the first magnet if he'd a mind to. i set out to be a comet, i reckon, all hot air tail, and there isn't much of me left worth looking at." "how old are you!" "forty-four." "well, you've got twenty-five years to the good yet. now get busy for the little girl's sake." "shake," cried jim bolivar, extending his hand across the table. meanwhile back yonder at the school, friday night being "home letters night" the girls were all busily writing, but helen kept the monogram upon her paper carefully concealed. [illustration] chapter xvi a midnight sensation but two weeks remained of the spring term. school would close on may twenty-eighth. already washington had become insufferably warm, and even columbia heights school situated upon its hill, was very trying. the girls were almost too inert to work and spent every possible moment out of doors. the moment school ended peggy, polly and nelly would go back to annapolis and rosalie was to go with, them as peggy's guest for a month. mrs. harold had invited marjorie, natalie, and juno to be polly's guests for june week under the joint chaperonage of herself and mrs. howland, after which plans were being laid for the entire party to go to provincetown with "all the howland outfit," as captain stewart and mr. harold phrased it, there to live in a bungalow as long as the atlantic fleet made that jumping-off place its rendezvous. it bid fair to be a tremendous house party, though the lads whom the girls had grown to know best would not be there. the practice squadron was going to europe this summer. however, "the old guard" as happy, wheedles and shortie, as well as dozens of others from earlier classes were called, would be there and things were sure to be lively. but all this lies in the future. helen and lily pearl had been invited to annapolis for june week, by mrs. ring, and were to go to the june ball with dear paul and charles purdy. they had not been asked to dance the german since they had made no special friends among the first classmen. peggy and polly were to dance it, one with dick allyn, the other with his room-mate, calhoun byrd, who, in bancroft's vernacular "spooned on ralph" and had always considered polly "a clipper." juno was to go with guy bennett, nelly, rosalie, marjorie and natalie had, alack! to look on from the gallery, escorted by second-classmen. but now of immediate happenings at columbia heights school. it had been arranged that shelby should take shashai, star and tzaritza back to severndale on the twenty-second, as it was now far too warm to ride in washington. moreover, shelby's engagement with mrs. vincent expired may fifteenth and he was anxious to get back to severndale. then at the last moment, mrs. vincent decided to send all the saddle horses to severndale for the summer months and keep only the carriage horses and the white groom at the school. so shelby wrote jim bolivar that "he'd better come along down and get on the job too." consequently, about a week after the girl's visit to annapolis and rosalie's escapade, jim bolivar arrived at the school and took up his quarters in the pretty little cottage provided for shelby. he expected to spend about two days helping to get matters closed up for the summer, then start on with junius augustus in charge of columbine, lady belle, the senator, and jack-o'-lantern, shelby following a day later with shashai, star, madame goldie and old duke. so far so good out in the stables. within the school nelly was learning the difference between being the daughter of patrician blood come upon misfortune, and cheerfully making the best of things, and some extremely plebeian blood slopped unexpectedly into fortune, and trying to forget its origin. had not nelly possessed such loyal old friends as peggy and polly, and made such stanch new ones as rosalie, natalie, stella and marjorie, her position might have been a very trying one. and now only eight days remained before vacation would begin. already the girls were in a flutter for june week at annapolis. would it be fair? would it be scorching hot? would there be moon-light nights? "there'll be moon-light if the old lady has half a chance to show herself," said polly's assured voice and nod. "we had a new moon on the eighteenth," said peggy. "that means brim-full in june week, and, oh, girls, won't it be fairy land! how i wish, though, you were all to dance the german. i can't help feeling selfish to leave you out of that fun." "you aren't leaving us out. we understand that even the little mother can't ask her boys to take a girl to the german! but we aren't likely to pine away with all the other fun afoot," cried natalie gaily, doing a pirouette across the room just by way of relieving pent-up anticipation. "helen said she might be invited to dance the german after all. dear paul's mamma has a grease with a first classman," laughed rosalie. "when i see her on the floor i'll believe it," said juno. "where is helen tonight?" asked marjorie. "up in her room. lily has a sick headache and she went up with her. guess that cousin of helen's who came down from baltimore, foxy grandpa's daughter, or niece, or something, i believe, and spent this afternoon with her, gave those girls too many chocolates. wasn't she the limit? and big? well, i'll wager that woman was six feet tall, and she was made up perfectly outrageously. her skin was fair enough, and her color lovely and i never saw such teeth, if they weren't store ones, but there was something about the lower part of her face that looked queer. did you notice it, girls?" asked polly. "i did. there was such a funny dull tinge, like a man who had just been shaved," commented rosalie, with a puzzled frown. "her voice struck me funniest. do you remember fräulein shultz who was here the first year school opened, marjorie?" asked natalie. "yes, we used to call her herr shultz. such a voice you never heard, girls!" "well, this cousin's was exactly like herr shultz." "her clothes were the climax with me. i believe she must have been on the stage sometime. oh, yes, they were up-to-date enough, but, so sort of--of--tawdry," criticised juno. "do you know, she reminded me of somebody i know but who it is i just can't think," and peggy puckered her forehead into wrinkles. "oh!" cried nelly, then stopped short. "what's the matter? sat on a pin?" asked rosalie, laughing. "something made me jump," answered nelly, pulling her skirt as though in search of the pin rosalie had suggested. then in a moment she said: "reckon i'll go in, girls, i've got to send a note home by father and he starts pretty soon." "why do they start at night?" asked juno. "cooler traveling for the horses. they leave here about eight, travel about nine miles an hour, for two hours, stop at ---- for the night, start again at seven in the morning, and will reach severndale by ten o'clock at latest. it seems like a long trip, but that makes it an easy one. shelby will start tomorrow or next day. and won't all those horses have the time of their lives! i am so glad that they're to be there," explained peggy. "so is mother, peggy stewart," cried natalie. meanwhile nelly had gone to her room. it was next helen's and lily's. on beyond was stella's sitting-room. nelly roomed with a girl who had been called home by illness in her family. consequently nelly now had the room to herself. she wrote her note and then went to find mrs. vincent to ask permission to run out to the stables to give it to her father. as she passed helen's and lily's door she heard them whispering together and also heard a deeper voice. whose could it be? it was so unusual that she paused a moment in the dimly lighted hall. she did not mean to be an eavesdropper, but she thought all the girls from the west wing were down on the terrace where she had left them that perfect may night. they had gone out there immediately dinner ended, for study hour had lately been held from five to seven on account of the warm evenings, mrs. vincent objecting to the lights which made the house almost suffocating. presently the deep-voiced whisper was heard again. nelly started as though from an electric shock. had helen's cousin returned, but when? and that whisper was a revelation. then she went on her way. consent was promptly given and nelly ran across the shadow-laden lawn to the stables. she found her father, shelby and the men just preparing to set forth. her father was to ride the senator to set the pace. junius rode jack-o'-lantern. columbine and lady belle were to be led. as nelly drew near, columbine neighed a welcome. "what's brought you down here, honey?" asked bolivar. "i was going to stop at the house to say good-bye." "i wanted to see you alone a minute, daddy." "go 'long for a little private confab with her, bolivar. all right, nelly, no hurry," said shelby genially. the thin sickle of the new moon cast very little light as nelly and her father walked a short distance down the path, nelly, talking earnestly in a low voice. when she ceased bolivar said: "oh, you must be mistaken, nelly, why, i never heard of such a fool stunt; yet that kid's capable of most any, i understand. of course, i'll take the hint and watch out, but just like you say, it's better to keep it dark. it'd only stir up a terrible talk and make mrs. vincent's school,--well; she don't want that sort of thing happening. run 'long back and keep your eyes open. shall i say anything to shelby?" "not a word, daddy! not one word! just get him out of the way if you can." "that's easy. he's going to ride into the city when i start and none of the boys sleep in the stable. i kind of suspicion your plan but i won't ask no more questions." at eight-thirty the first "batch o' beasties" "shoved off." the girls ran down the driveway to bid them good-bye and the horses seemed to understand it all perfectly. then bolivar and his charges, accompanied by shelby, set forth upon their ways. it was a wonderful, star-sprinkled night, though the moon had sunk below the horizon. when they had gone a little way shelby bade them good-bye and good-luck and turned into the broad boulevard leading into washington. bolivar followed the quieter road on the outskirts of the city. presently he said to junius: "land o' love, i'd as soon ride an elephant as this horse. his back's as broad. hold on a minute, i'm going to shift my saddle to columbine. i know her and she knows me, don't you, old girl?" "she's de quality, sure," agreed junius. "this is something like," sighed bolivar, falling easily into columbine's smooth fox-trot. they had gone perhaps a mile when bolivar suddenly clapped his hand to his breast-pocket and pulled up short. "what done happen, mr. bol'var?" asked junius. "i'm seven kinds of a fool. left my wallet in that old coat shelby let me wear round the stable! now that's the limit, ain't it? i got to go back. ain't got a cent with me. you ride on slow and stop at the pine cliff inn up the road a-piece, and wait there till i come. columbine's fresh as a daisy and the three miles or so will be just a warm-up for her this night. now wait there. don't budge a step till i come." "i'll do like you say." jim bolivar started back slowly, but once beyond junius' sight gave columbine the rein and was soon within a quarter of a mile of columbia heights school. meanwhile, in that usually well-ordered establishment some startling events were taking place. when nelly left her father she stopped on the terrace to talk a few minutes with the girls. it was then after nine o'clock but during these long, sultry evenings mrs. vincent allowed the girls to remain upon the terrace until ten. examinations were over, there was no further academic work to be done and most of the preparations for commencement were completed. indeed, most of the little girls had already left, and several of the older ones also. a general exodus takes place from washington early in may and the schools close early. "whow, i'm sleepy tonight," laughed nelly, suppressing a yawn. "reckon i'll go upstairs. good-night, everybody." "you'll smother and roast if you go to bed so early, nell. stay here with us," cried polly, catching nelly's skirt and trying to pull her down beside her. "can't. i'd drop asleep right on the terrace," and turning nelly ran in-doors. once in her room she speedily shifted into her linen riding suit, then slipping down the back stairs, sped across the dark lawn to the stables. they were dark and silent. not a soul was in shelby's cottage where the stable key was kept and a moment later nelly had taken it from its hook and was at the stable door. a bubble of nickers, or the soft munching of feeding horses, fell upon her ears. star knew her voice as well as polly's and peggy's. nelly went straight to star's stall. in less time than it takes to tell it she had him saddled, bridled and led softly out upon the lawn. keeping within the shadows of the trees she led him to a thick pine grove and taking his velvety muzzle in her hands planted a kiss upon it as she whispered: "now stand stock still and don't make a sound. i may need you and i may not. if i do it will be in a hurry and you will have to make time." then she slipped back into the house. but we must go back to the invalid, lily pearl, and her devoted attendant in the west wing. also the cousin. ten minutes after nelly had left her room to carry her note to her father, helen went to mrs. vincent's study. "oh, mrs. vincent, cousin pauline came back to see if she had left her engagement ring in my room. she did not miss it until she got back to her friends' house and then she was frightened nearly to death and came all the way back here." "couldn't she have telephoned? "i suppose so, but she never takes it off except to wash her hands. she left it on my dresser. she is going back now. may i walk to the gate with her?" "yes, but come directly back, helen. how is lily?" "she's just fallen asleep. thank you, mrs. vincent." a few moments later helen and her cousin left the house but not by the door giving upon the terrace. the side door answered far better. then slipping around the house they paused beneath stella's balcony and the cousin gave a low whistle. instantly, lily pearl's head was bobbed up over the railing and she whispered: "oh, take it quick! i hear peggy's voice down in the hall!" and a suitcase was lowered from the balcony, the cousin's strong right arm grasped it, as the cousin's deep voice said: "you're a dead game sport, lil. you bet we'll remember this." but lil did not wait to hear more. she fled to her room pell mell, not aware that in her flight she had overturned a tiny fairy night-lamp which stella always kept burning in her room at night. quickly undressing, lily dove into bed and drawing the covers over her head was instantly sound asleep. the voice which had alarmed her soon died away as peggy rejoined her friends upon the terrace. helen and the cousin had meanwhile reached the gate and also a cab which waited there, and were soon bowling along toward washington. and what of nelly? as she was returning to the house she caught sight of the two figures hurrying toward the main gate. back she sped to star, and mounting him, rode along the soft turf as silently as a shadow, until she saw the two figures enter the cab. for a moment she was baffled. what could she do alone? she knew it would be worse than senseless to attempt to stop the runaways unaided. she must have help. yet if she lost sight of them what might not take place? she had long since recognized paul ring in spite of his make-up. she had seen him too many times in the masquerader's shows at annapolis. for a short time she flitted behind the cab like an avenging shadow. it would never do to let helen make such an idiot of herself, and bring notoriety upon the school where peggy and polly were pupils, or so humiliate mrs. vincent and natalie. nelly did some quick thinking. there was but one road for the elopers to follow. her father, to whom she had confided her suspicions and begged him to aid her, must be on his way back by this time. wheeling star she shot back as she had come, and making a wide detour around columbia heights school, put star to his best paces. half a mile beyond the school she met her father coming at a fairly good clip. ten words were enough. "thank the lord we're riding empress stock!" ejaculated bolivar as he and peggy gave the two beautiful creatures their heads and they settled into the long, low stride which seems never to tire, muscles working swiftly and smoothly as the machinery of a battleship, heads thrust forward, nostrils wide and breathing deep breaths to the rhythmic heart-throbs. but the runaways had a good start. presently bolivar said: "if shelby has ridden easy he's somewheres ahead on that selfsame road." "oh, dad, if he only is!" "well, by the god billiken he is! look yonder." a more dumbfounded man than shelby it would have been hard to overtake. "had he seen the cab?" "certain. it was hiking along ahead. passed him just a little time before, the horse a-lather. wondered who the fools were." "well, you know now. how far ahead do you reckon they are?" "quarter mile beyond that turn if the horse ain't fell dead. let me break away, overhaul them and then you two come in at the death," he laughed. shelby was riding shashai, and at his word a black streak passed out of sight around the bend of the boulevard. star and columbine chafed to follow, but their riders held them back for a time. true enough, as shelby had said, the cab was still pounding along toward washington, though the poor horse was nearly done up. shelby came abreast the poor panting beast, leaned quietly over, caught the bridle and cried, "whoa!" the horse was only too delighted to oblige him. not so "cabby." with wrath and ire he rose to mete out justice to this highwayman. had the butt of his whip hit shelby he would have seen more stars than twinkled overhead. but it didn't. it was caught in one hand, given a dexterous twist and sent flying into the road as shelby said in his quiet drawl: "don't get excited. at least, don't let _me_ excite you. i ain't got nothing against you, but you can't take those 'slopers no further this night." "'lopers nothin'! me fares is two ladies on their ways to the willard. 'tis a niece and aunt they are." "say, you're easy. i thought you fellows wise to most any game. niece and aunt! shucks! come 'long out aunt, or cousin pauline, or whatever you are, and you, miss doolittle, just don't do nothin' but live up to that name you've got. lord, whoever named you knew his or her business all right, all right! here come bolivar and his daughter to bear a hand. now don't set out to screech and carry on, 'cause if you do you'll make more trouble and it looks like you'd made a-plenty a-ready. and you shut up!" cried shelby, now thoroughly roused, as paul ring, his disguise removed and stowed in his suitcase blustered from the cab. "quit! or i'll crack you're addle-pated head for you, you young fool. do you know what it will mean if i report you at annapolis? well, unless you make tracks for bancroft p. d. q.--that means pretty decidedly quick, nelly,--you're going to get all that is comin' to you with compound interest. beat it while your shoes are good. we'll escort your girl back to home and friends. nelly, get into that cab. cabby, these are two school girls and this man is this one's father. now go about and head for the home port. no rowing. yes, you'll get paid all right, all right. i'll stand for the damage and so will bolivar here. but are _you_ going to dust?" the last words were addressed to paul ring to whom helen was clinging and imploring him not to leave her. but, alas! it was four to one, for cabby's wrath was now centered upon "that hully show of a bloomin' auntie." amidst violent protests upon helen's part, nelly entered the cab. she would "not go back!" and she would "go with dear paul!" her heart was breaking. nelly bolivar was "a good-for-nothing, common tattle-tale and the whole school probably knew all about her elopement already," etc., etc. nelly tried to assure her that no one suspected a thing. mr. bolivar corroborated that statement, but helen continued to sob and berate nelly till finally shelby's deep voice cried: "halt, cabby!" then dismounting he opened the cab door, took helen by the arm and shook her soundly, then thundered: "if you was a boy i'd yank you out o' that cab and whale you well, for that's what you rate. since you're a fool-girl i can't. now stop that hullabaloo instanter. we'll get you back to the school and nobody'll know a thing if you keep your senses. nelly here ain't anxious to have that school and her friends figurin' in the newspapers. now you mind what i'm tellin' you. i've stood for all the nonsense i'm going to, and i promise to get you home without you're being missed, but if you let out another peep i'll march you straight to the admiral's office, and don't you doubt my word for a single minute." then shelby remounted shashai, and leading star, the odd procession started back, shelby cudgeling his brain to devise a way of getting the romantic maiden in as secretly as he had promised. he need not have worried about that. the inmates of columbia heights were meantime having lively experiences of their own. chapter xvii a send-off with fireworks when lily pearl fled from stella's room leaving the overturned fairy lamp to bring about the climax of that evening, her one thought was to get to bed, and hardly had she tumbled into it than sleep brought oblivion of all else. lily pearl was a somnolent soul in many senses. mrs. vincent was busy in her study at the other end of the house. miss sturgis was dining with friends. fräulein, who was a romantic creature, was seated under a huge copper beech tree entertaining a herr professor straight from the vaterland. the other teachers were either out or in their rooms in other parts of the building, and the servants had drifted out through the rear grounds. consequently, the fairy lamp had things pretty much its own way and it embraced its opportunity. what prompted polly to go upstairs just at that crisis she could never have told, but she did, and a second later peggy followed her. the moment the girls reached their corridor the odor of smoke assailed their nostrils. for an instant they stopped and looked at each other, then peggy cried: "polly, something's afire. quick, the bugle call!" polly bounded forward and, as upon another occasion back in montgentian she had roused the neighborhood and saved the situation, now she sounded her bugle call, but this time it was "fire call," not "warning." clear, high and sharp the notes rang through the house. mrs. vincent down in her study sprang to her feet. the teachers rushed to their posts, the girls ran in from the terrace. well for columbia heights school that polly had taught them the different calls and that she and peggy had begged mrs. vincent to let the girls learn the fire drill as the boys in bancroft did it. not far off was a fire engine house and the members of the company had more than once come to see the two girls put their schoolmates through their drill. it was all a grand frolic then, for none believed it would ever be put to practical use. but the fire chief had nodded wisely and said to mrs. vincent: "those two young girls have long heads. it may all be a pretty show-down now, but some day you may find it come in handy." it came in very handy this time. in two minutes an alarm was turned in and the engines were tearing toward columbia heights. the girls had rushed to their rooms, scrambled what they could into blankets, and ran downstairs with their burdens. at least many of them had. all the fire drills in the world will not keep some people's heads upon their shoulders in a crisis. roused from sleep by the bugle, lily pearl, uttering shriek upon shriek, plunged her feet into a pair of pink satin slippers newly bought for commencement, caught up and pinned upon her head the new hat, of which rosalie had said: "well, of all the lids! lily, did the milliner put the trimming on the box and forget to send home the hat?" then grabbing her fur coat from the closet she ran screaming down to the lawn, certainly somewhat promiscuous as to raiment, for her nightie was an airy affair and she carried her coat over her arm. but the stately juno was one of the most amusing objects. she carefully put on a pair of evening gloves and took a lace pocket handkerchief from her bureau drawer. that was all she even attempted to save. it was well for the school that polly and peggy had kept their wits. all were soon out of the building and the firemen battling bravely to confine the fire to the west wing, but poor stella's room was surely doomed, for what smoke and flames might possibly spare water would certainly ruin. in the midst of the uproar shelby, bolivar, nelly and helen came upon the scene. "good lord almighty! look out for the girls, bolivar. guess they'll have no trouble gettin' in unnoticed now," cried shelby, and sent shashai speeding to the stables. bolivar paused only long enough to hand cabby a ten-dollar bill and cry: "clear out quick and keep your mouth shut too!" then he hurried the terrified girls to the lawn where dozens of other girls were huddled, and nobody asked any questions about the suitcase. nor did anyone think to ask how bolivar and shelby happened to be there when they were supposed to be miles away. many details were quite overlooked that night, which was a fortunate circumstance for miss helen doolittle, and her hard-hit midshipman, who had "frenched" out of bancroft not only with mamma's knowledge, but with her coöperation. to have formed an alliance with foxy grandpa's niece and clinched that end of the scheme of things would have been one step in the direction of securing an ample income, and once that lover's knot was tied, helen was to be whisked back to the school and the secret kept. mamma was at the willard waiting for "those darling children" to come, and when, much later than he was expected, "dear paul" arrived alone and in a greatly perturbed state of mind, mother and son had considerable food for thought until the midnight car carried them back to annapolis, where paul "clomb" the wall at the water's edge and "snoke" into quarters (in bancroft's vernacular) in the wee, sma' hours, a weary, disgusted and unamiable youth. perhaps had he suspected what was happening back at columbia heights his prompt oblivion in slumber would not have taken place, though paul was a philosopher in his way. helen was with friends and "she'd knock off crying when she found she had to; all girls did." selah! but during all this time things had not been moving so tranquilly at columbia heights. given over a hundred girls, and a seething furnace of a building in which the belongings of a good many of them were being rapidly reduced to ashes, for the whole west wing was certainly doomed, and one is likely to witness some stirring scenes. the firemen worked like gnomes in the murk and smoke, and shelby and bolivar seemed to be everywhere, saving everything possible to save, with many willing hands from the neighborhood to help them. and some funny enough rescues were made. sofa pillows were carried tenderly down two flights of stairs and deposited in places of safety upon the lawn by some conscientious mortal, while his co-worker heaved valuable cut glass from a third-story window, or pitched one of the girls' writing desks into the upstretched arms of a twelve-year-old boy who happened to stand beneath. mrs. vincent was everywhere at once, keeping her girls from harm's way, and the other teachers kept their heads and coöperated with her. at least all but one did, and she was the one upon whom mrs. vincent would have counted most surely. when the fire was raging most fiercely miss sturgis returned from her visit and a moment later rushed away from the group of girls supposed to be under her especial charge, and disappeared within the house in spite of the firemen's orders that all should stand clear. the girls screamed and called after her but their voices were drowned in the uproar, and none knew that the incentive which spurred the half-frantic woman on was the photograph of the professor with whom she had gone automobiling the day of the fly-paper episode. poor miss sturgis. her first and only hint of a romance came pretty near proving her last. straight to her room in the west wing she rushed, stumbling over hose lines, battling against the stifling clouds of smoke which rolled down the corridor. the room was gained, the picture secured, and she turned to make good her escape, all other valuables forgotten. but even in that brief moment the smoke had become overpowering. her room was dense. for a moment she sought for the door, growing more and more confused and stifled, then with a despairing moan she fell senseless. luckily the flames were eating their relentless way in the other direction, the firemen fighting them inch by inch until they felt that they were winning the battle. meantime, down upon the lawn, the girls had found mrs. vincent and told her of miss sturgis' folly. she was beside herself with alarm. men were sent in every direction to find her, but none for a moment suspected her of the utter fool-hardiness of returning to her own room in the blazing wing. but there was one person who did think of that possibility and she quickly imparted her fears to one other. "she never would," cried polly. "she had something there she wanted to save. i don't know what, but she was so excited that she acted just like a crazy person, wringing her hands and crying just before she ran back; i saw her go. wait! tzaritza, find miss sturgis," said peggy into the ears of the splendid hound who had never for a single moment left her side, and who had more than once caught hold of her skirts to draw her backward when a sudden volume of smoke or sparks shot upward. for a moment the noble beast hesitated. little had miss sturgis ever done to win tzaritza's love and in her dog mind duty lay here. but the dear mistress' voice repeated the order and with a low bark of intelligence tzaritza tore away into the burning building. "oh, call her back! call her back! she will be burned to death" cried a dozen voices. polly dropped upon the lawn and began to sob as though her heart would break. peggy never moved, but with hands clinched, lips set and the look in her eyes of one who has sacrificed something inexpressibly dear she stood listening and waiting. when she felt most deeply peggy became absolutely dumb. those minutes seemed like hours, then through an upper window giving on the piazza roof scrambled a singed, smoke-begrimed, and uncanny figure, dragging, tugging, and hauling with her a limp, unconscious woman. she made the sill, hauled her burden over to safety, then lifting it bodily carried it to the roof's edge, where putting it carefully beyond the volume of smoke now pouring from the window, she threw up her head and emitted howl upon howl for aid. it was shelby who heard and recognized that deep bay, who rushed with a ladder to the spot, and scrambling up like a monkey, caught up miss sturgis' seemingly lifeless form and carried her down the ladder, where a dozen willing hands waited to receive her, while tzaritza's barks testified to her joy. then back shelby fled for the faithful creature, but just as he reached the roof a sheet of flame darted out of the window and enveloped her. in a second the exquisite silky coat was a-blaze, and poor tzaritza's joyous barks became cries of agony. "quick, somebody down there hand me one of those blankets!" shouted shelby. ere the words had left his lips a little figure scrambled up the ladder, a blanket in her arms. polly had seen all and had not waited for orders. gym work back in annapolis stood in good stead at that moment. shelby flung the blanket about tzaritza's sizzling fur, smothered out the flame, then by some herculean mustering of strength, caught the huge dog in his arms and crawled step by step down the ladder from which polly had quickly scrambled. a dozen hands lent aid and poor burned tzaritza was carried to the stables, peggy and polly close beside her. others could now care for miss sturgis, who, indeed, was little the worse for her folly, while tzaritza, the lovely coat quite gone, was moaning from her burns. "hear, jim, you stay here and don't you leave miss peggy or that dog for a minute. now mind what i tell you," he ordered. peggy knew exactly what to do. it was the peggy stewart of severndale who worked over the suffering dog, bandaging, bathing, soothing, and tzaritza's eyes spoke her gratitude. several of the girls ran out to offer help or sympathy, and their tears testified to their love for tzaritza. it was dawn before the excitement subsided, and the firemen had withdrawn, leaving one on guard against the possibility of a fresh outbreak. and that west wing and its contents? well, let us draw a curtain, heavier even than the smoke which, so lately poured from it. some things were saved--yes--but the commencement gowns, essays, and all which figures in commencement day were fluttering about in little black flakes. there would be no commencement for columbia heights school this year! a telephone message brought mrs. harold and mrs. howland upon the scene before many hours, as well as a good many other interested parents. true, a large insurance covered most of the valuables and the building also, but a house after such a catastrophe is hardly prepared to hold a function, so it was unanimously agreed that the girls should all go quietly away as quickly as those whose belongings had been saved could pack them. mrs. harold and mrs. howland remained over night and on the twenty-fourth instead of the twenty-eighth escorted a nondescript sort of party up to severndale, for wearing apparel had to be indiscriminately borrowed and lent. helen's anxious mamma took her to philadelphia, where june week's joys were not. lily pearl's parents wired her to come home at once, and lily departed for the south-land, june week's joys lamented also. stella's father came in instant response to her telegram and though the one to suffer the heaviest losses, made light of them and asked stella if she couldn't tear herself from columbia heights without such an expensive celebration. _is_-a-bel, who had really lost very little, was inconsolable because her "essay," to be read at commencement, had been burned up, and departed for the hub, still lugubrious. mrs. vincent asked shelby to remain a few days longer, which he willingly did. bolivar had gone on to look up junius and his charges as soon as he could leave the school. peggy insisted upon mrs. vincent coming to severndale for the month when it was finally agreed that the earlier plans should hold, juno and natalie extending their visit. so back went the merry party to annapolis to participate in all the delights of june week, and all which can crowd into it. so ho! for severndale! tzaritza conveyed there an interesting, though shorn convalescent, the horses seeming to sniff round bay from afar, polly wild to see her old friends, and peggy eager to greet those who were so much a part of her life in her lovely home. and nelly? well, no one has ever learned of her night ride, though helen's peace of mind is not quite complete. printed in the united states of america. the automobile girls at washington or, checkmating the plots of foreign spies by laura dent crane author of the automobile girls at newport, the automobile girls in the berkshires, the automobile girls along the hudson, the automobile girls at chicago, the automobile girls at palm beach, etc. [illustration: a fat chinese gentleman stood regarding her. (frontispiece)] contents chapter i. a chance meeting ii. cabinet day in washington iii. mr. tu fang wu iv. at the chinese embassy v. sub rosa vi. the arrest vii. mollie's temptation viii. at the white house ix. bab's discovery x. the confession xi. in mr. hamlin's study xii. barbara's secret errand xiii. a foolish girl xiv. "grant no favors!" xv. bab refuses to grant a favor xvi. barbara's unexpected good luck xvii. the white veil xviii. a tangled web or circumstance xix. harriet in danger xx. foiled! xxi. the discovery xxii. oil on the troubled waters xxiii. suspense and the reward xxiv. home at laurel cottage chapter i a chance meeting barbara thurston stood at the window of a large old-fashioned house, looking out into connecticut avenue. it was almost dark. an occasional light twinkled outside in the street, but the room in which barbara was stationed was still shrouded in twilight. suddenly she heard a curtain at the farther end of the drawing-room rustle faintly. bab turned and saw a young man standing between the curtains, peering into the shadows with a pair of near-sighted eyes. barbara started. the stranger had entered the room through a small study that adjoined it. he seemed totally unaware of any other presence, for he was whistling softly: "kathleen mavourneen." "i beg your pardon," bab began impulsively, "but are you looking for some one?" the newcomer flashed a charming smile at barbara. he did not seem in the least surprised at her appearance. "no," he declared cheerfully, "i was not looking for any one or anything. the butler told me mr. hamlin and harriet were both out. but, i say, don't you think i am fortunate to have found you quite by accident! i came in here to loaf a few minutes." barbara frowned slightly. the young man's manner was surprisingly familiar, and she had never seen him before in her life. "i hope i am not disturbing you," he went on gayly. "i am an attaché of the russian legation, and a friend of miss hamlin's. i came with a message for mr. hamlin. i was wondering if it were worth while to wait for him. but i can go away if i am troublesome." "oh, no, you are not disturbing me in the least," barbara returned. "i expect miss hamlin and my friends soon. we arrived in washington last night, and the other girls have gone out to a reception. i had a headache and stayed at home. won't you be seated while i ring for the butler to turn on the lights?" the newcomer sat down, gravely watching barbara. "would you like me to guess who you are?" he asked, after half a minute's silence. bab laughed. "i am sure you will give me the first chance to tell you your name. i did not recognize you at first. but i believe harriet told us about you last night. she described several of her washington friends to us. you are peter dillon, aren't you?" "at your service," declared the young attaché, who looked almost boyish. "but now give me my opportunity. i do not know your name, but i have guessed this much. you are an 'automobile girl!' permit me to bid you welcome to washington." barbara nodded her head decidedly. "yes, i am barbara thurston, one of the 'automobile girls.' there are four of us. harriet has probably explained to you. my sister, mollie thurston, grace carter, ruth stuart and i form the quartet. mr. william hamlin is ruth's uncle. so we are going to spend a few weeks here with harriet and see the capital. i have never been in washington before." "then you have a new world before you, miss thurston," said the young man, his manner changing. "washington is like no other city in the world, i think. i have been here for four years. before that time i had lived in dublin, in paris, in st. petersburg." "then you are not an american!" exclaimed bab, regarding the young man with interest. "i am a man without a country, miss thurston." bab's visitor laughed carelessly. "or, perhaps, i had better say i am a man of several countries. my father was an irishman and a soldier of fortune. my mother was a russian. therefore, i am a member of the russian legation in washington in spite of my half-irish name. have you ever been abroad?" "oh, no," bab returned, shaking her head. "for the past two years, since i have known ruth stuart, the 'automobile girls' have traveled about in this country a good deal. but we are only school girls still. we have never really made our début in society, although we mean to forget this while we are in washington, and to see as much of the world as we can. i do wish i knew something about politics. it would make our visit in washington so much more interesting." "it is the most interesting game in the world," declared barbara's companion, dropping for an instant his expression of indifference. his blue eyes flashed. then he said quickly: "perhaps you will let me teach you something of the political game at washington. i am sure you will be quick to learn and to enjoy it." "thank you," bab answered shyly. "but i am much too stupid ever to understand." "i don't quite believe that. you know, you will, of course, hear a great deal about politics while you are the guests of the assistant secretary of state. mr. hamlin is one of the cleverest men in washington. i am sure you will be instructing me in diplomacy by the end of a week. but good-bye; i must not keep you any longer. will you tell mr. hamlin that i left the bundle of papers he desired on his study table? and please tell harriet that i shall hope to be invited very often to see the 'automobile girls.'" the young man looked intently at barbara, as though trying to read her very thoughts while she returned his scrutiny with steady eyes. then with a courteous bow, he left the room. when barbara found herself alone she returned to the window. "i do wish the girls would come," she murmured to herself. "i am just dying to know what mollie and grace think of their first reception in washington. of course, ruth has visited harriet before, so the experience is not new to her. i am sorry i did not go with the girls, in spite of my headache. i wonder if some one is coming in here again! i seem to be giving a reception here myself." by this time the room was lighted, and barbara saw a young woman of about twenty-five years of age walk into the drawing-room and drop into a big arm chair with a little tired sigh. "you are miss thurston, aren't you?" she asked briskly as bab came forward to speak to her, wondering how on earth this newcomer knew her name and what could be the reason for this unexpected call. "yes," barbara returned in a puzzled tone, "i am miss thurston." "oh, don't be surprised at my knowing your name," bab's latest caller went on. "it is my business to know everybody. i met mr. dillon on the corner. he told me harriet hamlin was not at home and that i had better not come here this afternoon. i did not believe him; still i am not sorry miss hamlin is out, i would ever so much rather see you. harriet hamlin is dreadfully proud, and she is not a bit sympathetic. do you think so?" bab was lost in wonder. what on earth could this talkative young woman wish of her? did her visitor believe bab would confide her opinion of harriet to a complete stranger? but the young woman did not wait for an answer. "i want to see you about something awfully important," she went on. "please promise me you will do what i ask you before i tell you what it is." bab laughed. "don't ask me that. why you may be an anarchist, for all i know." the new girl shook her head, smiling. she looked less tired now. she was pretty and fragile, with fair hair and blue eyes. she was very pale and was rather shabbily and carelessly dressed. "no; i am not an anarchist," she said slowly. "i am a newspaper woman, which is almost as bad in some people's eyes, i suppose, considering the way society people fight against giving me news of themselves and their doings. i came to ask you if you would give me the pictures of the 'automobile girls' for my paper? oh, you need not look so surprised. we have all heard of the 'automobile girls.' everybody in washington of importance has heard of you. couldn't you let me write a sketch about you and your adventures, and put your photographs on the society page of our sunday edition? it would be such a favor to me." barbara looked distressed. she was beginning to like her visitor. though barbara had been associated mainly with wealthy people in the last two years of the "automobile girls'" adventures, she could not help feeling interested in a girl who was evidently trying to make her own way in the world. "i am awfully sorry," bab declared almost regretfully, but before she finished speaking the drawing-room door opened and ruth stuart and harriet hamlin entered the room together. "how is your head, bab, dear?" ruth cried, before she espied their caller. harriet hamlin bowed coldly to the newspaper woman in the big arm chair. the young woman had flushed, looked uncomfortable at sight of harriet and said almost humbly: "i am sorry to interrupt you, miss hamlin, but my paper sent me to ask you for the pictures of your guests. may i have them?" "most certainly not, miss moore," harriet answered scornfully. "my friends would not dream of allowing you to publish their pictures. and my father would not consent to it either. just because he is assistant secretary of state i do not see why my visitors should be annoyed in this way. i hope you don't mind, ruth and barbara." harriet's voice changed when she turned to address her cousin and friend. "forgive my refusing miss moore for you. but it is out of the question." ruth and bab both silently agreed with harriet. but barbara could not help feeling sorry for the other girl, who flushed painfully at harriet's tone and turned to go without another word. bab followed the girl out into the hall. "i am so sorry not to give you our photographs," barbara declared. "but, of course, we cannot let you have them if mr. hamlin would object. and, to tell you the honest truth, the 'automobile girls' would not like it either." barbara smiled in such a frank friendly way that no one could have been vexed with her. the older girl's eyes were full of tears, which she bravely winked out of sight. "everyone has his picture published in the papers nowadays," she replied. "i am sure i intended no discourtesy to you or to miss hamlin." then the girl's self-control gave way. she was very tired, and bab's sympathy unnerved her. "i hate harriet hamlin," she whispered, passionately. "i am as well bred as she is. because i am poor, and have to support my mother, is no reason why she should treat me as though i were dust under her feet. i shall have a chance to get even with her, some day, just as certainly as i live. then, won't i take my revenge!" barbara did not know what to reply, so she went on talking quietly. "i am sure your asking us for our pictures was a very great compliment to us. only important people and beauties and belles have their pictures in the society papers. it is just because the 'automobile girls' are too insignificant to be shown such an honor that we can't consent. but please don't be angry with us. i am sure harriet did not intend to wound your feelings, and i hope i shall see you soon again." marjorie moore shook barbara's hand impulsively before she went out into the gathering darkness. "i like you," she said warmly. "i wish we might be friends. good-night." "where are mollie and grace?" was bab's first question when she rejoined ruth and harriet. "they would not come away from the reception," harriet returned, smiling. she was quite unconscious of having treated marjorie moore unkindly. "ruth and i were worried about your headache, so we did not wish to leave you alone any longer. strange to relate, father offered to stay until mollie and grace were ready to come home. that is a great concession on his part, as he usually runs away from a reception at the first opportunity that offers itself. mrs. wilson, a friend of father's is helping him to look after mollie and grace this afternoon. bab, did some boxes come for me this afternoon? i left orders at the shop to send them when father would surely be out. come on upstairs, children, and see my new finery." "why, harriet, are you getting more clothes?" ruth exclaimed. "you are like 'miss flora mcflimsey, of madison square, who never had anything good enough to wear.'" "i am no such thing, ruth stuart," returned her cousin, a little peevishly. "you don't understand. does she, barbara? ruth has so much money she simply cannot realize what it means to try to make a good appearance on a small allowance, especially here in washington where one goes out so much." "i was only joking, harriet," ruth apologized as she and barbara obediently followed their hostess upstairs. bab, however, secretly wondered how she and mollie were to manage in washington, with their simple wardrobes, if their young hostess thought that clothes were the all-important thing in washington society. harriet hamlin was twenty years of age, but she seemed much older to bab and ruth. in the first place, harriet was an entirely different type of girl. she had been mistress of her father's house in washington since she was sixteen. she had received her father's guests and entertained his friends; and at eighteen she had made her début into washington society, and had taken her position as one of the women of the cabinet. harriet's mother, ruth's aunt, had died a few months before mr. hamlin had received his appointment as assistant secretary of state. since that time harriet had borne the responsibilities of a grown woman, and being an only child she had to a certain extent done as she pleased, although she was secretly afraid of her cold, dignified father. mr. william hamlin was one of the ablest men in washington. he was a quiet, stern, reserved man, and although he was proud of his daughter, of her beauty and accomplishments, he was also very strict with her. he was a poor man, and it was hard work for harriet to keep up the appearance necessary to her father's position on his salary as assistant secretary of state. harriet, however, never dared tell her father of this, and mr. hamlin never offered harriet either sympathy or advice. barbara and ruth could only watch with admiring eyes and little exclamations of delight the exquisite garments that harriet now lifted out of three big, pasteboard boxes; a beautiful yellow crêpe frock, a pale green satin evening gown and a gray broadcloth tailor-made suit. harriet was tall and dark, with very black hair and large dark eyes. she was considered one of the beauties of the "younger set" in washington society. ruth had not seen her cousin for several years, until she received the invitation to bring the "automobile girls" to washington. ruth stuart and barbara thurston had changed very little since their last outing together at palm beach. barbara was now nearly eighteen. at the close of the school year she was to be graduated from the kingsbridge high school. and she hoped to be able to enter vassar college the following fall. yet the fact that she was in washington early in december requires an explanation. two weeks before bab had walked slowly home to laurel cottage at about three o'clock one november afternoon with a great pile of books under her arm. on the front porch of their little cottage she found her mother and mollie, greatly excited. a telegram had just come from ruth stuart. the "automobile girls" were invited to visit ruth's cousin in washington, d.c. ruth wished them to start at the end of the week. bab's face flushed with pleasure at the news. she had not been with her beloved ruth since the easter before. then the color died out of her face and her cheeks showed an unaccustomed pallor. "i am so sorry, mother," bab responded. "i would give anything in the world to see ruth. but i simply can't stop school just now, or i shall lose the scholarship. mollie, you can accept ruth's invitation. you and grace carter can go to washington together. you won't mind going without me." "i shall not stir a single step without you," blue-eyed mollie returned firmly. "and mother thinks you can go!" mollie and mrs. thurston, aided by bab's teachers, at last persuaded barbara to take a few weeks' holiday. bab could study to make up for lost time during the christmas holidays. for no one, except the young woman herself, doubted barbara's ability to win the desired vassar scholarship. and so it was arranged that bab and mollie should go with ruth to washington. bab had grown taller and more slender in the past few months. her brown braids are now always coiled about her graceful head. her hair was parted in the middle, although a few little curls still escaped in the old, careless fashion. ruth stuart, too, was looking sweeter and fresher than ever, and was the same ingenuous, unspoiled girl, whose sunny disposition no amount of wealth and fashion could change. readers of the first volume in the "automobile girls series," entitled "the automobile girls at newport," will recall how, nearly two years ago, ruth stuart, with her father and her aunt, miss sallie stuart, came from their home in far away chicago to spend the summer in kingsbridge, new jersey. the day that barbara thurston stopped a pair of runaway horses and saved ruth stuart from death she did not dream that she had turned the first page in the history of the "automobile girls." a warm friendship sprang up between ruth and bab, and a little later ruth stuart invited barbara, her younger sister, mollie thurston, and their friend, grace carter, to take a trip to newport in her own, red automobile with ruth herself as chauffeur and her aunt, miss sallie stuart, as chaperon. exciting days at newport followed, and the four girls brought to bay the "boy raffles," the cracksman, who had puzzled the fashionable world! there were many thrilling adventures connected with the discovery of this "society thief," and the "automobile girls" proved themselves capable of meeting whatever emergencies sprang up in their path. in "the automobile girls in the berkshires," the second volume of the "automobile girls series," the scene is laid in a little log cabin on top of one of the highest peaks in the berkshire hills, where the four girls and miss sallie spent a happy period of time "roughing it." there it was that they discovered an indian princess and laid the "ghost of lost man's trail." in the third volume of the series, "the automobile girls along the hudson," the quartet of youthful travelers, accompanied by miss sallie stuart, motored through the beautiful sleepy hollow country, spending several weeks at the home of major ted eyck, an old friend of the stuarts. there many diverting experiences fell to their lot, and before leaving the hospitable major's home they were instrumental in saving it from destruction by forest fires. the fourth volume of the series, "the automobile girls at chicago," relates the adventures of the four friends during the christmas holidays, which mollie, grace and bab spent with ruth at chicago and at "treasureholme," the country estate of the presbys, who were cousins of the stuart family. while there, principally through the cleverness of barbara thurston, the hiding place of a rich treasure buried by one of the ancestors of the presbys was discovered in time to prevent the financial ruin of both richard presby and robert stuart, who had become deeply involved through speculation in wheat. before mollie, grace and barbara returned to kingsbridge, mr. stuart had promised that they should see ruth again in march at palm beach, where he had planned a happy reunion for the "automobile girls." there it was that they had, through a series of happenings, formed the acquaintance of a mysterious countess and become involved in the net of circumstances that was woven about her. how they continued to be her friend in spite of dark rumors afloat to the effect that she was an impostor and how she afterwards turned out to be a princess, is fully set forth in "the automobile girls at palm beach." "really, bab," said ruth, as the two girls went upstairs to their rooms to dress for dinner, "i have not had a chance to talk to you, alone, since we arrived in washington. how is your mother?" "as well as can be," bab answered. "how is darling aunt sallie? i am so sorry she did not come to washington with you to chaperon us. there is no telling what mischief we may get into without her." ruth laughed. "i have special instructions for the 'automobile girls' from aunt sallie. we are to be particularly careful to mind our 'p's' and 'q's' on this visit, for aunt sallie wishes us to make a good impression in washington." barbara sighed. "i'll try, ruth," she declared, "but you know what remarkable talent i have for getting into mischief." "then you are to be specially par-tic-u-lar, mistress bab!" ruth said teasingly. "for aunt sallie's last words to me were: 'tell barbara she is to look before she leaps.'" barbara shook her brown head vigorously. "i am not the impetuous bab of other automobile days. but, just the same, i wish aunt sallie had come along with you." "oh, she may join us later," ruth returned. "to tell you the truth, bab, aunt sallie is not fond of harriet. she thinks harriet is clever and pretty, but vain and spoiled. here come mollie and grace. home from that reception at last!" the other two girls burst into ruth's room at this moment. "whom do you think we have seen?" called out miss mollie rapturously. "oh, washington is the greatest fun! i feel just like a girl in a book, we have been presented to so many noted people. i tell you, barbara thurston, we are country girls no longer! now we have been traveling about the country so much with ruth and mr. stuart, that we know people everywhere. just guess whom we know in washington?" "i can guess," ruth rejoined, clapping her hands. "you have seen mrs. post and hugh. surely, you had not forgotten that they live in washington. hugh has finished college and has a position in the forestry department. i had a note from him this morning." "and didn't tell! oh, ruth!" teased grace carter. "but, bab, what about our lenox friends, who spend their winters in washington?" "you mean dorothy and gwendolin morton, the british ambassador's daughters, and funny little franz haller, the german secretary, i hope we shall see them. but do hurry, children. please don't keep the assistant secretary of state waiting for his dinner. that would surely be a bad beginning for our washington visit. no, mollie thurston; don't you put on your very best dress for dinner to-night. i have just gotten out your white muslin." "but harriet wears such lovely clothes all the time, bab," mollie pleaded, when she and barbara were alone. "never mind, child. harriet hamlin is not mollie thurston," barbara concluded wisely. chapter ii cabinet day in washington it was harriet hamlin's reception day. there are certain times appointed in washington when the members of the president's cabinet hold receptions. the "automobile girls" had come to washington in time for one of these special entertainments. for, as harriet explained, they could see everyone worth seeing at once. not only would the diplomats, the senators and congressmen call with their wives, but the army and navy officers, all official washington would appear to pay their respects to mr. william hamlin and his lovely daughter. "then there will be a crowd of unimportant people besides," harriet had continued. "people who are never asked to any small parties come to this reception just because they can get in. so you girls will have to entertain yourselves this morning. i have a thousand things to do. why not take the girls to look at the white house, ruth? that is the first thing to do in washington. i am sorry i can't go with you. but you just walk straight down connecticut avenue and you can't miss it." it was a perfect day. although it was early in december, the atmosphere was like indian summer. washington shone sparkling white through a dim veil of haze. the "automobile girls" walked briskly along toward the white house, chatting every step of the way. "where are the poplar trees planted along this avenue by thomas jefferson, ruth?" grace carter demanded. "i read somewhere that jefferson meant to make this avenue look like the famous street called '_unter den linden_' in berlin." "he did, child, but most of the poplar trees died," ruth rejoined, "and some one else planted these oaks and elms. why are you so silent, barbara? are you tired?" "i think washington is the most beautiful city in the whole world," bab answered with sudden enthusiasm. "wait until you have seen it," ruth teased. "uncle william wants to take us through the capitol. but i suppose there is no harm in our looking at the outside of the white house. later on, when we go to one of the president's receptions, we can see the inside of it." "shall we ever see the president?" mollie asked breathlessly. "won't it be wonderful? i never dreamed that even mr. hamlin could take us to the president's home." "here we are at the white house," said ruth. the "automobile girls" stood silent for a moment, looking in through the autumn foliage at the simple colonial mansion, which is the historic "white house." "i am glad our white house looks like that," bab said, after half a moment's pause. "i was so afraid it would be pretentious. but it is just big and simple and dignified as our president's home ought to be. it makes me feel so glad to be an american," barbara ended with a flush. she was afraid the other girls were laughing at her. "i think so too, bab," ruth agreed. "i don't see why girls cannot be as patriotic as boys. we may be able to serve our country in some way, some day. i hope we shall have the chance." the "automobile girls" had entered the white house grounds and were strolling along through the park. bab and ruth were talking of the beauties of washington. but no such thoughts were engrossing pretty mollie's attention. mollie's mind was dwelling on the society pleasures the "automobile girls" expected to enjoy at the capital city. grace carter was listening to barbara's and ruth's animated conversation. from the very first days at newport, mollie thurston had cared more for society than had her sister and two friends. her dainty beauty and pretty manners made her a favorite wherever she went. mollie's friends had spoiled her, and since her arrival in washington the old story had repeated itself. harriet hamlin had already taken mollie under her special protection. and mollie was wildly excited with the thought of the social experiences ahead of her. the four girls spent some time strolling about the white house grounds. then ruth proposed that they take a car and visit the congressional library. "i think it is the most beautiful building in washington, and, in fact, one of the finest in the world," she said enthusiastically, and later when the "automobile girls" were fairly inside the famous library, they fully agreed with her. it was particularly hard to tear barbara away from what seemed to her the most fascinating place she was ever in, and she announced her intention of visiting it again at the first opportunity. the sightseers arrived home in time for luncheon and at four o'clock that afternoon they stood in a row, beside harriet hamlin and her father, helping to receive the guests who crowded in to the reception. some of the women wore beautiful gowns, others looked as though they had come from small towns where the residents knew nothing of fashionable society. mollie and bab wore the white chiffon frocks mr. prescott had presented them with in chicago. but grace and ruth wore gowns that had been ordered for this particular occasion. bab thought their white frocks, which looked as though they were new, as pretty as any of the gowns worn there. but little mollie was not satisfied. she hated old clothes, no matter how well they looked. and harriet hamlin was rarely beautiful in an imported gown of pale, yellow crêpe. after receiving for an hour, bab slipped quietly into a chair near a window. she wished to examine the guests at her leisure. mollie and ruth were deep in conversation with mrs. post and hugh. grace was talking to dorothy and gwendolin morton. barbara's eyes wandered eagerly over the throng of people. suddenly some one touched her on the shoulder. "you do not remember me, do you?" bab turned and saw a young woman. "i am marjorie moore," said the newcomer. "i am the girl who came to ask you for your pictures. perhaps you think it is strange for me to come to harriet hamlin's reception when she was so rude to me last night. but i am not a guest. besides, newspaper people are not expected to have any feelings. my newspaper sent me to find out what people were here this afternoon. so here i am! i know everybody in washington. would you like me to point out some of the celebrities to you? see that stunning woman just coming in at the door? she has the reputation of being the most popular woman in washington. but nobody knows just where she comes from, or who she is, or how she gets her money. but i must not talk washington gossip. you'll meet her soon yourself." "how do you do, miss moore?" broke in a charming contralto voice. "you are the very person i wish to see. i can give you some news for your paper. it is not very important, but i thought you might like to have it." "you are awfully good, mrs. wilson," marjorie moore replied gratefully. "i have just been talking to miss thurston about you. may i introduce her? she has just arrived in washington, and i told her, only half a second ago, that you were the nicest woman in this town." mrs. wilson laughed quietly. "i know miss thurston's sister and her friend, miss carter. mr. hamlin let me help chaperon them at a reception yesterday afternoon. but miss moore has been flattering me dreadfully. i am a very unimportant person, though i happen to have the good fortune to be a friend of mr. hamlin's and harriet's. i am keeping house in washington at present. some day you must come to see me." bab thanked her new acquaintance. she thought she had never seen a more unusual looking woman. it was impossible to guess her age. mrs. wilson's hair was snow-white, but her face was as young as a girl's and her eyes were fascinatingly dark under her narrow penciled brows. she was gowned in a pale blue broadcloth dress, and wore on her head a large black hat trimmed with a magnificent black plume. "the top of the afternoon to you!" declared a new arrival in bab's sheltered corner. "how is a man to find you if you will hide behind curtains?" this time bab recognized peter dillon, her acquaintance of the afternoon before. mrs. wilson, whose manner suggested a charming frankness and innocence, took peter by the arm. "which of the three graces do you mean to devote yourself to this afternoon, peter? you shall not flatter us all at once." "i flatter?" protested peter, in aggrieved tones. "why truthfulness is my strong point." marjorie moore gave a jarring laugh. "is it, mr. dillon?" she returned, not too politely. "please count me out of mr. dillon's flatteries. he does not include a woman who works in them." marjorie moore hurried away. "whew-w!" ejaculated peter. "miss moore does not love me, does she? i came up only to say a few words. miss hamlin is keeping me busy this afternoon. come and have some coffee, miss thurston. i am sure you look tired." "i would rather not," barbara protested. "i am going to run away upstairs for a minute, if you will excuse me." before barbara could make her escape from the drawing-room she saw that peter dillon and mrs. wilson had both lost their frivolous manner and were deep in earnest conversation. chapter iii mr. tu fang wu bab knew that at the rear of this floor of mr. hamlin's house there was a small room that was seldom used. she hoped to find refuge in it for a few minutes, and then to return to her friends. the room was empty. bab sank down into a great arm chair and closed her eyes. a few moments later she opened them though she heard no sound. a fat little chinese gentleman stood regarding her with an expression of amusement on his face. barbara jumped hastily to her feet. where was she? she felt frightened. although the man before her was yellow and foreign, and wore strange chinese clothes, he was evidently a person of importance. had barbara awakened at the court of pekin? her companion wore a loose, black satin coat, heavily embroidered in flowers and dragons and a round, close fitting silk cap with a button on top of it. "i beg your pardon," bab exclaimed in confusion. "whom did you wish to see? there is no one in here." the chinese gentleman made bab a stately bow. "no one," he protested. "this is the first time, since my residence in america, that i have heard an american girl speak of herself as no one. miss united states is always some one in her own country. but may i therefore present myself to little 'miss no one'? i am dr. tu fang wu, his imperial chinese majesty's envoy extraordinary and minister plenipotentiary to the united states." "i am very proud to meet you, mr. minister," barbara returned, wondering if "mr. minister" was the proper way to address a foreign ambassador. she thought mr. hamlin had told her so, only the night before. bab did not know in the least what she should do or say to such a distinguished oriental. she might make a mistake at any minute. for bab had been learning, every hour since her arrival in washington, that in no place is social etiquette more important than in the capital city. "may i find mr. hamlin for you?" bab suggested, hoping to make her escape. the chinese minister shook his head slowly. "mr. hamlin is engaged with his other guests." "then won't you be seated?" bab asked in desperation. really she and this strange yellow gentleman could not stand staring at each other the whole afternoon. it made bab feel creepy to have a chinaman regard her so steadfastly and without the slightest change of expression, even if he were a foreign minister. bab felt this meeting to be one of the strangest experiences of her whole life. she had never seen a chinaman before, except on the street carrying a basket of laundry. but here she was forced into a tête-à-tête with one in the highest social position. "have you any daughters?" barbara asked in her effort to break the awful silence. mr. tu fang wu again bowed gravely. "i have one daughter and one small son. my daughter is not here with me this afternoon. chinese girls do not go to entertainments where there are young men. my daughter has been brought up according to the customs of our country. but she has been in washington for several years. i fear she, too, would like to be emancipated, like the american girl. it is not possible, although she enjoys many privileges she will not have when she returns to china. my daughter is betrothed to a nobleman in her own country. perhaps you would like to meet my daughter, wee tu? she is fifteen years old. i shall ask miss hamlin to bring you to luncheon at the embassy." to barbara's relief mr. william hamlin now appeared at the door. the chinese minister again bowed profoundly to barbara. "i was looking for your smoking-room," he laughed, "but i found this young woman instead." as the two men went out of the room, bab had difficulty in making sure that she had not been dreaming of this fat, yellow gentleman. "barbara thurston, what do you mean by running away by yourself?" exclaimed grace carter, a moment later. "we have been looking for you for ten minutes." hugh post, mollie and a strange young man were close behind grace. "i want to present my friend, lieutenant elmer wilson," hugh announced. "he is a very important person in washington." "not a bit of it," laughed the young man. "i am one of the president's aides. i try to make myself generally useful." "your work must be very interesting," barbara said quickly. "do you--" just then a soft contralto voice interrupted her. "are you ready to go with me, elmer?" it said. barbara recognized the voice as belonging to the mrs. wilson whom she had met in the drawing room not an hour before. could it be that this young and lovely looking woman was the mother of elmer wilson? surely the young man was at least twenty-two years old. "coming in a moment, mother," elmer replied. "have you said good-bye to harriet?" "harriet is not in the reception room now. nearly all her guests have gone," mrs. wilson murmured softly. "mr. hamlin is angry. but poor harriet ought to have a chance to talk for a few minutes to the richest young man in washington. i will leave you, elmer. if you see harriet, you may tell her i did not think it fair to disturb her." barbara went back to the drawing-room to search for ruth. she found ruth standing next her uncle, mr. hamlin, saying the adieux in harriet's place. a few moments later the last visitor had withdrawn and mr. hamlin quickly left ruth and bab alone. mr. hamlin was a small man, with iron gray hair, a square jaw and thin, tightly closed lips. he seldom talked, and the "automobile girls" felt secretly afraid of him. "uncle is dreadfully angry with harriet," ruth explained to bab, after mr. hamlin was out of hearing. "but he is awfully strict and i do not think he is exactly fair. he does not give harriet credit for what she does, but he gets awfully cross if she makes any mistakes. harriet is upstairs, in her own sitting-room, talking to a great friend of hers. he is a man uncle hates, although he has known charlie meyers since childhood. he is immensely rich, but he is very ill-bred, and that is why uncle dislikes him. i don't think harriet cares a bit more for this young man than she does for half a dozen others. but if uncle doesn't look out harriet will marry him for spite. harriet hates being poor. she is not poor, really. but i am afraid she is terribly extravagant. promise not to laugh when you see charlie meyers. he looks a little like a pig, he is so pink and fat." "girls!" called harriet's voice. "are you still in here? mr. meyers has just gone, and i wanted you to meet him. he is going to have a motor party and take you to see mount vernon. we can drive along the potomac and have our supper somewhere in the country." "i'm going to drive mr. a. bubble, harriet," ruth replied. "as long as i brought my car to washington i must use it. but i suppose we can get up guests enough to fill two automobiles, can't we?" "where's father?" harriet inquired, trying to conceal a tremor in her voice. "did he know i was upstairs?" "i am afraid he did, harriet," ruth replied. "well, i don't care," declared harriet defiantly. "i will select my own friends. charlie meyers is stupid and ill-bred, but he is good natured, and i am tired of position and poverty." "you are no such thing, harriet," protested ruth, taking her cousin by the hand and leading her to a long mirror. "there, look at yourself in your yellow gown. you look like a queen. please don't be silly." "it's clothes that make the woman, ruth," harriet replied, kissing ruth unexpectedly. "and this yellow gown is just one of the things that troubles me. dear me, i am glad the reception is over!" chapter iv at the chinese embassy "shall we eat our luncheon with chopsticks to-day?" mollie thurston asked harriet hamlin an hour before the "automobile girls" and their hostess were to start for the chinese embassy. harriet laughed good-humoredly at mollie's question. "you absurd child, don't you know the chinese minister is one of the most cultivated men in washington! when he is in america he does what the americans do. but his wife, lady tu, is delightfully chinese. she paints her face in the chinese fashion and wears beautiful chinese clothes in her own home. and the little chinese daughter is a darling. really, mollie, you will feel as though you had been on a trip to the orient when you meet dainty little wee tu." "oh, i don't believe a chinese girl can be attractive," mollie argued, her eyes fixed on the pile of pretty gowns which harriet was laying out on her bed. "do wear the rose-colored gown to-day, harriet!" mollie pleaded. "it is such a love of a frock and so becoming to you with your white skin and dark hair. dear me, it must be nice to have such lovely clothes!" mollie paused for a minute. harriet turned around to find her little friend blushing. "i do hope," mollie went on, "that you are not going to feel ashamed of bab and me while we are your guests in washington. you can see for yourself that we are poor, and have only a few gowns. of course it is different with grace and ruth. but our father is dead, and--" mollie stopped. she did not know how to go on with her explanation. somehow she did not feel that barbara or her mother would approve of her apologizing to harriet for their simple wardrobes. "mollie!" harriet exclaimed reproachfully. "you know i think you and barbara are so pretty and clever that it does not matter what your clothes are like. besides, if you should ever want anything special to wear while you are here, why, i have a host of gowns." mollie shook her head. of course she could not borrow harriet's gowns. and, though harriet was trying to comfort her, her tone showed very plainly that she had noticed the slimness of the thurston girls' preparations in the matter of wardrobe for several weeks of gayety in washington. at a little before one o'clock the "automobile girls" and harriet were ushered into the reception room of the chinese embassy by a grave chinese servant clad in immaculate white and wearing his long pig-tail curled on top of his head. the minister and his wife came forward. lady tu wore a dress of heavy chinese embroidery with a long skirt and a short full coat. her hair was inky black and built out on each side of her head. she had a band of gold across it and golden flowers set with jewels hung above each ear. her face was enameled in white and a small patch of crimson was painted just under her lip. bab could hardly restrain an exclamation of delight at the beauty of the reception room. the walls were covered with chinese silk and heavy panels of embroidery. a chinese banner, with a great dragon on it, hung over the mantel-piece. the furniture was elaborately carved teakwood. the girls at once glanced around for the chinese minister's daughter. but she was no where to be seen. instead, peter dillon, bab's first chance acquaintance in washington, was smiling a welcome. mrs. wilson and her son were also present. the two or three other visitors were unknown to the "automobile girls." even when luncheon was served the little chinese girl did not make her appearance. the four girls were beginning to feel rather disappointed. they had come to the embassy chiefly to see wee tu, and they were evidently not going to be granted that pleasure. just as they were about to go back to the reception room, mr. tu fang wu suggested courteously to his girl guests: "if it pleases you, will you now go up to my daughter's apartments? she does not eat her meals with us when we entertain young men guests. it is not the custom of our country." the chinese minister touched a bell and another chinese servant appeared, his slippered feet making no noise. at the top of the stairs a chinese woman met the "automobile girls" and conducted them to the apartment of wee tu, the minister's daughter. wee tu bowed her head to the floor when the "automobile girls" entered. but when she raised her face her little black eyes were glowing, and a faint pink showed under her smooth, yellow skin. think what it meant to this little chinese maid, with her shut-in life, to meet four american girls like barbara, ruth, grace and mollie! harriet had lingered behind for a few moments. "your most honorable presence does my miserable self much honor," stated wee tu automatically. bab laughed. she simply could not help it. wee tu's greeting seemed so absurd to her ears, though she knew it was the chinese manner of speaking. but bab's merry laugh saved the situation, as it often had done before, for the little chinese maid laughed in return, and the five girls sat giggling in the most intimate fashion. the servant passed around preserved chinese fruits, nuts and dried melon seed. "is miss hamlin not with you?" the chinese minister's daughter asked finally, in broken english. at this moment harriet's voice was heard in the corridor. she was talking gayly to peter dillon. the chinese girl caught the sound of the young man's charming laugh. bab was gazing straight at wee tu. wee tu looked like a beautiful chinese doll, not a bit like a human being. at the entrance to wee tu's apartment peter bowed gracefully. he waited until harriet entered. "your most honorable ladyship," he inquired. "have i your permission to enter your divine apartment? your most noble father has waived ceremony in my favor and says i may be allowed to see you in company with your other guests. you are to pretend you are an american girl to-day." wee tu again made a low bow, almost touching the soft chinese rug with her crown of black hair. her mantle was of blue silk crepe embroidered in lotus flowers, and she wore artificial lotus blossoms drooping on either side of her head. after peter's entrance, wee tu did not speak nor smile. she sat with her slender yellow hands clasped together, her nails so long they were tipped with gold to prevent their breaking. her tiny feet in their embroidered slippers looked much too small for walking. peter made himself agreeable to all the girls. he chatted with harriet, joked with bab and ruth. now and then he spoke to the chinese girl in some simple gentle fashion that she could understand. "peter dillon is awfully attractive," bab thought. "i wonder why i was prejudiced against him at first because of what that newspaper girl said." peter walked with barbara back to mr. hamlin's house. "would you mind my asking you a question?" bab demanded when they were fairly on the way. peter laughed. "it's a woman's privilege, isn't it?" "well, how do you happen to be so intimate at the chinese minister's?" was barbara's direct question. "they seemed so formal and then all of a sudden mr. tu fang wu let you come up to see his daughter." "i know them very well," peter returned simply. "i often dine at the chinese minister's with his family. so i have met his daughter several times before. i have made myself useful to mr. tu fang wu once or twice, and my legation likes me to keep in touch with the people in authority." "oh," exclaimed barbara. she remembered that peter was equally intimate at mr. hamlin's, and she wondered how he managed to keep up such a variety of acquaintances. "i wonder if you would do a fellow a favor some day?" peter asked. "i'll bet you have lots of nerve. harriet is apt to get frightened at the critical minute." "it would all depend on what you asked me to do," bab returned puzzled by peter's remark. "oh, i won't ask you until i have managed to do something for you first. it is only that i think you can see a joke and i have a good one that i mean to try some day," peter replied. chapter v sub rosa the next morning, peter dillon was lounging in mrs. wilson's library, chatting with her on apparently easy terms. "i think it is a special dispensation of providence that sent the 'automobile girls' to washington to visit harriet hamlin just at this particular time, mrs. wilson," declared peter dillon. mrs. wilson walked back and forth across her drawing room floor several times before she answered. she looked older in the early morning light. but her restlessness did not disturb peter, who was reclining gracefully in a chair, smoking a cigarette. "i am not sure you have reason to bless providence, peter dillon," mrs. wilson protested. "what a man you are! you simply cannot judge all girls by the same standard. some day you are going to meet a girl who is cleverer than you are. and then, where will you be?" "oh, i'll go slowly," peter argued. "i know i am taking chances in making friends with the clever one. but she has more nerve and courage than the others. i am sure it will be much better to leave harriet out of the whole business, if possible." "all right, peter," mrs. wilson agreed. "manage your own affairs, since this happens to be your own special joke. but you had much better have left the whole matter to me." "and spoil my good time with five charming girls?" peter protested, smiling. "no, mrs. wilson; that is too much to ask of me. if i can't carry the thing off successfully, you will come to the rescue and help me. you've promised that. we have had our little jokes together before. but this strikes me as being about the best of the whole lot. we will have everybody in washington laughing up his sleeve pretty soon. there will be a few people who won't laugh, but so long as we keep quiet we need not worry about them. has elmer gone to work? i know i have made you a dreadfully early visit. it is very charming of you to be up in time to see me." "don't flatter me, peter; it is not worth while," mrs. wilson said angrily. then she smiled. "never mind, peter; you can no more help flattering than you can help breathing, whether your reason is a good or a bad one. i suppose it is because you are an irishman. by the way, elmer admires one of these charming 'automobile girls.' he has talked of no one else except mollie thurston since harriet's tea. be careful what you say or do before him." "i shall be careful," peter returned easily. "my attentions are directed toward the other sister. how have you managed to keep that big boy of yours so much in the dark about--oh, a number of things?" finished peter. "it is because elmer has perfect faith in me, peter," mrs. wilson answered, passing her hand over her eyes to hide their expression. "as all other men have had before him, my lady," peter avowed. "is it true that mr. william hamlin is now a worshiper at your shrine?" "absurd!" protested mrs. wilson. "here comes elmer." "why, peter dillon, this is a surprise!" exclaimed the young lieutenant, walking into the room in search of his mother. "i never knew mother to get up so early before. i have just been inquiring of your maid, mother, to know what had become of you. harriet hamlin wants you to chaperon us on an automobile ride out to mt. vernon and along the potomac river. charlie meyers is giving the party, and harriet thinks her father won't object if you will go along to look after us. that charlie meyers is an awful bounder! but harriet wants to show her little yankee visitors the sights. do come along with us, mother. for i have a fancy i should like to stroll through the old washington garden with 'sweet sixteen.'" "i will chaperon you with pleasure, elmer," mrs. wilson agreed. "but what about you, peter? are you not invited?" peter looked chagrined. "no; i am not invited, and i call it unkind of harriet. she knows i am dreadfully impressed with the 'automobile girls.'" mrs. wilson and elmer both laughed provokingly. "that is just what's the trouble with you, peter. harriet is accustomed to your devotion to her. now that you have turned your thoughts in another direction, she may look upon you as a faithless swain," mrs. wilson teased. "don't undertake more than you can manage, peter," teased elmer wilson. "that is good advice for peter. remember, peter, i have warned you. some day you will run across a girl who is cleverer than you are. then look out, young man," mrs. wilson repeated. but peter only laughed cheerfully. "what girl isn't cleverer than a man?" he protested. "_au revoir_. i shall do my best to persuade harriet to let me go along with her party this afternoon. i suppose we shall be starting soon after luncheon, as it is saturday." "mother, can you let me have some money?" elmer asked, as soon as peter was out of hearing. "i am ashamed to ask you for it. but going out in society does cost a fellow an awful lot." mrs. wilson shook her head. "i am sorry, boy; i can't let you have anything just now. i am short of money myself at present. but i expect to have some money coming in, say in about two weeks, or even ten days. then i can let you have what you like." * * * * * "how shall we divide our party for the motor ride, ruth?" asked harriet hamlin about two o'clock on the afternoon of the same day. ruth's red car was standing in front of mr. hamlin's door with another larger one belonging to harriet's friend, charlie meyers, waiting behind it. the automobile party stood out on the side walk and peter dillon had somehow managed to be one of them. "suppose, barbara, grace and hugh post go along with me, harriet?" ruth proposed. "mr. meyers' car is larger than mine. he can take the rest of the party." "what a division!" protested peter dillon, as he climbed into ruth's automobile and took his seat next bab. "do you suppose, for one instant, that we are going to see hugh post drive off, the only man among three girls? not if i can help it!" the two automobiles traveled swiftly through washington allowing the four "automobile girls" only tantalizing glimpses of the executive buildings which they passed on the way. in about an hour the cars covered the sixteen miles that lay between the capital city and the home of its first president. such a deep and abiding tranquillity pervaded the atmosphere of mt. vernon that the noisy chatter of the young people was, for an instant, hushed into silence, as they drove through the great iron gates at the entrance to mt. vernon, and on up the elm-shaded lawn to the house. although it was december, the fall had been unusually warm and the trees were not yet bare of their autumn foliage; the grass still looked smooth and green under foot. the "automobile girls" held their breath as their eyes rested on the most famous historic home in america. "oh, ruth!" exclaimed bab. but when she saw peter's eyes smiling at her enthusiasm she stopped and would not say another word. of course, mt. vernon was an old story to mrs. wilson, to harriet, and indeed to the entire party, except the four girls. but they wished to see every detail of the washington house. they went into the wide hall and there beheld the key to the bastile presented by lafayette to general washington. they examined the music room, with its queer, old-fashioned musical instruments; went up to martha washington's bedroom and even looked upon the white-canopied bed where george washington died. indeed, they wandered from garret to cellar in the old house. but it was a beautiful afternoon and the outdoors called them at last. and, after all, it is the outdoors at mt. vernon that is most beautiful. the house is a simple country home with a wide, old-fashioned portico and gallery built of frame and painted to look like stone. but there is no palace on the rhine, no castle in spain, that has a more beautiful natural situation than mt. vernon. it stands on a piece of gently swelling land that slopes gradually down to the potomac, and commands a view of many miles of the broad and noble river. bab and ruth managed to get away from the rest of their party and to slip out on the wide colonnaded veranda. "how peaceful and beautiful it is out here," ruth exclaimed, with her arm around her friend's waist. "it seems to me that, if i lived in washington, i would just run out here whenever anything uncomfortable happened to me. i am sure, if i spent the day at mt. vernon, i should not feel trouble any more." barbara stood silent. a vague premonition of some possible trouble overtook her. "ruth," bab asked suddenly, "do you like harriet's friend, peter dillon? every now and then he talks to me in the most mysterious fashion. i don't understand what he means." ruth looked unusually grave. then she answered bab in a very curious tone. "i know you have lots of common sense, bab, dear," ruth began. "but promise me you won't put any special faith in peter dillon. he is not one bit like hugh, or ralph ewing, or the boys we met at the major's house party. when i meet any one who is such a favorite with everyone i always wonder whether he has any real feelings or whether he is trying to accomplish some end. i suppose peter dillon can't help striving to be agreeable to everyone." bab laughed a little. "why, ruth," she protested, "that idea does not sound a bit like you. you are sweet to everyone yourself, dear, and everyone loves you. but i do know what you mean about peter dillon. i--" "hello," cried mollie's sweet voice. she waved a long blue scarf toward ruth and bab. mollie and elmer wilson were standing on the lawn, examining the motto on the sun dial. it read, "i record none but sunny hours." "let me write down that motto for you, miss thurston," elmer wilson suggested. "i hope you may follow the old sun dial's example and record none but sunny hours yourself." "ruth!" called hugh, coming around from the other side of the porch with peter dillon. "well, here you are, at last! it is not fair for you two girls to run off together like this. harriet has disappeared, and mrs. wilson is hiding somewhere. do you remember, ruth, you promised to go with me to see the old washington deer park. it has just been restocked with deer. won't you come, too, bab?" barbara shook her head as hugh and ruth walked off together. bab felt sure that hugh would like to have a chance to talk with ruth alone, for they had never ceased to be intimate friends since the early days at newport. peter dillon stood looking out at the river, whistling softly, "kathleen mavourneen." it was the song barbara had first heard him whistle in the drawing-room of mr. hamlin's house. the young man said nothing, for a few moments, even when he and bab were alone. but when bab came over toward him, peter smiled. he had his hat off and he had run his hands through his dark auburn hair. "i say, miss thurston, why can't you make up your mind to like me?" he questioned. "surely you don't suspect me of dark designs, do you? you american people are so strange. just because i am half a russian you think i have some sinister purpose in my mind. i am not an anarchist, and i don't want to go about trampling on the poor. i wish you could meet the russian ambassador. he is about the most splendid-looking man you ever saw. i know him, well, you see, because my mother was a distant cousin of his." barbara laughed good-humoredly. "you seem to be a kind of connecting link between three or four nations--russia, america, china. what are your real duties at your legation?" barbara looked at her companion with a real question in her brown eyes--a question she truly desired to have answered. she was interested to know what duties an attaché performed for his embassy. peter, in spite of his frivolities, claimed to be a hard worker. "you have not seen the loveliest part of mt. vernon yet, miss thurston," peter dillon interposed just at this instant. "i want to show you the old garden, and we must hurry before the gates are closed. yes; i know i did not answer your question. an attaché just makes himself generally useful to his chief. but if you really want to know what my ambition is, and how i work to achieve it, why some day i will tell you." peter looked at bab so seriously that she answered quickly: "yes, i should dearly love to see the garden." bab and peter dillon wandered together through the paths formed by the box hedges planted in martha washington's garden more than a century ago. neither seemed to feel like talking. the young man had seen the gardener as they entered the enclosure, and had persuaded him to allow them to go through the lovely spot alone. bab's vivid imagination brought to life the old colonial ladies who had once wandered in this famous garden. she saw their white wigs, their powder and patches and full skirts. so bab forgot all about her companion. suddenly she heard peter give a slight exclamation. they had both come to the end of the garden walk. there before them stood a great rose tree. blooming in the unusually warm sunshine were two rose-buds, gently tipped with frost. "ah, miss thurston, how glad i am we found the garden first!" peter cried. "this is the famous mary washington rose, which washington planted here in his garden, and named in honor of his mother. wait here until i find the gardener. i am going to make him let us have these two tiny rose-buds." "how nice peter dillon really is," bab thought. "ruth was mistaken in warning me against him. of course, he does not show on the surface what he actually feels. but perhaps i shall find out he is a finer fellow than we think he is. mr. hamlin says harriet is wrong in believing peter is never in earnest about anything." "it's all right, miss thurston," called peter, returning in a few minutes with his eyes shining. "the gardener says we may have the roses." the young fellow dropped down on his knees before the rose bush without a bit of affectation or self-consciousness. he skilfully cut the two half faded rose-buds from the stalk and handed one to barbara. "keep this, miss thurston," he said earnestly. "and if ever you should wish me to do you a favor, just send the flower to me and i shall perform whatever task you set me to do to the best of my skill." peter looked at his own rose. "may i keep my rose-bud for the same purpose?" he begged quietly. "perhaps i shall send my flower to you some day and ask you to do me a service. will you do it for me?" "yes, mr. dillon, i will do you any favor that i can," bab returned steadily. "but i don't make rash promises in the dark. and i have very little opportunity to do people favors. you make me think of the newspaper girl, marjorie moore. she tried to force me into a promise without letting me know what she wanted, the first day i saw her. does everyone try to get some one to do something for him in washington?" at the mention of marjorie moore's name the change in peter dillon's face was so startling that barbara was startled. just now he did not look in the least like an irishman. his lips tightened into a fine, cruel line, his eyes grew almost black and had a queer, chinese slant to them. it suddenly dawned on barbara, that russians have asiatic blood in their veins and are often more like oriental people than they are like those of the western world. but peter only said carelessly, after he had regained control of his face: "miss moore doesn't like me; and frankly, i don't like her. she told you she did society work for her newspaper. she does a great deal more. she is constantly watching at the legations to see if she can spy on any of their secret information. it is not good form to warn one girl against another. but if i were you, miss thurston, i would take with a grain of salt any information that miss moore might give you." barbara answered quietly: "oh, i don't suppose miss moore will tell me any of her secrets. she does not come to mr. hamlin's except on business. harriet does not like her." "good for harriet!" peter muttered to himself. "it may be harriet, after all!" "barbara thurston, you and peter come along this minute," harriet ordered unexpectedly. "don't you know we shall be locked up in mt. vernon if we stay here much longer. ruth's automobile is already filled and she is waiting to start. you and peter are to get into mr. meyers' car with me. we have another hour before sunset. we are going to motor along the river and have our supper at an inn a few miles from here." as peter dillon ran ahead to join harriet hamlin, a small piece of paper fell out of his pocket. barbara picked it up and slipped it inside her coat, intending to hand it back to mr. dillon as soon as she had an opportunity. but there were other things that seemed of more importance to absorb her attention for the rest of the evening. and barbara was not to remember the paper until some time later. chapter vi the arrest after eating supper, and spending the evening at an old-fashioned southern inn on the virginia side of the potomac river, the two automobile parties started back to washington. barbara and peter dillon occupied seats in the car with harriet and mr. meyers, mrs. wilson, and two washington girls who had been members of their party. as ruth did not know the roads it was decided that she keep to the rear and follow the car in front of her. it was a clear moonlight night, and, though the roads were not good, no member of the party dreamed of trouble. bab sat next to charlie meyers, and her host was in a decidedly sulky temper. for harriet had grown tired of his devotion, after several hours of it during the afternoon, and was amusing herself with peter. no sooner had the two cars sped away from the peaceful shadows of mt. vernon, than peter began to play prince charming to harriet. charlie meyers did not know what to do. he was a stupid fellow, who expected his money to carry him through everything. he would hardly listen to barbara's conversation or take the slightest interest in anything she tried to say. every time harriet's gay laugh rang out from the next seat charlie meyers would drive his car faster than ever, until it fairly bounded over the rough places in the road. several times mrs. wilson remonstrated with him. "you are going too fast, mr. meyers. it is dark, and i am afraid we shall have an accident if you are not more careful. please go slower." for an instant, mr. meyers would obey mrs. wilson's request to lessen the speed of his car. then he would dash ahead as though the very furies were after him. as for ruth, she had to follow the automobile in front in order to find her way, so it was necessary for her to run her car at the same high speed. neither ruth nor her companions knew the pitfalls along the road. hugh did not keep his automobile in washington, and, though he had a general idea of the direction they should take, he had never driven along the particular course selected by mr. meyers for their return trip. ruth felt her face flush with temper as her car shook and plunged along the road. in order to keep within a reasonable distance of the heavier car, she had to put on full power and forge blindly ahead. once or twice ruth called out: "won't you go a little slower in front, please? i can't find my way along this road at such a swift pace." but ruth's voice floated back on the winds and the leading car paid no heed to her. then elmer and hugh took up the refrain, shouting with all their lung power. they merely wasted their breath. charlie meyers either did not hear them or pretended not to do so. he never once turned his head, or asked if those back of him were making a safe journey. barbara was furious. she fully realized ruth's predicament, although she was not in her chum's car. "please don't get out of sight of ruth's car, mr. meyers," bab urged her companion. but he paid not the slightest attention to her request. bab looked anxiously back over the road. now and then she could see mr. a. bubble's lamps; more often ruth's car was out of sight. patience was not barbara's strong point. "harriet," she protested, "won't you ask mr. meyers to slow down so that ruth can follow him. he will not pay the least attention to me." "what is your hurry, charlie!" asked harriet, in a most provoking tone. she knew the young fellow was not a gentleman, and that he was showing his anger against her by making them all uncomfortable. but harriet was in a wicked humor herself, and she would not try to appease their cross host. she was having an extremely pleasant time with peter dillon, and really did not realize ruth's difficulties. the front car slowed imperceptibly, then hurried on again. at about half past ten o'clock, mr. meyers turned into one of the narrow old-fashioned streets of the town of alexandria, which is just south-west of washington. the town was only dimly lighted and the roads made winding turns, so that it was impossible to see any great distance ahead. ruth had managed to keep her car going, though she had long since lost her sweet temper, and the others of her party were very angry. "it serves us right," hugh post declared to ruth. "we ought never to have accepted this fellow's invitation. i knew he wasn't a gentleman, and i know mr. hamlin does not wish harriet to have anything to do with him. yet, just because the fellow is enormously rich and gives automobile parties, here we have been spending the evening as his guests. look here, ruth, do you think i can forget i have enjoyed his hospitality, and punch his head for him when we get back to washington, for leading you on a chase like this?" ruth smiled and shook her head. she was seldom nervous about her automobile after all her experiences as chauffeur. yet this wild ride at night through towns of which she knew little or nothing, was not exactly her idea of sport. mr. bubble was again outdistanced. as the streets were deserted, ruth decided to make one more violent spurt in an effort to catch up with the front car. poor mr. a. bubble who had traveled so far with his carload of happy girls was shaking from side to side. but ruth did not think of danger. alexandria is a sleepy old southern town and nearly all its inhabitants were in bed. "aren't there any speed regulations in this part of the world, hugh?" ruth suddenly inquired. but she was too late. at this instant everyone in her car heard a loud shout. "hold up there! stop!" a figure on a bicycle darted out of a dark alley in hot pursuit of them. "go it, ruth!" hugh whispered. but ruth shook her head. "no," she answered. "we must face the music." ruth put on her stop brake and her car slowed down. "what do you mean," cried a wrathful voice, "tearing through a peaceful town like this, lickitty-split, as though there were no folks on earth but you. you just come along to the station with me! you'll find out, pretty quick, what twenty-five miles an hour means in this here town." "let me explain matters to you," hugh protested. "it is all a mistake." "i ain't never arrested anybody for speeding yet that they ain't told me it was just a mistake," fumed the policeman. "but you will git a chance to tell your story to the chief of police. you're just wasting good time talkin' to me. i ain't got a mite of patience with crazy automobilists." "don't take us all to the station house, officer!" hugh pleaded. "just take me along, and let the rest of the party go on back to washington. it's awfully late. you surely wouldn't keep these young ladies." "it's the lady that's a-runnin' the car, ain't it? she's the one that is under arrest," said the policeman obstinately. ruth had not spoken since her automobile was stopped. she had a lump in her throat, caused partly by anger and partly by embarrassment and fright. then, too, ruth was wondering what her father would say. in the years she had been running her automobile, over all the thousands of miles she had traveled, ruth had never before been stopped for breaking the speed laws. she had always promised mr. stuart to be careful. and one cannot have followed the fortunes of ruth stuart and her friends in their adventures without realizing ruth's high and fine regard for her word. yet here were ruth and her friends about to be taken to jail for breaking the laws of the little virginia city. it was small wonder that ruth found it difficult to speak. "i will go with the policeman," she assented. "perhaps he will let you take mollie and grace on home." of course no one paid the slightest attention to ruth's ridiculous suggestion. her friends were not very likely to leave her alone to argue her case before the justice of the peace. "i say, man, do be reasonable," hugh urged. he would not give up. "you can hold me in jail all night if you will just let the others go." "please don't argue with the policeman, hugh," ruth begged. "he is only doing his duty. i am so sorry, mollie darling, for you and grace. but i know you won't leave me." "oh, we don't mind," the two girls protested. "i suppose we can pay the fine and they will let us go at once." hugh said nothing, for he knew that he had only a few dollars in his pocket. when ruth's car finally reached the station house it was almost eleven o'clock. the policeman took the automobile party inside the station. it was bitter cold in the room, for the winter chill had fallen with the close of the december day. the fire had died out in the air-tight iron stove in the room, and mollie, ruth and grace could hardly keep from shivering. "well, where is the justice of the peace or whatever man we ought to see about this wretched business?" hugh demanded. at last the policeman looked a little apologetic. "i'll get some one to make up a fire for you," he answered. "i have got to go out and wake up the justice to look after your case. it's bed-time and he's home asleep." "do you expect us to sit here in this freezing dirty old room half the night while you go around looking up a magistrate?" hugh demanded, wrathfully. "i told you i would have the fire built up," the policeman answered sullenly. "but it ain't my fault you got into this trouble. you ought not to have broken the law. we have had about as much trouble with automobilists in this here town as we are willing to stand for. and i might as well tell you, right now, the court will make it pretty hot for you. it may be i can't get the justice to hear your case until to-morrow, and you'll have to stay here all night." "stay here all night!" cried the five young people, as they sank down into five hard wooden chairs in utter despair. "harriet, have you seen ruth's automobile?" bab asked, as charlie meyers' car got safely out of alexandria and started on the road toward washington. harriet and peter both looked around and strained their eyes in the darkness. but there was no sign of ruth or her party. "don't you think we had better go back a little, charlie?" harriet now suggested. "i am afraid you have gotten too far ahead of ruth for her to follow you." "what has miss stuart got hugh post and elmer wilson with her for, if they can't show her the way to town?" argued the impolite host of the automobile parties. "i think charlie is right, harriet. i would not worry," interposed mrs. wilson, in her soft tones. "elmer may not have known the road during the early part of our trip, but neither one of the boys is very apt to lose his way between alexandria and washington." mrs. wilson laughed at the very absurdity of the idea. harriet said nothing more, and, although bab was by no means satisfied, she felt compelled to hold her peace. "will you leave me at my house, charlie?" mrs. wilson demanded, as soon as their automobile reached washington. "i know harriet expects to make a welsh rarebit for you at her home, but i am going to ask you to excuse me. i am a good deal older than you children, and i am tired." when barbara reached the hamlin house she hoped ardently to see the familiar lights of her old friend, a. bubble waiting outside the door. but the street was bare of automobiles. there was nothing to do but to follow the other young people into the house and take off her hat and coat. but bab had not the heart to join harriet in the dining-room where the preparations for making the rarebit were now going on. she lingered forlornly in the hall. every now and then she would peer anxiously out into the darkness. still there was no sign of ruth or any member of her party! barbara was wretched. she was now convinced that some accident had befallen them. "come in, barbara," called harriet cheerfully. "the welsh rarebit is done and it has to be eaten on the instant. i will make another for ruth's crowd when they get in. they are certainly awfully slow in arriving." "harriet!" barbara's white face appeared at the dining-room door. "i hate to be a nuisance, but i am dreadfully worried about the other girls. i know they would have gotten home by this time if nothing had happened to them." poor barbara had to make a dreadful effort to swallow her pride, for charlie meyers had been dreadfully rude to her all afternoon. "mr. meyers," she pleaded, "won't you take me back in your car to look for my friends? i simply can't bear the suspense any longer." barbara's eyes were full of tears. "oh, bab, you are foolish to worry," harriet protested. "it would not be worth while for you and mr. meyers to go back now. you would only pass ruth on the road. it is nearly midnight." "i know it is," bab agreed. "and that is why i am so frightened. don't you think you could take me to look for them? please do, mr. meyers." the ill-bred fellow shrugged his shoulders. "what do you take me for, miss thurston? i am not going to let my rarebit get cold. there is nothing the matter with your friends. they are likely to be along at any minute." barbara did not know what to do. mr. hamlin had not yet come in. yet she must find out what had happened to ruth, mollie and grace. bab once thought of starting out alone and on foot, back up the long country road, but she gave up the idea as sheer foolishness. at that moment the grandfather's clock in the hall chimed midnight. almost two hours had passed since the two automobiles had entered alexandria, and the little town was only eight miles from washington. bab felt she was going to cry before harriet's guests. she slipped her hand in her pocket to find her handkerchief. as she silently pressed her handkerchief against her trembling lips she smelt a delicate perfume. something fresh and cool and aromatic touched her face. it was the tiny rose-bud peter dillon had presented to her in the garden! now bab had determined never to ask peter to do her a favor. she felt that, once she returned his pledge to him, he had the same right to ask a favor of her. but what could barbara do? her beloved sister and friends had certainly come to grief somewhere. and bab was helpless to find them alone. "mr. dillon," bab spoke under her breath, just showing her handkerchief to him with the rose-bud crushed between its damp folds, "won't you help me to find ruth?" bab only glanced at the flower with a shy smile. but peter saw it. he jumped to his feet, his face flushing. "put the flower back, miss thurston," he said quietly to barbara. "you do not need to ask me to help you look for your friends as a favor to you. i am ashamed of myself to have waited until you asked me. harriet, i am going back to look for your guests." harriet, who was also feeling uneasy without being willing to confess it, cheerfully agreed. "i am going to take your car, meyers," declared peter dillon without saying so much as by your leave. bab and peter dillon hurried out to the waiting automobile. both stopped only to take coats and caps from the rack in the hall. if peter dillon wished to make a friend of barbara thurston, his prompt response to her plea for help came nearer accomplishing it than anything else in the world. when peter refused bab's proffered rose-bud she then determined to do him any favor that she could whenever he might desire to ask it of her. chapter vii mollie's temptation the next morning the "automobile girls" were sitting in the library of mr. hamlin's home. ruth, mollie and grace were there, for peter and bab had secured their release from the alexandria jail. "but how do you think he ever accomplished it?" mollie inquired. harriet laughed and flushed. "oh, peter accomplished it in the same way he does everything else--by making friends with people," she declared. "girls, i hope you realize how ashamed i am of last night's proceedings. i never dreamed that anything had happened to you, or i should have certainly forced charlie meyers to turn back. but i think i have learned a lesson. charlie meyers was horribly rude to you, bab, and i told him what we thought of him after you left. i don't want to see him again. so father, at least, will be glad. though how i am to get on in this world without a husband with money, i don't know." and harriet sighed. "still i would like to have my questions answered," mollie repeated. "how did peter dillon get us away from that wretched jail in such a short time when we thought we might have to stay there all night?" "why, he just found the justice of the peace, arranged about ruth's fine, mentioned mr. hamlin's name and did a few more things," bab laughed. "so, at last, you were permitted to come home." "poor hugh and elmer were so mortified at not having enough money with them to pay the fine. it was just an accident. yet it was truly my fault," ruth argued. "father has always insisted that i take my pocket-book whenever i go out of the house. but, of course, i forgot it yesterday." "will uncle robert be very angry with you, ruth, for being arrested?" harriet asked. "he need never find out anything about it. your fine wasn't so very large, and you always have money enough to pay for anything." ruth laughed. "oh, i always tell father every thing! i don't think he will be very angry with me, when he hears how we happened to get into trouble." "do you really tell your father everything?" harriet asked, in a surprised tone. "why, yes; why not?" ruth questioned. harriet shook her head. "well, i do not tell my father all my affairs. oh, dear me, no!" "i suppose i shall have to go back to alexandria to-day, and appear at court," ruth lamented. "i just dread it." "oh, no you won't," bab explained. "mr. dillon said he would talk matters over with mr. hamlin, and that he had some influential friends over there. you will have to pay your fine, ruth, but you probably will not have to appear at the trial. they will settle it privately." "girls," exclaimed harriet, "i forgot to tell you something. there is a big reception at the white house to-morrow evening, and father says he wishes to take the 'automobile girls' to present them to the president." "how exciting!" exclaimed grace carter. "to think that the 'automobile girls' are going to meet the president, and yet you speak of it as calmly, harriet hamlin, as though it were an everyday affair." "oh, nonsense, grace," harriet begged. "it will be fun to go to the white house with you. you girls are so interested in everything. but a white house reception is an old story to me, and i am afraid there will be a frightful crowd. but which one of you will go shopping with me this morning?" "i will," cried mollie. "i'd dearly love to see the shops. we don't have any big stores in kingsbridge." "is there anything i can get for you, girls?" harriet asked. ruth called her cousin over in the corner. "will you please order flowers for us to-morrow night!" ruth requested. "father told me to be sure to get flowers whenever we wanted them." "lucky ruth!" sighed harriet. "i wish i had such a rich and generous father as you have!" "what can we wear to the president's reception to-morrow, bab?" mollie whispered in her sister's ear, while harriet and ruth were having their conference. bab thought for a moment. "you can wear the corn-colored frock you wore to dinner with the princess sophia at palm beach. it is awfully pretty, and you have never worn it since." "that old thing!" cried mollie, pouting. "suppose you get some pale yellow ribbons, mollie, and i will make you a new sash and a bow for your hair," bab suggested. pretty mollie frowned. "all right," she agreed. harriet and mollie did not go at once to the shops. they drove first to harriet's dressmaker, the most fashionable in washington. "i must try on a little frock," harriet explained. "we can do our shopping afterwards. i want you to see a beautiful coat i am having made, from a chinese crepe shawl the chinese minister's wife gave me." madame louise, the head of the dressmaking establishment, came in to attend to harriet. the new coat was in a wonderful shade of apricot, lined with satin and embroidered in nearly every color of silk. "oh, harriet, how lovely!" mollie exclaimed. "yes, isn't it?" harriet agreed. "but i really ought not to have had this coat made up. it has cost almost as much as though i had bought it outright. and i don't need it. i hope you have not made my dress very expensive, madame. i told you to get me up a simple frock." "ah, but miss hamlin, the simple frocks cost as much as the fancy ones," argued the dressmaker. "this little gown is made of the best satin and lace. but how charming is the effect." mollie echoed the dressmaker's verdict as she gazed at harriet with admiring eyes. harriet's gown was white satin. her black hair and great dusky eyes looked darker from the contrast and her skin even more startlingly fair. harriet could not help a little smile of vanity as she saw herself in the long mirror in the fitting room. "be sure to send these things home by to-morrow, madame louise," she demanded. "father and i are going to take our guests to one of the president's receptions and i want to wear this gown." mollie gave a little impatient sigh. "what is the matter, mollie?" inquired harriet, seeing that her little friend looked tired and unhappy. "i am awfully sorry to have kept you waiting like this. it is a bore to watch other people try on their clothes. i will come with you directly." "oh, i am not tired watching you, harriet," pretty mollie answered truthfully. "i was only wishing i had such a beautiful frock to wear to the reception to-morrow." madame louise clapped her hands. "wait a minute, young ladies. i have something to show you. you must wait, for it is most beautiful." the dressmaker turned and whispered to one of her girl assistants. the girl went out and came back in a few minutes with another frock over her arm. mollie gave a deep sigh of admiration. "how exquisite!" harriet exclaimed. "whose dress is that, madame? it looks like clouds or sea foam, or anything else that is delicately beautiful." madame shook out a delicate pale blue silk, covered with an even lighter tint of blue chiffon, which shaded gently into white. "this dress was an order, miss hamlin," madame louise explained. "i sent to paris for it. of course it was some time before it arrived in washington. in the meanwhile a death occurred in the family of the young woman who had ordered the dress. she is now in mourning, and she left the dress with me to sell for her. she is willing to let it go at a great bargain. the little frock would just about fit your young friend. would she not be beautiful in it, with her pale yellow hair and her blue eyes? ah, the frock looks as though it had been created for her! do you think she would allow me to try it on her?" "do slip the frock on, mollie," harriet urged. "it will not take much time. and i would dearly love to see you in such a gown. it is the sweetest thing i ever saw." mollie shook her head. "it is not worth while for me to put it on, harriet. madame must understand that i cannot possibly buy it." "but the frock is such a bargain, mademoiselle," the dressmaker continued. "i will sell it to you for a mere song." "but i haven't the song to pay for it, madame," mollie laughed. "come on, harriet. we must be going." "of course you can't buy the dress, mollie," harriet interposed. "but madame will not mind your just slipping into it. try it on, just for my sake. i know you will look like a perfect dream." mollie could not refuse harriet's request. "shut your eyes, mollie, while madame dresses you up," harriet proposed. mollie shut her eyes tightly. madame louise slipped on the gown. "it fits to perfection," she whispered to harriet. then the dressmaker, who was really an artist in her line, picked up mollie's bunch of soft yellow curls and knotted them carelessly on top of mollie's dainty head. she twisted a piece of the pale blue shaded chiffon into a bandeau around her gold hair. "now, look at yourself, mademoiselle," she cried in triumph. "mollie, mollie, you are the prettiest thing in the world!" harriet exclaimed. mollie gave a little gasp of astonishment when she beheld herself in the mirror. certainly she looked like cinderella after the latter had been touched with the fairy wand. she stood regarding herself with wide open eyes of astonishment, and cheeks in which the rose flush deepened. "the dress must belong to mademoiselle! i could not have made such a fit if i had tried," repeated the dressmaker. "how much is the dress worth, madame?" harriet queried. "worth? it is worth one hundred and fifty dollars! but i will give the little frock away for fifty," the dressmaker answered. "can't you possibly buy it, child?" harriet pleaded with mollie. "it is a perfectly wonderful bargain, and you are too lovely in it. i just can't bear to have you refuse it." "i am sorry, harriet," mollie returned firmly. "but i have not the money. won't you please take the gown off me, madame!" "your friend can take the frock from me now and pay me later. it does not matter," said the dressmaker. "she can write home for the money." for one foolish moment mollie did dream that she might write to her mother for the price of this darling blue frock. mollie was sure she had never desired anything so keenly in her life. but in a moment mollie came to her senses. where would her mother get such a large sum of money to send her? it had been hard work for mrs. thurston to allow barbara and mollie the slight expenses of their trip to washington. no; the pretty gown was impossible! "do unbutton the gown for me, please, harriet," mollie entreated. "i really can't buy it." mollie felt deeply embarrassed, and was sorry she had allowed herself to be persuaded into trying on the gown. "mollie!" exclaimed harriet suddenly. "don't you have a monthly allowance?" mollie nodded her head. silly mollie hoped harriet would not ask her just what her allowance was. for mrs. thurston could give her daughters only five dollars a month apiece for their pin money. "then i know just what to do," harriet declared. "you must just buy this frock, mollie dear. i expect to have a dividend from some stock i own, and when it comes in, i shall pay madame for the dress, and you can pay me back as it suits you. do please consent, mollie. just look at yourself in the glass once more and i know you can't resist my plan." mollie did take one more peep at herself in the mirror. but if she had only had more time to think, and harriet and the dressmaker had not argued the point with her, she would never have fallen before her temptation. "you are sure you won't mind how long i take to pay you back, harriet?" mollie inquired weakly. "sure!" harriet answered. "all right then; i will take it," mollie agreed in a sudden rush of recklessness, feeling dreadfully excited. for little mollie thurston had never owned a gown in her life that had cost more than fifteen dollars, except the two or three frocks which had been given to her on different occasions. "madame, you will send miss thurston's gown with mine, so she can wear it to the white house reception," harriet insisted. "certainly; i shall send the frocks this evening," the dressmaker agreed, suavely. "but are you sure you will be in? i want you to be at home when the frocks arrive." several other customers had entered madame louise's establishment. harriet hamlin flushed at the dressmaker's question. but she replied carelessly: "oh, yes; i shall be in all the afternoon. you can send them at any time you like." before mollie and harriet had gotten out into the street, mollie clutched harriet's arm in swift remorse. "oh, harriet, dear, i have done a perfectly awful thing! i must go back and tell madame that i cannot take that gown. i don't see how i could have said i would take it. why, it will take me ages to pay you so much money!" mollie's eyes were big and frightened. her lips were trembling. "sh-sh! you silly child!" harriet protested. "here comes mrs. wilson. you can't go to tell madame louise you have changed your mind before so many people. and what is the use of worrying over such a small debt? the dress was a wonderful bargain. you would be a goose not to buy it." now, because harriet was older than mollie, and mollie thought her very beautiful and well trained in all the graces of society, foolish little mollie allowed herself to be silenced, and so made endless trouble for herself and for the people who loved her. "don't tell barbara about my buying the frock, harriet," mollie pleaded, as the two girls went up the steps of the hamlin home, a short time before luncheon. "i would rather tell bab about it myself, when i get a chance." "oh, i won't tell. you may count on me," promised harriet, in sympathetic tones. "will bab be very cross!" "oh, not exactly that," mollie hesitated. "but i am afraid she will be worried. i am glad we are at home. i want to lie down, i feel so tired." not long after harriet and mollie had started off on their shopping expedition, bab came across from her room into ruth's. "ruth, do you think i could telephone mr. dillon?" she asked. "i picked up a piece of paper that he dropped in the garden yesterday, and i forgot to return it to him." "give it to me, child. i told you yesterday that i did not wish you to grow to be an intimate friend of that man. but i am writing him a note to thank him for his kindness to us last night. i can just put your paper in my letter and explain matters to him." bab carelessly tossed the sheet of paper on ruth's desk. it opened, and ruth cried out in astonishment. "oh, bab, how queer! this note is written in chinese characters. what do you suppose peter dillon is doing with a letter written in chinese?" "i don't know i am sure, ruth," bab demurred. "it is none of our business." "did you get the yellow ribbon, mollie?" barbara asked her sister, two hours later, when mollie and harriet came in from their shopping. "i have been fixing up your dress all morning. it is awfully pretty. now i want to make the sash." "i did not get any ribbons, bab." mollie answered peevishly. "i told you i would not wear that old yellow dress." chapter viii at the white house mollie thurston was not well the next day. she stayed in bed and explained that her head ached. and harriet hamlin behaved very strangely. she was shut up in the room with mollie for a long time; when she came out mollie's eyes were red, and harriet looked white as a sheet. but neither of the girls would say what was the matter. just before the hour for starting to the white house reception, mollie got out of bed and insisted on dressing. "i am afraid you are not well enough to go out to-night, mollie," bab protested. "i hope you won't be too disappointed. shall i stay at home with you?" mollie shook her head obstinately. "i am quite well now," she insisted. "bab, would you mind leaving me alone while i dress? i do feel nervous, and i know ruth and grace won't care if you go into their room." "all right, mollie," barbara agreed cheerfully, wondering what had come over her little sister. "call me when you wish me to button your gown. i have put the yellow one out on the lounge, if you should decide to wear it." when mollie was left alone two large tears rolled down her cheeks. once she started to crawl back into bed and to give up the reception altogether. but, after a while, she walked over to her closet and drew out a great box. with trembling fingers mollie opened it and gazed in upon the exquisite blue frock that had already caused her so much embarrassment and regret. should she wear the frock that night? mollie thurston asked herself. and what would bab say when she saw it? for mollie had not yet mustered up the courage to make her confession. well, come what might, mollie decided to wear her new frock this one time. she had risked everything to own it, so she might as well have this poor pleasure. when mollie joined mr. hamlin and the other girls downstairs a long party cape completely concealed her gown. mr. hamlin did not keep a private carriage; so, as long as ruth's automobile was in washington, he decided to take his party to the white house in ruth's car. the girls were ready early, for mr. hamlin explained to them that they would have to take their position in the line of carriages that slowly approached the white house door, and that sometimes this procession was nearly a mile in length. "i suppose you girls won't mind the waiting as much as we older people do, because you always have so much to say to each other. and perhaps this is my best chance to learn to know you better. i have been so busy that i have seen little of you during your visit to harriet." but mollie and harriet were strangely silent, and bab felt absolutely tongue-tied before mr. hamlin. fortunately, grace and ruth sat on each side of him. "mr. hamlin," grace asked timidly, "would you mind telling me what are the duties of the secretary of state? washington is like a new, strange world to us. i have learned the titles of the different members of the president's cabinet, but i have not the faintest idea what they do. mollie and i looked over the cards of the guests who came to your reception. some of the cards just read: 'the speaker,' 'the chief of staff,' 'l'ambassadeur de france,' without any personal names at all." mr. hamlin seemed pleased. the stern, half-embarrassed expression, that he usually wore before the girls relaxed a little at grace's eager questioning. "i am glad, miss carter, to find you take an interest in washington affairs," he answered. "it is most unusual in a young girl. i wish harriet cared more about them, but she seems devoted only to society." mr. hamlin sighed under his breath. "yes; it is the custom for the officials in washington to put only the titles of their office on their visiting cards. you are sure you wish to know the duties of the secretary of state? i don't want to bore you, my child." grace nodded her head eagerly. "well, let me see if i can make it plain to you. the secretary of state has charge of all the correspondence between the foreign countries and their representatives in the united states," mr. hamlin continued. "do you understand?" "i think i do," grace answered hesitatingly, while bab leaned over from the next seat to see if she could understand what mr. hamlin was explaining. "the secretary of state also receives all kinds of information from the consuls and diplomatic officers, who represent the united states abroad," mr. hamlin went on. "sometimes this information is very important and very secret. it might bring on serious trouble, perhaps start a war with another country, if some of these secrets were discovered. the secretary of state has other duties; he keeps the great seal of the united states. but my chief business as assistant secretary is just to look after the important private correspondence with all the other countries." "father," exclaimed harriet, "why are you boring the girls to death with so much information? they don't understand what you mean. i have been living in washington for four years, and i have not half an idea of what your duties are. but thank goodness, we have arrived at the white house at last!" their motor car had finally drawn up before the entrance to the executive mansion at the extremity of the eastern wing. the house was a blaze of lights; the marine band was playing a national air. harriet, who was familiar with all the rules that govern the president's receptions, quickly marshaled her guests into the lobby, where they had to take off their coats and hats. bab was so overcome at the enormous number of people about her, that she did not see mollie remove her cape. mollie slipped quietly into a corner, and was waiting by harriet's side, when harriet called the other girls to hurry up the broad stairs to the vestibule above, where the guests were forming in line to enter the reception room. barbara, ruth and grace gave little gasps of astonishment when they first beheld mollie. if little mollie thurston's heart was heavy within her on this brilliant occasion, she held her pretty head very high. the worry and excitement had given her a slight fever; her cheeks were a deep carmine and her eyes glittered brightly. "why, mollie! what a vision you are!" exclaimed ruth and grace together. "where did you get that wonderful gown? you have been saving it to surprise us to-night, haven't you?" but bab did not say a single word. she only looked at mollie, her face paling a little with surprise and curiosity. how had mollie come by a gown that was more beautiful than anything bab had ever seen her sister wear? barbara knew mollie had not had the gown when they left home together, for she had packed her sister's trunk for her. but this was not the time to ask questions. bab's mind was divided between the wonder and delight she felt at the scene before her, and amazement at mollie's secret. "i do hope," she thought, as she followed mr. hamlin up the steps, "that mollie has not borrowed that gown of harriet. but no; it fits her much too well. some one must have given it to her as a present and she has kept the secret until to-night to surprise me." the "automobile girls" stood behind mr. hamlin and harriet in the great vestibule just outside the famous blue room of the white house, where the president and his wife were waiting to receive their guests. the line was moving forward so slowly that the girls had a chance to look about them. never had any one of them beheld such a beautiful spectacle. of course the "automobile girls" had been present at a number of receptions during their brief social careers, but for the first time to-night they saw men in other than ordinary evening dress. the diplomats from other countries wore their superb court costumes with the insignia of their rank. the american army and navy officers had on their bright full dress uniforms. bab thought the russian ambassador the most superb looking man she had ever seen, and mollie blushed when lieutenant elmer wilson bowed gallantly to her across the length of the hall. when the girls first took up their positions in the line, they believed they would never grow weary of looking about them. but by and by, as they waited and the number of people ahead of them only slowly decreased, they grew tired. a girl passed by barbara and smiled. it was marjorie moore. she was not going to try to shake hands with the president. she had a note book and a pencil in her hand and was evidently bent on business. barbara also caught a glimpse of peter dillon, but he did not come up to speak to them. mr. hamlin's charges at last entered the blue room. the president and his receiving party stood by a pair of great windows hung with heavy silk portieres. it was now almost time for the "automobile girls" to shake hands with the president. they were overcome with nervousness. harriet was next to her father; bab stood just behind harriet, followed by ruth, grace and mollie. "you are just supposed to shake hands with the president, not to talk to him," harriet whispered. "then the president's wife is next and you may greet the other women in the receiving line as you pass along. the vice-president's wife stands next to the president's wife and the ladies of the cabinet just after her." bab watched harriet very carefully. she was determined to make no false moves. finally, barbara heard her name announced by the master of ceremonies. she felt her heart stop beating for a moment, and the color mount to her cheeks. the next moment her hand was clasped in that of the president of the united states. barbara said a little prayer of thankfulness when she had finished speaking to all the receiving ladies. she felt glad, indeed, when mr. hamlin drew her behind a thick blue silk cord, where the president's special guests were talking in groups together. bab then watched ruth, grace and mollie go through the same formality. now nobody had ever warned mollie that it was not good form to speak to the president before he spoke to her. she thought it was polite to make some kind of a remark when she was introduced to him. so all the way up the line she had been wondering what she ought to say. as the president took mollie's little hand he bent over slightly. for a very small voice said, "i like washington very much, mr. president." the president smiled. "i am glad you do," he answered. a little later, mr. hamlin took the girls through all the state apartments of the white house. one of these rooms was less crowded than the others. groups of mr. hamlin's friends were standing about laughing and talking together. barbara was next mr. hamlin when she happened to glance toward a far corner of the room. there she saw her newspaper friend. the girl made a mysterious sign to barbara to come over to her and to come alone. but bab shook her head. still she felt the girl's eyes on her. each time she turned, marjorie moore again made her strange signal. once she pointed significantly toward a group of people. but bab only saw the broad back of the little chinese minister and the stately form of the russian ambassador. the two men were talking to a number of washington officials whose names barbara did not even know. of course, marjorie moore's peculiar actions could not refer to them. but to save her life bab could not find any one else nearby. womanlike, barbara's curiosity was aroused. what could the girl want with her? evidently, her news was a secret, for miss moore did not come near mr. hamlin's party and bab simply could not get away without offering some explanation to them. barbara was growing tired of the reception. she had been introduced to so many people that her brain was fairly spinning in an effort to remember their names. again bab looked across at miss moore. this time the newspaper girl pointed with her pencil through a small open door, near which she was standing. her actions said as plainly as any words could speak: "follow me when you have a chance. there is something i must tell you!" the next instant marjorie moore vanished through this door and was lost to sight. a few minutes later bab managed to slip over to that side of the room. she intended merely to peep out the open door to see whether miss moore were waiting for her in the hall. bab carefully watched her opportunity. mr. hamlin and the girls were not looking. now was her chance. she was just at the door, when some one intercepted her. "ah! good evening, miss thurston," said a suave voice. barbara turned, blushing again to confront the chinese minister looking more magnificent than ever in his imperial robes of state. the young girl paused and greeted the official. still the chinese minister regarded her gravely with his inscrutable oriental eyes that seemed to look her through and through. he seemed always about to ask her some question. of course, barbara was obliged to give up her effort to follow marjorie moore, though she was still devoured with curiosity to know what the girl had wished to say to her. the next ten minutes, wherever bab went, she felt the chinese minister's gaze follow her. it was not until barbara thurston discovered that the oriental gentleman had himself withdrawn from the reception room that she mustered up a sufficient courage to try her venture the second time. "miss moore, of course, is not expecting me now," barbara thought. "but as i have a chance, i will see what has become of her." bab peeped cautiously out through the still open door. she saw only an empty corridor with a servant standing idly in the hall. should she go forward? no; barbara did not, of course, dare to wander through the white house halls alone. she was too likely to find herself in some place to which visitors were not admitted. the servant who waited in the hall saw barbara hesitate, then turn back. he leaned over and whispered mysteriously: "you are to come to the door at the west side, which opens on the lawn. the young woman left a message that she would wait for you there." "but i don't know the west side," bab faltered hesitatingly, feeling that she ought to turn back, yet anxious to go on. "the young woman said it was most important for her to see you; i can show you the way to the west door," the man went on. barbara now quickly made up her mind. marjorie moore was only a girl like herself. if she needed her or if she wanted to confide in her, bab meant to answer the summons. bab found the portico deserted. there was no one in sight. down on the lawn, some distance ahead, she thought she saw a figure moving. barbara drew her chiffon scarf more closely over her shoulders and ran quickly out into the garden without thinking. it was, of course, marjorie moore ahead of her. but bab had not gone far, when the figure disappeared, and she realized her own foolishness. she must get back into the white house in a hurry before any one found out what she had done. it was exceedingly dark out on the lawn in contrast with the brilliant illumination of the house, and barbara was running swiftly. she had begun to wonder what explanation she could make if harriet or mr. hamlin asked where she had been. as usual, barbara was repenting a rash impulse too late. she ran obliquely across the yard in order to return in a greater hurry. between a clump of bushes set at some distance apart her feet struck against something soft and heavy and bab pitched forward across the object. chapter ix bab's discovery then barbara thurston's heart turned sick with horror. she recognized, in the same instant, that she had fallen over a human body. in getting back on her own feet, bab was obliged to touch the figure over which she had fallen. she shuddered with fright. it could not be possible that any one had been murdered in the grounds of the white house, while a great ball was being given on the inside. had marjorie moore expected foul play and called on bab to help her guard some one from harm? barbara did not know what to do--to go on with her search for the newspaper girl, or go back to the white house and raise an alarm. bab was standing up, but she dared not look at the figure at her feet. she was now more accustomed to the darkness and she did not know what one glance might reveal. "what a coward i am!" bab thought. trembling, she put out her hand and touched the body. it was warm, but the figure had fallen forward on its face. as bab's hand slipped along over the object that lay so still on the hard ground, an even greater horror seized her. her hand had come in contact with a skirt. the figure was that of a woman! barbara dropped on her knees beside the figure. she gently turned the body over until it was face upward. one long stare at the face was enough. the woman who lay there was the young newspaper girl who had summoned bab to follow her but a short time before. she still had on her shabby evening dress. the pad and pencil with which she took down her society items lay at her side. but marjorie moore's face was pale as death. bab's tears dropped down on the girl's face. "my dear miss moore, what has happened? can't you hear me?" bab faltered. "it is barbara thurston! i tried to come to help you, but i could not get here until now." the figure lay apparently lifeless, but bab knew now that the girl was still alive. bab did not like to leave her, for what dreadful person might not stumble over the poor, unconscious girl? yet how else could bab get help? at this moment bab looked up and saw a number of lighted cigars in the garden near the white house. evidently a group of men had come out on the lawn to smoke. as bab ran forward she saw one of the men move away from the others. he was whistling softly, "kathleen mavourneen, the bright stars are shining." "oh, mr. dillon!" cried bab. "poor miss moore has been dreadfully hurt and is lying unconscious out here on the grass. won't you please find mr. hamlin, or some one, to come to her aid?" "miss moore!" exclaimed peter dillon in a shocked tone. "i wonder whom the girl could have been spying upon to have gotten herself into such trouble? but, miss thurston, you ought not to be out here. come back with me to the reception rooms. i will get some one to look after miss moore at once. it is best to keep this affair as quiet as possible." "i can't leave the poor girl alone," bab demurred. "so please find mr. hamlin as soon as you can. i will ask two of these other men to take miss moore up on a side porch, out of the way of the guests." the rest of the group of men now came forward; their uniforms showed they were young army and navy officers. one of them was lieutenant elmer wilson. "what a dreadful thing!" he exclaimed, as he and another officer, under bab's directions, picked up marjorie moore's limp form and carried it into the light. "some one has struck miss moore over the temple with a stick. she has a nasty bruise just there. but she is only stunned. she will come to herself presently." mr. hamlin now hurried out with peter dillon, followed by ruth and harriet. "find our automobile; have it brought as near as possible. we must put the poor girl into it," mr. hamlin declared authoritatively. "mr. dillon is right. this affair must be kept an entire secret. it is incredible! above all things, the newspapers must not get hold of it. it would be a nine days' wonder! mr. dillon, will you go to miss moore's paper? say you feel sure the president himself would not wish this story to be published. then you can find out where miss moore's mother lives, and see that she is told. the girl is not seriously injured, but she must be seen by a physician." "but you are not going to take marjorie moore to our house, father," harriet protested. "she is so--" harriet checked herself just in time. she realized it would not be well to express her feeling toward the injured girl before so large a group of listeners. "i most certainly do intend to take miss moore to our house," interrupted mr. hamlin sternly. "her father was an old friend of mine whom changes in politics made poor just before his death. his daughter is a brave girl. i have a great respect for her." in the excitement of helping their wounded visitor to bed, barbara forgot all about mollie's wonderful gown, and the questions she intended asking her. bab and ruth undressed marjorie moore, and stayed with her until the doctor and a nurse arrived. then bab went quickly to her own room and undressed by a dim light, so as not to disturb her sister. mollie's face was turned toward the wall and she seemed to be fast asleep. there was no sign of the blue gown about to reawaken bab's curiosity. barbara was too weary from the many impressions of the evening and the fright that succeeded them, and hurriedly undressing she crept quietly to bed and was soon fast asleep. chapter x the confession it was almost dawn when barbara began to dream that she heard low, suppressed sobs. no; she must be wrong, she was not dreaming. the sounds were too real. the sobs were close beside her, and bab felt mollie's shoulders heaving in an effort to hold them back. "why, little sister," cried bab in a frightened tone, putting out her hand and taking hold of mollie, "what is the matter with you! are you ill?" "no," sobbed mollie. "there is nothing the matter. please go to sleep again, bab, dear. i did not mean to wake you up." "you would not cry, mollie, if there was nothing the matter. tell me at once what troubles you," pleaded barbara, who was now wide awake. "if you are not ill, then something pretty serious is worrying you and you must tell me what it is." mollie only buried her head in her pillow and sobbed harder than ever. "tell me," bab commanded. "it's the blue gown!" whispered mollie under her breath. "the gown?" queried barbara, suddenly recalling mollie's wonderful costume at the president's reception. "oh, yes. i have not had an opportunity to ask you where you got such a beautiful frock and how you happened not to tell me about it." "i was ashamed," mollie sobbed. barbara did not understand what mollie meant, but she knew her sister would tell her everything now. "i bought the frock," mollie confessed after a moment's hesitation. "that is i did not exactly buy it, for i did not have the money to pay for it. but harriet was to pay for it and i was to give her back the money when i could." "how much did the gown cost, mollie?" bab inquired quietly, although her heart felt as heavy as lead. "it cost fifty dollars!" mollie returned in a tired, frightened voice. "oh, mollie!" bab exclaimed just at first. then she repented. "never mind, molliekins; it can't be helped now. the dress is a beauty, and i suppose harriet won't mind how long we take to pay her back. we must just save up and do some kind of work when we go home. i can coach some of the girls at school. so please don't cry your pretty eyes out. there is an old story about not crying over spilt milk, kitten. go to sleep. perhaps some one will have left us a fortune by morning." barbara felt more wretched about her sister's confession than she was willing to let mollie know. she thought if mollie could once get to sleep, she could then puzzle out some method by which they could meet this debt. for fifty dollars did look like an immense sum to the two poor thurston girls. "but, bab dear, i have not told you the worst," mollie added in tones of despair. "mollie, what do you mean?" poor bab asked, really frightened this time. "harriet can't let me owe the money to her. something perfectly awful has happened to harriet, too. promise me you will never tell, not even ruth! well, harriet thought she could lend me the money. but, the day after we got home from the dressmaker's, that deceitful madame louise wrote poor harriet the most awful note. she said that harriet owed her such a dreadfully big bill, that she simply would not wait for her money any longer. she declared if harriet did not pay her at once she would take her bill straight to mr. hamlin and demand the money. now harriet is almost frightened to death. she says her father will never forgive her, if he finds out how deeply in debt she is, and that he would not let her go out into society again this winter. of course, harriet went to see madame louise. she begged her for a little more time, and the dressmaker consented to let us have a week. but she says that at the end of that time she must have the money from me and from harriet. harriet is dreadfully distressed. she simply can't advance the money to me for, even if the dividend she expects comes in time, she will have to pay the money on her own account. oh, bab, what can we do? i just can't have mr. hamlin find out what i have done! he is so stern; he would just send me home in disgrace, and then what would mother and aunt sallie and mr. stuart say? i shall just die of shame!" "mr. hamlin must not know," barbara answered, when she could find her breath. somehow her own voice sounded unfamiliar, it was so hoarse and strained. yet bab knew she must save mollie. how was she to do it? "do you think, bab," mollie asked, "that we could ask ruth to lend us the money? i should be horribly ashamed to tell her what i have done. but ruth is so sweet, and she could lend us the money without any trouble." "i have thought of that, mollie," barbara answered. "but, oh, we could not ask ruth for the money! it is because she has been so awfully good to us, that i can't ask her. she has already done so much for us and she would be so pleased to help us now that somehow i would rather do most anything than ask her. don't you feel the same way, mollie?" "yes, i do," mollie agreed. "only i just can't think what else we can do, bab. i have worried and worried until i am nearly desperate. we have only one week in which to get hold of the money, bab." "yes, i know. but go to sleep now, mollie. you are too tired to try to think any more. i will find some way out of the difficulty. don't worry any more about it now." bab kissed her sister's burning cheeks, whereat mollie could only throw her arms about barbara and cry: "oh, bab, i am so sorry and so ashamed! i shall never forget this as long as i live." bab never closed her eyes again that night. a little while later she saw the gray dawn change into rose color, and the rose to the blue of the day-time sky. she heard several families of sparrows discussing their affairs while they made their morning toilets on the bare branches of the trees. at last an idea came to barbara. she could pawn her jewelry and so raise the money they needed. she had the old-fashioned corals her mother had given to her on her first trip to newport. there was also the beautiful ruby, which had been mr. presby's gift to her from the rich stores of his buried treasure. and the princess sophia had made bab a present of a beautiful gold star when they were at palm beach. barbara's other jewelry was marked with her initials. now bab had very little knowledge of the real value of her jewelry, and she had an equally dim notion of what a pawn shop was. but she did know that at pawn shops people were able to borrow money at a high rate of interest on their valuable possessions, and this seemed to be the only way out of their embarrassment. but how was barbara to locate a pawn shop in washington? and how was she to find her way there, without being found out either by mr. hamlin or any one of the girls? bab was still puzzling over these difficulties when she went down to breakfast. "miss moore says she would like to see you, barbara," harriet hamlin explained, when bab had forced down a cup of coffee and eaten a small piece of toast. "miss moore is much better this morning, and a carriage is to take her home in a few hours. i have just been up to inquire about her. father," continued harriet, turning to mr. hamlin, "miss moore wants me to thank you for your kindness in bringing her here, and to say she hopes to be able to repay you some day. marjorie moore seems to think you discovered her out on the white house lawn, barbara. however did you do it? i suppose you were out there walking with peter dillon. but it is against the rules." "does miss moore happen to know how she was hurt, daughter?" mr. hamlin queried. "lieutenant wilson declares the girl was struck a glancing blow on the head with the end of a loaded cane. and the doctor seemed to have the same idea last night." "miss moore does not understand just what did happen to her," harriet replied. "or at least she won't tell me. she declares she was out in the grounds looking for some one, when she was knocked down from behind. she never saw who struck her. how perfectly ridiculous for her to be running about the white house park alone at night! i wonder the guards permitted it. what do you suppose she was doing?" "attending to her business, perhaps, daughter," mr. hamlin returned dryly. "miss moore works exceedingly hard. it cannot always be pleasant for a refined young woman to do the work she is sometimes required to do. i hope you will be kind to her, harriet, and help her when it is within your power." but harriet only shrugged her shoulders and looked obstinate. "i should think miss moore would find the society news for her paper inside the reception rooms, rather than outside in the dark. it looks to me as though she went out into the grounds either to meet some one, or to find out what some one else was doing." none of the "automobile girls" or mr. hamlin made response to harriet's unkind remark and they were all glad when breakfast was over and the discussion ended. barbara at once went upstairs to the room that had been allotted to their wounded guest the night before. she found marjorie moore dressed in a shabby serge suit, lying on the bed looking pale and weak. a refined, middle-aged woman, with a sad face, sat by her daughter holding her hand. she was marjorie's mother. the two women were waiting for the carriage to take them home. "i want to thank you, miss thurston," marjorie moore spoke weakly. "i believe it was you who found me. i ought not to have asked you to come out into the yard, but i did not dream there would be any danger to either one of us. i want you to believe that i did have a real reason for persuading you to join me, a reason that i thought important to your happiness, not to mine. but i cannot tell you what it was, now; perhaps because i may have made a mistake. i must have been struck by a tramp, who had managed to hide in the white house grounds. i have no other explanation of what happened to me. but--" miss moore stopped and hesitated. "i have an explanation of the reason i wanted to talk to you alone. yet i cannot tell you what i mean to-day. i want to ask you to trust me if ever you need a friend in washington." bab thought the only friend she was likely to need was some one who could lend her fifty dollars. and marjorie moore was too poor to do that. she would have liked to ask the newspaper girl where she could find a pawn shop, but was ashamed to make her strange request before that gentle, sad-eyed woman, marjorie moore's mother. so barbara only pressed the other girl's hand affectionately, and said she was glad to know she was better, and that she appreciated her friendship. chapter xi in mr. hamlin's study all morning barbara pondered on how she could find a pawn shop in washington, without asking questions and without being discovered. her cheeks burned with humiliation and disgust at the very name pawn shop! still mollie must never know how much she dreaded her errand, and her mother must be spared the knowledge of their debt at any cost. about noon the hamlin house was perfectly quiet. grace and ruth had gone out sight-seeing and harriet and mollie were both in their rooms. mr. hamlin was over at his office in the state department. bab had taken a book and gone downstairs to the library, pretending she meant to read, but really only desiring to think. she was feeling almost desperate. a week seemed such a little time in which to raise fifty dollars. bab wished to try the pawn shop venture at once, so that in case it failed her, she would have time to turn somewhere else to secure the sum of money she needed. barbara was idly turning over the pages of her book, staring straight ahead of her at nothing in particular, when she unexpectedly leaped to her feet. her face flushed, but her lips took on a more determined curve. when barbara thurston undertook to accomplish a thing she usually found a way. only weak people are deterred by obstacles. bab had remembered that she had heard mr. hamlin say that he kept a washington directory in his private study. she knew that by searching diligently through this book she could find the address of a pawn shop. now was the time, of all others, to accomplish her purpose. with bab, to think, was to do. barbara knew that no one was expected to enter mr. hamlin's study. she did not dream, however, that she would be doing any harm just to slip quietly into it, find the directory and slip quickly out again, without touching a single other thing in the room. as has already been explained, mr. hamlin's study was a small room adjoining the drawing-room, and separated from it by a pair of heavy curtains and folding doors, which were occasionally left open, when mr. hamlin was not in the house, so that the room could be aired and at the same time shut it off from public view. bab went straight through the hall and entered mr. hamlin's study through a small back door. the room was dark, and bab thought empty when she entered it. the inside blinds were closed, but there was sufficient light through the openings for barbara to see her way about perfectly. she was bent upon business and went straight to her task without pausing to open the window, for she wished to take no liberties with mr. hamlin's apartment. the four walls of the study were lined with books, reports from congress; everything pertaining to the business of the government at washington. certainly finding that old-time needle in a haystack was an easy duty compared with locating the city directory in such a wilderness of books. first on her hands and knees, then on tip-toe, bab thoroughly searched through every shelf. no directory could be found. "i can hardly see," bab decided at last. "it will not do any harm for me to turn on an electric light." bab was so intent on her occupation that, even after she had turned on the light, which hung immediately over mr. hamlin's private desk, she still thought she was alone in the room. lying under a heap of magazines and pages of manuscript on mr. hamlin's desk, was a large book, which looked very much as though it might be the desired directory. still bab wavered. she knew no one was ever allowed to lay a hand on mr. hamlin's desk. even harriet herself never dared to touch it. but what harm could it do mr. hamlin for barbara to pick up the book she desired? she would not disarrange a single paper. bab reached out, intending to secure what she wished. but immediately she felt her arm seized and held in a tight grip. a low contralto voice said distinctly: "what do you mean by stealing in here to search among mr. hamlin's papers?" the vise-like hold on bab's arm continued. the fingers were slender, but strong as steel, and the grip hurt barbara so, she wanted to cry out from the pain. "answer me," the soft voice repeated. "what are you doing, prying among mr. hamlin's papers, when he is out of the house? you know he never allows any one to touch them." [illustration: bab felt her arm seized in a tight grip.] "i am not prying," cried bab indignantly. "i only came in here to look for the city directory. i thought it might be on mr. hamlin's desk." "a likely story," interrupted bab's accuser scornfully. "if you wished the directory, why did you not ask mr. hamlin to lend it to you? you wanted something else! what was it? tell me?" the hold on barbara's arm tightened. "let go my arm, mrs. wilson," returned barbara firmly. "i am telling you the truth. how absurd for you to think anything else! what could i wish in here? but i needed to look into the directory at once--for a--for a special purpose," barbara finished lamely. then her eyes flashed indignantly. "i am a guest in mr. hamlin's house," she said, coldly. "how do you know, mrs. wilson, that i have not received his permission to enter this room? but you! will you be good enough to explain to me why you were hiding behind the curtains in mr. hamlin's study when i came in? you, too, knew mr. hamlin was not at home. besides, harriet receives her guests in the drawing-room, not in here." "i came to see mr. hamlin on private business," mrs. wilson replied haughtily. "he is an old and intimate friend of mine, so i took the liberty of coming in here to wait for his return. but seeing you enter, and suspecting you of mischief, i did conceal myself behind the curtains. i shall be very glad, however, to remain here with you until mr. hamlin returns from his office. i can readily explain my intrusion and you will have an equal opportunity to tell mr. hamlin what you were doing in here." now barbara, who had slept very little the night before, and had worried dreadfully all morning, did a very foolish thing. she blushed crimson at mrs. wilson's request. she might very readily have agreed to stay, and could simply have explained later to mr. hamlin that she had come into his private room because she needed to see the directory. but would mr. hamlin have inquired of barbara her reason for desiring the directory? this is, of course, what barbara feared, and it caused her to behave most unwisely. she trembled and fixed on mrs. wilson two pleading brown eyes. "please do not ask me to wait here until mr. hamlin returns," she entreated. "and, if you don't mind, you will not mention to mr. hamlin that i came into his study without asking his permission. truly i only wanted to look at the directory, and i will tell harriet that i have been in here." mrs. wilson eyed bab, with evident suspicion. "why are you so anxious to see the directory?" she inquired. "if you wish to know a particular address why do you not ask your friends, the hamlins, about it?" "that is something that i cannot explain to you, mrs. wilson," said barbara, a look of fear leaping into her eyes that was not lost on her companion. "very well, if you cannot explain yourself, i shall lay the whole matter before mr. hamlin the instant he comes home," returned mrs. wilson cruelly. "it looks very suspicious, to say the least, when a guest takes advantage of his absence to prowl among his private papers." tears of humiliation sprang to barbara's eyes. it was bad enough to have mrs. wilson doubt her integrity, but it would be infinitely worse if stern mr. hamlin were told of her visit to his study. bab felt that he would be sure to believe that she was deliberately meddling with matters that did not concern her. she looked at mrs. wilson. the forbidding expression on her face left no doubt in bab's mind that the older woman would carry out her threat. suddenly it flashed across the young girl that perhaps if mrs. wilson really knew the truth she would agree to drop the affair without saying anything to mr. hamlin. "perhaps it will be better after all for me to tell you my reason for being here," bab said with a gentle dignity that caused mrs. wilson's stern expression to soften. "what i am about to say, however, is in strictest confidence, as it involves another person besides myself. i shall expect you to respect my confidence, mrs. wilson," she added firmly. mrs. wilson made a jesture of acquiescence. then barbara poured forth the story of mollie's extravagance and her subsequent remorse over the difficulties into which her love of dress had plunged both of the thurston girls. "it is just this way, mrs. wilson," bab concluded. "we have very little money of our own and we simply can't ask mother to pay this debt. i won't ask ruth to lend it to us because we are too deeply indebted to her already. i have some jewelry that is valuable; a ring, a pin and several trinkets, and i intend to take them to a pawn shop and borrow enough money on them to free mollie of this debt. then we will save our allowance money and redeem the things. i have never been in a pawn shop and don't know anything about them, so i thought i would find the address of a pawn broker in the directory and go there this afternoon. that is why i wanted the directory and why i came into mr. hamlin's study. now that i have told you, perhaps you will feel differently about saying anything to mr. hamlin. he is so stern and cold that he would never forgive me if he knew of all this, although i am doing nothing wrong. it is very humiliating to be placed in this position, but now that the mischief has been done we shall have to pay for the gown and set it all down under the head of bitter experience." mrs. wilson regarded barbara steadily while she was speaking. there was a look of admiration in the older woman's eyes when barbara had finished. "you are a very brave girl, miss thurston, to take your sister's trouble on your own shoulders. i am very glad that you saw fit to tell me what you have. i hope you will forgive me for my seeming cruelty, but i simply cannot endure anything dishonorable or underhanded. to show you that i believe what you have told me, and to prove to you that your confidence in me is well founded, i propose to help you out of your difficulty." "you?" queried bab in surprise. "i--i don't understand." "i will lend you the money to pay the modiste," exclaimed mrs. wilson. "then you shall pay it back whenever it is convenient for you to do so, and no one will ever be the wiser. we need tell no one that we met here in the study this afternoon." "but--i--can't," protested barbara rather weakly. "it wouldn't be right. it would be asking entirely too much of you and--" mrs. wilson held up her hand authoritatively. "my dear little girl," she said quickly. "i insist on lending you this money. i am a mother, and if my son were in any little difficulty and needed help, i should like to feel that perhaps some one would be ready to do for him the little i am going to do for you. come to my house this afternoon and i will have the money ready for you. will you do this, barbara?" she asked extending her hand to the young girl. barbara hesitated for a second, then she placed her hand in that of mrs. wilson's. "i will take the money," she said slowly, "and i thank you for your kindness. i hope i shall be able to do something for you in return to show my appreciation." "perhaps you may have the opportunity," replied mrs. wilson meaningly. "who knows. i think i won't wait any longer for mr. hamlin. come to my house at half past four o'clock this afternoon. i shall expect you. good-bye, my dear." "good-bye," replied bab mechanically, as she accompanied mrs. wilson to the vestibule door. "i'll be there at half past four." chapter xii barbara's secret errand after the older woman had departed, bab remained in a brown study. had she been wise in accepting mrs. wilson's offer? would it have been better after all to ask ruth for the loan of the money? bab sighed heavily. she had been so happy and so interested in washington, and now mollie's ill-advised purchase had changed everything. for a moment barbara felt a little resentment toward mollie, then she shook off the feeling as unworthy. mollie had experienced bitter remorse for her folly, and bab knew that her little sister had learned a lesson she would never forget. as for the money, it should be paid back at the earliest opportunity. barbara turned and went slowly upstairs to prepare for luncheon. she found mollie sitting by the window in their room. her pretty mouth drooped at the corners and her eyes were red with weeping. "cheer up, molliekins!" exclaimed bab. "i've found a way out of the difficulty." "oh, bab," said mollie in a shamed voice. "did you have to tell ruth?" "no, dear," responded bab. "ruth knows nothing about it. bathe your face at once. it is almost time to go down to luncheon, and your eyes are awfully red. while you are fixing up i'll tell you about it." "oh, bab!" mollie said contritely when her sister had finished her account of what had happened in the study. "you're the best sister a girl ever had. i don't believe i'll ever be so silly about my clothes again. this has cured me. i'm so sorry." "of course you are, little sister," soothed bab. "don't say another word. here comes ruth and grace." the two girls entered the room at that moment and a little later the four descended to luncheon. "i am going to do some shopping this afternoon," announced ruth. "would you girls like to do the stores with me?" "i'll go," replied grace. "i want to buy a pair of white gloves and i need a number of small things." "i have an engagement this afternoon," said harriet enigmatically. "i must ask you to excuse me, ruth." "certainly, harriet," returned ruth. "how about you and mollie, bab?" "mollie can go with you," answered bab, coloring slightly. "but would you be disappointed if i do not go? i have something else that i am obliged to see to this afternoon." "of course, i'd love to have you with me, bab, but you know your own business best." suspecting that bab wished to spend the afternoon in going over her own and mollie's rather limited wardrobe, ruth made no attempt to persuade bab to make one of the shopping party, and when a little later a. bubble carried the three girls away, she went directly upstairs to prepare for her call on mrs. wilson. it was a beautiful afternoon, and bab decided that she would walk to her destination. as she swung along through the crisp december air the feeling of depression that had clung to her ever since mollie had made her tearful confession vanished, and bab became almost cheerful. she would save every penny, she reflected hopefully, and when she and mollie received their next month's pocket money, she would send that to mrs. wilson. it would take some time to pay back the fifty dollars, but mrs. wilson had assured her that she could return it at her own convenience. bab felt that her vague distrust of this whole-souled, generous woman had been groundless, and in her impulsive, girlish fashion she was ready to do everything in her power to make amends for even doubting this fascinating stranger who had so nobly come to her rescue. by following carefully the directions given her by mrs. wilson for finding her house, bab arrived at her destination with very little confusion. she looked at her watch as she ascended the steps and saw that it was just half past four o'clock. "i'm on time at any rate," she murmured as she rang the bell. "is mrs. wilson here?" she inquired of the maid who answered the bell. "come this way, please," said the maid, and bab followed her across the square hall and through a door hung with heavy portieres. she found herself in what appeared to be half library, half living room, and seemed especially designed for comfort. a bright fire burned in the open fire place at one side of the room, and before the fire stood a young man, who turned abruptly as bab entered. "how do you do, miss thurston," said peter dillon, coming forward and taking her hand. "why--i thought--" stammered barbara, a look of keen disappointment leaping into her brown eyes, "that mrs. wilson--was--" "to be here," finished peter dillon, smiling almost tantalizingly at her evident embarrassment. "so she was, but she received a telephone message half an hour ago and was obliged to go out for a little while. i happened to be here when the message came and she told me that she expected you to call at half past four o'clock and asked me if i would wait and receive you. she left a note for you in my care. here it is." peter dillon handed bab an envelope addressed to "miss barbara thurston," looking at her searchingly as he did so. bab colored hotly under his almost impertinent scrutiny as she reached out her hand for the envelope. she had an uncomfortable feeling at that moment that perhaps peter dillon knew as much about the contents of the envelope as she did. "thank you, mr. dillon," she said in a low voice. "i think i won't wait for mrs. wilson. please tell her that i thank her and that i'll write." "very well," replied the young man. "i will deliver your message." he held the heavy portieres back for bab as she stepped into the hall and accompanied her to the vestibule door. "good-bye, miss thurston," he said with a peculiar, meaning flash of his blue eyes that completed bab's discomfiture. "i shall hope to see you in a day or two." bab hurried down the steps and into the street. the shadows were beginning to fall and in another hour it would be dark. when she reached the corner she looked about her in bewilderment, then with a little impatient exclamation she wheeled and retraced her steps. she had been going in the wrong direction. she had passed mrs. wilson's house, when a murmur of familiar voices caused her to start and look back at it in amazement. stepping off the walk and behind the trunk of a great tree, barbara stared from her place of concealment, hardly able to believe the evidence of her own eyes. peter dillon was standing just outside the vestibule door, his hat in his hand and just inside stood mrs. wilson. the two were deep in conversation and bab heard the young man's musical laugh ring out as though something had greatly amused him. filled with a sickening apprehension that she was the cause of his laughter, bab stepped from behind the tree unobserved by the two on the step above and walked on down the street assailed by the disquieting suspicion that mrs. wilson had had a motive far from disinterested in lending her the fifty dollars. she glanced down at the envelope in her hand. she felt positive that it contained the money, and her woman's intuition told her that peter dillon's presence in the house had not been a matter of chance. she experienced a strong desire to run back to the house and return the envelope unopened, and at the same time ask mrs. wilson why peter had untruthfully declared that she was not at home. bab paused irresolutely. then a vision of mollie's tearful face rose before her, and squaring her shoulders, she marched along through the gathering twilight, determined to use the borrowed money to pay mollie's debt and face the consequences whatever they might be. when bab reached home she found that harriet had come in and gone to her room, while the other girls had not yet returned. barbara was glad that no one had discovered her absence, and divesting herself of her hat and coat she hurried up to her room. closing and locking the door, she sat down and tore open the envelope and with hands that trembled, drew out a folded paper. inside the folded paper was a crisp fifty dollar bill. mrs. wilson had kept her word. while she sat fingering the bill, she heard voices downstairs and a moment later mollie tried the door, then knocked. bab rose and unlocked the door for her sister. "did you get it, bab?" asked mollie eagerly, a deep flush rising to her face. "yes, molliekins, here it is," answered barbara quietly, holding up the money. "to-morrow you and i will go to madame louise and pay the bill." "oh, bab," said mollie, her lips quivering. "i'm so sorry. i've been so much trouble, but i'll save every cent of my pocket money and pay mrs. wilson as soon as i can. it was so good of her to lend us the money wasn't it?" barbara merely nodded. her early gratitude toward mrs. wilson had vanished, in spite of her efforts to believe in mrs. wilson, her first feeling of distrust had returned. she thought gloomily, as she listened to mollie's praise of mrs. wilson's generosity, that perhaps after all it would have been better to pay a visit to the pawn broker. chapter xiii a foolish girl in the meantime harriet hamlin was equally as unhappy as bab and mollie. for, instead of owing madame louise a mere fifty dollars, she owed her almost five hundred and she dared not ask her father for the money to pay the bill. the dividend, with which she had tempted mollie to make her ill-advised purchase, amounted to only twenty-five dollars. it had seemed a sufficient sum to harriet to pay down on her friend's investment, but she knew the amount was not large enough to stay the wrath of her dressmaker, as far as her own account was concerned. now, harriet had never intended to let her bill mount up to such a dreadful sum. she was horrified when she found out how large it really was. yet month by month harriet had been tempted to add to her stock of pretty clothes, without inquiring about prices, and she now found herself in this painful predicament. harriet, also, thought of every possible scheme by which she might raise the money she needed. on one thing she was determined. her father should never learn of her indebtedness. she would take any desperate measure before this should happen; for harriet stood very much in awe of her father, and knew that he had a special horror of debt. since charlie meyers had behaved so rudely to barbara, on the night of their automobile ride to mt. vernon, harriet had had nothing to do with him. but now, in her anxiety, she decided to appeal to him. she could think of no other plan. charlie meyers was immensely rich and a very old friend. five hundred dollars could mean very little to him, and harriet could, of course, pay him back later on. she fully intended to live within her allowance in the future and save her money until she had paid every dollar that she owed. but how was harriet to see charlie meyers? after all she had said about him to the "automobile girls," she was really ashamed to invite him to her house. so harriet dispatched a note to the young man, making an appointment with him to meet her on a corner some distance from the house on the same afternoon that bab made her uncomfortable visit to mrs. wilson. charlie meyers was highly elated when he read harriet hamlin's note. he had known her since she was a little girl in short frocks and was very fond of her. he had been deeply hurt by her coldness to him since their automobile party, but he was such an ill-bred fellow that he simply had not understood how badly he had behaved. he did know that mr. hamlin disliked him and did not enjoy his attentions to his daughter; so he hated mr. hamlin in consequence. when harriet's note arrived, he interpreted it to mean that she was sorry she had treated him unkindly, and that she did care for him in spite of her father's opposition. so he drove down to the designated corner in his car, feeling very well pleased with himself. harriet, however, started out to meet the young man feeling ashamed of herself. she knew that she was behaving very indiscreetly, but she believed that charlie meyers would be ready to help her and that she could make him do anything she wished. she accepted his invitation to take a ride, but she put off the evil moment of voicing her request as long as possible, and as they glided along in meyers' car, she made herself as agreeable to her escort as she knew how to be. after they had driven some distance out from washington in the direction of arlington, the old home of general robert e. lee, charlie meyers said bluntly to harriet: "now, harriet, what's the matter? you said in your note that you wanted to see me about something important. what is it?" harriet stopped abruptly and looked rather timidly at meyers. she had been trying in vain to lead up to the point of asking her favor, and here her companion had given her the very opportunity she required. yet harriet hesitated, and the laughter died away on her lips. she knew she was doing a very wrong thing in asking this young man to lend her money. but harriet had been spoiled by too much admiration and she had had no mother's influence in the four years of her life when she most needed it. she was determined not to ask her father's help, and she knew of no one else to whom she could appeal. "i am not feeling very well, charlie," harriet answered queerly, turning a little pale and trying to summon her courage. "you've been entertaining too much company!" charlie meyers exclaimed. "i don't think much of that set of 'automobile girls' you have staying with you. they are good-looking enough, but they are kind of standoffish and superior." "no, indeed; i am not having too much company," harriet returned indignantly, forgetting she must not let herself grow angry with her ill-bred friend. "i am perfectly devoted to every one of the 'automobile girls,' and ruth stuart is my first cousin." harriet and charlie were both silent for a little while after this unfortunate beginning to their conversation, for harriet did not know exactly how to go on. "i am worried," she began again, after a slight pause in which she counted the trees along the road to see how fast their car was running. "i am worried because i am in a great deal of trouble." "you haven't been getting engaged, have you, harriet?" asked the young man anxiously. "if you want to break it off, just leave matters to me." harriet laughed in spite of herself. it seemed so perfectly absurd to her to be expected to leave a matter as important to her happiness as her engagement to a person like charlie meyers to settle. charlie meyers was twenty-two years of age. he had refused to go to college and had never even finished high school. his father had died when he was a child, leaving him to the care of a stepmother who had little affection for him. at the age of twenty-one the boy came into control of his immense fortune. so it was not remarkable that charlie meyers, who had almost no education, no home influence and a vast sum of money at his disposal, thought himself of tremendous importance without making any effort to prove himself so. "no, i am not engaged, charlie," harriet answered frankly. "but i do want you to do me a favor, and i wonder if you will do it?" the young man flushed. his red face grew redder still. what was harriet going to ask him? he began to feel suspicious. now this rich young man had a peculiarity of which harriet had not dreamed, or she would never have dared to ask him for a loan. he was very stingy, and he had an abnormal fear that people were going to try to make use of him. harriet had started with her request, so she went bravely on: "i'll just tell you the whole story, charlie," she declared, "so you will see what an awful predicament i am in. i know you won't tell father, and you may be able to help me out. i owe madame louise, my dressmaker, five hundred dollars! she has threatened to bring suit against me at the end of a week unless i pay her what i owe before that time. would you lend me the money, charlie? i am awfully ashamed to ask you. but i could pay you back in a little while." harriet's voice dropped almost to a whisper, she was so embarrassed. her companion must have heard her, for he was sitting beside her in the automobile, but he made no answer. poor harriet sat very still for a moment overcome with humiliation. she had trampled upon her pride and self-respect in making her request, and she had begun to realize more fully how very unwise she had been in asking such a favor of this young man. yet it had really never dawned on the girl that charlie meyers could refuse her request. when he did not answer, she began to feel afraid. harriet could not have spoken again for the world. her usually haughty head was bent low, and her lids dropped over her eyes in which the tears of humiliation were beginning to gather. "look here, harriet," protested the young man at last. "five hundred dollars is a good deal of money even for me to lend. what arrangements do you want to make about paying it back?" "why, charlie!" harriet exclaimed. "you can have the interest on the money, if you like. i never thought of that." "you can pay me back the interest if you wish," charlie replied sullenly. "but you know, harriet, that i like you an awful lot, and for a long time i've been wanting you to marry me. but you've always refused me. now if you'll promise to marry me, i'll let you have the money. but if you won't, why you can't have it--that's all! i am not going to lend my good money to you, and then have you go your way and perhaps not have anything more to do with me for weeks. i tell you, harriet, i like you an awful lot and you know it; but i am not going to be made a fool of, and you might as well find it out right now." harriet was so angry she simply could not speak for a few minutes. the enormity of her mistake swept over her. but silence was her best weapon, for charlie meyers began to feel ashamed. he was dimly aware that he had insulted harriet, and he really did care for her as much as he was capable of caring for any one. "i didn't mean to make you angry, harriet," he apologized in a half frightened voice. "i don't see why you can't care for me anyhow. i've asked you to marry me over and over again. and i can just tell you, you won't have to worry over debts to dressmakers ever again, if you marry me. i've got an awful lot of money." "i am very glad you have, mr. meyers," harriet answered coldly, with a slight catch in her voice. "but i am certainly sorry i asked you to lend any of it to me. will you never refer to this conversation again, and take me home as soon as you can? i don't think it is worth while for me even to refuse your offer. but please remember that my affection is something that mere money cannot buy." harriet's tone was so scornful that the young man winced. he could think of nothing to reply, and turned his car around in shame-faced silence. harriet too was very quiet. she would have liked to tell her companion what she truly thought of him, how coarse and ill-bred he was, but she set her lips and remained silent. she did not wish to make an enemy of charlie meyers. after that day's experience, she would simply drop him from her list of acquaintances and have nothing more to do with him. stupid though he was, the discomfited young man felt harriet's silent contempt. he wanted to apologize to her, to explain, to say a thousand things. but he was too dense to know just what he should say. it was better for him that he did wait to make his apology until a later day, when harriet's anger had in a measure cooled and she was even more miserable and confused than she was at that time. "i am awfully sorry, harriet," charlie meyers stumbled over his words as he helped her out of his machine. "you know i didn't exactly mean to refuse your request. i'll be awfully glad to--" but harriet's curt good-bye checked his apologetic speech, and he turned and drove swiftly away. chapter xiv "grant no favors!" "mrs. wilson's tea is at four o'clock, girls, remember," harriet announced a day or so later, looking up from the note she was writing. "are you actually going sight-seeing again to-day before the reception? truly, i never imagined such energy!" "oh, come, harriet hamlin, don't be sarcastic," ruth rejoined. "if you had not lived so long in washington you would be just as much interested in everything as the 'automobile girls' are. but bab and i are the only ones to go sight-seeing to-day. mollie isn't feeling well, and grace is staying to console her. we shall be back in plenty of time. why don't you lie down for a while! you look so tired." "oh, i am all right," harriet answered gently. "good-bye, children. be good and remember you have promised not to be late." ruth and bab were highly anxious for a walk and talk together, and they had a special enterprise on hand for this afternoon. bab had received a mysterious summons from her newspaper friend, marjorie moore. the note had asked bab to bring ruth, and to come to the visitors' gallery in the senate chamber at an appointed time. marjorie moore chose this strange meeting place because she had a "special story" of the senate to write for her paper and was obliged to be in the gallery. barbara was not particularly surprised at the request. she knew that marjorie moore had been wishing to make her a confidant ever since the reception at the white house. and she knew that the girl could not come to mr. hamlin's house because of harriet's hostile attitude toward her. so bab confided the whole story to ruth, and feeling much mystified and excited, the two girls set out for the capitol. during the long walk barbara thought of her own secret, which she longed to confide to ruth, but she dared not tell ruth of the borrowed money for fear ruth would at once insist on paying her debt. the money had to be paid, of course, and bab hoped to pay it back at an early date, but she had not yet come to the point where she could bear to ask ruth for it. when ruth and bab finally reached the capitol building, and made their way to the visitors' gallery in the senate chamber, marjorie moore was not there. she had failed to keep her appointment. "i am not so very sorry miss moore has not come," barbara remarked to ruth. "she seems to be such a mysterious kind of person, always suggesting something and never really telling you what it is." ruth laughed. "the 'automobile girls' hate mysteries, don't they, bab? but goodness knows, we are always being involved in them!" the two visitors sat down to listen to the speeches of united states senators. there was some excitement in the chamber, bab decided, but neither she nor ruth could exactly understand what was going on. both girls listened and watched the proceedings below them with such intensity that they forgot all about marjorie moore and her strange request. a few moments later she dropped down into the vacant seat next to barbara. she looked more hurried and agitated than ever. her hat was on one side, and her coat collar was half doubled under. she was a little paler from her trying experience of a few nights before, and an ugly bruise showed over her temple. but she made no reference to her accident. "i am sorry i am late," she whispered. "but come back here in the far corner of the gallery with me. i want to talk with you just half a minute. i am so busy i can't stay with you any longer. i just felt i must see you, miss thurston, before you go to tea with mrs. wilson this afternoon." "tea with mrs. wilson!" bab ejaculated. "how did you know we were going to mrs. wilson's tea? and has that anything to do with your message to me?" barbara did not speak in her usual friendly tones. she was getting decidedly cross. it seemed to her that she had been under some one's supervision ever since her arrival in washington. "yes, it has, miss thurston," the newspaper girl replied quickly. "i want to ask you something. promise me you will grant no one a favor, no matter who asks it of you to-day?" barbara flushed. "why how absurd, miss moore. i really cannot make you any such promise. it is too foolish." "foolish or not, you must promise me," marjorie moore insisted. then she turned earnestly to ruth. "i know you have a great deal of influence with your friend. if she will not agree to what i ask her, won't you make her promise you this: she is not to consent to do a favor for any one this afternoon, no matter how simple the favor seems to be. do you understand?" ruth looked at marjorie moore blankly, but something in the newspaper girl's earnest expression arrested her attention. "i don't see why you won't make miss moore the promise she begs of you, bab," ruth argued. "it seems a simple thing she has asked you. and i don't think it is very nice of you, dear, to refuse her, even though her request does seem a little absurd to you." "but won't you tell me why you ask me to be so exceedingly unaccommodating, miss moore?" bab retorted. marjorie moore shook her head. "that's just the trouble. again i can't tell you why i ask this of you. but i want to assure you of one thing. it would mean a great deal more to me, personally, to have you agree to do the favor that may or may not be asked of you this afternoon. i am the only outside person in washington who knows of a certain game that is to be played. it would mean a big scoop for my paper and a lot of money for me if i would just let things drift. but i like you too well to hold my tongue, though i am not going to tell you anything more. and i certainly won't beg you to do what i ask of you. of course you may do just as you please. good-bye; i am too busy to talk any more to-day." before barbara could make up her mind what to answer, the newspaper woman hurried away. ruth looked decidedly worried after marjorie moore's departure. but barbara was still incredulous and a little bored at being kept so completely in the dark. "look here, bab," ruth advised, as the two girls walked slowly home together, "you did not promise miss moore to do what she asked of you. but you must promise me. oh, i know it seems absurd! and i am not exactly blaming you for refusing to make that promise to miss moore. but, bab, we cannot always judge the importance of little things. so i, at least, shall be much happier at this particular tea if you will promise me not to do a single thing that any one asks you to do." both girls laughed gayly at ruth's request. "won't i be an agreeable guest, ruth?" bab mimicked. "if any one asks me to sit down, i must say, 'no; i insist on standing up. because i have promised my friend miss stuart not to do a single thing i am requested to do all afternoon.' i wish i did not have to go to mrs. wilson's tea to-day." "you need not joke, bab," ruth persisted. "and you need not pretend you would have to behave so foolishly. i only ask you to promise me what you would not agree to, when marjorie moore asked it of you: 'don't do any favor for any one, no matter who asks it of you this afternoon!'" bab gave up. "all right, ruth, dear; i promise," she conceded. "you know very well that i can't refuse you anything, though i do think you and miss moore are asking me to be ridiculous. i do hereby solemnly swear to be, for the rest of this day, the most unaccommodating young person in the whole world. but beware, ruth stuart! the boomerang may return and strike you. don't dare request me to do you a favor until after the bells chime midnight, when i shall be released from my present idiotic vow." mrs. wilson's afternoon teas were not like any others in washington. they were not crowded affairs, where no one had a chance to talk, but small companies of guests especially selected by mrs. wilson for their congeniality. so mrs. wilson was regarded as one of the most popular hostesses at the capital and distinguished people came to her entertainments who could not be persuaded to go anywhere else. harriet and the four "automobile girls" were delighted to see a number of service uniforms when they entered the charming french drawing-room of their hostess, which was decorated in old rose draperies against ivory tinted walls. lieutenant elmer wilson's friends, young army and navy officers, were out in full force. they were among the most agreeable young men in washington society. lieutenant elmer at once attached himself to mollie; and his attentions might have turned the head of that young woman if she had not been feeling unusually sobered by her recent experience with debt. barbara soon recognized the two young men who had helped her carry marjorie moore from the lawn to the white house veranda. but neither one of them referred to the incident while there were other people surrounding them. finally an opportunity came to one of the two men to speak to barbara. he leaned over and whispered softly: "how is the young woman we rescued the other night? i almost thought she had been killed. we have been sworn to secrecy. but one of my friends has an idea that he saw the man who may have attacked miss moore. he was out on a porch before the rest of us joined him, and he swears he saw two figures at some distance across the lawn." bab shuddered. "i was on the lawn. perhaps he saw me." "no," her companion argued, unconvinced. "my friend is sure he saw two men; one of them was rather heavily built--" peter dillon's approach cut short the conversation and the young army officer turned away, as peter joined bab. barbara hardly turned around to greet the newcomer. she did not like peter dillon and she was very anxious to hear what her previous companion had to say. so bab only gave mr. dillon her haughtiest bow. peter did not appear discouraged; he stood for a moment smiling at bab good humoredly, the boyish look shining in his near-sighted dark blue eyes. barbara was forced to speak to him. "how do you do, mr. dillon?" she asked at last. "very well indeed," replied the young man cheerfully. "did you arrive home safely the other day?" barbara colored hotly. she felt certain now that despite her promise of secrecy mrs. wilson had betrayed her confidence and told peter dillon about the borrowed money. why she had done so was a mystery and why he had lied to bab in saying mrs. wilson was out was also a problem bab could not solve. while all this was passing through her mind peter stood regarding her with a quizzical smile. then he said smoothly: "miss thurston, will you do me a favor?" bab flashed a peculiar glance at him. "no," she replied abruptly. the young man looked surprised. "i am sorry," he declared. "i was only going to ask you to go in the other room to look at a picture with me." a little later in the afternoon, harriet managed to get the four "automobile girls" together. "mrs. wilson wishes us to stay to dinner with her," harriet explained. "she has asked eight or ten other people and father has telephoned that he will come in after dinner to take us home." chapter xv bab refuses to grant a favor the dinner party was delightful. the "automobile girls" had not had such a good time since their arrival in washington. mrs. wilson was a charming hostess. she was particularly gracious to bab, and the young girl decided to forget the disquieting suspicions she had harbored against this fascinating woman and enjoy herself. it was almost ten o'clock. mr. hamlin had not yet arrived at mrs. wilson's. bab was sitting in one corner of the drawing-room talking gayly with a young annapolis graduate, who was telling her all about his first cruise, when elmer wilson interrupted them. "i am terribly sorry to break into your conversation like this, miss thurston," he apologized. "but mother wishes to have a little talk with you in the library before you leave here. i am sure i don't know what she wishes to see you about; she told me to give you her message and ask no questions. may i show you the way to her!" bab's gay laughter died on her lips. she rose at once and signified her willingness to accompany elmer to the library, but both young men noticed that her face had grown grave and she seemed almost embarrassed. elmer wilson wondered why miss thurston had taken his mother's simple message so seriously. he was almost as embarrassed as bab appeared to be. when barbara entered the room where she had received the envelope from peter dillon the room was but dimly lighted. two rose-colored shades covered the low lamps, and great bunches of pink roses ornamented the mantel. mrs. wilson wore a black and white chiffon gown over white silk and had a little band of black velvet about her throat from which hung a small diamond star. her beautiful white hair looked like a silver crown on her head. she was leaning back in her chair with closed eyes when bab entered the room, and she did not open them at once. she let the young girl stand and look at her, expecting her unusual beauty to influence bab, as it had many other older people. mrs. wilson looked tired and in a softened mood. her head rested against a pile of dark silken cushions. her hands were folded, in her lap. she opened her dark eyes finally and smiled at barbara. "come here, barbara," she commanded, pointing to a chair opposite her. bab looked at her beautiful hostess timidly, but her brown eyes were honest and clear. "you sent for me?" bab queried, sitting down very stiff and straight among the soft cushions. "of course i did," mrs. wilson smiled. "and i should have done so before, only you and i have both been too busy. i am so glad you came to my tea to-day." mrs. wilson reached out her slender white hand and took hold of barbara's firm brown one. "i want to make you a very humble apology," she continued. "i am very sorry that i was obliged to be away the other day when you called. i left the envelope with mr. dillon. i received your note yesterday, so i know that it was delivered into your hands. i did not return until after seven o'clock the other night, so it was just as well you didn't wait for me. i knew i could trust mr. dillon to give it to you." the girl made no reply. she did not dare raise her eyes to the other woman's face for fear mrs. wilson would divine from their expression that bab knew she had lied. at the same time a thrill of consternation swept over her. what had been mrs. wilson's object in lending her the money? bab was now sure that the loan had not been made disinterestedly. but what had peter dillon to do with it? it looked very much as though mrs. wilson and the attaché were playing a game, and were seeking to draw her into it. she resolved at that moment that she would write to her mother for the money, or ask ruth for it. she would do anything rather than remain in mrs. wilson's debt. there was something about the intent way in which her hostess looked at her that aroused fresh suspicion in her mind. bab braced herself to hear what she knew instinctively was to follow. "i am so glad i was able to help you," mrs. wilson purred, continuing to watch the young girl intently. "i know that you meant what you said when you declared that you hoped to some day be able to do some favor for me. i did not think then that i should ever wish to take you at your word, but strange as it may seem, you are the very person i have been looking for to help me with a joke that i wish to play upon mr. hamlin. you know, mr. hamlin is a very methodical man. well, i wagered him a dozen pairs of gloves, the other day, that he would misplace one of his beloved papers. and i hope to win the wager. what i wish you to do is to secure a certain paper from his desk and give it to me. he will never know how i obtained it. of course i shall return it to him in a day or so, after he acknowledges his defeat and pays his wager." barbara shook her head. "i don't think i can take any part in any such joke, mrs. wilson," she said, looking appealingly at her hostess. "you don't really mean that you wish me to take one of mr. hamlin's papers without his knowledge, and then give the paper to you?" "certainly, child, i do mean just that thing," mrs. wilson said, laughing lightly. "you need not take my request so seriously. mr. hamlin will appreciate the joke more than any one else when i have explained it to him. won't you keep your word and grant me this favor?" "i can't do what you ask, mrs. wilson," bab said slowly. "i'm awfully sorry, but it wouldn't be honorable." mrs. wilson turned away her head, so that barbara could not see the expression of her face. "very well, miss thurston," she said sharply. "don't trouble about it, if you think you will be committing one of the cardinal sins in doing me this favor. but don't you think you are rather ungrateful? you were perfectly willing to accept my offer the other day when you were in need of money to pay your sister's debt, but now you are in no hurry to cancel your obligation. i consider you an extremely disobliging young woman." barbara sat silent and ashamed. yet she made no effort to propitiate her angry hostess. the butler came to the library door to announce the arrival of mr. hamlin. barbara rose quickly. "i am so sorry not to be able to do you the favor you asked of me, mrs. wilson," she said in a low tone. mrs. wilson did not reply. then in a flash barbara thurston remembered something! it was the promise marjorie moore had asked of her, and which ruth stuart had insisted upon her making. without recalling that promise at the time, bab had still kept her word. she had been asked to do some one a favor--and she had refused. but of course marjorie moore must have had some other thing in mind when she made her curious demand. now that barbara thought again of her vow, she determined to be wary for the rest of the evening and to keep as far away from peter dillon as possible. "i am going to play chaperon at your house in the near future, harriet," mrs. wilson announced, as her guests were saying good night. "your father says he is to be out of town on business and that i may look after you." "we shall be delighted to have you, mrs. wilson," harriet returned politely, though she wondered why her father had suddenly requested mrs. wilson to act as chaperon. harriet had often stayed at home alone with only their faithful old servants to look after her, when her father went away for a short time. and now that she had the four "automobile girls" as her guests, she did not feel in need of a chaperon. peter dillon had not spoken to bab again during the evening, but had studiously avoided her, and bab was exceedingly glad that he had kept his distance. but as she put on her coat to go home, she heard the rustle of a small piece of paper. barbara glanced down at it, of course, and found that some one had pinned a folded square of paper to the inner lining of her coat. she blushed furiously, for fear one of the other guests would discover what had happened. bab hated sentimentality and secrecy more than anything in the world. inside the folded square of paper she found the tiny faded rose-bud, peter dillon had placed in his pocket that day when he had picked the two buds in the old washington garden at mt. vernon. on the way downstairs, barbara still kept the flower in her hand. but when she found peter's eyes were upon her she deliberately crushed the little rose-bud, then defiantly tossed it away. chapter xvi barbaba's unexpected good luck it was the second day after mrs. wilson's dinner when barbara made up her mind to tell ruth of her debt to mrs. wilson and to ask her friend to lend her the money to relieve her of her obligation. bab could endure the situation no longer. she simply determined to tell ruth everything, except the part that poor mollie had played in the original difficulty. she meant to explain to ruth that she had needed fifty dollars, that she had intended going to a pawn shop to secure the money, her interview with mrs. wilson and her acceptance of the loan offered by the beautiful woman. she would not tell ruth, however, why she had suddenly required this sum of money. now, bab knew ruth would ask her no questions and would grant her request without a moment's hesitation or loss of faith. the sympathy between ruth and barbara was very deep and real. it was one thing for barbara thurston to decide to appeal to ruth's ever-ready generosity, but another thing actually to make her demand. the two girls lay on ruth's bed, resting. they had been to a dance at the british embassy the night before. mollie and grace were together in the next room and harriet was alone. "barbara!" exclaimed ruth suddenly. "if you could have one wish, that would surely be granted, what would you wish?" "i would like to have some money in a hurry," flashed through bab's mind, but she was ashamed to make such a speech to ruth, so she said rather soberly. "i have so many wishes its hard to single out one." "well what are some of them?" persisted ruth. "do you wish to be rich, or famous, or to write a great book or a play?" "oh, yes; i wish all those things, ruth," bab agreed. "but you were not thinking of such big things. what little private wish of your own did you have in your mind? please don't wish for things that will take you far away from me," bab entreated. ruth's blue eyes were misty when she replied: "oh, no, bab! i was just going to wish that something would happen so that you and i need never be separated again. i love you just as though you were my sister, and i am so lonely at home without you and mollie. yet, as soon as our visit to harriet is over, you must go back to school in kingsbridge and i have to go home to chicago. who knows when we shall see each other again? i don't suppose that our motor trips can go on happening forever." bab pressed ruth's hand silently, her own thoughts flying toward the future, when she would perhaps be working her way through college, and teaching school later on, and ruth would be in society, a beauty and a belle in her western home. "why don't you say something, bab?" queried ruth, feeling slightly offended at bab's silence. "can't you say you wish the same thing that i do, and that you believe our motor trips will last forever?" a knock at the door interrupted bab's answer. when she went to open it a maid handed her three letters. two of them were for ruth and one for barbara. ruth opened her letters quickly. the handwriting on one of them was her aunt sallie's. the other was from ruth's father. the postmark on bab's letter was unfamiliar, however, so she did not trouble to open it, until she heard what ruth had to say. "oh, i am so sorry!" ruth ejaculated. "see here, bab, aunt sallie writes us that she cannot come on to washington. she has rheumatism, or something, in her shoulder and does not want to make the long trip. she says i had better come home in a week or ten days, and that father will probably come for me. of course, aunt sallie sends love and kisses all around to her 'automobile girls.' she ends by declaring i must bring you home with me." bab gave a deep sigh. "i do wish miss sallie had been here with us," she murmured. ruth looked reflective. "have you any special reason for needing aunt sallie, bab? i have an idea you have something on your mind. won't i do for your confidant!" "yes, you will, ruth!" bab said slowly, turning her face to hide her painful embarrassment. "ruth will you--" bab had picked up her own letter. more to gain time than for any other reason, she opened it idly. a piece of paper fluttered out on the bed, which ruth picked up. "why, bab!" she cried. "look! here is a check for fifty dollars! and there is some strange name on it that i never heard of before." but ruth could not speak again, for bab had thrown her arms about her and was embracing her excitedly. "oh, ruth, i am so glad, i am so glad!" bab exclaimed, half laughing, half crying. "just think of it--fifty dollars! and just now of all times. i never dreamed of such luck coming to me. it is just too wonderful!" "barbara thurston, will you be quiet and tell me what has happened to you?" ruth insisted. "you haven't lost your wits, have you, child?" "no, i have found them," bab declared. "more wits than i ever dreamed i had. now, ruth, don't be cross with me because i never confided this to you before. but i have not told a single person until to-day, not even mother or mollie. months before i came to washington, just before school commenced, i saw a notice in a newspaper, saying that a prize would be given for a short story written by a schoolgirl between the ages of sixteen and eighteen. so, up in the little attic at laurel cottage, i wrote a story. i worked on it for days and days, and then i sent it off to the publisher. i was ashamed to tell any one that i had written it, and never dreamed i should hear of it again. but now i have won the prize of fifty dollars," bab stood up on the bed waving her check in one hand and, holding the skirt of her blue kimono in the other, executed a few jubilant dance steps. "oh, barbara, i am so proud!" ruth rejoined, looking fully as happy as bab. "just think how clever you are! the fame of being an author is more desirable than the money. i must tell mollie and grace all about it." [illustration: "oh, ruth, i am so glad!"] but mollie and grace had been attracted by the excitement in the next room, and now rushed in to hear the news. mollie's eyes filled with tears as she embraced her sister. she knew how bab's fifty dollars must be used, and why her sister was so delighted with her success. "what are you going to do with the fifty dollars, bab?" grace inquired. "i suppose you will put it away for your college money." bab did not reply. she was already longing for a little time to herself, a pen, and ink and note paper. harriet came in now with a message: "children," she said, "it is time to dress for dinner. i have just had a telephone call from father. he is going out of town to-night, but mrs. wilson is to stay with us. father is not going until after dinner, and mrs. wilson and elmer and peter dillon will be here to dine with us. so we shall have rather a jolly party. you girls had better dress." harriet's was at once informed of bab's good luck, and in offering barbara her congratulations she forgot to tell the rest of her story. harriet had asked her father to come home half an hour before his guests arrived. she had almost persuaded herself to make a full confession of her fault. but the tangle of circumstance was not to be so easily unraveled. before bab went down to dinner she slipped over to her desk and indorsed the check, put it in an envelope, and hid the envelope inside her dress. her heart was lighter than it had been in weeks, for she believed her own and mollie's share in the washington trouble was over. mr. william hamlin was late to dinner and his guests were compelled to hurry through the meal on his account, as he wished to catch a special train out of the city. but they had a gay dinner party nevertheless and harriet did not know whether she was sorry or glad that her confession had been delayed. after mr. hamlin had said good-bye to his visitors harriet followed her father out into the hall. she thought if she told him of her fault just before he went away his anger would have time to cool before he could have opportunity to do more than reproach her for her extravagance. "father," harriet whispered timidly, "can't you wait a few minutes longer? i told you there was something i had to tell you." mr. hamlin shook his head impatiently. "no, harriet, this is not the time nor the place for confidences. i am in far too much of a hurry. if you want to ask me for money i positively haven't any to give you. now run on back to your guests." harriet turned slowly away, and so mr. hamlin lost his chance to set matters straight. just before he went out the door, he called back to his daughter: "oh, harriet, i have left the key to my strong box on my study table. don't forget to put it away for me; it is most important that you do so, for i really have not time to turn back." during the entire evening peter dillon devoted himself exclusively to harriet, and bab was vastly relieved that he did not approach her. she decided that he fully understood that she did not consider the pledge of the faded rose-bud, binding. mrs. wilson had apparently forgotten bab's refusal of her request. she was as cordial to barbara as she was to harriet, or to any of the "automobile girls." it was after midnight when mrs. wilson told elmer and peter that they must both go home. bab's envelope was still tucked inside her dress. she had had no chance so far to give it to mrs. wilson. after peter and elmer had gone, however, and the girls trooped upstairs to bed, laughing and chatting gayly, bab found a chance to slip the troublesome envelope into mrs. wilson's hand. with a whispered, "in the envelope is a check for the money i borrowed. i thank you so much for your kindness," bab ran down the hall to her own room, feeling more at ease in her mind than she had since mollie's confession. as for harriet, she was so fully occupied with her guests that her father's command to secure the key of his strong box, which he had left on his study table, slipped from her mind and she retired without giving the matter a second thought. chapter xvii the white veil long after every one had retired ruth stuart lay wide awake. try as she might, sleep refused to visit her eyelids. at last, after she had counted innumerable sheep and was wider awake than ever, she resolved to go and waken bab. ruth moved about in the dark carefully, in order not to arouse grace, with whom she roomed, found her dressing-gown and slippers, and tip-toed softly into barbara's room. she knew that barbara would not resent being awakened even at that unseasonable hour. "barbara, are you awake?" she whispered, coming up to bab's bed and laying a gentle hand on her friend's face. "i want to talk with you and i am so thirsty. won't you come downstairs with me to get a drink of water?" bab turned over sleepily and yawned: "isn't there always some water in the hall, ruth? i am so tired i can't wake up," she declared. but ruth gave her another shake. barbara crawled slowly out of bed, while ruth found her bedroom slippers and wrapped her in her warm bathrobe. then both girls stole softly out into the dark hall. at the head of the stairs there was a broad landing. on this landing, just under a stained glass window, there was a leather couch and a table, which always held a pitcher of drinking water. on the window ledge the servants were required to keep a candle, so that anyone who wished to do so might find his way downstairs at night, without difficulty. the two girls made their way slowly to this spot, and bab felt along the sill for the candle. it was not in its accustomed place. "i can't find the candle, ruth," bab whispered. "but you know where to find the water. just fumble until you get hold of the pitcher." "won't you have a glass of water?" ruth invited, pushing the tumbler under bab's very nose. then the two girls began to giggle softly. "no, thank you," bab answered decidedly. "come, thirsty maiden! who took me from my nice warm bed? ruth stuart! let's go back upstairs and get to sleep again in a hurry." but for answer, ruth drew barbara down on the old leather couch in the complete darkness and put her arms about her. "don't go back to bed, bab. i'm not a bit sleepy. that's why i dragged you out of bed. i couldn't go to sleep and i just had to have company. be a nice bab and let's sit here and exchange conversation." "all right," bab replied amiably, snuggling up closer to her friend. "dear me, isn't it cold and dark and quiet out here!" ruth gave a faint shiver. then both girls sat absolutely still without speaking or moving--they had heard an unmistakable sound in the hall below them. the noise was so slight it could hardly be called a sound. yet even this slight movement did not belong to the night and the silence of the sleeping household. the sound was repeated. then a stillness followed, more absolute than before. "is it a burglar, bab?" ruth breathed. barbara's hand pressure meant they must listen and wait. "it may be possible," bab thought, "that a dog or cat has somehow gotten into the house downstairs." at this, the girls left the sofa and, going over to the banister, peered cautiously down into the darkness. this time the two girls saw a light that shone like a flame in the darkness below. quietly there floated into their line of vision something white, ethereal--perchance a spirit from another world. it vanished and the blackness was again unbroken. the figure had seemed strangely tall. it appeared to swim along, rather than to walk, draperies as fine as mist hanging about it. "what on earth was that, barbara?" ruth queried, more curious than frightened by the apparition. "if i believed in spirits i might think we had just seen the ghost of harriet's mother. harriet's old black mammy has always said that aunt hattie comes back at night to guard harriet, if she is in any special trouble or danger." "i suppose we had better go downstairs and find out what we have seen," whispered more matter-of-fact bab. "mr. hamlin is not here. i don't think there is any sense in our arousing the family until we know something more. i should not like to frighten mrs. wilson and harriet for nothing." the two girls slipped downstairs without making a sound. everything on the lower floor seemed dark and quiet. ruth and bab both began to think they had been haunted by a dream. they were on their way upstairs again, when ruth suddenly turned and glanced behind her. "bab," she whispered, clutching at barbara's bathrobe until that young woman nearly tumbled backwards down the steps, "there is a light in uncle's study! i suppose it is harriet who is down there." it flashed across bab's mind to wonder, oddly, if harriet's visit to her father's study at night could have anything to do with her debt to her dressmaker of five hundred dollars! for mollie had reported to her sister that harriet was feeling desperate over her unpleasant situation. "if it is harriet downstairs i don't think we ought to go down," bab objected. "we would frighten her if we walked in on her so unexpectedly." "harriet ought not to be alone downstairs," ruth insisted. "uncle would not like it. i am going to peep in on her, and then make her come on upstairs to bed." ruth led the way, with bab at her heels. but it occurred to barbara that the midnight visitor to mr. hamlin's study might be some one other than his daughter. bab did not know whether mr. hamlin kept any money in his strong box in the study. she and ruth were both unarmed, and might be approaching an unknown danger. quick as a flash bab arranged a little scheme of defense. there were two old-fashioned square stools placed on opposite sides of the hall. without a word to ruth, who was intent on her errand, bab drew out these two stools and placed them side by side in the immediate centre of the hall. any one who tried to escape from the study would stumble over these stools and at once alarm the household. of course, if bab and ruth found harriet in her father's study bab could warn them of her trap. "what shall we do, bab?" ruth asked when barbara joined her. "the light is still shining in the study. but i do not want to knock on the door; it would frighten harriet. and it would terrify her even more if we walked right into the study out of this darkness. but we can't wait out here all night. i am catching cold." barbara did not reply. they were in a difficult situation. suppose harriet were in the study? they did not wish to frighten her. in case the veiled figure was not harriet any speech of theirs would give their presence away. "i think we had better open the door quickly and rush in," ruth now decided. "then harriet can see at once who we are." without waiting for further consultation with bab, ruth flung wide the study door. in the same instant the light in the room went out like a flash. "harriet, is that you?" ruth faltered. there was no answer, save some one's quick breathing. ruth and bab could both perceive that an absolutely white figure was crouched in a corner of the room in the dark. bab moved cautiously toward the spot where she knew an electric light swung just above mr. hamlin's desk. but it was so dark that she had to move her hand gropingly above her head, for a moment, in order to locate the light. the veiled being in the corner must have guessed her motive. like a zephyr it floated past the two girls. so light and swift was its movement that bab's hand was arrested in its design. surely a ghost, not a human creature, had passed by them. the next sound that ruth and bab heard was not ghostlike. it was very human. first came a crash, then a cry of terror and surprise. at the same moment bab found the light she sought, turned it on, and ruth rushed out into the hall. there on the floor ruth discovered a jumble of stools and white draperies. and, shaking with the shock of her fall and forced laughter, was--not harriet, but her guest, mrs. wilson! she had a long white chiffon veil over her head, a filmy shawl over her shoulders, and a white gown. with her white hair she made a very satisfactory picture of a ghost. "my dear mrs. wilson!" cried ruth, in horrified tones, "what has happened to you? were you walking in your sleep! do let me help you up. i did not know these stools were out here where you could stumble over them." bab stood gravely looking on at the scene without expressing such marked surprise. mrs. wilson gave one curious, malignant glance at bab, then she smiled: "help me up, children. i am fairly caught in my crime." bab took hold of mrs. wilson by one arm, ruth grasped her by the other, and they both struggled to lift her. mrs. wilson gave a slight groan as she got fairly on her feet. her right hand clutched bab for added support. in falling over the stools mrs. wilson had given her knee a severe wrench. at the moment she staggered, barbara saw a large, oblong envelope fall to the floor from under mrs. wilson's soft white draperies. "what is the trouble?" called harriet, mollie and grace, poking their three sleepy heads over the banisters. at this interruption bab stooped down and quickly caught up the envelope, while mrs. wilson's attention was distracted by the three girls who were rapidly descending the steps. "mrs. wilson came downstairs for something," ruth explained in her quiet, well-bred fashion. "bab and i heard a noise and, as we did not recognize her, we followed her. we frightened mrs. wilson so that she stumbled over these stools out in the hall. i am afraid she is a little hurt. i think you had better call the servants, harriet." ruth did not, for an instant, let the surprise she felt at mrs. wilson's extraordinary conduct appear in her voice. "no, don't call any of the servants to-night, harriet," mrs. wilson demurred. "i am all right now. i owe you children an apology for my conduct to-night and also an explanation. but i think i can explain everything much more satisfactorily if we wait until morning. i think miss thurston already understands my escapade. i have taken her into my confidence." mrs. wilson directed at barbara a glance so compelling that it was almost hypnotic. bab did not return her look or make any answer. a little while later barbara disappeared. she went back alone to mr. hamlin's study. on top of his desk she discovered a box about a foot and a half long. it had been opened and a key was lying beside it on the desk. barbara could see that there was no money in the box, only a collection of papers. bab returned the long envelope, which she had found at mrs. wilson's feet in the hall to its place, turned the key in the lock of the box, and then carried the key upstairs, intending to hand it over to harriet. but bab did not know whether or not she ought to explain to harriet how she had come by the key. harriet was in the room with mrs. wilson, seeing her guest to bed for the second time, when barbara went upstairs. bab had no desire to face mrs. wilson again that night. the distrust of the woman that was deepening in the girl's mind was too great to conceal. "come into my room in the morning before breakfast, harriet, dear," mrs. wilson entreated, as she kissed her young hostess good night. "i know you will forgive my foolishness, when i have had a little talk with you. it is too late now for explanations." it was between two and three o'clock in the morning before the household of the assistant secretary of state again settled itself to sleep. under her pillow barbara thurston had the key to mr. william hamlin's strong box, in which valuable state papers were sometimes temporarily placed. chapter xviii a tangled web of circumstance harriet hamlin spent half an hour in the room with mrs. wilson before she came down to the breakfast table the next morning. "it is all right, girls," she announced promptly, as soon as the maid left the room. "mrs. wilson is going to have her breakfast in bed. she is a little upset by the happenings of last night. but she has explained everything to me. for some time, mrs. wilson has been trying to play a joke on father, and last night she made another attempt. i promised her none of us would mention to him what had occurred. will you give me your word, all of you, not to tell?" "certainly, harriet," ruth agreed seriously. the other three "automobile girls" quietly nodded their heads. "i don't know that i quite approve of mrs. wilson's method of practical joking," harriet went on. "she frightened all of us. but then, if no one had discovered her, no harm would have been done." mollie and grace gazed at harriet, without trying to conceal their surprise, but ruth and bab only looked steadfastly at their plates. "father is so strict and good all the time, i just wish somebody would play a trick on him," harriet went on angrily. she was annoyed at the attitude of the "automobile girls," and she was still smarting under the hurt of her father's speech the night before. as long as her father had refused her money before she had even asked him for it, harriet had decided that it would be worse than useless to appeal to him again. she was now waiting for disaster to break over her head. "mrs. wilson rather blames you, barbara," harriet continued. "she says she did not succeed in her joke, after all, because you came down stairs at the wrong time and foiled the whole thing. she could not find the silly old paper she needed. but do please be quiet as mice about the whole affair. don't mention it before the servants. father will be home to-night. will you girls mind excusing me for the day, and finding some way of amusing yourselves? i have promised mrs. wilson to go home with her." "of course we can get along, harriet," grace replied. "i hope you will have a good time." bab made no answer to harriet's report of mrs. wilson's attitude toward her. but she was convinced that mrs. wilson knew she had discovered the stolen paper and returned it to its rightful place. the "automobile girls" did not see harriet again that morning. at noon a message was sent upstairs. mr. william hamlin had returned and wished to see his daughter at once. when he learned that harriet was not at home, he immediately sent for ruth. "ruth, i have come home sooner than i had planned," he declared, "and i wish to have a talk with you. now, please keep your self-control. girls and women have such a fashion of flying into a rage at the first word one says, that it is perfectly impossible to have any reasonable conversation with them. i wish to talk with you quite quietly and calmly." "very well, uncle," ruth replied, meekly enough, though she was far from feeling meek. she could readily understand why harriet had found it impossible to make a confidant of her father. "i am glad you are so sensible, ruth," mr. hamlin went on. "for i have reason to believe that your friend, barbara thurston, has proved herself an undesirable guest, since her arrival in washington, which i very much deplore. she is dishonorable, for she has secretly entered my study and been seen handling my papers, and she has contracted a debt; for i saw the check by means of which she returned the borrowed money to mrs. wilson. i cannot understand how you and your father have managed to be so deceived by the young woman." "stop, uncle william," ruth interrupted hotly. "i cannot, of course, tell you that the things which you say are untrue. but at least i have the right to say that i positively know you are wrong. i shall ask barbara to come down to your study, at once, to deny these charges. then we shall go home immediately." "there, ruth, i expected it," mr. hamlin answered testily. "just as i said. you have gone off the handle at once. of course your young friend may have some plausible explanation for her actions. but i will not be guilty of making any accusations against a guest in my own house under any circumstances. i have only mentioned these facts to you because i feel that it is my positive duty to warn you against this girl, whom you have chosen for your most intimate friend. it is impossible that i have been deceived in regard to her. i have positive proof of what i say, and i sadly fear she is a very headstrong and misguided girl." ruth was already crying from anger, which made it hard for her to answer her uncle's speech. "you certainly don't object to my telling barbara of your accusations, uncle william?" ruth demanded. "i think it is only fair to her." "not while she is in my house. you are to tell her nothing," mr. hamlin ordered. "when miss thurston leaves you may tell her whatever you wish. but i will not have a scene with her while she is staying here." mr. hamlin was a cold, selfish and arrogant man. he well deserved the blow to his pride that he was to receive later. ruth controlled herself in order to think deeply and quietly. her father was wise in his trust in her. ruth had excellent judgment and good sense. she was not particularly impressed by her uncle's command. she felt that she had a perfect right to tell her friend of what she had been accused. yet would it be a good idea? barbara would be heart-broken, and nothing would induce her to remain in mr. hamlin's house another hour after she learned his opinion of her. ruth knew it would not be well for bab to rush off home in sudden anger, leaving a false impression behind her. barbara must stay in mr. hamlin's house until he himself apologized to her. ruth did not dare to go back upstairs to the other girls immediately after her interview with her uncle. she knew her friends would recognize at once, from her red eyes and her excitement, that something was the matter. yet ruth longed for a confidant, and she meant to unburden herself to grace as soon as she had the opportunity. to go upstairs now would reveal everything to mollie and barbara as well. ruth seized her coat and hat from a closet in the hall and rushed out into the street. she began walking as rapidly as she could, to let the fresh air cool the tumult of feeling that was surging within her. ruth must have walked a mile before she determined what to do. before she returned to mr. hamlin's house, she found a telegraph office and went into it. she sent a telegram to her father in chicago, which read: "come to washington as soon as possible. bab wrongly suspected. she is still in ignorance, but we need you. "ruth stuart." little did ruth yet dream why these toils were being wound about unhappy barbara. mollie's one act of weakness had involved her sister in a number of actions that did look wrong to an outsider. yet the explanation of them was so simple, if bab had only known it were best for her to tell the whole story! but barbara was trying to shield mollie, and mollie did not dream that bab would suffer any consequences from her foolish deed. so bab's peculiar proceedings since her arrival in washington had indeed played well into the hands of her enemies. mr. hamlin's mind had been poisoned against her. she had been seen to do several underhanded things, one following directly after the other. if a big game were being attempted, the reputation of barbara thurston was of little account. besides bab had already blocked several of the players in the game. revenge could very well enter into the present scheme of things, and a girl who had no one to defend her might prove a useful tool. as a last resort she could be made a scapegoat. in the meanwhile, barbara was blissfully unconscious of any trouble, and went singing cheerily about her room that morning. since the delivery of her check to mrs. wilson it seemed to her that the skies were blue again. during the rest of her stay in washington bab meant just to enjoy the beautiful sights of the wonderful city and not to trouble about the disagreeable people. she did intend to ask harriet to take her to see the cunning little chinese girl, wee tu, before she went home, but she had no other very definite desires. as for mrs. wilson? barbara had just wisely decided that the woman belonged to a curious type, which she did not understand and wished to keep away from. bab did not admire mrs. wilson's methods of playing jokes. on the other hand it was none of barbara thurston's business. so long as she had put the paper back in mr. hamlin's strong box no harm had been done. barbara still had in her possession the key to that strong box. she had neglected to give it to harriet, because harriet had left home so soon after breakfast. and now that very terrifying person, mr. william hamlin, had returned home, and barbara thurston still had the key in her possession. even ruth had gone out. what should she do? she decided to keep the key until harriet came back in the afternoon. then harriet could make some sort of explanation to her father. barbara simply did not have the courage to tell mr. hamlin that she had discovered mrs. wilson tampering with his papers, and that it was she who had found the stolen paper and locked it up again. however, fate was certainly against bab at the present time. a servant knocked at the door of the next room, where grace and mollie were reading. "please," the maid said, "mr. hamlin wants to know if miss harriet left a key with you? it is a most important key, and mr. hamlin needs it at once." grace and mollie both shook their heads. no; harriet had mentioned no such key to them. barbara was waiting in the next room with the door open. she knew her turn would come next. "do you know anything of the key, miss barbara?" harriet's maid inquired. of course bab blushed. she always did at the wrong time. "yes, i have the key, mary," she replied. "wait a minute, i will get it for you." "do the young ladies know anything of my key?" mr. william hamlin's impatient voice was heard just outside barbara's door. innocently the maid opened it. "wait a minute, mr. hamlin, please. miss thurston says she has the key. she is getting it for you now." and barbara had to come to the door herself to present the key to this dreadful old "bluebeard." "i presume my daughter left my key in your charge," mr. hamlin asked coldly. "no," she declared almost under her breath, hoping her stern host would either not hear her, or at least not heed her. "harriet did not leave it with me." "then kindly tell me how my key came into your possession?" mr. hamlin inquired, in chilling, even tones. bab shivered. "i found it," bab answered lamely, having it in mind to tell the whole strange story of last night's experience. but she was too frightened by mr. hamlin's manner and by the fear that she would be regarded as a telltale by harriet. if mr. hamlin's own daughter had not considered her guest's actions unusual, it was not exactly bab's place to report them. so she remained silent, and her host also turned away in silence. harriet did not come home until just before dinner time. she told the "automobile girls" she had spent a delightful day, but her behavior was unusual. she looked frightened, though at the same time happier than she had seemed since the hour she had received the first threatening letter from her dressmaker. peter dillon had walked home with harriet. barbara, who happened to be standing at the front window, saw them stop to talk for a moment at the door before peter said good-bye. peter was making himself very charming to harriet. he was talking to her in his half laughing, half earnest fashion in the very manner that had seemed so attractive to bab, too, at first. but it was a manner she had learned later on to distrust and even to fear. when harriet parted from peter dillon she nodded her head emphatically and apparently made him a promise, and barbara saw peter look back at her with a peculiar smile as she ascended the steps. chapter xix harriet in danger harriet hamlin was restless and nervous all the next day. even mr. hamlin, noticing his daughter's nervous manner at luncheon, suggested that she take her friends out to pay some calls. so bab put forth her plea that she wished to make another visit to the home of the chinese minister. as the girls had not yet paid their luncheon call at the embassy harriet agreed to take them to see wee tu. before she left the house harriet called up her dressmaker and had a long confidential talk with her over the telephone. she seemed in better spirits afterwards. the chinese minister's wife, lady tu, was receiving. as there were no men in the drawing-room, her daughter, wee tu, sat among the young girls as quiet and demure as a picture on a fan. bab managed to persuade the little girl into a corner to have a quiet chat with her. but miss wee tu was difficult to draw out. across the room, harriet hamlin chanced to mention the name of peter dillon. at once the little chinese girl's expression changed. the change was very slight. hardly a shade of emotion crossed her unexpressive, oriental face, but curious barbara was watching for that very change. she remembered the young girl had been affected by peter's appearance during their former visit. "do you like mr. dillon?" inquired bab. she had no excuse for her question except her own wilful curiosity. but wee tu was not to be caught napping. "lige?" she answered, with a soft rising inflection that made the "k" in "like" sound as "g." "i do not know what americans mean by the word--'lige.' you 'lige' so many people. a chinese girl 'liges' only a few--her parents, her relatives; sometimes she 'liges' her husband, but not always." "don't like your husband!" exclaimed bab in surprise. "why, what do you mean?" the little chinese maiden was confused both by the american word and the american idea. "the chinese girl has respect for her husband; she does what he tells her to do, but she does not all the time 'lige' him, because her father has chosen him for her husband. i shall marry a prince, when i go back to china, but he is 'verra' old." "oh, i see!" bab rejoined. "you thought i meant 'love' when i said 'like.' it is quite different to love a person." bab smiled wisely. "to love is to like a great deal." "then i love this mr. peter dillon," said the chinese girl sweetly. bab gasped in shocked surprise. "it is most improper that i say so, is it not?" smiled miss wee tu. "but so many things that american girls do seem improper to chinese ladies. and i do like this mr. peter very much. he comes always to our house. he is 'verra' intimate with my father. he talks to him a long, long time and they have chinese secrets together. then he talks with me so that i can understand him. many people will not trouble with a chinese girl, who is only fifteen, even if her father is a minister." barbara was overwhelmed with wee tu's confidence, but she knew she deserved it as a punishment for her curiosity. the strangest thing was that the young chinese girl spoke in a low, even voice, without the least change of expression in her long, almond eyes. any one watching her would have thought she was talking of the weather. "i go back to china when my father's time in the united states is over and then i get married. it makes no difference. but while i am in your country i play i am free, like an american girl, and i do what i like inside my own head." "it's very wrong," barbara argued hastily. "it is much better to trust to your parents." "yes?" answered wee tu quietly. bab was vexed that peter dillon's careless irish manners had also charmed this little oriental maiden. but bab was wise enough to understand that wee tu's interest was only that of a child who was grateful to the young man for his kindness. barbara rose to join her friends, who were at this moment saying good-bye to their hostess. "it is the chinese custom," lady tu remarked graciously, "to make little presents to our guests. will not mr. hamlin's daughter and her four friends receive these poor offerings?" a servant handed the girls five beautiful, carved tortoise shell boxes, containing exquisite sets of combs for their hair, the half dozen or more that chinese women wear. "i felt ashamed of my wind-blown hair when lady tu presented us with these combs," grace exclaimed, just before the little party reached home. they had paid a dozen more calls since their visit to the chinese embassy. "i suppose chinese women are shocked at the way american girls wear their hair." "yes, but we can't take three hours to fix ours," laughed mollie, running up the steps of the hamlin house. in the front hall mollie spied an immense box of roses. they were for harriet. harriet picked up the box languidly and started upstairs. she had talked very little during the afternoon, and had seemed unlike herself. "aren't you going to open your flowers, harriet?" mollie pleaded. "i am crazy to see them." "i'll open them if it pleases you, mollie," harriet returned gently. the great box was crowded with long-stemmed american beauties and violets. "have some posies, girls?" harriet said generously, holding out her arms filled with flowers. for a long time afterwards the "automobile girls" remembered how beautiful harriet looked as she stood there, her face very pale, her black hair and hat outlined against the dark oak woodwork with the great bunch of american beauties in her arms. "of course we don't want your posies, lady harriet," mollie answered affectionately. "here is the note to tell you who sent them to you." but harriet went on to her room without showing enough interest in her gift to open the letter. after dinner harriet complained of a headache, and went immediately to her room. the "automobile girls" were going out to a theater party, which was being given in their honor by their old friends, mrs. post and hugh. harriet sent word she would have to be excused. when ruth put her head into harriet's room to say good-bye, just before she started for the theater, she thought she heard her cousin crying. "harriet, dear, do let me stay with you," ruth pleaded. "i am afraid you are feeling worse than you will let us know." but harriet insisted that she desired only to be left alone. feeling strangely unhappy about her cousin, ruth, at last joined the theater party. mr. hamlin did not leave the house immediately after dinner, although he had an engagement to spend the evening at the home of mrs. wilson. she had asked him, only that morning, to come. mr. hamlin was also troubled about his daughter. he had not been so unobservant that he had not seen the change in her. she was less animated, less talkative. mr. hamlin feared harriet was not well. though he was stern and unsympathetic with harriet, he was genuinely frightened if she were in the least ill. so it was with unusual gentleness that he tapped lightly on harriet's door. "i am all right, mary, thank you," harriet replied, believing her maid to be outside. "go to bed whenever you please. i shall fall asleep after a while." mr. hamlin cleared his throat and harriet started nervously. why was her father standing outside her door? had he learned of her bill to her dressmaker? "i do not wish to disturb you, harriet," mr. hamlin began awkwardly. "i only desired to know if i could do anything for you." "no, father," poor harriet replied wearily. as mr. hamlin turned away, she sprang up and started to run after him. at her own door she stopped. she heard her father's stern voice giving an order to a servant, and her sudden resolution died within her. a few moments later the front door closed behind him and her opportunity had passed. an hour afterwards, when the house was quiet and the servants nowhere about, harriet hamlin slipped cautiously downstairs. she was gone only a few minutes. but when she came back to her own room, she opened a private drawer in her bureau and hid something in it. harriet then threw herself on her bed and lay for a long time with her eyes wide open, staring straight ahead of her. just before midnight, when she heard the gay voices of her friends returning from the theater, and when ruth tripped softly to her bedroom, harriet lay with closed eyes, apparently fast asleep. the next morning harriet was really ill. her hand trembled so while she poured the breakfast coffee that she spilled some of it on the tablecloth. when mr. hamlin spoke to her sharply she burst into tears and left the room, leaving her father ashamed of himself, and the "automobile girls" so embarrassed that they ate the rest of their breakfast in painful silence. ruth did dart one indignant glance at her uncle, which mr. hamlin saw, but did not in his heart resent. harriet was willing, that morning, to have ruth come into her darkened bedroom and sit by her bed. for harriet's wakeful night had left her slightly feverish. "i don't want to disturb you, harriet," bab apologized, coming softly to the door. "but some one has just telephoned for you. the person at the telephone has a message for you, but whoever it is refuses to give his name. what shall i do!" harriet sat up in bed, quickly, a hunted expression on her beautiful face. "tell mr. peter dillon that i will keep my word," harriet answered angrily. "he is not to worry about me again." "is that your message?" bab queried wonderingly. "it was not mr. dillon's voice." harriet laughed hysterically. "of course not!" she returned. "oh, i know you girls are wondering why i am behaving so strangely. and i am breaking my word to tell you. but i must tell some one. i don't care what mrs. wilson and peter dillon say, i know i can trust you. i have decided to help mrs. wilson and peter play their silly joke on father and the state department! oh, you needn't look so horrified, girls. it is only a joke. the papers are about some chinese business. i have them hid in my bureau drawer." harriet nodded toward her dressing-table, while ruth and bab stood looking at each other, speechless with horror, the same idea growing in their minds. "when father comes to look for his stupid papers he'll find them gone, and, of course, will think he has misplaced them," harriet continued. "he will be dreadfully worried for a little while; then mrs. wilson will return the papers to me and i will slip them back in their old place, and father will never know what has happened. mrs. wilson and peter have vowed they will never betray me, and i have promised not to betray them. if i were to be caught, i suppose father would never forgive me. but i'll take good care that he doesn't find out about it." "harriet, do please give up this foolish plan!" ruth entreated earnestly. "i know you are doing something wrong. mrs. wilson and mr. dillon both know that uncle william's papers are too valuable to be played with. why, they belong to the united states government, not to him! harriet, i implore you, do not touch your father's papers!" harriet shook her head obstinately. she was absolutely adamant. ruth pleaded, scolded, in vain. bab did not say a word nor enter a protest. she was too frightened. all of a sudden a veil had been rent asunder. now she believed she understood what peter dillon and mrs. wilson had planned from the beginning. they were spies in the service of some higher power. the papers that harriet thought were to be used for a joke on her father were really to be sold! was not some state secret to be betrayed? ever since bab's arrival in washington it had looked as though peter dillon and mrs. wilson had been working toward this very end. having failed with her they had turned their attention to poor harriet. but mrs. wilson and peter dillon must be only hired tools! shrewdly barbara thurston recalled her recent conversation with innocent wee tu: "mr. dillon and my father, they have chinese secrets together." could a certain distinguished and wisely silent oriental gentleman be responsible for the thrilling drama about to be enacted? bab was never to know positively, and she wisely kept her suspicion to herself. "i do wish, ruth, you and bab would go away and leave me alone," harriet protested. "i shall be well enough to get up for luncheon, if you will let me take a nap. i don't see any harm in playing this joke on father. at any rate, i have quite made up my mind to go through with my part in it and i won't give up my plan. you can tell father if you choose, of course. i cannot prevent that. i know i was foolish to have confided in you. but, unless you are despicable tale bearers, the papers in my bureau drawer will go out of this house in a few hours! i don't see any harm in their disappearing for a little while. father will have them back in a few days. please go!" yet with all harriet's air of bravado, however, there was one point in her story which she did not mention. in return for her delivery of certain of her father's state papers mrs. wilson and peter dillon had promised to advance to harriet the five hundred dollars necessary to pay her dressmaker. harriet had agreed only to receive it as a loan. and she tried to comfort herself with the idea that her friends were only doing her a kindness in exchange for the favor she was to do for them. still, the thought of the money worried harriet. but how else was she to be saved from the weight of her stern father's displeasure? chapter xx foiled! at harriet's request bab and ruth went silently out of her room, their faces white and frightened. "ruth, is there any place where we can be alone?" barbara whispered faintly. "i must talk with you." ruth nodded, and the two friends found their way into the library, turning the key in the lock. then they stood facing each other, speechless, for a moment, from the very intensity of their feelings. "ruth, you must do something," bab entreated. "the papers that mrs. wilson and mr. dillon are making harriet get for them they do not intend to use for a joke. oh, ruth, they are no doubt important state papers! harriet may be betraying her country and ruining her father by placing these papers in their hands." "i think, too, that mrs. wilson and peter dillon are spies," ruth returned more quietly. "and, of course, we must do something to prevent their getting their hands on the papers." "but what can we do?" barbara demanded sharply. "we cannot tell mr. hamlin of harriet's deed. it would be too cruel of us. nor can we confront mrs. wilson and peter dillon with the accusation. they would only laugh at us, and declare that we were mad to have imagined any such thing. then, again, we would be betraying harriet's confidence. we do not know just what state papers harriet is to give to them, but they must be very, very valuable. i suppose those dreadful people will have the papers copied, sell our country's secret, and return the papers to harriet when all the mischief has been done. ruth, i believe, now, that mrs. wilson and peter dillon both meant to make me steal mr. hamlin's papers. then they would have declared i had sold them to some one. and mr. hamlin would never have suspected his friends. now, they think poor harriet will be too much afraid to betray them." bab's voice trembled slightly. she realized how nearly she had been the dupe of these two clever schemers. she felt that she and ruth must save harriet at all events. "mrs. wilson tried to steal mr. hamlin's papers the night she masqueraded as a ghost," barbara continued. "i picked up the envelope she dropped on the floor in the hall." "i know it, barbara," ruth answered in her self-controlled fashion, which always had a calming effect on the more impetuous bab. "i also believe mrs. wilson meant to fix the guilt of the theft upon you. uncle william called me into his study the other day and asked me if i considered you trustworthy. of course i was awfully indignant and told him just what i thought of him for being so suspicious. but i believe mrs. wilson had tried to poison his mind against you. you must be on your guard now, bab, dear. if harriet gives up these papers of uncle's the plotters may still try to use you as their scapegoat. when uncle finds his papers have disappeared mrs. wilson and mr. dillon will, of course, appear to know nothing of them; but they will somehow try to direct suspicion against you, trusting to harriet's cowardice. don't you worry though, bab, dear. you shall not suffer for harriet's fault while i am here." "oh, i am not worrying about myself, ruth," bab answered. "it is harriet's part in the affair that troubles me. do, please, go to harriet and talk to her again. surely you can make her see the risk she is running. do you suppose it would do any good if i were to call on mrs. wilson? i could just pretend i still thought she meant to play the joke on mr. hamlin. you know she told me she intended to do so. i could beg her to give it up without mentioning harriet's name or letting mrs. wilson guess that harriet had confided in us." ruth shook her head. "it would not do any good for you to go to mrs. wilson, bab. and, somehow, i am afraid for you. we do not know how much further they intend to involve you in their plot." "oh, they won't do me any harm, now," barbara rejoined. "anyhow, i am willing to take the risk, if harriet will not give in." "just wait here, bab, until i have been to see harriet again," ruth entreated. "i will go down on my knees to her, if i can persuade her to give up this wicked deed. oh, why is she so determined to be so reckless and so foolish?" fifteen minutes afterwards ruth came back from her second interview with harriet, looking utterly discouraged. "harriet simply won't give up," ruth reported to bab. "she is absolutely determined to go her own way, and she is angry with me for interfering. oh, bab, what will happen? uncle is so proud! if his daughter is known to have given mrs. wilson and peter dillon state papers, the report will be circulated that she stole them, and uncle william will be disgraced. then, what will become of harriet? she does not intend to do wrong. but i simply can't make her see this thing as we see it. so what can we do?" unusually self-contained, ruth broke down, now, weeping on bab's shoulder. the thought of the dreadful disgrace to her uncle and her cousin was more than she could face. "i am going to see mrs. wilson, ruth," bab declared. "you had better stay here and do your best with harriet. the papers are not to be delivered until four this afternoon, when, i believe, harriet is to meet peter dillon. of course it was he who telephoned harriet, only he was clever enough to disguise his voice. so we have until afternoon to work. don't worry yourself sick. we simply must save harriet in some way. i don't pretend that i see the way clearly yet, but i have faith that it will come. i cannot do any harm by going to mrs. wilson, and i may do some good." "i don't like you to go there alone, bab," ruth faltered. "but i don't dare to leave harriet by herself. she might find a way to give up the papers while we were out, and then all would be lost!" when bab rang the bell at the door of mrs. wilson's home she did not know that her approach had been watched. she meant to be very careful during her interview, for she realized that she and ruth were endeavoring to foil two brilliant and unscrupulous enemies. mrs. wilson and peter were in the library, and through the window mrs. wilson had watched bab approaching the house. "here comes that tiresome thurston girl, whom you were going to use as your tool, peter," teased mrs. wilson. "she wasn't so easy to manage as you thought, was she? never mind; she will still be used as our scapegoat. but i shall not see her this morning. what's the use?" "let her come in, by all means, mrs. wilson," peter dillon urged. "i shall hide so that she will not see me. what would fall in with our plans better than to have this girl come here to-day! who knows how this visit may be made to count against her? of course, if suspicion never points to us we had best never mention the name of barbara thurston. but--if mr. hamlin ever questions you, why not say miss thurston came here to-day and betrayed the fact to you that she had stolen mr. hamlin's papers? we have circumstantial evidence enough against her." bab found mrs. wilson very much surprised to see her, and looking very languid and bored. straightforward barbara rushed headlong into her request. "really, miss thurston, don't you think you are rather impertinent?" drawled her hostess, when bab finished. "i don't see what business it is of yours whether or not i wish to play a joke on my friend, mr. hamlin. don't try to get out of mischief by reporting to mr. hamlin the story of my poor little joke. you can hardly save yourself by any such method. no one will believe you. and i have an idea that you came to my house to-day for a very different purpose than to persuade me to give up my joke. what was it?" bab was mystified. she had no idea how mrs. wilson and peter dillon had planned to use her visit as evidence against her, so it was impossible for her to understand mrs. wilson's insinuation. barbara did not stay long. she saw mrs. wilson had no intention of being persuaded from her design. even though the woman was beginning to see that bab and ruth were a little suspicious of her, she had no idea of being frightened from her deep-laid scheme by two insignificant schoolgirls. barbara hurried to her car as fast as she could, anxious to get back to ruth and to devise some other move to checkmate the traitors. she even hoped, against hope, that harriet had been induced to change her mind and that all would yet be well. but as bab jumped aboard her car she saw another girl, running down the street, waving something in the air and evidently trying to induce bab's street car to wait for her. barbara begged the conductor to hold the car for a moment, before she recognized the figure, running toward them. but the next second she beheld the ever-present newspaper girl, marjorie moore, tablet and pencil in hand, completely out of breath and exhausted. marjorie moore could not speak for some time after she had secured a seat next bab in the car. "i have been watching mrs. wilson's house since eight o'clock this morning," she finally gasped. "what on earth made you go in there?" "i can't tell you," bab returned coldly. not for anything in the world would she have marjorie moore suspect what she and ruth feared. miss moore gave a little, half amused, half sarcastic laugh. "you can't tell? oh, never mind, my dear. i know you are all right. you weren't doing anything wrong. i expect you were trying to help set matters straight. you don't need to tell me anything. i think i know all that is necessary. good-bye now. i must get off this car at the corner. let me tell you, however, not to worry, whatever happens. i am in possession of all the facts, so there will be no trouble in proving them. but if anything disagreeable happens to you," marjorie moore gave bab a reassuring smile, "telephone me, will you? my number is , union." marjorie moore rushed out of the street car as hurriedly as she had entered it, before bab could take in what she had said. barbara puzzled all the rest of the way home. could it be possible that marjorie moore had discovered mrs. wilson's and peter's plot? could she also have guessed harriet's part in it? bab shuddered, for she remembered the newspaper girl's words to her on the night of their first meeting: "if ever i have a chance to get even with harriet hamlin, won't i take my revenge?" did marjorie moore also suspect that an effort would be made to draw barbara into this whirlpool of disgrace? no one ate any luncheon at the home of the assistant secretary of state, except mollie and grace. fortunately mr. hamlin did not return home. ruth and bab had decided not to tell the other two "automobile girls" of their terrible uneasiness unless they actually needed the help of the younger girls to save the situation. ruth and bab did not wish to prejudice mollie and grace against harriet if it were possible to spare her. but ruth had told bab that, at four o'clock, harriet was determined to deliver the papers to peter dillon. at two o'clock, however, the two friends had found no way to influence harriet to give up her mad project. indeed, harriet scarcely spoke to either of them, she was so bitterly angry at what she termed their interference. at three o'clock, ruth and barbara grew desperate. for, at three, harriet hamlin closed the door of her bedroom and commenced to dress for her engagement. "try once again, ruth," bab pleaded. "it is worse even than you know. i believe marjorie moore suspects what harriet is about to do. suppose she publishes the story in the morning papers. tell harriet i have a reason for thinking she knows about the affair." bab waited apprehensively for ruth's return. it seemed to her that, for the first time in their adventures, the "automobile girls" had met with a situation that no amount of pluck or effort on their part could control. this was the most important experience of their whole lives, for their country was about to be betrayed! once barbara stamped her foot in her impatience. how dared harriet hamlin be so willful, so headstrong? bab's face was white with anxiety and suspense. her lips twitched nervously. then in a flash her whole expression changed. the color came back to her cheeks, the light to her eyes. at the eleventh hour the way had been made clear. ruth had no such look when she returned to barbara. she flung herself despondently into a chair. "it's no use," she declared despairingly. "harriet must go her own way. we can do nothing with her!" "yes, we can!" bab whispered. she leaned over and murmured something in ruth's ear. ruth sprang to her feet. "barbara thurston, you are perfectly wonderful!" she cried. "yes, i do know where it is. go to my desk and take that blank paper. it is just the right size. fold it up in three parts. there, it will do, now; give it to me. now go and command grace and mollie, if they love us, to call harriet out of her room for a minute. we can explain to them afterwards." mollie and grace feared barbara had gone suddenly mad when she rushed in upon them with her demand. but mollie did manage to persuade harriet to go into the next room. as harriet slipped out of her bedroom, her cousin, ruth stuart, stole into it, hiding something she held in her hand. she was alone in harriet's room for not more than two minutes. at a quarter to four o'clock, harriet hamlin left her father's house with a large envelope concealed inside her shopping bag. opposition had merely strengthened harriet's original resolution. she was no longer frightened. ruth and bab were absurd to have been so tragic over a silly joke. at a little after four o'clock, in a quiet, out-of-the-way street in washington, harriet turned over to peter dillon this envelope, which, as she supposed, contained the much-coveted papers which she had extracted from the private collection of the assistant secretary of state. whatever the papers were, peter dillon took them carelessly with his usual charming smile. but inwardly he was chanting a song of victory. he and mrs. wilson would be many-thousands of dollars richer by this time to-morrow. he glanced into the envelope with his near-sighted eyes. the papers were folded up inside and all was well! peter did not dare, before harriet, to be too interested in what the envelope contained. it would not have made him happier to have looked closer; the song of victory would have died away on his lips. for, instead of certain secret documents sent to the office of the secretary of state, from representatives of the united states government in china, harriet hamlin had turned over to peter dillon an official envelope, which contained only folded sheets of blank paper! it had been barbara's idea and ruth had carried it out successfully. in the moment when harriet left her room in answer to mollie's call, ruth had exchanged the valuable state papers for the worthless ones. once harriet was safely out of the way, she and bab carried the precious documents downstairs and shut them up in mr. hamlin's desk. both girls hoped that all trouble was now averted, and that mr. hamlin would never hear of harriet's folly! chapter xxi the discovery the members of the hamlin household went early to their own rooms that night. ruth at once flung herself down on a couch without removing her clothing. in a few minutes she was fast asleep, for she believed their difficulties were over. bab did not feel as secure. she was still thinking of the speech the newspaper girl had made to her in the car. at ten o'clock the assistant secretary of state, who was sitting alone in his study, heard a violent ringing of his telephone bell. he did not know that, at this same instant, his daughter harriet had crept down to his study door intending to make a full confession of her mistakes to him. mr. hamlin picked up the receiver. "'the washington news?' yes. you have something important to say to me? well, what is it?" mr. hamlin listened quietly for a little while. then harriet heard him cry in a hoarse, unnatural voice: "impossible! the thing is preposterous! where did you ever get hold of such an absurd idea?" harriet stopped to listen no longer. she never knew how she got back upstairs to her room. she half staggered, half fell up the steps. suddenly she realized everything! she had been used as a tool by mrs. wilson and peter dillon. ruth and barbara had been right. she had stolen her father's state papers. a newspaper had gotten hold of the story and already her father and she were disgraced. in the meantime, mr. hamlin continued to talk over the telephone, though his hand shook so he was hardly able to hold the receiver. "you say you think it best to warn me that the story of the theft of my papers will be published in the morning paper, that you know that private state documents entrusted to me keeping have been sold to secret spies? what evidence have you? i have missed no such papers. wait a minute." mr. hamlin went to his strong box. sure enough, certain documents were missing. ruth and bab had put the papers in the desk. "have you an idea who stole my papers?" mr. hamlin called back over the telephone wire, his voice shaken with passion. evidently the editor who was talking to mr. hamlin now lost his courage. he did not dare to tell mr. hamlin that his own daughter was suspected of having sold her father's papers. mr. hamlin repeated the editor's exact words. "you say a young woman sold my papers? you are right; this is not a matter to be discussed over the telephone. send some one up from your office to see me at once." mr. hamlin reeled over to his bell-rope and gave it a pull, so that the noise of its ringing sounded like an alarm through the quiet house. a frightened servant answered the bell. "tell miss thurston and my niece, miss stuart, to come to my study at once," mr. hamlin ordered. the man-servant obeyed. "ruth, dear, wake up," bab entreated, giving her friend a shake. "something awful must have happened. your uncle has sent for us. he must have missed those papers." [illustration: "what have you done with my papers?"] ruth and bab, both of them looking unutterably miserable and shaken, entered mr. hamlin's study. their host did not speak as they first approached him. when he did he turned on them such a haggard, wretched face that they were filled with pity. but the instant mr. hamlin caught sight of barbara his expression changed. he took her by the arm, and, before she could guess what was going to happen, he shook her violently. "what have you done with my state papers?" he demanded. "tell me quickly. don't hesitate. there may yet be time to save us both. oh, i should never have let you stay in this house!" he groaned. "i suspected you of mischief when i learned of your first visit to my office. but i did not believe such treachery could be found in a young girl. ruth, can't you make your friend speak! if she will tell me to whom she sold my papers, i will forgive her everything! but i must know where they are at once. i can then force the newspaper to keep silence and force my enemies to return me the documents, if there is only time!" barbara dropped into a chair and covered her face with her hands. she did not utter a word of reproach to mr. hamlin for his cruel suspicion of her. she could not tell him that his daughter harriet was the real thief. "uncle," ruth entreated, laying a quiet hand on mr. hamlin's arm, "listen to me for a moment. yes, you must listen! you are not disgraced; you are not ruined. look in your desk. your papers are still there. only the old envelope is gone. i put the papers in this drawer only this afternoon, because i did not know in what place you kept them. some papers were given away, a few hours ago, to two people, whom you believed to be your friends, to mrs. wilson and peter dillon. but they were not your state papers, they were only blank sheets." mr. hamlin looked into his drawer and saw the lost documents, then he passed his hand over his forehead. "i don't understand," he muttered. "do you mean that, instead of the actual papers, you saved me by substituting blank papers for these valuable ones? then your friend did try to sell her country's secrets, and you saved her and me. i shall never cease to be grateful to you to the longest day i live. for your sake i will spare your friend. but she must leave my house in the morning. i do not wish ever to look upon her again." "bab did not sell your papers, uncle," ruth protested passionately. "you shall not make such accusations against her. it was she who saved you. i did only what she told me to do. i did substitute the papers, but it was barbara who thought of it." "then who, in heaven's name, is guilty of this dreadful act?" mr. hamlin cried. neither ruth nor bab answered. bab still sat with her face covered with her hands, in order to hide her hot tears. she cried partly for poor harriet, and partly because of her sympathy for mr. hamlin. ruth gazed at her uncle, white, silent and trembling. "who, ruth? i demand to know!" mr. hamlin repeated. "i shall not tell you," ruth returned, with a little gasp. "send for my daughter, harriet. she may know something," mr. hamlin ejaculated. then he rang for a servant. the two girls and the one man, who had grown old in the last few minutes, waited in unbroken silence. the girls had a strong desire to scream, to cry out, to warn harriet. she must not let her father know of her foolish deed while his anger was at its height. it seemed an eternity before the butler returned to mr. hamlin's study. "miss hamlin is not in her room," he reported respectfully. "not in her room? then look for her through the house," mr. hamlin repeated more quietly. he had gained greater control of himself. but a new fear was oppressing him, weighing him down. he would not give the idea credence even in his own mind. three--four--five minutes passed. still harriet did not appear. "let me look for harriet, uncle," ruth implored, unable to control herself any longer. at this moment mollie came innocently down the stairs. "is mr. hamlin looking for harriet?" she inquired. "harriet left the house ten minutes ago. she had on her coat and her hat, but she would not stop to say good-bye. i think her maid went with her. mary had just a shawl thrown over her head. i am sure they will be back in a few minutes. harriet must have gone out to post a letter. i thought she would have come back before this." imagine poor mollie's horror and surprise when mr. hamlin dropped into a chair at her news and groaned: "it was harriet after all. it was _my own child_!" "uncle, rouse yourself!" ruth implored him. "harriet thought she was only playing a harmless trick on you. she did not dream that the papers were of any importance. mrs. wilson and peter dillon deceived her cruelly. you must go and find out what has become of harriet." mr. hamlin shook his head drearily. "you must go!" insisted gentle ruth, bursting into tears. "harriet does not even know that the papers she gave away were worthless. if she has found out she has been duped she will be doubly desperate." at this instant the door bell rang loudly. no one in the study appeared to hear it. mollie had crept slowly back upstairs to grace. ruth, mr. hamlin and bab were too wretched to stir. a sound of hasty footsteps came down the hall, followed by a knock at the study door. the door flew open of its own accord. like a vision straight from heaven appeared the faces of mr. robert stuart and his sister, miss sallie! ruth sprang into her father's arms with a cry of joy. and bab, her eyes still streaming with tears, was caught up in the comforting arms of miss sallie. chapter xxii oil on the troubled waters "what does all this mean, william hamlin?" mr. stuart inquired without ceremony. with bowed head mr. hamlin told the whole story, not attempting to excuse himself, for mr. hamlin was a just man, though a severe one. he declared that he had been influenced to suspect barbara ever since her arrival in his home. his enemies had also made a dupe of him, but his punishment had come upon him swiftly. he had just discovered that his own daughter had tried to deliver into the hands of paid spies, state papers of the united states government. mr. stuart and aunt sallie looked extremely serious while mr. hamlin was telling his story. but when mr. hamlin explained how ruth and bab had exchanged the valuable political documents for folded sheets of blank paper, mr. stuart burst into a loud laugh, and his expression changed as though by a miracle. he patted his daughter's shoulder to express his approval, while miss sallie kissed bab with a sigh of relief. mr. stuart and his sister had both been extremely uneasy since the arrival of ruth's singular telegram, not knowing what troubled waters might be surrounding their "automobile girls." indeed miss sallie had insisted on accompanying her brother to washington, as she felt sure her presence would help to set things right. mr. stuart's laugh cleared the sorrowful atmosphere of the study as though by magic. ruth and barbara smiled through their tears. they were now so sure that all would soon be well! "it seems to me, william, that all this is 'much ado about nothing,'" mr. stuart declared. "of course, i can see that the situation would have been pretty serious if poor harriet had been deceived into giving up the real documents. but bab and ruth have saved the day! there is no harm done now. you even know the names of the spies. there is only one thing for us to consider at present, and that is--where is harriet?" "yes, father," ruth pleaded. "do find harriet." "the child was foolish, and she did wrong, of course," mr. stuart went on. "but, as ruth tells me harriet did not know the real papers were exchanged for false ones, she probably thinks she has disgraced you and she is too frightened to come home. you must take steps to find her at once, and to let her know you forgive her. it is a pity to lose any time." mr. hamlin was silent. "i cannot forgive harriet," he replied. "but, of course, she must be brought home at once." "nonsense!" mr. stuart continued. "summon your servants and have some one telephone to harriet's friends. she has probably gone to one of them. tell the child that sallie and i are here and wish to see her. but where are my other 'automobile girls,' mollie and grace?" "upstairs, father," ruth answered happily. "come and see them. i want to telephone for harriet. i think she will come home for me." "show your aunt and father to their rooms, ruth," mr. hamlin begged. "i must wait here until a messenger arrives from the newspaper, which in some way has learned the story of our misfortune. and even they do not know that the stolen papers were valueless. i must explain matters to them." "a man of your influence can keep any mention of this affair out of the newspapers," mr. stuart argued heartily. "so the storm will have blown over by to-morrow. and i believe you will be able to punish the two schemers who have tried to betray your daughter and disgrace my barbara, without having harriet's name brought into this affair." for the first time, mr. hamlin lifted his head and nodded briefly. "yes, i can attend to them," he declared in the quiet fashion that showed him to be a man of power. "it is best, for the sake of the country, that the scandal be nipped in the bud. i alone know what was in these state papers that mrs. wilson and peter dillon were hired to steal. so i alone know to whom they would be valuable. there would be an international difficulty if i should expose the real promoter of the theft. peter dillon shall be dismissed from his embassy. mrs. wilson will find it wiser to leave washington, and never to return here again. i will spare the woman as much as i can for the sake of her son, elmer, who is a fine fellow. ruth, dear, do telephone to harriet's friends. your father is right. we must find my daughter at once." miss sallie, mr. stuart and ruth started to leave the room. bab rose to follow them. "miss thurston, don't go for a minute," mr. hamlin said. "i wish to beg your pardon. will you forgive a most unhappy man? of course i see, now, that i had no right to suspect you without giving you a chance to defend yourself. i can only say that i was deceived, as well as harriet. the whole plot is plain to me now. harriet was to be terrified into not betraying her own part in the theft, so she would never dare reveal the names of mrs. wilson or peter dillon. i, with my mind poisoned against you, would have sought blindly to fasten the crime on you. i regard my office as assistant secretary of state as a sacred trust. if the papers entrusted to my keeping had been delivered into the hands of the enemies of my country, through my own daughter's folly, i should never have lifted my head again, i cannot say--i have no words to express--what i owe to you and ruth. but how do you think a newspaper man could have unearthed this plot? it seems incredible, when you consider how stealthily peter dillon and mrs. wilson have worked. a man--" "i don't think a man did unearth it," bab replied. just then the bell rang again. the next moment the door opened, and the butler announced: "miss marjorie moore!" the newspaper girl gave bab a friendly smile; then she turned coldly to mr. william hamlin. "miss moore!" mr. hamlin exclaimed in surprise and in anger. "i wish to see a man from your newspaper. what i have to say cannot possibly concern you." "i think it does, mr. hamlin," miss moore repeated calmly. "one of the editors from my paper has come here with me. he is waiting in the hall. but it was i who discovered the theft of your state documents. i have been expecting mischief for some time. i am sorry for you, of course--very sorry, but i have all the facts of the case, and as no one else knows of it, it will be a great scoop for me in the morning." "your newspaper will not publish the story at all, miss moore," mr. hamlin rejoined, when he had recovered from his astonishment at miss moore's appearance. "the stolen papers were not of the least value. will you explain to miss moore exactly what occurred, miss thurston?" mr. hamlin concluded. when bab told the story of how she and ruth had made their lightning substitution of the papers, marjorie moore gave a gasp of surprise. "good for you, miss thurston!" she returned. "i knew you were clever, as well as the right sort, the first time i saw you. so i had gotten hold of the whole story of the theft except, the most important point--the exchange of the papers. it spoils my story as sensational political news. but," miss moore laughed, "it makes a perfectly great personal story, because it has such a funny side to it: 'foiled by the "automobile girls"!' 'the assistant secretary of state's daughter!'" miss moore stopped, ashamed of her cruelty when she saw mr. hamlin's face. but he did not speak. it was bab who exclaimed: "oh, miss moore, you are not going to betray harriet, are you? poor harriet thought it was all a joke. she did not know the papers were valuable. it would be too cruel to spread this story abroad. it might ruin harriet's reputation." marjorie moore made no answer. "you heard miss thurston," mr. hamlin interposed. "surely you will grant our request." "mr. hamlin," marjorie moore protested, "i am dreadfully sorry for you. i told you so, but i am going to have this story published in the morning. it is too good to keep and i have worked dreadfully hard on it. indeed, i almost lost my life because of it. i knew it was peter dillon who struck me down on the white house lawn the night of the reception. but i said nothing because i knew that, if i made trouble, i would have been put off the scent of the story somehow. i tried to see miss thurston alone, that evening, to warn her that mrs. wilson and peter dillon were going to try to fasten their crime on her. i am obliged to be frank with you, mr. hamlin. i will stick to the facts as you have told them to me, but a full account of the attempted theft will be published in the morning's 'news.'" "call the man who is with you, miss moore; i prefer to talk with him," mr. hamlin commanded. "you do not seem to realize the gravity of what you intend to do. it will be a mistake for your newspaper to make an enemy of a man in my official position." mr. hamlin talked for some time to one of the editors of the washington "news." he entreated, threatened and finally made an appeal to him to save his daughter and himself by not making the story public. "i am afraid we shall have to let the story go, miss moore," the editor remarked regretfully. "it was a fine piece of news, but we don't wish to make things too hard for mr. hamlin." the man turned to go. "mr. hughes," marjorie moore announced, speaking to her editor, "if you do not intend to use this story, which i have worked on so long, in your paper, i warn you, right now, that i shall simply sell it to some other newspaper and take the consequences. all the papers will not be so careful of mr. hamlin's feelings." "oh, miss moore, you would not be so cruel!" bab cried. marjorie moore turned suddenly on barbara; "why shouldn't i?" she returned. "both harriet hamlin and peter dillon have been hateful and insolent to me ever since i have been making my living in washington. i told you i meant to get even with them some day. well, this is my chance, and i intend to take it. good-bye; there is no reason for me to stay here any longer." "mr. hamlin, if miss moore insists on selling her story on the outside, i cannot see how we would benefit you by failing to print the story," the editor added. "very well," mr. hamlin returned coldly. but he sank back into his chair and covered his face with his hands. harriet's reputation was ruined, for no one would believe she had not tried deliberately to sell her father's honor. but bab resolved to appeal once more to the newspaper girl. she ran to marjorie moore and put her arm about the newspaper girl's waist to detain her. she talked to her in her most winning fashion, with her brown eyes glowing with feeling and her lips trembling with eagerness. the tears came to marjorie moore's eyes as she listened to bab's pleading for harriet. but she still obstinately shook her head. some one came running down the stairs and ruth entered the study without heeding the strangers in it. "uncle!" she exclaimed in a terrified voice, "harriet cannot be found! we have telephoned everywhere for her. no one has seen her or knows anything about her. what shall we do? it is midnight!" mr. hamlin followed ruth quickly out of the room, forgetting every other consideration in his fear for his daughter. he looked broken and old. was harriet in some worse peril? as marjorie moore saw mr. hamlin go, she turned swiftly to barbara and kissed her. "it's all right, dear," she said. "you were right. revenge is too little and too mean. mr. hughes has said he will not publish the story, and i shall not sell it anywhere else. indeed, i promise that what i know shall never be spoken of outside this room. good night." before barbara could thank her she was gone. chapter xxiii suspense and the reward all night long diligent search was made for harriet hamlin, but no word was heard of her. the "automobile girls" telephoned her dearest friends. mr. hamlin and mr. stuart tramped from one hotel to the other. none of the hamlin household closed their eyes that night. "it has been my fault, robert," mr. hamlin admitted, as he and his brother-in-law returned home in the gray dawn of the morning, hoping vainly to hear that harriet had returned. "my child has gotten into debt and she has been afraid to confess her mistake to me. her little friend, mollie, told me the story. mollie believes that mrs. wilson and peter dillon tempted harriet by offering to lend her money. and so she agreed to aid them in what she thought was their 'joke.' i have seen, lately, that harriet has been so worried she hardly knew what she was doing. yet, when my poor child tried to confess her fault to me, i would not let her go on. my harshness and lack of sympathy have driven her to--i know not what. oh, robert, what shall i do? she is the one joy of my life!" mr. stuart did not try to deny mr. hamlin's judgment of himself. he knew mr. hamlin had been too severe with his daughter. if only harriet could be found she and her father would be closer friends after this experience. mr. stuart realized fully what danger harriet was in with her unusual beauty, with no mother and with a father who did not understand her. "harriet has done very wrong," mr. hamlin added slowly. it was hard, indeed, for a man of his nature to forgive. "but i shall not reproach her when she comes back to me," he said quickly. the fear that harriet might never return to him at all struck a sudden chill to his soul. "the child has done wrong, william, i admit it," returned good-natured mr. stuart. "she has been headstrong and foolish. but we have done worse things in our day, remember." "i will remember," mr. hamlin answered drearily, as he shut himself up in his room. mr. hamlin would not come down to breakfast. there was still no news of harriet. while dear, comfortable aunt sallie and the "automobile girls" were seated around the table, making a pretense of eating, there came a ring at the front door bell. ruth jumped up and ran out into the hall. then followed several moments of awful suspense. ruth came back slowly, not with harriet, but with a note in her hand. she opened it with shaking fingers, for she recognized harriet's handwriting in the address. the note read: "dearest ruth, i shall never come home again. i have disgraced my father and myself. i would not listen to you and bab, and now i know the worst. mrs. wilson and peter dillon were villains and i was only a foolish dupe. i spent the night in a boarding house with an old friend of my mother's." ruth stopped reading. her voice sank so low it was almost impossible to hear her. she had not noticed that her uncle was standing just outside the door, listening, with white lips. "i don't know what else to do," harriet's note continued, when ruth had strength to go on. "so early this morning i telegraphed to charlie meyers. when you receive this note, i shall be married to him. ask my father to forgive me, for i shall never see him again. your heart-broken cousin, harriet." "absurd child!" miss sallie ejaculated, trying to hide her tears. but mr. stuart stepped to mr. hamlin's side as he entered the room, looking conscience-stricken and miserable. poor harriet was paying for her folly with a life-time of wretchedness. she was to marry a man she did not love; and her friends were powerless to save her. mollie slipped quietly away from the table. no one tried to stop her. every one thought mollie was overcome, because she had been especially devoted to harriet. "won't you try to find mr. meyers, uncle?" ruth pleaded. "it may not be too late to prevent harriet's marriage. oh, do try to find her. she does not care for charlie meyers in the least. she is only marrying him because she is so wretched she does not know what to do." mr. stuart was already getting into his coat and hat. mr. hamlin was not far behind him. the two men were just going out the front door, when a cry from mollie interrupted them. the three girls rushed into the hall, not knowing what mollie's cry meant. but when they saw the little golden haired girl, who sympathized the most deeply with harriet in her trouble, because of her own recent acquaintance with debt, the "automobile girls" knew at once that all was well! "oh, mr. hamlin! oh, mr. stuart! do wait until i get my breath," mollie begged. "dear, darling harriet is all right. she will come home if her father will come for her. i telephoned to mr. meyers and he declares harriet is safe with his aunt. he says, of course, he is not such a cad as to marry harriet when she is so miserable and frightened. he went to the boarding house for her, then took her to his aunt's home. mr. meyers was on his way here to see mr. hamlin." two hours later, harriet was at home again and in bed, suffering from nervous shock. but her father's forgiveness, his sympathy, his reassuring words, and above all, the thought that by the ruse of bab, she had been mercifully saved from the deep disgrace that had shadowed her life, soon restored her to her normal spirits. there was a speedy investigation by the state department--the result of which was that mrs. wilson disappeared from washington society. her son elmer reported that his mother had grown tired of washington and was living in new england. as for peter dillon, his connection with the russian embassy was severed at once. no one knew where he went. * * * * * "the president would like to see the 'automobile girls' at the white house to-day at half past twelve o'clock," mr. william hamlin announced a few mornings later, looking up from his paper to smile first at his daughter and then at the group of happy faces about his breakfast table, which included miss sallie stuart and mr. robert stuart. harriet was looking very pale. she had been ill for two days after her unhappy experience. "what on earth do you mean, mr. hamlin?" inquired grace carter anxiously, turning to their host. the other girls smiled, thinking mr. hamlin was joking, he had been in such different spirits since harriet's return home. "i mean what i say," mr. hamlin returned gravely. "the president wishes to see the 'automobile girls' in order to thank them for their service to their country." mr. hamlin allowed an earnest note to creep into his voice. "the story has not been made public. but i myself told the president of my narrow escape from disgrace, and he desires personally to thank the young girls who saved us. i told him that he might rely on your respecting his invitation." "oh, but we can't go, mr. hamlin," mollie expostulated. "grace and i had nothing to do with saving the papers. it was only ruth and bab!" "it is most unusual to decline an invitation from the president, mollie," mr. hamlin continued. "only a death in the family is regarded as a reasonable excuse. now the president most distinctly stated that he desired a visit from the 'automobile girls'!" "united we stand, divided we fall!" ruth announced. "bab and i will not stir a single step without grace and mollie." "there is one other person who ought to be included in this visit to the president," harriet added, shyly. "whom do you mean, my child?" mr. hamlin queried. harriet hung her proud little head. "i mean marjorie moore, father. i think she did as much as any one by keeping the story out of the papers when it would have meant so much for her to have published it." "good for harriet!" ruth murmured under her breath. "i did not neglect to tell the president of miss moore's part in the affair, daughter," mr. hamlin rejoined. "but i am glad you spoke of it. i shall certainly see that she is included in the invitation." promptly at twelve o'clock the "automobile girls" set out for the white house in the care of their old and faithful friend, mr. a. bubble. on the way there they picked up marjorie moore, who had now become their staunch friend. the girls were greatly excited over their second visit to the white house. it was, of course, very unlike their first, since to-day they were to be the special guests of the president. on the evening of the presidential reception they had been merely included among several hundred callers. ruth sent in mr. hamlin's card with theirs, in order to explain whose visitors they were. the five girls were immediately shown into a small room, which the president used for seeing his friends when he desired a greater privacy than was possible in the large state reception rooms. the girls sat waiting the appearance of the president, each one a little more nervous than the other. "what shall we say, bab?" mollie whispered to her sister. "goodness knows, child!" bab just had time to answer, when a servant bowed ceremoniously. a man entered the room quickly and walked from one girl to the other, shaking hands with each one in turn. "i am very glad to meet you," he declared affably. "mr. hamlin tells me you were able to do him a service, and through him to your country, which it is also my privilege to serve. i thank you." the president bowed ceremoniously. "it was a pretty trick you played on our enemies. strategy is sometimes better than war, and a woman's wits than a man's fists." then the president turned cordially to marjorie moore. "miss moore, it gives me pleasure to say a word of appreciation to you. your act in withholding this information from the public rather than to sell it and make a personal gain by it, was a thoroughly patriotic act, and i wish you to know that i value your service." "thank you, mr. president," replied miss moore, blushing deeply. the president's wife now entered the sitting-room with several other guests and members of her family. when luncheon was announced, the president of the united states offered his arm to barbara thurston. the "automobile girls" are not likely to forget their luncheon with the president, his family and a few intimate friends. the girls were frightened at first; but, being simple and natural, they soon ceased to think of themselves. they were too much interested in what they saw and heard around them. the president talked to ruth, who sat on his left, about automobiles. he was interested to hear of the travels of mr. a. bubble, and seemed to know a great deal about motor cars. but, after a while, as the girls heard him converse with three distinguished men who sat at his table, one an engineer, the other a judge, and the third an artist, the "automobile girls" decided wisely that the president knew almost everything that was worth knowing. * * * * * "children," said mr. stuart that night, when the girls could tell no more of their day's experience, "it seems to me that it is about time for you to be going home." mr. stuart and aunt sallie were in the hamlin drawing-room with the "automobile girls." mr. hamlin and harriet had gone for a short walk. it was now their custom to walk together each evening after dinner, since it gave them a little opportunity for a confidential talk. "you girls have had to-day the very happiest opportunity that falls to the lot of any visitor in washington," mr. stuart continued. "you have had a private interview with the president and have been entertained by him at the executive mansion. i have no doubt you have also seen all the sights of washington in the last few weeks. so homeward-bound must be our next forward move!" "oh, father," cried ruth regretfully, her face clouding as she looked at her beloved automobile friends. how long before she should see them again? the same thought clouded the bright faces of mollie, grace and bab. "we have hardly seen you at all, miss sallie," grace lamented, taking miss sarah stuart's plump, white hand in her own. "we have been the centre of so much excitement ever since you arrived in washington." "must we go, father?" ruth entreated. "i am afraid we must, daughter," mr. stuart answered, with a half anxious and half cheerful twinkle in his eye. "then it's chicago for me!" sighed ruth. "and kingsbridge for the rest of us!" echoed the other three girls. "ruth cannot very well travel home alone," mr. stuart remonstrated, looking first at barbara, then at mollie and grace, and winking solemnly at miss sallie. "don't tease the child, robert," miss sallie remonstrated. "aren't you and aunt sallie going home with me, father?" ruth queried, too much surprised for further questioning. "no, ruth," mr. stuart declared. "you seem to have concluded to return to chicago. but your aunt sallie and i are on our way to kingsbridge, new jersey, to pay a visit to mrs. mollie thurston at laurel cottage. mrs. thurston wrote inviting us to visit her before we returned to the west. but, of course, if you do not wish to go with us, daughter--." mr. stuart had no chance to speak again. for the four girls surrounded him, plying him with questions, with exclamations. they were all laughing and talking at once. "it's too good to be true, father!" cried ruth. chapter xxiv home at laurel cottage mrs. thurston stood on the front porch of her little cottage, looking out in the gathering dusk. back of her the lights twinkled gayly. a big wood fire crackled in the sitting-room and shone through the soft muslin curtains. a small maid was busily setting the table for supper in the dinning room, and there was a delicious smell of freshly baked rolls coming through the kitchen door. on the table stood a great dish of golden honey and a pitcher of rich milk. mrs. thurston had not forgotten, in two years, the favorite supper of her friend, robert stuart. it was a cold night, but she could not wait indoors. she had gathered up a warm woolen shawl of a delicate lavender shade, and wrapped it about her head and shoulders, looking not unlike the gracious spirit of an autumn twilight as she lingered to welcome the travelers home. she was thinking of all that had happened since the day that bab had stopped ruth's runaway horses. she was recalling how much mr. stuart had done for her little girls in the past two years. "he could not have been kinder to mollie and barbara, if they had been his own daughters," thought pretty mrs. thurston, with a blush. but did she not hear the ever-welcome sound of a friendly voice? was not mr. bubble calling to her out of the darkness? surely enough his two great shining eyes now appeared at the well-known turn in the road. a few moments later mrs. thurston was being tempestuously embraced by the "automobile girls." "do let me speak to miss stuart, children," mrs. thurston entreated, trying to extricate herself from four pairs of girlish arms. "come in, miss stuart," she laughed. "i hope you are not tired from your journey. i cannot tell you what pleasure it gives me to see you and mr. stuart once more." mr. stuart gave mrs. thurston's hand a little longer pressure than was absolutely necessary. mrs. thurston blushed and finally drew her hand away. "look after mr. stuart, dear," she said to bab. "he is to have the guest chamber upstairs. i want to show miss stuart to her room. i am sorry, ruth, our little home is too small to give you a room to yourself. you will have to be happy with mollie and bab. grace you are to stay to supper with us. your father will come for you after supper. i had to beg awfully hard, but he finally consented to let you remain with us. our little reunion would not be complete without you." mrs. thurston took miss sallie into a charming room which she had lately renovated for her guest. it was papered in miss stuart's favorite lavender paper, had lavender curtains at the windows, and a bright wood fire in the grate. "i hope you will be comfortable, miss stuart," said little mrs. thurston, who stood slightly in awe of stately and elegant miss sallie. for answer miss sallie smiled and looked searchingly at mrs. thurston. "is there any question you wish to ask me?" mrs. thurston inquired, flushing slightly at miss stuart's peculiar expression. "oh, no," smiled miss sallie. "oh, no, i have no question to ask you!" it was seven o 'clock when the party sat down to supper, and after nine when they finally rose. they stopped then only because squire carter arrived and demanded his daughter, grace, whom he had to carry off, as he and her mother could bear to be parted from their child no longer. miss sallie asked to be excused, soon after supper, as she was tired from her trip. "i think the 'automobile girls' had better go to bed, too," she suggested. then miss sallie flushed. for she was so accustomed to telling her girls what they ought to do that she forgot it was no longer her privilege to advise bab and mollie when they were in their mother's house. bab insisted on running out to their little stable to see if her beloved horse, "beauty," were safe and sound. and, of course, ruth and mollie went with her. but not long afterwards, the three girls retired to their room to talk until they fell asleep, too worn out for further conversation. "i am not tired, mrs. thurston, are you?" mr. stuart asked. "if you don't mind, won't you sit and talk to me for a little while before this cozy open fire? we never have a chance to say much to each other before our talkative daughters. how charming the little cottage looks to-night! it is like a second home." mrs. thurston smiled happily. "it makes me very happy to have you and ruth feel so. i hope you will always feel at home here. i wish i could do something in return for all the kindness you have shown to my two little girls." mr. stuart did not reply at once. he seemed to be thinking so deeply that mrs. thurston did not like to go on talking. "mrs. thurston," mr. stuart spoke slowly, "why would you not come to my house in chicago to make us a visit when i asked you, nearly a year ago?" mrs. thurston hesitated. "i told you my reasons then, mr. stuart. it was quite impossible. but it has been so long i have almost forgotten why i had to refuse." "it was after our trip in the private car with our friends, the fall before, you remember, mrs. thurston. but i know why you would not come to my home," mr. stuart answered, smiling. "you were willing to accept my hospitality for your daughters, but you would not accept it for yourself. am i not right?" "yes," mrs. thurston faltered. "i thought it would not be best." "i am sorry," mr. stuart said sadly. "because i want to do a great deal more than ask you to come to visit me in chicago. i wish you to come to live there as my wife." mrs. thurston's reply was so low it could hardly be heard. but mr. stuart evidently understood it and found it satisfactory. a few moments later mrs. thurston murmured, "i don't believe that ruth and your sister sallie will be pleased." "ruth will be the happiest girl in the world!" mr. stuart retorted. "poor child, she has longed for sisters all her life. now she is going to have the two she loves best in the world. as for sallie--." here mr. stuart hesitated. he thought miss sallie did not dream of his affection for the little widow, and he was not at all sure how she would receive the news. "as for sallie," he continued stoutly, "i am sure sallie wishes my happiness more than anything else and she will be glad when she hears that i can find it only through you." mrs. thurston shook her head. "i can only consent to our marriage," she returned, "if my girls and yours are really happy in our choice and if your sister is willing to give us her blessing." * * * * * "oh, aunt sallie, dear, please are you awake?" ruth cried at half-past seven the next morning, tapping gently on miss stuart's door. ruth had been awakened by her father at a little after six that morning and carried off to his bedroom in her dressing-gown, to sit curled up on her father's bed, while he made his confession to her. ruth had listened silently at first with her head turned away. once her father thought she was crying. but when she turned toward him her eyes were shining with happy tears. ruth never thought of being jealous, or that her adored father would love her any less. she only thought, first, of his happiness and next of her own. mr. stuart would not let ruth go until, with her arms about his neck and her cheek pressed to his, she begged him to let her be the messenger to barbara, mollie and aunt sallie. "you will be careful when you break the news to your aunt," mr. stuart entreated. "i should have given her some warning in regard to my feelings for mrs. thurston. i fear the news will be an entire surprise to her." ruth wondered what she should say first. "come in, dear," miss sallie answered placidly in reply to ruth's knock. miss stuart was sitting up in bed with a pale lavender silk dressing sacque over her lace and muslin gown. "i suppose," miss sallie continued calmly, "that you have come to tell me that your father is going to marry mrs. thurston." "aunt sallie," gasped ruth, "are you a wizard?" "no," said miss stuart, "i am a woman. why, child, i have seen this thing coming ever since we first left robert stuart here in kingsbridge when i took you girls off to newport. are you pleased, child?" miss sallie inquired, a little wistfully. "gladder than anything, if you are, aunt sallie," ruth replied. "but father told me to come to ask you how you felt. he says mrs. thurston won't marry him unless we all consent." "nonsense!" returned miss stuart in her accustomed fashion. "of course i am glad to have robert happy. mrs. thurston is a dear little woman. only," dignified miss sallie choked with a tiny sob in her voice, "i can't give you up, ruth, dear." and miss stuart and her beloved niece shed a few comfortable tears in each other's arms. "i never, never will care for any one as i do for you, aunt sallie," ruth protested. "and aren't you chaperon extraordinary and ministering angel plentipotentiary to the 'automobile girls'? the other girls care for you almost as much as i do. i wonder if mrs. thurston has told bab and mollie. do you think they will be glad to have me for a sister?" "fix my hair, ruth, and don't be absurd," miss sallie rejoined, returning to her former severe manner, which no longer alarmed any one of the "automobile girls." "it is wonderful to me how i have learned to do without a maid while i have been traveling about the world with you children." the winter sunshine poured into the breakfast room of laurel cottage. the canary sang rapturously in his golden cage. he rejoiced at the sound of voices and the cheerful sounds in the house. bab and mollie were helping to set the breakfast table, when ruth joined them. neither girl said anything except to ask ruth why she had slipped out of their room so early. ruth's heart sank. after all, then, barbara and mollie were not pleased. they did not care for her enough to be happy in this closer bond between them. mrs. thurston kissed ruth shyly, but she made no mention of anything unusual. and when mr. stuart came in to breakfast he looked as embarrassed and uncomfortable as a boy. there was a constraint over the little party at breakfast that had not been there the night before. unexpectedly the door opened. into the room came grace carter with a big bunch of white roses in her hand. "i just had to come early," she declared simply. "i wanted to find out." grace thrust the flowers upon mrs. thurston. "come here to me, grace," miss sallie commanded. "you are a girl after my own heart. robert, mrs. thurston, i congratulate you and i wish you joy with my whole heart." barbara and mollie gazed at each other in stupefied silence. what did it all mean? mrs. thurston blushed like a girl over her roses. "miss stuart, i never dreamed you could have heard so soon. i have not yet told barbara and mollie." "told us what?" bab demanded in her emphatic fashion. then ruth's heart was light again. but bab did not wait to be answered. she suddenly guessed the truth. now she knew why ruth's manner had changed so quickly a short time before. she ran round the table, upsetting her chair in her rush. and before she said a word either to her mother or to mr. stuart, she flung her arms about ruth and whispered: "our wish has come true, ruth, darling! we are sisters as well as best friends." then bab congratulated her mother and mr. stuart in a much more dignified fashion. "when is it to be, father?" ruth queried. mr. stuart looked at mrs. thurston. "in the spring," she faltered. "then we will all go away together and have a happy summer, somewhere," mr. stuart asserted, smiling on the faces of his dear ones. "we shall do no such thing, robert stuart," miss sallie interposed firmly. "you shall have your honeymoon alone. i intend to take my 'automobile girls' some place where we have never been before. will you go with me, children?" "yes," chorused the four girls. "aunt sallie and the 'automobile girls' forever."