The Crisis — Complete

by Winston Churchill

  CHAPTER IX. SIGNS OF THE TIMES

  In that spring of 1860 the time was come for the South to make herfinal stand. And as the noise of gathering conventions shook the ground,Stephen Brice was not the only one who thought of the Question atFreeport. The hour was now at hand for it to bear fruit.

  Meanwhile, his hero, the hewer of rails and forger of homely speech,Abraham Lincoln, had made a little tour eastward the year before, andhad startled Cooper Union with a new logic and a new eloquence. Theywere the same logic and the same eloquence which had startled Stephen.

  Even as he predicted who had given it birth, the Question destroyed thegreat Democratic Party. Colonel Carvel travelled to the convention inhistoric Charleston soberly and fearing God, as many another Southerngentleman. In old Saint Michael's they knelt to pray for harmony, forpeace; for a front bold and undismayed toward those who wronged them.All through the week chosen orators wrestled in vain. Judge Douglas,you flattered yourself that you had evaded the Question. Do you seethe Southern delegates rising in their seats? Alabama leaves the hall,followed by her sister stakes. The South has not forgotten your FreeportHeresy. Once she loved you now she will have none of you.

  Gloomily, indeed, did Colonel Carvel return home. He loved the Union andthe flag for which his grandfather Richard had fought so bravely. Thatflag was his inheritance. So the Judge, laying his hand upon the kneeof his friend, reminded him gravely. But the Colonel shook his head. Thevery calmness of their argument had been portentous.

  "No, Whipple," said he. "You are a straightforward man. You can'tdisguise it. You of the North are bent upon taking away from us therights we had when our fathers framed the Constitution. However thenigger got to this country, sir, in your Bristol and Newport traders, aswell as in our Virginia and Maryland ships, he is here, and he was herewhen the Constitution was written. He is happier in slavery than areyour factory hands in New England; and he is no more fit to exercise thesolemn rights of citizenship, I say, than the halfbreeds in the SouthAmerican states."

  The Judge attempted to interrupt, but Mr. Carvel stopped him.

  "Suppose you deprive me of my few slaves, you do not ruin me. Yet youdo me as great a wrong as you do my friend Samuels, of Louisiana, whodepends on the labor of five hundred. Shall I stand by selfishly and seehim ruined, and thousands of others like him?"

  Profoundly depressed, Colonel Carvel did not attend the adjournedConvention at Baltimore, which split once more on Mason and Dixon'sline. The Democrats of the young Northwest stood for Douglas andJohnson, and the solid South, in another hall, nominated Breckenridgeand Lane. This, of course, became the Colonel's ticket.

  What a Babel of voices was raised that summer! Each with its curefor existing ills. Between the extremes of the Black RepublicanNegro Worshippers and the Southern Rights party of Breckenridge, yourconservative had the choice of two candidates,--of Judge Douglasor Senator Bell. A most respectable but practically extinct body ofgentlemen in ruffled shirts, the Old Line Whigs, had likewise metin Baltimore. A new name being necessary, they called themselvesConstitutional Unionists Senator Bell was their candidate, and theyproposed to give the Nation soothing-syrup. So said Judge Whipple,with a grunt of contempt, to Mr. Cluyme, who was then a prominentConstitutional Unionist. Other and most estimable gentlemen were alsoConstitutional Unionists, notably Mr. Calvin Brinsmade. Far be it fromany one to cast disrespect upon the reputable members of this party,whose broad wings sheltered likewise so many weak brethren.

  One Sunday evening in May, the Judge was taking tea with Mrs. Brice.The occasion was memorable for more than one event--which was that headdressed Stephen by his first name for the first time.

  "You're an admirer of Abraham Lincoln," he had said.

  Stephen, used to Mr. Whipple's ways, smiled quietly at his mother.He had never dared mention to the Judge his suspicions concerning hisjourney to Springfield and Freeport.

  "Stephen," said the Judge (here the surprise came in), "Stephen, what doyou think of Mr. Lincoln's chances for the Republican nomination?"

  "We hear of no name but Seward's, sir," said Stephen, When he hadrecovered.

  The Judge grunted.

  "Do you think that Lincoln would make a good President?" he added.

  "I have thought so, sir, ever since you were good enough to give me theopportunity of knowing him."

  It was a bold speech--the Judge drew his great eyebrows together, but hespoke to Mrs. Brice.

  "I'm not as strong as I was once, ma'am," said he. "And yet I am goingto that Chicago convention."

  Mrs. Brice remonstrated mildly, to the effect that he had done his shareof political work. He scarcely waited for her to finish.

  "I shall take a younger man with me, in case anything happens. In fact,ma'am, I had thought of taking your son, if you can spare him."

  And so it was that Stephen went to that most dramatic of politicalgatherings,--in the historic Wigwam. It was so that his eyes wereopened to the view of the monster which maims the vitality of theRepublic,--the political machine. Mr. Seward had brought his machinefrom New York,--a legion prepared to fill the Wigwam with their bodies,and to drown with their cries all names save that of their master.

  Stephen indeed had his eyes opened. Through the kindness of JudgeWhipple he heard many quiet talks between that gentleman and delegatesfrom other states--Pennsylvania and Illinois and Indiana and elsewhere.He perceived that the Judge was no nonentity in this new party.Mr. Whipple sat in his own room, and the delegates came and rangedthemselves along the bed. Late one night, when the delegates were gone,Stephen ventured to speak what was in his mind.

  "Mr. Lincoln did not strike me as the kind of man, sir; who would permita bargain."

  "Mr. Lincoln's at home playing barn-ball," said the Judge, curtly. "Hedoesn't expect the nomination."

  "Then," said Stephen, rather hotly, "I think you are unfair to him."

  You are expecting the Judge to thunder. Sometimes he liked this kind ofspeech.

  "Stephen, I hope that politics may be a little cleaner when you becomea delegate," he answered, with just the suspicion of a smile. "Supposingyou are convinced that Abraham Lincoln is the only man who can save theUnion, and supposing that the one way to get him nominated is to meetSeward's gang with their own methods, what would you do, sir? I wanta practical proposition, sir," said Mr. Whipple, "one that we can useto-night. It is now one 'clock."

  As Stephen was silent, the Judge advised him to go to bed. And the nextmorning, while Mr. Seward's henchmen, confident and uproarious, wereparading the streets of Chicago with their bands and their bunting, thevast Wigwam was quietly filling up with bony Westerners whose ally wasnone other than the state of Pennsylvania. These gentlemen possessedwind which they had not wasted in processions. And the Lord deliveredSeward and all that was his into their hands.

  How the light of Mr. Seward's hope went out after the first ballot,and how some of the gentlemen attached to his person wept; and how thevoices shook the Wigwam, and the thunder of the guns rolled over thetossing water of the lake, many now living remember. That day a name wasdelivered to the world through the mouths political schemers which wasdestined to enter history that of the saviour of the Nation.

  Down in little Springfield, on a vacant lot near the station, a tallman in his shirt sleeves was playing barn-ball with some boys. The gamefinished, he had put on his black coat and was starting homeward underthe tree--when a fleet youngster darted after him with a telegram. Thetall man read it, and continued on his walk his head bent and his feettaking long strides, Later in the day he was met by a friend.

  "Abe," said the friend, "I'm almighty glad there somebody in this town'sgot notorious at last."

  In the early morning of their return from Chicago Judge Whippleand Stephen were standing in the front of a ferry-boat crossing theMississippi. The sun was behind them. The Judge had taken off his hat,and his gray hair was stirred by the river breeze. Illness had seta yellow seal on the face, but the younger man remarked it not. ForStephen,
staring at the black blur of the city outline, was filledwith a strange exaltation which might have belonged to his Puritanforefathers. Now at length was come his chance to be of use in life,--todedicate the labor of his hands and of his brains to Abraham Lincolnuncouth prophet of the West. With all his might he would work to savethe city for the man who was the hope of the Union.

  The bell rang. The great paddles scattered the brow waters with whitefoam, and the Judge voiced his thoughts.

  "Stephen," said he, "I guess we'll have to put on shoulders to the wheelthis summer. If Lincoln is not elected I have lived my sixty-five yearsfor nothing."

  As he descended the plank, he laid a hand on Stephen's arm, andtottered. The big Louisiana, Captain Brent's boat, just in from NewOrleans, was blowing off her steam as with slow steps they climbed thelevee and the steep pitch of the street beyond it. The clatter of hoovesand the crack of whips reached their ears, and, like many others beforethem and since, they stepped into Carvel & Company's. On the inside ofthe glass partition of the private office, a voice of great suavity washeard. It was Eliphalet Hopper's.

  "If you will give me the numbers of the bales, Captain Brent, I'll senda dray down to your boat and get them."

  It was a very decisive voice that answered.

  "No, sir, I prefer to do business with my friend, Colonel Carvel. Iguess I can wait."

  "I could sell the goods to Texas buyers who are here in the store rightnow."

  "Until I get instructions from one of the concern," vowed Captain Lige,"I shall do as I always have done, sir. What is your position here, Mr.Hopper?"

  "I am manager, I callate."

  The Captain's fist was heard to come down on the desk.

  "You don't manage me," he said, "and I reckon you don't manage theColonel."

  Mr. Hopper's face was not pleasant to see as he emerged. But at sight ofJudge Whipple on the steps his suavity returned.

  "The Colonel will be in any minute, sir," said he.

  But the Judge walked past him without reply, and into the office.Captain Brent, seeing him; sprang to his feet.

  "Well, well, Judge," said he, heartily, "you fellows have done it now,sure. I'll say this for you, you've picked a smart man."

  "Better vote for him, Lige," said the Judge, setting down.

  The Captain smiled at Stephen.

  "A man's got a lot of choice this year;" said he. "Two governments,thirty-three governments, one government patched up for a year ox two."

  "Or no government," finished the Judge. "Lige, you're not such a fool asto vote against the Union?"

  "Judge," said the Captain, instantly, "I'm not the only one in this townwho will have to decide whether my sympathies are wrong. My sympathiesare with the South."

  "It's not a question of sympathy, Captain," answered the Judge, dryly."Abraham Lincoln himself was born in Kentucky."

  They had not heard a step without.

  "Gentlemen, mark my words. If Abraham Lincoln is elected, the Southleaves this Union."

  The Judge started, and looked up. The speaker was Colonel Carvelhimself.

  "Then, sir," Mr. Whipple cried hotly, "then you will be chastisedand brought back. For at last we have chosen a man who is strongenough,--who does not fear your fire-eaters,--whose electors depend onNorthern votes alone."

  Stephen rose apprehensively, So did Captain Lige The Colonel had taken astep forward, and a fire was quick to kindle in his gray eyes. It wasas quick to die. Judge Whipple, deathly pale, staggered and fell intoStephen' arms. But it was the Colonel who laid him on the horsehairsofa.

  "Silas!" he said, "Silas!"

  Nor could the two who listened sound the depth of the pathos the Colonelput into those two words.

  But the Judge had not fainted. And the brusqueness in his weakened voicewas even more pathetic-- "Tut, tut," said he. "A little heat, and nobreakfast."

  The Colonel already had a bottle of the famous Bourbon day his hand,and Captain Lige brought a glass of muddy iced water. Mr. Carvel made aninjudicious mixture of the two, and held it to the lips of his friend.He was pushed away.

  "Come, Silas," he said.

  "No!" cried the Judge, and with this effort he slipped back again. Thosewho stood there thought that the stamp of death was already on JudgeWhipple's face.

  But the lips were firmly closed, bidding defiance, as ever, to theworld. The Colonel, stroking his goatee, regarded him curiously.

  "Silas," he said slowly, "if you won't drink it for me, perhaps you willdrink it--for--Abraham--Lincoln."

  The two who watched that scene have never forgotten it. Outside, in thegreat cool store, the rattle of the trucks was heard, and Mr. Hoppergiving commands. Within was silence. The straight figure of the Coloneltowered above the sofa while he waited. A full minute passed. Once JudgeWhipple's bony hand opened and shut, and once his features worked. Then,without warning, he sat up.

  "Colonel," said he, "I reckon I wouldn't be much use to Abe if I tookthat. But if you'll send Ephum after, cup of coffee--"

  Mr. Carvel set the glass down. In two strides he had reached the doorand given the order. Then he came hack and seated himself on the sofa.

  Stephen found his mother at breakfast. He had forgotten the conventionHe told her what had happened at Mr. Carvel's store, and how the Colonelhad tried to persuade Judge Whipple to take the Glencoe house while hewas in Europe, and how the Judge had refused. Tears were in the widow'seyes when Stephen finished.

  "And he means to stay here in the heat and go through, the campaign?"she asked.

  "He says that he will not stir."

  "It will kill him, Stephen," Mrs. Brice faltered.

  "So the Colonel told him. And he said that he would die willingly--afterAbraham Lincoln was elected. He had nothing to live for but to fight forthat. He had never understood the world, and had quarrelled with at allhis life."

  "He said that to Colonel Carvel?"

  "Yes."

  "Stephen!"

  He didn't dare to look at his mother, nor she at him. And when hereached the office, half an hour later, Mr. Whipple was seated in hischair, defiant and unapproachable. Stephen sighed as he settled down tohis work. The thought of one who might have accomplished what her fathercould not was in his head. She was at Monticello.

  Some three weeks later Mr. Brinsmade's buggy drew up at Mrs. Brice'sdoor. The Brinsmade family had been for some time in the country. Andfrequently, when that gentleman was detained in town by business, hewould stop at the little home for tea. The secret of the good man'svisit came out as he sat with them on the front steps afterward.

  "I fear that it will be a hot summer, ma'am," he had said to Mrs. Brice."You should go to the country."

  "The heat agrees with me remarkably, Mr. Brinsmade," said the lady,smiling.

  "I have heard that Colonel Carvel wishes to rent his house at Glencoe,"Mr. Brinsmade continued, "The figure is not high." He mentioned it. Andit was, indeed nominal. "It struck me that a change of air would do yougood, Mrs. Brice, and Stephen. Knowing that you shared in our uneasinessconcerning Judge Whipple, I thought--"

  He stopped, and looked at her. It was a hard task even for that bestand roost tactful of gentlemen, Mr. Brinsmade. He too had misjudged thiscalm woman.

  "I understand you, Mr. Brinsmade," she said. She saw, as did Stephen,the kindness behind the offer--Colonel Carvel's kindness and his own.The gentleman's benevolent face brightened:

  "And, my dear Madam, do not let the thought of this little house troubleyou. It was never my expectation to have it occupied in the summer. Ifwe could induce the Judge to go to Glencoe with you for the summer; I amsure it would be a relief for us all."

  He did not press the matter; but begged Stephen to call on him in a dayor two, at the bank.

  "What do you think, Stephen," asked his mother, when Mr. Brinsmade wasgone, Stephen did not reply at once. What, indeed, could he say? Thevision of that proud figure of Miss Virginia was before him, and herevolted. What was kindness from Colonel Carvel and Mr. Brinsmad
e wascharity from her. He could not bear the thought of living in a househaunted by her. And yet why should he let his pride and his feelingsstand in the way of the health--perhaps of the life--of Judge Whipple?

  It was characteristic of his mothers strength of mind not to mention thesubject again that evening. Stephen did not sleep in the hot night. Butwhen he rose in the morning he had made up his mind. After breakfast hewent straight to the Colonel's store, and fortunately found. Mr. Carvelat his desk, winding up his affairs.

  The next morning, when the train for the East pulled out ofIllinoistown, Miss Jinny Carvel stood on the plat form tearfully wavinggood-by to a knot of friends. She was leaving for Europe. Presently shewent into the sleeping-car to join the Colonel, who wore a gray linersduster. For a long time she sat gazing at the young, corn waving onthe prairie, fingering the bunch of June roses on her lap. Clarence hadpicked them only a few hours ago, in the dew at Bellegarde. She saw hercousin standing disconsolate under the train sheds, just as she had lefthim. She pictured him riding out the Bellefontaine Road that afternoon,alone. Now that the ocean was to be between them, was it love that shefelt for Clarence at last? She glanced at her father. Once or twice shehad suspected him of wishing to separate them. Her Aunt Lillian, indeed,had said as much, and Virginia had silenced her. But when she had askedthe Colonel to take Clarence to Europe, he had refused. And yet she knewthat he had begged Captain Lige to go.

  Virginia had been at home but a week. She had seen the change inClarence and exulted. The very first day she had surprised him on theporch at Bellegarde with "Hardee's tactics". From a boy Clarence hadsuddenly become a man with a Purpose,--and that was the Purpose of theSouth.

  "They have dared to nominate that dirty Lincoln," he said.--"Do youthink that we will submit to nigger equality rule? Never! never!" hecried. "If they elect him, I will stand and fight them until my legsare shot from under me, and then I will shoot down the Yankees from theground."

  Virginia's heart had leaped within her at the words, and into her eyeshad flashed once more the look for which the boy had waited and hoped invain. He had the carriage of a soldier, the animation and enduranceof the thoroughbred when roused. He was of the stuff that made theresistance of the South the marvel of the world. And well we know,whatever the sound of it, that his speech was not heroics. Nor was itlove for his cousin that inspired it, save in this: he had apotheosizedVirginia. To him she was the inspired goddess of the South--his country.His admiration and affection had of late been laid upon an altar. Herambition for him he felt was likewise the South's ambition for him.

  His mother, Virginia's aunt, felt this too, and strove against it withher feeble might. She never had had power over her son; nor over anyman, save the temporal power of beauty. And to her mortification shefound herself actually in fear of this girl who might have been herdaughter. So in Virginia's presence she became more trivial and pettythan ever. It was her one defence.

  It had of course been a foregone conclusion that Clarence should joinCompany A. Few young men of family did not. And now he ran to his roomto don for Virginia that glorious but useless full dress,--the highbearskin rat, the red pigeon-tailed coat, the light blue trousers, andthe gorgeous, priceless shackle. Indeed, the boy looked stunning. Heheld his big rifle like a veteran, and his face was set with a highresolve there was no mistaking. The high color of her pride was on thecheek of the girl as he brought his piece to the salute of her, hismistress. And yet, when he was gone, and she sat alone amid the rosesawaiting him, came wilfully before her another face that was relentlessdetermination,--the face of Stephen Brice, as he had stood before herin the summer house at Glencoe. Strive as she might against the thought,deny it to herself and others, to Virginia Carvel his way become theface of the North. Her patriotism and all that was in her of racerebelled. To conquer that face she would have given her own soul, andClarence's. Angrily she had arisen and paced the garden walks, and criedout aloud that it was not inflexible.

  And now, by the car window, looking out over the endless roll of theprairie, the memory of this was bitter within her.

  Suddenly she turned to her father.

  "Did you rent our house at Glencoe?" she asked.

  "No, Jinny."

  "I suppose Mr. Brice was too proud to accept it at your charitable rent,even to save Mr. Whipple's life."

  The Colonel turned to his daughter in mild surprise. She was leaningback on the seat, her eyes half closed.

  "Once you dislike a person, Jinny, you never get over it. I always hada fancy for the young man, and now I have a better opinion of him thanever before. It was I who insulted them by naming that rent."

  "What did he do?" Virginia demanded.

  "He came to my office yesterday morning. 'Colonel Carvel,' said he,'I hear you wish to rent your house.' I said yes. 'You rented it oncebefore, sir,' said he. 'Yes,' said I. 'May I ask you what price you gotfor it?' said he."

  "And what did you say?" she asked, leaning forward.

  "I told him," said the Colonel, smiling. "But I explained that I couldnot expect to command that price now on short notice. He replied thatthey would pay it, or not consider the place."

  Virginia turned her head away and stared out over the fields.

  "How could they afford it!" she murmured.

  "Mr. Brinsmade tells me that young Brice won rather a remarkable caselast winter, and since then has had some practice. And that he writesfor the newspapers. I believe he declined some sort of an editorialposition, preferring to remain at the law."

  "And so they are going into the house?" she asked presently.

  "No," said the Colonel. "Whipple refused point-blank to go to thecountry. He said that he would be shirking the only work of his lifelikely to be worth anything. So the Brices remain in town."

  Colonel Carvel sighed. But Virginia said nothing.