The Crisis — Complete

by Winston Churchill

  CHAPTER I. INTRODUCING A CAPITALIST

  A cordon of blue regiments surrounded the city at first from Carondeletto North St. Louis, like an open fan. The crowds liked best to go toCompton Heights, where the tents of the German citizen-soldiers werespread out like so many slices of white cake on the green beside thecity's reservoir. Thence the eye stretched across the town, catching thedome of the Court House and the spire of St. John's. Away to the west,on the line of the Pacific railroad that led halfway across the state,was another camp. Then another, and another, on the circle of the fan,until the river was reached to the northward, far above the bend. Withinwas a peace that passed understanding,--the peace of martial law.

  Without the city, in the great state beyond, an irate governor hadgathered his forces from the east and from the west. Letters came andwent between Jefferson City and Jefferson Davis, their purport beingthat the Governor was to work out his own salvation, for a whileat least. Young men of St. Louis, struck in a night by the fever ofmilitarism, arose and went to Glencoe. Prying sergeants and commissionedofficers, mostly of hated German extraction, thundered at the doorof Colonel Carvel's house, and other houses, there--for Glencoe wasa border town. They searched the place more than once from garret tocellar, muttered guttural oaths, and smelled of beer and sauerkraut, Thehaughty appearance of Miss Carvel did not awe them--they were blindto all manly sensations. The Colonel's house, alas, was one of many inGlencoe written down in red ink in a book at headquarters as a placetoward which the feet of the young men strayed. Good evidence washanded in time and time again that the young men had come and gone, andred-faced commanding officers cursed indignant subalterns, and impliedthat Beauty had had a hand in it. Councils of war were held over theadvisability of seizing Mr. Carvel's house at Glencoe, but proof waslacking until one rainy night in June a captain and ten men spurred upthe drive and swung into a big circle around the house. The Captaintook off his cavalry gauntlet and knocked at the door, more gently thanusual. Miss Virginia was home so Jackson said. The Captain was given anaudience more formal than one with the queen of Prussia could have been,Miss Carvel was infinitely more haughty than her Majesty. Was not theCaptain hired to do a degrading service? Indeed, he thought so as hefollowed her about the house and he felt like the lowest of criminalsas he opened a closet door or looked under a bed. He was a beast of thefield, of the mire. How Virginia shrank from him if he had occasion topass her! Her gown would have been defiled by his touch. And yet theCaptain did not smell of beer, nor of sauerkraut; nor did he swear inany language. He did his duty apologetically, but he did it. He pulleda man (aged seventeen) out from under a great hoop skirt in a littlecloset, and the man had a pistol that refused its duty when snapped inthe Captain's face. This was little Spencer Catherwood, just home from amilitary academy.

  Spencer was taken through the rain by the chagrined Captain to theheadquarters, where he caused a little embarrassment. No damningevidence was discovered on his person, for the pistol had long sinceceased to be a firearm. And so after a stiff lecture from the Colonelhe was finally given back into the custody of his father. Despite thepickets, the young men filtered through daily,--or rather nightly.Presently some of them began to come back, gaunt and worn and tattered,among the grim cargoes that were landed by the thousands and tens ofthousands on the levee. And they took them (oh, the pity of it!) theytook them to Mr. Lynch's slave pen, turned into a Union prison ofdetention, where their fathers and grandfathers had been wont to sendtheir disorderly and insubordinate niggers. They were packed away, asthe miserable slaves had been, to taste something of the bitternessof the negro's lot. So came Bert Russell to welter in a low room whosewalls gave out the stench of years. How you cooked for them, and schemedfor them, and cried for them, you devoted women of the South! You spentthe long hot summer in town, and every day you went with your basketsto Gratiot Street, where the infected old house stands, until--until onemorning a lady walked out past the guard, and down the street. She wascivilly detained at the corner, because she wore army boots. After thatpermits were issued. If you were a young lady of the proper principlesin those days, you climbed a steep pair of stairs in the heat, and stoodin line until it became your turn to be catechised by an indifferentyoung officer in blue who sat behind a table and smoked a horrid cigar.He had little time to be courteous. He was not to be dazzled by a brightgown or a pretty face; he was indifferent to a smile which would havewon a savage. His duty was to look down into your heart, and extracttherefrom the nefarious scheme you had made to set free the man youloved ere he could be sent north to Alton or Columbus. My dear, youwish to rescue him, to disguise him, send him south by way of ColonelCarvel's house at Glencoe. Then he will be killed. At least, he willhave died for the South.

  First politics, and then war, and then more politics, in this ourcountry. Your masterful politician obtains a regiment, and goes to war,sword in hand. He fights well, but he is still the politician. Itwas not a case merely of fighting for the Union, but first of gettingpermission to fight. Camp Jackson taken, and the prisoners exchangedsouth, Captain Lyon; who moved like a whirlwind, who loved the Unionbeyond his own life, was thrust down again. A mutual agreement wasentered into between the Governor and the old Indian fighter in commandof the Western Department, to respect each other. A trick for theRebels. How Lyon chafed, and paced the Arsenal walks while he might havesaved the state. Then two gentlemen went to Washington, and the nextthing that happened was Brigadier General Lyon, Commander of theDepartment of the West.

  Would General Lyon confer with the Governor of Missouri? Yes, theGeneral would give the Governor a safe-conduct into St. Louis, buthis Excellency must come to the General. His Excellency came, and theGeneral deigned to go with the Union leader to the Planters House.Conference, five hours; result, a safe-conduct for the Governor back.And this is how General Lyon ended the talk. His words, generouslypreserved by a Confederate colonel who accompanied his Excellency,deserve to be writ in gold on the National Annals.

  "Rather than concede to the state of Missouri the right to demand thatmy Government shall not enlist troops within her limits, or bring troopsinto the state whenever it pleases; or move its troops at its own willinto, out of, or through, the state; rather than concede to the state ofMissouri for one single instant the right to dictate to my Government inany matter, however unimportant, I would" (rising and pointing in turnto every one in the room) "see you, and you, and you, and you, and everyman, woman, and child in this state, dead and buried." Then, turningto the Governor, he continued, "This means war. In an hour one of myofficers will call for you and conduct you out of my lines."

  And thus, without another word, without an inclination of the head, heturned upon his heel and strode out of the room, rattling his spurs andclanking his sabre.

  It did mean war. In less than two months that indomitable leader waslying dead beside Wilson's Creek, among the oaks on Bloody Hill. What hewould have been to this Union, had God spared him, we shall never know.He saved Missouri, and won respect and love from the brave men whofought against him.

  Those first fierce battles in the state! What prayers rose to heaven,and curses sank to hell, when the news of them came to the city bythe river! Flags were made by loving fingers, and shirts and bandages.Trembling young ladies of Union sympathies presented colors to regimentson the Arsenal Green, or at Jefferson Barracks, or at Camp Benton to thenorthwest near the Fair Grounds. And then the regiments marched throughthe streets with bands playing that march to which the words of theBattle Hymn were set, and those bright ensigns snapping at the front;bright now, and new, and crimson. But soon to be stained a darker red,and rent into tatters, and finally brought back and talked over andcried over, and tenderly laid above an inscription in a glass case, tobe revered by generations of Americans to confer What can stir thesoul more than the sight of those old flags, standing in ranks likethe veterans they are, whose duty has been nobly done? The blood of thecolor-sergeant is there, black now with age. But where are the tears ofthe sad women
who stitched the red and the white and the blue together?

  The regiments marched through the streets and aboard the boats, andpushed off before a levee of waving handkerchiefs and nags. Thenheart-breaking suspense. Later--much later, black headlines, and grimlists three columns long,--three columns of a blanket sheet! "The Cityof Alton has arrived with the following Union dead and wounded, andthe following Confederate wounded (prisoners)." Why does the type runtogether?

  In a never-ceasing procession they steamed up the river; those calmboats which had been wont to carry the white cargoes of Commerce nowbearing the red cargoes of war. And they bore away to new battlefieldsthousands of fresh-faced boys from Wisconsin and Michigan and Minnesota,gathered at Camp Benton. Some came back with their color gone and theirred cheeks sallow and bearded and sunken. Others came not back at all.

  Stephen Brice, with a pain over his heart and a lump in his throat,walked on the pavement beside his old company, but his look avoidedtheir faces. He wrung Richter's hand on the landing-stage. Richter wasnow a captain. The good German's eyes were filled as he said good-by.

  "You will come, too, my friend, when the country needs you," he said."Now" (and he shrugged his shoulders), "now have we many with no caresto go. I have not even a father--" And he turned to Judge Whipple, whowas standing by, holding out a bony hand.

  "God bless you, Carl," said the Judge And Carl could scarce believe hisears. He got aboard the boat, her decks already blue with troops, and asshe backed out with her whistle screaming, the last objects he saw werethe gaunt old man and the broad-shouldered young man side by side on theedge of the landing.

  Stephen's chest heaved, and as he walked back to the office with theJudge, he could not trust himself to speak. Back to the silent officewhere the shelves mocked them. The Judge closed the ground-glass doorbehind him, and Stephen sat until five o'clock over a book. No, it wasnot Whittlesey, but Hardee's "Tactics." He shut it with a slam, and wentto Verandah Hall to drill recruits on a dusty floor,--narrow-chestedcitizens in suspenders, who knew not the first motion in right aboutface. For Stephen was an adjutant in the Home Guards--what was left ofthem.

  One we know of regarded the going of the troops and the coming of thewounded with an equanimity truly philosophical. When the regimentspassed Carvel & Company on their way riverward to embark, Mr. Hopper didnot often take the trouble to rise from his chair, nor was he ever knownto go to the door to bid them Godspeed. This was all very well, becausethey were Union regiments. But Mr. Hopper did not contribute a horse,nor even a saddle-blanket, to the young men who went away secretly inthe night, without fathers or mothers or sisters to wave at them. Mr.Hopper had better use for his money.

  One scorching afternoon in July Colonel Carvel came into the office,too hurried to remark the pain in honest Ephum's face as he watched hismaster. The sure signs of a harassed man were on the Colonel. Since Mayhe had neglected his business affairs for others which he deemed public,and which were so mysterious that even Mr. Hopper could not get windof them. These matters had taken the Colonel out of town. But now thenecessity of a pass made that awkward, and he went no farther thanGlencoe, where he spent an occasional Sunday. Today Mr. Hopper rose fromhis chair when Mr. Carvel entered,--a most unprecedented action. TheColonel cleared his throat. Sitting down at his desk, he drummed upon ituneasily.

  "Mr. Hopper!" he said at length.

  Eliphalet crossed the room quickly, and something that was very near asmile was on his face. He sat down close to Mr. Carvel's chair witha semi-confidential air,--one wholly new, had the Colonel given it athought. He did not, but began to finger some printed slips of paperwhich had indorsements on their backs. His fine lips were tightlyclosed, as if in pain.

  "Mr. Hopper," he said, "these Eastern notes are due this week, are theynot?"

  "Yes, sir."

  The Colonel glanced up swiftly.

  "There is no use mincing matters, Hopper. You know as well as I thatthere is no money to pay them," said he, with a certain pompous attemptat severity which characterized his kind nature. "You have served mewell. You have brought this business up to a modern footing, and madeit as prosperous as any in the town. I am sorry, sir, that thosecontemptible Yankees should have forced us to the use of arms, and cutshort many promising business careers such as yours, sir. But we have toface the music. We have to suffer for our principles.

  "These notes cannot be met, Mr. Hopper." And the good gentleman lookedout of the window. He was thinking of a day, before the Mexican War,when his young wife had sat in the very chair filled by Mr. Hopper now."These notes cannot be met," he repeated, and his voice was near tobreaking.

  The flies droning in the hot office made the only sound. Outside thepartition, among the bales, was silence.

  "Colonel," said Mr. Hopper, with a remarkable ease, "I cal'late thesenotes can be met."

  The Colonel jumped as if he had heard a shot, and one of the notes fellto the floor. Eliphalet picked it up tenderly, and held it.

  "What do you mean, sir?" Mr. Carvel cried. "There isn't a bank in townthat will lend me money. I--I haven't a friend--a friend I may ask whocan spare it, sir."

  Mr. Hopper lifted up his hand. It was a fat hand. Suavity was come uponit like a new glove and changed the man. He was no longer cringing. Nowhe had poise, such poise as we in these days are accustomed to see inleather and mahogany offices. The Colonel glared at him uncomfortably.

  "I will take up those notes myself, sir."

  "You!" cried the Colonel, incredulously, "You?"

  We must do Eliphalet justice. There was not a deal of hypocrisy in hisnature, and now he did not attempt the part of Samaritan. He did notbeam upon the Colonel and remind him of the day on which, homeless andfriendless, he had been frightened into his store by a drove of mules.No. But his day,--the day toward which he had striven unknown andunnoticed for so many years--the day when he would laugh at the pride ofthose who had ignored and insulted him, was dawning at last. When weare thoughtless of our words, we do not reckon with that spark in littlebosoms that may burst into flame and burn us. Not that Colonel Carvelhad ever been aught but courteous and kind to all. His station in lifehad been his offence to Eliphalet, who strove now to hide an exultationthat made him tremble.

  "What do you mean, sir?" demanded the Colonel, again.

  "I cal'late that I can gather together enough to meet the notes,Colonel. Just a little friendly transaction." Here followed an intervalof sheer astonishment to Mr. Carvel.

  "You have this money?" he said at length. Mr. Hopper nodded.

  "And you will take my note for the amount?"

  "Yes, sir."

  The Colonel pulled his goatee, and sat back in his chair, trying to facethe new light in which he saw his manager. He knew well enough that theman was not doing this out of charity, or even gratitude. He reviewedhis whole career, from that first morning when he had carried bales tothe shipping room, to his replacement of Mr. Hood, and there was nothingwith which to accuse him. He remembered the warnings of Captain Ligeand Virginia. He could not in honor ask a cent from the Captain now. Hewould not ask his sister-in-law, Mrs. Colfax, to let him touch the moneyhe had so ably invested for her; that little which Virginia's mother hadleft the girl was sacred.

  Night after night Mr. Carvel had lain awake with the agony of thoseEastern debts. Not to pay was to tarnish the name of a Southerngentleman. He could not sell the business. His house would bring nothingin these times. He rose and began to pace the floor, tugging at hischin. Twice he paused to stare at Mr. Hopper, who sat calmly on, and thethird time stopped abruptly before him.

  "See here," he cried. "Where the devil did you get this money, sir?"

  Mr. Hopper did not rise.

  "I haven't been extravagant, Colonel, since I've worked for you,"he said. "It don't cost me much to live. I've been fortunate ininvestments."

  The furrows in the Colonel's brow deepened.

  "You offer to lend me five times more than I have ever paid you, Mr.Hopper. Tell me how you have
made this money before I accept it."

  Eliphalet had never been able to meet that eye since he had known it. Hedid not meet it now. But he went to his desk, and drew a long sheet ofpaper from a pigeonhole.

  "These be some of my investments," he answered, with just a tinge ofsurliness. "I cal'late they'll stand inspection. I ain't forcing you totake the money, sir," he flared up, all at once. "I'd like to save thebusiness."

  Mr. Carvel was disarmed. He went unsteadily to his desk, and none saveGod knew the shock that his pride received that day. To rescue a namewhich had stood untarnished since he had brought it into the world, hedrew forth some blank notes, and filled them out. But before he signedthem he spoke:

  "You are a business man, Mr. Hopper," said he, "And as a business manyou must know that these notes will not legally hold. It is martial law.The courts are abolished, and all transactions here in St. Louis areinvalid."

  Eliphalet was about to speak.

  "One moment, sir," cried the Colonel, standing up and towering to hisfull height. "Law or no law, you shall have the money and interest, oryour security, which is this business. I need not tell you, sir, that myword is sacred, and binding forever upon me and mine."

  "I'm not afraid, Colonel," answered Mr. Hopper, with a feeble attempt atgeniality. He was, in truth, awed at last.

  "You need not be, sir!" said the Colonel, with equal force. "If youwere--this instant you should leave this place." He sat down, andcontinued more calmly: "It will not be long before a Southern Armymarches into St. Louis, and the Yankee Government submits." He leanedforward. "Do you reckon we can hold the business together until then,Mr. Hopper?"

  God forbid that we should smile at the Colonel's simple faith. And ifEliphalet Hopper had done so, his history would have ended here.

  "Leave that to me, Colonel," he said soberly.

  Then came the reaction. The good Colonel sighed as he signed, away thatbusiness which had been an honor to the city where it was founded, Ithank heaven that we are not concerned with the details of their talkthat day. Why should we wish to know the rate of interest on thosenotes, or the time? It was war-time.

  Mr. Hopper filled out his check, and presently departed. It was thesignal for the little force which remained to leave. Outside, in thestore; Ephum paced uneasily, wondering why his master did not come out.Presently he crept to the door of the office, pushed it open, and beheldMr. Carvel with his head bowed, down in his hands.

  "Marse Comyn!" he cried, "Marse Comyn!"

  The Colonel looked up. His face was haggard.

  "Marse Comyn, you know what I done promise young MISS long time ago,befo'--befo' she done left us?"

  "Yes, Ephum."

  He saw the faithful old negro but dimly. Faintly he heard the pleadingvoice.

  "Marse Comyn, won' you give Ephum a pass down, river, ter fotch Cap'nLige?"

  "Ephum," said the Colonel, sadly, "I had a letter from the Captainyesterday. He is at Cairo. His boat is a Federal transport, and he is inYankee pay."

  Ephum took a step forward, appealingly, "But de Cap'n's yo' friend,Marse Comyn. He ain't never fo'get what you done fo' him, Marse Comyn.He ain't in de army, suh."

  "And I am the Captain's friend, Ephum," answered the Colonel, quietly."But I will not ask aid from any man employed by the Yankee Government.No--not from my own brother, who is in a Pennsylvania regiments."

  Ephum shuffled out, and his heart was lead as he closed the store thatnight.

  Mr. Hopper has boarded a Fifth Street car, which jangles on with manyhalts until it comes to Bremen, a German settlement in the north of thecity. At Bremen great droves of mules fill the street, and crowd theentrances of the sale stables there. Whips are cracking like pistolshots, Gentlemen with the yellow cavalry stripe of the United StatesArmy are pushing to and fro among the drivers and the owners, andfingering the frightened animals. A herd breaks from the confusionand is driven like a whirlwind down the street, dividing at the MarketHouse. They are going to board the Government transport--to die on thebattlefields of Kentucky and Missouri.

  Mr. Hopper alights from the car with complacency. He stands for awhile on a corner, against the hot building, surveying the busy scene,unnoticed. Mules! Was it not a prophecy,--that drove which sent him intoMr. Carvel's store?

  Presently a man with a gnawed yellow mustache and a shifty eye walks outof one of the offices, and perceives our friend.

  "Howdy, Mr. Hopper?" says he.

  Eliphalet extends a hand to be squeezed and returned. "Got themvouchers?" he asks. He is less careful of his English here.

  "Wal, I jest reckon," is the answer: The fellow was interrupted by theappearance of a smart young man in a smart uniform, who wore an air ofgenteel importance. He could not have been more than two and twenty, andhis face and manners were those of a clerk. The tan of field service waslacking on his cheek, and he was black under the eyes.

  "Hullo, Ford," he said, jocularly.

  "Howdy, Cap," retorted the other. "Wal, suh, that last lot was an extry,fo' sure. As clean a lot as ever I seed. Not a lump on 'em. Gov'mentain't cheated much on them there at one-eighty a head, I reckon."

  Mr. Ford said this with such an air of conviction and such a sober facethat the Captain smiled. And at the same time he glanced down nervouslyat the new line of buttons on his chest.

  "I guess I know a mule from a Newfoundland dog by this time," said he.

  "Wal, I jest reckon," asserted Mr. Ford, with a loud laugh. "Cap'nWentworth, allow me to make you acquainted with Mr. Hopper. Mr. Hopper,Cap'n Wentworth."

  The Captain squeezed Mr. Hoppers hand with fervor. "You interested inmules, Mr. Hopper?" asked the military man.

  "I don't cal'late to be," said. Mr. Hopper. Let us hope that our worthyhas not been presented as being wholly without a sense of humor. Hegrinned as he looked upon this lamb in the uniform of Mars, and added,"I'm just naturally patriotic, I guess. Cap'n, 'll you have a drink?"

  "And a segar," added Mr. Ford.

  "Just one," says the Captain. "It's d--d tiresome lookin' at mules allday in the sun."

  Well for Mr. Davitt that his mission work does not extend to Bremen,that the good man's charity keeps him at the improvised hospital downtown. Mr. Hopper has resigned the superintendency of his Sunday School,it is true, but he is still a pillar of the church.

  The young officer leans against the bar, and listens to stories byMr. Ford, which it behooves no church members to hear. He smokes Mr.Hopper's cigar and drinks his whiskey. And Eliphalet understands thatthe good Lord put some fools into the world in order to give the smartpeople a chance to practise their talents. Mr. Hopper neither drinks norsmokes, but he uses the spittoon with more freedom in this atmosphere.

  When at length the Captain has marched out, with a conscious but manlyair, Mr. Hopper turns to Ford--"Don't lose no time in presenting themvouchers at headquarters," says he. "Money is worth something now. Andthere's grumbling about this Department in the Eastern papers, If wehave an investigation, we'll whistle. How much to-day?"

  "Three thousand," says Mr. Ford. He tosses off a pony of Bourbon, buthis face is not a delight to look upon, "Hopper, you'll be a d--d richman some day."

  "I cal'late to."

  "I do the dirty work. And because I ain't got no capital, I only getfour per cent."

  "Don't one-twenty a day suit you?"

  "You get blasted near a thousand. And you've got horse contracts, andblanket contracts besides. I know you. What's to prevent my goin' southwhen the vouchers is cashed?" he cried. "Ain't it possible?"

  "I presume likely," said Mr. Hopper, quietly. "Then your mother'll haveto move out of her little place."