North and South

by John Jakes

  Traveling home with the family, Billy got his first ride on the Lehigh line, which now served the upper reaches of the valley, including Lehigh Station. When the Hazards left the train, the baggage master complimented George on his brother’s appearance.

  “You’re right, he does make a good soldier. He’s dashing enough to make me miss the Army. Almost,” George added with a smile.

  “I wish Brett could have come up for June week,” Billy said.

  George studied the tip of his cigar. “Do the two of you have plans to discuss?”

  “Not yet, but I expect we will. I need to talk to someone about that.”

  “Will an older brother do?”

  “I was hoping you’d offer.”

  “Tonight, then,” George said, taking note of Billy’s serious expression.

  After supper Billy went upstairs to put on mufti. George kissed the children and hurried to his desk, where he eagerly opened a letter that had arrived during his absence; it bore a mailing address in Eddyville, Kentucky.

  Some months before, he had heard about a Pittsburgh man, William Kelly, who operated a furnace and finery in Eddyville. Kelly claimed to have found a fast, efficient way to burn silicon, phosphorus, and other elements out of pig iron, thereby sharply reducing its carbon content. What Kelly termed his pneumatic process produced a very acceptable soft steel, he said.

  Beset by creditors and jeered at by competitors who called his process “air-boiling,” Kelly continued to perfect the heart of the process, his converter, at a secret location in the Kentucky woods. George had written to propose that he travel to Eddyville and inspect the converter. He had also said that if he liked what he saw, he would finance Kelly’s work in return for a partial interest.

  George’s face fell when he read the reply. True enough, Kelly could use the money to stave off his creditors. But he didn’t want to show his converter to anyone until he was satisfied with the design and had applied for a patent. The man’s suspicion was well founded. Some in the iron trade would say or do almost anything to learn the details of a successful process, then cheerfully pirate it if it was unprotected. Still, Kelly’s answer left George disappointed, and it was in this frame of mind that he went to the front porch to meet his brother.

  Billy was not there yet. George sank into a rocker. Down on the near shore of the river, a freight train was traveling up the valley, shooting puffs of smoke from its stack. The smoke turned scarlet in the sundown, then quickly dispersed.

  Amazing, all the changes he had seen in thirty-one years. He had grown up with the canal boats, and now they were gone. Trains and the rails that carried them were the symbols of the new age.

  Railroads were playing a role in affairs in Washington, too. Slavery, and the ultimate fate of Kansas and Nebraska, were inextricably bound up with a forthcoming decision on a route for a transcontinental line. Secretary Davis wanted a southern route, through slaveholding states. Senator Douglas favored a northern route, with one terminus in Chicago. It was no secret that Douglas had speculated in Western land. His enemies openly accused him of introducing the Kansas-Nebraska bill to stimulate settlement, which would in turn attract railroad development and increase the value of his holdings.

  No motives were pure anymore, George thought as he watched the sinking sun burnish the low peaks beyond the river. No man seemed capable of dealing with all the problems and passions of a world grown complex and cynical. There were no statesmen, only politicians.

  Or did he merely think that because he was getting old? At thirty-one, he had already lived three-fourths of an average lifetime. The knowledge weighed on his mind. He mused that a man’s hopes, dreams, time upon the earth, disappeared almost as quickly as those puffs of smoke from the freight locomotive.

  He heard Billy’s tread on the stair and pulled himself together. His younger brother looked to him for advice—wisdom—never realizing that older people were almost as uncertain of everything as Billy was, if not more. George did his best to hide the fact. He was rocking and contentedly puffing a cigar when Billy appeared.

  “Shall we. take a walk up the hill?” George asked.

  Billy nodded. They left the porch, strolled toward the rear of the house, and soon passed the stable and woodshed, reaching an open, level area where mountain laurel grew from crevices in the rock. Above, on the slope, more laurel had taken root and flourished. Hundreds of white blossoms moved in the evening wind, and there was a faint sound of pointed leaves clashing.

  George started toward the summit, considerably higher than the loftiest point of Belvedere. The path was difficult to find, but he remembered its starting point and was soon laboring upward with the laurel blowing and tossing around his legs. The climb winded him, but not Billy.

  On the rounded summit, a few stunted laurel bushes survived. They reminded George of his mother’s mystical feeling for the hardy shrub and the way she equated it with family and with love.

  Below, the panorama of the houses, the town, and the ironworks spread in perfect clarity. Billy admired the view for a moment, then reached into his pocket and handed his brother something in a cheap white-metal frame.

  “I’ve been meaning to show you this.”

  George tilted the photograph to catch the last light. “Good Lord. That’s you and Charles. Neither of you looks sober.”

  Billy grinned and returned the photograph to his pocket. “We posed for it right after a trip to Benny’s,” he said.

  “When did photography reach West Point?”

  “They started class pictures a year ago. Charles and I wanted one of the two of us.”

  George gave a kind of grudging laugh, then shook his head. “Cooper Main’s right. We live in a miraculous age.”

  Billy lost his relaxed air. “I wish a few miracles would drift down to South Carolina. I don’t think Orry wants me to marry Brett.”

  “Is that what you wanted to talk about?” When Billy nodded, he went on, “Have you spoken to Orry or written him about your intentions?”

  “No, and I won’t for a year or so. Not until I’m positive I can support a wife.”

  What a careful, deliberate sort he is, George thought. He’d make a fine engineer.

  Billy continued: “Brett’s dropped a few hints to him, though. We both get the feeling he doesn’t favor the match. I guess he doesn’t like me.”

  “That’s not it at all. You and Brett come from different backgrounds, from parts of the country growing more hostile to each other every hour. I’ll bet Orry’s worried about the sort of future you two would have. I admit I share that worry.”

  “Then what can I do?”

  “Follow the same advice Mother gave me when people said I shouldn’t marry a Catholic and bring her to Lehigh Station. She told me to heed my own feelings, not the bigotry or the misguided opinions of others. She said love would always win out over hatred. She said it had to, if human beings were to survive. Orry doesn’t hate you, but he may be doubtful of your prospects.” A flickering smile. “Stand fast, Lieutenant. Don’t surrender your position, and in the end I expect Orry will give in.”

  “What if it takes a while?”

  “What if it does? Do you want Brett or not?” Suddenly George leaned forward. He snapped off a sprig of laurel and held it up in the faint light. “You know Mother’s feeling for this plant. She says it’s one of the few things that outlasts its natural enemies and endures.” He handed Billy the sprig of white and green. “Take a lesson from that. Let your feelings for Brett be stronger than all the doubts of others. You must outlast Orry. When you feel hope ebbing away, think of the laurel growing up here in the sun and storm. Hanging on. It’s the best advice I can offer you.”

  Billy studied the leaves and the blossom for a moment. He wanted to smile but somehow could not. His voice was heavy with emotion.

  “Thank you. I’ll take it.” He put the sprig in his pocket.

  All the light had left the sky. Stars by the thousand spread overhead. Presently, l
aughing and chatting companionably, the brothers started down the path. They disappeared in the darkness on the slope, where the laurel still tossed with a sound like that of a murmuring sea.

  41

  OLD POLITICAL LOYALTIES CONTINUED to crumble away that autumn. Buck Buchanan finally got the chance to run for President on the Democratic ticket. Cameron, although still at odds with his old colleague, felt it might damage his carefully built machine if he joined the Republicans, as so many in the North and West were doing. So during the fall of 1856, he politicked under the banner of something called the Union party, while listening privately to proposals for an alliance. Republicans such as David Wilmot said they would support Cameron for a Senate seat if he threw in with them. Stanley worked loyally for Boss Cameron without knowing what the man stood for, other than what Stanley perceived as Cameron’s own self-interest.

  In South Carolina, Huntoon continued to proclaim his views from public platforms. He feared the rising power of the Republicans but was nearly as disenchanted with Buchanan, who purported to champion noninterference with slavery in the states and yet endorsed the Douglas doctrine in the territories. How could the South survive under either party? Huntoon asked in his speeches. It could not; secession was the only answer. Huntoon closed every address by raising his arm dramatically and offering a toast.

  “To the sword! The arbiter of national disputes. The sooner it is unsheathed to maintain Southern rights, the better!”

  The toast always produced loud applause and was widely quoted in the South Carolina press. The Mercury christened him Young Hotspur. Ashton was thrilled and deemed it a significant advance in her husband’s career. A man could tell that he had achieved fame when the public began referring to him as Old This or Young That.

  Up North, Hazard’s had recently been facing increased competition from the British iron industry. George placed the blame on the Democrats and their low-tariff politics and for this reason joined the Republican party. His decision had nothing to do with the party’s harder line on slavery, although he endorsed that. He voted for the Republican candidate, Fremont, who lost to Buchanan by about five hundred thousand votes. That was a very strong showing for a new party in its first presidential race.

  A few days after the election, Cooper showed up at Mont Royal with an engineering drawing tucked under his arm. When he unrolled it, Orry saw a plan and elevation for a cargo vessel. A decorative ribbon at the bottom enclosed the words Star of Carolina.

  “How big is that ship?” Orry asked in amazement.

  “Five hundred and fifty feet, stem to stern. That’s only a little smaller than the vessel my friend Brunel is building to carry coal and passengers out to Trincomalee in Ceylon. Her name’s Leviathan. She’s under construction on the Isle of Dogs in the Thames River right now. I’m leaving in two weeks with the family to take a look at her.”

  Orry tugged his beard in a reflective way. “You may be in need of another holiday in Britain, but I’m not sure the Mains need another ship.” He tapped the drawing. “You don’t really intend to build this monster—?”

  “I surely do. I propose to establish the Main Shipyard in Charleston, expressly for the purpose of launching the Star of Carolina as an American flag carrier.”

  Orry finished pouring two glasses of whiskey and handed one to his brother. “Is this why you’ve been holding the acreage on James Island?”

  Cooper smiled. “Precisely.”

  Orry tossed down half his whiskey, then said with some sarcasm, “I’m glad you have faith that this family can prosper while everyone else is going under. Unemployment’s rising—George says he fears a depression, maybe even another panic—but you want to build a cargo ship.”

  “The biggest in America.” Cooper nodded. His manner was cool and sure. He had learned how to deal with opposition from any source, including his family.

  “She’ll soon pay for herself, too,” he went on. “Carrying cotton or anything else you can think of. I know there are hard times coming. But they don’t last forever, and we must look beyond them. Consider the state of the domestic shipping industry for a minute. The clippers have no flexibility. They were built for one purpose—speed. Be the fastest to the gold fields and don’t worry about cargo capacity, that was the prevailing attitude. Now there’s no more gold, and no one’s building clippers any longer. Those still in service are obsolete. They can’t carry cargoes of the size our farmers and manufacturers are prepared to ship. I tell you, Orry, as a maritime nation we’re far behind. America’s oceangoing steam tonnage amounts to ninety thousand tons. Britain’s is almost six times that. A vacuum exists, and the Star of Carolina can sail right into it. One more thing: the shipyard will benefit Charleston and the state too. We need industries that don’t depend on slavery.”

  Laughing—how could he not in the face of such breathless enthusiasm?—Orry held up his hand. “All right, I’m convinced.”

  “You are?”

  “Maybe not completely, but sufficiently to ask how much this beauty will cost.”

  That dulled the sparkle in Cooper’s eyes. “I’ll have more reliable figures when I come home from England. Right now I can only base my projections on those of Brunel. The Eastern Steam Navigation Company estimates Leviathan will cost—in dollars—four million.”

  While Orry recovered, Cooper took a breath. “Or more.”

  “Are you out of your mind, Cooper? Even with everything mortgaged, we could barely raise half that.”

  Quietly. “I’m thinking of approaching George about the other half.”

  “With the iron trade sliding into a depression? You have lost your senses.”

  “George is a good businessman—like you. I think he’ll see the long-term opportunity, not merely the short-term risks.”

  The challenge was clear. Orry would either go along with the project or put himself in the camp of reactionaries such as Stanley. In truth, Orry thought his brother’s idea visionary, exciting, and not as foolish as his own initial reaction might have suggested. He wasn’t ready to give instant approval, however.

  “I need figures. Realistic projections of cargo capacity, cost, future income. I won’t speak to a single banker until I have them.”

  That was good enough for Cooper. Glowing, he said, “They’ll be ready two weeks after I return. Maybe even sooner. They built small ships in Charleston at one time. A reborn industry could be the salvation of this part of the state.”

  “Not to mention the ruination of the Mains,” Orry said. But he smiled.

  Cooper and his family landed at Bristol, there transferring to the Great Western Railway that I. K. Brunel had laid out and brought to completion in 1841. The train left from a platform beneath the vast hammer-beam roof of Temple Meads Station, a structure that Brunel had planned. It traveled 120 miles on broad-gauge track, passing over the brick arches of Brunel’s Maidenhead Bridge, considered an engineering masterpiece, and arrived at the new Paddington Station, which had been officially opened by the Prince Consort two years earlier; Brunel had designed every detail of the station, as well as the Paddington Hotel that adjoined it. Since Brunel served on the hotel’s board of directors, Cooper had decided to stay there. He discovered that his reservation had been changed from a small suite to a much larger one, at no increase in cost.

  Isambard Kingdom Brunel was now in his fiftieth year, a restless, imaginative man who delighted in wearing a stovepipe hat and dangling a cigar from one corner of his mouth. Not all his ideas were good. His choice of broad-gauge track for the G.W.R. was much criticized; carriages from intersecting lines could not be switched onto it. But for sheer soaring size of visions, he had no peer. Cooper saw that again when the little engineer took him to the Thames shipyard of his partner, Scott Russell.

  Because of Leviathan, the Millwall yard had become Europe’s premier tourist attraction. All around the construction site, the marshy fields of the Isle of Dogs had blossomed with coffee stalls and souvenir shops constructed of canvas and chea
p lumber. Every conceivable kind of trinket was offered for sale: Miniature models of the finished ship. Lithographic views. Leviathan ABCs for the children. Right now—a weekday with bad weather—the shops were not doing much business.

  Fifty-four feet high, Leviathan’s double hull reared against the rainy sky. The inner and outer hulls were three feet apart and heavily braced. The ship would have six masts, five funnels, and two sets of engines, one for her paddle wheels and one for her immense screw. She was positioned so that she could slide sideways into the Thames, her great length prohibiting launching in the regular manner.

  “We hope to have her afloat within a year, provided I can finish my plan for the slipways and rekindle a spirit of cooperation with Mr. Russell. It has become evident that his original cost estimates for the hull and paddle engines were frivolous and irresponsible.”

  Brunel chewed his unlit cigar. Despite evident disenchantment with his partner, his pride was unmistakable when he swept his gaze along the huge keel plate. Using his cigar as a pointer, he indicated the section of the outer hull already finished with plates of inch-thick iron.

  “My great babe will take thirty thousand of those plates before she’s done. And three million rivets. At peak times we have two hundred basher gangs hammering in the rivets.”

  Cooper pulled off his old beaver hat, the better to see the iron monster above him. Rain splashed his face. “I want to build one like her, only smaller, in Charleston. I copied Great Britain once—”

  “Handsomely. I saw drawings. But surely what you just said is facetious, Cooper. You’ve always struck me as an intelligent chap and one who likes his comforts. Surely you don’t want to surrender your friends, your family, your health, and all your money to such a venture.”

  “I know there are risks, enormous ones. But I feel compelled to go ahead. I want to build her for more than selfish reasons. I think she can help the South, at a time when the South very much needs it.”