by Thomas Dixon
CHAPTER I
THE FIRST LADY OF THE LAND
The little house on the Capitol hill now became the centre of feveredactivity. This house, selected by its grim master to become the executivemansion of the Nation, was perhaps the most modest structure ever chosenfor such high uses.
It stood, a small, two-story brick building, in an unpretentious street.Seven windows opened on the front with black solid-panelled shutters. Thefront parlour was scantily furnished. A huge mirror covered one wall, andon the other hung a life-size oil portrait of Stoneman, and between thewindows were a portrait of Washington Irving and a picture of a nun. Amonghis many charities he had always given liberally to an orphanage conductedby a Roman Catholic sisterhood.
The back parlour, whose single window looked out on a small garden, he hadfitted up as a library, with leather-upholstered furniture, a large deskand table, and scattered on the mantel and about its walls were thephotographs of his personal friends and a few costly prints. This room heused as his executive office, and no person was allowed to enter itwithout first stating his business or presenting a petition to the tawnybrown woman with restless eyes who sat in state in the front parlour andreceived his visitors. The books in their cases gave evidence of littleuse for many years, although their character indicated the tastes of a manof culture. His Pliny, Caesar, Cicero, Tacitus, Sophocles, and Homer hadevidently been read by a man who knew their beauties and loved them fortheir own sake.
This house was now the Mecca of the party in power and the storm-centre ofthe forces destined to shape the Nation's life. Senators, representatives,politicians of low and high degree, artists, correspondents, foreignministers, and cabinet officers hurried to acknowledge their fealty to theuncrowned king, and hail the strange brown woman who held the keys of hishouse as the first lady of the land.
When Charles Sumner called, a curious thing happened. By a code agreed onbetween them, Lydia Brown touched an electric signal which informed theold Commoner of his appearance. Stoneman hobbled to the folding-doors andwatched through the slight opening the manner in which the icy senatorgreeted the negress whom he was compelled to meet thus as his socialequal, though she was always particular to pose as the superior of all whobowed the knee to the old man whose house she kept.
Sumner at this time was supposed to be the most powerful man in Congress.It was a harmless fiction which pleased him, and at which Stoneman lovedto laugh.
The senator from Massachusetts had just made a speech in Boston expoundingthe "Equality of Man," yet he could not endure personal contact with anegro. He would go secretly miles out of the way to avoid it.
Stoneman watched him slowly and daintily approach this negress and touchher jewelled hand gingerly with the tips of his classic fingers as if shewere a toad. Convulsed, he scrambled back to his desk and hugged himselfwhile he listened to the flow of Lydia's condescending patronage in thenext room.
"This world's too good a thing to lose!" he chuckled. "I think I'll livealways."
When Sumner left, the hour for dinner had arrived, and by specialinvitation two men dined with him.
On his right sat an army officer who had been dismissed from the service,a victim of the mania for gambling. His ruddy face, iron-gray hair, andjovial mien indicated that he enjoyed life in spite of troubles.
There were no clubs in Washington at this time except the regulargambling-houses, of which there were more than one hundred in full blast.
Stoneman was himself a gambler, and spent a part of almost every night atHall & Pemberton's Faro Palace on Pennsylvania Avenue, a place noted forits famous restaurant. It was here that he met Colonel Howle and learnedto like him. He was a man of talent, cool and audacious, and a liar ofsuch singular fluency that he quite captivated the old Commoner'simagination.
"Upon my soul, Howle," he declared soon after they met, "you made themistake of your life going into the army. You're a born politician. You'rewhat I call a natural liar, just as a horse is a pacer, a dog a setter.You lie without effort, with an ease and grace that excels all art. Hadyou gone into politics, you could easily have been Secretary of State, tosay nothing of the vice-presidency. I would say President but for the factthat men of the highest genius never attain it."
From that moment Colonel Howle had become his charmed henchman. Stonemanowned this man body and soul, not merely because he had befriended himwhen he was in trouble and friendless, but because the colonel recognizedthe power of the leader's daring spirit and revolutionary genius.
On his left sat a negro of perhaps forty years, a man of charming featuresfor a mulatto, who had evidently inherited the full physicalcharacteristics of the Aryan race, while his dark yellowish eyes beneathhis heavy brows glowed with the brightness of the African jungle. It wasimpossible to look at his superb face, with its large, finely chiselledlips and massive nose, his big neck and broad shoulders, and watch hiseyes gleam beneath the projecting forehead, without seeing pictures of theprimeval forest. "The head of a Caesar and the eyes of the jungle" was thephrase coined by an artist who painted his portrait.
His hair was black and glossy and stood in dishevelled profusion on hishead between a kink and a curl. He was an orator of great power, andstirred a negro audience as by magic.
Lydia Brown had called Stoneman's attention to this man, Silas Lynch, andinduced the statesman to send him to college. He had graduated with creditand had entered the Methodist ministry. In his preaching to the freedmenhe had already become a marked man. No house could hold his audiences.
As he stepped briskly into the dining-room and passed the brown woman, aclose observer might have seen him suddenly press her hand and caught hersly answering smile, but the old man waiting at the head of the table sawnothing.
The woman took her seat opposite Stoneman and presided over this curiousgroup with the easy assurance of conscious power. Whatever her realposition, she knew how to play the role she had chosen to assume.
No more curious or sinister figure ever cast a shadow across the historyof a great nation than did this mulatto woman in the most corrupt hour ofAmerican life. The grim old man who looked into her sleek tawny face andfollowed her catlike eyes was steadily gripping the Nation by the throat.Did he aim to make this woman the arbiter of its social life, and herethics the limit of its moral laws?
Even the white satellite who sat opposite Lynch flushed for a moment asthe thought flashed through his brain.
The old cynic, who alone knew his real purpose, was in his most genialmood to-night, and the grim lines of his powerful face relaxed intosomething like a smile as they ate and chatted and told good stories.
Lynch watched him with keen interest. He knew his history and character,and had built on his genius a brilliant scheme of life.
This man who meant to become the dictator of the Republic had come fromthe humblest early conditions. His father was a worthless character, fromwhom he had learned the trade of a shoemaker, but his mother, a woman ofvigorous intellect and indomitable will, had succeeded in giving her lameboy a college education. He had early sworn to be a man of wealth, and tothis purpose he had throttled the dreams and ideals of a waywardimagination.
His hope of great wealth had not been realized. His iron mills inPennsylvania had been destroyed by Lee's army. He had developed the habitof gambling, which brought its train of extravagant habits, tastes, andinevitable debts. In his vigorous manhood, in spite of his lameness, hehad kept a pack of hounds and a stable of fine horses. He had used hisskill in shoemaking to construct a set of stirrups to fit his lame feet,and had become an expert hunter to hounds.
One thing he never neglected--to be in his seat in the House ofRepresentatives and wear its royal crown of leadership, sick or well, dayor night. The love of power was the breath of his nostrils, and hisambitions had at one time been boundless. His enormous power to-day wasdue to the fact that he had given up all hope of office beyond the robesof the king of his party. He had been offered a cabinet position by theelder Harrison and for some re
ason it had been withdrawn. He had beenpromised a place in Lincoln's cabinet, but some mysterious power hadsnatched it away. He was the one great man who had now no ambition forwhich to trim and fawn and lie, and for the very reason that he hadabolished himself he was the most powerful leader who ever walked thehalls of Congress.
His contempt for public opinion was boundless. Bold, original, scornful ofadvice, of all the men who ever lived in our history he was the one manborn to rule in the chaos which followed the assassination of the chiefmagistrate.
Audacity was stamped in every line of his magnificent head. His choicestcurses were for the cowards of his own party before whose blanched faceshe shouted out the hidden things until they sank back in helpless silenceand dismay. His speech was curt, his humour sardonic, his wit biting,cruel, and coarse.
The incarnate soul of revolution, he despised convention and ridiculedrespectability.
There was but one weak spot in his armour--and the world never suspectedit: the consuming passion with which he loved his two children. This wasthe side of his nature he had hidden from the eyes of man. A refinedegotism, this passion, perhaps--for he meant to live his own life over inthem--yet it was the one utterly human and lovable thing about him. And ifhis public policy was one of stupendous avarice, this dream of millions ofconfiscated wealth he meant to seize, it was not for himself but for hischildren.
As he looked at Howle and Lynch seated in his library after dinner, withhis great plans seething in his brain, his eyes were flashing, intense,and fiery, yet without colour--simply two centres of cold light.
"Gentlemen," he said at length. "I am going to ask you to undertake forthe Government, the Nation, and yourselves a dangerous and importantmission. I say yourselves, because, in spite of all our beautiful lies,self is the centre of all human action. Mr. Lincoln has fortunately goneto his reward--fortunately for him and for his country. His death wasnecessary to save his life. He was a useful man living, more useful dead.Our party has lost its first President, but gained a god--why mourn?"
"We will recover from our grief," said Howle.
The old man went on, ignoring the interruption:
"Things have somehow come my way. I am almost persuaded late in life thatthe gods love me. The insane fury of the North against the South for acrime which they were the last people on earth to dream of committing is,of course, a power to be used--but with caution. The first execution of aSouthern leader on such an idiotic charge would produce a revolution ofsentiment. The people are an aggregation of hysterical fools."
"I thought you favoured the execution of the leaders of the rebellion?"said Lynch with surprise.
"I did, but it is too late. Had they been tried by drum-head court-martialand shot dead red-handed as they stood on the field in their uniforms, allwould have been well. Now sentiment is too strong. Grant showed his teethto Stanton and he backed down from Lee's arrest. Sherman refused to shakehands with Stanton on the grandstand the day his army passed in review,and it's a wonder he didn't knock him down. Sherman was denounced as arenegade and traitor for giving Joseph E. Johnston the terms Lincolnordered him to give. Lincoln dead, his terms are treason! Yet had helived, we should have been called upon to applaud his mercy andpatriotism. How can a man live in this world and keep his face straight?"
"I believe God permitted Mr. Lincoln's death to give the great Commoner,the Leader of Leaders, the right of way," cried Lynch with enthusiasm.
The old man smiled. With all his fierce spirit he was as susceptible toflattery as a woman--far more so than the sleek brown woman who carriedthe keys of his house.
"The man at the other end of the avenue, who pretends to be President, inreality an alien of the conquered province of Tennessee, is pressingLincoln's plan of 'restoring' the Union. He has organized Stategovernments in the South, and their senators and representatives willappear at the Capitol in December for admission to Congress. He thinksthey will enter----"
The old man broke into a low laugh and rubbed his hands.
"My full plans are not for discussion at this juncture. Suffice it to say,I mean to secure the future of our party and the safety of this nation.The one thing on which the success of my plan absolutely depends is theconfiscation of the millions of acres of land owned by the white people ofthe South and its division among the negroes and those who fought andsuffered in this war----"
The old Commoner paused, pursed his lips, and fumbled his hands a moment,the nostrils of his eagle-beaked nose breathing rapacity, sensualitythrobbing in his massive jaws, and despotism frowning from his heavybrows.
"Stanton will probably add to the hilarity of nations, and amuse himselfby hanging a few rebels," he went on, "but we will address ourselves toserious work. All men have their price, including the present company,with due apologies to the speaker----"
Howle's eyes danced, and he licked his lips.
"If I haven't suffered in this war, who has?"
"Your reward will not be in accordance with your sufferings. It will bebased on the efficiency with which you obey my orders. Read that----"
He handed to him a piece of paper on which he had scrawled his secretinstructions.
Another he gave to Lynch.
"Hand them back to me when you read them, and I will burn them. Theseinstructions are not to pass the lips of any man until the time isripe--four bare walls are not to hear them whispered."
Both men handed to the leader the slips of paper simultaneously.
"Are we agreed, gentlemen?"
"Perfectly," answered Howle.
"Your word is law to me, sir," said Lynch.
"Then you will draw on me personally for your expenses, and leave for theSouth within forty-eight hours. I wish your reports delivered to me twoweeks before the meeting of Congress."
As Lynch passed through the hall on his way to the door, the brown womanbade him good-night and pressed into his hand a letter.
As his yellow fingers closed on the missive, his eyes flashed for a momentwith catlike humour.
The woman's face wore the mask of a sphinx.