The Southerner: A Romance of the Real Lincoln Part 53

"See then what must happen. Now mind you, I would never have restored McClellan to command if I did not know that at this moment he can do the work of putting this disorganized and defeated army into fighting shape better than any other. McClellan thus returned to power must fight. He must win or lose. If he wins I am vindicated and his success is mine. If he loses, he loses his power over the imagination of his men and at last I am master of the situation. I shall back him with every dollar and every man the Nation can send into his next campaign. No matter whether he wins or loses, I _must_ win because the supremacy of the civil power will be restored."

"I see," Betty breathed softly.

She rose with a new look of reverence for a great mind.

"And the civil power was not supreme when you restored McClellan to his command?"

"Miss Betty, you'd make a good lawyer!" he laughed.

"Was it?" she persisted.

"No."

"Thank you," she said, rising and extending her hand. "I learned exactly what I wished to know."

"And you'll stop quarreling?"

"If he's reasonable----"

He lifted his long finger in solemn warning.

"Remember now! This administration is honestly and sincerely backing General McClellan for all it's worth. It has always done this. We are going to try to make even a better record in the next campaign----"

"When will it open?"

"Sooner than any of us wish it, if our scouts report the truth. Flushed with his great victory over Pope, General Lee is sure to invade Maryland. The campaign will be a dangerous and crucial one. The moment Lee crosses the Potomac, his communications with Richmond will be imperiled. If he dares to do it we can crush his army in a great battle, cut his communications with Richmond, drive his men into the Potomac and end the war. I have given McClellan the opportunity of his life. I pray G.o.d to give success----"

Edward appeared at the door.

"Well, what is it?"

"The crowd, sir--they are clamoring to get in."

Betty hurried into the family apartments to speak to Mrs. Lincoln, her mind in a whirl of resentment against John Vaughan.

The President turned to the crowd which had already poured into the room.

As usual, the cranks and inventors led the way. The inventors found the President an easy man to talk to. His mind was quick to see a good point and always open to conviction. He had once patented a device for getting flat boats over shoals himself. His immediate approval of the first model of Ericsson's famous _Monitor_ had led to its adoption in time to meet and destroy the _Merrimac_ in Hampton Roads on the very day the iron terror had sent his big ships to the bottom. He allowed no inventor to be turned from the door of the White House no matter how ridiculous his hobby might appear. The inventions relating to the science of war he would test himself on the big open field between the White House grounds and the river.

The first inventor in line carried the model of a new rifle which would shoot sixteen times. The army officers believed in the idea of a single sh.e.l.l breech loader on account of the simplicity of its mechanism. Our muskets were still muzzle loaders and the men were compelled to use ramrods to load.

The President examined the new gun with keen interest, pulled his black, s.h.a.ggy beard thoughtfully, looked at the breathless inventor, and slowly mused:

"Well, now as the fat girl said when she pulled on her stocking, it strikes me there's something in it!"

The inventor laughed with nervous joy, and watched him write a card of endors.e.m.e.nt:

"Take that to the War Department, and tell them I like your idea--I want them to look into it."

His face wreathed in smiles, the man pushed his way through the crowd, and hurried to the War Department.

The next one was a little fellow who had a gun of marvellous model, double-barrelled, with the barrels crossed. The President adjusted his spectacles and took a second look before he made any comment. He lifted his bristling eyebrows:

"What's it for?"

"For cross-eyed men, sir!" he whispered.

"You don't say?" he roared.

"Yes, sir," the little man continued eagerly. "The cross-eyed men ain't never had no chance in this war. They turn 'em all down. They won't take 'em as soldiers. That gun'll fix 'em. Push a regiment o' good cross-eyed men to the front with that gun a-pourin' hot lead from two barrels at the same time an' every man er cross firin' at the enemy an' we'll jist natchally make hash outen 'em, sir----"

"And we may need the cross-eyed men, too, before the war ends." The sombre eyes twinkled thoughtfully. "Thank you, my friend, when I draft the cross-eyed men come in again and we'll talk it over. Your heart's in the right place, anyhow."

He glanced doubtfully at the little skillet-shaped head and reached over his shoulder for the next one. It was a bullet proof shirt for soldiers--a coat of mail which weighed fifty pounds.

"How long do you think a man could march with that thing on and the thermometer at ninety-eight in the shade?"

He handed it back with a shake of his head and grasped the next one--a model water-tight canoe to fit the foot like a snow shoe.

"What's the idea?" he asked.

"Shoe the army with _my_ canoes, sir, and they can all walk on water----"

"And yet they say the age of miracles has pa.s.sed! Take it over to old Neptune's office. He's a sad man at times and I like him. This ought to cheer him."

The next one was a man of unusually interesting face. A typical Yankee farmer with whiskers spilling over his collar from his neck and bristling up against his clean shaven chin. He handed the President a model of a new musket. He examined it with care and fixed the man with his gaze:

"Well, sir?"

"Hit's the rekyle, sir," he explained softly. "Hit's the way she's hung on the stock."

"Oh----"

"Ye see, sir," he went on earnestly, "a gun ought not to rekyle, and ef hit rekyles at all, hit ought to rekyle a leetle forred----"

"Right you are!" the President roared with laughter. "Your logic's sound whether your gun kicks or not. I say so, too. A gun ought _not_ to rekyle at all, and if it does rekyle, by jinks, it ought to rekyle and hit the other fellow, not us!"

The tall figure dropped into the chair by his desk and laughed again.

"Come in again, Brother 'Rekyle' and we'll talk it over when I've got more time."

The stocky, heavy set figure of the Secretary of War suddenly pushed through the crowd and up to the desk. Stanton's manner had always been rude to the point of brusqueness and insult. The tremendous power he was now wielding in the most important Department of the Government had not softened his temper or improved his manners. The President had learned to appreciate his matchless industry and sterling honesty and overlooked his faults as an indulgent father those of a pa.s.sionate and willful child.

Stanton's eyes were flashing through his gold rimmed gla.s.ses the wrath he found difficult to express.

The President looked up with a friendly smile:

"Well, Mars, what's the trouble now?"