The Victim. Jr. Thomas Dixon
control this tendency to lapse into the past, we are lost and the story of our fallen Republic will be but one more added to the failures of history. Unless we can preserve the sovereignty of our States, the Union will become an Empire, not a Republic of republics. It's a difficult thing for men to govern themselves, though they can do it better than anyone else has ever done it for them. We are making this wonderful experiment here in the new world. The fate of unborn millions hangs on its success. You're done with self and self-seeking. Ambition is a dream that is passed. Good! Lay your life in unselfish sacrifice on the altar of your country. Only the man who has given up ambition is fit for great leadership. He alone dares to seek and know and speak the Truth!"
The tired spirit rose with a new view of human life, its aim and purpose. For eight years he buried himself in the library on his brother's estate. Through the long winter nights the two brilliant minds fought over in friendly contests the battles of the ages until the passion for Truth grew into the one purpose of a great soul.
When the first rumblings of the storm that was to shake a continent broke over the Republic, he stepped forth to take his place in the world of action—the best equipped, most thoroughly trained, most perfectly poised man who had ever entered the arena of American politics.
His rise was brilliant and unprecedented. In his first contest he met the foremost orator of the age, Sergeant Prentiss, and vanquished him on his own ground. In two years he took his seat in Congress, the favorite son of Mississippi.
He had scarcely begun his career, as a law-maker, when war was declared against Mexico. He resigned his high office, raised a regiment and once more found himself a soldier under the orders of stern old Zachary Taylor.
On his first battle field at the head of his Mississippi regiment, he planted the flag of the Republic on the Grand Plaza of Monterey. And in the supreme crisis of the battle of Buena Vista, with the blood streaming from his wounds, he led his men in a charge against overwhelming odds, turned the tide from defeat to victory and gave the Presidency to the man who had denied to him his daughter's hand.
He hobbled back on crutches to his brother's home in Mississippi amid the shouts and frenzied acclaim of a proud and grateful people. Within three years from the day he entered public life, he took his seat in the Senate Chamber of the United States beside Clay, Calhoun and Webster, the peer of any man within its walls, and with the conscious power of Knowledge and Truth, girded himself for the coming struggle of giants.
The Story
CHAPTER I
THE CURTAIN RISES
"For the Lord's sake, Jennie—"
Dick Welford paused at the bottom of a range of steps which wound up the capitol hill from Pennsylvania Avenue.
The girl standing at the top stamped her foot imperiously.
"Hurry—hurry!"
"I won't—"
"Then I'll leave you!"
The boy laughed.
"You don't dare. It's barely sunup—still dark in spots—the boogers'll get you—"
With a grin he deliberately sat down.
"Dick Welford, you're the laziest white man I ever saw in my life—We won't get a seat, I tell you—"
"We can stand up."
"We won't even get our noses in the door—"
"You don't think these old Senators get up at daylight, do you?"
"They didn't go to bed last night—"
"I'll bet they didn't!" Dick laughed.
"I know one that didn't anyhow—"
"Who?"
"Senator Davis."
"How do you know?"
"Spent the night there. Father stayed so late, Mrs. Davis put me to bed. Regular procession all night long! And among his visitors the Blackest Republican of them all—"
"Old Abe run over from Illinois to say good-by?"
"No, but his right hand man Seward did—"
"Sly old snuff-dipping hypocrite—"
"Anyhow, he's the brains of his party."
"And he called on Jeff Davis last night?"
"Not the first time either. Mrs. Davis told me that when the Senator was so ill with neuralgia and came near losing his sight, Seward came every day, sat in the darkened room and talked for hours to his enemy—"
"That's because he's a Black Republican. Their ways are dark. They like rooms with the shades pulled down—"
"Anyhow he likes Mr. Davis."
"Well, it's good-by to the old Union—how many Senators are going to-day?"
"Yulee and Mallory from Florida, Clay and Fitzpatrick from Alabama and Senator Davis—"
"All in a day?"
"Yes—"
"Jennie, they'll talk their heads off. It'll be three o'clock before the first one finishes. We'll die. Let's go to Mt. Vernon—"
"Dick Welford, I'm ashamed of you. You've no patriotism at all—"
"And I just proposed a pilgrimage to the home of George Washington!"
"You don't care what happens in the Senate Chamber to-day—"
"No—I don't."
The boy's lazy figure slowly rose, mounted the steps, paused and looked down into the tense eager young face.
"You really want to know," he began slowly, "why speaking tires me now?"
"Yes—why?"
"Because it's a waste of breath—we're going to fight!"
The girl flushed with excitement.
"Who told you? What have you heard? Who said so?"
A dreamy look in the boy's eyes deepened.
"Nobody's told me. I just know. It's in the air. A wild duck knows when to go north. A bluebird knows when to move south. It's in the air. That's the way I know—" his voice dropped. "Let's go to Mt. Vernon and spend the day, Jennie—"
The girl looked up sharply. The low persuasive tones were unmistakable.
The faintest flush mantled her cheeks.
"No—I wouldn't miss those speeches for anything. You promised to take me to the Senate gallery. Come on."
With a quick bound the boy scaled the next flight of steps and looked down at her laughing:
"All right, why don't you come on!"
With a frown she sprang up the stone stairs and he caught her step with a sudden military salute. They walked in silence for a few minutes.
"What's the matter with you to-day, Dick Welford?"
"Why, Miss Jennie Barton?"
"I never saw you quite so foolish."
"Maybe it's because I never saw you quite so pretty—"