Chapter V. The New President

The Guns of Bull Run

by Joseph A. Altsheler

Their great day came. Clear sunlight shone over the town, the
hills and the brown waters of the Alabama. It was a peculiarly
Southern country, different, Harry thought, from his own Kentucky,
more enthusiastic, perhaps, and less prone to count the cost. The
people had come not only on the railroad, but they were arriving now
from far places in wagons and on horseback. Men of distinction,
almost universally, wore black clothes, the coats very long, black
slouch hats, wide of brim, and white shirts with glistening or
heavily ruffled fronts. There were also many black people in a state
of pleasurable excitement, although the war--if one should
come--would be over them.

Harry and his two young friends were anxious to visit Montgomery
and take a good look at the town, but they did not ask for leave, as
Colonel Talbot had already sternly refused all such applications.
The military law continued to lie heavily upon them, and, soon after
they finished a solid breakfast with appetites sharpened by the open
air, they were ordered to fall into line. Arrayed in their fine new
uniforms, to which the last touch of neatness had been added, they
marched away to the town. They might see it as a company, but not as
individuals.

They walked with even step along the grassy slopes, their fine
appearance drawing attention and shouts of approval from the dense
masses of people of all ages and all conditions of life who were
gathering. Harry, a cadet with a small sword by his side, felt his
heart swell as he trod the young turf, and heard the shouting and
applause. The South Carolinians were the finest body of men present,
and they were conscious of it. Eyes always to the front, they
marched straight on, apparently hearing nothing, but really hearing
everything.

They reached the houses presently and Harry saw the dome of the
capitol on its high hill rising before them, but a moment or two
later the Guards, with the Palmetto flag waving proudly in front,
wheeled and marched toward the railroad station. There they halted
in close ranks and stood at attention. Although the young soldiers
remained immovable, there was not a heart in the company that did not
throb with excitement. Colonel Talbot and Major St. Hilaire were a
little in advance, erect and commanding figures.

Other troops, volunteer companies, were present and they spread
to right and left of the South Carolinians. Behind and everywhere
except in the cleared space before them gathered the people, a vast
mass through which ran the hum and murmur of expectancy. Overhead,
the sun leaped out and shone for a while with great brilliancy. "A
good omen," many said. And to Harry it all seemed good, too. The
excitement, the enthusiasm were contagious. If any prophet of evil
was present he had nothing to say.

A jet of smoke standing black against the golden air appeared
above a hill, and then came the rumble of a train. It was that which
bore the President elect, coming fast, and a sudden great shout went
up from the multitude, followed by silence, broken only by the heavy
breathing of so many. Harry's heart leaped again, but his will kept
his body immovable.

The rumble became a roar, and the jet of smoke turned to a
cloud. Then the train drew into the station and stopped. The people
began a continuous shout, bands played fiercely, and a tall, thin man
of middle years, dressed in black broadcloth, descended from a coach.
All the soldiers saluted, the bands played more fiercely than ever,
and the shouting of the crowd swelled in volume.

It was the first time that Harry had ever seen Jefferson Davis,
and the face, so unlike that which he expected, impressed him. He
saw a cold, gray, silent man with lips pressed tightly together. He
did not behold here the Southern fire and passion of which he was
hearing so much talk, but rather the reserve and icy resolve of the
far North. Harry at first felt a slight chill, but it soon passed.
It was better at such a time to have a leader of restraint and
dignity than the homely joker, Lincoln, of whom such strange tales
came.

Mr. Davis lifted his black hat to the shouting crowd, and bowed
again and again. But he did not smile. His face remained throughout
set in the same stern mold. As the troops closed up, he entered the
carriage waiting for him, and drove slowly toward the heart of the
city, the multitude following and breaking at intervals into shouts
and cheers.

The Palmetto Guards marched on the right of the carriage, and
Harry was able to watch the President-elect all the time. The face
held his attention. Its sternness did not relax. It was the face of
a man who had seen the world, and who believed in the rule of
strength.

The procession led on to a hotel, a large building with a great
portico in front. Here it stopped, the bands ceased to play, Mr.
Davis descended from the carriage and entered the portico, where a
group of men famous in the South stood, ready to welcome him. The
troops drew up close to the portico, and back of them, every open
space was black with people.

Harry, in the very front rank, saw and heard it all. Mr. Davis
stopped as soon as he reached the portico, and Yancey, the famous
orator of Alabama, to whom Harry had delivered his letters in
Charleston, stepped forward, and, in behalf of the people of the
South, made a speech of welcome in a clear, resonant, and emphatic
tone. The applause compelled him to stop at times, but throughout,
Mr. Davis stood rigid and unsmiling. His countenance expressed none
of his thoughts, whatever they may have been. Harry's eyes never
wandered from his face, except to glance now and then at the
weazened, shrunken, little man who stood near him, Alexander H.
Stephens of Georgia, who would take the oath of office as
Vice-President of the new Confederacy. He had been present
throughout the convention as a delegate from Georgia, and men talked
of the mighty mind imprisoned in the weak and dwarfed body.

Harry thrilled more than once as the new President spoke on in
calm, measured tones. He was glad to be present at the occurrence of
great events, and he was glad to witness this gathering of the
mighty. The tide of youth flowed high in him, and he believed himself
fortunate to have been at Charleston when the cannon met the Star of
the West, and yet more fortunate to be now at Montgomery, when the
head of the new nation was taking up his duties.

His gaze wandered for the first time from the men in the portico
to the crowd without that rimmed them around. His eyes, without any
particular purpose, passed from face to face in the front ranks, and
then stopped, arrested by a countenance that he had little expected
to see. It was the shadow, Shepard, standing there, and listening,
and looking as intently as Harry himself. It was not an evil face,
cut clearly and eager, but Harry was sorry that he had come. If
Colonel Talbot's beliefs about him were true, this was a bad place
for Shepard.

But his eyes went back to the new President and the men on the
portico before him. The first scene in the first act of a great
drama, a mighty tragedy, had begun, and every detail was of absorbing
interest to him. Shepard was forgotten in an instant.

Harry noticed that Mr. Davis never mentioned slavery, a subject
which was uppermost in the minds of all, North and South, but he
alluded to the possibility of war, and thought the new republic ought
to have an army and navy. The concluding paragraph of his speech,
delivered in measured but feeling tones, seemed very solemn and
serious to Harry.

"It is joyous in the midst of perilous times," he said, "to look
around upon a people united in heart, where one purpose of high
resolve animates and actuates the whole; where the sacrifices to be
made are not weighed in the balance against honor and right and
liberty and equality. Obstacles may retard, but they cannot long
prevent the progress of a movement sanctified in justice and
sustained by a virtuous people. Reverently let us invoke the God of
our fathers to guide and protect us in our efforts to perpetuate the
principles which by his blessing they were able to vindicate,
establish, and transmit to their posterity. With the continuance of
his favor ever gratefully acknowledged we may look hopefully forward
to success, to peace and to prosperity."

The final words were received with a mighty cheer which rose and
swelled thrice, and again. Jefferson Davis stood calmly through it
all, his face expressing no emotion. The thin lips were pressed
together tightly. The points of his high collar touched his thick,
close beard. He wore a heavy black bow tie and his coat had broad
braided lapels. His hair was thick and slightly long, and his face,
though thin, was full of vitality. It seemed to Harry that the
grave, slightly narrowed eyes emitted at this moment a single flash
of triumph or at least of fervor.

Mr. Davis was sworn in and Mr. Stephens after him, and when the
shouting and applause sank for the last time, the great men withdrew
into the hotel, and the troops marched away. The head of the new
republic had been duly installed, and the separation from the old
Union was complete. The enthusiasm was tremendous, but Harry, like
many others, had an underlying and faint but persistent feeling of
sadness that came from the breaking of old ties. Nor had any news
come telling that Kentucky was about to join her sister states of the
South.

The Palmetto Guards marched back to their old camp, and Harry,
Langdon, and St. Clair obtained leave of absence to visit the town.
Youth had reasserted itself and Harry was again all excitement and
elation. It seemed to him at the moment that he was a boy no longer.
The Tacitus lying peacefully in his desk was forgotten. He was a man
in a man's great world, doing a man's great work.

But both he and his comrades had all the curiosity and zest of
boys as they walked about the little city in the twilight, looking at
everything of interest, visiting the Capitol, and then coming back to
the Exchange Hotel, which sheltered for a night so many of their
great men.

They stayed a while in the lobby of the hotel, which was packed
so densely that Harry could scarcely breathe. Most of the men were
of the tall, thin but extremely muscular type, either clean shaven or
with short beards trimmed closely, and no mustaches. Black was the
predominant color in clothing, and they talked with soft, drawling
voices. But their talk was sanguine. Most of them asked what the
North would do, but they believed that whatever she did do the South
would go on her way. The smoke from the pipes and cigars grew
thicker, and Harry, leaving his comrades in the crowd, walked out
upon the portico.

The crisp, fresh air of the February night came like a heavenly
tonic. He remained there a little while, breathing it in, expanding
his lungs, and rejoicing. Then he walked over to the exact spot upon
which Jefferson Davis had stood, when he delivered his speech of
acceptance. He was so full of the scene that he shut his eyes and
beheld it again. He tried to imagine the feelings of a man at such a
moment, knowing himself the chosen of millions, and feeling that all
eyes were upon him. Truly it would be enough to make the dullest
heart leap.

He opened his eyes, and although he stood in darkness on the
portico, he saw a dusky figure at the far edge of it, standing
between two pillars, and looking in at one of the windows. The man,
whoever he was, seemed to be intently watching those inside, and
Harry saw at once that it was not a look of mere curiosity. It was
the gaze of one who wished to understand as well as to know. He
moved a little nearer. The figure dropped lightly to the ground and
moved swiftly away. Then he saw that it was Shepard.

The boy's feelings toward Shepard had been friendly, but now he
felt a sudden rush of hostility. All that Colonel Talbot had hinted
about him was true. He was there, spying upon the Confederacy,
seeking its inmost secrets, in order that he might report them to its
enemies. Harry was armed. He and all his comrades carried new
pistols at their belts, and driven by impulse he, too, dropped from
the portico and followed Shepard.

He saw the dusky figure ahead of him still going swiftly, but
with his hand on the pistol he followed at greater speed. A minute
later Shepard turned into a small side street, and Harry followed him
there. It was not much more than an alley, dark, silent, and
deserted. Montgomery was a small town, in which people retired early
after the custom of the times, and tonight, the collapse after so
much excitement seemed to have sent them sooner than usual into their
homes. It was evident that the matter would lie without interference
between Shepard and himself.

Shepard went swiftly on and came soon to the outskirts of the
town. He did not look back and Harry wondered whether he knew that he
was pursued. The boy thought once or twice of using his pistol, but
could not bring himself to do it. There was really no war, merely a
bristling of hostile forces, and he could not fire upon anybody,
especially upon one who had done him no harm.

Shepard led on, passed through a group of negro cabins, crossed
an old cotton field, and entered a grove, with his pursuer not fifty
yards behind. The grove was lighted well by the moon, and Harry
dashed forward, pistol in hand, resolved at last to call a halt upon
the fugitive. A laugh and the blue barrel of a levelled pistol met
him. Shepard was sitting upon a fallen log facing him. The moon
poured a mass of molten silver directly upon him, showing a face of
unusual strength and power, set now with stern resolution. Harry's
hand was upon the butt of his own pistol, but he knew that it was
useless to raise it. Shepard held him at his mercy.

"Sit down, Mr. Kenton," said Shepard. "Here's another log,
where you can face me. You feel chagrin, but you need not. I knew
that you were following me, and hence I was able to take you by
surprise. Now, tell me, what do you want?"

Harry took the offered log. He was naturally a lad of great
courage and resolution, and now his presence of mind returned. He
looked calmly at Shepard, who lowered his own pistol.

"I'm not exactly sure what I want," he replied with a little
laugh, "but whatever it is, I know now that I'm not going to get it.
I've walked into a trap. I believed that you were a spy, and it
seemed to me that I ought to seize you. Am I right?"

Shepard laughed also.

"That's a frank question and you shall have a frank reply," he
said. "The suspicions of your friend, Colonel Talbot, were correct.
Yes, I am a spy, if one can be a spy when there is no war. I am
willing to tell you, however, that Shepard is my right name, and I am
willing to tell you also, that you and your Charleston friends little
foresee the magnitude of the business upon which you have started. I
don't believe there is any enmity between you and me and I can tell
the thoughts that I have."

"Since you offered me no harm when you had the chance," said
Harry, "I give my word that I will seek to offer none myself. Go
ahead, I think you have more to say and I want to listen."

Shepard thrust his pistol in his belt and his face relaxed
somewhat. As they faced each other on the logs they were not more
than ten feet part and the moon poured a shower of silver rays upon
both. Although Shepard was a few years the older, the faces showed a
likeness, the same clearness of vision and strength of chin.

"I liked you, Harry Kenton, the first time I met you," said
Shepard, "and I like you yet. When I saw that you were following me,
I led you here in order to say some things to you. You are seeing me
now probably for the last time. My spying is over for a long while,
at least. A mile further on, a horse, saddled and bridled, is waiting
for me. I shall ride all the remainder of the night, board a train in
the morning, and, passing through Memphis and Louisville, I shall be
in the North in forty-eight hours."

"And what then?"

"I shall tell to those who ought to know what I have seen in
Charleston and Montgomery. I have seen the gathering of forces in
the South, and I know the spirit that animates your people, but
listen to me, Harry Kenton, do you think that a Union such as ours,
formed as ours was, can be broken up in a moment, as you would smash
a china plate? The forces on the other side are sluggish, but they
are mighty. I foresee war, terrible war, crowded with mighty
battles. Now, I'm going to offer you my hand and you are going to
take it. Don't think any the less of me because I've been playing
the spy. You may be one yourself before the year is out."

His manner was winning, and Harry took the offered hand. What
right had he to judge? Each to his own opinion. Despite himself, he
liked Shepard again.

"I'm glad I've known you, but at the same time I'm glad you're
leaving," he said.

Shepard gave the boy's hand a hearty grasp, which was returned
in kind. Then he turned and disappeared in the forest. Harry walked
slowly back to Montgomery. Shepard had given him deep cause for
thought. He approached the Exchange Hotel, thinking that he would
find his friends there and return with them to the camp. But it was
later than he had supposed. As he drew near he saw that nearly all
the lights were out in the hotel, and the building was silent.

He was sure that St. Clair and Langdon had already gone to the
camp, and he was about to turn away when he saw a window in the hotel
thrown up and a man appear standing full length in the opening.

It was Jefferson Davis. The same flood of moonlight that had
poured upon Shepard illuminated his face also. But it was not the
face of a triumphant man. It was stern, sad, even gloomy. The thin
lips were pressed together more tightly than ever, and the somber
eyes looked out over the city, but evidently saw nothing there.
Harry felt instinctively that his thoughts were like those of
Shepard. He, too, foresaw a great and terrible war, and, so
foreseeing, knew that this was no time to rejoice and glorify.

Harry, held by the strong spell of time and place, watched him a
full half hour. It was certain now that Jefferson Davis was
thinking, not looking at anything, because his head never moved, and
his eyes were always turned in the same direction--Harry noticed at
last that the direction was the North.

The new President stepped back, closed the window and no light
came from his room. Harry hurried to the camp, where, as he had
surmised, he found St. Clair and Langdon. He gave some excuse for
his delay, and telling nothing of Shepard, wrapped himself in his
blankets. Exhausted by the stirring events of the day and night he
fell asleep at once.

Three days later they were on their way back to Charleston.
They heard that the inauguration of the new President had not been
well received by the doubtful states. Even the border slave states
were afraid the lower South had been a little too hasty. But among
the youths of the Palmetto Guards there was neither apprehension nor
depression. They had been present at the christening of the new
nation, and now they were going back to their own Charleston.

"Everything is for the best," said young Langdon, whose
unfailing spirits bubbled to the brim, "we'll have down here the
tightest and finest republic the world ever heard of. New Orleans
will be the biggest city, but our own Charleston will always be the
leader, its center of thought."

"What you need, Tom," said Harry, "is a center of thought
yourself. Don't be so terribly sanguine and you may save yourself
some smashes."

"I wouldn't gain anything even then," replied Langdon joyously.
"I'll have such a happy time before the smash comes that I can afford
to pay for it. I'm the kind that enjoys life. It's a pleasure to me
just to breathe."

"I believe it is," said Harry, looking at him with admiration.
"I think I'll call you Happy Tom."

"I take the name with pleasure," said Langdon. "It's a
compliment to be called Happy Tom. Happy I was born and happy I am.
I'm so happy I must sing:

"Ol Dan Tucker was a mighty fine man, He washed his
face in the frying pan, He combed his hair with a wagon wheel
And died with a toothache in his heel." "That's a great poem,"
said a long North Carolina youth named Ransome, "but I've got
something that beats it all holler. 'Ole Dan Tucker' is nothing to
'Aunt Dinah's Tribberlations.'"

"How does it go?" asked St. Clair.

"It's powerful pathetic, telling a tale of disaster and pain.
The first verse will do, and here it is:

"Ole Aunt Dinah, she got drunk, Felled in a fire and
kicked up a chunk, Red-hot coal popped in her shoe, Lord
a-mighty! how de water flew!" "We've had French and Italian opera in
Charleston," said St. Clair, "and I've heard both in New Orleans,
too, but nothing quite so moving as the troubles of Ole Dan Tucker
and Ole Aunt Dinah."

They sang other songs and the Guards, who filled two coaches of
a train, joined in a great swinging chorus which thundered above the
rattle of the engine and the cars, so noisy in those days. Often
they sang negro melodies with a plaintive lilt. The slave had given
his music to his master. Harry joined with all the zest of an
enthusiastic nature. The effect of Shepard's words and of the still,
solemn face of Jefferson Davis, framed in the open window, was wholly
gone.

Spring was now advancing. All the land was green. The trees
were in fresh leaf, and when they stopped at the little stations in
the woods, they could hear the birds singing in the deep forest. And
as they sped across the open they heard the negroes singing, too, in
their deep mellow voices in the fields. Then came the delicate
flavor of flowers and Harry knew that they were approaching
Charleston. In another hour they were in the city which was, as yet,
the heart and soul of the Confederacy.

Charleston, with its steepled churches, its quaint houses, and
its masses of foliage, much of it in full flower, seemed more
attractive than ever to Harry. The city preserved its gay and light
tone. It was crowded with people. All the rich planters were there.
Society had never been more brilliant than during those tense weeks
on the eve of men knew not what. But the Charlestonians were sure of
one fact, the most important of all, that everything was going well.
Texas had joined the great group of the South, and while the border
states still hung back, they would surely join.

Harry found that the batteries and earthworks had increased in
size and number, forming a formidable circle about the black mass of
Sumter, above which the defiant flag still swung in the wind. The
guards were distributed among the batteries, but St. Clair, Langdon,
and Harry remained together. Toutant Beauregard, after having
resigned the command at West Point, as the Southern leaders had
expected, came to Charleston and took supreme command there. Harry
saw him as he inspected the batteries, a small, dark man, French in
look, as he was French in descent, full of nervous energy and
vitality. He spoke approving words of all that had been done, and
Harry, St. Clair and Tom, glowed with enthusiasm.

"Didn't I tell you that everything would come just right!"
exclaimed Happy Tom. "We're the boys to do things. I heard today
that they were preparing a big fleet in the North to relieve Sumter,
but no matter how big it is, it won't be able to get into Charleston
harbor. Will it, old fellow?"

He addressed his remarks to one of the great guns, and he patted
the long, polished barrel. Harry agreed with him that Charleston
harbor could be held inviolate. He did not believe that ships would
have much chance against heavy cannon in earthworks.

He was back in Charleston several days before he had a chance to
go to Madame Delaunay's. She was unfeignedly glad to see him, but
Harry saw that she had lost some of her bright spirits.

"Colonel Talbot tells me," she said, "that mighty forces are
gathering, and I am afraid, I am afraid for all the thousands of
gallant boys like you, Harry."

But Harry had little fear for himself. Why should he, when the
Southern cause was moving forward so smoothly? They heard a day or
two later that the rail-splitter, Lincoln, had been duly inaugurated
President of what remained of the old Union, although he had gone to
Washington at an unexpected hour, and partly in disguise. On the
same day the Confederacy adopted the famous flag of the Stars and
Bars, and Harry and his friends were soon singing in unison and with
fiery enthusiasm:

"Hurrah! Hurrah! for Southern rights, hurrah! Hurrah
for the bonnie blue flag that bears a single star!" The spring
deepened and with it the tension and excitement. The warm winds from
the South blew over Charleston, eternally keen with the odor of rose
and orange blossom. The bay moved gently, a molten mass now blue,
now green. The blue figures could be seen now and then on the black
walls of Sumter, but the fortress was silent, although the muzzles of
its guns always threatened.

Harry received several letters from his father. The latest
stated that he might want him to return, but he was not needed yet.
The state had proved more stubborn than he and his friends had
expected. A powerful Union element had been disclosed, and there
would be an obstinate fight at Frankfort over the question of going
out. He would let him know when to come.

Harry was perhaps less surprised than his father over the
conflict of opinion in Kentucky, but his thoughts soon slipped from
it, returning to his absorption in the great and thrilling drama in
Charleston, which was passing before his eyes, and of which he was a
part.

April came, and the glory of the spring deepened. The winds
blowing from the soft shores of the Gulf grew heavier with the odors
of blossom and flower. But Charleston thrilled continually with
excitement. Fort after fort was seized by the Southerners, almost
without opposition and wholly without the shedding of blood. It
seemed that the stars in their courses fought for the South, or at
least it seemed so to the youthful Harry and his comrades.

"Didn't I tell you everything would come as we wished it?" said
the sanguine Langdon. "Abe Lincoln may be the best rail-splitter
that ever was, but I fancy he isn't such a terrible fighter."

"Let's wait and see," said Harry, with the impression of
Shepard's warning words still strong upon him.

His caution was not in vain. That day the rulers of Charleston
received a message from Abraham Lincoln that Sumter would be
revictualled, whether Charleston consented or not. The news was
spread instantly through the city and fire sprang up in the South
Carolina heart. The population, increased far beyond its normal
numbers by the influx from the country, talked of nothing else.
Beauregard was everywhere giving quick, nervous orders, and always
strengthening the already powerful batteries that threatened
Sumter.