The Southerner - A Romance of the Real Lincoln

Thomas Dixon

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• Publié par: thuin
• Publié le: 08 décembre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 26
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

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The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Southerner, by Thomas Dixon This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: The Southerner A Romance of the Real Lincoln Author: Thomas Dixon Illustrator: J. N. Marchand Release Date: August 28, 2006 [EBook #19135] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SOUTHERNER *** Produced by Chuck Greif, David Garcia and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Kentuckiana Digital Library) THE SOUTHERNER "From a thousand throats rose the cry: 'Lee to the rear!'" BOOKS BY MR. DIXON The Southerner The Sins of the Father The Leopard's Spots The Clansman The Traitor —— The One Woman Comrades The Root of Evil —— The Life Worth Living A ROMANCE OF THE REAL LINCOLN BY THOMAS DIXON "Have you never realized it, my friends, that Lincoln, though grafted on the West, is essentially, in personnel and character, a Southern contribution?"—WALT WHITMAN. ILLUSTRATED BY J. N. MARCHAND NEW YORK AND LONDON D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 1913 COPYRIGHT, 1913, BY THOMAS DIXON All rights reserved, including that of translation into all foreign languages, including the Scandinavian Printed in the United States of America DEDICATED TO OUR FIRST SOUTHERN-BORN PRESIDENT SINCE LINCOLN, MY FRIEND AND COLLEGEMATE WOODROW WILSON TO THE READER Lest my readers should feel that certain incidents of this story are startling and improbable, I wish to say that every word in it relating to the issues of our national life has been drawn from authentic records in my possession. Nor have I at any point taken a liberty with an essential detail in historical scenes. T HOMAS DIXON. CONTENTS PROLOGUE CHAPTER I. THE MAN OF THE HOUR II. JANGLING VOICES III. IN BETTY'S GARDEN IV. A PAIR OF YOUNG EYES V. THE FIRST SHOT VI. THE PARTING OF THE WAYS VII. LOVE AND DUTY VIII. THE TRIAL BY FIRE IX. VICTORY IN DEFEAT X. THE AWAKENING XI. THE MAN ON HORSEBACK XII. LOVE AND PRIDE XIII. THE SPIRES OF RICHMOND XIV. THE RETREAT XV. TANGLED THREADS XVI. THE CHALLENGE XVII. THE DAY'S WORK XVIII. DIPLOMACY XIX. THE REBEL XX. THE INSULT XXI. THE BLOODIEST DAY XXII. BENEATH THE SKIN XXIII. THE USURPER XXIV. THE CONSPIRACY XXV. THE TUG OF WAR XXVI. THE REST HOUR XXVII. DEEPENING SHADOWS XXVIII. THE MOONLIT RIVER XXIX. THE PANIC XXX. SUNSHINE AND STORM XXXI. BETWEEN THE LINES XXXII. THE WHIRLWIND XXXIII. THE BROTHERS MEET XXXIV. LOVE'S PLEDGE XXXV. THE DARKEST HOUR XXXVI. THE ASSASSIN XXXVII. MR. DAVIS SPEAKS XXXVIII. THE STOLEN MARCH XXXIX. VICTORY XL. WITH MALICE TOWARD NONE LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS "From a thousand throats rose the cry: 'Lee to the rear!'" Frontispiece. 'Be a man among men, for your mother's sake—'" "'Good-bye—Ned!' she breathed softly." "Betty glanced at the stolid, set face and firm lips." "'You're a brave man, Ned Vaughan.'" "Waving his plumed hat ... he put himself at the head of his troops and charged." LEADING CHARACTERS OF THE STORY 1809-1818 Scene: A Cabin in the Woods T OM, A Man of the Forest and Stream. NANCY, The Woman Who Saw a Vision. T HE BOY, Her Son. DENNIS, His Cousin. BONEY, A Fighting Coon Dog. 1861-1865 Scene: The White House SENATOR GILBERT WINTER , The Radical Leader. BETTY, His Daughter. JOHN VAUGHAN, A Union Soldier. NED VAUGHAN, His Brother, a Rebel. ABRAHAM LINCOLN, The President. MRS. LINCOLN, His Wife. P HŒBE, Her Maid. JULIUS CÆSAR T HORNTON, Who Was Volunteered. COLONEL NICOLAY, The President's Secretary. MAJOR JOHN HAY, Assistant Secretary. WILLIAM T ECUMSEH SHERMAN, Who Stole a March. GEORGE B. MCCLELLAN, The Man on Horseback. ROBERT E. LEE, The Southern Commander. THE SOUTHERNER PROLOGUE I Tom seated himself at the table and looked into his wife's face with a smile: "Nancy, it's a meal fit for a king!" The supper over, he smoked his pipe before the cabin fire of blazing logs, while she cleared the wooden dishes. He watched her get the paper, goose-quill pen and ink as a prisoner sees the scaffold building for his execution. "Now we're all ready," she said cheerfully. The man laid his pipe down with a helpless look. A brief respite flashed through his mind. Maybe he could sidestep the lessons before she pinned him down. "Lord, Nancy, I forgot my gun. I must grease her right away," he cried. He rose with a quick decisive movement and took his rifle from the rack. She knew it was useless to protest and let him have his way. Over every inch of its heavy barrel and polished walnut stock he rubbed a piece of greased linen with loving care, drew back the flint-lock and greased carefully every nook and turn of its mechanism, lifted the gun finally to his shoulder and drew an imaginary bead on the head of a turkey gobbler two hundred yards away. A glowing coal of hickory wood in the fire served for his game. He lowered the gun and held it before him with pride: "Nancy, she's the dandiest piece o' iron that wuz ever twisted inter the shape of a weepon. Old 'Speakeasy's her name! She's got the softest voice that ever whispered death to a varmint or an Injun —hit ain't much louder'n the crack of a whip, but, man alive, when she talks she says somethin'. 'Kerpeow!' she whispers soft an' low! She's got a voice like yourn, Nancy—kinder sighs when she speaks——" "Well," the wife broke in with a shake of her dark head, "has mother's little boy played long enough with his toy?" "I reckon so," Tom laughed. "Then it's time for school." She gently took the rifle from his hands, placed it on the buck horns and took her seat at the table. The man looked ruefully at the stool, suddenly straightened his massive frame, lifted his hand above his head and cocked his eye inquiringly: "May I git er drink er water fust?" The teacher laughed in spite of herself: "Yes, you big lubber, and hurry up." Tom seized the water bucket and started for the door. "Where are you going?" she cried in dismay. "I'll jest run down to the spring fer a fresh bucket——" "O Tom!" she exclaimed. "I'll be right back in a minute, Honey," he protested softly. "Hit's goin' ter be powerful hot—I'll need a whole bucket time I'm through." Before she could answer he was gone. He managed to stay nearly a half hour. She put the baby to sleep and sat waiting with her pensive young eyes gazing at the leaping flames. She heard him stop and answer the call of an owl from the woods. A whip-poor-will was softly singing from the bushes nearby. He stopped to call him also, and then found an excuse to linger ten minutes more fooling with his dogs. The laggard came at last and dropped on his stool by her side. He sat for five minutes staring helplessly at the copy she had set. Big beads of perspiration stood on his forehead when he took the pen. He held it awkwardly and timidly as if it were a live reptile. She took his clumsy hand in hers and showed him how to hold it. "My, but yo' hand's soft an' sweet, Nancy,—jest lemme hold that a while——" She rapped his knuckles. "All right, teacher, I'll be good," he protested, and bent his huge shoulders low over his task. He bore so hard on the frail quill pen the ink ran in a big blot. "Not so hard, Tom!" she cried. "But I got so much strenk in my right arm I jist can't hold it back." "You must try again." He tried again and made a heavy tremulous line. His arm moved at a snail's gait and wobbled frightfully. "Make the line quicker," she urged encouragingly. "Begin at the top and come down——" "Here, you show me how!" She took his rough hand quietly in hers, and guided it swiftly from right to left in straight smooth lines until a dozen were made, when he suddenly drew her close, kissed her lips, and held the slender fingers in a grip of iron. She lay still in his embrace for a moment, released herself and turned from him with a sigh. He drew her quickly to the light of the fire and saw the unshed tears in her eyes. "What's the use ter worry, Nancy gal?" he said. "Give it up ez a bad job. I wouldn't fool with no sech scholar ef I wuz you. Ye can't teach an old dog new tricks——" "I won't give up!" she cried with sudden energy. "I can teach you and I will. I won't give up and be nobody. O Tom, you promised me before we were married to let me teach you—didn't you promise?" "Yes, Honey, I did——" he paused and his fine teeth gleamed through the black beard—"but ye know a feller'll promise any thing ter git his gal——" "Didn't you mean to keep your word?" She broke in sharply. "Of course I did, Nancy, I never wuz more earnest in my life—'ceptin when I got religion. But I had no idee larnin' come so hard. I'd ruther fight Injuns an' wil' cats or rob a bee tree any day than ter tackle them pot hooks you're sickin' after me——" "Well, I won't give up," she interrupted impatiently, "and you'd just as well make up your mind to stick to it. You can do what other men have done. You're good, honest and true, you're kindhearted and popular. They've already made you the road supervisor of this township. Learn to read and write and you can make a good speech and go to the Legislature." "Ah, Nancy, what do ye want me ter do that fur, anyhow, gal? I'd be the happiest man in the world right here in this cabin by the woods ef you'd jest be happy with me. Can't ye quit hankerin' after them things, Honey?" She shook her dark head firmly. "You know, Nancy, we wuz neighbors to Dan'l Boone. We thought he wuz about the biggest man that ever lived. Somehow the love o' the woods an' fields is always singin' in my heart. Them still shinin' stars up in the sky out thar to-night keep a callin' me. I could hear the music o' my hounds in my soul ez I stood by the spring a while ago. Ye know what scares me most ter death sometimes, gal?" He paused and looked in