Lincoln Read Free Page A

equally impressive as a speaker on those occasions when he was carefully prepared. But then, except as a humorist, he had no naturally easy way with an audience. He needed a well-prepared brief. Washburne hoped that the grip-sack on the chair next to Lincoln contained such a brief.
    Seward suggested that Lincoln visit his new home later in the day and meet the outgoing president, Mr. James Buchanan. “A harmless old thing,” said Seward.
    Washburne could not let that go so easily. “Harmless? He let the rebels in Florida seize Federal property at Pensacola and Key West. He let the rebels in South Carolina occupy Fort Moultrie, a
Federal
fort …”
    “I don’t think Mr. Buchanan can be held entirely responsible.” Seward was mild. “After all, they gave us plenty of warning. They said that if our friend here was elected president, they’d leave the Union. And he was. And they did.”
    “Along with Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, Louisiana and … and Virginia, too, I’ll bet!”
    “What about Virginia?” Lincoln was suddenly alert. “Virginia is the key to this particular tough lock.”
    Seward shrugged. “The so-called Peace Conference has been in session for two weeks now with old President Tyler—the last of the Virginians—presiding.”
    “What is the mood?”
    “Like that of most peace congresses—very warlike.”
    “If Virginia goes …” Lincoln stopped.
    “There will be war,” said Washburne.
    Seward said nothing; but he studied Lincoln closely for some sign of intent. The face gave nothing away. Then, almost casually, Seward said, “You know, in a way, we are well rid of those cotton republics—and their problem of slavery.”
    “Where is your ‘irrepressible conflict’?” Lincoln smiled, somewhat weakly, thought Washburne; then Washburne attacked a plate of fried oysters, a delicacy unknown in his early days, and all the more to be savored at Washington City.
    “Highly
repressible
if we let our erring sisters—poor foolish ladies—go in peace. Then we can turn our attention to Canada, to Mexico, to the Indies—”
    “Mr. Seward, you dream of empire for a government which has just lost half its military stations to home-grown rebels.”
    Seward made a gracious arabesque with his cigar. “Let the mosquitoes occupy those infernal forts. Have you ever
seen
the South?”
    “I was in New Orleans once,” said Lincoln, “and,” he added with a certain grimness, “I am Kentucky-born, as the world knows.”
    “A
border
-state,” said Washburne.
    “A
slave
border-state,” said Lincoln.
    “When I was governor of New York”—Seward was dreamy—“I used to go over to Canada every chance I could get. And you know those Canadians, the ones who speak English—the best of the lot—are eager to join our Union.”
    “I seem to recall,” said Lincoln, putting down his second apple core and pushing his chair away from the table, “that on the two occasions that we invaded Canada—in the Revolution and then again in 1812—they put up quite a fight to stay
out
of our Union.”
    “Misunderstandings of the day.” Seward was airy. “That’s all. They’re different now.”
    Lincoln got to his feet. “We’ve got a few misunderstandings of our own now to deal with before we go traipsing off into Canada. We’ve also got—you and I—some Cabinet-making to do.”
    “Will you take dinner with me tonight?” asked Seward.
    “With pleasure. Now I’m going to get some sleep. There was a drunk in my car last night who kept on singing ‘Dixie’ over and over again.”
    “Not our favorite song,” said Washburne.
    “No, sir, it is not.” Lincoln started toward the door where the aged Mike stood guard; then he paused. “ ‘Look away, look away, Dixie Land!’ ” Lincoln quoted the song’s chorus; he frowned. “Look away to
what?
”
    “Or
from
what?” said Seward.
    “Plainly, from me. But we shall change that.” He turned to Seward, “You don’t remember, Mr. Seward,